The Connoisseur Ch. 14

14. Training Sarah

We showered together, and then I dressed Sarah in an outfit that, she noticed with wry amusement, I had commissioned expressly for her. It was a silver, filigreed "bikini" inspired by Frazetta's paintings, one that technically covered her while leaving literally nothing to the imagination (or in my case, to the memory). Indeed, it was more jewelry than clothing. The twin breast pieces that curled around her perfect globes were held in place by clamps that tightened around the nipples while leaving the very tips exposed. The lower piece was held in place by protrusions that extended into her cunt and anus, both of which could be made to vibrate at varying intensities with a flick of a remote control I kept in my pocket. The bottom plug was larger than the one I'd used the night before; at this rate, she would be ready to take my cock back there by the end of the month. It was a bit chilly that morning, so I allowed her a cloak of flowing, translucent lace. A silver filigree slave collar with matching wrist and ankle cuffs completed the ensemble. Sarah was a vision: a captive, barbarian princess.

"So how did you happen to have this lovely ... thing? And in just my size?" Sarah said as she modeled for me.

"A gentleman is prepared."

"This tiny silver ensemble isn't exactly one size fits all...."

"I had it made expressly for you. Can't you tell?"

She smiled slyly. "Seems a shame to waste it if I hadn't come along. What if you hadn't found another willing girl just my size?"

"It's for you, pet. Only you."

"And what if I hadn't come here with you?"

"You forget, darling. I'm a man who takes what he wants."

Sarah beamed. "I've always wanted to write, and to be around books. And ... and this. This is everything I've ever wanted in life. I'm scared. Terrified, really. Sir. But I feel so...."

"What, my pet?"

"Safe. Free. Treasured."

She begged to be allowed to make breakfast for me, and I agreed happily. She made and poured a perfect cup of strong black coffee, which I sipped while she squeezed my fresh orange juice, prepared the best sage sausage and artisan cheddar omelet I had ever tasted, and served it with generously buttered whole wheat toast, with small amounts of grape jelly and orange marmalade on the side. All exactly the way I liked.

"You, Sir, are not the only one who does his homework." She laughed at my surprise and her blue eyes sparkled. "You have breakfast at the Red Bird Café three times a week, and this is what you always order."

She made herself a bowl of oatmeal with cinnamon, and knelt at my feet to enjoy it. Sarah beamed again when I praised her.

After breakfast, we retired to the training room, where I spent the balance of the day, with only short breaks to allow her to prepare us lunch and dinner, tying Sarah with soft rope into various slave girl positions, and teaching her the names so that later, she could duplicate them when ordered. The positions are designed to allow the slave to show her absolute obedience, and to display her charms to best effect, while making herself available submissively to her Master's every whim.

I left her bound in each position for at least a half an hour. It is, I find, the best way to train the positions into muscle memory, as well as to enhance a slave girl's natural flexibility and endurance. While she was bound, I made arrangements to fetch Sarah's laptop and library, and anything else of value, and to have the rest of her things disposed of at some local charity.

The next day, we worked on the slave positions again with the ropes. On the third day, I started to remove them. I seldom had to use the riding crop to correct her posture or position, although I did now and again, because my standards are very high, and because, well, I was a gentleman with a whip, and I had a nubile and naked girl on which to use it. However could one be expected to resist?

Besides, I think she would have been disappointed if I hadn't, and a gentleman doesn't disappoint a lady, even when the lady is his sexual servant.

Naturally, I fucked her often and well, and in very position the imagination could conjure. For Sarah, this was new. She had been no virgin, surely, when I took her that first time. But sex for her had always been an infrequent, unsatisfying activity that left her feeling empty and frustrated. Now, in the constraints of her bondage, she found a new freedom to unleash her passions. She was becoming a creature of pure sex.

She was learning.

For the most part, I kept her happily nude, although occasionally I dressed her in costumes—like a Renaissance fair dress with low-cut blouse and tight bodice, for example—just so that I could have the very great pleasure of tearing them off her before I ravaged her again. Sarah was a natural at roleplay, and every time we indulged in some new fantasy, I felt like I was conquering her again. I was always hungry for her, body and soul, and she for me.

Sarah was a talented lover, and her considerable and natural skills flourished under my strict tutelage even as her stamina for both cock and whip increased.

When I had to turn my attention reluctantly to correspondence and other mundane business affairs, I locked Sarah in the library where she read happily, or (I discovered later) wrote prolifically. She was hesitant to let me see her words, but I ordered and so she obeyed submissively. She had a lovely voice; her prose was poetry, lines crafted by an angel. Line after line simply begged to be read aloud, so I had her do so.

She was crafting a fairy tale of sorts, about a princess woken with a kiss and rescued. But she was saved not from a dungeon, but from a shining tower; her princess lived a life of gilded and pampered tedium. She was rescued not by a handsome prince, but by a rugged but dashing pirate, a beast of a man. The rogue took her to his ship, where he bound her, naked and helpless, to the bow of his ship, a living figurehead, as he sailed away, leaving her kingdom behind forever. The pirate took this captive not to a castle, but to a dungeon, where the princess lived happily ever after.

I made a note to acquire a yacht and act out some of her scenarios, until I remembered, with an astonishing wave of sadness, that I wouldn't have her long enough for anything like that.

When she was fully trained at last, she was destined to be sold to another man, her new master, one Jane's research had determined was a perfect match for her.

We had a contract, after all, and a bargain is a bargain. A rather considerable fortune waited.

I read that story again and again while Sarah slept.

Her training continued. She met new varieties of whip, crop, quirt, and paddle, and she experienced tight bondage in frames, crosses, benches, stocks, and whipping poles. We worked on her techniques with her hands, her mouth, and even her cunt, slowly raising her already considerable natural skills to the level of high art.

I enjoyed binding her in various positions throughout my home, so that her body could serve as a living work of art, a naked and breathing statue to be viewed and admired as the very centerpiece of my remarkable collection. Thus, I could enjoy her while I worked or read. She was a treasure indeed.

I allowed her frequent breaks to read, to write, to dance, and to exercise. She expressed no desire to leave, although she did enjoy spending time in the lush and romantic private gardens behind my brownstone.

Sarah was a mass of contradictions; she was intelligent, cultured, and assertive, and the latter characteristic warred with her natural inclination to surrender and serve. Many women, more than one might think, I have learned, suffer from this unfortunate inner conflict, which manifests at best in unhappy, unfulfilled lives, and at worse in a distressingly wide spectrum of neuroses. Sarah, consciously or (more likely) unconsciously, and dealt with this conflict by creating a situation where she was taken and made to surrender. That allowed her deeper, truer self to emerge and thrive.

My methods, physical, subliminal, and psychological, helped her nurture and strengthen, rather than suppressing or damaging, her spirit. Sarah was not diminishing; she was blossoming. A master artist, after all, shapes; he does not break. My methods channeled her strong spirit not into conflict or suppression of her inner most passions, but into her arts, both as a writer and a sex slave.

Indeed, even her writing was improving. "It's the first time I've ever been satisfied with something I created," she confessed. Her captivity, it seemed, freed her creative spirit.

I kept Sarah bound persistently. More, I used a variety of vibrators and similar devices (many of my own design, all with a remote control that I kept handy at all times) to keep her in a state of near constant and ever increasing arousal.

Every afternoon, I had her watch special videos I had created, and to listen to carefully crafted sounds though headphones while she danced or exercised. These had a hypnotic, subliminal effect that continued to loosen her inhibitions and guide her to her ultimate sexual, and submissive, self. They deepened her slavery. I created nothing that wasn't already there inside her; I merely freed her inner slave girl, if you'll forgive the irony.

One night, after I had whipped her breasts and allowed her to please me with her mouth, Sarah confessed that, for the first time in her life, she was happy. I held her naked body tightly in my arms, and she wet my shoulder with her tears. "I never want to leave here. This, you. Sir. You've made me the woman I've always wanted to be. You've given me everything I've ever wanted. You've given me more than I ever even knew I wanted."

"You'll have to leave," I reminded her. "Some day. When the time is right. Your true Master is waiting for you."

"I've found my Master," she said. "And if I go elsewhere, it will be only because he orders me to do so, and I'll obey only to please him."

That was not the way it was supposed to happen.

I would have to work harder, more carefully.

By the end of the month, I deemed it time to take Sarah's ass.