She hadn't been to her apartment, she hadn't talked to her friends or her family, she hadn't been to work. In some ways, it was if she had always been here. She realized, too, that she didn't miss any of it. Not her job as a journalist for the Times, not her workouts at the gym, not her meetings for drinks or dinner with her girlfriends, not her lonely evenings in front of the television.
Soon this training period would end, and where would she be? Lawrence had talked of meetings with prospective “Masters,” but Sarah was no longer certain that she wanted to be placed with someone in that manner. Where was the love? And who could possibly compare to Lawrence? In some ways, she found she regretted having met him at all—everyone would pale next to this man who had sworn he would never love her.
She tried to put these thoughts from her head as she slipped into the passenger seat of Lawrence's Jaguar. They rolled silently down the drive and into the dark, inky night.
About four miles down the road, Lawrence turned off down the narrow, winding lane of another private estate. At the end of the little lane loomed a large white house with pillars in the front. Several cars were already parked. Lawrence eased into a spot and they walked together to the door.
Sarah's mouth felt dry with nervousness and anticipation. She hoped her voice wouldn't crack when they greeted their hosts. The door opened to Lawrence's knock and an attractive young woman of about thirty stuck her head out at them.
"Come in! Come in! Welcome, Lawrence, dear. And this must be Sarah. What a pleasure to meet you. I'm Mary.” Mary was a redhead, with thick, wavy auburn hair and green eyes. She had a long, thin nose and a large mouth. Her face, liberally sprinkled with freckles, was not quite beautiful—until she smiled. Then it was as if the sun had lit up her features.
Sarah found herself at once taken with this pleasant young woman. Mary was wearing a long, flowing dress that hid her figure, though Sarah guessed it was a trim one, based on her shapely bare arms. The woman was barefoot on this cold winter night, which surprised Sarah. She noticed further that Mary was wearing a heavy, metal collar around her neck. A slave! Another slave girl! Perhaps they would become friends and Sarah would have someone with whom to share her dreams and experiences.
She led them into the bright, large room where a fire was roaring in the fireplace. There were several couples already sitting on the chairs and couches set about the large, low glass table in the center of the room. There were oil paintings on the wall, bright modern works full of color. Large vases of flowers adorned the end tables. The effect was cheerful and warm. Jack, their host, came out of the kitchen to greet the couple.
"Good evening, Lawrence. You're just in time; the lasagna is just about ready. As soon as the rolls have warmed, we'll eat. What can we get you to drink?” Putting his large arm around Lawrence, he led him toward a little bar. Sarah noticed with some annoyance that Jack had not even looked her way. It was as if she didn't exist.
He was a beefy man, with large features set in a broad, highly colored face. His thick hair was blond, as were his bushy eyebrows. He reminded Sarah of a lumberjack or, anyway, of her impression of what a lumberjack should look like. She smiled slightly at the wordplay of this “lumbering Jack” who didn't have the courtesy to greet a mere “slave girl."
Lawrence exchanged a few pleasantries with his host and then said, “Allow me to present Sarah, my novice."
Jack turned at last to look at her. His eyes seemed to strip her with their cold appraisal. Sarah decided she did not like this man, but she smiled up at him, trying to stand tall and proud under his determined gaze. Fortunately, he was distracted by a buzzer in the kitchen, and left them for the time being. Mary took their coats and brought them each a glass of chilled white wine.
After some more small talk with Mary, Lawrence took Sarah over to meet the other guests. First were Mark and Amy. If one were the slave and the other Master or Mistress, Sarah couldn't discern it. They just seemed like a regular “vanilla” couple sitting there together on the couch. Mark was about forty, with thinning brown hair and nondescript features. Amy was a rather heavyset thirty-something, though she had very pretty dark brown eyes. Her features were open, but not terribly expressive. Amy did not seem overburdened with depth of feeling. Lawrence introduced Sarah to the couple, who greeted her politely.
On the chairs across from them sat Lynn and David. Lynn was a rather striking blonde, though quite petite. She was dressed in a black leather mini-dress and high boots. She didn't need to wear a nametag to announce that she was a “Mistress.” Nor did David need to advertise his slave status.
As Lawrence introduced Sarah to the couple, Lynn pointed at her feet and David knelt before her immediately, his head bowed. He was a large man, over six feet, and it looked odd to see him crouched there at his diminutive Mistress's feet. “Nice to meet you, Sarah,” Lynn said with a rather theatrical toss of her head. “This is David, my slave boy.” David didn't look up, but remained bowed at her feet.
Sarah wasn't sure how to respond, but luckily, Lawrence was speaking. “I haven't seen you in ages, Lynn. When did you acquire this new toy?"
Lynn laughed with pleasure and said, “He was a client, if you can believe that! He was up from Texas for some business trip or other, and stopped in to check out my shop.” Lynn was a professional Dominatrix whose little black book contained the names and numbers of several prominent judges and businessmen in Manhattan.
"Now you know I have a firm policy not to get involved with my clients,” she continued. “But he was so divine I simply had to own him. He is my darling little Southern slut-puppy.” David had remained absolutely still at her feet as they spoke about him. If he was embarrassed, one couldn't have told it from his bearing. Sarah was impressed. Would she ever behave with such grace, she wondered?
Jack was calling them all in to the dining room. Lawrence held out his arm and Sarah took it with a rush of pleasure. She had to control her false sense that they were a couple. He was escorting her only through years of practiced politeness. He was only her trainer. She felt subdued as they sat, very aware of her status as a “novice."
Mary was directing the seating arrangements. Sarah found herself next to David, the “slave boy” on one side and Mark on the other. She had expected to sit next to Lawrence, but didn't dare voice her disappointment. As Jack poured some French red burgundy into the crystal glasses set before each plate, Mary bustled about, bringing out a large tossed salad and several baskets of hot rolls, loosely covered in pretty woven towels.
Sarah glanced around the room. It was a dark room, rather in contrast to the bright, modern living room. Here the walls were covered in a deep red brocade. A few portraits, doubtless of ancestors, framed in gold, were hung one to a wall. The tall, long sideboards held silver tea sets and large bowls of wax and china fruit. One wall was draped from ceiling to floor with a heavy, dark velvet curtain, which Sarah surmised must cover a window.
The effect would have been positively dreary had it not been for a bright, snapping fire in the large, old brick hearth in one corner, and the hundreds of tiny light bulbs glowing from the beautifully ornate chandelier. The table was set sumptuously, with a large arrangement of flowers in the center, brightly catching the eye with splashes of yellow and red.
The people at the table were talking and laughing. They were all old friends, it seemed. To her left, Mark appeared to be engrossed in conversation with Mary between large bites of lasagna and gulps of wine. David was eating carefully, taking small, almost mincing bites of food. He seemed absorbed in the task and not interested in Sarah at all. Everyone seemed to be eating and talking at once. Even Lawrence was listening with seemingly rapt attention to some story of Lynn's. Sarah felt rather out of place and quite shy.
"First time for you, eh, sugar?” Sarah started slightly as she realized she was being addressed. David was looking at her with a little smile.
"Excuse me?” She turned toward him.
"First time on display, I mean. My Mis
tress says you are our toy for the night. But don't worry,” he hurried on, as he saw her look of concern, “she warned me no real sex-play. You're too new, she says. We will just get to check you out—this time."
Sarah didn't know what to say. It wasn't as if she didn't know what she was there for. It was just that she hadn't really thought out the specifics. She was relieved by his remark of “no real sex,” though that did lead one to wonder just what he did mean. And then the ominous additional words—"this time.” What would be expected of her?
Finding it difficult to eat much, Sarah hardly tasted her food. She felt awkward and insecure—a stranger among friends. She tried to concentrate on reviewing her lessons in her mind. She focused on her exercises in grace and posture. If she could at least act as if she were confident and comfortable with her station, perhaps she wouldn't make a total fool of herself.
Shifting in her chair, Sarah tried to adjust herself on the knot of rubber wedged into her ass. If only he hadn't insisted on that horrible thing. Would the others have to see that, too? Could she bear the humiliation of it? As always, she was confused by the onrush of sexual tension and embarrassment that besieged her now. The thought of having to reveal what was in her bottom to these strangers made her wet with desire, even as it made her cringe with shame.
When no one seemed able to take another bite, Mary stood up. After a vain attempt to press more food on her guests, she began to clear the dishes. David stood as well and started to help their hostess. The two slaves, Sarah thought to herself, and wondered if she should get up to assist as well. She looked over to Lawrence, who nodded slightly, as if he were reading her thoughts. She rose too, and helped the others clear the things.
She noticed that neither Mark nor Amy stood; they must both be Dominant, or vanilla, she decided. She didn't have a handle on them yet.
In the kitchen, Mary wouldn't allow her to help with the cleaning. “Don't be silly,” she said. “I'll do it in the morning. I have a maid who comes in, and she'll do most of it anyway. Let's go and rejoin the others.” Sarah followed her, biting her lip in nervous anticipation. Dinner was over. What came next? The “entertainment,” surely. Her.
When they reentered the dining room, Lawrence was standing by his chair. Jack was pouring brandy into snifters for those who wanted it. Lawrence gestured to Sarah and left the room. She followed, her heart already starting to beat in anticipation of what was to come.
In the living room, Lawrence smiled down at Sarah. “How are you feeling?” he asked. The question took her by surprise.
"Oh. I'm fine, I guess."
"Good. These are nice people, but exacting as well. They are used to being obeyed, without question. Mary may seem like just another “proper wife,” but she is highly trained and completely submissive to her Master. Lynn tells me that David is not quite as well trained; he is newer to the life. But what he lacks in discipline, he makes up for in total devotion."
He hadn't mentioned Amy or Mark.
Sarah couldn't resist asking, “What about the other couple? I can't quite figure them out."
"They are observers. They're new to the scene. They both have an interest in the dominant/submissive lifestyle, but as yet, neither has had the courage to act on it. I don't know which of them is what. Maybe they don't know either, yet. Maybe tonight will give them some insight."
He was smiling as he said this, but Sarah was not. She felt slightly giddy from the two glasses of wine she had drunk. She was wishing now she had abstained. But Lawrence was speaking again.
"You know why you're here. I feel you are ready to display yourself. I am not sure how far things will go. That will be up to me, and my friends. It will not be up to you. I am sure you understand that. But, I do appreciate that this is your first time in public. Trust me. I know your limits. I wouldn't have brought you here if I didn't have faith in you. I will not allow harm to come to you.
"Tonight you will be bound and examined by my friends. Your only job is to accept with grace all that happens to you. I expect that you will make me proud tonight. Are you ready, Sarah? Are you ready to submit to my will and please me in this way?"
Sarah nodded mutely. She was afraid and uncertain, but also very excited. She felt a wonderful feeling settle over her. It was a sort of sexual lethargy; she didn't know how else to describe it. It was almost as if she were in a slight trance. It wasn't as intense or consuming as the “flying” experience of the other night. She supposed one could describe it as “submissive head space,” but she didn't really know what that meant. She only knew that she felt different, calmer perhaps, and more sensual and sure of herself. And very submissive, certainly. Eager to please Lawrence, eager to show him she could serve.
"Good. Now, go into the bathroom down that hall. Let your hair down. Take off your dress and your bra and come into the living room. Leave your stockings, panties, and shoes on. For the duration of the evening, don't speak unless directly spoken to. Follow all instructions. OK, go ahead. I'll be here waiting for you."
Sarah turned and went down the hall to the door he had indicated. She shed her dress quickly. Reaching behind her, she freed her plump, pretty breasts as the little metal clasps sprung open, then removed the pins and combs that held her hair in place. With a shake of her head, her dark curls loosened and fell around her face and shoulders.
Looking at herself critically in the mirror, Sarah wished she had her makeup with her, to touch up a little. But Lawrence hadn't seemed to think it necessary, so she wouldn't worry about it. She adjusted her garters a little, wishing for the hundredth time there was no offending butt plug in her ass. Then, taking a deep breath, Sarah left the bathroom and headed back to her waiting trainer.
No one else had come into the living room yet. Sarah was glad of that. Lawrence said nothing about her appearance, but that was better than a negative comment. Silently, he led her to a corner of the room that was covered by a draped cloth. She hadn't noticed this earlier. Lawrence pulled the cloth away from what at first looked like a tangle of black silken ropes. They were stretched in seeming random fashion over a large square frame of light steel tubing. The apparatus was positioned on some sort of raised dais. The effect was like some gargantuan spider web.
And I am the fly, Sarah couldn't help thinking. She saw that Lawrence's “toy bag” was already there. It contained things that Lawrence had acquired specifically for Sarah, including her various dildos, plugs, cuffs, and collars. She hadn't even realized that he had brought it.
Taking out Sarah's leather wrist cuffs, which by now were well worn, Lawrence attached them to the silent woman's wrists and tightened them. He directed her to stand with her back to the web. Then he raised each arm and attached each clip to a strand of rope. Next, he knelt and attached her ankle cuffs, tethering them to the web similarly.
Sarah was spread seductively, her breasts jutting out, their pink nipples, like little jellybeans, already at attention. Her legs were sheathed in sheer white, her feet shod in high red heels. Her panties were white, too. Her fair skin and white underclothing contrasted in a pleasing way with the black ropes that tethered her.
Lawrence withdrew a small gold tube from the bag. At first, Sarah didn't know what it was. Then, as he opened it and turned the base, she saw. It was a lipstick of the same burgundy as her shoes. He came close to her and applied the lipstick to her mouth. She was being prepared like a slave girl at an auction! Sarah couldn't help but shiver with lust and a delicious fear. Her dreams were as close as ever to coming true. She was bound there like a virgin slut—an offering ripe for the plucking.
Next, Lawrence took a black silk blindfold from the bag and wound it around her head gently, knotting it carefully so as not to catch her hair. Sarah found she was actually quite relieved to have a blindfold. She would not have to endure the gazes and stares of the people who she was certain would soon be joining them. Lawrence still said nothing to her, but suddenly, she felt his lips on her cheek.
He had kissed her! Sara
h couldn't suppress a happy little smile, though she remained silent. Then she felt his presence leave her; she was alone. Trying to maintain her calm, Sarah did not dwell on her position. She tried not to focus on the fact that she was bound, topless and blindfolded, waiting for a group of strangers to come and gawk at her and do heavens only knew what else.
Then Sarah heard them entering, talking and laughing as if this were just a normal dinner party. They quieted as they entered, and Sarah was certain they were all staring at her. She felt her face flush beneath her blindfold and thanked Lawrence silently again for putting it on her. Consciously trying to slow her breathing, Sarah struggled to remain still and graceful before them.
Sarah, of course, could not see herself. She could not see her sleek body spread so invitingly for the guests. Her head was back, resting against the ropes. The silk blindfold, the pouting red lips, the rich, melting curves of her white throat, were enough in themselves to make the company stare in admiring silence. The atmosphere was thick with expectant desire.
"Oh, Lawrence!” a woman said. “She is lovely. Wherever did you find her? I want to eat her up!” The sexual tension of that first moment was relieved as they all laughed. But the woman persisted. “Can I touch her? Can I, Lawrence?” As she continued to speak, Sarah realized it was Lynn—the “Mistress"—speaking.
Lawrence made an exaggerated bow toward the woman and then waved in Sarah's direction. “Be my guest.” He smiled. Suddenly Sarah felt a woman's hands on her. They started at her shoulders, smoothing up her raised arms to her fingertips. Then they swirled on her belly and trailed up to her neck, stopping just below the chin, forcing it up slightly. Sarah's breathing became shallow and fast. She was sure everyone could hear her, and she struggled to calm her ragged breath.
Sarah's Awakening Page 11