Teaching the Flesh: Mia's First Journey

Before my eyes opened, I was able to sense his presence in the room. The weight of his eyes on my skin was more than enough to pull me from the innocence of my dreams. I tried to keep my breathing steady, to continue to feign sleep in order to lengthen this moment that I was beginning to find so dear - the way he simply looked at me. His fingers softly touched the side of my face, tracing down over my jaw and brushing over my lips. A smile betrayed my attempt. I opened my eyes, the first step down the long journey of tonight's lesson.

He inched the covers back over my body, letting his fingers graze me each bit of the way. Slowly, uncovering me, a shiver rustled over my skin. Partly to blame were those wonderfully soft fingers, the other - the coolness of the room. Sleep was still heavy on my skin and in my eyes which made my senses slow to realize that I was in yet another new room. This one was as unfamiliar as the last. Pulling me to my feet from the bed, the cold wooden floor was the last jolt I needed to fully wake and take in my surroundings. The bed was large. It was a dark, carved mahogany four-poster.

The ceilings were vaulted with heavy wooden beams supporting curved doorways and arched windows. A dark iron chandelier hung from the center of the room, dripping with lit candles. Opposite the bed was a large stone fireplace, a fire casting lapping shadows on the walls despite the cool temperature of the air. Two items flanked the fireplace. To the right, a simple wooden chair. To the left, a heavy wooden table with metal rings and rope attached at each corner. A deeper shudder made my body visibly quiver from head to toe as I remembered last nights lesson in heavy ropes.

"Mia. It is time." His voice was soft. He held my face for a moment, a palm resting lightly on each side of my cheek. He leaned in close, his words a mere whisper in my ear. I stood - fixated on him. His touch was so deliciously soft that I had to fight to remember, concentrate to shake the swimming bluriness of my insides to recall that those same soft hands inflicted tonight's fresh bruises. In his hands was such power, so much control. I was merely his student. He took great pleasure in teaching me. Molding me. Forming me into what he desired. My pleasure came in pleasing him. I did not question his hands. Not ever. When his lips grazed over mine, I felt a rush of blood flood my face and pelvis. To resist him was impossible. "Yes," I answered, as if there had been a choice.

He turned on his heel and walked across the room to the chair. Looking around at the art on the walls and the scant photos next to the bed, I knew this room must his. Taking a deep breath confirmed my suspicion. It had his smell. Unsure of what he wanted, I stood by the bed where he left me, waiting. "Mia. Come over here." His command was soft. I took a step towards him. He crossed his arms, a significant showing that he was not pleased. "Not tonight Mia. Tonight, you crawl." There was no unkindness in his voice. No humiliation. It was simple. Matter of fact. I dropped to my knees. Keeping eye contact with him, I began to work my way across the floor.

The small white gown I wore clung to my skin, hugging my breasts to my chest and slinking over my hips. Glancing down, I knew that my cleavage was painfully obvious. The dark pink of my nipples pressed outward from beneath the sheer fabric. I winced. The floor was hard and the sores from last nights crawl across the gravel was still in my knees. For a moment a softness crossed his face. I did not pause and continued my journey across the floor to him. When I reached him, I rested on my knees. My face was level to his waist. Very softly, I brushed my cheek over the black softness of his fluid silk fuji pants. Where previously I had been able to smell the others - the other girls that he kept here with me - tonight the only scent that he carried was my own. He pulled me abruptly to my feet.

"Tonight Mia, this may hurt. Like every other night, I will give you what you are able to take and no more. You will cry. You will beg. But I will continue ... until you tell me to stop. And once you have asked me stop, it will be over. All of it. Do you understand?"

The heaviness of his last words unnerved me. It will all be over. I did not believe that he meant only tonight, but all of this. All of this - as in my being here, with him. Fear swept over me. He had never warned me that it would hurt before. But stronger than the fear of pain was the fear of "this" being over. I had no control over the tremble in my flesh. "Yes," I replied. "I understand."

"Mia. Your hands." He rose onto the chair, standing above me. Without question I raised my hands over my head. A metal clink snapped my attention. Looking up, I saw what had been my previous oversight. Manacles were suspend from the ceiling from heavy chains. With a quick gasp from my throat, I was already bound.

He lowered himself back off of the chair. In the mirrors that covered each wall at the corners I was able to see both my frontal view as well as the rear. I also was able to see him. His was a body of contrasts in itself. His contrast to mine was striking. His hair was dark, set against pale skin. The muscles in his shoulders and back were highly defined. He hand angular features and hard sculpted ridges. Tattoos covered his lower back. Yet in his hands was that softness. It was mirrored on occasion by his eyes. I watched those eyes silently tracing over my body. Compared to his sculpted ridges I was soft curves. Stomach softly spread out into hips. Ass tapered into back of thigh. Breasts curved out, nipples rounded out at the tips. Long red hair tumbling in waves. The only thing similar was the pale of our skin.

He wrapped his arms around me. Standing behind, the warmth of his body was soothing. I felt his heart beating against my back. His hand pressed softly against my stomach, pulling me closer back to him. His body was so strong. So unyielding. I let my head fall back on his shoulder while his fingers traveled up. He cupped my breast in the palm his hand, kneading it firmly against my body. Between his thumb and first finger he rolled my nipple back and forth. Instantly, I was breathing faster. Fear was melting out of me through the growing wetness between my thighs. His hands traveled down my back, one circling around to the front. They met in my crotch and a low rumble in the back of his throat told me that he was pleased with the moisture that he had found. His fingers found my clit, where he gently stroked me until I was swaying - arms manacled up over my head, my tiptoes barley on the floor - to the pace of his touch.

A sudden sting on my thigh slammed my mind back into reality. I opened my eyes with hard blinks. He was still holding me close. In one hand was a long whip, which he had just brought down over my leg. He rose it quickly and brought it down over my opposite leg. Our eyes locked in the mirror in front of me. In mine a wild panic was forming. In his - calm. He rose the whip and brought it down again. The sting was just enough to bite for a second, then the pain was gone. He repeated the strike. As the whip came down across my legs I felt him exhale hard against my back, inhaling deeply as he rose it back into the air. I realized the lesson he was giving me. I had to breath. Breath with the whip. I was terrified. I knew he could destroy me with this thing. With every fiber of my being objecting the whip, I adjusted my breathing to accept it.

I heard his silk pants fall to the floor in a whisper behind me. In the mirror, I gazed at his nakedness. His cock was partially erect. Hardness was swelling in him as he took a few steps back from me. I watched the muscles in his arm flex as he brought the whip up into the air. I took in the way they rippled on the way down. The sting inflicted to my back brought forth a gasp from the back of my throat. Again I watched his body - focusing on him rather than the whip itself. This strike was a bit harder, and I felt all the muscles in my body contract on contact.

As he began to work up a rhythm, I concentrated on my breathing. He'd bring the whip down, then give me just enough time to allow my muscles to almost completely relax, but not quite all the way - then bring the whip down again. I was gripping the manacles hard with my fingers, trying to brace myself. The whips were gaining speed and intensity. A sheen of sweat was covering my skin and in the mirror I was glistening in the firelight. With each strike of the whip there was a thankfulness that the strike was not any harder than it was, and a fear that the next one would be worse.

The pace became faster, and I hardly had a moment to exhale before the next strike was landed. My back was wrought with welts which trailed down over the softness of my ass to the most sensitive of spots on the backs of my thighs. Each strike was harder. My moans were coming from a deeper location in my throat. Each whipping brought forth a primal sound - fear and pain mixed with delicious pleasure. Though my skin was aching, the contractions of my muscles had my pussy wet - dripping. My pussy was clenching - contracting in on itself. My clit was burning with the desire to be stroked by his able fingers. My back arched out away from the whip, jutting my nipples out into the air where they begged to be touched.

The next strike of the whip came down hard against my right shoulder. I screamed in pure pain as tears immediately welled in my eyes. A thin line of blood seeped out against the almond-white of my skin. Tears flooded my face, rolled down my cheeks. My arms and legs quivered in pain and fear and what was still desire. I let myself cry. Almost immediately he dropped the whip. He circled around to face me. He held my face and brushed the tears out of my eyes with each thumb. Hardness was melting out of his eyes, yet there was no apology. His breathing was fast and hard, nostrils flaring. His muscles were tense and rigid - his cock was a swollen and angry shade of purple. A small amount of precum was oozing from the tip and working its way just down over the glans. In his eyes was something new ... something I had not seen before. Though he was silent, through his firmness I could see it. He was afraid. Afraid that I would ask him to stop. I sucked air into my lungs as hard as I could, trying desperately to calm the rage that was inside of me. I was so afraid ... so aroused ... and so touched. My lips felt numb as I spoke. "Continue." He stood for a moment, locked in that moment and holding my face. There was a question in his eyes, but he did not give it a voice. "Please." I was near a whimper. I was terrified of where I was. Trapped between a wall and a whip. Trapped between here and never being here again. Trapped between leaving and staying. Trapped between him and myself.

The whip came down again across my ass and I exhaled with it. The sting was short - the contraction of muscles and tendons pleasant. Another, and a soft moan came back through the trembling depths. Another, and I exhaled, feeling my pussy wetten even more. Another, and I was back into the rhythm. Breathing. Exhaling, Contracting. Pulsing. Stinging. Throbbing. Another, and I was filled with want. Another, and I watched his cock twitch as his eyes wandered over my ass and up to the mirror to my mouth. Another, and I was writhing. My body was scorching. My juices were dripping down my thighs. My arms and legs were about to give. His cock was standing so proud - so erect ...

He dropped the whip to the floor and grabbed me hard by the hips. Still standing behind me he pulled me up, feet off the floor. The head of his cock pushed against my pussy, demanding inside. He pushed me down hard - slamming his cock into me to the base in one fast, hard motion. I moaned loudly as my juices spilled out, rolling down his shaft and over his balls. His cock stretched me out wide. My walls of my pussy continued to contract around his cock with an echo of the rhythem of the whip. He pulled his hips back - slamming his hardness back into me.

His left hand traveled up to my nipples. His right hand moved down to my clit. His breathing was rapid and the low grumbles of his moans filled my head. Pulling and teasing my nipples ... pinching and rolling and strumming my clit ... he fucked me hard. The veins in his cock throbbed hot inside of me. My pussy clenched and grabbed at the glans, holding him in - not letting him slip out with his full strokes. My tits bounced hard in the air. His cock had me splayed open. I took him with everything I had. Suspended in the air, there was no choice. Greedily, my pussy swallowed him over and over and over. The power of his thrusts knocked both breath and voice from me. Sporadic moans and grunts echoed through the room. I felt my body begin to tense - the familiar wave approaching. My pussy clenched down hard his cock - his huge wonderful cock - locking around the shaft. My arms ached in pain over my head. He was licking and kissing my neck - more than I could take. I tried to ride the peak for as long as I could. He bared down - fucking me with a desperate pace when I felt his hands and jaw tense and lock on my skin. The swelling in his cock and sudden warmth added to my pleasure. My body clenched one last time.

The wave flooded over my skin. I shivered as my cum flowed heavy from the inner depths of my pussy. Thick, it flowed hot over the head of his cock - putting him over the edge. He moaned deep in my ear. Filling me, his cum exploded from his erection, his balls pushing each thick rope of cum into me. Grasping each other, our bodies meshed, we came in wave after wave.

Slowly his breathing returned to normal, as did mine. He let his cock slip from the sopping wetness of my well-fucked pussy. Standing on the chair, he released my arms from the manacles, applying a sweet kiss to the inside of each wrist.

"Mia. We are not yet finished."

I tensed. This was new. Never had there been more than one taking in the same night. He led me across the front of the fireplace to the table. He lifted me up and sat me down in the center. He gave a stern command. I obeyed by lying down.

He circled the table. At each corner he stopped to bind me. First he tied my wrists, then each ankle. There was little slack in the rope. I had, at best, less than an inch in any direction that I was able to move. He stood at my feet. Between my ankles he set a small pointed instrument. From my angle I was not able to make out exactly what the object was, but the small stream of smoke that was rising in the air filled me with a fear that was much deeper than the whip. I had seen the other girls, the marks on the insides of their ankles. He had burned them. Branded them. And this was what he now intended for me,

"Please. Please Adam, no. I'll do anything. Please. Just don't." I was begging. Pleading. I felt my stomach twist at the thought of the scent of my flesh burring.

His face was calm, as always. "Mia. You must be still. Do you hear me? I don't want to hurt you. You cannot move, and you must not make sound, or I will. Mia! Do you understand?"

It took what felt like an eternity. I did not understand. Not really. I was his. He knew it. So why then this form of cruelty? Previous lessons, however, had taught me that to fight brought even worse repercussions for my flesh. I managed a terrified "Yes: from my tear-soaked lips.

When he lowered the object I felt nothing. I could feel a small amount of heat, but it was indirect. Fear immobilized me and I could not have moved my leg no matter how hard I tried. The smell of hot metal filled the room. A small cloud of smoke formed just above my ankle. Soon, almost as quickly as he had begun, he set down the instrument and began the circle to untie me. Dazed, and very confused, I tried to see my ankle. A white cloth was tied around it.

He picked me up and carried me back to the bed, being careful not to touch any of the red welts that covered the back of my body. With a gentle caress he set me down into the deep mattress. He knelt on the floor as he untied the cloth around my foot. Beneath the cloth, hidden from my sight, a simple silver bracelet. He has welded it, without the clasp, to my ankle.

"Mia. You are to wear this at all times. It is mine, and I give it to you because you are the one that I have claimed as mine. Do you understand?"

I didn't know what to say, or what to do. I smiled at him, the only thing I could think of. Then, bravery took hold and I leaned forward, kissing him deeply. "You have pleased me very much," I told him. He stood then, kissing my ankle along the silver links. "You should sleep." Genuine happiness crept from his voice. The he turned and left, leaving me in his bed with educated flesh and less-than experienced dreams.