Training Allie

"Further on clothing." She flipped to the front of the notebook. "You will wear nothing that blocks my access to your cunt or ass at any time, in public or in private. No panties, no pants, no pantyhose. There is a standing exemption for athletic activities. Now that I've broken you in, use a tampon during your period."

"Policy: you will be totally hairless below the neck. Assignment: shave, then acquire and use a home electrical depilatory kit."

"Your lips will be slack and your mouth open at all times."

"You will keep your asshole greased for my use at all times."

I waited while she caught up.

"I will demand that you take care of yourself, both physically and mentally. Assignment: enroll in a health club and sign up for any exercise regimen that keeps you limber and fit. I don't care if it's yoga or kickboxing or anything else. Work up a sweat five days a week."

"In terms of keeping yourself fit mentally, I've had some discussions with Chancellor Reed of the State University here in town. He's reviewed your record from Saint Virginia along with your SATs, and sees no reason why you shouldn't be able to enter State as a freshman immediately. You'll..."

"Jack! State! Omigawd, State!"

"Allie. What have you just done? Look at the policies."

Her mouth snapped shut, and she scanned down the policies. She had spoken out of turn, and addressed me incorrectly. Another scan through the policies. I had asked her a question she couldn't answer by pointing, so she automatically had permission to speak. "I spoke without permission in the master suite. I didn't call you 'Mr. Kennedy.' I'm sorry, Mr. Kennedy."

"You will be. Put it in your Discipline Book. I'm not going to beat you for this--too many beatings shows a lack of inventiveness on the part of the owner. Besides, it was your mouth that sinned, not your back or your ass. For 'punishment,' put 'four hours with gag.'" She looked up at me, and swallowed. She had never been gagged. "Write it. And there's no time like the present." I reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a penis gag, one recently made to my own specifications, in that the depth of oral penetration could be easily adjusted. She still had some trouble with her gag reflex, and this was an opportunity. I guessed at the right depth, and strapped it home. "Awrk! Hngrrh!! Hngrrh!!!" Hmm, back off a quarter of an inch? Ah, that will do. She was far from comfortable, gagging every few seconds, her chin pointed upward, swallowing constantly to fight the reflex, but that was the idea. "Note the start time in your Discipline Book." She did, with difficulty. "And when you drool, clean it up. Come back to me when the time is up and I'll remove the gag."

"As I was saying about State. You'll need to take come catch-up courses to make up for the year you will miss at Saint Virginia, but the Advanced Placement courses you took will partially offset that. And put in an assignment: Complete application paperwork for State. That will be all for now. You're dismissed."

She stood up, wiped the drool that was already forming on her lower lip, and came around my desk and kissed me. That's hard to do with your face is as full of machinery as hers was, but she managed somehow. Then she followed her nipples out of the room, trailing behind her the occasional sound of choking.

Chapter 11: Thanks for the Memories

It was six months later, that our little household changed again. Allie came into the study, and I saw that today was "latex maid day." It wasn't my fetish, but she always seemed extra juicy after a "latex day," so I didn't mind. The chain hobble between her ankles didn't slow her down all that much, except on the stairs. And the impressively-sized ballgag hanging loosely around her neck was like a bright red pendant on a necklace. The woman dressed kinkier every day. Yesterday had been "Catholic schoolgirl day," though I doubt the good Sisters would have approved Allie's alterations to their uniform.

She raised her hand. A handcuff was closed around her wrist, the other cuff dangling and open, ready.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Kennedy, your birthday is coming up in a couple of months, and I was hoping to do something special to surprise you. But...it will take money."

"How much?"

She named a figure, and I raised an eyebrow. "That's some surprise." I thought for a moment. Business had been good, recently, and I had a fair amount of money laid away. What the hell, it's only money. "Very well, go ahead."

"Thank you, Mr. Kennedy. You won't be disappointed." She knew what would happen if I were.

I wrote out the check, blank as to payee (wouldn't be much of a surprise otherwise, would it?) and forgot about it. In the spirit of the thing, I was careful not to look for the cancelled check after it cleared.

A couple of months later, on the day before my birthday, and right at the end of Allie's freshman year, I received a thin envelope in the mail, with a return address of the Psych department at the University she was attending. Allie was downstairs, somewhere. Upon opening it, I found the following letter, on University letterhead:

* * *

Dear Mr. Kennedy,

Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. ____, Professor of Psychology, in the Department of Psychology and Psychiatry at State University. I am writing you at the request of Miss Allie Kennedy.

My particular research interest is the human memory, and specifically how it is distorted. I have almost accidentally become an authority on the phenomenon of 'false memory,' by which people are induced to 'remember,' quite vividly, things that simply never happened. There have been multiple court cases recently in which this has been an important element. People have fully and honestly confessed to crimes they couldn't possibly have committed, truly believing themselves guilty. Young women have, in the belief that they are telling the truth, accused their fathers of rape, of fathering children upon them, young women who passed lie detector tests to support the accusation--young women whom subsequent medical examination shows still to be virgins. There are other cases that I won't bore you with.

Suffice it that the phenomenon of 'false memory' is now tolerably well understood, to the point of having made the pages of 'Scientific American.'

Now to the present.

Miss Kennedy has spoken to me at length about your relationship with her. It is not my place to judge either of you. I will only note that you have a remarkable woman here, and I hope you deserve her. She came to me a couple of months ago with an extraordinary request: she wanted me to create in her a false memory. After considerable soul-searching, and after cross-examining her at length to ensure that this is what she really wanted, I agreed to do so, and have done so.

(I worked it out and thought, yeah, and the size of my check didn't hurt, either.)

I have videotapes of all sessions between us under lock and key, to protect all the parties involved.

You will find in Attachment A a manuscript in Miss Kennedy's hand giving you her rationale for this action.

Attachment B is a manuscript, also in Miss Kennedy's hand, of the 'memory' she asked me to create, which I have done. You should be aware that one of the characteristics of 'false memory' is that, once the core images have been introduced, the subject often unconsciously elaborates them, fills them in, with details that will be every bit as vivid as the core images, and which they will believe to be true with absolute certainty.

At her request, Miss Kennedy currently has no memory of having visited me, nor is she aware of the 'memory' which lies latent in her mind. Attachment C contains the trigger phrase that will bring the latent 'memory' forth. Attachment C also contains a trigger phrase that will enable her to remember that 'memory' is false, and how it came to be in her mind. The second trigger phrase exists in case you decide that, to speak bluntly, the whole thing was a mistake. Please understand that each trigger phrase can be used only once. This is because the transition will be almost violent, at the psychological level, and I felt I needed to prevent the psychological damage that multiple transitions could cause to her mind, rather as repeated concussions do to the brain.

Finally, in the event of your death, she will recall visiting me, and will understand that the memory, if activated, is false. This is a precaution to avoid potential emotional, or even legal, problems that are unforeseeable at this time, but which would otherwise be very difficult to reverse if no one knew to notify me to intervene.

I hope that you and Miss Kennedy find pleasure in what she has asked me to do. Remember that it can be undone.

Sincerely yours,

Dr. ______

* * *

I turned the page, and was confronted with a page of Allie's handwriting on lined legal paper. At the top was overtyped "Attachment A. Page 1 of 1." In the lower corner, I could make out what must be Dr. ____'s initials. Careful fellow.

* * *

Dear Mr. Kennedy, my lord and my love,

These pages I write are the only physical existence of my gift to you. Please bear with me while I justify my actions.

You have made for me a comfortable and protecting home, for which I love you. You are a demanding owner, for which I am grateful.

You know I want only to please you. You know that I try to meet your demands before you know that you will make them. I work on my skills to be good for you.

I know of only one thing I have left to offer for your greater pleasure, but it's something you've never wanted, and that is my pain. I could do more, give more, but the things I could do and give would not bring you pleasure today, because you'd have to hurt me to get them, and you have been too decent an owner to demand that, though I'd give my pain freely and gladly for your pleasure.

Do you remember what I put in my love letter not so long ago? "The more that O suffered for him, the more Renee was pleased, and therefore the more pleasure O got from pleasing him."

You could wring more pleasure from me, more pleasure for both of us, but only if hurting me would please you.

My gift, if you will have it, is to make it possible for me to 'remember' that I have gotten pleasure from being hurt, not only indirectly by pleasing you, but also somehow directly, in the pain itself. I will be able to 'remember' that you have gotten pleasure from my pain, AND SO HAVE I. I want to give you greater pleasure by making it easier for you to hurt me, to demand my pain, because you will know that I now believe myself capable of finding, and will expect to find, pleasure in the pain.

You hold the keys in your hands. Please understand that, at the time you read this letter, I will have no remembrance of having written it.

All my obedience, devotion, and love,

Allie

* * *

My first reaction was, "Oh, really!", which is what I say when I've got nothing to say. The woman had, indeed, astonished me. I turned to the brief "Attachment B" and read carefully the things she'd asked to "remember," things that never happened. She wanted to believe that, when I spanked her that first time, she'd become very aroused, and tried to hump the wall while I was out of the room. To "remember" that, during one of her private masturbation sessions, she'd experimented with clothespins on her nipples and it got her off (her note said that she had tried clothespins, but they just hurt). To think that, while I was caning her at the ceremony, she had orgasmed from the pain in front of everyone. There was more, but that was the tone of all of it. The girl wanted to please me, and if it took her pain, she was ready to deliver it.

I sat at my desk for a long time after I finished reading. The sunlight outside began to fade into dusk.

It took a long time for me to put my finger on what was bothering me. There was an assumption here: Allie was assuming that if, under the influence of her false memory, she 'remembered' having gotten pleasure from pain, her belief that it had happened to her before would mean that she would in fact feel real masochistic pleasure when experiencing real pain, something that, as far as I knew, she never had done. She was betting that the expectation would cause the reality. That was an assumption, and a risk she was apparently willing to take.

Did I want to take that risk with her? The problem was that, if I took her up on this offer, an offer that at this point she didn't even know she'd made, and I began hurting her, and it didn't work out, what then? Sure, I could back the worm out of her mind, it said here, but after doing so, she'd still remember that, at some time in the real world, I had actually been willing to hurt her for my pleasure, not for punishment. What would that do to our relationship? What would she think of me, then?

I flipped back to her letter, and re-read "...though I'd give my pain freely and gladly for your pleasure."

While I was reading, Allie came silently into the room, carrying my evening drink. She was wearing only a Very Short red tunic. It was not sheer, but had the perfect quality of translucence such that, if you'd looked at it as you walked past her on the street, you'd be fifty feet beyond her before your brain said, "Did I see what I think I saw?" She knelt gracefully in front of my desk, and reached up to put the drink on the desk's surface in front of me, meeting my eyes. She pulled the hem of the tunic down to cover her slit, and blushed.

Without further thought, I turned to Attachment C. A day early, perhaps, but it was time to unwrap my birthday present.

*** END PART ONE, BEGIN PART TWO ***

Introduction to Chapters 12 and on:

When I submitted the first 11 chapters of "Allie," I really thought I was done with the story. But then a request poured in for "more Allie," so here it is. The characters develop in a somewhat different direction from how I thought they might when I submitted the first version. Be warned, the tone of the new chapters is considerably darker than the first 11. If you're rigidly pro-life, I suggest you not read on. Thanks to those who provided feedback; I hope you like what I have done with your suggestions. Chapters 1-11 have been lightly edited.

Acknowledgements: Advice on happiness, from Marcus Aurelius. A chapter title, from an old Fellowes book. Several images from 9-1/2 Weeks. A respectful and grateful nod to The Story of O. A line from an old Donald Hamilton novel.

Chapter 12: How high? What color?

Allie: As I knelt there, I couldn't help reflecting on how disappointed I was in how this had all turned out. I mean, did I somehow fail to make it clear what I wanted? Jack was a nice guy, which maybe was the problem. He insisted on treating me, I don't know, like some kind of girlfriend or something! I kept hoping that he'd "grow into the job" of being a master, but it never happened. So the letter thing was kind of a "last hurrah." If he didn't get a clue, I didn't know what I'd do. It was easy enough to steal a page of Psych Department letterhead, and the check went into a savings account. Tomorrow would be his birthday, and then we'd see. I planned to spend tonight working up my courage for how the relationship would, or at least might, change.

Jack: I said, "Allie, I'm disappointed with you. You seem to think that I'm looking for some sort of girlfriend! Lots of fun sex, a little kinky dressup, and you think you can call yourself a slave? I've been hoping that you'd grow into your slavery, but it hasn't happened. Didn't I say, 'Surprise me'? Look, did you promise to devote ALL your time, energy, and focus to MY pleasure?" She nodded. I said, "Let me give you an example: did you play with yourself today?" She nodded again, with a shrug that said something like, "Sure, since when is that a problem?" I said, "And whose pleasure were you seeking, mine or yours? " The light slowly began to dawn in her eyes that she had blown it, big time. "That is part of what I mean by 'acting like a girlfriend,' not a slave. Let me remind you that the last time you forgot your station, I gave you six with the cane." Real fear in her eyes now. She knew the cane. One of those six had been across her breasts.

"Here's what's going to happen to you. We have the summer in front of us. By the end of the summer you will either have developed the obedience you need to be a true slave, or I will destroy you, which is to say, I will free you."

She wanted pain? Well, she'd get it. But not in the ways she was expecting.

Then, in my best imitation of Lieutenant Columbo, I added, "Oh, there IS one more thing. As of now, you're off The Pill."

I watched her face for several minutes as a sequence of emotions rolled over her: realization that pregnancy would be inevitable, the fear of the whole medical process, the tentative glow at the thought of being a mother, the implications of not being able to finish her college degree, the fact that she would be an "unmarried mother." All of these chased each other across her face, finally leaving her wide-eyed and open-mouthed. She raised her hand.

I said "No, you may NOT speak. You just demonstrated that you lack the one skill you need to truly be a slave, not a kinky girlfriend. In the ceremony where I claimed you, did you not offer 'Absolute and instant obedience'? You promised--your words--not to consider, accept, or wait to understand. Yet you just spent several minutes considering, trying to accept, trying to understand. This summer, you will learn to do, not accept, or I will break you in the process.

"There's an old saying from the Army: When I say 'Jump,' you jump, and you don't ask 'How high?' until your feet have already left the ground. When I say 'Shit,' you shit, and the only question you ask is 'What color?' Implications and consequences are my problem, or my pleasure, not yours. Your problem is instant and perfect execution. It should be enough for you that I believe the action I demand will please me.

"Over the course of the summer, I will give you many commands. If you learn the skill of instant obedience, if you confine yourself to execution, you will find none of the commands difficult. How hard is it NOT to take a pill, for example? But if you have not learned the skill of instant obedience, if you concern yourself with consequences, of what other people think, dealing with execution of the commands will be its own punishment.

"And now we come to this..." I waved the letter, "...which is totally bogus." Her face went white. "I can understand a slave who, as they say in the NFL, wants to take her 'game to the next level.' But I make no allowance for a slave who attempts to mislead and fraudulently manipulate her master in doing so. That was a stupid thing to do. You remember what happened the last time you lied to me?" Clearly, she did. It was, you'll forgive the expression, the seminal event in our relationship. I wrapped my hands around her throat. "In the old days, slaves who lied..." I tightened my grip "...were killed." She could barely breathe, sucking air noisily past the constriction of my thumbs. Her hands fluttered against her thighs, resisting the desperate desire to tear my hands away. I released my grip. "But I won't do that to you, mostly because the paperwork would be such a bother. However, I will punish you. You have forgotten your spanking, so I am going to come up with a punishment that will be unforgettable. Not today, perhaps not soon, but some day this summer I will require you to submit to a punishment that you will remember every time you look in a mirror, for the rest of your life.

"And NOW you may speak."

Allie: My gut felt like it had a ball of lead in it. Here we go, I thought. I had it so good, and I had to go and pull that stupid stunt. Where did I get the idea that I could put one over on him? Saints preserve me.