Learning to Crawl

by John Argus

  ‘Let me demonstrate further,’ Ms Brook continued.

  April pulled a chair forward and the confident Ms Brook sat on it, then the maid positioned Gwen beside her and stepped back.

  Ms Brook looked up at Gwen, and then patted her lap.

  Gwen had been squirming mentally since getting out of the box, and her discomfort increased greatly when Ms Brook began talking about her, and now she felt her face turning scarlet as she realised what the woman wanted. The desire to turn and flee was almost overwhelming, yet the expectation of the many eyes upon her would not let her go. She simply could not turn and run like a timid schoolgirl.

  So she shuffled forward slightly and then bent to slide her tummy over the woman’s lap.

  ‘You see how uncomfortable she is?’ Ms Brook asked. ‘She’d clearly rather be elsewhere, so how many of you want to see her receive a reprieve and be allowed to get up and go?’

  There was an uncomfortable quiet resting over the room just as a hand rested on Gwen’s upraised bottom.

  ‘I am going to inflict considerable pain upon this vulnerable girl,’ Ms Brook said. ‘And, needless to say, considerable embarrassment. So does anyone here want me to send her away untouched, or are you all wanting to seeing this lovely little bottom spanked?’

  Gwen felt intensely discomfited to have an audience gazing at her lying across the woman’s lap, and she stared down at one leg of the chair, trying to pretend the women were not there, watching.

  Then she gasped as Ms Brook slapped her bottom. It stung, and in the sting she could feel the echo of the strapping the hateful Carol had given her not so long before.

  Another very hard blow made her jerk and she bit her lip at the stinging pain that speared through her body.

  ‘See the violation of perfection,’ Ms Brook said. ‘The unmarred ivory skin now marked by the violence of objectification and avaricious lust.’

  Another blow landed, and another, and Gwen writhed with each strike, her bottom starting to grow painfully hot. The pain mounted as the blows continued, then grew even more terrible as Ms Brook switched to a round wooden paddle handed to her by the ever-attentive maid. The sound of the blows landing on her bare skin echoed throughout the room, accompanied by her yelps and cries as she squirmed on the immovable lap and fought to keep the tears from spilling from her eyes.

  Her bottom hurt terribly, and each new blow made her more and more desperate to avoid another. Yet she could not bring herself to beg; not where so many others would witness her weakness. Her body shuddered to her suppressed sobs, and she twisted more and more desperately so Ms Brook had to hold her even more firmly in place.

  Then Gwen was abruptly dumped on the floor, and before she could gather her spiralling thoughts Ms Brook stood and grabbed her by the hair and tugged her up to her knees, forcing her head back so that the assembled women could gaze upon her tears.

  ‘And you all love it,’ Ms Brook said. ‘For that is what we are; a predatory species. We prey on that which rouses our hungers, and yearn to conquer and see it conquered. We don’t merely want to join with this lovely morsel of flesh in a mutually pleasurable act, we want to use her, to ravish her body and mind and soul. Her degradation arouses and excites us because it gives us the thought that any one of us could use her howsoever we choose.’

  She twisted Gwen’s hair back more sharply and the girl cried out, defensively reaching up and back only to have her wrists pinned together there in a firm grip, forcing her to arch back for the watching throng.

  ‘How many of you feel sorry for her, as opposed to wanting to get your greedy hands on her?’ Ms Brook asked with an arrogant, knowing smirk. ‘How many want to beat her and dominate her, to force her to satisfy your lusts? What force and violence would we subject her lovely young flesh to in order to satisfy ourselves of our superiority, to degrade her to the point of servitude?’

  She ran a controlling hand over Gwen’s body, squeezing her breasts, then pushed her forward and released her wrists. Gwen fell onto her hands and the maid, yet again responding to an unspoken command from her mistress, stepped forward and removed the chair.

  ‘A final abject lesson in objectification and the power of sexual lust,’ Ms Brook concluded.

  There were gasps and murmurs from the assembled women, and Gwen looked up from the floor through her tousled fringe to see a new person approaching her. The women drew back en masse, many looking indignant and displeased.

  It was a man, incredibly muscular and naked but for a loincloth.

  ‘Do we, as lesbians, feel appalled at the prospect of this lovely but helpless girl being ravaged by an ox-like male?’ Ms Brook’s voice invaded the tense atmosphere. ‘Or do we feel continuing, perhaps even expanded arousal at the thought of her being so degraded?’

  Gwen was stunned, not quite sure what was now evolving.

  The man moved behind her, and then dropped his loincloth. He was semi-erect, and as his penis lifted and blossomed before Gwen’s spellbound face the women pulled extravagant faces of distaste.

  Gwen gawped at him, the blood draining from her face as she realised Ms Brook intended him to use her right there in front of all the gathered women. She started to rise but he dropped to his knees and shoved her back down, then roughly spread her legs, gripping the back of her neck with a firm hand to hold her in place.

  ‘W-wait…’ she pleaded quietly. ‘Not here… not in front of them…’

  She had already been so thoroughly degraded in front of the sophisticated women that the thought of being used by a male, which they would no doubt consider the ultimate in degradation, made her desperate to avoid him. Yet in her weakened and dazed state her resistance was uncoordinated and uncertain and he easily held her in place as Ms Brook’s voice overrode her pleas.

  ‘Examine your own emotions at the present time,’ Ms Brook instructed her guests. ‘Perhaps politically, perhaps intellectually, you feel the urge to rush forward to save this girl from the rough and brutal violation at the hands of this bull of a creature. But what are we feeling emotionally? What do our loins say? Are we not even now eagerly awaiting the moment of her violation, wanting to watch this beautiful female being mounted?’

  Gwen cried out weakly as the man slapped her red bottom, and he laughed, reaching round to roughly squeeze her breasts. Then she felt his erection prodding at her sex. She was panting heavily, disbelief filling her frantic mind, and then felt the insistent demand for entry increase. Her swollen sex lips were eased aside, and then his steel hard column of flesh drove deep into her body with a single, powerful thrust.

  ‘Ungghhhh!’Her cry echoed about the room, but there was little sympathy in the eyes of the spectators. Their faces were flushed with excitement and the sight captivated their eyes as the powerful man plunged into her from behind and then ground his groin against her sore bottom.

  His hands held her waist just above her hips. He drew his erection back, and then thrust in once more as aggressively as before. Her head jerked up and back, her hair swaying and curtaining her face, yet he held her easily in place, slowly drawing his stiff lance back until only the head remained between her labia, then driving it into her once again, using it like a spear, stabbing her with its lust and strength and fury.

  Gwen instinctively began to jerk her hips back to meet him then, and the force of his penetrations doubled. His cock sliced through the soft folds of her sex with cruel, powerful forays. He rode her; rode her with more power and technique than even Richardson had done, for he had more of both. There, on all fours amid the silent circle of women she was ridden with lust and overwhelming authority, his strong hands occasionally roving around her soft form to maul her breasts or pull back on her hair.

  And yet, despite the mortification she experienced, she also felt a small but growing sense of elation – of freedom. She was outside societal rules and requirements. S
he was not a part of these women but an abject lesson to them. She was a creature, a thing, an example of uncontrolled sexual lust, and that masochistic side of her that Richardson had been bringing to the surface basked in her abuse, in being the centre of attention.

  The shocked revulsion in the faces of the watching lesbians could not hide the heat and desire in their eyes as they stared, spellbound, at her ravishment, wishing it were them behind her, using her, mounting her, thrusting into her so cruelly and vigorously.

  The pleasure grew along with that sense of sexual abandon, blotting out her embarrassment and appealing to that dark side of her that Richardson had discovered. But the climax, when it came, was brief, for her mind and body were too worn out – too exhausted.

  And there was no time to build up into something more powerful either, for his use of her was too wild and uncontrolled and could not be sustained past a very few minutes. Soon he was coming inside her, grunting his pleasure to the appalled yet captivated audience, letting his seed flow into her belly as he slowly halted his rutting strokes and then casually withdrew.

  The redhead, April, helped Gwen to her feet and then led her silently out of the room, up the stairs, and back to the sanctuary of the bedroom.

  Chapter 12

  ‘How do you feel?’ April asked with apparently genuine concern. ‘Jeez, he was rough! You must ache all over!’

  ‘I… I’m all right,’ Gwen told her.

  ‘Ms Brook paddled you something fierce, too,’ the girl said sympathetically. ‘Your poor bottom. Come with me.’

  She led Gwen into the adjoining bathroom where a large marble tub had already been filled with steaming water, then stripped and stepped into it with Gwen, hugging her and whispering comfortingly.

  Gwen found that extremely calming and reassuring after the strange and shocking emotional turbulence she had experienced earlier.

  ‘Are you and Ms Brook lovers?’ she asked abruptly.

  ‘Ms Brook?’ The girl chuckled sweetly. ‘No, she’s my mistress. I’m her slave.’

  ‘Her slave?’

  ‘Uhuh,’ the girl smiled coyly and nodded as she spoke, ‘her sex slave. And you belong to Mr Richardson, don’t you?’ she asked.

  Gwen was slightly startled at the suggestion. ‘Belong?’ she echoed, slightly aghast. ‘No. I mean, I’m staying with him at the moment and um, we ah… we…’

  ‘He ties you up and uses you, and chastises you when you’re disobedient?’ the redhead finished for her.

  ‘Well, I um,’ Gwen struggled to find a suitable reply, ‘I suppose so, but…’

  ‘But you can’t disobey him no matter what he orders you to do?’

  ‘I can leave,’ Gwen said doubtfully, finding the astuteness of the girl somewhat unsettling. Was she really so transparent?

  ‘Of course you can. And I can leave Ms Brook as well. But while I’m with her I am her slave and she can do anything she wants with me or give me to anyone she wants.’

  ‘But I’m not a slave,’ Gwen retorted indignantly.

  ‘Of course you are, darling,’ April chuckled. ‘You’re just not calling it that. I mean, did he ask you before sending you with Carol to the club? Did he ask you before agreeing to loan you to Ms Brook? Nobody asks a slave what she wants to do. They just have her do it.’

  A slave?

  Gwen tried to wrap her mind around the concept. Despite the fact that she had given herself to Richardson and let him use and punish her as he chose she had not considered their relationship in quite that light. Perhaps because she was still young enough to recall being spanked for childhood misdeeds and because he was old enough to be her father she had put their relationship, however sexual, in terms with which she was more familiar, such as a student and her tutor; she must, of course, obey or be punished.

  And yet she felt a sudden deep realisation that her relationship with Richardson really was that of a master and his slave. He had used the word servant, perhaps not wanting to frighten her, but he was using her, treating her, and punishing her as a slave!

  She was a sex slave!

  The idea was mesmerising and something seemed to click within her as if her mind almost instantly adjusted to and accepted such a role for her. With it came a low throbbing between her legs as her mind raced through the things she had experienced over the past few days and the abuse she had been subjected to.

  ‘You’ve never been a sex slave before, have you?’ the lovely redhead pressed.

  Gwen shook her head.

  ‘I was a sex slave to another woman before Ms Brook,’ April went on airily. ‘I gave myself to her when I was a teenager and was her slave for three years. Then she gave me to Ms Brook when I turned twenty-one. Ms Brook is sterner, but she cares more for me. My previous mistress, I think, was more enthusiastic about dominating my body than loving me as a person. Do you think Richardson loves you?’

  ‘Oh, heavens no!’ Gwen exclaimed.

  ‘Why did you give yourself to him, then? Just for the sexual excitement? There are tons and tons of nicer men who would love to have a slave like you, and a lot of them are wealthy too. For that matter you could make a fortune with one of those elite escort agencies that specialise in bondage. I hear that on average the girls get more than a thousand dollars a night.’

  ‘I – I never really thought about it,’ Gwen admitted.

  Had she given herself to Richardson? Well, she supposed she had, in a way. But she was hardly inclined to tell April she had done so in exchange for room and board. That was simply too pathetic.

  Besides, that was not the entirety of it. She was simply bored. That had always been her problem. That had been why she jetted off to America to begin with. And being around Richardson, having him do such wicked sexual things to her, well, it was certainly not boring. Rather, she felt more alive than she ever had before, with one shocking new experience following another.

  April smiled softly and kissed her on the cheek, and Gwen turned without thinking and kissed her back, on the lips. April giggled a little and snuggled in more closely. Her hand slipped down between Gwen’s legs and her fingers gently caressed her sex lips. ‘And you’ve been well and truly fucked, haven’t you?’ she whispered bluntly.

  Gwen nodded.

  ‘And you like it? That’s a part of being a slave, to enjoy being overcome and ravished.’ She stood up and held her hands down to Gwen, who took them somewhat shyly and stepped out of the fragrant water.

  April helped dry her, and then had her bend over while she spread a soothing balm across her thighs and buttocks. She brushed and dried her hair, then led her back to the bedroom and climbed into bed with her.

  She lay half atop Gwen’s body, kissing her gently as Gwen responded, and their hands moved slowly over one another as April gradually slipped further over her body.

  ‘Spread your legs,’ she urged in hushed tones. ‘Further…’

  Gwen parted her thighs and April angled her pelvis, spreading her own legs until their pussies could press gently together. It was a gentle lovemaking, like nothing Gwen had experienced of late. The girl’s body was silky and warm, and felt quite delicious against her own.

  Their hands caressed, exploring one another’s bodies, and their hips moved in slow, rhythmic motion.

  Each had savoured a gentle yet fulfilling orgasm, and Gwen was beginning to develop real feelings for April when the door opened, throwing a stream of light across the bed. Her initial reaction was to gasp in shock and embarrassment, but she was oddly confused to realise there was much less of the latter than she would have expected. Certainly April showed no sign of shame at being interrupted.

  ‘Yes, mistress?’ she asked simply, squinting towards the shard of light and the shadow framed there.

  Ms Brook moved into the room, frowning, hands clasping a good deal of leather gear which sh
e dropped on the bed. April sat up obediently while Gwen fought off the feeling of a teenager caught necking by her parents.

  ‘Richardson wants her back immediately,’ Ms Brook announced. ‘Prepare her for travel, April, and hurry.’

  ‘Yes, mistress,’ April said, sliding elegantly out of bed.

  Ms Brook examined Gwen closely, her eyes roaming over her body, then turned and left without another word.

  ‘I guess we’d better get you ready to go,’ April said, picking up a leather strap and examining it.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Gwen said, feeling confused and reluctant. Why should she have to go anywhere just because Richardson wanted her to? She had been enjoying herself, and found herself growing resentful at being interrupted by the man. She really was going to have to tell him off and set him straight quite soon.

  ‘Stand up,’ April said.

  Gwen considered refusing, but April was only doing what Ms Brook ordered, so she sighed and climbed out of bed, and then turned at April’s direction.

  Her wrists were strapped together behind her back, and while she felt a sense of annoyance as it was done this very quickly and surprisingly passed into one of renewed arousal. She pulled against the strap, feeling a little thrum of excitement between her legs as she was once again returned to a state of helplessness.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked, eyeing the strange harness affair April was sliding over her head.

  ‘It’s better than having a nasty old ball-gag in your mouth,’ April replied.

  The straps fitted over her head and then the thing was pulled tight, a chinstrap clamping her mouth firmly closed. April then had her lay on the bed and bent her left leg back, pushing her bare foot up against her buttock. She then slipped a strap around her thigh and tugged it tight, binding her leg up and back. She did the same with her right leg, then put restraints around her ankles and snapped them together. Another strap was attached to the one around her wrists and April pulled.