A Slut's Education Ch. 07 - FINALE

At-Attention, just like I taught you. And impeccably done! Score: 10. I hear a faint, distant gasp escape your lips, and it says to me, Yes, my Master, I am ready. Tell me how to obey. I WANT to obey.

I move closer, whispering to you, "Remember your non-verbals, slave." I reach out close to your ear, turn my hand over and snap my fingers once.

I see you are confused, processing.

I see Deanna has just begun to rouse herself from her multi-orgasmic stupor, catching up on what has happened.

You remember, Kelli. One snap means down. You slump into At-Ease: Down on your haunches, knees pulled in closer, hands resting on your thighs, relaxed, palms up, head gently bowed.

I let you rest for a few moments. Behind the leather that envelops your vision, your broken mind knows your Master is here. And you want that, slut. I think it gives you clarity, purpose, meaning.

I think it makes you whole.

I clap my hands: You lurch forward onto all-fours, your chin up, your red-striped body taut and quivering with anticipation: Proud-Pony Posture.

Moving directly in front of you, one more clap: Crawl forward. I back up, you crawling toward me, following me blindly across the carpet.

As I do this, I say to Deanna, "Do you know how to control a slave like this? What two snaps of the fingers mean? One snap? A clap of the hands? -- If you do, then you're right, you don't need me anymore."

As my crawling slave and I approach the drapes at the far end of the room, two quick claps: You stop.

You stop, and without any other instruction, my slave ... you wait.

I see Deanna looking back at me, wide-eyed and wordless, stunned.

But I don't wait for the haughty bitch's reply. I am done, I have nothing more to prove. I turn and move to leave the room.

But before I'm gone, Deanna stirs, turns in her chair. "Ummm, remember that dildo strap-on I asked about? And the keys?" But I hear in her singsong tone a tinge of doubt. "If you're turning in, I'll have those before you forget."

I don't answer. But I mean to do as she says. Looking back at far end of the room, I see Kelli motionless on hands and knees, facing the drapes blindly. Holding still, bereft of instruction. And looking rather small at the moment. I sigh.

I'm sorry, Kelli.

In the fireplace, the big log loudly pops. Then, a moment of inspiration.

Turning, I ask casually, "Pardon me, Deanna, but may I ask? How much do you weigh?"

"What?"

"Your weight. Please."

"Umm, one twenty-four, twenty-five?" I was lucky to catch her off guard, or I might not have gotten that data point. I like her confused look, how I took the smirk off her face by changing the subject. "Maybe less, I've been working out. Why --?"

"Thank you." I put her down for more like one twenty-eight, but I keep that to myself. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

Deanna rights herself. "I was saying, um, before you turn in ..." her voice trying to reassert its authority, "You're going to bring me the keys and the strap-on."

**slut**

Dressed in her black leathers, Mistress leads me downstairs into the basement by my nose-leash. I am not muzzled or blindfolded anymore. I am chained in my sirik, cuffs and collar connected, but this time the chains do not run through my pussy-rings. Unforced, I am crawling on all fours, because I know this is my place. Does my Mistress notice? Does she see me as the defeated, obedient slave I am?

This is the first time I've come down the stairs crawling, and it is awkward, but I know my job is to do it groveling but gracefully, and I think I do. Does she notice? I want that, want her to see me as the pussy-slave I am to her now, hungry to submit, eager to obey.

But I push that thought away. It is not my job to "want," it's my duty to submit. If I please her, maybe she will let me know, maybe not. If I displease her, she will punish me, and that I know for sure.

Dea -- no, my mind doesn't even think her name anymore ­ -- my Mistress is quiet. She doesn't abuse me with vile, degrading names, and I am grateful for that. Gratitude? Am I allowed to feel that? I don't know. I know Master and Mistress will instruct me in how I am supposed to feel as their slave.

Or does it matter how a slave feels? I am so confused.

Once we reach the floor of the basement, I react, processing. The punishment-bench. The cage. "Welcome to Obedience School." I know this only as a place of torture and degradation, shame and guilt. Is that why I am here, so that Mistress can punish me more? Master said, "I'm never going to stop punishing it for its many betrayals of my trust." And Mistress is the arm of Master's punishment. Haven't I been punished enough today? Do I deserve that?

Am I afraid? If I am, the answer doesn't come from my heart, which is calm ... but from my pussy, which is soaking wet.

What have I become?

Do I deserve this?

Mistress leads me to the corner and the open door of the cage. She stops and so do I.

"Slave," she says sharply, "At-Attention!"

Eagerly, I spring up on my knees, spread them wide, hands where they belong, face, mouth and tongue showing the required discipline. I hear Master's words, but in Mistress's voice, and this puts my pussy on high alert.

"Time to lock up my chink-slave's holes for the night," she says, purring. Working behind me, she wraps the cool metal of the C-belt around my hips, between my ass-cheeks, over my pussy, and *click* my back and front-holes are again enslaved in steel.

"All your holes, slut," she adds, filling my mouth with the rubber plug. I gulp, but I am sure my eyes don't flinch. Does she notice? She threads the nose-leash chain through a slot in front of the muzzle, pulls it through, then buckles the leather over my face ... dehumanizing me.

She smiles wickedly as she stands up straight.

"Now ..." She pauses. "Get down, slave!"

Down means Third Posture. I sink onto my haunches, pull in my knees, start to settle my hands on my thighs -- but before I finish, Mistress grunts with impatience, grabs me by my ponytail and pushes my face to the floor.

"No, all the way down, bitch!"

She meant Fourth Posture, Present. I am so stupid. What did I forget?

"Ass up high!"

I comply. Of course, ass up, that is Present. I am failing my discipline. I am stupid, I have displeased her. I am sure the strap or the cane is coming next!

But it doesn't. She says, "Into the cage, slave."

Forward, I process the command. Hmmm, a hand clap? My mind tells me that is what I should be hearing -- but my mind is dull, Mistress knows that, so she instructs me with words. I want to obey. Face low, ass high, I crawl into the cage.

Mistress closes the door behind me and locks it. She comes around to the front and crouches to look me in the face. Her expression is dominant, triumphant, but her voice is soft and smooth.

"Listen carefully, Slave '283," she says. She picks up the chain from my nose-ring, pulls it through the bars and clips it to the ring in the post nearby. "Because today you have learned to obey -- or because you have been punished mercilessly enough to learn you have no choice -- your Mistress is going to reward you with a good night's rest."

A reward? Mistress is so kind, she is being nice -- maybe she likes me again!?

"But don't be too proud, slut, because you're going to need that rest for the training I have planned for you tomorrow. It's going to be brutal. I am going to train you in the 'Mistress Deanna way' to Please, Serve & Obey. Just you and me." She pauses. "Don't worry, it's okay with Master."

Master. If it's what he wants for me, I will obey, I will submit to her every wish and command and all her training, and I will make him proud.

But ... Something in my mind remembers the two of them arguing before. About me? I do not know, the words were confusing to my broken mind. It is not my business. What Master and Mistress need me to understand, they will let me know.

Mistress goes on, "You don't need to stay on your knees, silly slut. You can lie on your side, stretch out as much as you can. No plugs or stims or shocks for your pussy and ass tonight. No bondage, except what you're already wearing. So here is my last command for you today: Rest up, because you'll need it."

I want to obey.

Then, she places something on the floor outside the cage, a large black rubber dildo attached to leather straps.

"Just one more thing to think about before lights-out," she goes on with an evil grin. "If you respond to my training tomorrow, if you please me, I'm going to use that strap-on to take your ass. Then you'll be mine. Then I'll own you."

Before I can react, she reaches in through the bars of the cage with a piece of leather, the blindfold, slaps it over my eyes and tightens it to my head-harness. My world is darkness.

"Light's out," I hear my Mistress's voice above me now, she has stood up.

And she is walking away. "Sweet dreams, Slave '283." ...

**********

Alone. I am a caged animal. No hands, no voice, no face, an object, broken ... property.

Though my mind is calm, I remember the horrors of my capture, torture and humiliation. I still feel the stripes and welts of my many beatings sizzling on my skin. But why do I feel like the stripes are things I have earned, not suffered? The pain of them is good, I like how they feel. They make me proud.

What have I become? Do I deserve this?

How did I get here?

Master brought me into a world of submission that my proper, rule-ordered upbringing never imagined. When I knelt naked and obedient on his living room carpet, my pussy pulsed and juiced. I knew then, this was what I was: a submissive. A natural sex-slave. For me, this is the natural order of things.

When I submitted to my Master's will, my pussy was glad. But I knew too I was a proud and willful girl, an academic over-achiever, a fierce competitor on the court -- and a stupid young thing. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I played games with the rules I was given, I cheated, I lied to my Master, and I was caught. My Master knew, he always knew.

It is true that he lured me into his world of bondage and domination, at first with blackmail and extortion. But it's also true that I always had choices. Choices to resist, to bargain my terms, to say no, or ultimately, to back out of the devil's deal Master and I had made. There would have been consequences for those choices, yes, if I could find the strength to face them. But I had those choices. I had the choice to leave.

I had the choice to leave, but my pussy said, No, stay.

But did I bargain for this? To be kidnapped, caged, naked, muzzled and chained? A voiceless slave-body without power to resist, to be used only for pleasure or punishment? Abused and whipped and degraded mercilessly as an owned slave? As Master said, Never to cum again!?

What have I become? Do I deserve this?

And what if it's true that Mistress, who used to be my funny, cute, blonde roomie, is going to "own" me? Taking my ass, she will own me then, right? Just as Master owned me once he took my ass. If she owns me, I will submit to her. I will please, serve and obey my Mistress. I will be her owned slave.

I feel the pressure of the ring that traps my septum. I know by now that I haven't been pierced, that the ring is just a metal clamp. But part of me wants the piercing. It wants that mark of slavery and submission, it wants that violation. And I want Mistress to do it. And to pierce my nipples too. I know, Master told me he doesn't want pierced nipples because it's a "waste of good nerve endings."

But I want it anyway. And I want Mistress to do it to me.

I don't worry anymore about the endless, screaming arguments with my mother over my piercings ... or revealing clothes or my grades. I don't worry about pleasing friends or keeping up my grades or holding down the starting position ... I won't worry about any of it anymore. Because I will be a slave, an object, the property of my Master and Mistress.

Because I will be a naked, owned slave on my knees in a cage in a basement in a house by the sea, forever.

How much simpler can life be?

"Welcome to obedience school."

Do I deserve this?

... What if my mother could see me now?

... Rebounding the ball, turning on a fast break, I dribble the ball off my foot ...

... My pussy-ring locks in Master's hand, he knew, he always knew...

... "Eat up, puppyslave ... mutt-slut ..."

... I can't see, and my balled-up, inhuman mitten-hands are useless to dislodge the blindfold. I don't want to, anyway ...

... In darkness, I have no face, in silence no voice ...

I deserve this.

I deserve my chains, my muzzle, forever naked and on my knees, punished for my failures and used for pleasure but given none of my own, abused for my owner's amusement ...

Goodbye dreams and ambitions, goodbye education, career, freedom. Goodbye my family and friends ... goodbye possessions, comforts, clothes.

Goodbye free will.

Goodbye ...

But my pussy says, Hello ...

...

I hear a voice. My Master's:

"Kelli, we have a problem."

The voice is electronic, from a speaker, I think ... outside the cage but close to my ear?

"Deanna is out of control, and she has us in a bit of a pickle. Kelli, I -- Frankly, Kelli, I need your help."

**MASTER**

"Deanna?" I knock on her bedroom door.

After a moment, the door opens and she appears, dressed in a frilly, pink cotton tank-and-drawers set direct from Victoria's Secret. She is holding a glass of white wine. Her face is impassive, imperious, like she knows her power.

"What do you want?"

I have my luggage packed up in a roller bag by my side, and I am dressed for the road, jeans, loafers, Oxford shirt and sport coat. "I want to thank you for your offer to leave tomorrow morning. But I'm going now."

"Is that it?" she snaps. She wants me to feel like I have interrupted her private time with something trivial. Like I am some boring lackey. And I'll give her that, she has truly risen to her new status.

"Well, I thought it would be rude of me to leave without saying goodbye."

Looking past her, I see the bedspread is strewn with her clothes, including the leather domme-gear she recently wore for Kelli downstairs, a couple of magazines, flogger, a plate with remnants of snacks and --

And the thing I am most hoping to see. Her laptop, open and awake, lit up bright as a portal to her cloud in the cybersphere.

"I wonder, don't you at least want to thank me?"

"Okay, I see what this is," she sneers back at me. "I'm supposed to be grateful or something? Like, you know, you did everything, and I didn't do jack-shit but follow behind you like some puppy dog or sex-kitten or something."

"Well, maybe you don't know this, but --"

"No, what you don't know ­­--" Deanna interrupts. She leans in closer, jabbing her wineglass in my face like she's threatening me with a gun. "I've been dominating Kelli since the first day she moved in. Did you know that? Maybe this opportunity was all I needed to claim what's mine -- what I've been making mine, for longer than you know."

A gust of wind pushes through the open window from across the room, squirreling through the doorway that separates Deanna and me. The cool, moist ocean air prods the blonde's nipples to rise sharply underneath the tank top that clings to her high, firm tits. Outside the window, a congregation of black and grey clouds darkening the twilight shy ... and I see the same darkening in Deanna's eyes.

She continues her tirade, "So, no, I don't owe you a thank you, I don't need to be grateful for you delivering Kelli to me!"

"Well, in case you didn't notice, I have conceded her, and I'm going. What more could you want?"

"Just Kelli! And I have her!"

"Do you, really? What do you really know about training and managing a slave? Everything you think you know, you learned from watching me --"

"You're fucking wrong!"

"No, you're wrong," I say. "You saw what I did in the living room. You're nowhere close to commanding that kind of obedience and discipline from a slave. Do you think, just because you own a strap-on and a leather catsuit and a whip -- Do you think that measures up to the months of work I put into taming and correcting and disciplining that willful slut's ass?"

"What about the work I put in? Huh?"

I raise a calming hand. "We can agree to disagree. And I can walk away accepting that. But here, we're talking about the fate of a human being, Kelli, who I care for very much. I just need to know you'll ... take care of her."

Deanna gives me a contemptuous look, pulls back and places an indignant hand on her hip. "And all I need you to know is, I don't give a fuck what you need."

"Then maybe you can help me understand," I say, taking my tone down a notch, "how exactly you've beaten me."

I choose the words deliberately. The concession of defeat isn't lost on her, and I think it's achieved the desired effect of bringing down her guard. I want to back her down from her combativeness, lull her into false confidence... and set her up for what's about to happen, the endgame I am moving toward.

"I mean, I saw you flash me some, er, compromising photos of me. You told me those are 'in the cloud,' meaning safe in some remote place, not your laptop. First of all, I don't get what that means, 'in the cloud' --"

"Seriously?" she sneers. "How old are you? I mean, like, really old, if you don't even get that!"

"Show me what you mean."

'I'll show you what I mean!" She wheels around to the bed, to laptop, turning her back to me. "Your pics are are right he --"

This is when I strike.

Just as she was turning away, I slipped on the latex glove. Moving before she has quite reached her laptop, I take the rag out of the bag in my jacket pocket and slap it across her pretty mouth.

The struggling blonde tries to raise her hands to her face, but I catch them with my right forearm, pull them down and pin them to her waist. She yells defiantly behind the muffle of the cloth, but I tighten my grip over her mouth and push the cloth up over her nose, pinching her nostrils.

And after just a few moments of struggling - while I whisper in her ear, hoping she is not too far gone to hear me, "Aww, who's beaten who now, Mistress Gullible?" -- it is over.

My control is restored. And Deanna is mine.

**slut**

I deserve this.

I deserve to be in the place I am in now. I suffered a lot -- beatings and bondage, humiliation, torture and shame, at the hands of Mistress Deanna. I submitted to that. I groveled and obeyed her, gave her pleasure and took her punishment, because she was Master's arm. I had lied and cheated and betrayed my Master's trust and I deserved discipline for that, so when he gave me to Mistress for punishment, I submitted to that.

But now that I have learned she betrayed Master too, I am mad at her. Furious. She abused his trust and tried to take me, his trained and owned slave, away from him. And I don't know which one makes me more angry. But it doesn't matter which, because she will pay for both.

And the one to take that payment out of her hide is me. Because now, *I am the arm of Master's punishment.

I deserve this.

I am waiting for the conniving slut to wake up as I sit on a stool in the middle of the basement, Master's laptop on my knees. I am dressed in a short silk kimono Master gave me from my own luggage. Under it I am naked, or less than naked, because my bondage is gone: cuffs and collar, mittens, head-harness, and sirik. All there is to remind me of my slavery and subjugation are the tongue-stud and pussy-rings and my tatted slavenumber 478-427-283.