“Do I displease you, sir?” she recoups and bats her eyelashes at the handsome master.
“No, not at all, my randy bitch,” he says, turning her over his arm, raising her skirt and laying a few swift spanks to her round ass. “Tonight,” he says under his breath, “I’ll be beating this bratty behind to a pulp.”
“But I haven’t been bratty,” she protests with a smile.
“You dare object?” he calls her faux pas to mind.
“Sorry, sir,” she quivers at the playful tease.
He stands her on her feet, while Evie watches the scene impassively. “Put her through the paces until two. Makes sure she knows exactly what to do. And remember, I’ll take her mistakes out of your hide as well as hers.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, about tonight?”
“Yes, sir.” She smiles, “I know,” covering a tinge of hurt. Everyone knows he’ll be with Evie not her.
Josette fits Evie into the slim black maid’s dress. The crisp material plunges deep at the bodice to show off the cleavage the stringent corset produces. Though the skirt reaches past her knees, there’s a long slit straight up the back, high enough when open to show the pudgy bottom of her behind. There are lace-topped thigh high stockings, and a pair of three-inch heels, that give her a more womanly allure. And still, she seems to be little more than a child dressing up in her mother’s clothes.
“It’s the heels that will make you screw up,” Josette informs Evie. “Practice in them, but not too much, or your untrained feet will be to sore to walk. Then we’ll both be in trouble.”
“You know, I think you’d make a fine Femdom,” Jacob says, eyes twinkling.
“I think not!” Josette answers. “I’m perfectly submissive, and you know it, sir.”
He fails to comment on her curt remark, but his eyes narrow enough so that her lips break out with a more chagrinned expression. “Sorry.”
“Yes, you will be sorry,” he advises.
After Evie’s first practice in the ranch house dining room and kitchen, Jacob takes her to the training room for the remainder of the day. The room, just off the main level, is a crude version of the rustic house, with four stonewalls, a packed dirt floor and windows covered with thick black drapes. Scant light from out-of-doors creeps inside, turning day to night and night to inky black. For the time being, however, Jacob lights two oil lamps on opposite sides of the room, lending a peculiar yellow glow to the eerie space.
Evie’s day should have begun here, the girl brought directly from the cellar to this facility designed specifically for the training required. Many girls who pass from the ranch to their final destinations never see the light of day, a clear blue sky or a bright and bustling kitchen until it’s nearly time for them to leave.
Obviously, Evie’s training will be different. They’ve missed several steps in the process, which Jacob regrets. He worries that this gives the girl too much power, not enough appreciation of her position. But there are yet many things for her to learn, and for the next day, she will be thoroughly drilled.
Evie changes from the confining corset into her training attire—a leather harness of criss-crossing straps that fit almost as snuggly as the corset, but without the sensuous breast enhancement and the clipped waist. Jacob keeps the straps slack enough for her to move with some ease, while, with every move, she knows she’s in bondage. The harness anchors at a two-inch collar at her neck, and then below with straps that wrap her thighs. For day use, a leather piece is snapped over her crotch. But when she sleeps at night, it is removed, should she be required for sex.
“During the party tonight, you use house manners, behave the way Josette showed you. Now, however, you’re on ‘training’ manners. It’s a different behavior altogether, and don’t forget that. When you present yourself, clasp your hands behind your neck with your elbows wide apart. Keep your head high, your chest back, your eyes lowered, your lips parted and your feet a foot apart. Do that now.”
Waiting, Jacob slowly walks the room, his footfalls silent on the soft floor, though his leather boots creak. Evie moves into the required position—the same one occasionally required at the detention facility. She quickly understands what he asks for and she effects it perfectly.
Observing her fascinating body, he notes her tits with a sure excitement breeding between his thighs—the perfect ivory skin and the brown circles with her raised brown nipples. Framed by the harness straps, her protruding breasts look much bigger than they naturally are, exquisitely formed, youthful, so fresh he’s reminded of a fragrant fruit. She’s hot, invigorating. Innocent even with the gear of S&M. Fuckable. His crotch throbs urgently, but he has to wait. Wait for another day, after the dinner party, after the master’s exposition. If she’s truly his to train, he’s do it differently, but he has to adjust.
“Good form, now on your knees.”
The girl moves quickly, as if she knows that hesitating will bring a painful cut from a switch he holds in his hand. He wants to whip her soundly, to leave his mark on every corner, curve and sensuous hillock of her body. He wants to see her writhe, jerk from pain, contain it, and eventually climax, relishing the fire that moves through her.
“Head to the floor, bitch,” he further orders, defying the master’s request for civilized speech. Training women to be abject servants of lust, treating them as objects of sadistic whims is not a civilized occupation, not in his eyes. His body beats too meanly, as he moves beyond the realm of decency to perpetrate these acts on innocent girls.
Though he thinks of her as innocent—all of her physical body gestures would make the casual observer agree—he knows better. He sees the slut that’s in her soul, probably far better than the man who purchased her. There is some symbiotic union between them, unspoken. He knows it’s dangerous to think this way, to risk getting taken in by one of the girls. ‘Never, never fall in love with them’, he’s been told a hundred times. She could make a fool of him, but he bets she won’t. She has her sights set higher than simple revenge. She likes this world, because she’s not a normal kind of girl. And if she can carve out the right position for herself, she’ll have won the only battle here worth winning.
Jacob reads her mind like a psychic and smiles to himself.
With her head on the floor, he steps on her neck, his boot pressing her face into the dirt. “Raise your ass high!” he orders. She attempts to obey. “Higher!” he speaks with an edge in his voice. “And don’t take your lips off the floor!” he says, as he removes his boot from her neck. He marks her six times when she doesn’t do as he asks, work as hard as he wills. “I’ll beat it black and blue, and won’t you be a pretty sight tomorrow?”
Evie raises her ass as Jacob demands, giving him the lewd view of her anal cleft with all its hidden secrets on display. Her trainer spends his time admiring the view, thinking of his first crack at the puckering rear hole. Now shut as tight as a miser’s fist, it will respond to his probing, opening to take any huge member banging at the door. He will fist her before he’s finished, in the ass, in the cunt, and with no mercy. She will cry, and he will delight in her tears.
“Higher!” he barks when her ass slips an inch. He stalks her now, cutting her flesh with his switch, to sting the surface of her skin—but not to mark or leave lasting cuts. One long minute turns into ten, turns into thirty endless and grueling minutes in the strained pose. She struggles at the end of the half hour. He imagines her thighs are weak but that’s not his problem. He’s the trainer and she’s the slut who will obey him.
Swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish! Six quick strikes cut into the side of her hip, the crack of her ass, the flesh of her thigh, the soft tissue of her bottom cheek. She trembles, almost to the limit of her endurance, and he comes back for another erratic six, striking her shoulders, the swell of her calves, the nape of her neck, the side of a tender breast from underneath. He extends the palette of this body-painting, until there is no place the switch hasn’t ma
de its vile impression.
“Ass high!” he snaps when her body begins to falter again. She’s at the end of her strength. “Higher!” he shouts. And she struggles again, while he punctuates the order with several more cruel cuts. Every muscle in her trembles. Her nerves are shot.
He stands back mocking her with a sneer, laughing. “This is such a simple thing, slut, and you tell me that you’re too tired now.” He humphs and struts, being the evil villain to her innocence. “So fall against the floor, little beast,” he finally tells her, as he shoves her ass with his boot and she falls flat on her belly. He walks to the side of the room, ordering her to, “Crawl.”
She brings her hands up, expecting to follow the order on hands and knees.
“Oh, no, not that way, on your belly without your hands—in fact, you put them on your back, clasp them hard, and squirm to me.” She starts, but he quickly changes his mind. “No, bitch, better yet, go to the far wall, pick the whip up from door with your teeth and bring it to me.”
‘Disparaged Evie’ writhes forward, turning slightly in the direction of the whip, making the laborious journey like a worm inching its way across the cold dirt. Taking the handle of the whip in her mouth, she jerks the piece from the knob where it hangs, and begins the second journey to her waiting trainer.
“Faster,” he urges her coldly.
She can hardly obey, though she puts every bit of muscle she has into the effort. The rewards are small, the trip endless, and the goal—just before she reaches the man’s feet—shifts to another location. She changes course, moving in the direction of the roving leather boots, altering the path again and again, until another form of exhaustion wears her out. She suddenly slumps against the floor, as though she’s giving up.
Thwiiiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak!
Creeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaak! The thunderous crack of a bullwhip deafens her ears for seconds after the twelve-foot braid hits the ground two inches from her head.
“You worthless little bitch, get your groveling bones over here now!”
She tries again, working her worn frayed muscles, her body dusty from the dirt-packed floor, smudged, soiled, scratched by tiny pebbles embedded in the hard surface that come loose with her efforts.
He doesn’t move this time. This time, he lets her find him. Dragging the whip in her teeth, she deposits it at his feet.
“Oh, my,” he says of her efforts, staring down at the servile picture of the pretty girl so sullied. “I really don’t need that whip now, do I? Since I found this one.” He shakes the bullwhip in front of her face.
“No, sir,” she gasps, agreeing.
“Then put it back where you found it,” he says without emotion.
Another fifteen minutes passes, as the girl crawls back to the door and the doorknob with the whip. She turns back to Jacob for answers when she reaches her destination. Does she leave it on the floor?
“You can make it to your knees without hands,” he says. “Do that and put the whip back right.”
Another exhausting struggle ends with the simple reward of successfully replacing the whip where it belongs. She pleads her case with her eyes cast sadly toward Jacob, knowing that without her hands she can’t recoil the uncoiled six-foot braid.
“Not good enough, but we’ll let it pass, this once,” he tells her. “Come back to me.”
She struggles back, on the last leg of an infinite journey. And again, at her trainer’s feet, she waits for his next command.
“Put your face in the dirt and hold on to my boots with your hands,” he tells her, seeing her immediately obey, no doubt happy that she doesn’t have to crawl. While her hands clutch the ankle of his boots, he steps backs, “Hold on,” he says. Her body elongates against the dirt as her shoulders stretch and her arms stretch. “Legs open wide,” he adds to create the position he wants. “Wider,” when it’s not enough.
She’s tired; he can see that, although another hour of grief awaits her.
“Keep your belly and knees on the ground and put your ass in the air,” she’s told. The position seems impossible, but it’s not. If anything, this pose in more lewd and more extreme than when she’s on her knees, raising her ass in the air. She presses her breasts, her tummy, her knees to the floor and raises her groin, her bottom spreading open, her pussy lips parting, her sex exposed to the naked eye. Her goal accomplished to her trainer’s liking, he begins the big tease with the big bullwhip, and then a smaller one, like the one she snared with her teeth and then returned. The treatment is gentle, as he lightly flogs her back and legs and ass. He caresses her exposed pussy lips, and then, with the smaller whip snaps her body to attention. Pain and pleasure shoot through her with little warning, little restraint. Just getting off against the side of her bed is not enough to cure the raging hormones and the raw fires deep in her belly. The girl needs more. “You close to coming?” Jacob asks.
“Yes, sir!” she practically shouts. She strains to keep the pose and deal with the great swell of energy that suddenly pours free.
He stops the tease with an abruptness that brings tears of frustration to her eyes, though she hides them well with her face still pressed to the ground.
“That’s right,” he guesses her plight. “You don’t get to come until I tell you. Get used to it, little Evie. And get ready. You never know when the big explosion will take place.”
Twice more, he takes her to the same impossible brink. Twice more, he lets her down, unsatisfied. Just the air itself could make her come, if for just another minute, he withdrew the whip and let her rock on the nothingness that remains. But Jacob won’t allow it. He’ll send the little beauty to the showers craving what he holds before her like forbidden candy.
In a room nearby, the master of the house watches Evie’s first performance with a degree of envy. The boy’s better than he imagined him to be. Not as polished as he hoped, but certainly thorough and cruel. The girl is perfect in form and grace, substance, beauty, youth, energy. If he were only a few years younger, he’d consider quitting his trade in pursuit of this one as a lover. He knows he’ll have to watch his protégé carefully, or there will be too tight a bond between the pair when she’s suddenly swept from their midst. She’s not to be a permanent fixture at the ranch. Like the other trainees, there is a timetable for her tenure. A plan from which the master will vary only to shorten her stay, if that becomes necessary. If Jacob becomes fixated, or, God forbid, the girl falls in love. Neither man can become too attached to any girl, unless they are willing to pay for the privilege. And this one is far too valuable a commodity to keep off the open market.
He stares at the screen, at the scene, hearing the sounds of her and the trainer through the listening devices. An immeasurable thrill bursts through him as Jacob denies her orgasm. In that, the boy is perfect, timing the sequence like a master. He has a great deal to learn, but he is able to bond with his subjects, read their minds and, more importantly, read their body language. This is why the master keeps this younger, cruder version of himself at the ranch—that, and the fact that his own age makes these games often tiring.
Pretty creature that she is, she will contest them in a battle of wills, and then the struggle will begin. Jacob needs this kind of virgin-slut to hone his skills. And in the meantime, sitting back at a safe distance, the master can taste the fruits of the boy’s labors, when it suits him.
There’s a knock at the door. “Come in.”
“Sir?” Josette curtsies, “The two girls you’ve been waiting for have arrived.”
“A day early?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“This is not what I wanted!” he barks unhappily.
“Should I show them to the cellar, call the handlers?” she calmly asks.
He shakes his head. “No, have them stored in the barn, separate stalls until I have time to look at them.”
“And their dress?”
“How are they now?”
“I believe they a
re attired for a plane flight.”
“Put them in the stalls. I’ll have Jacob strip them and hose them down when he’s finished here.”
“Yes, sir,” she dutifully answers, recalling her first day at the ranch, an event not unlike what these new girls will experience.
***
For a second night, Evie fucks herself on the bedrail after the lights in her cell are out and only the night camera picks up the images.
“Your trainee has a maverick streak a mile wide.”
“As we suspected, don’t you think?” Jacob answers.
He nods. “You’ll cure it.”
“It was my assumption that tonight would begin the cure.”
He smiles. “Yes, of course.” He seems preoccupied, lost in his thoughts—which are solely on this girl who’s seemed to have invaded his home, his mind and his body. He’ll shake her off, eventually, but not until he’s made full use of her.
The day’s is too busy for basic training, too busy to attend to the new girls in the barn. Evie is assigned to Marmy, who spends the morning and early afternoon reminding her of everything she’s already learned. The girl is bored with the repetition, her muscles ache in places she never knew existed, and it’s hard not to get cross with the old broad when every damn little thing turns into a major event.
“The master will not be happy with a sullen girl,” Marmy finally warns her when she sees the grim look on Evie’s face.
“Don’t worry. I won’t be ‘sullen’ when I have to be cute and sweet and pleasant.” She adopts a puckish smile.
“Ach! They should have spent the month beatin’ your ass as let you serve up the main course tonight… just two days on the ranch. Ya don’t know what yer in for. Tsk,” she shakes her head disgustedly as she walks away.
“Ooo, my, and who are you to tsk me?” Evie sasses with a smile.
Marmy glares. “I’m woman enough and mean enough to paddle your impertinent ass. So I’d suggest you watch out!”
“That’s just a bluff,” Evie quips light-heartedly as she tries to leave the room, plucking a grape from the bowl on the counter. She is back at the detention center in her mind, laughing at the silly goons who try to tame her with their rules for good behavior. But before she gets beyond the swinging door, Marmy’s long and hefty arm swats her back, grabs her shoulder, and throws her against the table. The sexy shift she’s been given to wear rides high above her ass, and she’s immobile, bent over and poised to be spanked. Wooden spoon in hand, Marmy raises her great arm, bringing the broad end down flat on Evie’s milky cheeks.
The Seller, Buyer, Girl and Her Master Page 6