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“But never an actual man’s hardness?”
“No, Master,” I whispered.
“When my penis is uncovered, from now on, girl,” my master said slowly, as if to make certain each word had its proper effect, “you must keep your eyes fixed on it, unless I tell you otherwise.”
CHAPTER8
Heather
Ivan had had to use the compliance wand that first night. Remembering it, as I fixed my eyes on the enormous, rigid shaft of my master’s manhood, I could somehow look from two perspectives, and feel the emotions of both as well: the girl of four months ago, whose first sight of a man’s hard penis had raised a foolish but terribly necessary resistance in her… and the girl of this moment, the one whose mission had just been set in motion by the voice of a stranger in Devushkin’s discipline room.
Both Heathers blushed at the sight of Ivan’s massive cock. Both knew that it would soon thrust its way inside their most private places. Both understood, deep down, how much they needed it—needed its iron-hard length to enter them, use them, enjoy them as its owner chose, without regard for the girls’ pleasure or even their comfort.
As Ivan turned me with his hands, though, and began to bend me over, the perspectives of the two Heathers diverged. I could nevertheless still see through both viewpoints, both lenses, it felt like. I remembered my resistance that first night, how the pressure of my master’s hand on my back hadn’t caused me to bend compliantly, reaching down for my ankles and shuffling my feet apart a little in order to give Ivan his favorite view of me—above all after a sound whipping when he could run his fingertips gently over the welts he had made, or others had made with his consent and approval.
I felt my muscles tighten, tensing against the pressure from this frightening man’s big hand. I knew how terribly foolish I would be, to rebel here and now, when I had every reason simply to let the man who had bought me have his way. I had even seen in his eyes, only a few moments ago, that rather than the brutal ogre I had feared, Ivan Antonov possessed the capacity to cherish his bed girl even as he kept her firmly in line and used her regularly with his manhood.
Something about the sight of that enormous manhood had brought a sort of barrier into my mind. Nor did Ivan’s menacing, up-thrusting cock raise that barrier all on its own. Ivan had followed my first, enforced glimpse of his aroused penis with the placement of his hand on my hip, turning me peremptorily around. He meant, it had come clear to me in a heated flash of lewd insight, to inspect the untried, virgin receptacles he had just acquired for his thrusting cock.
I knew I should simply obey my master, and that disobedience would only make for a harsher punishment when he decided to begin disciplining me—as he had already informed me he would soon do. That knowledge, in the moment, made no difference at all. I understood, even as I pushed back against Ivan’s hand and refused to bend over in front of him, that I had made a terrible mistake. I even understood that some deep-seated need in me had perversely decided Imustmake that mistake. Only when I felt Ivan press the cool metal tip of the compliance wand into the small of my back, though, did I realize, with a little sob in my throat, that Iwantedmy master to punish me.
“Let’s see,” Ivan said, rubbing the wand gently over the skin of my back so that I shivered. “I paid a great deal of money for this device, but I still don’t believe it will actually work. And I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather make you obedient the old-fashioned way.”
I bit my lip, feeling my brow furrow hard. At my sides, my hands clenched into tight fists. In front of my mind’s eye, even though my real eyes stared at the bookshelves full of beautiful leather-bound volumes, that cozy, reassuring sight gave way to the indelible memory of Ivan’s rigid cock: its redness… its length… its girth… the way it had so arrogantly and frighteningly throbbed a little with his heartbeat, and above all the leaping thrill of terror intertwined inescapably with wanton need between my legs.
He had saidthe old-fashioned way.No more than that, but my mind went on from the command he had given me to fix my eyes on his manhood, to visions filled with terribly, shamefully arousing visions of whatthe old-fashioned waycould mean to a man with limitless power and limitless resources. How he could bend a young woman to his sexual will… how her consent would matter not at all to him… how he could enjoy himself as he chose, with the help of his physical strength and his iron will.
I heard the click of his finger on the activation button and I felt the faint tingle—so slight, both of those sensations, that I hadn’t even noticed them the first time my trainer had applied the wand to my back.
“Bend over and grasp your ankles, girl,” Ivan said.
I bent over. My hands, fists automatically opened, took hold of the knobby flesh and bone of my ankles. I heard a sob come from my chest, the helpless acknowledgment of the wand’s awful effect, the way it drew consent and submission out from their secret hiding places in my mind.
Ivan made a little noise behind me, a soft grunt of surprise and satisfaction.
“They say it works best,” he said speculatively, “when the trainer enforces the lesson with strict punishment.”
I bit my lip hard, trying to keep back the words that wanted to emerge. I recognized the effect from my time in the Pretorian Guard’s so-called care. The wand had generated a sort of haze of compliance around me, making me more likely to obey the man giving commands even when he hadn’t delivered a specific order.
The words came out anyway, with a whimper.
“Yes, Master.”
“Did they whip you often, at the brokerage?” Ivan asked, his voice casual, conversational. Could I hear something else behind the even tone? Real interest, maybe: whether in the brokerage through which the Guard had delivered me to him or in me I couldn’t tell.
“Yes, Master,” I told him, feeling my forehead crease hard.
“Spread your feet wider,” Ivan said. “I want to see your anus better.”
I let out a little sob as I obeyed the lewd command. I had never gotten used to it, during my training: the terrible jolt of need, down there, that accompanied each act of degradation imposed through the wand’s strange operation on my nervous system and my deep psychology.
The masked man who had so brutally introduced me to this world of unwelcome, shameful, and yet absolutely necessary pleasure had made certain I paid attention to this effect: the way that when I felt my master’s hands on my ass, spreading the cheeks roughly with his thumbs to look closely at the tiny secret there, I couldn’t keep my bare, virgin pussy from clenching hard, and warming so intensely that I felt certain Ivan would take notice right away.
“Oh, Heather,” he said in a voice that humiliated me even with its gently mocking tone, and sent a new wave of arousal coursing through my body, out from the intimate places my new owner had his attention fixed on, “you are a naughty girl, aren’t you?”
It was the first time he had said my name, and I thought no one had ever said it that way or could ever say it like that again; this warlord had purchased a virgin for his pleasure in deflowering her. Heather Foster would serve as a fuck toy, and the man who fucked her would forever have the shameful honor of mastering her that way for the first time.
Under the influence of the wand, I had no choice. My voice responded without a thought.
