The Hunt Ch. 05 - Bridesmaid Comes

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

Dear reader. First all the characters in this story are over 18. I appreciate your patience in this story. Unfortunately, I was distracted by RL as well as another project. I hope you will all continue with this story and enjoy Angela, Alice, and the others.

Chapter 5

Bridesmaid's Training

Whoosh ... whack ... muffled scream ... sobbing.

Ilsa was teaching Little Slut her proper place. The flogger, a metronome, beating a wonderfully relaxing tattoo on her exposed sex. The little thing had chosen the worst time to show up and demand to see her school chum; it was unfortunate for her, but not so for the Mistress of the house.

Initially, Mistress Cynthia Cline had thought the little slip of a woman was indeed a child, but no, just a tiny young woman. Nevertheless, the foolish creature had managed to bully and intimidate her way into my house. Mistress Cline would have nothing of it. Ilsa, who had overpowered fully grown men, simply picking up the woman, stripped her, stuffing her in the crook of her arm, carried her to the training room.

The breaking and training of Little Slut had to be handled delicately; it was fortunate that she was a natural submissive. One must be more careful when working with women; males were comparatively trivial to train. Break their masculine ego, and they crumble. Women ... well, women are different.

"So, Little Slut will you behave?" Mistress asked without even looking at her subject; she turned a page. The illustrations were most exhilarating and detailed.

"hsfmwh graahf" Again, the subject's answer was meaningless, as she intended to resist, and Mistress knew it. It would take a little more time and Ilsa's loving attention.

Ilsa resumed her work; Mistress suspected the girl's pussy was bright red. However, not as red as her back was, nor her bottom would be. Fifty strokes should do it; most took only forty, some as few as twenty.

Women are stronger with natural reservoirs of strength and resistance. A resistance will resurface at inopportune times and destroy all the hard work one might put into them. One might well have a seemingly trained woman break free and escape or, worse, lash out at her master or herself -- all in a foolish bid for the illusion of freedom.

Mistress Cline taught true freedom comes from surrendering the illusion of independence by accepting one's place as a valued and loved possession. Hence, Mistress had born her burden of teaching slaves their true potential and value; she had been particularly successful because she understood women.

The beat went on till the count was slightly over fifty. Asking the question at even decades in the count gives them hope; asking at odd numbers crushes that hope and reinforces that the punishment would go on until Mistress got what she wants -- she always did -- always.

"So, Little Slut will you obey?" Mistress asked the girl without even looking at her.

Weeping was the sign she was looking for. "igsss" Was the reply, followed by uncontrolled sobbing. That was the fracture, and yet another piece of dross came free. Now Little Slut had surrendered; it was time for a reward.

"Cunny Licker!" Mistress called; with that call, a nude woman kneeling in the corner of the room suddenly came awake. She had been the original governess of young Alice, and the foolish woman had tried to stop me in my work. Now she was here. Once a noble's daughter, one of those poor unfortunates who were of the upper class but with no money, had to go into that limbo between honest service and those who lived upstairs. Despised by the servants and derided by those of her class, she still had tried to protect her charge, thus losing what little she had.

"Go reward Little Slut for her obedience." Cunny Licker moved swiftly, sweetly jingling as she went. A narrow triangle of silver chains adorned her torso. A chain between silver rings in her nipples joined, in turn, had chains that ran down to the apex of the triangle in the ring that pierced the nub's hood; the tiny silver bells made such a pleasant sound as she scurried, all furthering her humiliation. The once-proud woman waited for every direction.

"Bring her to the edge and keep her there until she begs for release; keep her there for five minutes, mind you, then let her complete." Cunny Licker began her work with vigor.

"Cunny Licker," She stopped for her Mistresses command, "Do not waste a drop." Pointing to the receptacle below the girl's hole.

Cunny Licker resumed her work as her Mistress continued her ruminations.

'Women are diamonds in the rough.' So thought Mistress, after all, a girl child comes into the world as a pristine gift. A girl child is the only creature capable of creating another just like her, with only the slightest input from the deplorable component provided by males. But from the moment of her birth, that unsullied young creature is burdened by rules and restriction, morays, and notions of how she should be and behave, layers upon layers of foolishness which weighs down her true self until she has no idea who and what she is and could be.

When such a creature is brought to Mistress Cline, she first sifted her charge to determine natural strengths and fissures. Then, to remove this overburden of social onus, find the wild plains of weakness in the layers of rubbish to remove--purging the burden, layer by layer, thus revealing the jewel within.

"mmmffff!" breath then "gswwefgnnn!" Little Slut was becoming more vocal.

The lovely sounds were the gurgling noises making their way around the soiled panties stuffed between Little Slut's lips. Mistress Cline found it delightful, the change from the annoying pleas for mercy or the sounds of nature wafting in through the open windows from the trees that surround the manor house. The very manor house that once belonged to Alice, but Mistress Cline now ruled with an iron fist.

The clock ticked as Little Slut struggled for release, her breath told the tail, and Cunny Licker had become quite proficient.

Mistress Cline returned to reading her treatise on mid-evil inquisition techniques for revealing witches. All as, a middle-aged woman, formerly Mrs. Tudman, the housekeeper, was working at her duties on her Mistresses insatiable quim. Her attention on the dripping cunt freed her Mistresses mind for her studies.

I had summarily dismissed all the male staff save the gardener's helper. The village idiot was exceptionally equipped for the duties being both stupid and very well endowed.

Smut had been a tough nut to crack, but Mistress was an expert. Within a fortnight, she had gone from screaming defiance and hurling curses to working her magic on sopping kitties. In this instance, the very kitty that had produced the soiled knickers in the Little Slut's mouth just across the sitting room.

"Stop Smut," Mistress spoke softly to the woman; she needed gentle reassurance now, "you did very well, darling, but Mistress must go see too Little Cunt." Mistress ran my fingers down her face along Smut's jawline. Smut was older but had once been a great beauty and would have been much sought after had she been born to a father who was not a gambler. 'Such a pity.'

"Sit and diddle yourself but no cummies." She whimpered and set about torturing herself, her hand a blur on the hairless mound between her legs.

It had been a pleasant surprise to discover that the erstwhile Mrs. Tudman was, in fact, a virgin and hand never know the touch of a man, indeed, nor woman! 'Such a waste.' Mistress thought as she rose and walked around the kneeling Smut, who was moaning softly over the family china bowl that served as a reservoir for her prolific juices--juices which Mistress would feed to Alice later as part of her evening meal.

In passing, Mistress nodded to Ilsa as she moved to the girl's head. Then, the flogger began to fall gently across the exposed bottom.

"Will you do as you are told?" Mistress asked, looking into the lovely eyes clouded by a river of tears. The mirror beneath her reflected visage her tormentor as Mistress knelt and stroked her hair to comfort her.

"You know it will be easier when you do." Cunny Licker had her on edge now. So close.

"Give yourself to me, and you will be free." Ilsa nodded to Cunny Licker now, who carefully inserted a finger into the girl's back passage. "Give yourself to me, and you can have release." The girls' breathing was ragged at best, desperate for release; now there was a digit where no such thing should be -- it was humiliating and stimulating.

Just a little more. Mistress nodded.

I was watching the flogger rise and fall the shuddered responses on the tiny body held in place by several black leather straps. All done to the lovely sounds of a brand-new Edison phonograph that had arrived only a week before was not quite a symphony but better than silence. Mistress was contemplating the pleasure of the cadence provided by Ilsa's strokes on the tiny bottom as it blended with the lovely minuet played by the phonograph.

"Will you serve and obey me?" Mistress stroked her hair, her eyes awash with tears as she nodded.

"yyeetthh" her eyes pleading, streams of tears, "YEEETTHHH!" Finally, Mistress knew she was broken. Nodding to Ilsa, who nodded to Cunny Licker, and Little Slut was given her gift as her body stiffened and she screamed her release into my filthy knickers.

"aaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggharrrr!" It was beautiful music to my ears; her eyes told me she was mine now.

I continued to stroke Little Sluts hair, looking into her eyes to focus her attention on me.

Removing the gag, "Will you obey?" Mistress looked into the coal-black eyes, my fingers tangled into the dirty matted and tangled mass of midnight black hair.

"Yes, Mistress," the girl whimpered and sobbed.

Mistress Cline could see it, the change in those eyes; Mistress had seen it before; it was an understanding of how and what she was. She would obey now of her own free will. But she was not wholly mine, not yet; there were still those pockets.

"Keep instructing her," Mistress ordered, although Ilsa knew the recipe, she had been in Little Sluts place years before, a headstrong woman of Viking stock, now tied closer to me than my corset.

"Yes, Mistress," Ilsa replied and continued the sweet torture. Then, directing the flogger as Cunny Licker restarted Little Cunt on that slow climb back to the edge.

Returning to her seat, Mistress noticed Smut was fighting with her need; Mistress patted her on the head to signal she should return to her work on my cunny. The bowl beneath Smut was a quarter full now. Looking back to Little Cunt, as Mistress settled back into my seat, Mistress watched the shivers, listened to the moans, took in the beautiful scents of a tortured woman; Mistress enjoyed her work. Finally, Mistress took up her book; it had been a good day so far, very productive.

I was awoken from my revelries in my success when Mistress perceived the sounds of the upstairs maid approaching, the distinct ringing of her bells made it clear she was hurrying. Then the knock. Most of the house staff had learned to knock before entering, especially these rooms.

"Enter," Mistress called with just enough volume to be heard. The door opened quietly, and the maid entered.

She was now Twat, who once went by Catherine or something, was now almost entirely trained. She had only shed five tears when she signed the papers that changed her life forever. Mistress had made it very clear what would happen before she signed, and it had taken only forty-three lashes to convince her that this was the best way for her to know true joy and happiness. In the end, she signed, doing so nude and in front of witnesses.

The agreement was simple; she gave herself over to my hands -- forever. Her husband would have an accident, freeing her from her cumbersome marriage. Her child would be taken care of. All this came to pass during her training; it had become necessary when her half-drunk husband, with spawn in tow, had appeared at the front door, no less, demanding to see his wife. Twat was only half-broken, and the child's appearance had greatly aided in that process along, crushing her with guilt over what she had already been made to do.

It had been all too easy for Ilsa to escort the husband down to the servants' quarters where Twat should have been; there, she subdued him with the aid of a sap and prepared him for training. He was decent enough looking, with a good form; he was a mean drunk, his only real vice. Nevertheless, he would fetch a reasonable price in the right market.

The child was sold to a workhouse for a decent sum; perhaps when she was older, the workhouse supervisor knew to keep her pure. He knew what would happen to him and his family if he failed to secure all her virtues. Mistress had no fears; she would be a virgin when Mistress retrieved her when fully of age a year or two.

She would be retrieved, and her mother would help break and train her. The cruelty of it would be exquisite. Mistress could imagine the girl's excitement at being reunited with her mother; perhaps Mistress would even allow visits to keep the memory alive. Mistress could imagine the look of anguish and pain in the virgin girls' eyes when she realized that her own mother would willingly break and train her; the very idea made Mistress Cline soaking wet.

The 'husband' had been crushed over a few days; laudanum, a lack of water and sleep, combined with frequent beatings, worked wonders with men. Mistress had a buyer for him already, and his lovely wife had not even realized she was castrating him. He was gagged and bound, bound to the breaking horse in this very room. Obscured by a curtain, only his manhood and eggs were to be seen, Twat was given just enough laudanum to dull her wits, she tightly tied off the sack with her own hands using silk thread, Mistress jilled looking into his terrified eyes as Twat applied the knife to the very parts that had produced the child she asked about nightly. Mistress Cline's climax was epic from the pain that tore through him. Yet another exquisite memory of her glorious work.

In the present, as Twat entered the rooms, her erstwhile husband, now fully trained, was on a ship. Our new boi would do well in Turkey. One day Mistress planned to arrange a meeting between the love birds, perhaps a family portrait taken with their properly educated daughter holding their leashes? Would that not be a delicious family portrait for the wall?

"Yes, what is it Twat?" Mistress put down her book and inspected Twat, who was now kneeling. Nude, as any good slut should be, her waxed wet and well-used sex was clearly in view; the gold rings in each of her distended teats held three gold bells of slightly different tones. Those six bells matched the half dozen rings and bells that adorned her outer cunt lips. She was simply exquisite.

"Alice has disappeared, Mistress." Was all twat was able to say before her Mistress started to scream.

The gardener raked the leaves, then stopped. He thought he heard the shout of his Mistress well up in her rooms. He shrugged; he figured he was too stupid to understand. Besides, if she needed him, she would send someone.