"There,” he said simply. “Pee for me in that bowl."
Sarah stared at the man as if he taken leave of his senses.
"Come on, now. You understand me. Is this so difficult? Show me your obedience. Where is the woman who so wants to serve? Where is the slave girl begging to be trained? Prove it now, Sarah. Surrender your modesty. Now."
Sarah felt the heat rush into her face and chest. She felt near to panicking. But she knew this was a test she dared not fail. Hesitantly, she moved over to the bowl waiting for her on the floor. Standing over it for some seconds, she tried to force her body to obey him. She didn't know what to do. She felt incapable of meeting his demand. She wanted to comply, but her body would not cooperate. She could not move.
"Sarah!” His voice made her jump. “Do as I say at once or suffer the consequences.” Sighing deeply, the naked young woman tried again to squat over the bowl. Silently, almost desperately, she willed her muscles to relax so she could relieve herself into the bowl. Some moments passed. Lawrence stared at her, his face impassive. Nothing happened. She simply didn't have the nerve or the will to comply.
Pressing his lips together, Lawrence grabbed Sarah by hair and pulled her back to a standing position. Releasing her hair, he took firm hold of her arm and marched her out of the bathroom. Pulling her along to her bedroom, he fairly threw her onto her bed.
From an umbrella stand in the corner, he withdrew a long bamboo cane. He knew from their letters and talks that Sarah was afraid of canes. She loved the feel of leather as it kissed her flesh, but bamboo was something else again. Lawrence approached her, gripping it.
"Please, I...” she begged.
"Enough!” His voice was low but terse. He continued, “It seems that you cannot obey the simplest request. This particular lesson will be burned into your consciousness, as well as your flesh.” Without another word, he pressed her face into the mattress. Pulling her up by the waist, he made sure her bottom was exposed and available for its punishment.
Sarah was shaking visibly now. Her breathing was quick and shallow. But she made no move to get away, nor did she try to cover herself. “At least that,” he murmured to himself. Then he placed his hand on her back and stroked her gently. Just his touch caused her to jump. She had been expecting the fiery sting of bamboo.
"Sarah. You lack the humility necessary to serve. You lack the grace necessary to please. I will teach you. This will hurt, but it will be over quickly.” He lifted his hand from her and she heard the whistle of the stick the instant before it cracked across her thigh.
The poor woman cried out in anguish, but somehow maintained her position. Again she felt the cane as it cracked across her other thigh. Then came a rain of blows across her ass. A crisscross of pain seared through her until she was nothing but pain. No pleasure, no arousal, only pain. Sobbing, grabbing her buttocks and trying desperately to soothe the welts that were already rising, she realized to her horror that she had wet the bed. It was too much to bear.
Mercifully, at that moment, a blessed darkness claimed her. She had fainted.
Lawrence bustled about the kitchen, preparing the evening meal. A stuffed chicken was roasting in the oven. While washing the vegetables for his salad, Lawrence mused over the day's events. Sarah was tucked safely into his bed. Though aware of her fear of the cane, he had not expected such a strong reaction to the punishment. When she fainted, he perceived at once what had happened. He quickly checked her to make sure she was all right. Then, with the gentleness of a father to a newborn babe, he cleaned her and dressed her in a flannel nightgown he found in her things. She came to during his ministrations, but fell back into a swoon immediately. He carried her to his bed and laid her gently down to rest. After stripping the soiled sheets, he went downstairs to prepare dinner.
Once the salad was done, the trainer went back upstairs to check on Sarah. Seeing she was still asleep in his room, Lawrence next put fresh sheets on her bed. He couldn't resist another peek at her. She looked like an angel lying there asleep. Her thick, dark lashes were so long they touched her cheek as she slept. Her hair had dried into an unruly mass of dark curls.
As Lawrence sat on the bed next to her, Sarah's eyes opened slowly and she looked at him for a moment. Then, as if suddenly recalling where she was, she sat up and pulled the covers about herself protectively.
"The princess awakens from her enchanted sleep!” Lawrence laughed. She smiled uncertainly, but said nothing. He continued, “How are you, Sarah? You've had rather a full afternoon. Would you like some dinner? I have a nice chicken roasting in the oven and a lemon pie for dessert. Feel up to joining me?"
Sarah nodded and smiled at him. “Lawrence?” There was a question in her voice.
"Yes, Sarah?"
"I'm so sorry about today. I mean, I know I made a mess of everything, and..."
Lawrence stopped her with a finger to her lips. “Not another word, my sweet. You had some trouble obeying. You were given a lesson, and that's the end of it. You will have many opportunities over the next two weeks to prove and re-prove your worth. Now, let's go down and eat. I'm starving!"
The meal passed happily. An outside observer might have thought he was watching two lovers, two equals, enjoying their meal together. When they were quite done, Lawrence showed Sarah how to prepare and light the fire. Then he sent her off to bed, advising her that he would be waking her early for her continued training. Though she had expected to toss and turn in her new bed, Sarah fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
Lawrence stayed up a while longer, reading and thinking in his study. He found himself staring unthinkingly out the window, musing on the young woman who was asleep down the hall in his house. She was so lovely. But there was something more to her. An almost-instant connection had seemed to develop between them from their first exchange of letters. But, when they met in person, he had been unprepared for her sparkle, her fire.
It had been a long time since he had felt such a personal interest in one of his trainees. He reminded himself that he must be especially on his guard. A trainer who falls in love tends to get too lax in training and fails to produce a superior slave. But then, he laughed bitterly to himself, no danger there—and as he sat, the dark memories of the freezing of his heart tore through his brain, a painful reminder that he was now only a slave trainer, rather than the once-beloved owner of one.
Chapter Four
Awaking from a deep sleep, for a moment Sarah couldn't think where she was. She reached up to push her hair from her face and recalled with sudden clarity that she was naked in the house of a slave trainer. She sat up, now completely awake. She could see through the window that the sun was hinting at its own arrival, casting its rosy fingers up over the horizon. Lawrence had said he would wake her early. Until he came for her, she was content to lie back and ponder her extraordinary first day as “slave-in-training."
Things hadn't gone quite as she expected. Indeed, her first day was nothing like her fantasies. She wasn't a gossamer-clad harem girl, gracefully dancing for her gracious Master as he sipped hot, spiced wine, reclining against silken pillows. She hadn't submitted to his ardent and passionate sexual claiming of her innocence. She hadn't woven an enchantress's web of love and mystery around her dominant lover's heart. No. She had cleaned a bathroom, been paddled and caned, and peed in her pants. Just remembering it all made her grimace with humiliation.
Recalling her caning, Sarah reached back and gingerly touched the welts that remained from the beating. She had borne it! She had survived the terror of a caning. Something about having endured it; having suffered in such a way, made her feel stronger and more sure of herself. She smiled an almost-exultant smile to herself. “...seeking a courageous woman to explore the romance of erotic submission...” That is what he had said in his ad. Submission was not about passive, helpless loss of control. It was about courage and romance. Sarah lay back and sighed happily. Today she would not fail him. Today she would obey and strive to
learn from her trainer.
A few minutes later, she heard the sounds of Lawrence moving about his room and going into the bathroom. He must be getting ready now, she thought. Sarah imagined him there, leaning toward the sink mirror, carefully shaving his strong jaw, perhaps thinking about her and his plans for her that day.
Indeed, that is just what he was doing. He had slept very little as dreams of her as his lover had continually startled him awake, annoying him with what he considered a decided lack of professional discretion on his part, even if they were only dreams. He had determined to be all business today, to make sure she got the proper training she needed and her future Master deserved. It would help that Yukiyo was coming right after breakfast to begin Sarah's massage training.
Yukiyo was a submissive Japanese woman of about thirty-five. Lawrence had known her for many years. They had been lovers, briefly, long ago, but now were only friends and primarily business associates. He employed Yukiyo to train his slaves in the art of massage, at which she excelled. She embodied all that Lawrence found charming and graceful in the Japanese culture. She was a slight woman, and very softly spoken, but highly skilled at her craft.
She could glide into a room on silent feet, undress her client deftly, skillfully keeping all private parts covered with the huge white silk sheet she brought along for the purpose. Then, armed only with a small bottle of delicately scented oil and her own slender but deceptively strong fingers, Yukiyo could work miracles. Within a few minutes, even the most skittish of people would relax completely under her perfect touch. Within the hour, they were kneaded and smoothed until every care was washed away, every muscle set at ease.
She was also adept at a particular Japanese massage technique that could be very painful, if done incorrectly. It was employed on athletes and dancers who had overstrained themselves. In trying to describe what she did, Lawrence once said that she could take you to pieces, bone by bone, muscle by muscle, ligament by ligament. Then, as you slid ten thousand miles into slumber, she would put you back together again, much more perfectly than when she found you.
Finished with his toilet, Lawrence went to wake his charge. He found Sarah sitting up in bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She was already wide-eyed and smiling at him. “Good morning. How are you, Sarah?” he asked.
"I'm well, thanks, though my bottom is a bit sore!” She colored slightly as she said this. Sliding to the edge of the bed, the young woman swung her feet over the side and hopped down. Her heavy breasts bounced a bit, but Lawrence seemed to take no notice.
"Well,” he said in a businesslike tone. “Today will be a busy one. Go shower and perfume as I have instructed you. Be quick—Yukiyo will be here in about an hour. I'll expect tea and croissants in thirty minutes. I'll take them in my study."
"Yukiyo?” Sarah hadn't known anyone was coming.
"You remember that we discussed your training in the art of massage. Yukiyo will teach you. She is the best there is.” With that, Lawrence bid her good morning and left the room. Sarah hurried to the bathroom. She showered and prepared her body as if for a lover. Not that she had any hopes in that regard—yet, anyway. There was something inside her determined to seduce this cool “trainer,” but she knew the time wasn't yet ripe. Hurrying through her makeup, she grabbed her flannel apron from the bathroom hook, again feeling silly to put it on over her nakedness, and rushed down to prepare the breakfast.
Sarah found everything she needed to prepare the morning meal. Within a few minutes, she carried the tray up the wide, curving staircase, careful not to spill anything. Knocking quietly at Lawrence's door, Sarah waited with the tray, which was laden with fresh croissants, butter, jams, and hot tea. Little silver pitchers of milk and sugar were balanced on the edge of the tray. Sarah had a sudden nightmare vision of tripping over the doorsill, food and china flying as she fell in slow motion.
So when Lawrence said, “Come in,” Sarah entered perhaps with exaggerated caution. Luckily for her, the door was slightly ajar. She had brought enough for two, though she wasn't quite sure where she would sit. Very carefully, Sarah set the tray down on a small table near Lawrence's desk. She looked up at him, pleased that she hadn't spilled a drop of tea or milk. Then, on the spur of the moment, she dropped into a little curtsy that Julian had found pleasing.
"I like one sugar and a bit of cream, please,” Lawrence said, not looking up. She was a little annoyed, since he had missed her smooth delivery of the tray, as well as her graceful curtsy. How could she impress this man if he paid no attention to her? Frowning, Sarah spooned some sugar and poured a little cream into one of the cups. Then she poured a cup of tea from the silver teapot, still not spilling a drop.
Lawrence's head was down. He seemed to be very involved in his papers. Waving his hand slightly—like some bloody king, she thought to herself—he said imperiously, “You may go."
Sarah stood still for a moment, stunned that he was not inviting her to join him. After a moment, he looked up at her, his eyebrows raised in question. She turned and left, without a word, though she was angry at his dismissal.
After their cozy meal of the night before, she had expected that they would always dine together. Lawrence seemed different this morning though, somewhat distant. He was “the trainer” again, she supposed.
Sighing, she went down to the kitchen and fixed herself another cup of tea, wondering if he would regard the two teacups on the tray as an impertinence on her part. Oh well, there was nothing she could do about it now. She was too nervous to eat. She went and made her bed and tidied the bathroom. Then she dared to return to his study to see if he needed anything, she told herself. He was still sipping his tea and had eaten a few croissants. He didn't look up as she stood near the door. She knocked timidly.
He looked up after a moment, not taking any heed of the fact that this young woman was standing almost naked, her lithe form barely covered by the flannel apron she still wore. “Yes?” he said. “What is it?"
"Oh! I thought, maybe I should take your tray?"
"You may. I am done. In the future, you needn't ask; just come take it when you see I am through.” As Sarah entered to collect the tray, Lawrence could see that she still had something on her mind.
When she didn't speak, he asked her directly, “What is it? Did you have a question?"
"Well, I was wondering, with this Yoko or whoever coming..."
"Yukiyo. Her name is Yukiyo.” He looked somewhat amused.
"Well, OK, this Yukiyo woman..."
"No, not ‘this Yukiyo woman'—just ‘Yukiyo’ will do."
"OK, whatever. Can I put something on? I don't want to be naked for this—for Yukiyo. Please?"
"Absolutely not. You are my slave-in-training. You need to understand what it is to be a slave. You are too proud. I will teach you humility. One good way to begin is to stay naked while others are clothed. It reminds you of your place, of what you are. Of what you need. And don't worry, she is fully versed in my methods."
He stopped talking for a moment, cocking his head slightly. The sound of a heavy knocker upon the door could be heard. “Wait in your bedroom, Sarah. We will collect you presently. Don't worry about the tray."
Sarah felt her heart begin to pound, aware even as she dreaded the thought of being naked in front of another woman, that she was curiously aroused at the prospect. The humiliation, though decidedly real, was somehow delicious. Hanging up her apron quickly, Sarah went and sat on her little divan by the window and stared out at the new day, awaiting her lessons.
A few minutes later, a small Asian woman appeared at Sarah's open door. “Greetings to you, Miss Sarah. I am pleased to meet you.” She bowed slightly as she spoke. Sarah jumped up, forgetting for a moment that she was nude. Yukiyo was lovely. Her thick, black hair hung nearly to her waist. It was braided in a long, heavy French twist. Her figure was perfect, clad in a skintight white dress of traditional Oriental cut. Her legs were bare; on her feet were simple brown-leather sandals.
As
she spoke to Sarah, Yukiyo looked up at her with large almond-shaped eyes, darkly fringed with long, straight lashes. She wore no makeup; she needed none. Sarah became aware of her own, certainly imperfect figure. She felt suddenly like a big, awkward teenager next to this graceful, petite woman. Sarah covered her naked body with her hands; but Yukiyo smiled at her so sweetly, as she held out her own hand, that Sarah could do nothing but take it.
Yukiyo led her from the room. “Lawrence has asked me first to give you a massage, so you will know what a proper one feels like. Then we can begin your instruction. Lawrence has generously offered his body for your instruction. That is a great honor, you know, to touch him in this manner, and one he rarely grants to novices."
Sarah agreed silently that it was an honor; she was longing to touch Lawrence in any way possible. This was going to be fun! Yukiyo led her downstairs to the sitting room, where she had already set up her massage table and the various accoutrements she required to perform her duties. She guided the still-naked young woman onto the table gently, covering her as she lay with a soft white sheet. Sarah closed her eyes and soon felt the most wonderful sensations as the small—but strong—Japanese woman began to practice her art on Sarah's body.
She began with Sarah's feet and hands and moved inward to her back and legs. Sarah felt herself melting into the table. She felt Yukiyo's fingers trace a path along her thigh and over her rounded buttocks. Sarah flinched slightly but did not pull away.
"He has used the cane, I see,” Yukiyo murmured, almost to herself, as her fingers eased every last bit of tension from Sarah's body. Sarah did not answer. She was drifting away into a peaceful heaven created by Yukiyo's perfect touch. Yukiyo did not seem to expect a reply. She said nothing further as she continued to knead and soothe Sarah's flesh.
As far as Sarah was concerned, the massage came to an end far too soon. Yukiyo's fingertips felt like little butterflies as she eased the resting woman back to full consciousness. She helped Sarah to sit, and then stand. Sarah sighed deeply and contentedly. She felt more refreshed than she could ever remember feeling.
Sarah's Awakening Page 6