Training Ch. 03

She hesitated for a second. His fingers clamped down firmly on her nipples, making her yelp. "You're hurting me again!"

"Focus. Pay attention. Kiss me."

She tilted her head toward his and grazed his lips with hers. Her tongue flickered out and brushed him. His lips parted, offering her an invitation; she moved forward and kissed him more deeply, tongue sliding into his mouth.

"Better. But you're still moving too quickly. It's not always just about getting your tongue in there. There's so much more you can do. Put your heart into it.Seduce me!" He released her nipples. "Here, let me show you."

She looked up at him and moved to kiss him. He laid a fingertip on her lips. "Shh. Be still." He took her in his arms, hands sliding up her back. "Look into my eyes. Watch me." Slowly, inch by inch, as she watched, he moved closer. When their lips were just a hair's breadth apart, his tongue lightly flicked the corner of her mouth. She tried to move into the kiss, but he matched her motions, keeping that tiny distance between them. His hand rested lightly on the back of her neck, stroking her hair softly. Then, ever so gently, their lips touched. Electricity poured through her body, and she sighed.

"Yes," he said. His breath played across her cheek. He drew her into him, and his lips found the side of her neck. Teeth and tongue grazed warm skin. "See?" He pulled away. "Now it's your turn. Put your arms around me. Kiss me."

Eileen looked into his eyes and caressed his cheeks in her hands. He really was a handsome man, she realized with surprise; since the honeymoon had started, and he had begun his program of bondage and rape, she had almost forgotten how handsome he was.

Her hands slid around to the back of his head. Slowly, she leaned in close. He pulled back just a fraction, and she stopped, confused, until she saw the tiny smile quirk the corners of his mouth. She moved closer, and he pulled away a tiny fraction again. Quickly, without warning, she dove in and pressed her lips against that smirk. Her tongue licked at the corner of his mouth, and before he could respond, she moved away again, breaking the contact. He opened his mouth to speak, and she leaned in close, not quite touching him, and flicked her tongue against his lower lip.

"Good! That's good. Playful. I like it." He smiled. She drew her lips across his cheek, and buried her face against the side of his neck. With her body tight against his, she breathed in his scent. Her pussy clenched. Wetness flowed. Butterflies danced in her stomach.

"Mmm, wonderful," he said. He pressed her backward with her body, until he had backed her against the wall again. He took her hands and pressed them to her sides. "Now, stay right there. Don't move. Close your eyes."

She did as he said. His fingertip moved against her bottom lip. "Open just a little." She felt warm air, the feather light touch of his lips, the wet-slick of his tongue teasing her. Their bodies did not touch; that soft brush of lips was the only contact between them. He teased her for a very long time, urging her lips apart with tiny touches of his tongue, not kissing her deeply, until she was breathing hard, longing for more.

He undressed deftly, without once taking his lips from hers. She whimpered and sighed and met his tongue with hers; somewhere far away, she was aware of wetness dripping down her thigh. "Please," she whispered.

He caressed her cheeks lightly. His hands stroked the sides of her neck, brushing the spill of hair off her shoulders. He slid his hands softly over her shoulders. "Kissing is a lot like sex in many ways," he said. "There are so many ways you can kiss. Everything about sex, everything kind of sex you can imagine, can be embodied in a kiss." His breath came warm on her cheek. "A kiss is a microcosm of sex. A kiss can be a tease, a kiss can be a seduction, an invitation. Or..."

His hands seized the front of her dress. He pulled hard, with sudden ferocity, rending the fabric almost all the way down to the floor. She opened her eyes and let out a startled cry as he tore the dress from her body. He took her face tightly between his hands and held her head firmly.

"A kiss can be rape," he finished. He shoved his mouth hard against hers. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth. She cried out again and struggled to pull away, but he held her tightly, preventing her from moving. She beat and clawed at his hands, but it was like trying to move a stone statue.

He pushed her tightly up against the wall and, with a single thrust, impaled her with his rigid cock. She tried to scream, but the sound was trapped, lost in his mouth. He took her very roughly, slamming his hips into her so hard that each stroke lifter her onto her toes. His tongue worked in rhythm with his cock; he forced it into her mouth again and again, raping her. Her cries and screams came out muffled, indistinct. "Mmmf! Mmmf! Mmmf!"

He pounded her that way while she fought against him madly, and her body flushed. When she felt the tightening between her legs and realized what was about to happen, her struggles grew more frantic. She battled against the rising heat within her, trying desperately not to show him by her own pleasure that she wanted what he was doing to her, but without avail. Bit by bit, while he hammered into her, her resolve slipped; then she came, a short sharp shock of ecstasy, and with that the battle between them changed, became a willing cooperation.

She relaxed in his grip and opened her legs to accept his thrusts. Her cries became moans, and she wrapped her lips around his invading tongue. Sensing her surrender, he slowed his tempo. His hands slid down her arms to her wrists, and he gently pinned them in place over her head while he took her in long, slow, steady strokes. The assault of his tongue softened, and soon she was riding the wave of another orgasm, this one gentle and protracted. She clenched tightly around him and sighed, and felt the answering pulse of his orgasm deep inside her. Wetness poured from between her legs and ran down her thighs.

"See?" He kissed her lips softly. "Like that." An impish grin flashed across his face. He led her into the bedroom and bent her unresisting form over the bed. With the efficiency of practice, he chained her securely in place. "Now then, let's see if we can get that probe up that tight little ass of yours."

It did not fit that night. Even with great persistence and determination on his part, and much whimpering and thrashing on her part, the second-largest probe proved too big. Her stretched and sore ass would not accommodate it, and after a solid hour of pressing and prodding, he was forced to concede defeat again. He drew her into the bed and chained her loosely down for the night, and they slept in each other's arms, her bound, him free.

That day became the model for the rest of their stay in London. Each morning, he woke her by tightening the chains holding her to the bed until she was stretched taught, legs wide, and pumping into her until he came.

When he was finished with her, he would chain her up in front of the window and shove the heavy steel ball deep into her still-dripping pussy. He would then kneel in front of her and lick her, while she looked out in horror at the people down on the street. That exquisitely skilled tongue would bring her to orgasm again and again until she succeeded in holding the ball inside her through her ecstasy. On days when she was able to hold it on her first orgasm, he simply added more weights to it the following morning.

After several days of this morning ritual, Eileen began to notice familiar faces in the street outside. Each day, the same three men would be waiting, sitting casually on the benches beneath an ornate streetlight, trying to be inconspicuous. When Anthony knelt in front of her and her body began to wrack against the chains, they would watch, unobtrusively, enjoying her torment and her ecstasy.

Those men began to creep into her fantasies, and sometimes, as she shook and quivered against Anthony's tongue, she would imagine them in the room with her, touching her, helping themselves to her. Her back would arch and most often the ball would fall to the floor, and she would imagine the men punishing her with stiff cocks while a hot rush of shame crawled over her body.

When she had succeeded in retaining the hard steel object within her, Anthony would call for breakfast. After room service arrived, he would unchain her from the window, force the ring into her mouth, and tie her beneath the table. During his breakfast, he would rape her mouth steadily, sometimes hard and fast and sometimes leisurely, until he was finished with his meal and he filled her mouth to overflowing with thick warm cream.

Only then would he allow her to eat. He would bind her to the chair, arms behind her back, and feed her breakfast while his come dripped from her mouth and ran wetly down her body. She soon became accustomed to the salty taste of his semen, and it ceased to cause the revulsion and disgust it had before.

More than that, though, the programming he was subjecting her body to began to take hold, and by the end of their first week in London she started to respond to this oral rape with arousal. The feel of his penis in her mouth created a tingling between her legs, as her body remembered the Sybian, and by the time breakfast was over and he sent her into the shower to prepare for the day, she was wet and throbbing, By the second week, so strong was her need after he did this to her mouth that she would masturbate while she showered, with the taste of his come still lingering on her lips.

After the shower would come the first anal training session of the day. For several days he would chain her down while he worked the probes up her ass, but before long she found herself enjoying the sessions, and she would come naked from the bathroom and kneel passively at the foot of the bed, offering herself to him. Despite his stretching and pushing, though, her ass still stubbornly refused to accept the second-largest probe.

During the late morning and early afternoon, when he had applied the soothing cream to calm her aching pussy and anus, they would take in the sights and sounds of London. They toured museums, explored the crowds and bustle of Piccadilly Circus, visited the Parliament House and Big Ben (which, he explained gravely, was not actually the name of the clock tower itself, but rather of one of the bells within the tower). They ate lunch in a different restaurant each day, though usually by the time lunch came Eileen was barely able to sit still, much less pay attention to anything except her overwhelming need to have something inside her.

After lunch, her need was so great that she wanted nothing but to go back to the hotel for the next part of the training. She discovered that she actively looked forward to this part of the day; so intense were the orgasms from the Sybian that even the humiliation of taking a dildo in her mouth did not stop her from wanting them. Anthony grinned at her eagerness, and seemed to enjoy prolonging her need; as the days passed, he would find other things for them to do after lunch, places to visit and shops to explore, prolonging and whetting her desire, sometimes for an hour or more.

By the time they finally returned to the hotel, Eileen's desperation would be so great that she would strip and mount the machine as soon as they reached the room. She would wait, quivering, while he strapped her in place and carefully extended the dildo another quarter of an inch, then she would swallow nervously, push back the part of her mind that still rebelled at what she was about to do, and lean forward to take it in her mouth and press the button.

At first, it was easy. But five days after this part of the training began, she reached the point where she simply could not get to the button with her nose. The dildo protruded too far; she could not take it far enough down her throat. Time and again she just barely grazed the button with the very tip of her nose, then coughing and sputtering was forced to back off.

Over and over she forced it down her throat, and every time she came up short. She opened her mouth wide and pressed forward until she choked. Tears streamed down her face, and still she could not reach.

"It's too much!" she cried. "I can't do it!"

Anthony came and knelt behind her. "Sure you can." His arms wrapped around her, hands caressing her breasts and her painfully erect nipples. "A good sex slave needs to be able to deep-throat a cock, and you're going to stay here until you do."

"I can't!"

"You can." He pulled her nipples, dragging her forward by her breasts. "Open your mouth." The wet dildo pressed against her lips. "Take it deep."

Reluctantly, her lips parted. The rubber phallus slid between them. "Good girl. Take the tip against the roof of your mouth. Let it slide back." He pulled harder on her nipples, coaxing her forward, and she yelped. "Deeper."

The head pressed into the back of her throat. She choked and tried to pull away, but his fingers tightened like clamps on her nipples and dragged her forward. "Relax your throat. Swallow!"

Her throat convulsed and she gagged. He let her pull away and gasp, then he dragged on her nipples again. "Deeper. When you feel like you're about to choke, push your head forward and swallow."

She strained against the cuffs binding her wrists and fought helplessly in the saddle. "No! Stop! I don't want...nnngh!" The dildo slid down her throat, choking her again.

"Focus. Relax your throat and push."

"Ggghk! Ghhhrnk!" She coughed around it, and he relaxed the pressure on her nipples and allowed her to come back off it. She gasped raggedly, panting for breath.

"Again." His grip tightened painfully and he pulled on her breasts to force her forward. The dildo slipped into her mouth. She struggled and tightened against the Sybian. Wetness trickled from her.

"Deeper, little whore. Open your mouth wide. Take it into your throat and push." The fake penis slid down farther. She opened her mouth and gagged. Her nose hit the button. The Sybian came alive.

The gag became a scream. Anthony released her nipples, and she flung herself backward and leaned against him gasping.

"See? I told you that you could do it. Tomorrow when it's another quarter inch longer, you'll be able to do it then, too. Now open. Take it."

He worked her for most of the afternoon. She resisted him, she fought to keep her mouth closed, she struggled to free herself from the bonds; he was patient but not gentle, and he forced her down again and again. Each time her nose hit the button, she struggled not to gag and tried to keep herself still, and thoughtplease, please let me come... Each time, her throat closed and she was forced away, sputtering.

Anthony stroked her breasts. "Do you want to come, little whore? Don't fight it. Relax your throat and take it. Breathe deep, open nice and wide, and let it in." He leaned in close, breath warm on her ear. "Every part of your body is for fucking. Give yourself over to it." His fingers pulled on her nipples. "Let it fuck your throat. Make yourself come."

She opened her mouth for the rubber dong. He leaned into her, using the weight of his body to push her forward. She felt herself begin to choke and swallowed.

The dildo slid all the way down her throat, and she lurched forward. For a brief instant, just as her nose landed solidly on the button, she panicked at the strange sensation. Her throat felt filled, violated, but she didn't gag; then the Sybian buzzed and the feelings hit her and the only thing in the world that was real to her was the massive orgasm that ripped through her body.

Afterward, she sat limply in the saddle. Her arms dangled from the cuffs, and she panted and moaned softly while Anthony's hands caressed her body. "See, wasn't that nice?" he said. "I knew you could do it. Just takes a little practice and a little motivation, that's all." His lips found her shoulder and he kissed her softly. "I think that was very sexy. You've got me all kinds of turned on now."

He unstrapped her from the machine and took her slowly, gently, on the bed. Her body moved with his, unresisting, until they both came together and lay beside each other panting. He did not do her second round of anal training that night.

By the time he was finished with her each afternoon, he would have another dress delivered to the room. Each was lovely, custom-tailored, and highly formal; their evenings were spent among London's upper crust, at plays and shows, or exploring the city's night life. She never wore the same dress twice; as often as not, it would end up in shreds on the floor by nightfall, as he gave her lessons in different aspects of pleasure. He taught her how to give an erotic massage, how to pleasure his cock with her hands, how to use her lips and tongue as instruments to orchestrate sexual delight; when she protested or tried to object, the knife would come out, and trace fine white lines over her soft skin. As the days went by, he methodically peeled her inhibitions away, layer by layer, and before the last week of the honeymoon was over, some secret inner part of her began to enjoy these lessons, too.

It took six days of patience and practice before the evening came when the second-largest of the metal probes finally slid into her ass. She was kneeling at the foot of the bed, bent over, legs wide and arms chained down, when it finally happened. He had spent the better part of two hours working her up gradually, beginning with the smallest probe, gently teasing her open while his fingers penetrated her dripping sex and she moaned and screamed into a pillow. She came over and over, bucking backward against his hand, as he opened her up; his fingers seemed to know just where to go inside her, and he pressed downward and wiggled them just so each time he brought a probe to her rear entrance. She had long ago lost track of what was happening to her; the sensation of fullness, the feel of fingertips working inside her, and her own helplessness all conspired to transport her to a place where there was nothing except the stretching and the muffled sounds of her own screams, and wave after wave of sexual ecstasy.

It happened so quickly it was almost anticlimactic. Her body was dripping with lubricant and her own juices; she felt the cold unyielding hardness of blunt metal pressed against her ass, a sensation of stretching wider than she ever had before, and a short, explosive orgasm, gone almost before she recognized it...and just like that, the probe was inside her. He removed his fingers and left her that way for a while, with the feeling of being filled and stretched more tightly than she thought she could ever handle; only when the arousal finally subsided and she began to whimper did he slip it back out and chain her to the bed for the night.

The largest of the probes, though, her body still resisted.

The evening before they had to begin packing and making preparations to go home, the hotel clerk delivered a stunning, and severely formal, black evening gown of crushed velvet, paired with a black velvet choker. When they had dressed, Anthony escorted her to the tube station. She shivered as they boarded the train, hungry, with thoughts of strangers pressed against her; she was so distracted she scarcely noticed when they arrived at the Piccadilly Circus stop. He shooed her out and up the stairs onto the street.

From there, they hurried a short distance under glowing street lights to a huge, ornate stone building with an enormous columned façade, glittering with light. Eileen stopped short and gasped. "It's beautiful!"

"Her Majesty's Theatre," he said. "Been here since the early 1700s. And tonight, we're going to see Phantom of the Opera. What better way to spend our last night in London?"