“This will sting, the sting will turn hot and the heat will burn,” he warned. “But it will soften your flesh.”
The man did not lie. Whatever hellish stuff he rubbed into the muscle began to warm her asshole, which, at first, pleasantly aroused the sensitive tissue. But in little more than seconds the warmth turned brutal, powerfully painful, grabbing her attention away from everything but the scorching fire.
“Oh, my gawd, please!” she voiced the complaint.
Her plea brought her the opposite of her desire, as her trainer massaged her more vigorously, digging in with his fingers, pressing one, then two and finally three into her rectum. His treatment worked with the channel expanding as he’d hoped and Emily feared. Although what she expected to be painful was altogether different in sensation. Hot. Biting. Penetratingly fierce but oddly stimulating. The longer he worked her, the more her feeling for this changed from loathing to desire.
Then without the slave realizing what he was doing, Dylan tried the dildos in her ass, seeing which would work best to achieve the desired effect. Each probe was greased then shoved into the dark spaces. He worked one and then the next, followed by a still bigger one, until she took an anal plug that was easy enough for her to accommodate, but large enough to efficiently, even profoundly, stretch the opening.
“This should give you a fair challenge, em,” her trainer finally voiced his thoughts.
“Sir, I-I…” she tried to form some thought from the wild happenings in her mind, but her thousand questions and jumbled objections went unspoken.
“Trust me, little one, you will survive.”
“But…” She couldn’t speak though her mind was shouting loudly. Where his hot ointment and determined massage had made the channel open without much pain, the thought of this foreign object lodged inside her for more than a minute or two suddenly made her muscles freeze.
“Don’t let your fears take over, em.” He smacked her ass.
She clenched more. He could see how her body strained, fighting what was in her ass—and fighting him. He smacked her harder, and then began a vigorous staccato of strikes that crescendoed in intensity, working both ass cheeks until they were bright with color and she was wriggling crazily for him to stop.
“Please, sir!” she cried out.
“Thank me for the strikes, em,” he countered her protest.
Thank him! What a totally preposterous thought, her mind struggled to comprehend.
Her trainer stopped the spanking. “Thank me, em,” he said quietly. “What I do to you is for your own good. Or, is the slave life just a dalliance for you?”
She could detect some mockery in his voice, which was painful to hear. “No, sir, and thank you, sir,” she jumped right in knowing this was the only right reply.
“Good, very good.”
However, he accomplished the feat; her anal channel was no longer strained and aching. Her ass was hot, but that was nothing compared to the harsher inner pain from resisting the expanding plug. It fit well now—though strangely. And her mind no longer screamed for him to end a misery that was no longer miserable.
Instead of spanking her, his hand massaged the roughened cheeks soothingly and with such surprising passion that she found her body naturally gravitating toward the man, her pussy pressing into his denim covered thighs.
“I always like to see what sluts our lifestyle creates of women.”
Slut. At one time, the word might have stung, but now it seemed a naughty badge of honor for a woman who used to be uptight, prim and nearly frigid. His hand was magical, moving deeper with his caress into her parted thighs. He skirted past the anal plug, still usefully lodged in her rectum, finding beyond and deeper, the dripping folds of her liquid cunt.
“Ah, sir,” she wasn’t sure how she should feel. “Please, sir, you have me so aroused.”
“And that’s bad?” he mocked her kindly.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You follow my lead, little one. When you’re in my hands and in my care, I speak and act for the master who has retained me to train you. If I want you to cum, you’ll cum. If I deprive you of the pleasure, you will be deprived and feel no upset.” He fondled her more, sinking his hand into the wet opening, his thumb and index fingers working the throbbing sliver of flesh that was her clitoris.
“Ah, sir, sir, I-I…”
“Can’t hold back?”
“I don’t think I can.” She rolled back and forth across his muscled thighs, feeling the sensuous beat of his body join with hers in the steamy, sexual moment.
“Then cum for me, em,” he calmly ordered, to which the writhing sexual property of Justin Booker began to shimmy, shaking wild and uncontrollably as sensation rippled through her crotch and outward to the far ends of her extremities.
“AAAAAAHHHHHH, yesssssssssssss,” she hissed as that one final, clenching spasm took her body far from herself and then back again—into a delirious dream. Physical. Freeing. Releasing all the pent-up, bound, imprisoned lust em’s reluctant body had held inside itself. Breathy. Passionate. Like a humid summer, hot nights and sweat.
“nan!” Out of her post-cum reverie, she heard the trainer’s voice calling for his maid.
“Yes, sir,” the woman snapped to attention.
Emily heard this, too, and the sound of footsteps as the maid approached her master.
“Bring the harness for em, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
From the corner of her eye, Emily saw nan curtsy formally, and then scoot away, again through the far door. By the time she returned, Emily was on the floor, sitting gingerly on her sore ass and against the anal plug still lodged deeply in her ass.
“This will keep the plug inside your ass,” Dylan Kincaid informed her. She looked up at him, eyes bugged out. Half her many questions were answered with this one statement. “You’ll wear the plug through the evening, and then after you cleanse yourself in the morning.”
“Cleanse?” she had some trouble here understanding what he meant.
He showed the second item nan returned with from the mysterious room beyond—where Emily imagined shelves stacked with every sort of device she associated with Dominance/submission. This was an enema bag.
“Every morning,” he said. “If you’d like I can demonstrate right now.”
“No, sir,” she chimed in quickly. She’d had enough for one day. The harness would be plenty for her to handle; she could figure out the enema bag in the morning when her mind cleared.
“Stand up,” he ordered.
Emily was quick to obey, though she found it difficult to steady herself. She still shook so badly, her legs felt weak and a strange lightheaded euphoria made it difficult to focus. The plug in her ass was being pushed from her body—naturally done by muscles designed to do just that. But there was a ready answer.
“Put this on,” Dylan Kincaid ordered, handing her a harness of leather and metal “O” rings that fit with straps through her crotch and buckled neatly at the back of her waist. “If you were in my care, living here, I would put you in lock and key. But this arrangement prevents that. While you remain my temporary trainee, you’ll wear this during your working day. You’ll keep it on until you arrive here and I order you to take it off. The anal devices will be expanded, in order to prepare you for your master’s cock and for the double penetration should that be his desire. It is my guess, considering his strong feelings about your previous resistance to anal sexuality, that he will make an example of your ass. He’ll make you conquer this fear; and as his slave, you will obey. You’ll have no choice but to accept.”
The message was tough to take, but undoubtedly frank. He saw her weepy expression as the reality of her plight became clear.
“This is what slaves do, em, to please their masters. You have pledged yourself to Justin Booker in an arrangement far more honest than the one you shared with him before. This is not marriage. This is the total giving of yourself. It requires your submission and total tru
st. If this is not what you want, back out now, because it’s only going to become more exacting, more horrific and more difficult for you to handle, should these things not fuel the submissive inside you.”
“But it does that, sir,” she told him through her tears.
“You’re sure?”
“I am.”
“That’s good,” he nodded.
“I’m just astounded. It is more real than my imagination could think up. It’s better than fantasy, sir.”
He smiled. A cocky look of pleasure crossed his face as he noted her admission. She was stunning and rare and he wanted her. Though his wanting would have to wait.
Chapter Seven
Emily’s third session with her trainer began with a full enema—despite the fact that she’d given herself one earlier in the day. Instead of meeting her in Dylan Kincaid’s receiving room, nan led her toward the back of the house, into a black and white tiled lavatory designed for the very treatment she was about to endure.
With little ceremony to the task, nan instructed her to remove her clothes, and then motioned Emily to a low examination table in the center of the room.
“On your hands and knees is the easiest way to take this.”
Emily nodded, grateful that the lovely maid offered her some compassion in her kind expression.
Following the instructions, she moved to the position, thighs trembling and arms shivering with goosebumps, as nan’s warm hands began to undo the dildo harness at her crotch. When the woman withdrew the thick shaft, Emily’s body spasmed for one glorious second. A crudely lascivious chill followed. She was empty, freed of the confining dildo and for just a few moments, that freedom was bliss.
What followed was not as easy to enjoy.
As usual, the humiliation came first when her trainer strode into the room, looking impeccably handsome in a camel sport coat, pressed jeans and his signature white shirt. But ready for work, he doffed his coat immediately and rolled up his sleeves revealing his sinewy forearms and thick masculine hands. Desires for him leaped wickedly through Emily’s yielding body. He gave her no reason to believe she was anything more than a job, but without effort, a mélange of lusty pictures took hold of her mind. He had a way of arousing her like no other man—except Justin, and Justin wasn’t in the mood for arousing her sexually—he was still cool, thoughtful and a little put out.
“Three quarts, em,” Dylan Kincaid announced as nan handed him the enema bag filled with soapy water. “Twenty minutes… it might be rough, but if you followed my instructions this morning and cleansed yourself there shouldn’t be any problem.”
Emily was not so sure, but she had no room to bargain, not with the fat nozzle pressed to her anus and starting down the channel. The liquid followed quickly, gushing into the deep recesses of her bowels. Unlike her own gentle cleansing enema, she was filled with a good three quarts, which made her feel as if she were being expanded like a balloon.
Squirming fitfully as her inner muscles began to cramp, Emily held back a verbal protest. After all, her body spoke quite eloquently of her distress.
“You’re doing just fine,” her trainer countered her silent objections, while his warm hand caressed her lower back and moved lightly over her smooth ass.
The cramps augmented painfully. “But I can’t…” she whimpered quietly—both afraid and hoping he would hear.
“Oh, yes, you can,” he disagreed.
She loved the firmness in his voice, which wrapped her in confidence and a desire to please. She struggled on, her whole being wincing with fright, afraid she’d fail, at the same time relishing the touch of his hand and the fierce determination behind his declaration.
When he finally withdrew the nozzle, he replaced it with a retention plug to prevent an accident. Emily’s groin still churned uncomfortably… though her resolve to endure was fixed. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed, let go the pain and finally felt her body settle.
The settling was an uneasy one with her insides bordering on rebellion and her mind swimmingly moving back and forth from surrender to uncertainty. But her will was focused with her tenacity stubbornly taking charge the longer she held on.
“Get used to the feel of this. em… let the desire move you. If you fight, you lose; you’ll be battling your own best interests. Your struggle with anal sexuality will not end until you make the decision to let it go. I know your master and I know this is so.”
In this matter, he would understand her husband better than she.
Dylan left her for twenty minutes of empty time. She spent most of those minutes at peace with herself, feeling lewd, naughtily lewd. Every few minutes the cramps would start again and by force of will, she eased them off, until the moment when her trainer walked through the door again and her body started another anxious mutiny.
“Fine ass,” she heard a man’s voice, though it was not Dylan Kincaid’s.
“Shall we work it red?” a second unexpected voice chimed right in with the frightening thought.
“I don’t know,” it was her trainer now, “what do you think, em?”
He was asking her advice? As if he’d actually cared to hear. “I would be glad to do as you order,” she answered without stating her opinion.
“Humm. The more you think like that, em, the better you’ll survive your life.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to his friend. “Be my guest, Sir Lowry. Her owner has requested that she be taken to extremes. She’s already held the bath for twenty and we’re stretching it out to twenty-five. Polishing off her ass might be just the encouragement she needs to hang on.”
A painful sixty seconds followed before she felt the first biting strike of a wooden paddle. A dozen strikes followed, and then a dozen more landed from the hand of another man. Each jolt rocked her inside and out. Holding on seemed almost impossible. But she remembered what her trainer told her—about her master, Justin, and the life she’d chosen.
It became a matter of pride. The pain swelled and she breathed deeply. Her arousal fired, and yet, the more the rough wood smacked on her sweltering bottom, the more she could take, until it seemed as if she could handle any amount of physical grief.
It must have been endorphins sending her to slave heaven… shudder after shudder wracked her body… lusty, limitless and immense. These were tenuous moments that seemed to keep her flying unbounded forever; and yet eventually, the urgency in her body could not be ignored. When the spanking stopped, her trainer moved her to a commode in the corner of the room. Tucked behind a Japanese screen, she released, the pressure easing while her space of physical ecstasy went on now unrestrained.
Once she was finished and cleansed, Emily returned to the outer lavatory and knelt at the feet of her trainer and the two other men who participated in the session. Sitting back on her ankles, she posed elegantly, back straight, head held high, though her eyes lowered submissively.
“She has a ways to go,” Dylan Kincaid acknowledged to his friends. “There’s still a tendency for her to struggle. But she’s novice flesh, came to me unskilled and awkward. She learns well and her heart is where it belongs.”
“Given what I’ve seen of her files, she seems naturally talented,” the one man said.
“She could have handled more,” the other observed.
“I don’t let them get that close to their limits,” Dylan remarked. “I’d rather they feel their success than show them their failure.”
“Good trainers do that,” the first man agreed. “Masters on the other hand can be devious, they can plot and scheme and show their slaves the shameful truth about who they are. That is my favorite sadistic game. Because they are loyal to me, they will live through it.”
His mockery made Emily flinch. Turning her head, she looked for his face, receiving an instantaneous whap on her rear from the cane in Dylan Kincaid’s hand.
“Maybe when you’re done getting your ass prepared, your master should send you back for etiquette training?” he admonished he
r.
He expected no reply and she was smart enough not to offer one.
“She’ll learn,” one of the others piped up. He sauntered around the kneeling slave, inspecting her body, her form, the poise, the grace, the lilt of her head and her soft face. “She’ll learn.”
“She’s been a cultivated princess according to her master,” the trainer added.
“The whip works well to drive that out.”
“She’ll get that, too,” he assured them.
Another deep tremor of fear worked its way up Emily’s spine.
Her trainer crouched on one knee in front of her, taking her chin in his hand, and forcing her eyes on his. The move like a father might offer a penitent or sorrowful child. There is something of a child in every slave—this was Dylan Kincaid’s point of view. Their need for rules, for discipline, for reassurance, reward, praise and punishment. He had the gift to see this in women like Emily who were initiates in their chosen lifestyle.
“Don’t fret, little one,” he told her kindly. “Your training has just begun. Whether I conduct the rest or your master takes you back or you move on to another trainer or Dom, you have my assurance that in this soul of yours there is a true slave.” He touched her between her breasts where her heart beat fast and anxiously. “Trust your instincts. You’ll make few decisions for yourself, but the ones you make will be important ones that will affect the rest of your life. Trust your instincts.”
“Yes, sir.”
Though he was referring to things she knew nothing about, Emily knew that the truth would eventually unfold. She wanted nothing less than the mysteries of this life, having finally come alive after a long, dormant season of waiting.
Abruptly moving to his feet, Dylan Kincaid strode toward the door with his friends following.
“nan?”
“Yes, sir,” the maid stepped forward.
“Fit her with a larger dildo, next size should do fine. Then send her on. I think she’s had enough for one day.”
His Latest Acquisition Page 10