Sarah moved her hands down the smooth honey-colored skin to Elise's belly. Sarah was looking at Elise's shaved pussy. The little lips reminded Sarah of an iris just about to bloom. She wanted to touch it, to feel the soft folds of another woman's body, but she was afraid to.
Melanie and Lawrence had silently moved close to the two women on the floor. Lawrence whispered his encouragement. “Don't be shy, Sarah. This is your chance, your moment. Touch her."
"Yes,” Melanie agreed. “Make her melt under your fingers. You don't need lessons. You were born to this."
Sarah took a deep breath. She knew she was expected to touch Elise's most private places—to please her in this way. Gathering up her courage, she reached a single finger forward to the offered sex before her. It was as soft as she had expected. Elise moaned slightly at her touch. Sarah grew emboldened by her response and parted the outer lips gently with her fingers.
Elise's hips lifted slightly, as if of their own accord. She was offering herself to Sarah. There was yearning in her face. Slowly, Sarah began to swirl her fingers over Elise's dark pink puss lips, much the way she used to do to herself when alone at night in her bed before she had given her body and her pleasure to Lawrence, her trainer.
Lawrence was watching Sarah intently. He saw her mouth, her lips parted in concentration, and the slight flush to her cheeks. He leaned over and whispered something to Melanie. Melanie smiled broadly and said, “Sarah. Make my slave come with your mouth."
Sarah looked up, startled. She sat still for a moment, willing herself to obey. Did she have the courage to do this? But of course, she must. The decision had been taken from her. She was freed by the command of another to indulge her bisexual feelings without having to analyze them. The lovely paradox of her sexual slavery had freed her. Lust overcame inhibition as she knelt to do their bidding.
Repositioning herself between Elise's legs, Sarah leaned in toward her pussy. Placing a hand on either thigh, Sarah spread Elise's naked cunt even farther. It was so pretty, with tiny labia of a pleasing dark pink. Ever so carefully, Sarah's tongue darted out to taste another woman. Elise tasted like a river, like sweet rainwater. Her delicate little folds were hot with her lust. Sarah licked her like a kitten lapping cream. She felt Elise shiver.
Gathering courage, Sarah pushed a finger deep into her opening. Elise moaned and sighed, arching up into Sarah's mouth. From her ragged breathing, Sarah felt sure she was close to orgasm. The power of causing this pleasure and ache in another woman was exhilarating. Sarah felt her own heart beating hard.
Through the pounding of her own blood in her ears, Sarah heard Melanie barking a command:
"Smack her cunt. Smack that perfect little cunt, slut-girl!"
Sarah pulled back and sat up on her heels. She didn't need to be told again. Her own dominant feelings had been ignited by this writhing, passionate woman spread before her. Drawing back her hand, she let it fall with a resounding slap on poor Elise's wet and swollen pussy. Of course, well-trained Elise did not close her legs. Sarah thrilled to the loud slapping sound as she smacked her hard, and then harder. She felt the fierce pull of her own sexual desire, knowing just what Elise was experiencing, as the sharp pain of a hard palm transmuted into a fury of pleasure and heat.
Just then, Sarah felt a firm hand on her head. Lawrence was pushing her face back into Elise's open pussy. He grabbed Sarah's hands and pulled them up sharply behind her back. She felt dizzy as she kissed and suckled the slave girl before her.
Suddenly Elise's little clit went rigid. She screamed out an entreaty to her Mistress to let her come. Melanie nodded her assent and Elise's whole body instantly stiffened in orgasmic spasms. Lawrence held Sarah's face pressed against Elise's sex until the last tremor had subsided.
Lawrence pulled Sarah to her feet and said, “Stand at attention.” Sarah stood up straight, with her fingers laced behind her head. She felt the tickle of perspiration under her arms. Closing her mouth, she focused on slowing her hard, shallow breath. Elise lay still on the floor, her legs spread lewdly, knees touching the floor on either side of her.
"Oh, dear, dear, dear,” Melanie murmured, a twinkle in her eye. “Elise, you naughty, naughty little girl. You let another woman make you come. I am very angry with you. When we get home, I will hang you from a hook and whip you till you bleed. Do you understand, you darling whore?"
Elise moaned and closed her eyes. If Lawrence hadn't warned her of their games beforehand, Sarah would have been horrified at the result of her lusty attentions.
Lawrence sat in his chair, his face impassive. Sarah wondered how the little scene had affected him. She wished for the hundredth time that he were easier to read. Her head was flooded with the thoughts of what she had just done. She had made another woman come! Would she herself finally get to come today? Sarah was so aroused she thought just one kiss would be enough to send her over the edge. Would Lawrence permit it at last? Had she earned it yet?
Melanie said, “This is so much fun. I do love to watch. Let's see the tables turned. Sarah, hop up on this table. Spread your legs and let Elise kneel before you.” Sarah did as she was told. Melanie came around behind her and again pulled her hands behind her back, then cuffed Sarah's arms behind her. Sarah's breasts jutted out as a result, and she felt slightly off balance.
Melanie moved around to face her. “I think we should remove these, Lawrence. They might get in the way."
"I agree. Go ahead, Mel.” Melanie reached out and with both hands released Sarah's captive nipples with a twist. Sarah cried out as the blood flooded back to her sensitive tips.
Before she could dwell further on her engorged nipples, Melanie commanded, “Do it, Elise. This is your Mistress. Please her.” Elise needed no further prompting. At once her tongue found Sarah's sweet spot. As she felt the velvet kisses of Elise's tongue, Sarah let herself fall into the lovely sensations being offered by the naked woman between her thighs. It felt so heavenly to be touched like this after so long.
Sarah's hips seemed to take on a life of their own as she pressed and danced into Elise, arching toward her hot little tongue. “Oh, Lawrence,” she breathed. “Oh, please. Oh, may I..."
"No."
Sarah's eyes flew open—Elise had been pulled roughly away from her. Lawrence was in front of her. “You know the rules, Sarah. You may not come during this two-week period. Unless I change my mind, and I haven't. So sorry, dear."
Sarah's own physical frustration was so intense that she felt close to tears. She was on the point of begging, but was saved the humiliation by Melanie's intervention. “Poor little slut. She is so hot, I think her flesh would burn us! I have an idea, Lawrence. Let's distract the poor girl with a beating! I know—the two of you stand together, arms around each other.” As Melanie spoke, she pulled Sarah over to her and shoved her toward the other woman.
"And prepare for a real whipping, my little slaves. This isn't a punishment, but be sure to maintain your positions, or you will really know what it is to suffer."
The two women scrambled together. They were about the same height. Their breasts pressed together as they embraced. Sarah was trembling slightly. Being brought again so close to the lovely young woman intensified her own sexual frustration.
Grinning like an eager schoolgirl, Melanie said, “Lawrence, will you assist me, please? These sluts need a whipping. Two whips are better than one."
"With pleasure.” Lawrence's voice alone made Sarah shiver with desire. She knew that she could bear anything if it were at his hands. He stepped up to the two women, on Sarah's side, so close she could feel his sweet breath on her neck. Her pussy throbbed with lust and desire.
Both women closed their eyes as they prepared for their whipping. Lawrence began by warming Sarah's flesh slowly with a large, soft suede whip. Melanie was wielding a similar lash on Elise's supple body. Soon the two of them got into a rhythm. The naked, sweating women stood as still as they could, pressing into one another for support.
For several m
inutes, the only sound in the room was of leather smacking skin. Melanie was right; it wasn't a punishment—it was erotic torture, an explosion of sexual sensation. Both women had begun to breathe heavily. Sarah found the mixture of the whipping and the feel of this naked woman pressed against her to be almost more than she could bear. She felt herself swaying with the intense need to come. Sarah clung tighter to Elise, who clutched back at her in support.
Together they stood, sweating, their hair mingling over their shoulders, their flesh contrasting prettily—creamy white against silken brown. Melanie dropped her large whip and picked up the single lash. It whistled as it flew through the air to Elise's flesh. Lawrence stepped back as Melanie delivered a similar stroke to Sarah. It happened so fast that at first Sarah didn't know what had occurred. Then she felt a white-hot line of pain across her ass.
Again Melanie lashed Elise, and then Sarah. Both women were crying out now, one after the other, as the lash stung their tortured flesh. They did a little dance in their vain efforts to escape the stinging lash.
Finally, Melanie stopped, and, without permission, both women sank to their knees, with their arms still around one another. Without reprimand, Melanie and Lawrence helped the sweating, spent women to their feet. Lawrence took Sarah gently into his arms and carried her to the couch. Sarah's head fell forward as she nestled into his strong chest. If she were still, maybe he would hold her forever.
That evening was a quiet one. Both Sarah and Lawrence seemed lost in their own thoughts, as Lawrence leafed through a magazine while Sarah sat at his feet. Sarah was holding a book in her lap, but her eyes only drifted over the words. She felt different today. It was something that had been building since she'd begun her training.
It was a new feeling—a sense of deep, certain pride that was new to a woman who was used to denying her most basic self. And along with it she felt something else. A fledgling sense of her own power. The power of a submissive that comes from truly letting go. It was an augmenting of what she had already begun to feel that night when she had flown. Sarah realized that she was actually coming to believe—really believe and not just give lip service to—the idea that submission was in itself power.
It wasn't an antifeminist loss of the self in another. It truly was an exchange that exalted both partners. Yesterday and today, she had given herself completely. And instead of disappearing, of suffering a loss of ego, she found to her amazement and joy that she was finally finding out who she was, really was, for the first time. Sarah was finally starting to become what she had been born to. Sarah was becoming a true submissive. A slave. Now who would be her Master?
Near dawn, Lawrence sat in his study, alone. Sarah was asleep in her room. He had finally given up any attempt to read his novel; he had read the same paragraph three times and still had no idea what it said. He couldn't get the image of Sarah making love to Elise out of his mind. She had seemed so intent, so involved in what she was doing. It wasn't an exercise in submission at all—she had wanted to do it; that was clear.
Lawrence felt confused about his emotions. When he thought of the two women, of their bodies pressed together while they were being whipped, of their expressions when they looked at one another—it was as if they were lovers! That was it—Sarah had acted as if Elise were her lover. Lawrence bristled at the idea. It was ridiculous. Sarah had indicated an interest in exploring with other women, yes. But surely she didn't prefer them over men? Over him?
Over him. Lawrence couldn't help but laugh at himself. He was jealous! The impervious trainer was jealous of a little forced sex between two slave girls. How absurd. And yet, there it was. He couldn't deny the feeling of possessiveness that came over him when he saw the lust in both Mistress and slave's eyes as Elise touched his slave girl. His slave girl. But then, she wasn't his slave girl, was she? She was his novice for two weeks. End of story. There was no further obligation.
He had never wanted any further obligation. While it was fun and interesting to train novices to serve others, it had just been a hobby—something to do to distract himself from ... from her. From Kimberly.
Why hadn't he told Sarah what had happened? Well, he had never told any of his novices about his personal life. It wasn't appropriate. He had stunned himself that he had confided in her as much as he had. But Sarah, he had to admit, was more than just his novice. She had become his friend. And maybe something more.
Lawrence felt strange, almost guilty, as if he were betraying his wife, his lover—Kimberly. Leaning back in his chair, the tall man closed his eyes and allowed images of his lost love to flood over him. It had been seven years since the accident. Since her death. Her death. Lawrence almost never allowed himself to dwell on her death. The loss had been so overwhelming that he couldn't face it for a long time.
When the private jet she had been on went down in the San Francisco Bay, he had kept the search going for weeks. Well after he was told it was no use, Lawrence spent thousands of dollars on private search crews in the search for something ... anything. Eventually, a wing of the plane was found, but no bodies.
After that, Lawrence stopped living. He sold his lucrative publishing business and retired to his country home to brood. Death had taken the brightness, the color from things. His life seemed dulled, like a faded garment, which seems no longer worth wearing.
Before her death, Lawrence and Kimberly had been a team. Together they had trained would-be slaves to serve the BDSM community. They were well known and sought after. Novices came from all over the East Coast, seeking out the pair, willing to wait months for the chance to serve them.
Concerned that Lawrence was never going to come out of mourning, a friend eventually persuaded him to take on a novice on his own. To his surprise, Lawrence found the training to be a pleasant distraction. A diversion. As his reputation was reestablished, there was always a long list of people eager to be trained. And occasionally, he would find one from the classifieds, as he had Sarah.
It was something to do. But once their training was complete, he rarely thought about the novices again. Occasionally he would see one, placed with a Master or Mistress he knew, or at a party or club. They were little more than acquaintances, even though he had opened their innermost secrets and put them back together again in his image. He realized that he didn't really think of them as people. They were objects to be molded and shaped to his whim.
But Sarah was different. Perhaps it was a matter of timing—maybe enough time had passed to allow his broken heart to start to mend. And then, there was her smile, the dimples in her cheeks, the impish gleam in her eye. Lawrence found himself smiling now as he thought of her. What would he do when she was gone?
When this training session was over, she would drift out of his life forever. Did he want that? He wasn't certain. What did she want? They would have to start the search process for a Master. Usually he addressed that right away, so the training could be shaped for that particular owner. Why had he put it off so long? Oh, he knew the answer. He knew. But he would not think on it now. To bed, and let sleep wash away the confusion in his head, in his heart.
Lawrence lay in the bed, eyes closed, alert to each sound of the waning night. The moon hung low and had turned from silver to copper in the sleeping sky. At last, he drifted off into a troubled sleep interwoven with vanishing dreams.
Chapter Nine
"David will be visiting us this afternoon,” Lawrence told Sarah over tea. “Lynn has graciously allowed the use of her slave for the day. He will train your ass with his cock today. I think you are ready."
Sarah continued to butter her scone, avoiding Lawrence's eyes. She dreaded the anal sex, but knew it was only a matter of time before it would come to this. Lawrence had been firm that no slave could possibly avoid anal sex. It was one of the consummate acts of submission.
"You will present yourself to us in the playroom at 4:30 sharp. You are to wear panties and high heels. You may choose the color. Have your asshole already lubricated. I am sure David w
on't bother with that, and he is, er, rather well endowed.” Sarah shivered at the thought of her virgin asshole being stretched taut by some huge cock. Now, if it had been Lawrence's ... She would have welcomed him even in that opening. She would have allowed him anything, if only he would claim her. But he was speaking. She struggled to concentrate on what he was saying.
"You should be aware, though David is submissive, he wasn't always. Apparently, he used to be a major player in the club scene down in Houston. He was known for his anal fixation. He would rarely use a slave any way but in the ass. He is aware of your virgin status, however, and of your fears. He will be at my command. Through him I will claim your modesty beyond any doubt."
Through him; through another. Oh why, why, why not with your own body? Your own cock? But Sarah only thought this, of course. She wouldn't have dreamed of begging any more than she would have dreamed of refusing to accept David.
That afternoon, as ordered, Sarah waited, clad prettily in black lace panties and 5” heels. She was on her knees in front of the two gentlemen seated in chairs, her head bowed, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. David was looking down at her, smiling.
"This should be fun, Lawrence! I haven't gotten to put my cock anywhere near an ass for several months. Mistress says I haven't earned it yet with her. She is going to fuck my ass with her strap-on for one hundred days in a row. If I take it like a man, as she says, and don't whimper, then she might allow me to worship her ass with my cock. We're up to day fifty-two.” He sighed, but then, seeing the bowed young woman before him, brightened perceptibly.
"But meanwhile, this little novice here will be just a whole lot of fun!” David drawled with an exaggerated Southern accent. Sarah couldn't help but be reminded of some eager farm boy, happy with a chance to go to the picture show or the country fair. She was waiting for the “golly, shucks, ma'am.” Instead, David stood and said, “With your permission, Sir?” Lawrence nodded slightly. David stood before her and pulled her head up by her hair.
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