A Slut's Education Ch. 06

I am being pulled forward, someone steering me to safety, my nose is my compass.

Please talk to me, tell me everything is going to be okay...

But there is no voice, I simply follow the pull that drags me onward into the darkness... I cannot see, darkness pressed against my eyes...

But there is comfort in my bonds: I feel the steel slide up and down on my wrists, the constriction around my neck, and the weight on my ankles. The skin around my waist feels the caress of the smooth steel belt... It all feels right and I breathe more easily.

Maybe it is the strength of the one who is rescuing me, maybe I am simply awakening from a bad dream, but I am finally able to form a thought and to speak.

"... Please, help me."

The lead goes slack and I am without direction, then I hear it -- know it, remember it -- cannot stop it. *THWIK!* Burning pain sizzles along my thigh.

I open my mouth to cry out, but immediately it is filled, hard rubber shoved into my mouth to the back of my throat. A flap of leather covers my face, sealing the plug in my mouth, buckled tight against my jaws and temples.

"Slave '283," a female voice snaps, "Noise from your mouth will be answered with pain."

Yes, I moan, I won't speak, won't make a sound. I know it is not allowed.

And immediately the pressure on my nose pulls me further ashore. The ground is solid, I know I will not drown... I feel the familiar chains of my modified sirik, tugging from above and below on my pussy-rings, and I know I must crawl on all fours, briskly, to keep up with the wrenching pull on my nose.

I think I have entered a new room now, different from the basement whose cement floor tormented my knees last night, because I feel something smoother... Tiles? I recognize this smell, where have I smelled this before? A shower room...

A shower room... wait, yes, the smell of a shower room... disinfectant...

... Wrong number... Jersey 38, not Slavenumber '283.... Kelli! I'm Kelli, and my number is 38, why am I here? The team needs me!

Help, I scream, but this plug in my mouth prevents any sound.

Like dominoes, I begin to put things together in my mind, my senses of sound and smell guiding me into the now. We have stopped moving and she, she... I try to scream -- Where are you, Master? -- but no understandable words come forth.

"Morning, '283, time for your daily Grooming & Maintenance, filthy slave-bitch."

Deanna, my roommate, that is the voice that threw the dominoes onto the table. Deanna... I groan into the dildo-gag that fills my mouth.

She removes the blindfold, and I briefly glance up to make eye contact, she is looking down on me with amusement. Her face, unmasked now, is beautiful and cruel. Dressed now in denim and tank top, not black leathers.

Grooming and... what? I reply in my mind, but this is a one way conversation.

... One way. Like the one two days ago with my mother, I think, absurdly... Where did that come from? And why does the comparison excite, shame and mortify me in ways I don't understand??...

"What a filthy, stinking piece of shit you are, '283. I wouldn't even touch you, but a daily cleaning is expected at Obedience School."

With flicks of the nose-leash chain, she guides me forward until my face stops against the wall of a shower stall sink. With more tugs on the leash, she turns me around so that it is my ass to the wall, and with an upward yank on the chain, she urges me up off my knees. But since my ankle-chains do not permit me to stand, I can rise no farther than a squat, which is where I stay.

Not knowing what else to do with my hands, I lock them behind my neck, elbows out straight, as in...

... What is it called? Master?... 'At-Attention,' yes!

With flicks of her riding crop to my inner thighs, she directs my knees to spread out wider. A tap under my chin, and my face rises, chin high, eyes straight ahead.

She turns away, and I remain motionless in the directed position. I must obey. It is Obedience School and I have always been a bluebird at school, never a crow.

Deanna turns back to me holding the nozzle-gun at the end of a black rubber hose that leads from the showerhead. An instant later, a blast of cold water shocks me, and unintentionally, I collapse to my knees.

*THWIK!* *THWIK!* Fire across my breasts. I hold my tongue. ... Pain must be met with silence.

I rise up again into the required squat.

*THWIK!* *THWIK!* Stinging strokes to my thighs, I widen them out. "The legs of a slave are spread at all times!"

Of course, I know this. What's wrong with me? I am grateful for Mistress's direction... But is she directing me? Or stating a simple fact?

With her slave back under submission, Mistress focuses the jets on my breasts... the water slightly warmer now... She turns off the water and moments later is scrubbing my body with a soapy sponge. She is rough, but I dare not make a sound. She is especially thorough around my ass and pussy and my inner thighs, wiping away the shit-filth from last night.

I emit an audible sigh as she spends extra time around my cunt. Then I realize, she isn't washing any longer, she is lathering, and she is shaving... ("Needs grooming too," Master had said...)... shearing my plumped, wanting pussy-lips smooth and soft with a delicate ladies razor, careful fingers working diligently around the obstacles of steel rings and sirik-chains.

After several minutes she turns away, and soon the warm spray is dousing me and rinsing away the bubbly film of lather and soap the grooming left behind.

When the water is turned off, she abruptly steps over the nose-leash chain with her high-heeled shoes, as she did last night, yanking upward and dragging the chain through her instep so that my face is forced to the tiled floor, back on my knees, my ass up high.

And when Mistress steps off the chain and turns away, I know this my new position to hold. I want to obey.

I hear her busily at work in preparation. Next, something cold and rubber is slowly pushed into my ass, filling me. I feel violated and degraded by this. My belly begins to fill, warmth spreading. Enough, I fight back the groan, but my bowels continue to fill. I hate the enema, but it is expected. I want to obey. I want to be clean.

Minutes later, my bowels churning with cramps, Mistress Deanna abruptly pulls the plug. I feel the filth expunged from my ass, spilling loudly into a metal pail on the floor between my knees.

I hear her camera-phone shutter click behind me, recording my latest degradation.

When she is satisfied I have emptied my bowels, Mistress returns the nozzle to my ass and rinses me clean.

I am grateful... I feel ashamed to have been so dirty. I want to obey.

Next, Mistress aims the stream of water lower, a direct hit on my pussy! At first, I am tempted to close my knees -- but then I realize what is happening. Deanna thinks she is inflicting pain in a sensitive area, but in fact it is the opposite. I am quickly responding, and in moments, my body is heating to the pulsation of the jet spray against my cunt!

I want to obey, but...

... In the cage last night, the penetrations of my three holes had brought me to the edge a thousand times, almost driving me to a state of delirium, each time on the brink of bliss, an anal shock wrenching me all the way back.

But now, as the spray hits directly on my pussy, my sexual instincts take over, my experiences... time and again, pushing the shower head against my cunt was my favorite way to masturbate. Now, unbeknownst to Deanna, she is doing exactly that!

I tilt my head back, screaming into my gag. From her mocking laughter, I am sure this brings great joy to Deanna, thinking she is hurting me, when in fact she is bringing me off!

I bellow to the heavens through my muzzle, Please do not stop!

And she does not...

"Slave, hold still and keep silent!" Deanna shouts.

No! I will not. I will disobey!

My orgasm crescendos and my body shakes with release, my head twisting left and right, my eyes rolling upward, crashing waves of pleasure coming ashore.

I shriek out my cresting ecstasy with abandon into the plug-gag in my mouth.

"Slave!" Deanna screams at the top of her voice. "What are you doing?"

Through orgasmic haze, I look up to Deanna's face twisted in fury. She lifts me by my collar, upright on my knees, and begins to slap my face, side to side, ranting in frustration. Her blows are sharp, but I am immune to pain as the orgasm is still simmering hotly in my belly.

Master arrives in a rush. "What's the problem here!"

Deanna slaps my face once more and rises to her feet, looking down on me in disgust. "This slave has orgasmed without permission."

"What? How is that possible?"

I have fallen to all fours, and look up through dripping hair, watching as though a spectator.

"I have no idea. I was just hosing the slut off, and next thing I know, it is cumming before my eyes!" She is shaking her head in disbelief. "I ordered it to keep still and quiet."

I see Master's face whip around to stare coldly at Deanna. "'Ordered'?"

Deanna's expression grows blank with sudden realization, "... oops."

"What the fuck!" Master exclaims.

And I cannot help but rejoice within, having turned the tables on my torturers.

**MASTER**

This is a fucking setback. Possibly worse, a total breakdown of the plan.

If I thought Kelli's self-woven spell was completely broken, I might consider throwing in the towel and ending the weekend right here on Day Two. But I'm not yet convinced the fantasy is completely fucked beyond all salvage. I think it won't be, if I act quickly, and with decisive steps to reassert my authority, and by extension, that of Mistress Deanna.

"You hear me, '283?" I shout back over my shoulder. "You're going to pay for disrespecting Mistress Deanna!"

Fucking Deanna... Didn't I warn her how easy it was to slip up in Dominant-voice mode? And letting the captive-slut cum!? No doubt, the one lapse followed directly from the other.

As quickly as I can, I have you crawling upstairs, my captive-slave, out the kitchen door, crawling desperately across the back lawn. You are led by rough, impatient tugs on your nose-leash chain... now in MY hand.

As the first of many punitive measures to come, this time the crawling is a bit tougher on you. Once on the lawn, I strap the ankles of your doubled-up legs to the backs of your thighs, and your wrists to your upper arms, so that you have to move on the points of your knees and elbows. And I am not slacking my pace to allow you to acclimate to your new bondage.

Deanna walks beside me, and I reach out to take her by the arm and draw her closer to me: putting on a show for the rebel-slut's benefit, that Deanna and I are just fine and dandy right now. The first thing my slut needs to know is that Master and Mistress are still in charge, still more than twice the match of any petty little rebellions my cunt-slave may think she has in store... still happy, collaborative partners in crime...

... instead of the way I really feel, which is that I'd like to strip the stupid, reckless blond naked, muzzle and whip her, and throw her in the cage for a day.

"Stupid, slow pig!" Deanna joins in my menacing mockery of the crawling slavegirl.

*THWIK*

Her whip lashes back at you, catching your side with its tip, blazing a red stripe of pain on your naked flesh. A sharp yelp of protest mingles with the grunts of effort emanating from your muzzled, plug-gagged mouth.

"Do you think dragging your feet is going to stop us from getting to where your punishment's gonna to happen?"

That's the spirit, Deanna. Let's just hope it's not too little too late.

Where my slut's punishment is going to happen is about fifty yards ahead, near the high wooden fence at the back of the yard, beside the gazebo that shelters the hot tub. There, while I was prowling the grounds when I first arrived on Wednesday, I discovered a broad patch of bare earth next to the underside of the raised frame of the gazebo, watered by a leak from the drainage line. Helped along by me, it's is now an six by six foot mud puddle.

I begin my "punishment speech" as we approach this corner of the yard:

"Slave 478-427-283, you are about to learn the consequences of willfulness and disobedience. Did you think this was a game? A game you could play for fun? A game you could win?"

I drag you alongside the puddle, hear you panting and gasping for breath as you strive to recover from the grueling crawl across the lawn. I crouch down to look you close in the face. You are trembling with fear, and your eyes are squeezed shut, but I think I have your attention.

"Listen, slut, I will be generous and give you one excuse for your defiance," I growl. "That is the fact that Mistress Deanna doesn't yet own you, as I own you, and you were obviously testing your boundaries with her.

"But that's not much of an excuse. Because, Mistress Deanna's domination of you is an extension of my own. So when you defy her, you defy me."

I slap your face to make your eyes open, and when they do, you look ahead and see the mud pond in front of you. I see both fear and confusion in your eyes. I grab you by the topknot of your hair and lift you up on the points of your knees, push you forward so that you are wading into the edge of the puddle, and dangle you there.

"And when a slave defies me in front of others, it humiliates me."

I glance up to see Deanna moving around the pond to get a look at the action from in front. She is taking pics. I see that she is fascinated, and aroused.

"So in punishment, I will humiliate you."

I push your face down into the mud.

Deanna laughs mockingly as she watches your punishment, her phone buzzing away.

You go down with a splash and a squeal and a thrashing of your bound limbs and naked body. The day is warm enough in the sunlight, but the water is cold and bracing. As I let go of my grip on your topknot, your face emerges from the mud, smeared in wet slime, you are gasping for air and snorting through your nose, your eyes wide.

You struggle to turn on your side, to keep your face out of the muck. I hear you grunting and wailing with exertion, frustration and despair...

... You sound like a frightened pig, which is exactly what you are.

"I think I am making my point, or at least beginning to," I say. I stand up and turn to Deanna. "Mistress, why don't you do the honors and whip the rest of the defiance out of this slave?"

Deanna already the cat-flogger at the ready, knowing this moment was coming. She looks at me, smiles and winks. "Gladly, Master."

*THWAK!* *THWAK!* *THWAK!* *THWAK!* Deanna's flogger rains down on your flesh in a rapid-fire barrage. You scream into your muzzle, begging incoherently for mercy, squealing in misery. And as you thrash about in the mud to escape the lashes of your punishment, you do my job for me and squirm about until all parts of your naked flesh are coated in wet, brown clinging muck.

I laugh at your degradation. "So tell me, was your rebellious little orgasm worth it?"

Desperately, you shake your head, NO!

I hold up my hand, which Deanna takes as a signal to ease up on the flogging, slowing down but not quite stopping.

I move around the edge of the puddle so that I am over your head, and I crouch down to address you. As the whiplashes strike more softly, intermittently, and you have overcome your initial distress at wallowing in the mud, I think you are relatively calm enough now to hear my words.

"Listen, '283," I say. "When I said before that Mistress Deanna doesn't own you yet, I am referring back to the moment when Master truly took ownership of you. Do you remember? Doesn't your anus still burn at the memory of it? That's how a Master claims a slave: in the ass."

I smile wickedly. "Well, soon enough, Mistress Deanna will do the same to you. And after that, she will own you as I do. After that, there will be no more excuses for your defiance."

Again I hold up my hand, and now the whipping stops. Deanna crouches down alongside me, looking you in the face. Tears fill your eyes, and I think Mistress and I can both see how sorry you are, and how afraid.

"I can hardly wait," Deanna purrs wickedly, "to OWN this slave."

"Well, co-own," I chuckle.

"As you say, sir," Deanna replies.

But again, I sense something strangely ambiguous in her tone.

"And after that," I say, "we'll be able to get back to the business of training our slave without further incident.

***********

Leaving you to wallow in the mud for a time, Deanna and I head back into the house to prepare for the next phase of your punishment. On the way, Deanna says to me, "I am so sorry, Peter."

"Um, let's keep it 'Master' or 'sir,' even out of the slave's earshot,?" I reply. "Just to keep up the act, okay?"

"Got it, sir," Deanna says contritely. "Listen, I --"

I interrupt, "No, I want you to listen." I stop at the foot of the steps leading up to the back deck of the house and turn to face her. She stops and looks back at me, brushing a wisp of wind-blown hair out of her face.

"I was furious with you, but I've calmed down. Probably something to do with taking out my anger on Kelli." My voice is calm but stern. "What I really need you to understand is why I made a special point of saying, 'No orders.' There was going to come a time when we started ordering her around, probably later today, but I wanted to pick and control that moment myself."

"I know, I slipped up," she says. "But what's the damage? I mean... I guess I don't really understand your point about 'orders.'"

"First of all, I think the damage has been contained," I say. "Our little crisis of authority is passed, and Kelli is back under our control.

"Uh-huh."

"But here's the thing. The essential dynamic of this power-play over Kelli is that we are dealing with a balancing act between the two core parts of her nature: her natural submissiveness, and her fierce, athletic competitiveness. When you ordered her to hold still, keep quiet -- whatever you said -- you challenged her. That brought out her competitive streak."

"I think I see," she nods, taking me seriously.

"Up until that moment, we were playing to her submissiveness by simply controlling her, keeping her in bondage, punishing and humiliating her -- just 'doing' to her, not demanding anything 'from' her."

Deanna nods her head thoughtfully. "Right. When I was dominating her in the shower, I could see how much she wanted to obey, even without being ordered, up until the moment it went wrong..."

"Again, it's okay now. I forgive you."

"So what now?"

"Now? Get back in role, be careful, and above all, follow my lead," I say, heading up the stairs into the house. "While I ramp up the mind-fuck."

*************

"It looks like a filthy wet puppy dog."

"Slave-Ornament..."

"What was that?" Deanna asks.

"Slave-Ornament," I repeat, realizing that I was speaking from a brief half-doze, from which I now shake myself alert. I recover and say in my lecturing voice, "It's a subcategory of Domestic, which is generally a subcategory of Pleasureslut."

"Slaves are all categorized?"

Under the shade of the gazebo, I lounge in the Adirondack chairs, my feet up on the matching wooden foot rest, dressed in swim trunks and a short-sleeved Madras shirt, enjoying coffee, biscotti, the New York Times, sunlight and a warm breeze... and the sight of our chained and displayed captive-slavegirl.