Barry also felt that something was lacking, though he was more content than Jill. He sensed that Jill wasn't as enthralled as she had been with their arrangements, and that sometimes she almost seemed to just be ‘going through the motions.’ He loved her passionately, and wanted to get that thrill back. He couldn't bear the thought of her turning elsewhere for her pleasures, as she had before.
Barry still deeply admired Paul, and they communicated regularly online via email and instant messenger. But their talks were mostly limited to esoteric discussions about the art and poetry of Domination and submission. Paul rarely asked after Jill, and didn't seem to take much interest in her, which piqued Barry slightly, as he was used to other men ogling and coveting her. And Paul had seen her almost naked!
One day while they were chatting online, Barry dared to voice some of his concern. The spark, he worried, might be leaving their relationship. What did Paul recommend?
"She's soft, Barry. She isn't a slave. She's a lover. She's your slut. But I think she needs more. I watched her when I was there. She needs to be pushed, and she can go much farther than you've taken her. What you need, I think, is a higher plane of submission. You need to teach her to suffer."
Their typing was too slow, so Barry called Paul on the phone, and they talked long and seriously. Barry was shaken, but intrigued, by what Paul suggested. Paul told him about his own slaves, of which he had a number over the years. Sometimes he had more than one, but he found that just one at a time was best, because then he could really focus on their training without the added overlay of jealously between the women that served him.
He didn't focus on sexual pleasure the way Barry did. He outlined specific training plans, where a woman was reduced in stages from slut to whore to slave. Debasement and humiliation were as crucial as the whip, he explained. “They have to be willing to do anything for you. Anything, do you understand? There is nothing you would ask that they would not willingly do. And that includes eating your shit, if you ask. It includes servicing others, for pay or for free, if you ask. It included branding, piercing, or anything else you choose to do to their flesh, because it is your flesh, yours to do with as you please.
"For me, Barry, it isn't a game. It isn't a diversion or sexual pastime. It's a calling. It's a duty to the slave, to give her not what she thinks she wants, but what she needs. And I know what they need, Barry. They are so easy. And if you can give a submissive woman what she truly needs, then she really is yours, totally and completely. And there is nothing, nothing more intense in this world, than the kind of bond that can be formed between a willing master and his willing slave."
And to his credit, Barry tried. He was rough with Jill, and demanded that she do shocking things, like let him pee on her back and her cunt. She acquiesced to everything he demanded, and this emboldened him to try more. But he couldn't go past a certain limit.
He couldn't beat her till he drew blood, for example, which Paul said was essential if you were to push their envelope, to stretch their limits. He couldn't piss in her mouth, even though she knelt before him like a little bird waiting, when he had told her he was going to do it. He couldn't stand to have her sleep on the floor; he needed her in his arms. The problem, he realized, was that he loved her too much, and he couldn't reconcile her possible need for debasement with his own romantic feelings toward her. And then an idea slowly formed.
Paul could do it. He wouldn't be confused by love, as Barry was. He could give Jill what she needed, and leave the loving to Barry. But would Jill fall in love with Paul? Barry didn't think so. She didn't like the man, and had said so, openly and often, after he had left. But she would respond to his torture, and Barry would be right there to make sure things went the way he wanted. If Paul would agree.
When he broached the subject he was hesitant, afraid of overstepping the bounds of their friendship. But Paul was open to it and even intrigued. “You know, I have my own slave at home. I wouldn't want to bring Jill here."
"No, of course not!” Barry said. “I wouldn't want that either."
"Barry, if you want me to do this, you can't always be there hovering like some old nanny. You're going to have to trust me. And to trust Jill. The first step is to turn her from slut to whore. That means you need to give her to me to use, sexually. You need to extract that from her, that willingness to give her body, your body, to someone else. Someone she doesn't like."
"Oh, Jill never said..."
"Stop, Barry. Of course she doesn't like me. She isn't supposed to like me. I don't want her to like me. That makes it more of an act of submission, don't you see? She is going to submit to you, by allowing herself to be used by another. If you can get past the idea of another man with your wife, if you can appreciate that what you are doing is taking her down to the level she needs to be at to be fulfilled, then you will be taking a vital step in your relationship as master and slave. The first step is to give her to me. I will use her and teach her some humility. I will keep her for a weekend. If you can agree to that, I will agree to help you with the next stage, of turning her from whore to slave. When that happens, she will be yours forever."
Barry wrestled with his own jealous feelings, and with the longing he realized he had for the security of what Paul was offering. His forever. Never having to second guess and wonder if his Jill was with another man, or thinking of another man. He would become her world. He wanted it so bad he could taste it. He said, “A weekend. You stay here. I trust you."
"Aren't you going to ask Jill?"
"No. I'm going to tell her."
* * * *
It was 8:30 on a Friday night. Jill was dressed like a whore in a tight black leather skirt, no panties, high black heels. Her breasts were pushed up and forward by a black leather pushup bra and her face was bright with garish makeup. She was waiting in their front hall for Paul to arrive. She felt ridiculous in this getup which Barry had purchased and insisted she wear. But beyond that, she was afraid. Afraid, and if she were honest, excited.
When Barry had informed her that he was ‘giving her’ to Paul for the weekend, Jill's first reaction was a horrified, “No!"
Barry was calm as he reminded her of the terms of their contract, and informed her that he wasn't asking her permission, as she had relinquished that right some time ago. “We need to move to a new level of training, Jill. It begins now. Paul will be here this weekend, and he has my permission to use you as he sees fit. Just think of him as an extension of me. He will be doing my bidding by teaching you what he has to offer. I trust him, and that should be enough for you."
Jill had stilled while Barry spoke, feeling almost hypnotized by his words. She had never been able to get Paul out of her mind, though she never spoke of it. Her feelings confused her because she didn't like the man. She didn't like his looks, or his arrogance, or his seeming indifference toward her considerable sexual charms. And he was nearly twice her age! Yet something about him was so compelling, so attractive to her that she often found herself wondering what he would do or how he would react.
And now Barry was speaking in his deep sexy voice, telling her this man was going to have complete control over her this weekend. And she would be safe, because Barry would never let him really harm her. After all, he would be right there. Then Barry said, “I'll be staying in the city this weekend. I'll have my phone, of course, if you need me, but I expect you'll be, uh, occupied.” He smiled and let his finger trail down her check to her breast.
"What? You won't be here?"
"Of course not. It would only interfere with his training. And listen, Jill. I'm giving you totally to him. That means sexually. If he wants to fuck you, or have you suck his cock, you do it. And do it with grace. This isn't about you. It's about him and me. If you deny him, or resist him, then you disgrace me. Am I understood?"
Jill stared at him, stunned. This possessive man was giving her to someone else? Sexually? While her mind rebelled, her body had already gotten the message, sending little shivers of
anticipation to her pussy. She pretended outrage, and then submission, but inside she was deeply excited and even eager. Now she would get the upper hand at last. She was confident that sexually at least, she could control that strange cold man. This was her area and she had never yet met a man she couldn't ultimately control with her pussy.
Now Jill was kneeling by the door, thighs spread, pussy peeking out from her short tight skirt. She felt embarrassed in this obvious whorish outfit, but she also realized that that was the point. As the door opened, Jill felt her insides clench, but she held her head high, waiting for Paul to enter.
He came in and stood in front of her, again with that quizzical smile. “Ah, at least now you look the part, eh, whore?” Jill colored slightly, but didn't respond.
"Lick my shoes."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me.” He pressed her head forward, forcing Jill's mouth down to his black leather loafers.
Confused, Jill hesitated, then gingerly stuck out her tongue and licked one of Paul's shoes. She felt ridiculous, and was hoping this wouldn't last too long. She licked the other shoe, but Paul showed no sign of moving. “Surely you can do better than that?” he said quietly.
The shoes weren't dirty, and Jill continued to lick the soft leather until at last he said, “Enough. Get up, whore, and let's have a look."
Jill stood up, taller than Paul in her stiletto heels. “Take off the shoes, whore. And get on your knees.” She slipped the shoes off and kicked them aside, wondering what was next, but not asking. Paul set down his duffel bag and began to unbuckle his belt. Ah, this she could do. She would suck his cock and show him just what a whore she could be! She would drive him wild!
But to her surprise he wasn't offering his penis. Instead, he came around behind her and pushed her forward. Without saying anything, he pressed her neck with one hand, and flipped up the tight leather skirt with the other, revealing her bare ass, protected only by the two thin lines of satin that were her garters. Doubling the belt, he smacked her ass, hard. The slapping sound echoed in the hallway and Jill bit her lip to keep from crying out. He hit her hard, and the belt hurt. It didn't have the sensual caress of her whip, but just plain hurt, slicing into her flesh, leaving angry marks.
Still he didn't speak, but he pulled her upright so that she was again kneeling on her haunches. She could feel her poor ass burning against her heels. Still she hadn't cried out during it, and she felt a certain sense of pride, of victory. Paul knelt down so that they were face to face.
"You,” he said, and slapped her face, hard. While she gasped he continued, “are,” and again he slapped her on the same cheek, “a” slap, “whore.” Jill ducked her head; she couldn't help it. He jerked her back and slapped her other cheek so hard her ear was ringing. She began to feel afraid, really afraid of this man. Where was Barry?
Reading her thoughts he said, “Barry isn't here, baby. Barry knows he doesn't have what it takes to teach you. He knows I do. He loves you. I don't. I'll teach you; I'll break you. And I'll give the pieces back to your darling Barry so he can put them together again."
Jill began to whimper and tried to hide her head in her hands.
"Stop it, girl. You're safe, you silly ninny. Barry knows we're here and he's a phone call away. I have no intention of doing anything that he hasn't already pre-approved. He wants this to happen. Don't you want it too, whore? Don't you want to submit to your master by submitting to me?"
His voice was low and intense. Jill began to cry and she whispered, “Please, you're scaring me. Please stop."
"Fear is a good thing, little girl. I know you, don't you see that? I understand you in a way Barry never will. I can see that you are not submissive. You're just a slut. A masochistic sex slut out for her own pleasure. You use Barry as shamelessly as I plan to use you. But Barry has a romantic idea that you are submissive. He clings to a dream that you will submit totally to him.
"And I think on some level you want that, though you have no idea how to do it. I don't think you're totally hopeless, or I wouldn't bother coming here. I can fuck a cute little tart anytime I feel like it. I don't need to travel here and leave my slave girl for that.” He ignored the small flash of anger in her eyes. “But I'm willing to teach you, slut. I'll teach you step by step how to submit to a master. You will lose your willfulness. You will lose your sassy little sex kitten ambitions.” He laughed as she tried to turn away, blushing. “Oh yes,” he said, “I know you maybe a little better than you know yourself. And I'll help you strip it all away. All the pretense and the games you play to get what you think you want.
"The only way to really submit, to really learn, is to strip down to the bare bones, to the essence of your being. And listen,” he lowered his voice so she could barely hear him, “if you allow it, if you do submit, I can promise you an experience like none you've ever had. I can teach you. If you let me."
Jill had calmed and she allowed him to wipe away a tear. “I like the whore getup, but I think it's served its purpose. I want you to strip and shower. Remove all your makeup, wash your hair and wait for me in the bathroom. I'll be along shortly."
Jill went, wondering what was up, but she did as she was told. She was just wrapping her long hair in a towel when he came in and sat on the lid of the toilet, commenting, “If you were mine, I'd cut that hair off. All of it. You're vain. And that's the first symbol of your vanity, all that long beautiful hair.” Good thing I'm not yours, Jill thought to herself.
"First, drop that towel. You are to be naked at all times unless I feel like dressing you in something.” Jill hesitated, but seeing his grim expression, she dropped the towel that covered her. Paul glanced at her, apparently indifferent to her lovely feminine curves. He focused on her face and said, “A slave needs to learn humility. It's an important lesson to help get the focus off yourself. You, my dear, are totally and obviously focused on you. Your duty is to focus on your master. I only have you for the weekend, so of course we can only begin, but I do have certain liberties allowed me by your master. The first of which is we will shave your cunt. A naked cunt is a silly little thing, and the first step in reminding you of your place.” Jill thought back to her online friend, the one whose master required her to be totally denuded, even her head, before he would meet her. At the time she had scoffed, thinking the woman way over the line. But now she was less sure.
"Barry said you could shave my pussy?"
"He did. And listen, whore. Let's set some rules real quick. I know you're used to chatting casually with your husband, but I'm not your husband. I'm not your master, admittedly, but let's just say I'm your trainer for the weekend. And I don't like my trainees to speak unless they are directly spoken to. And then you must use respect, and address me as sir. If I think you are being smart, or overstepping, or questioning anything I ask of you, I will punish you. Severely. Am I understood?"
"Yes, sir,” Jill whispered, feeling fear like a little gnawing animal in her stomach.
"Now. Get a fresh razor and some baby oil. And a sharp scissors. Move."
Jill did as she was told, and then stood on the closed toilet as directed while Paul carefully cut off all her pubic curls, cropping it as close as possible. Then he filled the sink with hot water and squirted some baby oil into it. Next he smeared the oil all over Jill's pudendum and said, “Spread your legs. And stay very still. I don't want to cut you. Not now anyway."
As he expected, her eyes widened as he spoke the last sentence and he chuckled. These whores were so easy. Slowly and carefully, with a sure hand, Paul shaved Jill's pussy until it was bare. Her flesh felt so strange and naked! He tossed her the oil and said, “Here, massage this in to keep it soft, then let's go into your bedroom and have a look.” Gingerly she touched her bare labia and mons, rubbing in the soothing oil, fingers brushing against her inner labia and clit.
She followed Paul's receding back to her bedroom and moved to where he directed, in front of the full length mirror. She had expected to feel ridiculous as
she looked at her newly shaved pussy. She was expecting a little girl look, but what she saw was deeply erotic to her. Somehow its very bareness was like an offering. “Spread your legs; show us your cunt,” Paul ordered. And even as she obeyed, blushing slightly because he was watching, she couldn't help but stare in fascination at the dark pink little folds of flesh, and the little bared slit below. Her sex was being offered like ripe fruit, and she felt the sweetness of the fruit grow wet inside of her. “Slut,” he whispered, watching her, knowing what she was feeling. She looked down, having for a moment forgotten that he was there, and now sharply reminded.
"Ok,” he said. “Lesson one. Control. You have none. You come at the drop of a hat. Barry ‘s keen on sex, so you are going to need to learn to control yourself, and to put him first. So we'll work for a while on your orgasm. Not on having one, you slut, but on controlling it. You don't deserve to come. It should only be a reward, and only occasionally. Otherwise you become soft, and lose your edge, and forget your place. I'm here to remind you.
"I like rope, so let's go into the playroom and tie you on that exam table I saw in there. You won't be able to get away, and we'll work on control.” Again he swept out of the room and she was left to follow him, feeling a little stupid. Things weren't going as she expected; part of her had thought he was going to use this weekend as an excuse to fuck her, as most men would have. But she was learning that Paul wasn't like most men.
She lay obediently on the table and allowed Paul to secure her with coils of rope across her throat, her breasts and around each thigh. Her legs were secured into the stirrups, exposing her naked pussy. Again there came a frisson of fear as she realized she was totally helpless, naked and tied down, with her husband far away.
Paul was all business. He squirted a dollop of lubricant on his fingers and approached her like a doctor, his face unsmiling. She jerked and tried to move away when she felt his finger touching not her pussy but her asshole! He pushed the finger in, invading her. “Tight, aren't you? Would a dildo fit up there, do you think?"
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