The Training

The Evaluation-2

“Yes, sir?” she said.

“See that young man over there?” I said nodding toward Heather’s talking companion. “That’s Tyson. He’s scene. Thinks he’s a better player than he really is. Go to him. Make him an offer.”

Amanda paled a little. “Sir?”

“You heard me. Tonight you belong to him.”

Amanda’s eyes widened and she started to slowly shake her head no. I grabbed both her cheeks in one hand, squeezed them, and jerked her by the collar closer to me.

“Follow my orders, slave.”

Amanda gasped, swallowed, then nodded once. I released her and she got a hold of herself. She studied Tyson a moment, then moved off, ready to do my bidding. Tyson and Heather moved out from behind the plant and now paused in front of Louise’s whipping post which she had tried to disguise as some kind of exotic work of art. Ludicrous. Tyson smiled, and by his hand gestures I could tell he explained to Heather its true purpose. Heather’s eyes widened, full of innocence at how easily Tyson saw through Louise’s feeble camouflage and I just couldn’t wait to get her all to myself. Then Amanda drifted into their sphere, wormed her way into their conversation, and soon captivated almost all of Tyson’s attention. He fought to maintain some consideration toward Heather but Amanda, when she’s got it turned on, is like a gale force. With Tyson distracted I seized my opportunity.

I sidled up to Heather from behind at about ten o’clock. “An interesting piece of work, wouldn’t you agree?” I asked.

Heather turned around, a smile on her face and light green eyes full of wonder. “It is different, isn’t it?” she said, still playing the game that the whipping post was actually something else. “You know, Louise told me she had it made just for her.”

“For her? Or to be used by her? On others?” I asked.

“Oh, ah, I, well” Heather fumbled. “I wouldn’t really know.”

“Really? What about this piece over here?” I steered Heather away from Tyson’s orbit. Amanda was doing a wonderful job on him. From her body language I could tell she was practically doing a reverse rape. f**k me, sir, please f**k me. And the growing bulge in Tyson’s pants promised it would only be a matter of time before Tyson got entangled in those wonderful legs. Which also told me I needed to get on with it with Heather, no telling before someone else might try to snatch up this little p***y. Like Louise. Not too far away I could see her itching to somehow insert herself into my little play. My hand gently on Heather’s arm I guided her to the hanging cage, several feet above us. Louise had placed a stuffed, overlarge blue velvet parrot inside. “It’s a good thing that bird is so big, and fake. If it were real and any smaller it could easily...escape.”

Heather studied the cage. “I don’t think anyone could, well, like, get out of that.”

“Any...one?” I said. “That’s an interesting turn of phrase.”

Heather looked up at me. God, those eyes! “Well, it is big enough to hold...”

“Hold what..?”

“A person.”

I looked at her, closely. There wasn’t any embarrassment, no reticence.

“You could do just about anything to someone in there,” she said.

Whoa. Was this girl for real? One part of me wanted to toss her over my shoulder right then, but I kept my cool. “What kind of things did you have in mind?”

Now she did blush, a little, and looked back up at the cage. “Oh, well, y’know. Things. Things they couldn’t do anything to stop.”

“Ah. But you can always stop,” I said. “That’s what I always tell my slaves.” There, I said it.

She spun around on me. “Your slaves?”

“Yes. I prefer a woman on her knees. Usually tied up.”

Now Heather did get red, almost to match her hair, but she didn’t run away. She gripped her drink, took a swallow. “These women. Is that how you keep them from running out on you? You tie them up?”

“Only because they want me to.”

“And you do whatever you want to them?”

“No. I do what they want me to do to them. Some only want to go so far, others even farther. But usually...”

“What? Usually what?”

“They beg me to do even more.”

Heather’s lips parted, just a little. Wet and ripe.

“Oh, I’m completely safe,” I said. “Up to a point. If you don’t believe me, just ask Louise.”

Heather’s eyes widened. “Louise?”

“Go ahead. She’s right over there.” I nodded toward our hostess. She stood about twenty feet away, in the middle of another fawning group, but her eyes kept traveling over to us. “Go on,” I said, and gave Heather a little push. “I know you’ve already...trusted...her. Maybe, after talking to her, you’ll trust me too.”

A final, tiny shove propelled Heather in Louise’s direction. Louise abruptly broke away from the group, her expression intense, serious, her eyes focused right on Heather, her head nodding while little Heather did all the talking. Then Heather stopped, took another long gulp of her drink. Her shoulders shrugged and a nervous hand wiped her brow. Then, in the midst of this loud party, there existed a quiet moment between the two of them. Louise gently patted Heather on the cheek. She leaned in to the girl, said something, then turned away, leaving Heather alone.

Heather didn’t move, so I quietly came up to her side. Heather stared after Louise for a moment longer, then stirred and looked up at me.

“What did Louise say?” I asked.

“She said she trusts me with you.”

“That’s good,” I said. “That’s very good. Come with me.”

***

This wasn’t the first ride little Heather took with a stranger, but she seemed as nervous as when she and Louise had left the disco that night. But there was something else about her too, like there was a heavy thought pressing on her mind and she struggled with it. Reluctance at going off with a stranger? s**t, she went home with Louise readily enough. Or maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t Louise, that I was a man, with all the inherent risks. All right then, she was afraid I was going to rape her and then chop her up into tiny pieces. Of course, too many people had seen us leave the party, but this probably hadn’t occurred to Heather. So I had to get back to my place as soon as I could and lay that fear to rest. And in the meantime, I needed to distract her.

“You’re a student, aren’t you?” I asked.

Heather nodded and still stared straight ahead. “I go to State,” she said. “It’s nice, but kind of boring.”

“Oh? So is coming home with me some kind of thrill ride for you?”

Heather swung her head around at me. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Good. She had some spunk. “I’m not part of the idle rich, if that’s what you mean. I’m an on-line trader; make my living watching stocks go up and down. But that’s my career. And I’m very good at it. My lifestyle is SM. And I’m good at that too.”

Heather turned back to the front. She had made her point, and I had made mine. But she still retained a nervous edge. Unlike Louise I didn’t own a convertible, nor did I drive nearly as fast, but I picked up my speed, yet also tried to match as many green lights as possible so Heather couldn’t jump out at a red one in a deserted intersection. Her hands tight on her lap, she didn’t say anything more as I navigated the empty streets, so I reached over and squeezed them. They were so small, so delicate; I could take them both in one hand and still have plenty leftover. “Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want,” I said.

At this Heather looked back at me. “Louise said that too. Is this something you’ve worked out between you?”

She may be a rookie, but this one was smart. I felt a certain rush that I hadn’t in a long time. “It’s a little code we all go by,” I said, skirting the issue.

“But that kind of kills the whole thing, doesn’t it?” she said. “If the slave makes the rules, then who’s really in charge?”

Louise was right! This was a live one! My hands gripped the wheel, can’t show any nervousness now, as I turned down my street. “You’ve got a point there,” I said. “So what are your rules?”

Heather didn’t answer. Again that introspective, weighty look returned and she remained silent as we waited for my driveway gate to swing open, and stayed that way even after I rolled the car into the underground carport and shut the gate behind us. Not until I got out, came around to her side of the car to open the door and she stepped out, did she say anything.

“Louise says she trusts you. So I do too. Those are the rules.”

Was this girl really a new player? She seemed like it, but to just let someone like me have at her without any established limits gave me second thoughts. Oh, I had seen her type before, all ready and rarin’ to go, then suddenly a case of cold feet appeared once they saw all my leather equipment. Amanda had been like that, all hesitant with me, her new master, but I slowly coaxed her along until she transformed into a crawling slut. But Heather’s cherry had already been popped, and more than once, by Louise, and now here she was, throwing caution to the wind. Yes, there were players like that too, latent tendencies suddenly coming to the fore, but they usually took several sessions before they felt comfortable. Apparently, not Heather. She talked at times like an ill-informed, light-headed teenager, but there was more going on in that head than either Louise or I first thought. A lot more. Now, as we took the stairway up from the car port, she didn’t once flinch as we passed several paintings I had bought that depicted women in various forms of submission. Her eyes were open, but not too wide. They lingered, but not too long before she was on to the next one, a sponge soaking up new experiences.

I steered her through the living room, past my black leather couch and across a thick, Persian rug. Upstairs were three bedrooms, one my Private Retreat, the other two also outfitted for play that I had labeled as “Punishment” and “Demonstration”. Of course, the slaves I had taken up there all had their own names for them, especially Amanda and Louise, and none of them as complimentary. Heather automatically headed for the stairs, but instead I pulled her back.

She frowned at me. “Louise said upstairs is where -”

“Upstairs is for advanced slaves,” I said. “Louise forgot that she started out down here. And so will you.”

I guided Heather into the “Discipline Room”, a nice size study on the first floor that I converted for first time visitors to my place. It was there that newcomers got broke in, screaming for more.

The walls were white, as was the huge area fur rug over the hardwood floor. Black, polished leather gleamed along three of the walls, the different toys hanging from pegs set at various levels. Heather gasped, and wandered around, taking everything in with those again wide eyes.

“Do you want to leave?” I said.

Heather gulped. A hand came up to her throat, as if to protect it from the collar we both knew would grace it before the sun came up. She reached out, her fingers just barely touching a long, single-tail whip. She breathed, “No.”

“Good. Because you’re not going anywhere anyway,” I said, and shut the door with a definite thud. I had installed two deadbolt locks, one at waist level, the other way, way up the door. Ladies could still reach the higher one, but not without a difficult struggle. An excellent psych out.

As the locks loudly slid into place Heather stepped back. She couldn’t keep her hands from shaking, so she folded her arms and pressed them against her ribs. Voice slightly tremulous she said, “I said I wasn’t going to leave.”

“I know. Especially without any clothes,” I said. “Take them off.”

Heather kind of smiled. “What? No getting to know you first -”

I grabbed the single-tail from the wall. Took aim above her head and let loose a crack. In the room, with no where else to go, the sound bounced off the wall like a rifle shot.

Heather ducked, hands pressed against her ears. The smile vanished, replaced by an uncertain clench of her straight, white teeth.

The whip cracked again, this time across the front of Heather’s thigh.

Heather jumped and yelped, but her shaking hands started to move. Off came the shoes, jeans, then her loose peasant blouse. She hesitated, standing there in her plain white bra and panties.