Chapter Eleven
Kim rested her head on her Mistress’ belly, enjoying the feel of hard muscle under soft skin. Mistress Gyve had kept her word. Breakfast had included fresh fruit and muffins, and they had come back here to hot showers and a big, soft bed. Kim expressed her gratitude with lip service, tongue service as well, bringing her Mistress several intense orgasms.
At last Sarah had called a halt and collapsed, panting and sweating, guiding the slave’s smooth head to a position of rest. Satisfied sexually, Sarah’s mind returned to business, and she knew a twinge of guilt. She had been lax in her duties. True, 123 was at a critical stage in her training, but there were other slaves here. She couldn’t neglect them forever. It was wrong to leave them in the hands of ignorant guards who would abuse them, meet their basic physical requirements, and ignore their most important need; to find redemption through surrender.
There was something about this slave which made her different. Most of the girls who came into Sarah’s hands were halfway down the road to submission already. They were like cattle as far as Sarah was concerned. This one was a spirited horse. She would obey, but she would dare much with a firm and trusted hand holding her reins.
“I want to know your mind,” Sarah said abruptly. “Tell me what you were thinking and feeling last night.”
“I was terribly afraid,” Kim murmured. “I told myself I had to obey or face something worse, but I wanted to please you, too. I wanted to pass my test and make you proud of me. I guess that helped me to overcome my fear enough to do what I had to do. Knowing I was to be rewarded helped me to bear the beating, and when the guards were using me...”
“Don’t use euphemisms here,” Sarah warned her. “You know the Anglo Saxon words. I want to hear you say them.”
Kim colored. “When the guards were—fucking my ass—I came.”
“Interesting,” mused Mistress Gyve, “your body is wiser than you are. It is learning to connect sexual pleasure and pain. The proper emotional set can turn your trials into triumphs. It is going to happen to you anyway, so you might as well learn to like it. I don’t mean just pretend; I mean learn to like it.”
The slave girl’s eyes misted over as she grasped the full hopelessness of her position, and the mental shift being demanded of her. “It will be hard,” she said.
“Worthwhile goals always are,” Sarah lectured. “As Gordon Liddy remarked while roasting his hand in a candle flame, `The trick is not minding’. Remove yourself from the pain, examine it, bend it to your will.”
“I will try.”
“I have confidence in you,” said the Mistress. “Yesterday you passed a test of obedience. Today you will pass a test of self control.” She felt the bare shoulder under her hand go suddenly cold and rigid.
“Put your face to the wall, over there between the green chair and the desk.”
Kim got out of bed and obeyed. She had too much pride to scurry into place, and too much fear to dawdle. Sarah let her stand there, enjoying the sight of her slave awaiting discipline. The girl’s hands were clenched at her sides, and she weaved back and forth on knees that had become weak. Her wrists and ankles still bore faint traces of the shackles she had worn last night. Her firm little bottom was a mass of fading welts. It would still be tender, so much the better.
“Take two steps backward,” Sarah commanded. “Spread your legs. Now lean over and put your hands against the wall. Good, spread those legs a little wider.”
Following these directions, Kim found herself leaning off balance, bent, stretched, and dreadfully exposed.
Sarah jumped out of bed and got completely dressed. It was important for Masters and Mistresses to be dressed as much as possible. Many had gone so far as to wear pants with a codpiece or a veil over the crotch. In this way a slave could be used sexually without being permitted to see the Master undressed. The more a Master wears, the more naked a slave becomes by contrast. Sarah felt the crisply pressed uniforms she wore gave her an air of authority, which made her doubly dressed.
She had sent Jim out this morning to her favorite willow, and he had returned with a bouquet of slender branches in a pail of water. It was all new growth, each bough nearly supple enough to be tied in a knot. She selected one and swished it through the air. Hearing it, Kim flinched.
“I have a fabulous dinner in mind,” said Mistress Gyve, “broiled fish, baked potato, tropical fruits, an excellent wine, and perhaps a little ice cream for dessert. I would love to share it with you, but you have to prove that you are worthy.”
She was going through the rods as she spoke, testing them for flex and heft, listening to the whicker each one made as she slashed the air with it.
“Your hands stay flat on the wall, and your feet stay flat on the floor until I say otherwise. Is your little bottom hole still sore from last night?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“You wouldn’t want me to give you to the guards again tonight?”
“No, Mistress.”
“Then show me how much self control you have.”
The willow switches were sharp and savage. The pain of each cutting stroke seemed to grow after it had been delivered. The slender tongues darted and curled, seeking secret and tender places. Kim wailed and pleaded. Her knees flexed. Her bottom bobbed and swayed. Strokes fell in a rapid rhythm—back and forth, up and down. Kim uttered her most piteous cries when the lashes found her armpits and breasts, or curled around her loins to snap at her belly.
Yet, through it all, Kim’s hands and feet remained in position as though nailed.
Sarah rested. She was breathing hard. “Such courage is rare,” she said.
In fact, she was surprised. She had meant for 123 to fail this test. It had been designed as a lesson in humility, a chance to defeat pride and make the slave admit her weakness. Kim had held her ground where others would have curled up into a ball to beg for mercy. Sarah felt somehow that this slave had won a victory over her by obeying an order that was meant to be impossible.
“Stay as you are. I have a special reward for you.”
Kim’s arms trembled with the strain of pushing against the wall, and she was aware of a trickle of sweat tickling the underside of her breast as it followed the contours of her body. Every nerve was singing. Her skin felt scorched.
She felt cool hands on her stinging bottom as a soothing oil was rubbed on. Fingers dipped into her vagina, spreading oil. She was wet again. Lately her body seemed to be betraying her, becoming aroused against her will. Something large and blunt probed her. It penetrated easily, riding in on the oil. She gasped, her body welcoming the intruder with a gush of natural lubricant.
It was thrust into her again, deeper this time, and she could feel a clothed body pressed against her burning bottom.
“I wish I had a real one for you,” Mistress Gyve whispered in her ear, “but this one has its advantages.” As she spoke she flipped an unseen switch and the member that ploughed into Kim began to vibrate.
“It’s all right,” the Mistress cooed. “You may move now.”
Kim slid slowly down the wall, leaving smears of sweat where her hands had been. Sarah rode her down as she collapsed. Kim pressed her face to the floor and arched her back to welcome the deep thrusts rocking her. She couldn’t remember ever cumming so hard.
Sarah withdrew from the limp girl and left her on the floor. Switching off the vibrator and unbuckling it from her hips, she put it away. Then she went back to drop to her knees beside 123 and gather her into her arms. She kissed the slave, dancing deep into her
mouth with a questing tongue. Sarah was filled with a need she could not express.
“Thank you, Mistress,” Kim gasped, recovering her strength.
Sarah hugged her hard. “I can’t begin to tell you what pleasures you bring me.”
“I hope to serve well, Mistress.”
“Oh you will. You do. You arouse such a terrible need in me.”
Kim began to grow frightened again, sensing what that need would bring.
Sarah kissed the top of her head gently and whispered, “This time I want you to bend over and grab your ankles, and count for me. Count out loud.”