It was easy to read Karen’s mind. It was even easier to get her entire life story from her, accomplished in less than two hours of casual shopping. It was a simple tale—native Californian, middle class, bright kid, college, steady job, old boyfriend not into kinky sex, and a small local SM organization where she volunteered her time as a secretary and the publisher of a newsletter called The Flogger. She wrote sexy stories too, for a local computer bulletin board. This was her vacation money—last year, she had gone to Aruba for a week with the old boyfriend. This year, she was having a good time with her kinky friends, hoping to find a new boyfriend.
It was also absurdly easy to get her to bed. Hell, it was easy to do everything with her—she was fun and cute and direct and open—just the kind of girl Michael liked in and out of the leather-set. And what’s more, she was kind of bold—not only in her way of introducing herself to him, but in the way she responded to his sex play.
Michael took her to the dungeon party that night, after having her describe all the clothing she had brought with her and telling her what to wear. He spent another few bucks on a black lace thong in the dealer’s room, holding it up against her body and chatting with the saleswoman behind the table as Karen blushed and looked embarrassed. But she didn’t walk away, or protest. And when he tucked the new purchase into the front of her jeans—“to keep it warm“—she put her hands behind her back and didn’t try to stop him from so publicly groping her.
It was a very promising beginning.
She looked sweet in the thong, her high-heeled boots, a bra, and her little leather club vest with all the pins on it. He wanted to put a collar on her, too. All slaves, even brand new trainees, were collared the minute they entered training or stepped into Geoff’s house. But even though he knew that she wasn’t a trainee and wouldn’t know what the collar meant to him... it would somehow be wrong.
Still, he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that a collar would look natural on her. The ten minutes they spent as she outlined the things she was not willing or interested in doing hammered home a strange sense of near guilt. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing, he told himself. I’m playing! I’m allowed to play! But he had to struggle to keep from grabbing her by the hair and forcing her to her knees and telling her what he was going to do and giving her a nice slap if she tried to talk back to him. He just knew she’d love it.
But he was only there to play.
He taught her how to follow him, one step behind on his left, and walked slowly around the converted warehouse that was the playspace for Leather Forever. It had been divided into rough sections with hung tarps and strategically placed pieces of equipment like standing crosses and stocks and spanking benches and cages. He avoided the curtained-off corner for medical play and piercings—not only wasn’t she ready for anything like that, but he had no idea what he would do once they got in. No, he had everything he needed in his training kit.
When he sensed that she was getting bored, he reached casually over to her and pulled her breasts free of the bra, exposing her. Her face colored, but she didn’t object and he turned away and kept walking, trying to hide his grin of satisfaction. He hoped that someone would ask if they could touch her—it would be great to be able to say “sure” and keep walking! But no one did, although more than one man looked up and grinned as they passed.
He watched a few scenes, controlling his impatience to get his hands on her body. He needed to know how she would behave. Once, during an especially hot girl-on-girl waxing scene, he pulled Karen over to him and fondled her nipples. As the wax piled up and the girl receiving it moaned and arched her back, he pinched Karen’s nipples harder and harder, until her moans rivaled the moans coming from the other girl. It was nice. He watched as colored wax dribbled down the girl’s breasts and across her full, round belly and thighs, and wished that she were prettier. But then, he grinned and glanced at Karen. What did it matter if the waxed lady wasn’t hot? He had a hot little babe of his own. He clamped her tender nipples and dragged her through the dungeon by the connecting chain, a slight smile remaining on his face.
Finally, he found the place he’d been looking for, a nice, sturdy X-shaped cross with chain attachments for bondage. He had his own cuffs, of course, heavy duty leather cuffs lined with sheepskin. He put them on her, checking them for security, stretching her arms over her body until she stood on her toes for him. She whimpered as he laid out his array of handsome floggers—the big, black leather one, the long and skinny one of narrow suede tresses, the braided deerskin in bright red. Before he secured her to the cross, naked except for the cuffs and that little thong, he removed the nipple clamps and made her thank him.
When she did, her voice a whisper, he felt his cock stiffen in the way it almost never did in these situations. She’s worth it, he thought. She’s close to what we play with every day! Maybe I can be a spotter after all! I picked the best one here!
But the proof would be in the playing. He teased her first, draping the tresses over her shoulders and down her back, letting them slide down her hips and thighs. She moaned and twisted her body to meet the gentle rushes of leather, even wiggling her ass a little when he slapped it lightly with the deerskin.
“Show me what a good girl you can be,” he said, drawing it back. The first strike landed squarely on one shoulder blade, and he loved the sound of it, snapping and sharp. She gasped and her head flew back. “Oh, yes!” she cried out, and he grinned. Geoff believed that slaves should be as verbal as possible.
It was easy to fall into a natural rhythm beating her—and he did for a while. He covered her back until it was pink, and then switched to the narrower whip to actually make some stripes. She didn’t disappoint him—in fact, she seemed to like this even better. She writhed and threw herself back into the falling tresses, her body twisting to catch them, as if she were eager to be striped. When he started to really sweat, he stopped long enough to take off his shirt and put just his vest back on. The smooth leather felt good against his naked back. He came up behind her and pressed his body into hers, feeling the warmth of her skin against his chest and stomach. His erection pressed into her ass, and she moaned and pushed back.
“Oh, God, sir, please, please, yes, touch me, kiss me, hold me, please!” she panted. He leaned around her, covering her body with his, wrapping his hands around her breasts as she ground her ass against him. She was ready for it, even if her pre-play negotiation said that she would want to be asked before he fucked her. Oh, she was more than ready, he thought, biting her neck as he rubbed himself against her even harder. I bet you regret thinking that you might say no to anything, he thought with savage amusement.
Time to make her regret it even more! He pulled out the nipple clamps again and re-attached them. She groaned and whimpered, but didn’t try to stop him. Then he picked up his heaviest whip and started really working her over.
When he had started all of this, it was hard for him to really hit the girls. A little spanking, sure. But use a heavy whip on one? Even canes seemed too harsh for their delicate bodies and skin.
But Geoff had laughed at him and his concerns. “Oh, don’t be so sexist,” he said, clapping Michael on the back. “Women have proven over and over again that they far surpass we mere males in pain tolerance, Mike! And these women want you to hit them. You’re not bullying them, Mike, you’re giving them what they crave. Hell, they could take more than most of the boys we‘ll ever see! You’ll find out.”
And boy, did he! There was always a guy or two who liked a good thumping, liked an array of bruises or stripes to carry for a few days. But some of the slave girls he’d played with truly defined the term “pain slut.”
So now, he wasn’t afraid to pull his arm way back and let fly with this fat bundle of black tresses, even when her body hit the cross and she lost a bit of breath. He laughed as he gave her a few seconds to gather and brace herself. “Remember—be a good girl!” he warned. He hoped that wanting to impress him might keep her
from using the “safe word” which would make him stop the scene. Nothing made him lose interest more than some bottom whining out a code word to make him stop playing, walk over to ask what’s wrong, et cetera.
But he didn’t have to worry on that account. Far from fighting him or starting to whine or cry, Karen braced herself eagerly for it, twisting her body from side to side as he thumped her over and over again. She sighed and groaned and whimpered sometimes, but she loved it, every second of it, as his arm grew sore and sweat dripped down his chest and back.
He paused to take a drink himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and took an extra long draft and pulled her head back by the hair. Covering her mouth with his, he fed her water, a hot move much favored in Geoff’s training house. What was more primal than feeding and watering a slave in this intimate way? He let her go with a grin and walked back to his whips to change to the narrow-tressed one again, and as he did, he caught sight of one of Geoff’s regular spotters, who was in the small group of spectators who had ringed this little corner of the dungeon. The man’s eyes flew open wider, and he grinned back at Mike with a “thumbs up” gesture, and Mike felt like there was nothing he could do wrong.
It was turning out to be a better weekend than he expected.
Back in his hotel room, he did grab her by the hair as he pulled her into the middle of the floor. “I bet you want to be fucked,” he said, popping the button of his leather jeans.
“Oh, God, yes, yes, sir, please!” she begged, from her knees. Her eyes were wide, her back and legs all red and striped, and he knew her nipples were so sore that a gentle touch would make her flinch.
“But you didn’t think you would,” he said teasingly. “You wanted to make me ask for it, didn’t you? Wanted to make me beg to fuck your hot sweaty body, hmmm?”
“I—I was just trying to go slow,” she insisted, with the slightest of whimpers. “It’s only common sense... I don’t usually... I mean, I never...”
“Don’t usually fuck on the first date?” he asked, taking a seat. “Well, that’s okay. You can go now.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock, and she blushed. “But—but—I want to with you!”
“Then apologize for thinking that you wouldn’t,” Michael said, feeling his cock swelling at the sight of her despair. “Tell me how sorry you are for not saying I could fuck you any way I wanted to.”
“But that’s what they say you should do,” she said with a look of confusion. “Hardly anyone I know has sex the first time they play with someone. I mean, we never even discussed safe sex!”
Michael reached into his bag and pulled out the silver box that held his safe sex supplies. He tossed a condom and a little tube of lube onto the floor between them. “Next question?” he said. “I’m still waiting for that apology.”
Karen looked up at him, and then her eyes scanned down to his crotch and lingered, and then flitted to the condom on the floor in front of her. She looked back up, and her lips parted. Her face was still red, and she closed her eyes as she whispered, “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Tell me how much you want it,” Michael sneered. “And call me master, slut.”
“Yes! Yes, master! Please... oh, God, I need to get fucked so bad,” she whimpered. “Please, master, fuck me!”
His cock grew harder. “Tell me how much you want my cock,” he said, unfastening the fly of his jeans. The chilled air of the room touched his cock as it jutted from the fly, but that did nothing to lessen the erection.
“Oh! Yes, yes, I want that cock in me, please,” she murmured, moving forward on her knees. She picked up the condom and offered it to him like a sacrifice. “Oh, please, master, fuck me, I want it so bad!”
“Kiss my boots like a good little slave bitch,” he said, taking the condom from her hands. “Lick them and make me believe you’ll take my cock wherever I want to put it!”
He could feel her mouth as she pressed frantic kisses to his boots, and he took his cock in one hand as she abased herself. Oh, yes, that was more like it! No longer was she the independent, negotiating bottom who could tell him what to do, but his own personal cock-slave, begging for a taste, begging to be used.
He made her lie on her back and spread her legs wide, opening her pussy lips for him. Then he changed his mind and had her present to him doggy style, her ass up in the air, head down to the floor. Finally, he had her lie on her back on the table, holding her own ankles as she displayed herself in the lewdest position he could come up with, and he stood between her legs and thrust in with one hard slam.
By the time he had eased the condom down over his cock, he was far too aroused to have a nice, long fuck. He used her quickly and roughly, and wasn’t surprised when she came as fast as he did. She was sweet and dripping wet, and when he called her his slut, she responded by bucking up against him and drawing him in so tight that there was nothing else to do but shoot.
He didn’t put her on the floor, as he would have done with a proper slave, but cuddled with her in bed, an interesting change of pace for him. In the morning, she jumped out of bed when the room service came, and served him without being told to, even waiting for him to invite her before perching on the edge of the bed to devour some toast and coffee.
“So where did you learn your manners?” he asked over orange juice.
“Self taught,” she boasted, tossing her hair back. “That’s all I could do, since I haven’t found a man who can really master me.”
“Oh?” He laughed and stretched. “That’s news to me!”
“Does that mean you want to be my real master?” she asked. Suddenly, there was a serious note in her voice, and Michael paused and bit back the quick agreement that was on his lips. It was almost funny how she said “real” like that. How little she knew how real it could be!
But she was soft world! He couldn’t—shouldn’t—say anything.
“Well—” he started to say.
She brought one finger up to her lips and made a “shushing” sound. “It’s okay,” she said, her smile just touched by sadness. “I know, it’s too early to make any decision about that, we hardly know each other, you’re married, or gay, or both, and besides, you couldn’t possibly give up training for the Olympic rowing team or something.”
“And you overcompensate,” he drawled.
She sighed. “Yes, I guess I do. I’m sorry. But I also know that this is a weekend conference, and not the time to do anything but have fun. Wanna stay with me today, or play the field?”
He marveled at her composure. Damn, he thought, reaching out to caress those shining curls. She’s Marketplace material, or I’ll eat my brand new eighty-buck cap. Even the spotter last night had been watching them play, surely that was a positive sign that she was something special! “Let’s see what’s on the schedule for today,” he said.
She made it easy for him. She gave him a very nice blow job in the shower, while the hot water ran down his back, and didn’t even look humiliated when he deliberately came in her face and then shoved her under the water. No, she loved it! A natural slave, for sure!
His eyes wandered during the day, as they always did. But as they sat together in the back rows of the conference rooms set up for discussions about how to use medical devices as torment producers and how people used a family metaphor in order to structure their sex and power issues, he found it pleasant to wrap an arm around her, to play with her hair or tease her during moments of great seriousness and get her to laugh. It was also enjoyable to watch her use these self-taught skills on him—fading gently into the background when his attention was on something or someone else, jumping up before he did and waiting until he was seated to sit down herself, opening doors—for such a supposed novice, she had all the right instincts. Yeah, her timing was off, and she didn’t catch all the nuances, but she was pretty damn good. Hell, Geoff had accepted trainees who had less of a feel for the art than she did.
He fucked her again at lunch time, this time in the ass. He made
her hold her cheeks open for him, the hotel television tuned to the pay-for-porn channel, and he fucked her a good long time while watching better-looking women cavort on the screen. Again, she didn’t turn on him and look uncomfortable or hateful at this sort of use, only profoundly humiliated—and massively turned on.
More and more perfect!
He took her to dinner in the hotel restaurant that night, and ordered for her. She finally looked a little put out, but bit her lip and smiled anyway.
“Well, that’s very dominant,” she said after the waiter had gone. “But what if I had dietary restrictions? What if I was a vegetarian?”
“Then you would have said, ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I’m allergic to radishes, or my religion forbids me to eat shellfish,’” Michael responded. It was the standard way slaves were coached to respond to situations like that. It was out of his mouth before he realized it, and he felt a flash of doubt. Should he have said that? Hell, what did it matter? It was only one thing, and not that important anyway.
“Why would I be sorry?” she asked.
“Because you neglected to tell me that important part of your life, taking away from me the opportunity to do the right thing by you.”
She nodded. “You mean, it’s part of the negotiation.”
“No! I mean it’s part of the contract. You reveal everything, so that I can always know what to do.”
“Isn’t it a little too early for a contract?” She giggled and drank some ice water—he hadn’t ordered her any wine. He snickered a little too—one of the seminars that day had been on slave contracts. The central part of the presentation had a one page contract which involved signing over one’s soul, with the proviso that emotional harm to the slave may sever the contract at any time. “But does the master get to keep the soul?” Michael had whispered to Karen.
“Oh, definitely too early for the kinds of contracts we heard today,” he said. “What I mean was the contract that takes place between the—the dominant and the submissive.” He had been about to say “owner and owned” but decided that it sounded too Marketplace. It was no big deal to use the popular vernacular, though. It was pretty common in Geoff’s place. “It’s not so much a written contract, but a social one. But it’s always conditional—the dominant can’t be depended on to make the right decisions without all the information on hand. That’s why the submissive has to be honest, and tell their dominant everything.”
The Trainer Page 11