Mistress Kathy's Wicked Protégé Ch. 01byThoughtStorm©
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Adam's adventures began in "Mistress Kathy's Academy" and continued in "Mistress Kathy's Slave Catalog."
Adam had strange and unwelcome dreams.
He is in her embrace. He is safe. He is happy.
"Love me," Eve commands. "Love me forever and no one else."
He luxuriates in her touch. Her hair tickles his face. Her legs wrap around him.
"I will love no one else," he gasps. "I promise."
He kisses her warm neck, her smooth shoulders, her bare breasts.
Her legs squeeze him until he can hardly move. Her nails dig into his flesh until it hurts. Something is different. Something is wrong.
He pulls away. It's not Eve. Not anymore.
She laughs. "Promises, promises!" taunts Helga. "Slaves are so fickle!"
"Why, Adam?" cries Eve—who now is somehow across the room, watching them. She's wearing a pony suit. Her collar is chained to a post.
Adam runs to her assistance, but she turns away from him. He must help her. He must earn her forgiveness. He unfastens the buckles on her bridle.
Helga mocks him. "You don't deserve her anymore, Adam. Just ask her."
Eve stares at him with angry eyes. "See what you've done? You've done to ME what you've done to HER!"
But he had tried to help her.
"This is the way it has to be," says Helga, taking the bridle and reapplying it to her Pony. She leads Eve to a large wooden box, into which the Pony obediently climbs. Monica is in a different but identical box next to it. "You belong to me," says Helga, fastening the lids onto the boxes with her Ponies inside. "You all belong to me."
"I object!" shouts the Countess.
How long has she been here?
"You have no claim to him," retorts Helga. "The contract was for a limited time."
"Bitch!" cries the Countess.
"Slut!" cries Helga.
Helga and the Countess fight each other with their bare hands. Their gowns are torn away. Enticing latex swimsuits are worn underneath.
Their bodies entangle. Their fight excites him.
He shouldn't enjoy this.
They push and pull and tear each other's swimsuits. They fall down and roll onto each other. Their cries of hatred are mingled with perverse giggles.
He should stop them, but his arms are tied behind his back. His inability to intervene makes their struggle more arousing. His nakedness leaves him unable to hide his interest.
The two women stop to stare at him.
"He has the nerve to enjoy this," hisses Helga.
"After I kill you, I will punish him," says the Countess.
The women kiss. What remains of their garments is torn away. Their legs intertwine. Their pussies touch.
This isn't a healthy dream, thinks Adam.
Adam awoke, suddenly out of breath. He was in another strange bed in another strange room.
A strange but beautiful nurse was staring at him and smiling.
"You must have interesting dreams," said the young woman. Adam assumed she was a nurse from the white dress and cap, although he didn't know of any hospital where the uniforms were so tight and had so much cleavage.
Maybe I'm still dreaming, thought Adam.
"Are you feeling well?" she asked.
"Probably," was the best he could manage. Complete sentences would have to wait until he was fully awake.
An old woman more conservatively dressed in scrubs entered the room to look at his medical chart but said nothing.
"What's the last thing you remember?" asked the young nurse.
He mentally pushed back the memory of wrestling mistresses and tried to recall something that he could believe had actually happened. Given the recent nature of his life, this took some thought.
"I was on a helicopter," he said. "Nobody would answer my questions. They said I should get some rest so I could adjust to the climate. And they wanted to run some tests on me."
The old woman spoke for the first time. "That's right, sweetie. I'm here to collect a little blood if that's all right." With practiced ease, she placed a hypodermic needle in his arm to collect a sample and applied a bandage when she was done. "You were suffering from altitude sickness—and a lot stress, you poor thing. The sleep seems to have done you good."
"May I get you anything?" asked the younger nurse. "Some water perhaps?"
"No, I'm fine."
"Something to eat?"
"No, thank you."
"There's an adjoining rest room if you need it."
"I think I'd like to stay in bed for a while."
"Would you like me to tie you up?"
"I, um . . . What?"
"Or I can get you a fresh pillow."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," said the older woman. "Leave him be! He's embarrassed to tell you he's had a wet dream, so he's waiting for us to give him some privacy." She threw him a clean towel. "There you are, sweetie."
"Why would he be embarrassed about that?" asked the younger nurse.
"I'll explain later," said the old woman. "Why don't you go get some clean sheets?"
The young nurse left the room.
"Thanks for the towel," muttered Adam with embarrassent. "I haven't had a wet dream since high school."
"You've spent time at the Academy, and that changes a fella," said the woman. "And you'll have to pardon Cindy. She doesn't understand how much your ways on the outside are different from ours. She knows that you're a submissive, so offering to tie you up is her way of being polite. I'll leave you alone now, and if you feel like wearing clothes, there are some here on the nightstand."
The old woman left.
Adam wondered where the fucking hell he was.
He cleaned himself and got dressed. The woman had left him a white smock and matching drawstring pants which were not his normal style but which fit him comfortably.
He pondered his next move. Presumably he was expected to wait for a nurse to return, and then answers would be forthcoming.
He sneaked out the nearest exit. Although his hosts seemed friendly enough, he was no longer in a trusting mood. He thought it would be a good idea to get a lay of the land and to have an escape plan ready in case things went weird.
What he saw outside the building could have been either a park or a college campus. Simple buildings connected by sidewalks surrounded by grass and trees suggested an isolated community far away from big cities.
The people were harder to figure out. Across the lawn from him, a young man and woman sat at a picnic table having breakfast in the nude. A half dozen others were walking about their daily routines with no embarrassment about their lack of clothes. The only fully dressed people he saw were an elderly couple wearing loose-fitting smocks like his own.
He suddenly felt overdressed, although no one took notice of him. He decided to take a quick walk around the "hospital," which was a much smaller building than he had imagined.
His short tour revealed similar sights. A pair of nude women on bicycles rode by and smiled as they passed. The trees that added to the beauty of the environment prevented him from seeing the surrounding terrain, so he had no clue as to what part of the world he was in.
He stepped around a corner and nearly walked into a perfectly shaped bare bottom. The woman it belonged to was bending over to adjust the kick stand of the bicycle she had just parked.
Not wanting to appear rude, and still hoping to be unnoticed, he decided to go back the way he had come before the girl noticed him staring at her ass.
Too late. She turned around and smiled.
"Hello, Adam! I was just coming to see you."
"It's just Emily here. Lady Emily was my cover. Did you sleep well?"
"Yes," he said, and averted his eyes. "I was just looking around. You know, looking."
"Cool. I came by to make sure you're all right. And to apologize for last night."
"For rescuing me and saving my life?"
"For keeping you tied up while I did it. And for not explaining what I was doing. There was no reason to keep you in the dark the way I did. I don't really know why I acted that way."
Women keep telling me that.
He accepted her apology and went back inside the hospital with her.
Down a hall, they found an empty lounge where the two of them could sit and talk. He chose a seat on a plush sofa, and she sat next to him.
"I don't think I've never asked this before," he began, preparing her for his next question, "but why are you naked?"
"Today's my day off," she said. His uncomfortable silence told her that a more detailed explanation was in order. "Nobody here wears clothes on a day off—unless they're children—or in a committed relationship. I guess you're not used to that where you're from."
"I'll adjust," he said, still wondering about the most polite way to direct his eyes. Her athletic body accented her innocent smile in a way that couldn't be more distracting. "So where am I?"
"We call it Oasis," explained Emily, "although the exact location is a secret."
"And who are you? I mean all of you. You mentioned a sisterhood."
She turned her body toward him, propping her arm on the back rest. "The Marstonite Sisterhood is a secret society that lives by a philosophy of free love and feminism. It's premised on the idea that a stable, civilized society is only achieved when men willingly submit to the loving authority of women."
"So you're a community of dominatrices?"
"Not the way you're thinking. We practice a nurturing approach in which men and women care for each other. Women are intuitively more nurturing than men, so it's natural that they be the more dominant influence."
"Don't men ever resent your 'loving' authority?"
"Anyone can leave whenever they choose." She leaned forward, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's nothing like the experience you've had."
"Good," said Adam, starting to believe her. "Maybe you should have a school of your own. Teach your philosophy to others."
Emily looked away, as if this were an uncomfortable subject. She stared at the floor.
"We did. It was the Academy."
"It was long ago—longer than you'd think. It was called Mistress Katherine's School of Discreet Discipline, and it catered only to the wealthy and influential. For most of its history, the school's been managed by a line of women holding a variation of the title 'Mistress Katherine,' and our ancestors taught and lived on the island—until the schism occurred which forced us out. Since then, outcasts like me have lived here at the Oasis, while the Academy founded by our ancestors has become a menace."
The elderly nurse suddenly entered the room and seemed relieved to see them. "We've been looking for you, Adam. Thank goodness you and Emily are together! Highmother wants to see both of you as soon as you're able."
"Our spiritual leader," explained Emily. "We'd better not keep her waiting." She smiled at him as she stood up. "She can answer your questions better than I can."
Emily returned to her bicycle. She picked out a second bike for Adam which she assured him he could take. Apparently, the bikes didn't belong to individuals but to the community as a whole.
Makes sense, thought Adam. Nobody carries bike keys because nobody has pockets.
As they rode across the campus, Adam observed others going about their routines. Some wore clothes, others didn't. He noticed one woman in a corset leading a man and another woman by a pair of leashes. Emily told him that the three were in a consentual relationship and were just engaging in friendly role-playing. Adam had to admit the leashed pair seemed to be enjoying themselves.
After a short ride through a wooded area and a garden, Emily and Adam arrived at a building that resembled a chapel. They parked their bikes and entered through a side door where they found an official-looking conference room.
Around a glass table sat a group of athletic women in revealing outfits. At the head of the table sat Highmother in an ornate high-backed chair that demanded respect for the woman who sat in it. The women were already deep in discussion, but they stopped when Adam and Emily entered.
Adam glanced nervously at the ceiling.
Good, no chains.
"We have a guest," said Highmother, standing. Both sides of her toga-inspired gown were slit to the waist, and the gown's loose-fitting bodice did not prevent her hefty bosom from swaying hypnotically as she rose from her chair. The others at the table rose in deference to her authority. "Welcome, Adam! I hope that you have been treated well since your arrival. I understand you've endured a great deal before your arrival."
"I've been treated very well," said Adam as Emily offered him a seat at the table. "And I'm grateful to all of you for saving my life."
"Naturally," said Highmother as she and the others were seated, "but I believe we may be able to help each other. I had hoped that I could allow a few days for you to recover from your ordeal, but events now force us to act without delay. Emily, I'm afraid you won't be getting a day off after all, as much as you deserve one."
"Whatever it takes," she said, setting her bare bottom in the chair next to Adam's.
"That goes for me, too," said Adam. "But I'm not sure what you need me to do."
"You, Adam, have intimate knowledge of Bitch Helga's lair at the Academy," revealed Highmother. "Our intelligence concerning the layout of the fortress and her lair is badly out of date, and none of our surveillance has been able to penetrate it. Helga and her mentor, Mistress Kathy, guard their secrets very closely, yet according to your own online postings, you've seen things that other outsiders haven't."
"I had the full tour," admitted Adam. "But first, I have some questions of my own. Like, what do you know about Mistress Helga?"
"Of course," said Highmother. "We should start at the beginning."
Highmother told the story of Helga as she knew it, although later, Adam would learn much more. The complete story, as Adam would later come to understand it, begins like this:
ELEVEN YEARS AGO, IN THE HEARTLAND OF AMERICA . . .
St. Augustine's School for Wayward Girls sat on the eastern side of a modest campus overlooking a courtyard with swings, a basketball hoop and a few trees. Its mission was to offer hope for teenage girls whose aberrant behavior was beyond the scope of most other intervention programs.
On the opposite side of its campus, St. Augustine's School for Troubled Boys offered similar hope to out-of-control male youths.
A convent in the middle prevented funny business.
Most of the teens who ended up at St. Augustine's had already been in trouble with the law, and some had seemed destined for a life in prison or worse. Many were dealing with drug addiction and alcoholism. And then there were those whose sexual experimentations were just too much for their parents to control.
Sister Camilla had the case file tucked under her arm, and thinking about it nearly made her weep.
The awful things that girl has done! Just awful!
There was little time. The girl was already eighteen, and when she no longer depended on her parents for room and board, the school's ability to help would come to an abrupt end.
She carried the file down the hall, out the door, and into the courtyard. She had spotted Father Murphy and Reverend Mother Josephine by the basketball hoop, and hurried to meet them.
"Her parents are desperate to control her," Sister Camilla complained, thrusting the file in front of them. "It is the most shocking case file I have ever seen!"
Father Murphy recognized the concern in her voice. "What exactly is she doing?"
Sister Camilla seemed at a loss for words. "Experimenting," she finally whispered, "with boys."
"Ah," said Father Murphy. "It's unfortunate, but we deal with troubled teens, after all."
Sister Camilla fidgeted with embarrassment. "I don't think you quite understand, Father," she said. "It's not that she's having sex with them. . . .
"Then what do you mean?"
"She's . . ." Sister Camilla was choosing her words carefully. "She's hurting them."
The Reverend Mother Josephine, whose 45 years of experience as a counselor had given her some authority on such matters, nodded her understanding. "She's bullying them."
Again, Sister Camilla fidgeted. "Not in the traditional sense, no. She doesn't hit them or steal their money. Instead, she . . . Well, she's been humiliating them—privately."
"Hmmmm," said Father Murphy. "And the boys naturally resent her for this."
Sister Camilla fidgeted mightily. "Nnnnnnnnno. . . . They don't." She opened the file and handed it to him. "Just read for yourself."
Father Murphy and the Reverend Mother looked over the file as Sister Camilla continued her awkward explanation. "Apparently, she lures boys into some private place by promising to have sex with them. But once they are there, she says she will only fulfill their wishes if they perform subservient and humiliating acts for her. She convinces them to remove their clothes and then she ties them up—with ropes, or sometimes their own clothing. She insists that they call her 'mistress'—as if they were slaves!
"After tying one poor boy to the hood of his parents' car, she wrote the words 'Spanky Toy' on his buttock with indelible ink and threatened to open the garage door for all the neighbors to see if he didn't . . . Her exact words were 'worship her cunt with his tongue.' I think that's a euphemism."
"Sister," the Reverend Mother gently reminded. "There are children nearby."
"Sorry, Reverend Mother," said Camilla in a hushed voice. "But you see the extent of the problem."
"I've seen this type of behavior before," said the Reverend Mother, "although never before in such a shocking fashion. I'm afraid it will take months of my lecturing to turn her around."
"That may not be the right approach," said Father Murphy who had been looking at the report with concern. "Her file indicates that she doesn't respond well to authority figures. In fact, she doesn't seem to acknowledge anyone's authority but her own. If we start with a clumsy authoritarian approach, we may lose our credibility. On the other hand, someone closer to her own age might be able to connect with her on her own level."
They glanced at the convent's youngest nun who was, at that moment, counseling a student within the courtyard.
"I forbid it," said the Reverend Mother. "She just took her vows!"
"She's ready," said Father Murphy. "I believe our newest recruit may be our best chance to reach this poor child."
The Reverend Mother relented. "Perhaps you're right." She called across the courtyard. "Sister Helga?"
Across the courtyard, Sister Helga turned toward them, shyly brushing away red hair that had momentarily blocked her pretty smile.
"Could you come here please?" asked the Reverend Mother.
Sister Helga complied. She was very obedient.
"We would like you to talk to this troubled child," said the Reverend Mother. "Her name is Darlene Carmichael, and she's chosen a very dangerous path for herself." She handed the case file to Sister Helga.
"She wants to be a dominatrix," whispered Sister Camilla.
"Really?" asked Sister Helga uncertainly. "What does that mean?"
Sister Helga spent most of the day reviewing Darlene's file. Although the young nun already possessed an intuitive understanding of human nature, she lacked any experience at all with sex—or the fetishes and behaviors associated with it. She attempted some research at the library, but the school's resources were severely lacking on the subject.
When Sister Helga finally met the girl in question, she felt underprepared, but also felt a responsibility to the girl whom Father Murphy believed only she could help.
Helga introduced herself and explained her reasons for being there. She felt it was an achievement that she did not blush.