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“Yes, Master,” she whispered. “I’m ready.”
CHAPTER24
Renee
Master Hendryk made me kneel next to the whipping chair so he could use my mouth while he punished Candy. As my bare knees met the soft carpet my belly filled with fluttering, not butterflies so much as angry little sparrows. My master’s rigid manhood hovered, throbbing in front of my eyes, and I had to provide it a soft place of pleasure while he whipped another girl without mercy. How could I be falling in love with this man? What was it about his arrogance, his sheer dominance, that attracted me?
You’re learning about yourself… you’re learning to understand.
The thought floated up from the seething depths of my inner storm.
But Idon’tunderstand, another part of me replied.
Sobbing, Candy laid herself over the cushioned seat of the high-backed, black-leather-upholstered chair. That happened behind me, where I knelt with my attention focused on Master Hendryk’s enormous cock, but I thought I could feel the warmth radiating from her already thoroughly spanked bottom.
“The Institute loves their special benches and their punishment horses, don’t they?” he mused. He had his long, stiff penis in his left hand, and he idly pumped it, as if showing me that he would pleasure himself when he chose and reminding me of his warning that I must not—that my pussy belonged to my master. “I prefer regular furniture, I suppose, because it teaches a girl to look at her punishments and her acts of sexual submission as a natural part of her life.”
I frowned deeply, wondering even more urgently what was wrong with me that Master Hendryk could not only arouse me with this degradation but could actually make me want to belong to him not just as a casual possession but as some kind of forever bed girl.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw him move the cane in his right hand, and I heard it tap softly against Candy’s bottom.
“I think when training an AI slut like you, Candy…” he said.
I felt Candy move, as if her hips had just bucked over the whipping chair. She let out a little whimper of obvious fear and arousal. It made me clench my fists at my sides as I desperately tried to keep from touching myself.
“…that that’s even more important, since it establishes a sort of learning that you couldn’t get purely from your programming.”
I found that I had started to chew on my lower lip. Master Hendryk’s mixture of theory with practice, of arousal with intellect, made me feel like I might find an answer somewhere, some clue that might reassure me that I hadn’t started to lose my mind.
I knew at least that what he was saying now must have something to do with his plan to figure out what had happened inside Candy’s brain. But I couldn’t help feeling that it had a great deal to do with me, as well.
Yes, at the Institute, Master G and the other trainers had put us on benches and horses. Even the chairs they sat in to spank us were well out of the ordinary—more like thrones than regular chairs, whereas Master Hendryk’s whipping chair could have sat in anyone’s living room or dining room. And he had taken me from the Institute to his palatial house to teach me… to train me in a way it seemed I couldn’t have been trained at the Institute, because of the sheer depth of my need for abject degradation.
I heard the rattan tap against Candy’s poor bottom. She let out another little whimper. I nearly moaned as I felt my pussy contract at the terrible thought of what would happen, so very close to me, and what Master Hendryk would do with me while he punished my bed sister.
“Look at me, Renee,” I heard him say. His voice seemed to come from very far away—high above me and so distant from my center of attention… his big, strong hand on his long, thick cock. It took me a long moment to obey him and to turn my eyes up to his face, to find him looking down at me with narrowed eyes and a tiny smile that made my heart beat faster.
“Candy is the one being whipped today,” he said gravely, “but it may be your little bottom over this chair tomorrow, if you need it. You have a lesson to learn from her whipping.”
My lips parted as my racing heart skipped a beat. His blue eyes told me that in fact, for him,mylesson represented the more important one.
Trust me.He had given that command, and he had said he had feelings for me, and I could see those feelings in his eyes. Somehow he knew that I needed to serve him in this humiliating way—that I needed tolearnto serve him on my knees, attending his hardness as he punished another girl for her disobedience.
If Master G had tried to teach me that, I understood, I would have obeyed him the same way all the angels in our training group did—but I wouldn’t havelearnedit, because I wouldn’t have let myself see how deep the need inside me was. It would have seemed like a thing I did because my trainer commanded it—not something my master demanded because he knew how it would change me if I really did confront my own dark desires.
With his eyes still locked on mine, Master Hendryk reached out his left hand a few inches and took firm hold of my chin. He pressed on either side of my mouth to open my lips further. With a little sob of submission I put my tongue out the way I knew a dominant man likes, when he thrusts into a girl’s mouth.
Master Hendryk shifted his feet slightly and leaned forward. He laid the head of his iron-hard cock on my tongue. He shifted his hand to the back of my head and, our gazes still entwined, he drove his hardness into me, beginning to fuck my face hard and fast from the very first stroke.
He spoke to Candy, then, with his eyes still fixed on me.
“Twelve strokes for disobedience,” he said. “You’ll count them.”
He kept watching me even as I sensed him lifting the cane from Candy’s bottom. His fingers twined in my hair, keeping my mouth firmly in place for his manhood’s pleasure.
“You know what to say, Candy,” he told her. “Or will your first stroke not count?”
Still he looked down into my eyes, surely so that he could see me take him as deep as he wanted to thrust, the way I had learned at the Institute. I had received that expert training, though, without true understanding—without the kind of real education only a teacher like Master Hendryk could provide.
