The College: Receiving An Education

Chapter One Around the door-edge I could vaguely see the straight almost drawn crack through which light from a dingy bulb passed, there to vaguely illuminate my misery. I am nearly naked, bound hand and foot to a cold, metal framed and thin mattress covered bed. Locked in a stall, captive within a stable held and secured against any desire I might have to obtain my freedom. I am alone, accompanied only by my flitting thoughts, and the rattle of my bonds, as I ease my tired muscles. My day has been exerting to say the least. My name is Ellie and my back still bears witness to the lightening fire gifted to me by the long dressage whip, which had been used to encourage perfection of motion. Done with I am pushed from sight, relegated to memory, held securely whilst my captors enjoy peace and relaxation somewhere else. A forgotten toy left to my own very limited devices, until the time to play with me arrives again. Probably that time will be when the daylight returns and night has passed. Then I will be required, used and trained, in the search for human slave perfection. The dim light vanishes as though at the click of a switch, deep bleakness swarms into my thoughts; the light without me knowing it had illuminated my mood, granted me by its meagre presence a feeling of existence. Even with my eyes wide open I was now blind; the black of night has grasped hold of my cell and swamped away any little reassurance. How, I wonder, have I got myself into this situation? How has my pleasant life been traded away for this captivity and torment? The ‘how’ I realise is quite easy to explain. I had been recognised by experts for what I am and I had been manipulated into the groove in which my life now resides. Gone is all that once had seemed so important to me. Gone is my submissive husband and gone, I hope, but not forever, is my pleasant vanilla lifestyle. All have been replaced by these leather cuffs, with which I am bound, and the caress of the whip. My lovely clothes, which when I had first been given them had seemed excessively generous and had pleased me so immensely, all have been taken away from me, as easily as they had been provided. Only to be replaced with a slaves costume at best and degrading nakedness mostly. I discover that being isolated in both the black of night, and a silence akin to the dead, only stimulates my brain to think; all that I have ever been floods my thoughts, tumbling like wind blown papers in a hurricane, filling me up and driving order away. I have to sort things out for myself; place a little order back into my life. I begin to picture the events which led to this my relegation into slavery. My wedding had gone exactly as planned. We had been married in a Registry Office Service. My husband, I liked the sound of that both then and now, my husband had been previously married which ruled out a church wedding. At that point of our relationship I didn’t really know a lot about his ex, he wasn’t exactly secretive about her, just non-communicative. Thinking back I realise that I know little of his previous life. I had gotten caught up by my naivety. Amidst the whirlwind which had been our short relationship, now is the time I remember thinking, to learn and grow, to develop our joint lives and interests to enjoy the ties of my love and marriage. We had met without fanfare; I had just ended my one and only previous relationship, which regretfully had lasted less than a single month. Roger, my ex. I smiled at the thought of him seeing me now, a captive. He would love my predicament I am sure, he had been just too much the domineering demanding male for me to like, or for that matter cope with at that time. Everything had to be done his way, and that just wasn’t me, then. Peter on the other hand had seemed refreshingly quiet and refreshingly amicable. He had wined and dined me, entertained me and generally shown genuine respect for me. His proposal had been a bit of a shock, but I said ‘yes’, so there I was, alone in a hotel bathroom, aged twenty-three, just married, and in a foreign country, fixing my makeup whilst wearing an ivory three quarter length night dress and no knickers. I had left Peter in the bedroom, saying that I would not be overly long. Probably, I thought, he would be sitting or lying on the bed waiting my return. Taking a deep breath, I opened the bathroom door, and feigning confidence I walked into our bedroom. Peter was over by the wardrobe his back to me, fiddling with his jacket. Hastily he closed the door and turned with a huge smile on his face and an even more evident bulge in his shorts. Clearly he was very excited. Our wedding night had been a bit of a disappointment, no sooner had he rather clumsily entered me; than his excitement had taken over, quickly he had spurted, thus ending our first copulation. For the following few minutes he had apologised time after time, despite my attempts at calming reassurance. I must have told him thirty times that it didn’t matter, but he still kept on apologising. Finally, he had fallen asleep leaving me feeling wet and if I am honest very frustrated. I remember slipping from the bed and going into the bathroom again, primarily so as not to disturb him. I sat on the toilet with my nightdress hitched up waiting for my urine flow to come, thinking it would be the only thing that would tonight. I could still feel the heat off his seed as it settled within me, what goes up must come down, as the urine flow finally arrived to splash into the toilet bowl. Questions flooded my mind; why was he so excited? It’s your wedding night you i***t, I chided. After all he had not been lying naked on the bed with a huge erection, had he? No, he had been standing by the wardrobe fumbling in his jacket, like some naughty boy caught out playing with himself and trying to hide the fact. One thing led to another and curiosity overwhelmed me. I decided to investigate, but quietly so as not to disturb him. Some chance, he was flat out on his back snoring gently. The covers were by his feet I noticed, my eyes wandered to his deflated c**k, nestling on his balls, deeply surrounded by dark male hair. Next time you are going to please me, I remember telling myself, before turning away towards the now closed wardrobe. The door creaked as I eased it open, but as I had thought, he didn’t stir. I reached inside and took out his jacket then returned to the bathroom. Once again sitting on the toilet, I rifled the side pockets, nothing. What’s this in the inside pocket? I had found a book. Pulling it out I was more than a little shocked to see that the front cover was plain black, the title was even more shocking, ‘Domination’ the title blazed out at me in thick gold script. For a second or two anger swelled, clearly I realised from the worn pages, he had read this book a few times; what I wondered did it bode for our relationship. Was this the reason that his previous marriage had lasted so little time? Was he violent, perhaps a sadist or worse? The questions piled up in my mind, my best source for answers was of course Peter himself, but that wasn’t my only option. Perhaps I should read the book and find out more, reading it would offer an insight into what I had gotten myself into. Life could be quite comical, I thought, if it wasn’t so damned worrying. What a picture I painted should Peter find me. I was sitting knickers less on the toilet, and on my wedding night, with my new husband sound asleep, I believe, with his deflated c**k on show, reading his tatty erotic paperback book which I had removed from his jacket pocket. By the second page, the book had opened up a completely new world of strange and odd ideas. I noted that certain pages had been marked with an ink line between chapters. A quick flick showed that Peter had picked out the beginning and end of certain chapters. I decided that it would be best to start at the beginning rather than at the marked pages, so turning again to page one, I began to read. *** Peter woke up, stretched and turned towards the sleeping, cover entwined bundle that was his wife, Eleanor, or Ellie as she preferred to be called. To me she looked stunning; she was just so beautiful, too beautiful. Unable to draw my eyes away from her I still find it impossible to understand what she had seen in me, or for that matter why she had said ‘yes’ to my proposal, but say yes she did and now we were married. The first time I had seen her, I remembered, whilst looking over the bed sheets at her sleeping figure, my heart had seemed to stop. She had walked into the coffee house, ordered and sat down slightly off centre to me. I had casually altered my position so that by looking out of the corner of one eye, I could drink in the vision that was Ellie; of course, I had not known her name then. Over the next few weeks I had drunk a hell of a lot of coffee I remembered with a smile, whiling away the boring hours just hoping for a glimpse of the slim framed, dark brown coloured, slightly wavy haired vision of femininity. It took three weeks and two casual smiles until finally the day, that magic memorable day; the day she had found no empty place in which to relax other than the one opposite to me. She had glided over and smiled down at me, asking casually if I minded. I was so taken by her presence that I could hardly bring myself to speak, so smiling up at her, I gestured for her to join me. That had been the starting point of our relationship. Now I thought, she is just there, within touching distance, bundled up in the bedclothes, her beautiful hair obscuring her face. My love, my wife at least for now, I thought, hoping. I have a secret, a dark secret, one that I have determined to suppress and keep hidden from her. No way am I going to let myself slip again, I silently repeat, mantra style, whilst I watch my sleeping wife. Once previously, I had tried to explain myself to a woman, my wants, my needs, and of course, my ultimate desires. That conversation still hurt, it had been disastrous then and still festers like an unhealed cut. With a few words my life had fallen apart, my first marriage had dissolved, crumbled away before my eyes, but most of all I had felt the awful pain. A pain so deep and so personal to me that it felt as though my guts had been wrenched from my insides, and then sharply twisted, and all by the one person, a person that I loved and believed that I could trust implicitly, my then wife. I had determined even before I had met and fallen for Ellie that I would remain silent, keep that dark part of me buried deep, tightly suppressed and forever locked away from sight. I genuinely loved Ellie and want to provide the very best for her that I could in every way. Last night I realised, had made for a very poor start to our marriage and my vow, I would have to watch myself in future, whilst trying to make it up to her. *** I read late into the night. Finally, with my eyes closing of their own accord I closed the book, quietly sneaking back into our bedroom. I returned his coat to the wardrobe and then slipped into bed. The book I tucked under the bed base out of sight. Sleep swept over me, exhaustion winning. Having whispered an almost silent good night to my gently snoring husband, I closed my eyes, accepting the rest that I needed. As for my mind that night, it was filled with dreams and rolling flashing vivid images. Naked bound men with huge erections marching in an endless line of flashing attention-demanding ghost like pictures. Women dressed in varied clothing made of any and all materials; whips and canes firmly held in their hands, adding further detail to the parade. One particular image replayed through my sleep-fogged mind, a cane tip lashing into naked upturned buttocks, time and time again. I knew that Peter was awake as I had felt his stirrings but sleep held on. I was warm, cozy, and comfortable, unlike Roger from the book, who was cold, chained and awaiting who knew what at his tormentor’s hands. I slowly became more aware of my surroundings, felt my husband ease out of our bed, he has gone to the toilet, I am alone. The book flashed through my mind, quickly I threw back the covers and reached down beneath my bed base, it, the book, was still there waiting to be read. By the time Peter returned I was sitting upright, my hair brushed off my face, waiting for him to reappear. Now knowing exactly what I intended to do, but the question was, would it work, was I right? Would my husband react the way I am beginning to believe that he would? We had booked a Skin-diving lesson for the both of us for this morning; I now had other ideas for how I wanted to spend my morning. “Morning, Beautiful,” he called out smiling at her. “Are you ready for adventure and excitement out there in the deep blue swimming pool?” I pull a pained face, reached up, gently rubbing at my eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve got a headache, well it’s more of a migraine.” Even to my own ears, the claim sounded false. Peter’s smile vanished. Concern flooded across his face. “I’ll cancel the lesson?” Peter offered instantly. “No, you go, have a nice time and you can tell me all about your great sub-aquatic explorations at lunch time. I’m sure that I will be feeling more myself by then,” I insisted He seemed to hesitate, undecided in what was the right thing to do. With a sudden inspiration I act, ‘give him no choice’ my inner voice suggests, and besides it would be an interesting test. “I said go, and I mean go, so what are you waiting for, you don’t want to be late, do you?” Peter’s clothes were still where he had tossed them the previous night, which is to say, roughly draped over the bedroom’s only chair. Quickly he pulled on shirt and shorts, then, slipped his bare feet into a pair of trainers. Dressed, he turned toward me, but before he could say anything, I cut him off. “Go, you i***t, get out of here, now!” As he reached for the door handle I spoke again. “Peter, be back here at exactly one o’clock.” “Yes Ma’am! One o’clock as you order, see you then,” he replied, as he smiled his cheeky grin at me and left for high adventure. Almost before the door had clicked shut, I reached beneath the bed and pulled out the book. Deep inside I felt a slight pang of guilt as I looked at the cover, but damn it, it is his bloody book. If I am ever going to understand my husband better, I bloody well need to read more about the bound and captive Roger. Interested by not just the book held in my hand, but my husband’s reaction to my dismissal of him, had I seen what I thought that I had seen? A brief glimmer of satisfaction or possibly stimulation or was his flicker of excitement just a figment of my imagination.