“Now I told you,” he said, “I’m adding to your training program, but I’m not replacing the things that are already on it. You just had several orgasms. You know what you have to do after that.” He maneuvered her so that she knelt just under the edge of the table, at the foot of the chair. She whimpered as he locked her wrists together behind her back and bound her knees to the table legs. “Besides, you’re a sex slave. Pleasuring me comes first.”
He reached into the pocket on the robe and pulled out a padded metal ring with straps attached. Her eyes widened when she recognized what he had called an “oral rape harness.” She shook her head, turned her face away. “No!”
“I know, I know. Your training program was pretty extensive before, so all these new additions are a lot to ask. You’ll be receiving four to five sessions a day. That’s a lot of sex! But you need to be trained. Forcible oral penetration, preferably with ejaculation in the subject’s mouth; that’s what it says on your training program. Open your mouth.”
“No!” She turned her head away from him.
He gripped her chin tightly and forced her to look at him. His fingers dug into her cheeks, prying her mouth open. Eileen struggled and squealed, but could not keep him from pressing the ring behind her teeth. He grabbed her hair and held her still while he buckled the strap in place behind her head. She fought frantically, struggling against his grip and against the bonds holding her under the table, until finally he pulled her hair painfully. “Behave.”
She gasped in pain. He finished buckling the ring in her mouth. A thin line of drool leaked past it and dripped from her chin. She watched him sit in the chair right in front of her, and shuddered when he opened his robe to reveal a strong erection. Thoughts of what he was about to do passed through her mind, causing her heart to beat fast with disgust. She trembled and felt warm tremors between her legs.
He caressed her cheek, ran his hands gently through her hair. She shivered and drew back from him, but a strong hand behind her head pushed her forward. He guided the head of his cock through the ring holding her mouth open, then tied the two long leads connected to the harness around the legs of the chair in which he sat, preventing her from moving her head away.
She whimpered and tried to speak.
“Shh,” he said. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” He picked up his silverware and dug into breakfast with gusto, ignoring the woman bound at his feet with his erection in her mouth. The small mewling sounds she made appeared not to affect his appetite in the least. A warm, salty drop of pre-come welled up at the tip of his cock, and she shuddered. She felt trapped, her head held down over him, knees spread wide and bound to the table legs; her stomach quivered with anticipation and dread.
Finally, he finished and set down his fork. She looked up fearfully and met his eyes, saw desire flare in those dark pools. “Oh, yes,” he said. His hands wrapped around the back of her head, gripped her hair tightly. “Oh, yes.”
For a long moment, time froze. She felt acutely aware of him, in a way she couldn’t quite understand; everything about him, from the tiny smile that lifted the corner of his mouth to the muscles rippling in his arms to the slightly musky residue of her own sex on his cock, crowded in around her. They hung there, in that quivering, drawn-out instant, her senses jangling.
Then the moment passed, and he pushed her head down hard. She cried out and choked as his rigid shaft plowed into the back of her throat. He raped her mouth with abandon, forcing her down with both hands, and her cries and struggles served only to excite him further. It took only a very short time before he twitched and thickened; then torrents of warm, thick goo erupted in her mouth. She choked and sputtered, sending white ribbons of come streaming from the corners of her lips. He held her tightly and let the last few spurts flow against her tongue, before he unfastened the strap behind her head and released her.
She sat back heavily, gasping. A thick, heavy glob of warm semen poured from her mouth and rolled down her breast. Her chest heaved as she glared up at him. “I don’t like that!”
He smiled and rose. “I do. I enjoy that a great deal. Are you hungry, little whore?”
She nodded sullenly.
Without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving her to struggle against her bonds beneath the table. His come dripped from her nipple and splashed onto her thigh. She shuddered in disgust; the gooey stuff cooled on her chin, her neck, her breasts, and she longed to wipe it away. She fought against the cuffs that bound her wrists behind her back, knowing even as she did that she could not free herself.
Anthony returned holding the black rubber phallus he’d forced her to masturbate with yesterday. He placed it standing upright in the center of his chair, where it wobbled unsteadily. A few moments later he had untied her knees, but left her wrists securely bound behind her back. “Up.”
Kneeling at the foot of the chair had left her sore. She struggled to rise without using her hands, until finally he took her by the elbow and pulled her to her feet. “Sit.”
She stared at the thick, deeply textured dildo sticking up from the center of the chair. “No, please, I’m too sore!”
“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? We’re training your body to accept having things shoved up that delicious pussy of yours any time. You’re sore because you aren’t used to it yet, which is why we’re doing this.” He gripped her shoulders firmly and turned her around. “Sit!”
The edge of the chair caught the back of her knees and she yelped. He guided her wrists over the chair’s high back as she lowered herself gingerly. The dildo touched her entrance, and she paused for a second, holding herself awkwardly over the chair, before slowly lowering herself onto it.
Her body protested the intrusion. She cried out as she settled onto the chair. Having her hands bound together behind her forced the weight of her body directly onto the dildo. “Don’t! It hurts!”
Without a word, he picked up one of the lengths of rope with which he had bound her legs, and wrapped it tightly around her breasts until they ballooned out. The ends of the rope went around the back of the chair. He pulled it tight and tied it, binding her body tightly against the back of the chair, preventing her escape. Her breasts throbbed dully. “Please,” she whimpered, “what are you doing?”
He dragged another chair over and sat down next to her. Working slowly and deliberately, he set a plate in front of her and heaped it high. He picked up a knife and fork, cut off a bite-sized chunk of steak, and held it up to her lips. “Open.”
Her face flushed and she squirmed in shame. The smell of the food made her stomach rumble, and she became aware suddenly of how hungry she was. She opened her mouth and felt a wave of helpless embarrassment wash over her.
“Good girl. See? You open your mouth for me whenever I say.” He fed her patiently, delicately. All the while, with each breath, the rope dug cruelly into her breasts. The dildo, buried inside her just a little bit too deeply by the full weight of her body, was a steady ache that increased slowly until she was moaning and writhing uncontrollably. Beneath the steak and eggs, she was still aware of the dull salty taste of his come.
By the time he was finished feeding her, the ache had become a pulsing, throbbing pain that was almost unbearable. Each tiny motion brought new torment from the fake rubber cock. She tried to lift herself off the seat as much as her bonds would allow, which only caused the rope to tighten painfully against her breasts.
“Mmm, I love to see you this way, all helpless and squirmy,” he cooed. One hand slid between her legs; gentle, nimble fingers stroked her clit. “And you’re so wet! You must like this.” His fingers moved faster. Heat rose in her, and she sighed. She twitched involuntarily around the dildo, and the heat flared into overwhelming need. She tilted her head back, eyes half closed, and moaned.
He leaned forward to kiss her. The instant their lips met, she cried out and turned away. “No!”
“No? Okay.” With a smile, he leaned back and removed his hand, precisely at the in
stant that orgasm seemed certain.
She screamed in frustration as she teetered on the edge. He watched as she thrashed against her bonds so strongly that the chair skipped sideways across the floor. She clenched and unclenched on the dildo, willing herself to come, but the orgasm slipped away. “Please!”
“Please what?”
She shook her head, tightlipped.
“You know,” he said, “if you don’t ask for what you want, how can you expect to get it?”
She howled wordlessly, a sound of pure frustration.
“Well, I guess whatever it is you want, you must not want it too badly, then,” He waited until she gave up chasing her orgasm; when her struggles quieted, he unlocked the cuffs binding her wrists behind the chair. She reached to touch herself, and he smacked her hands away. “None of that! We don’t have time. You need to get showered and ready to go. We have more sightseeing to do!”
He unbound her breasts. She sighed in relief and stood unsteadily. She reached down and grabbed the base of the dildo. A strong pull, a wet sucking sound, and it was free; she gasped in shock at the puddle of her own juices left behind on the chair.
Her thoughts hung loudly in the air. He stood behind her and stroked her hair. “Yes, it’s true.” Fingertips traced the marks left on her breasts by the rope. “Your body likes this very much. Look how wet it makes you! You are a very dirty slut and your body likes it rough. Now go wash off that come all over you so we can leave.” He turned her to face the bathroom. “Go!”
In the shower, as soon as she soaped herself up, she was intensely aware of how sore she was. Now free of the tight constriction, her breasts were tender, and every touch between her legs reminded her of how deeply the dildo had been planted. The dried remnants of his semen clung stubbornly; she scrubbed herself over and over, but still felt dirty. She had heard of women who let their men defile them in such a way, even claimed to like it, but it had always seemed logical to her that such women, if they actually existed, must be the depraved sort of perverts who could never attract a man.
She shuddered at the memory of warm thick fluid filling her mouth, flowing down her neck, over her breasts. Her hands, slick with soap, sought to erase that memory. She caressed her over-sensitized breasts. The gentle touch soothed them, and as her hands played over her skin, her nipples responded. She thought of the puddle she’d left behind on the polished wooden chair, and her hands moved lower to wash away that memory, too. Soapy fingers parted her folds, pressed in where the dildo had been. She trembled and moaned and came easily, hips rolling against her fingers, to memories of Anthony’s semen sliding down her body.
Finally, she emerged dripping from the shower and patted herself dry. She felt even more sore than she had when she went in, and winced as she toweled off between her legs. Now that her arousal had been abated, she felt slightly embarrassed about masturbating in the shower, especially so soon after her husband had done what he’d done to her. She wrapped the towel tightly around herself when she left the bathroom.
Anthony was still dressed in nothing but the robe, tied loosely around his waist. “Did I hear you touching yourself in there?”
She nodded and looked away.
“My, you are a horny little slut! I thought you were sore.”
Fire touched her cheeks. “I am!” She glared at him. “You hurt me!”
“You’ll get used to it.” He chuckled. “Used to being used, I suppose you could say. We have a lot of walking to do today, though, so I suppose I’ll have to do something about that.” He gestured to the bed. “Tell you what. Lie down on your tummy like a good girl and let me tie you down, and after I’m done with your ass I’ll put some of that cream that you like so much on you.”
“No!” she said. “You can’t do this to me! This has gone far enough! I’m not going to let—”
In two strides, he was across the room. One hand grabbed her by the hair; the other seized her arm, painfully tightly. He dragged her bodily across to the bed and forced her down onto it. She fought back hard; her foot caught his shin, causing him to bellow in pain. He twisted her arm up behind her back and held her firmly face-down on the bed. She kicked beneath him as he locked the metal cuff over her wrist and chained it down. She did not stop struggling until all four limbs were securely chained and they were both panting with exertion.
“You know,” he said, gasping for breath, “I think I kind of like when you struggle.” His hand slipped up her thigh, found wetness. “I think you do too.”
“No! No I don’t! You can’t do this to me! It’s not right!” She yanked helplessly at the chains. “Let me go!”
Very gently, very carefully, his fingers stroked her clit, as softly as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. Before long, as he had expected, her protests had quieted to soft moans.
“You really are easy,” he said. From the nightstand, he gathered up the midsized probe where it lay in its case, and the unlabelled bottle he’d used before. He applied a dollop of cream to the end of the metal probe and pressed it against the entrance to her ass.
A brief moment of resistance, a soft cry, and it slid in easily all the way to the base. He smiled and caressed her back. “What a difference only a few days can make.”
Se moaned and tightened around the intrusion. “No, please take it out…”
He squeezed some more cream on his fingers and slipped them between her legs. She jumped at the touch and struggled anew. “No!”
“No?” He worked his fingers gently into her. “Doesn’t that feel better?” The soothing cream quenched the fire in her throbbing, over-used sex. She whimpered into the pillow. “No, no, it will make me…” her voice trailed off.
His fingers worked deeper. “It will make you what?”
“It will make me want things inside me.”
“What a conundrum!” he chuckled. “You can stay sore now, or you can feel better now but want sex later. What to do?” The fingers moved deeper still, drawing out a sigh of pleasure. “The choice isn’t up to you, though.”
“I don’t want to want it!” she wailed. Even as she spoke, her body gave lie to the words; she moved backward onto his fingers, and her hips ground upward in response to his motions. Another sigh escaped her lips.
“No, you don’t, do you? Above all else, you hate the idea that you could actually be a sexual person, that you might actually want sex. That’s why all of your fantasies are of coercion and rape, isn’t it?” One had caressed her bare butt, making her shiver and clench around the probe. “And now I’m giving you precisely what you’ve always wanted, only I’m making you want it, too.” He laughed. “I’m such a stinker, aren’t I?”
For the next several minutes, his fingers stroked her from the insides. When he had her writhing on the bed, unable to stop moaning, he pulled his fingers from her and slid the probe free. A moment later, the cuffs binding her were unlocked. “Get dressed. Time to go out!”
She cried out and remained bent over the bed. “Please…please…”
He pulled a plain white sundress out of the closet and tossed it onto the bed next to her, heedless of her whimpers. “Wear this. No underwear.”
She rose reluctantly. Her heart pounded fast; wetness dripped from inside her. She dressed half in a daze; even the touch of the thin cotton on her skin made her body yearn for more. By the time she had pulled on her shoes and stockings, and locked the requisite straps with their sharp points around her thighs, her arousal had abated just enough for her to start thinking rationally again.
Chapter 10
They left the hotel. The weather outside was a rare treat; London had decided to grace them with uncharacteristic warmth and sunshine. Traffic hummed around them during the walk to the nearby tube station. She found the hip-swaying gait compelled by the straps was becoming nearly effortless; indeed, she was scarcely even aware of it until they reached the stairway descending to the station, and a sharp poke to her inner thigh reminded her to keep her legs parted as she walked down.
A short while later, they were seated graciously in a stunning rooftop restaurant in Knightsbridge. Huge windows overlooked the sweep of the Thames River below. Eileen gasped at the view, gasped at the prices on the menu, and gasped again as Anthony’s hand touched her thigh. “That’s the Globe Theatre over there,” he said, nodding toward a round white building with a dark roof below them. “They built it half a block from the original, where William Shakespeare’s plays were first performed. First building with a thatched roof in London in almost four hundred years.” White teeth flashed behind a boyish grin. “The original had a thatched roof, so it just wouldn’t do to build a new one without a thatched roof, would it? Wouldn’t be traditional. Would you like some wine?”
The wine, and the meal that followed, were an experience beyond Eileen’s capability to describe. The casual, easy luxury, the almost palpable air of wealth and sophistication, surpassed anything she’d ever fantasized about. For the next hour, she forgot everything—her forced sexual servitude, the chains that bound her each night, the way her husband used and exhibited her—intoxicated by the atmosphere of the place.
About the time that the last plates were being cleared from the table, a small but persistent tingle started between her legs. It grew much more rapidly than she was prepared for, and by the time the check had been brought over, butterflies danced in her stomach. Her nipples hardened, betraying her desperation. She squirmed on the chair, and gasped sharply when an unwise motion caused spikes to dig into her thighs.
If Anthony noticed, he made no sign. He finished up the business of paying the check calmly, unhurriedly, as Eileen writhed in her seat and felt her wetness swelling. The tingle became an excruciating itch, deep within her; she could think about nothing else. She spread her legs as wide as the chair would allow and longed for something inside her to quench the flame.
Elicitation (The Training of Eileen) Page 11