Yukiyo stood up and dressed quickly, pulling her T-shirt over her head and then pulling on her jeans. Sarah couldn't help but notice her pert breasts as her nipples poked through the thin fabric. As Yukiyo pulled her woolen sweater over her head, her eye caught Sarah's and Sarah looked away quickly, blushing as she did so. With a polite but neutral expression, Yukiyo bowed slightly to the still-naked woman before her and said good-bye.
Not certain what to do, or if she was allowed out of her room, Sarah sat on her bed, adjusting herself gingerly to accommodate the plug, and waited. After several minutes, Lawrence poked his head into her room. “Come with me, Sarah. Yukiyo was pleased and so am I. You may remove the plug now, in the bathroom."
She jumped up and followed him there, wondering with great trepidation if the monster plug (as she thought of it to herself) was next. She didn't think she could possibly take that thing into herself. She hoped she wouldn't have to find out.
With Lawrence looking right at her, Sarah had to squat down and pull at the great hunk of plastic still inside of her. For a moment, she panicked. It wouldn't budge! The horrible thing was stuck! She would have to go to hospital for removal. She would die of embarrassment and shame! The desperation of that thought made her tug more fiercely, and suddenly the plug popped out and slid from her, much as the other had done. There was an instant of sharp pain as the large end was dislodged, but then it slipped out easily. She held the offending object in her hand for a moment and then threw it in the sink. Lawrence still merely looked at her, his expression unreadable.
Suddenly Sarah felt a cramping. The urge to move her bowels became intense and immediate. She was certain it must have something to do with the dreadful plug. Heaven only knew what it had done to her insides!
"Excuse me, Sir. I need to—uh, that is, um, I have to use the toilet."
"By all means. I'm sure you do, after being plugged up like that all day, with half a tube of K-Y jelly working its way through you.” He grinned. “Don't let me stop you. Go right ahead. I don't mind a bit."
God. He was intending to stay. She knew better than to complain. He had told her he would own her modesty. She must refuse him nothing of herself, even her most private bodily functions. With a great, histrionic sigh that caused a little smile to again play around Lawrence's lips, she sat on the toilet and moved her bowels with much embarrassment. As quickly as she could, she wiped herself and flushed. Then, jumping up, she washed her hands and fled from the bathroom, her face averted in shame. Lawrence allowed her to go without recrimination. She had endured enough for one day.
That evening they lingered over their wine at dinner. Lawrence had prepared filet mignon, wrapped in bacon, with fresh spinach and a small Caesar salad. The cabernet sauvignon had perfectly complimented the meal.
They talked at length about Sarah's experience of the night before—of flying. Sarah was longing to feel it again. She wondered aloud if it could be duplicated. Not wanting to press Lawrence too much, but terribly curious, she put forward the question carefully: “Have you ever seen that before? Experienced anything like that?"
To her delighted surprise, he leaned back in his chair and began to speak without further prodding. “There was someone once.” He stopped and she saw a brief flash of pain flit across his features. But he continued. “She would fly, much as you did last night. Her face took on the same beatific look. It was as if she left her body. And sometimes she would take me with her. I would feel tethered to her. As if she were a high-flying kite and I held the strings. We were connected on so many levels—emotional, physical, spiritual—it was amazing. It was the closest thing to merging with another person that I have ever experienced."
Then he stopped and stared into space. She could see that he was remembering. He didn't seem sad at that moment though. What had happened to him? What loss had he suffered? Clearly there was loss. There was a pain in his face. It was always there, beneath the lovely smiles, beneath the calm expression. Sarah would see it in his eyes. It lingered there, like the memory of a lost love. She understood at that moment what the expression, “the soul is in the eyes,” truly meant. She had almost worked up the courage to ask what had happened to him, but he was speaking again.
"To me, it is like a state of grace. There is nothing more captivating than watching a submissive achieve such a level of peace and acceptance. It is truly sublime."
Sarah sighed her agreement. She was surprised but pleased when Lawrence suggested that they retire to his study to talk some more. Sarah followed her trainer up the stairs obediently, almost in a dream. She felt she could stay here forever with this charming man. At last, he was allowing her to see the real man, not just the powerful, competent trainer and Master. She found that the attraction she had to him was more than just his command, or his good looks.
She was surprised at herself. Men rarely got at that secret place in her heart that was like a little block of ice, keeping everyone safely at a distance. Yet here he was, nudging his way in with a look or a smile that disarmed her totally. She wouldn't think on the fact that this was a two-week relationship, if one could even call it that. She would try to accept what he gave as a gift from God and leave it at that.
At dinner, Lawrence had been lost in his own thoughts some of the time. He was finding to his continued surprise that he greatly enjoyed just talking with Sarah. What he had first supposed was mostly a physical attraction to this alluring young woman, he now had to grudgingly admit to himself was more. She was interesting and articulate. But more than that, she was enthused and excited about life and her circumstance.
She was as eager as a little puppy to learn and to become a part of his world and his lifestyle. She would listen with rapt attention to his stories about various slaves and Masters. She asked discerning questions and made observations that showed a delicacy of feeling and a sensitivity that continued to impress him. He found he had to be very careful not to treat her as an equal. Not yet.
He was not her equal. He was her trainer, which did not mean she was inferior—not in any sense of the word. It merely meant that they were different. They were on different ground, on different planes. He had no right to treat her as an equal. He owed her the training he had promised. Maybe someday things would be different.
He stopped at this thought, momentarily stunned. He had never before even entertained the idea of having something “more” with a novice in his training. They were prepared for others, molded for others to use and enjoy. Not since Kimberly...
No. He banned that train of thought from his mind with all his considerable power of denial. He would not think on that. Not now. Not ever. Let the past stay buried. Dead and buried in the frozen terrain of his heart.
When they were still at dinner, he had looked at Sarah as she sat across from him at the kitchen table, staring dreamily into the fire, and he had felt a stirring in his heart. Somehow, her innocence and love of life were melting something in him. It frightened him a little. But it also felt wonderful. That is why he had suggested uncharacteristically that they go upstairs to talk some more. She had seemed very pleased with the suggestion. She started to clear the dishes, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"No. Do that in the morning. Come up with me now. I have something for you."
Once upstairs, Lawrence told her to go wait in his study. He hurried off to his room almost at a trot. She was waiting, kneeling on the floor, as she was accustomed to doing, when he entered holding some sort of garment.
"Stand up, Sarah. Let's see how this looks on you.” Almost shyly, he held out a long, black dressing gown of the finest silk. With an enraptured expression, Sarah slipped it over her head. It fit her perfectly, flowing over her full breasts, touching her at the hips and then flaring again to her ankles. Sarah grinned as she swirled about to show him how perfect it was.
Lawrence laughed aloud with pleasure as he watched her. Her dark hair framed her face so prettily as she twirled. Sarah's hair was undoubtedly one of her best f
eatures, shiny, thick, curly and of a luxuriant dark brown. Her skin was lovely as well, with its pink and white coloring. But it was her eyes that mesmerized Lawrence. The luminous gray-blue eyes were so striking that they created an impression of fragile vitality—if such a paradox made sense, he thought.
The life was there, the high spirits, the joie de vivre, but the physical body was almost delicate. She suggested fleeting joys and lingering pleasures; she made a man want to hold her right now, today, in this moment.
But he controlled his urge to take her into his arms. He recalled his duty—he was her trainer, not her suitor. Though he knew that because of his position, he could claim her as a lover and she would not resist, he didn't want that. If she ever came to him, it would have to be of her own accord—because she chose him, not because he seduced her with power and control.
Again he was shocked at the thoughts coursing through his head. If she ever came to him? Could he really fall in love again? He pushed the foolish thoughts from his mind with effort and said, “Let's have a brandy, shall we? I have a nice Armagnac here you might enjoy."
Sarah remarked that that would be lovely. She started to kneel at his chair but he caught her arm and said, “No. Just for tonight, sit across from me. I want to look at you."
Sarah did as he asked, hardly daring to breathe for fear of destroying the mood. He handed her the glass and sat with his own. Outside, snow was falling gently, covering everything with a cold blanket. They both gazed out at the night for a while, watching the big, ragged flakes lit by the moon.
With an exaggerated casualness that even Lawrence noticed, Sarah asked, “So, have you ever been in love, Lawrence?"
Lawrence didn't answer right away. He sipped his brandy and continued to look out of the window. He never spoke of it, of Kimberly. He prided himself on forgetting, on getting on with his life. But something in the way Sarah had asked—in the simple directness of the question, and then her earnest, sweet gaze while she waited for him to respond—freed something in him and he answered.
"Yes. Her name was Kimberly. She was my slave for five years. She was my wife. But that was years ago. A lifetime, even.” His voice drifted away.
Sarah sat quite still, taking in what Lawrence had said. She felt at that moment that he was like a wild bird. If she moved forward with any sudden movement, he would be gone. Lawrence, the vulnerable man who had known passion, would be gone. Lawrence, the stoic and inscrutable trainer, would be back.
So she waited, as quietly and as calmly as she was able. She sipped the wonderful brandy and looked out at the snowfall, hoping he would continue.
He said nothing more. After several minutes, he seemed to rouse himself, as if from a dream. One could almost see the mask slip back into place as he spoke. In an artificially bright tone, the trainer said, “Well! It's late. We have a big day tomorrow.” He was standing as he spoke, his face averted from hers.
Sarah knew instinctively that the conversation was over.
The moment was lost. This bird had flown.
Chapter Seven
The next morning, after Lawrence had taken his breakfast in his study, he announced to Sarah that they would be going to a little dinner party that evening. Sarah looked surprised and Lawrence went on to explain that their hosts, Jack and Mary, were “scene” friends who knew about her training and were looking forward to meeting her.
Sarah was very pleased at the idea of a party; it was almost as if they were going on a date! “What should I wear?” she asked.
"Your red silk dress, the one that opens down the front. Underneath you will wear a white bra and panties and white garters and stockings. Your red shoes will do nicely. Oh, and put in the medium butt plug.” Sarah's face, which had brightened at the thought of wearing her pretty outfit, fell as he gave the final instruction, but she said nothing.
Lawrence continued. “This isn't precisely a social visit, at least not for you. This is a part of your training. As such, I will expect you to obey me at all times. You will be there not as a guest, but as our entertainment. Do you understand?"
Sarah did not understand completely, but she nodded. She was still trying to take in what he was saying. Their entertainment? Was she expected to dance or strip or something? This wasn't what she had had in mind when she presented herself for slave training.
As if reading her mind, Lawrence answered her thoughts. “A slave must be trained in many ways. She must be able to do much more than keep house and serve her Master in bed. She must be ready at all times to bend herself to his whims and needs. When you are placed with a Master, he may well want to take you to parties and have you demonstrate your obedience and your subservience to him. That is an honor, you know—to present your devotion publicly. I wouldn't be taking you tonight if I didn't think you were ready."
Sarah was somewhat mollified by these remarks. She asked no further questions, but went about her duties for the morning. As she was smoothing the quilt over Lawrence's imposing bed, she couldn't help but think again on what he had said last night. Kimberly. His slave. His wife. And now she was gone. Divorce? What could have happened to have caused him to shut down emotionally?
As she fluffed the pillows, she leaned over them for a moment and rested her cheek against the soft cotton fabric. Sarah could smell Lawrence's scent on it. Her pussy responded instantly with desire. Even his smell made her weak with lust. She had to have this man; she must.
"Catnap?” Lawrence had poked his head in the door and was grinning down at her. Sarah jumped up, blushing prettily in her confusion at his presence. She busied herself dusting the furniture, hoping he would let the matter drop. He looked at her at her work, bending over the heavy, old dresser that had been there for decades. She was polishing it with lemon oil, working it into the wood with her rag till it shone. Her flannel apron only barely covered her breasts. From the side, he could see the pert little nipples grazing the fabric. He caught his breath at the loveliness of the picture before him. She continued busily to avoid his gaze. He turned and left the room without another word.
With relief, Sarah went about her duties until it was time for her exercises. She didn't want him to know how much she longed for him; it was humiliating to desire someone who seemed so remote, so clearly unavailable.
Later in the morning, Lawrence led her through stretching and posture exercises with a remarkable grace of his own. He showed her how to kneel and hold a position without tension or awkwardness. He kept her on her knees for prolonged periods, with her head touching the ground and arms outstretched, or kneeling upright, arms behind her neck.
Sarah began to feel as if she were made of stone. But a stone with feelings—one whose muscles ached with fatigue from holding unfamiliar positions for minutes at a time. She wished slaves were allowed kneepads. The thought made her smile slightly, but still she knelt, dutifully. She was determined to please her trainer today.
"One of the keys to serving effectively is to master the art of patience and physical grace. If you cannot kneel at your Master's feet with ease and repose, you cannot hope to please him in the long run. Just being a good slut-girl isn't enough.” He smiled as he said this, but Sarah smarted at the implication that that was all she was.
She worked hard to imitate his gestures and to keep her positions with grace. Finally, exhausted, she was dismissed with a playful smack to her naked bottom as he told her to prepare lunch. After they ate, Lawrence told Sarah to practice with her dildo in her room, and to rest.
"You have a big night ahead of you. I suggest that you rest and take a nice hot bath. Take special care with your toiletry tonight. I want you perfect for my friends. Present yourself in the study at 6:00 for inspection."
Six o'clock found Sarah clad as Lawrence had requested. The fabric of her dress was a deep wine silk. Closely cut, it clung to her figure, flaring at the thighs in a full skirt to her knees. The sheer white stockings and burgundy leather heels accentuated her long, slender legs. Sarah had taken a chance and p
ulled her hair back and up into a thick French braid. The effect was one at once of maturity and a childlike innocence. Her eyes looked even larger, and one became more aware of the soft roundness of her youthful face. The red of the silk reflected up onto her cheeks, suffusing her face with a quiet glow. Her eyes sparkled with pleasure as she twirled about for her trainer.
He was enchanted; she was ravishing.
Lawrence was dressed for the evening in dark gray woolen pants and a pale gray button-down shirt, open at the throat. It was simple, but on him, it looked elegant. Sarah noticed the little emerald cuff links he wore; they set off his green eyes perfectly. Wishing for a moment that it was a real “date” with this tall, quiet man, Sarah reminded herself not to wish for too much. At least they were going out together, even if it was just another “training exercise” as far as he was concerned.
"That will do,” he said to her, looking critically at her from all angles. “Now bend over and lift your dress.” Sarah bent over, glad he couldn't see her blush, knowing what he was going to do. With a flick of his hand, he pulled her panties to her knees. There, firmly in place in her bottom, was the butt plug. He tugged at it slightly while Sarah tried not to squirm. He pulled her panties back up and told her to wait for him in the front hall. Sarah scurried out of the room, the large plug making it difficult for her to walk naturally.
Lawrence held Sarah's coat for her as she slipped into it. It was the same deep wine red as her dress and shoes. The color was just right for her complexion. Lawrence slipped into his own coat and together they walked to his car, parked just outside in the circular drive. Sarah breathed deep of the cold winter air. She realized with a little shock of surprise that she hadn't set foot from this house for almost a week.
Sarah's Awakening Page 10