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She brought the horrible thing down again, just as hard as the previous lashes. Then she spoke, and I heard her voice clearly somehow despite the screaming, which seemed at this point to emanate from some other requisitioned, auctioned, owned bed girl.
“It’s… very… important… Wetquim,” she said, whipping me all the while so that my body bucked uncontrollably against the chair’s restraints. “That… you… learn… this… lesson… thoroughly.”
By the end of her sentence, to my own surprise, where my consciousness had taken up residence off in the far reaches of the galaxy, I had stopped struggling. Each new lash brought a spasm all the way through my body at the renewal of the terrible, mounting pain, but my limbs no longer strained against the leather straps.
I held my bottom cheeks, spreading them obediently for my mistress. I sobbed quietly at the torment between my legs as I watched her return the cunt paddle to the cabinet and get the depilator again.
“Chalondra,” Mistress Franla said, looking into my eyes, “I’m afraid the real lesson has only just started.”
She touched the warm edge to the lowest part of my private lips, and then she moved it lower. I cried out, a single sound that somehow conveyed too many feelings. Shame, and discomfort, and fear, but above all, to my horror, a need so urgent I had to bite my tongue to keep from begging my mistress to touch me where I knew much too well it would give relief.
“This part of you is special, Chalondra,” she said, her voice calm and even as if she wanted me to contrast her impassivity with the surges of desperation traveling through my limbs with every degrading movement of the device between my bottom cheeks.
I closed my eyes as tightly as I could, feeling my forehead crease very deeply with the effort of not crying out—or, worse, begging Mistress Franla to tell me why the most embarrassing part of my body was also somehowspecial.The worst part lay in the feeling, which my mistress had apparently mastered the art of imparting to the girls she trained, that I already knew the answer. That if I only had the strength of mind to face the wantonness of my nature, I would see exactly why that tiny, wrinkly opening between my hind cheeks had a particular, specific importance in my new life of servitude.
Mistress Franla moved the depilator’s warm edge up and down. I chewed on my lower lip, willing her to be done. I felt her use the towel again, to wipe between my legs, and I let out a little sob at how the moment of friction made me long, despite myself, for more of her attention there.
“Very special,” she murmured, and she put a fingertip there… right there. My eyes flew open, and I saw my mistress gazing down intently at what she had just done—what she was doing, because the finger didn’t remain stationary. No, it moved in a circle, and then it pushed, and I had to close my eyes again so that I wouldn’t see her patient demeanor, the obviousness of her intention. She meant to teach me something, in this dreadful, humiliating way. The finger inside my anus, the one I tightened on but couldn’t expel, carried a lesson with it.
In the darkness behind my eyelids, I came up against the edge of the terrible knowledge—a dawning understanding of the specialness my mistress meant. Her finger, moving gently in andout, making me whimper, making my hips buck against the belt around my waist, making my mistress have to wipe my melting pussy again with the towel… that mysterious lesson met in my mind with the other thing I felt so desperate to understand.
Fucking.It must have something to do with fucking, whatever fucking proved to be. For the first time I confronted the violence of the word itself.Fuck. A single syllable… a harsh, short way to talk about something only adults discussed, and, it seemed, that they discussed in polite society only with other, softer words. The thing husbands and wives did in bed—that, apparently, masters did to their concubines, too.
“I’m going to start training this special place right now, Chalondra,” Mistress Franla said, beginning to accompany the dreadful invading finger with the very gentle, slow-moving pressure of two fingers, just where she had punished me so severely. “You’re going to learn to climax with my finger in your anus.”
Suddenly I felt the desperate need to see my mistress, as if the sight of her face might help me understand these dark matters. I opened my eyes, and instantly they widened to what felt like the size of dinner bowls as I saw the expression on my mistress’ face. Her blue eyes, the color of cool water, seemed paradoxically to burn with meaning as they gazed into mine.
The seriousness there, the solemnity, thepassion, even, stimulated a wayward impulse to giggle. At that moment, in the wake of the terrible agony she had brought between my thighs with the barbarian instrument of discipline and now the presence of her soothing fingers, I wondered if I couldhelpcoming. My hips jerked, my body trying to thrust the tiny, tingling button of my clit against the softly rubbing presence.The idea that I might have tolearnto climax that way seemed irresistibly humorous.
The next moment, though, to my chagrin, I began to understand. I wondered how I could have dared to say—to think, even—that Mistress Franla couldn’t break me. She had broken me with the frightful paddle, and she obviously intended to break me again with her searching, demanding, impossibly skillful fingers.
I let out a deep sob. She had told me, hadn’t she? She had given me the most important lesson of all, when she had seemingly yielded to me, and admitted—or so it had seemed—that I might have spoken the truth, that she might never break me.
Both things can be true, I understood, the blood rushing to my face as the thought flashed into my mind.She can break me over and over, and yet, if I choose the hardest path, I will neverbebroken.
The caressing, knowing fingers, the ones higher up, moistened with my own liquid need, did not move with anything like the insistence of the lone finger further down. That one pushed further inside the more secret opening, much further. It invaded my most private place more deeply. It impaled me so completely that the cry I let out—at the expression on Mistress Franla’s face, at the gentle fondling of my pussy, and above all at the terrible motion of the finger in my anus—had much more of shame and fear than it did of pleasure.
“You need to come, Wetquim, don’t you?” she asked, her voice as tender as the two fingertips rubbing soft circles around my clit. “You need it very, very much, don’t you?”
For a moment I hardly noticed that she had shifted to my horrid service name once again, and then the awareness dawned.
She will break you again and again, to make you the kind of bed girl your master likes to fuck.
My body tried to come, and my mind tried to stop the climax. The idea of feeling that terrible, much-too-welcome release with my mistress’ finger there, training me in the most humiliating possible way, seemed like a kind of breaking from which my spirit could never recover. I had foolishly thought they would train me with pain alone, and I had thought their torments, if I stayed true to myself, would only strengthen my resolve.
But the overwhelming need, the dark pleasure, overcame the feeble barrier of my will as if it were a wall made of sand. I threw my head back and screamed out my irresistible climax, my limbs writhing against the leather straps and the sensation of binding and restraint bringing new, more intense waves of pleasure with each twist of my knees, my arms, my hips.
Screams became sobs, of pleasure and of shame. My mistress’ fingers grew more gentle, and then they left me, and I heard her washing her hands in the little basin I had noticed, right next to the cabinet. I opened my eyes to see her there, intent on her task, that very concentration bringing a new wave of warmth to my cheeks.
“You did well, Chalondra,” she said, without turning around. “Your master will, I fear, be quite demanding tonight, but if you obey him you will find that most of your fears are idle. You’ll be quite sore tomorrow, I’m certain, but a healthy, spirited girl like you will recover quickly. And I believe I can persuade his lordship not to use you again until you’re ready to please him without any chance of lasting harm. You represent a significant investment, after all, and his lordship has placed his confidence in my judgment as to the course of your training.”
CHAPTER 19
Baron Gravamir
Franla’s time did not come cheap. Tonight, especially, since the Duke of Gadev, her principal employer, expected her regular presence on Sixthday evenings, for his weekly revel. I had had to offer my mistress of concubines double wages to induce her to find a substitute mistress for His Grace for the festivities at Gadev House.
Gratifyingly enough, however, I had felt certain from the ease of the negotiation that Franla found her situation at Gravamir House much more to her liking: the idea of training a single, special young woman for an exacting master’s bed seemed to have a certain charm, when considered against the prospect of another night supervising the conduct of a dozen docile concubines brought together for the occasion from His Grace’s guests’ collections.
