Sarah's Awakening

by Claire Thompson

  "Jack, I've known you for several years now. When I presented Mary to you, I saw that there was a chemistry between you. I've watched you and Mary blossom together. I know you love her and cherish the gift of her submission. You and Mary seem to have come to a loving and firm understanding of your roles as Master and slave.

  "Mary is what I would call a “born slave.” She was born to belong to another. She was created to serve and to subordinate her will completely to another. You control her completely—what she wears, when and what she eats, what she reads, whom she sees, even when she may go to the bathroom. This is deeply satisfying for you both, and I don't mean to imply that there is anything wrong with that sort of relationship, if it is what makes you both happy.

  "But, Jack, there are different sorts of women and different ways of submitting. Sarah is different. She is submissive, yes. She does long to serve, and to belong to another. But Sarah is very highly sexed. She is sensual and is in touch with her physical needs, along with her submissive ones. All her life she has been seeking, without knowing what it was she sought, for a merging of the two—for a union of the sensual and the submissive. She is training to become a slave—that is true. But what that means is highly individual.

  "I think I understand what you mean by ‘easy,’ Jack, though I don't agree with you. Sarah is not ‘easy’ in the sense that she would let anyone claim her. She is open to experience, but I don't like your implication that because she enjoys or even needs what she seeks, that that in itself makes her somehow worth less than someone who simply endures it to please another."

  Lawrence stopped speaking for a moment. The room was silent, but inside, Sarah was screaming, Yes! Thank you, my knight, my darling! You understand me! And you defended me! Sarah was hard put to restrain the happy grin that was threatening to burst across her features. But Lawrence was speaking again, looking seriously at Jack.

  "I must say, quite frankly, that I am offended by your sweeping characterization of Sarah. You judge her by one evening, her first in public. She has been tried, found guilty and condemned before she has even been completely trained. You of all people should know better than that. What's really going on here?"

  Jack set his pipe roughly in the ashtray on the table beside him. “What do you mean, ‘What's really going on here?’ Just what are you implying, Lawrence?” Sarah felt the tension in the room rise. This was no longer a comfortable conversation between two men—it had changed to something else. Something competitive, something almost primal.

  "Well, since you were so blunt with me, let me be blunt with you. You know my strong connection to Mary, as her first trainer, but I think you underestimate her capacity for sensuality. I think you see her in a somewhat one-dimensional light. She is devoted to you, certainly, but she is no chaste, sexless angel.

  "I watched her, Jack. I watched her lust rise as she fondled Sarah. I watched her expression changing from pain to pleasure as you beat her in front of us. And I know her, don't forget. I know her well. She is, to use your own coarse words, a slut—a pain slut, a humiliation slut, a sex slut."

  Jack had half-risen from his seat. His heavy face was flushed and his expression twisted in anger. “How dare you talk about my Mary like that! You're just jealous! I always knew you were pompous, but this is too much. She's got you by the balls, Lawrence. It's finally happened—a novice has got into your pants. She's blinded you with her perfect body. You want her. You want a cheap little..."

  "That's enough!” Lawrence stood, pulling Sarah up with him. “I can see we are no longer welcome in this house. We are leaving. Don't get up—we know the way out."

  "Oh, Jack, how could you...” Mary was silenced by a glare from her husband, who was breathing hard, his fists clenched. Lawrence was at the door, pulling on his overcoat angrily. He handed Sarah her coat and, opening the door, strode out, not waiting to see whether she followed.

  The ride home was silent. Sarah felt subdued. She was very pleased that Lawrence had defended her so ardently, but she was disturbed that she may have been the cause of the end of a friendship. Lawrence seemed lost in his own thoughts. As they got out of the car, they stood together for a moment in the brisk, dark night.

  "Sarah. I apologize for what happened back there. Please know that it wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have taken you there. Jack and I have had, ah, differences before. This one, though, I'm afraid, is the final one. I will not be insulted again."

  Sarah didn't know what to say. She started to apologize, but Lawrence silenced her with a finger to her lips. “No, no,” he murmured. “You were wonderful. You have pleased me. Let us say no more about it. It was my mistake. Go to bed—you must be exhausted.” Sarah realized that she was.

  Once inside, Lawrence bid Sarah good night, went to his study, and closed the door. Sarah undressed, washed up, and climbed, naked, into her own little cozy bed. But sleep eluded her as she relived the night's events over and over again. She couldn't help wondering at Jack's remarks about Lawrence having “finally fallen for a novice.” Was the remark spawned by his own rage at Lawrence's candid assessment of Mary? Was there a grain of truth, however tiny? Wishful thinking. Jack was an idiot, anyway. He was wrong about her, wrong about Mary. So he was probably wrong about Lawrence, too.

  As Sarah snuggled under the mound of quilts, her mind drifted over all the details of the night. While she had been profoundly affected by her own torture and titillation, she found herself coming back again and again to Mary. She replayed Mary's public punishment in her head over and over, feeling a sweet throbbing in her pussy at the images in her mind. Even though she had not seen it with her eyes, she had experienced it with her whole being. She had to admit to herself that she had dominant feelings she had yet to explore. And Mary's touch on her skin when she herself had been bound and helpless—it was different than a man's, but no less exciting. More exciting, in its novelty—the danger of a taboo.

  As she finally drifted off to sleep, her last conscious fantasy included a silent movie of Mary, naked and suspended from the ceiling, writhing under her—Sarah's—wicked lash. Pressing her thighs tightly together in unrequited lust, she finally fell asleep. Her dreams that night were colored by girlish kisses and caresses, overlaid with silken tethers and chains.

  Chapter Eight

  The next morning, Lawrence and Sarah breakfasted together in the kitchen. The sun's light cast a pale glow over the room, blurred and softened by the bubbled old glass in the windows. Lawrence leaned back in his chair, and said, “I've watched you, Sarah. I've seen your curiosity, your desire, to explore with another woman."

  "Oh!” Sarah responded, taken aback by his comment. Was she really so transparent?

  "Oh, yes.” Lawrence grinned. “And I have decided it would round out your training nicely to explore your fantasies. To experience another woman—to submit to me through her."

  Sarah felt her pulse quicken as he spoke. She tried to keep a neutral expression. Lawrence laughed. “Don't bother trying to hide it. I know you. Don't forget that. You don't have to pretend with me.

  I have chosen Elise for your virgin explorations. She is a slave. She is owned by Melanie, who is also her lover. Melanie and Elise will be here this afternoon. Melanie likes to watch her little slut-girl with another woman. Then she takes her home and beats her for it. They play that game all the time. It amuses them both, I think."

  Looking down, Sarah said nothing. She didn't ask the many questions that had formed instantly in her mind. What did Elise look like? What would they do together? Would there be actual sex? Or only shared whippings and other delicious tortures? Would they be left alone? Would Lawrence and Melanie participate? She bit her tongue to keep from speaking.

  "Clean up here and do your duties. I will be out for lunch today. I will meet you in the playroom at 2:00. You will wait there, naked, kneeling as usual. Oh, and put on the nipple clamps, your wrist cuffs, and your blindfold. Any questions?"

  "No, Lawrence,” Sarah whispered.

&
nbsp; The day passed quickly. Sarah busied herself with polishing all the wooden furniture in the house, of which there was quite a bit. She loved the smell of the lemon oil that Lawrence had her use. She had come to associate it with her time here. She wondered idly as she rubbed the shining wood if he would mind giving her some before she left. But that train of thought disturbed her, since it reminded her again of how temporary her situation was.

  As ordered, 1:55 that afternoon found Sarah naked, cuffed, and chained. She had attached the clamps very cautiously, grimacing in anticipation of the bite of metal teeth. As her nipples adjusted to the tension, she reached behind her head and tied the black silk blindfold she had chosen. Then she sat back on her heels, waiting for her trainer and the two women to come to her.

  She heard them enter, and then heard a low but decidedly feminine voice say, “Well, well, well. Lawrence, you devil, where have you been hiding this one?” That must be Melanie. She laughed as he started to protest that he hadn't hidden her anywhere. “I'm just teasing. Put your hackles down, dear boy."

  Sarah realized that Melanie had a British accent. She found its lilt quite pleasing. Was Elise English, too?

  "Elise!” Melanie commanded suddenly. “Strip. You are the only clothed slave here. Where are your manners?"

  "Forgive me, ma'am,” Elise murmured, with a neutral Midwestern accent. Sarah realized she had been hoping the other slave girl would be British, too—it seemed more exotic, somehow. Then Sarah suppressed a grin—imagine this time last year, if anyone had told her she would be naked, chained, clamped, and blindfolded, waiting to “play” with another submissive woman—that would have been exotic enough!

  "Good,” Melanie said. “Now make yourself my table. I want to sit and talk with Lawrence.” Sarah found that her sense of hearing was heightened, as she knelt, blindfolded on the floor. She could hear them walk to the sofa, and sit. She could hear the rustle of clothing as they settled themselves comfortably. She wondered as she sat what Melanie had meant by her command to Elise to “make herself a table."

  "Now, that's unusual,” Lawrence exclaimed. “But very pleasing. She certainly is limber, isn't she?"

  "Oh, yes. My Elise is a dancer. Ballet since she was three. And just look how useful her training has been!” Melanie laughed again, a rich, throaty chuckle. Sarah was longing to see what had made Lawrence question his guest, but she stayed still, waiting.

  "Lawrence, darling,” Melanie said. “Would you mind terribly if we took off your little slave's blindfold? I want to get a look at her face. And all that lovely hair."

  "Not at all, Mel,” Lawrence said. “Sarah, do as she asks, please."

  Sarah reached around at once to pull off the blindfold. After a moment to adjust to the brightness of the early afternoon, Sarah saw the large, but attractive, Melanie sitting back on the sofa. She seemed to be in her mid-to-late forties. Her light brown hair was swept up loosely by combs on each side of her head. Her skin was fair and her eyes were a light color, maybe blue. There were deep laugh lines that crinkled her features as she grinned and laughed, which apparently she did often. Her lips were full and sensuous and painted a bright coral. Her ample figure was swathed in loose, brightly colored cotton. Sarah took this all in at a glance. Then she saw where Melanie was resting her bared feet.

  Elise was arched in an inverted U under Melanie's feet. She was not, as Sarah had expected, on her hands and knees. She was arched upward in a bridge, supported by her palms, flat on the floor, and her feet. Her strong, flat stomach was offered up as Melanie's footrest. Sarah found herself riveted to the agile slave girl, naked before her. Her pubis was shaved bare, and her pussy was spread and open, offered up to them like a ripe little fruit, glistening and ready.

  "Oh, Lawrence!” Melanie laughed again. “You have yourself an eager little puppy there, haven't you? She is practically drooling over my little Elise.” Sarah drew in her breath and looked down quickly. She felt the heat of her blush spread across her cheeks. Would she never learn to control herself, she wondered, chagrinned.

  Sarah kept her head bowed, but couldn't resist surreptitious glances at Elise. She saw the muscles of Elise's strong calves tensed with the strain of keeping her awkward position. From where she was kneeling, Sarah could not see Elise's face—only her pussy was offered for her view.

  Sarah's eyes were drawn repeatedly to the nude sex before her. It looked so delicate and vulnerable with its little pink folds spread prettily between long, well-tanned legs. The globes of her asscheeks were also taut from her position. They were all muscle, as the rest of her seemed to be—lithe, long muscles of a dancer.

  "Well, from our earlier conversations, I understand that Sarah is basically a virgin when it comes to the fairer sex.” Melanie smiled over at Sarah, tilting her head as she appraised her. “I am so delighted that you thought of us, Lawrence, dear. We just love to taste virgin fruit, don't we, Elise, my love?"

  "Yes, ma'am,” Elise managed from her upside-down position.

  As Melanie spoke, she pressed Elise's stomach with her toes until the woman sank beneath her, folding like a grasshopper under the steady gentle pressure. A small push with Melanie's foot then sent her rolling over and upright into a sitting position on the ground. Clearly, this was something she was used to.

  Scooting between her Mistress's legs, she snuggled back into her, her eyes shut as she nuzzled in the bright fabric like a little kitten.

  "Elise. Today we will play with a novice. Not only a slave-in-training, but a virgin as far as women are concerned. For starters, let's see what she can do on her own. With your permission, Lawrence?” Lawrence nodded his assent and Melanie turned to Sarah.

  "Up, little Sarah. Show us what you've got."

  Sarah stood, as gracefully as she could, rising from her kneeling position in one fluid motion. As she rose, she put her wrists behind her neck, with elbows pointing up to the ceiling. The chain of her nipple clamps swung heavily between her breasts, drawing the eye to her rosy red nipples, caught in the tight metal clips. Her pubic mound was closely clipped, with dark curls covering her little pussy in an enticing and very feminine way.

  "Very nice. Go over to that table and bend over it for us. Let's see that pretty little ass.” Melanie leaned forward, as did Elise. Bending over the coffee table, Sarah spread her legs far apart and waited, head down low. She hadn't been touched, but already she was on fire. To be ogled by two women who were very clearly attracted to her was a new experience.

  Sarah heard a rustling as Melanie stood and moved toward her. Suddenly, she felt cool, strong fingers on her ass, pressing into her skin, kneading her flesh. Melanie laughed with pleasure as she smacked Sarah's ass several times, hard. The loud smack of her palm rang out in the large room. One cheek, then the other. She hit hard, until Sarah was panting and moving her hips slightly in a vain effort to escape the blows. As suddenly as she had started, Melanie stopped and stood back.

  Before Sarah even had a chance to catch her breath, Melanie's hands were on her again. This time she grabbed Sarah's pussy from behind. Roughly, Melanie twisted and pinched her nether lips, causing a drop of moisture to seep onto her fingers. “Ah!” Her tongue lingered over the syllable. Reaching around to Sarah's face, Melanie wiped the telltale juice across her cheek.

  "Elise. Come to me.” Elise rose on her long limbs and glided to her Mistress. She seemed completely at ease in her total nakedness. She looked like a child, except for the swell of her breasts and the enticing roundness of her bottom.

  "Feel this marvelous flesh, my love.” Elise didn't need a second invitation. Her hands were on Sarah at once. As they passed over Sarah's lithe curves, Melanie moved close behind her, so that Elise was sandwiched between her Mistress and the naked woman before her. Melanie leaned forward slightly until Elise's stomach was pressed against Sarah's offered ass. Bending over Sarah, Elise pressed her breasts against Sarah's back, while she put her arms around her waist from behind.

  Melanie stepped back, but Elise d
idn't seem to notice. Her fingers reached under Sarah and found her ample breasts. Cupping them, she raised them and then let them fall. Gripping the chain gently, she pulled up until Sarah moaned aloud from the tension. Sarah felt Elise's bare mons press against her ass. Elise was moving her hips against Sarah, as if she would take her like a man if she could.

  "OK, my perfect little whore. Down you go.” As she spoke, Melanie pointed to the ground. Elise dropped where she was, on her back. Melanie's foot against her thigh made Elise spread her legs wide. Her arms were raised high over her head, wrists crossed.

  "Now it's your turn, Sarah, love. You may touch my perfect slave. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

  Sarah didn't answer. Her heart was pounding in her ears so that she could barely concentrate on Melanie's words. Melanie grabbed Sarah by her hair, pulling her up sharply.

  "Answer when spoken to, slut-girl!” Melanie hissed in her ear, all trace of sweetness suddenly gone. Sarah gasped at the unexpected change in Melanie. She tried to rise as gracefully as possible as Melanie pulled her upright by the hair.

  "Excuse me, ma'am,” she managed. “I would like to. I mean, yes, I want to touch her.” She ducked her head as she spoke, hoping Melanie didn't know how unsure of herself she felt, or how aroused.

  "On your knees, slut, next to my slave. Touch her. Worship her with your hands. Only with your hands, mind you."

  Slowly, Sarah leaned over the woman lying spread before her. Elise stared up into her face, her dark eyes burning. Sarah touched her cheek gently and let her fingers trail down her chin and neck to Elise's small, pert breasts. They felt so soft and sweet. Sarah dared to touch the little brown nipples. She rolled first one and then the other carefully between her fingers. They stiffened and darkened at her touch. Elise's eyes fluttered, then closed.