tagBDSMSeduced into BDSM Ch. 02

Seduced into BDSM Ch. 02

byBibliophile©

Ch. 02 – Raven's View of Tammi's Training



I can't stand that Tammi bitch! Of course, I know why Sir likes her. She's blond and young and fresh and innocent. She's leggy. She can almost look at him shoulder to eye, unlike me who has to look at him chest-to-eye. She's got a nice face. And she's got those huge tits! G*d, I wish I had big tits!

I've got super-long legs for my small frame, but I wouldn't mind having super-big tits to go along with them..

But Sir should see how much better I am for him than she is! I'm already perfectly trained. I know just how to suck his cock. I can take all the brutality he wants to dish out. I love it. I love him. I understand and love every mood he can ever get in. I'm devoted completely to him. I'm his submissive! I'm his slave! What else is there to say? What can that whore Tammi give him that I can't give him better and more often and with more stamina! She'll never be as good or as obedient or as submissive as me. How could she be?

Of course, Sir doesn't care since he's grooming Tammi into his submissive just like he's already molded me...why be satisfied with one "piece of tail" (as he refers to us), when he's got enough stamina and energy to handle two? But that still doesn't make me happy about it.

But he's a male...and he's Sir. If he wasn't interested in breaking in new pussy (again...another one of the pet euphemisms he uses), then I guess he wouldn't be the guy that showed me who I really am, much as it hurts my pride to admit it. Can I really expect that the kind of guy that could me make me so devoted to him would truly be satisfied with just one girl on his leash? At least I am his submissive! Thankfully, I'd been a real woman, serving a real man, for a few years now. Not like Tammi...young and dumb. At least I'm trained and happy and content and have been so for awhile.

He had Tammi chained against his "post" right now, arms up to each side and out of his way...legs chained apart and kept there by a short chain going from one leather ankle cuff, around the post, to the other leather ankle cuff, forcing her to keep her legs spread around and to the sides of his post, not obscenely, but enough to be vulnerable. I was very familiar with that position and how much he liked it (I really, really loved it myself). As a girl, you're helpless and open. It's not a great position to fuck, but it's a great position to be dominated and worked over. He can get at any part of my body (that bitch-whore's body, in this case) that's presented to him, front or back. He can get access to mouth or pussy. He can bitch-slap (and Sir has an awful, degrading, humiliating, brutal, and just plain mean way of bitch-slapping me when I'm tied to that post), he can spank, he can use his belt, he can use the horse crop, he can use the cane. He can finger-fuck. He can do almost anything. And you can't protect yourself at all...not with your hands above you and your legs held apart.

In fact, he'd been working over that whore Tammi's back for several minutes now with his belt...she's red all over. And here I am, on my knees...off to the side...helpless to catch his attention while he continues to methodically convert this lucky bitch from clueless female to devoted Fucktoy (why do I keep using Sir's method of describing girls?).

At least I'm here as well, I guess...even if I'm four feet away on my hands and knees and relegated to helpless and frustrated observer, rather than lucky and grateful participant.

Things could be worse, though. I could be without him.

Tammi's thighs are red. Her ass is red. Her back is red. She's just plain red all over. He is stiff and who could blame him. His stiff cock is making my mouth water. He used his palms on her ass. I can see the angry stripes that marked the belt across her back. Seeing him strap her makes me gush with moisture, amazed at the way she looks and at the enjoyment in his eyes.

Tammi is grunting and crying out under Sir's not-so-tender care, but she doesn't use a safe word. She's gotten used to Sir's strong hand. He is expert at being hard enough for a girl to feel it and to get excited and to hurt (and to feel good), but not hard enough to make it un-sexual or non-fun. He is truly evil in his control, because he makes you admit to yourself that you like it and that you like it HARD, not soft. By making it hard, he makes it impossible to be satisfied with it soft. I know what Tammi is going through because I'd been there myself. I felt sorry for her, but I also felt envious that she was going through that self-discovery process and it was something that I wouldn't feel again.

I already knew I liked my sex hard, not soft. I couldn't re-learn that. And although I wouldn't go back...I really looked back with fondness on those days of newness and wonder and absolute amazement, as I was broken down physically and emotionally and sexually and rebuilt into Sir's perfect Fucktoy.

How can you be satisfied with a regular man when you've been fucked by an alpha male? How can you be satisfied with a soft spanking when you've had a hard spanking...and know how much more intense and wonderful it is? How could any girl be satisfied with being in charge when she's experienced being dominated? It's a one-way street, I think. The only girls that don't like to be dominated and exploited and used are the girls who haven't been dominated and exploited and used by a man that actually knows what he's doing. They don't like it because they haven't gone through it! That's all.

Gosh, was I lucky that I'd met such a man!

In fact, getting spanked playfully by Sir is a turn-off for me now rather than a turn on. When Sir wants to spank me, I want him to spank me HARD! I could tell he was molding Tammi to those same tastes. I could see her eagerly sucking on his fingers when he dipped them into her cunt and brought them up to her face...to prove to her that she got wet to the belt...that she got wet to his palm and to his desires. He was a connoisseur of females. He loved them. He'd remark to me, walking down the street, how beautiful that one's red hair was and this one's legs were. He could find something good to say about almost any girl.

How he could learn to treat girls the way he did, when he found them so beautiful, I don't understand. But he did and I'm one of them. And that slut Tammi looked like she might become a second one. I hated her beautiful body, striped and heaving, against Sir's post. I wanted the girl tied to that post to be me instead.

And now he was motioning me over to suck his cock! I loved to suck his cock anytime, but to suck it while he was swinging the belt over my head to finish off Tammi's backside....G*d! Another flush of moisture dripped down my legs.

He was hard and straight and long and thick...just like always. I worshipped my Sir's cock. He'd taught me to worship it. I hated that I was sharing it now with that unbelievably lucky post-chained bitch behind me. How could she service him properly! There was no way that she could worship him better than I could! For starters, she was bigger than me, even if she was a goddess. No way could she grip his cock, or provide as tight a fit as I could. No fucking way!

I lost his cock while he turned her around. She's quiet, breathing heavy. G*d, that rack of hers (beautiful, I have to admit it) is facing out now. The bitch is in a haze of pain, but I can also tell that she's like a kitten in his hands. He's in complete control as usual.

He's wrapping her tits in telephone wire now. G*d, that makes them stick out like ripe melons. He's using the post as well...wrapping her tits in wire and wrapping the wire around the post too, to both imprison that magnificent breast flesh and secure it against the whipping post. Of course, it was simply a structural post in the house, but it was a whipping post, in reality. It was one of several everyday, mundane things that Sir used to dominate me completely with.

He used clothespins or tiny c-clamps from the hardware store on my nipples to satisfy his own sexual fetishes. He used a belt on my body. He used packaging tape to shut my mouth when he wanted to. He used vegetable or highlighters or anything else lying around to fuck me. He used a wooden spoon from the kitchen to thwack me. He used a spare curtain rod to cane me. He used a dog leash to collar me. He used a snap hooks and pet leashes to handcuff me. He made me lick his boots clean to humiliate me.

Someone could walk into this house and go through all our drawers and never suspect that he was a sexually dominant male and I was a sexually subservient female. But he used the everyday things, just lying around, to completely control me sexually. He was a devil, but he was my devil.

Every breath she takes pushes that tit-flesh into the wire. What a sight. I wish I had her tits. Maybe he'd pay that kind of attention to my breasts then...in addition to all the other delightful and wicked things he does to my body.

In fact, if I had a cock, that sight would certainly get me stiff as well (I was certainly wet). No wonder Sir's cock is rampant as he stands in his glory while molesting that blond whore.

I wish his cock were back in my mouth or in my cunt. Every time I see his cock, I get wet. That's not surprising, though...I'm usually wet when Sir is in a sexual mood. His mood triggers my wetness, like I'm some sort of highly trained pooch. I guess, in reality, I'm a highly trained cunt (one of his pet names for me is his "pint-sized cum-dump").

But now I'm happy, because he is back in my mouth now. He's smiling down at me with a wicked grin as he cocks his arm back to lay his belt on Tammi again, but this time to the front of her torso rather than her backside. I can almost see what he's thinking. He's enjoying himself, just like always. He knows how ridiculous it is to have a girl bound to a post in his home, naked, teary, strapped, tit-wired, with a way out (if she uses her safe word) that she won't use (because he'll stop having sex with her at all then)...while at the same time he's got another girl on her knees, in front of him, sucking his cock, who's already his well-trained sexual slave.

What is it about HIM that puts him in this position and not other guys? Maybe it's that smile that says he could take it or leave it? That he doesn't care that much one way or another? I don't know...but there she is and here I am and there his cock is (in my mouth) and I'm happier here than I was four feet away. And I was happier four feet away on my hands and knees than I could ever be without him as my Sir at all.

Life is strange, no doubt about it.

I don't have any illusions that I'll get him to cum in my mouth, though. If he wants to, he will. If he doesn't want to, he won't. I take him all the way in regardless, careful to give him the steady stroke that he likes, relishing when he makes his cock bigger in my mouth by flexing it. I love everything about his cock. I worship it. It fills my thoughts and it fogs my brain. It is everything to me. He has taught me to think of it as more important than my own body and I think he has succeeded in that. I love the way he manipulates my feelings and controls the way I feel about sex. It is like a warm blanket that enfolds me. I only have to worry about pleasing him. He will worry about everything else.

He's on his way to convincing the tit-wired whore behind me of the same thing. Aarrgghh!

He's just put the fifth or sixth stroke of leather to her stomach. During a brief loss of cock-in-mouth, I take a peek. The outline of the leather belt straps are clear and red against her skin. The blonde bimbo just gasped. Her tits strain even more against the wire. I hate to admit it, but it's beautiful. Tammi is a bitch, but she is a beautiful, magnificent bitch, tied against that post, wired, strapped, teary, dominated. If I were a man, I don't think I'd be able to resist either.

But I remembered back to the night before, when Sir and I were talking in bed, during the dreamy time after he'd fucked me until I was raw and sore...and he was telling me the night we picked Tammi up at the pool hall that he immediately identified her as one of the "goddesses", the really magnificent-looking girls, in terms of looks, rather than just a babe or a good-looking girl...and that he usually wasn't attracted to such goddesses because they were usually stuck up and remote and used to men fawning over them rather than dominating them. But he said there was something attractive about the way Tammi looked over at the two of us, playing pool, prowling for new pussy and that he'd decided to give her a chance, even though she was too good-looking...and such girls usually made poor submissives. But every girl deserves a chance, he'd said, even the goddesses...every once in a while.

I could see now that the risk was worth it. Tammi up on that post was a true sight to behold. Even though I hated that it wasn't me, I couldn't but admire her and feel happy for her that she could have such an intense experience.

I don't know why a woman with a strap mark on her is so beautiful. I love it when I'm marked that way myself. I've long since become a pain-slut...but I love the few hours that the belt marks stay on my skin more than I love the pain and the sexual ecstasy at the time that I get strapped. It's a reminder, in a very basic way, of what happened; that I was dominated; that Sir paid attention to me; that I was of use in pleasing him. As long as his marks are on my skin, I'm connected to my man.

The mark of a cane (Sir uses a curtain blind rod) will stay several days and it hurts horribly when it's happening. (That blind rod is one of the few things that Sir uses for his own sexual satisfaction that brings no sexual satisfaction to me). The mark of a palm will stay a few minutes and will keep me wonderfully warm, but it doesn't stay like the mark from a belt. The mark of a belt will stay a few hours, a day or so, even, and it is JUST RIGHT. I love belts. I love men's belts. I love his belt most of all.

Tammi, that bitch-slut-cunt-whore, I can tell that she's learning to love his belt as well. At least I had him first, though. She can never take that away from me.

Tammi's just taken a strap across her wired tits!%#@!

G*d, that makes me wet just watching. She's in tears...a reaction from the strict strapping she's already had to her ass and back and thighs while facing the post. Sir has pushed me to the side so that he can concentrate on her wired and bulging tits.

Sir's telling her to safe word out...to go back to her regular life...to leave him. He's teasing her, saying she should give him a safe word and that there's no reason for her to put up with such awful treatment! He's got a smile on his face, hoping to push her over the edge.

Listen to him, you bitch! Safe word. End it! Go back to those regular guys and their tentative mouths on those magnificent nipples. Don't put up with Sir and his fetishes. Leave him to me. I can make Sir happy. I'll gladly take your place to be "posted" and "wired" and "strapped" and "dominated" and "made very, very happy".

But she won't do it. I know that. I can see it in her eyes. Even though a tear is rolling down her check and her tits are livid and bulging and her abdomen is crisscrossed with belt marks and her back and thighs and ass are a mish-mash of red welts. She won't leave a man that knows what to do with her. How could any sane woman leave a man that would take such care to molest her so thoroughly and exquisitely!

I've begun to see the world through a man's eyes as I've seen Sir begin this training of Tammi. I'm like a fly on the wall. Every thing I see him doing to her, he did, with variations, to me. But as an observer, I see it from a more detached standpoint...maybe seeing it like he saw it when he trained me. Watching him train Tammi has given me insight into what it might be like to be a man...the calculation, the planning, the deliberateness. He always has to maintain control. That his burden. She just has to say "Yes". That's easy compared to what he has to do.

That thought made me glad to be a woman and not a man. It also made me worship him more.

I see him shocking her with his directness. I remember that night a few days ago when he brought her home with me and he whipped me into submission and he made her suck his cock. He blew her mind with what was possible between a man and a woman. I see him overpowering her with his confidence. I see him starting HERE, but taking her THERE. I see him being creative and unpredictable. I see him taking her deeper and deeper, but not too fast...letting her get used to one level of obedience and sensation and submission and pain before taking her to the next level.

I'm back on his cock now. His scent is making me drunk with lust and I can feel the moisture literally dripping between my legs. I can hear Tammi behind me react to Sir's not-so-tender ministrations. I can hear him talking softly to her, encouraging her to tell him to stop so she can go back to a vanilla life where she doesn't have to put up with a selfish bastard. When she says "No...Please...I don't want to go." I can feel Sir's cock flex and expand in my mouth (and that triggers my own sympathetic flood of cunt cream) at her surrender and I know that he's human...and that he's capable of being affected by a girl and that a girls surrender can actually make him harder than he already is.

That's comforting, in a way. He is human after all. Not superhuman.

The knowledge warms my tummy as I stroke him into my throat because I know that similar past surrenders by me to his will also must have made his cock extra hard like this too. I couldn't believe that Tammi's surrender behind me would tie me even closer to him by giving me insight into how my own surrender must have been felt by him. I was almost sad another girl couldn't have been sucking his cock when I begged him, myself, to keep strapping me...refusing to safeword and to go back to my own drab life.

Wouldn't it be nice for another girl to feel Sir's fuck-muscle flex in her mouth as I surrendered to him?

But Sir broke me to his will without another girl in the room. He had nobody else to distract him as he molded me into his Fucktoy. Another flood of moisture leaked out of my cunt at that memory.

I lost Sir's cock for another few awful minutes as he slipped out of me and attached several clothespins to Tammi before strapping her front side again. Two on each cunt lip and one on each nipple of her wired breasts. Tammi's begging to be fucked. She's saying "Please, Sir. Please. Fuck me! I need you".

Tammi was panting like a bitch in heat. Sir was still encouraging her to end the whole thing, pressuring her to leave or surrender totally, not giving an inch. He'd accustomed her to pain by this point in past fuck-training sessions...so she was just able to handle it.

I thrust his rock-hard pole back into my mouth and I lost my concentration for a few minutes as I worshipped him...my whole world focusing on the piece of wood that I was spearing my mouth back and forth on in a vain effort to coax an eruption from it. I was hungry for my man's jism. I craved his jism.

I thrust my tongue out to lick his balls, knowing this would help me throat him, knowing that throating him might trick him into cumming inside my mouth...knowing that accomplishing that would keep his cock out of Tammi and allow me a victory over her. She could have a whipping, but not a fucking. Let him whip me as punishment for ruining his plans. I didn't care. I just wanted his cum.

But he laid palm to cheek and bitch-slapped me off him and it was back to my hands and knees four feet away, unfulfilled, devastated, humiliated, tears stinging my eyes now, yearning. He was saving his load for the big-breasted bimbo.

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