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“That too, sir. And what is wrong with that? Is that not what my Lord Mountbane tried to teach me?”
Caius nodded, his mind grinding away at something as he determined how to proceed. “Loria, come.”
The dutiful dark-skinned companion of the dungeon master was called from the side of the room, and quickly stood before her master—eyes lowered, lips parted, hands at her side, palms open. Her nakedness was stark and beautiful in this pose of waiting. The rich texture of her body glowed by candlelight; her dark areoles seemed blushed with pink, as were her tawny cheeks; and below, the V of her feminine crest bloomed with a bush of black, glistening curls.
“Watch carefully,” he ordered Charlotte. “You study this well, you’ll understand Ilusia at its substance. The postures of humility and the attitude are one. There is no slave better than my Loria to teach you subservience.”
Charlotte stared upward, for the first time observing this simple woman for the dignity and grace she exuded with such abundance. It seemed that until now the contentious novice hadn’t bothered to appraise anything more about her new home than her own contrary feelings. Kneeling still, she sat back on her heels in awe.
“Loria waits now for my command and will bend like the willow to obey my order.” Caius halted in front of his slave saying, “Pose for inspection.”
Loria changed positions facilely, locking her fingers behind her neck, while her elbows and feet were wide apart. Eyes down, lips apart, that aspect of her attitude remained the same.
“And on your knees,” Caius ordered further, watching as the lovely slave fell to the floor like a leaf drops to the earth. Her knees remained spread, but other than this one facet of the pose, her mood, her face, her hands, and eyes didn’t change.
Charlotte was comprehending but not yet schooled enough. The shapes and contours of surrender had many permutations. To miss one might mean she’d miss the very one that would woo her Mountbane to discard this miserable captivity of her loins and make her whole a
t last. The promise of relief and sexual ecstasy burned through her earlier anger. Though she despised him still, she would have him—even if it meant succumbing to these degrading submissive rituals.
“Head to the floor,” Loria was ordered next. Obeying readily, she fell forward, legs still apart, and pressed her cheek to the stone while clasping her hands behind her, tucking them to her lower back. Her ass was raised above her heels thus exposing every private treasure between her legs. Certainly, her thighs would ache in such a position, but her steady fix on this posture never suggested it caused even a second of discomfort.
Caius made her keep the pose for several minutes while he circled her with a rod in hand and leveled several whisking cuts of wood against her flanks and ass. She jarred slightly with each blow, but kept her repose without a grimace or a cry.
“Slave, rest,” he ordered then, and the submissive collapsed, her ass resting on her heels, her arms stretched forward. Her entire body looked like a sack of wheat slumped languidly on the ground. “See how she becomes so formless? But how her eyes remain half-closed and her lips slightly parted? She is at peace, but watchful. A slave cannot afford the misstep of thoughtlessness. She may rest, but she is waiting for my next command. Prostrate yourself.” The order might have slipped right by a less observant slave. But not Loria. Her body slid forward, opening with arms and legs stretched wide and to her sides as though she were a star about to rise to heaven. Her head bowed once more, as she pressed her forehead into the ground, tucking her chin to her neck. She waited again. “You do these with such flawless precision,” he said to Charlotte, “you may not seduce your master, but you will get his attention.”
Caius glided his rod along the lines of Loria’s body as though he were making a picture of her perfection. Nearly imperceptible shivers could be seen along her skin, as the tiny quakes could not be helped. As her master lodged his piece into the cleft of her ass, she shuddered more, but not so deeply as to offend him. Though Charlotte couldn’t see, she suspected that for a time, the rounded head of his implement was pressed to Loria’s anus. Something in her clenched for just a second before she relaxed into whatever sensation had gripped her with a trace of fear.
“Body spread,” Caius moved on withdrawing the rod and standing back to see his slave turn over and open herself as widely as she had in her last posture; though now breasts, belly and groin undulated in anticipation of a strike upon her flesh, or a new command. This time the master moved forward quickly with his demand, “Into a bridge,” whereupon Loria’s body seemed to float upwards as she bent her knees, drew her feet in toward her ass, and lifted her hips up off the floor. Her arms rested above her head as the watching eye was lured to the blatant exposure of her nest of curls and the pink/brown lips hidden within them. “I should fuck her now and let you see the show. See how a slave performs her task of service—how you will perform.”
But then Caius continued saying, “Into an arch.” While Charlotte watched enthralled by the symmetry of gracefulness, Loria pulled out of her lewd bridge, and kneeling, leaned back, arched her breasts toward the ceiling, and let her head fall back so her long hair dangled freely with the ends grazing the floor. “She will stay like this a full hour, if I so demand. By then, her thighs will quake and her arms burn to be freed, but she will hold the posture because I command her to. She knows the price for disobedience and the triumph in compliance. She would rather die than disappoint me. I make her bear these stances long and proudly so that she enjoys within herself the satisfaction found in the simple gift they give her. She blesses herself as much as she blesses me.” Caius seemed both smitten and in awe of his slave, nearly overwhelmed by the determination she displayed so willingly. He turned to Charlotte. “I do not know if you can ever understand this sort of vassalage. Your mind has not dwelt on these things all your life as Loria’s has.”
“I should worry that I cannot,” Charlotte whispered. She was truly fearful that her own desire would not be enough to ensure her success.
“Yes, you should worry. The slavery of the female is bred into our women from their birth. Of course, some take to it more easily than others do. Some fail so miserably it’s almost laughable, but then there are those like Loria. She is noble born, directly from Lord Nor’s stock. But she thinks nothing of that now; and there was no fight to win her submission.”
“How did she come here?” Charlotte ventured.
Caius’ momentary reveries allowed the question without an eyebrow raised and he answered, “She came here to be trained and simply never left.” Turning himself back to his posed slave, he gathered his tender sentiments into himself and restored his stern expression. “Up now, bitch, on hands and knees.”
Loria’s awkward climb from arch to cat position was not awkward at all, though she seemed somewhat grateful that her master allowed her to ease out of the strenuous pose. Now, in the classic style of a four-legged animal, she waited for her last command. There were ten poses and this was the ninth.
“This one, little miscreant, requires minimal effort but it is extremely useful as it allows an easy penetration for an anxious prick. Accomplish it with the same refinement as the others, you’ll set yourself apart from the average whore who only knows it as the pose of being taken. Ah! You’ll be taken like this many times. Your Lord finds it most pleasing to ride the haunches of his harlots, lunging his blast of fire deep inside the belly. More often, though, he’ll ride your ass like this and ream it well.” He shook his head as though he doubted Charlotte’s resolve and ability. “You have much to get used to, a good deal to learn. Stand for punishment!” he suddenly ripped off. Charlotte herself wondered if he were meaning her; but in the time she took to consider this, Loria shot from her position. Standing, she bent over and placed her hands just above her knees.
Without another word, Caius came from behind and ripped the rod against Loria’s ass with ruthless intensity, until even this faultless slave could not help but cry out. Charlotte watched with a compassionate shudder running the length of her body as four deep weals rose out of Loria’s smooth skin.
“The games are played for slaves to lose,” Caius said as he replaced his rod on the wall. “Don’t expect to win. Expect that if you’re lucky, your lord will appreciate your efforts to please him.”
Charlotte had much to think about, but little time to think. Her training began that hour, under the kind hand of Loria who would instruct her in the forms of surrender until she’d mastered them enough to come before Caius.
Chapter Five
Practice was grueling and fitful—hours spent going over the intricacies of an art that was better not considered an art at all, but the essence of a life. Her initial attempts were clumsy, and often met with a good number of cuts to her flesh from a leather thong, which Loria was quite at ease applying to correct Charlotte’s careless efforts. Though Charlotte’s anger would flare, a few sharp snaps of leather against her skin and she would be silenced; in time, turning almost docile.
She was determined, playing out the role of slave even when her heart and head found the treatment cruel and irrational. As often as she failed—realizing the worst of punishment when Caius would step in and thrash her—she found some success, so that her training seemed less arduous with every new day that dawned.
Patterning her movements after the gentle Loria, Charlotte could feel her insides altering to fit the role she’d chosen. Days on days, her outward acts soon worked on her inner thoughts, changing her mind about herself, about lowliness and subservience. In several poses, she realized some tender peace she’d never known before. Some days she rose, relishing the thought of her practice with a longing that seemed so far from the woman she once believed herself to be that she could hardly recognize herself.
She thought little of Mountbane because when she did her poses and attitude would change, sometimes just the tiniest bit. But Loria could sense the odd switch in her demeanor. The wrinkle in her brow, the hardness in her jaw, a painful grimace
