tagBDSMThe Vassal Academy Ch. 30

The Vassal Academy Ch. 30


The Vassal Academy Part 30: Jeannette's lesson.

The last four days had been hectic for everyone. The academy was finally back in normal operation though. The stall walls had been removed from the training wings, the furniture had been broken down and stored. The linens had been laundered and folded and put away for when it may be used again.

The slaves had all had a spin on the table, and Devon had returned to town, once with Jeannette, and once with Geneva. Suzanne would return in a couple days to resume her training while her Master went to check on production facilities in the Malaysia for ten days.

Devon was ready for the next project though. He picked up the phone and glanced at the folder he had just digested. It was Sarah Miller's file, and he thought he was ready to talk to her.

The phone rang. Sarah answered it. "Yes?"

"Ms. Sarah Miller please." Devon said.

"Speaking." Sarah answered. She hadn't recognized the number on the display.

"Ms. Miller, This is Devon Jamison of the Vassal Academy, I was hoping to speak to you about your request."

Sarah felt the floor dip below her, and then she realized it was her stomach. She tried to compose herself, stepping out of the hallway into a smaller cubby that was unoccupied. "Mr. Jamison, I'm on my way to a meeting right now, may I call you back at this number in a couple hours?"

"Certainly. Someone will be here to answer it, and I will be able to discuss your request at your convenience." Devon answered with tones of understanding in his voice.

Sarah sat through the production meeting, making notes, and asking a couple questions for clarification. She agreed with the Executive Vice President who oversaw all public relations, the branch of the company she was working in, that there was no need to change the current ad campaign, sales were consistent, and even climbing a bit.

After the meeting was over, she returned to her office, and then decided it was too risky to discuss this information here. She took her briefcase, and she left the building. Not early, the meeting had let out at six, but not as late as she would sometimes stay.

It took thirty minutes to reach her condo, and once inside she leaned against the door, trying to catch her breath. They were going to help her. They were going to help her after all. She had talked to Dominique, and gotten an explanation that they were involved in a big project for Hollywood, and it would be a couple weeks before they could discuss her case. That had been almost three weeks ago, and now they were calling her.

She set her purse and briefcase on the kitchen table and selected Devon's number from her history. She thumbed the call back button, and listened while it rang.

"Vassal Academy, Devon."

"Mr. Jamison, it's Sarah Miller returning your call."

"Good to hear from you Sarah." Devon said simply. "Please feel free to call me Devon, and I apologize for taking so long to get back to you. We had a very large project that we only just completed."

"Yes, Dominique explained that as well. Mr. Jamison, I'm hoping that you can help me here."

Devon didn't allow his voice to lose any of it's cheerfulness. "I'm not sure if we can, or not. What I'd like to do is meet with you this weekend. I'm planning on coming to Houston to look at some other related matters, and I'd be quite happy to meet and discuss this with you in person, unless you object of course."

"Why would you need to meet with me?" Sarah asked.

"To discuss the specifics of your request. Ms. Miller, surely you realize how unusual your request is." Devon temporized.

"Yes." Sarah agreed. "Very well, I'll meet with you. Where will you be staying?"

"The Airport Marriott, I've reserved a suite, and I should arrive Friday at about noon local time, unless the flight is delayed. Would seven pm be satisfactory? We could dine at the Hotel, I understand they have some very good food."

"Is this to be a date Mr. Jamison?"

Devon laughed. "Ms. Miller, Friday you will know how silly that question was. For now, just take my word that I intend to discuss this matter, verbally, with you. No untoward behavior is contemplated."

Sarah considered for just a moment. In her best no nonsense Vice President voice she said. "Very well, I'll see you at seven then."

"I'll confirm that on Thursday Ms. Miller. Good night." Devon said and then hung up. He chuckled and returned to his book.

Sarah on the other hand began pacing in her condo. She walked to the window, and then back to the door. This wasn't what she'd expected. A meeting with them in her home town was not on the agenda.

Sarah went to her kitchen and looked in the refrigerator. There was very little inside, and she walked to the drawer with all the delivery menus. Deciding on Chinese, she placed an order by phone, and then got out of her work clothing. It was a severely cut suit jacket with matching slacks. A blouse that was buttoned to one short of the collar went with it.

Sarah emerged dressed in baggy jeans and a T-shirt before opening a Diet Coke and turning on the TV. After paying the delivery guy for her dinner, she sat at the TV and tried not to think.

She had become aware of her desires in College, slowly. At first, it had been strange dreams of rough and bruising sex. Then there had been the actual events, which somehow, left her wanting. She had a wild night with a Football player who had a reputation for rough and ready sex escapades. That should have satisfied her. It hadn't. The next morning, she had bruises on her thighs from his hips, and her pussy had been red and sore. She decided that it wasn't something she could pursue, and she had instead locked it all away and left it behind.

So she had thought at the time. For almost ten years after her Graduation, she hadn't spared a moment's thought for her love life, instead, burying herself in the company, and her job. She had finally risen to Vice President of Public Relations. Under her were literally dozens of employees. Every single one of them wanted her job, and her title. She wanted the next job, Executive Vice President in charge of Communications and PR. Thomas was her immediate supervisor, and knew that she wanted his office. She wanted the perks, and she wanted the bonus package he got every single year. Her own stock options were nice, his were nicer. Her own perks were nice, his were better.

Sarah finally realized she might just be good enough, ruthless enough, and smart enough to battle her way to the very top. The path was slippery, and steep. Many fell from it before reaching the pinnacle. Many were pulled down by fellow climbers, or tripped up by scandals. An office romance here, an embarrassing wife or relative there. An arrest for DUI ruined more than one career at the company. A child who was arrested for pot, or was busted for drinking had brought several promising careers to a screeching halt. One had been arrested for Tax Evasion, ending his career aspirations. Sarah overpaid her taxes slightly, claiming less for charity than she actually paid, and she also went out of her way to underestimate her tax deductions. If she was audited, she would get a check from the Government. Tax fraud only worked one way, and she worked another.

The competition was so stiff, that any mistake, no matter how small, ruined you for future opportunities. Those ruined souls always did the same thing, contacting headhunters, to start jumping companies, hoping to hop from one ladder to another, and start climbing again. Some did manage some advancement, most fell completely from the ladder, ending up in a window seat job somewhere. A window seat was a Japanese Term that had been adapted by some American Corporations. When you were erroneously promoted beyond your means, you would be laterally promoted to a job where all you had to do was stare out of a window all day. In time, you would retire, or you would just quit, and no one noticed, you hadn't had any impact in a very long time.

Then, after ten years of climbing the corporate ladder, she had taken one vacation, and the desires she had buried since college, those rough sex desires popped back into her mind. Three years ago, she had been having dreams. Dreams of being raped, of being forcibly taken by one or more assailants. This had disturbed her, it would have been called a nightmare, except for one thing. She would wake up near the point of an orgasm from the dreams. Right on the verge of a climax. This was not a proper response for any lady to have.

She found a therapist, and started to go. It took four sessions before she was comfortable enough to admit the reason, and the response of the therapist had ended all further sessions.

"Have you considered trying to find a way to act out your fantasy?"

Absolutely not. Sarah had left the office in a huff and not returned. It wasn't a fantasy, there was just something wrong with her. Something that she needed to fix, so she wasn't distracted by it any longer.

The problem was her reactions started to dictate her leisure time. Not that she had a great deal of leisure time. She read her first porn story on the web a couple years ago. The raped woman enjoyed it, and turned to find more activities like it.

Then Sarah had discovered Bondage Erotica. Her dreams had immediately adapted to this new knowledge. Her dreams took on newer and more powerful imagery, and her social life suffered as a result.

Her last relationship had been a year ago, an investment banker who was sweet, kind, considerate, and boring as hell. In bed, he had tried to be a considerate and attentive lover, and Sarah admitted, he would have succeed with anyone else. She hadn't liked it. As he kissed and caressed her, her mind had screamed tie me up and just fuck the shit out of me. Orgasms with dates had dwindled, and then died.

Now, to climax, she had to imagine herself folded into impossible shapes, her mouth, her sex, and sometimes, even her ass would be used by a dark and dangerous man who dominated her.

In a few of the stories, a female slave would service a female dominant, and Sarah found herself wondering what that was like.

She responded in her real world by becoming even more conservative. She donated a huge amount to the Republican Party of Texas, and tried to attend church regularly. She prayed that God would take this, and He hadn't. Perhaps God was busy elsewhere, but he hadn't answered her prayers.

Then Sarah had read about the Vassal Academy. This pinnacle of bondage and subjugation. Sarah had been thinking about her Father, and how he had cured her of smoking. She had been caught with a pack of Cigarettes when she was 16. He had sat there and made her smoke the entire pack, until she was sick as a dog. That was what she needed, someone to make her do this, until she was sick of it. It had worked on the smokes hadn't it?

Her professional life couldn't take this revelation. She was looking at being one of the most powerful people in the company, and she would have to quit if anyone knew this about her. Her secret had the key to her failure, and her future hung in the balance. There was no choice, she had to get this under control.

Vincent Kolich sipped a glass of wine and looked at his own dinner for one. His cook, Marcella had just presented it and he thanked her. Taking the first tentative bite, he looked at the plate without any real interest. He had no appetite. Food didn't appeal to him, nor did business. He'd conquered all the challenges, and he had played the games. At forty-seven, he was at the pinnacle of a career spanning more than twenty years, and a half dozen continents. He had sacrificed nearly everything to get here, the head of the co-operative shipping conglomerate and he was not just bored, he was bored to death.

He sighed and took another bite of the food. He had to eat, he wasn't ready to starve to death after all. Taking out his cell phone, he scrolled through the numbers of people he knew, friends, and lovers. None interested him either. The women were showpieces, looking good on his arm, and as entertaining in public as a statue. Forget discussing any issue other than the proper application of cosmetics, anything else and they were out of their depth.

His ex wife was with their children, living in Aspen most of the year, except when they escaped the hostile winter climate of the Colorado Mountains for a brief visit to the Bahamas to get their tans in order before returning home.

His kids didn't like him, and he couldn't blame them. He didn't like them either. His daughter was an avid anti-meat, anti-hunting environmentalist nut who thought he was the embodiment of Satan with his trophy room. He had trophy lions, tigers, bears, Gazelle, and many other creatures. Including a Kodiak Grizzly that was two hundred pounds under the limit to get him into Crocket and Boone.

A Mountain Ram skin was displayed before his fireplace, and it had been a couple months since he had lay anyone on it. They bored him too. There wasn't anyone who really challenged his intellect, or his passions anymore. He needed someone who would challenge both.

His cell phone rang and glancing at it he almost thumbed the end button. It was a number, but no name. He didn't recognize the number, and assumed it was a wrong one. After a moment, he ignored it and thumbed the end button, silencing the ring. Let them leave a message.

Victor Kolich wouldn't listen to the message tonight, instead listening as he rode to work in the morning.

Devon turned his light out. His daring, his instinct said this was the right move. It was a hunch, but one that kept nagging at him. It had for the last several weeks, and it was once that bumped to his conscious thoughts often.

He would turn it, and examine the idea from every angle, and then, he would do so again. The probability that he was right, that they would fit together, almost nil. He would do better to pick lottery numbers than try this, the odds were more in his favor with the Lottery.

Dominique had disapproved, but allowed him to take the time to pursue this idea. She had even split the cost with him, in an effort to show him she supported his ideas, and his work here, but not so much to support this idea, unconditionally.

Sarah didn't sleep well. She kept waking and praying that he could help her deal with her demon. At four am, she was awake, and almost praying as tears filled her eyes. Please God, help me. Help Devon help me. Take this from me, because I don't know how long I can resist it. The images in my mind, they become more powerful all the time. They are consuming me. If I don't deal with them soon, I'm afraid I'll give into them, and then I will be ruined.

In the morning, Victor was dressed and had eaten a small breakfast consisting of fruit and a muffin. He sipped coffee and read the Wall Street Journal to see if anything would apply to him and his business. He stepped outside to find his driver waiting and the car shining as always. Stepping in, he finished the paper during the forty five minute drive to work.

He took his cell phone out and saw two voice mail messages. One was expected. The Manassa was having engine problems, and this should be an update. The Manassa was a cargo ship, currently half way across the Pacific Ocean, on a run from Tokyo to Los Angeles. It had been forced to reduce speed to five knots to deal with the engine problem yesterday. If the problem couldn't be fixed, then the company would have to send an ocean going tug to pull the ship into harbor. An expensive, and very time consuming issue.

He thumbed the proper button and began to listen. First message, WHAT?

Jesus Christ. Devon Jamison, from the Vassal Academy? Claiming to wish to meet me? How could he know about me? I've never told anyone, I've never let anyone know about my fantasies. I've only ever written those two articles about the dream submissive. It has to be a set up, some trick from a competitor to entrap me and ruin the company.

He made a mental note. He would find who owned that number, easy enough now days, easy enough with corporate investigators who could find anything about anyone.

Sarah was also on her way to work. She drove her Cadillac Escalade towards the office, and sipped the coffee that she had brought with her. Artful use of makeup had covered her lack of sleep, at least well enough to keep the wolves at bay at the office. If they smelled weakness in her, they would pounce, as she had on her predecessor in this very job.

Devon was briefing Ann and Jeannette. "Ann, take Jeannette to New York, and get with Dominique. I need her to have a wardrobe suitable for a rich and powerful man's woman."

"Master?" Jeannette asked confused.

"Jeannette. I know you hate clothing. But out there it is the status symbol that too many people judge you by." Devon said as he gestured towards the wall, and the outside world.

Ann nodded her understanding. "Expensive and classy?"

"Expensive sure." Devon said turning to Ann. "A hint of slut though. I want everyone to look at her, and desire the opportunity to see what charms the clothing cover. I want the people out there, looking at her fabulous ass and wondering what it would be like to grip, and hold it in their fingers as they fuck her."

Jeannette bit her lip. "Clothes Master?"

"No tearing these Jeannette." Devon insisted. "I want Lingerie, and I want clothing that gives a flash of cleavage, and a hint of thigh."

"Lingerie Master?" Jeannette asked horrified. "Underwear?"

Devon looked at her. "Yes Jeannette. It is not a symbol of your freedom I am sending you for. It is your duty, and your service to me and this house that you are getting." Devon focused his considerable will power into his gaze. "You will wear them, and you will not complain or try to embarrass me."

"Yes Master." Jeannette said as she lowered her head.

"Ann, high heels, and tight push up bras. Corsets if need be." Devon said still staring at Jeannette, daring her to object.

"Sure Devon." Ann said understanding the battle of wills that was going on.

"Tight and uncomfortable thongs. Stockings, pantyhose, and even slips." Devon continued.

Jeannette looked up at him with a tear in her eye. "I understand Master."

"Miniskirts or short skirts?" Ann asked.

"Both." Devon said. "One that covers about an inch below her ass. Then one that stops a couple inches below that."

Jeannette lowered her head again. Ann nodded. "Business attire?"

"Only if it's tight, uncomfortable, and revealing." Devon said.

"Naughty Secretary?" Ann asked to confirm.

"No." Devon said. "Naughty executive secretary."

Ann nodded. "Silk and satin then." She turned to Jeannette. "Upstairs, put on the three inch heels you have. The strappy ones. Then put on a dress, with underwear, and get your ass back down here."

"Yes Mistress." Jeannette said and turned to go.

After she left Ann turned to Devon. "I wondered how long it would be before you dressed her up."

"Too long, I waited too long." Devon agreed.

Ann nodded. "It's not going to be fun or easy this way."

Devon nodded. "It will be fun, tormenting the slaves is always fun."

Ann considered and nodded. "Well, there is that." She allowed with an impish smile.

Devon turned the speakerphone on and then dialed Dominique. After she answered he outlined the days activities for Jeannette and Ann. "So we need to get Jeannette dressed up, enough outfits for a few days anyway while she accompanies me to Houston."

"Easily done Devon. This is New York after all." Dominique replied.

"I'm sending Ann and Jeannette to you. Show no mercy to Jeannette, it's time she understood that serving Master means wearing what we tell her to."

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