Training Ch. 02byturtle_writes©
The first chapter of this story generated a surprisingly large amount of email. The email was almost perfectly divided into two groups: people who loved the story, and people who hated it.
The people who hated it were also almost perfectly divided into two camps: people who thought it wasn't nearly extreme enough, and people who said 'OMG you sick bastard, how could you want to do stuff like this?'
To the latter group: This story is a work of fiction, written about characters who do not exist. Using this story as a guideline for real relationships is about like using the movie 'The Bourne Identity' as a guideline for international relations. This story is in the 'non-consent' section because it's about...well, a non-consensual relationship. If you don't like stories about non-consensual sex, perhaps a different section might be more to your liking?
To the people who thought the first chapter wasn't extreme enough: Perhaps this chapter will be more to your tastes. :)
Eileen stood in the shower for a long time with the water spraying over her body. She felt violated, used, unclean; her husband, the man to whom she had pledged her life, had inexplicably turned on her, demanded that she become his sex slave. She could still feel him inside her, taste him in her mouth, feel the hardness of the metal rod he had shoved in her ass; her breasts ached where he had squeezed them so roughly. And more horrifying than any of this was the memory of how her body had responded...not one but two orgasms, wrenched from her body by the obscene things that he had done to her.
Why had he done this? Why had her body betrayed her this way? The shame of her orgasms compounded the feeling of violation, made her feel still more dirty.
She scrubbed her body over and over again, but the feeling of filth would not wash away. She turned up the hot water until her entire body glowed ruddy, and still she felt dirty. She pulled the showerhead from its bracket and shoved it directly between her legs, wanting to blast herself clean, drive away the sensation and the memory of what had been done to her...
...and her knees buckled. A dizzying wave of arousal and need slammed through her. She sat heavily on the floor of the stall, surprised. The hot stinging spray blasted over her sensitive clitoris, painful, and she felt the rush of an impending orgasm. She cried out and threw the showerhead against the corner of the stall, where it dangled from its hose and flopped around wildly. What if he's right? What if my body does want to be treated like this? What if I really do want to be a sex slave? She sat with her knees up in the corner of the shower and wept while the gyrating showerhead splashed water over her. It took a long time for her sobbing to subside.
At last, she rose, exhausted and numb. She replaced the showerhead, turned off the water, dried herself mechanically. When she had finished, she wrapped another of the terrycloth robes around her, not wanting to let her husband see her naked, and left the bathroom.
Anthony was still naked, and had removed all visible signs of the violations he'd inflicted upon her. The candles and rose petals he had strewn about the floor were gone, along with the chains and manacles that had so recently held her to the bed. Of the half-familiar leather briefcase there was no sign. He smiled when she walked out of the bathroom. "Ah, there you are. You were in there for quite a while. Ready to go out shopping?"
She turned away from him without answering and moved to the closet. He came up behind her, put his hands on her shoulders. She shook them off and reached into the closet. He grabbed her arms tightly, spun her around to face him, and forced her back into the closet. Hanging clothes closed around her as he forced her farther into the closet, until she bumped up against the far wall. He pulled her bathrobe open, pressed the length of his naked body against hers. She struggled against him, tried to push him away; he grabbed her hands in his wrists and pinned them above her head.
Anthony was far stronger than she was, and overpowered her easily. He shifted his grip, pinning her wrists with one hand, and slipped his other hand down her body. She sighed in spite of herself as his hand passed over her breast, and her nipple hardened against his palm.
"You're easy," he said. He drew closer, until his lips touched her ear. His hand slipped lower, pressing between her legs. "They said you were going to be a difficult case, but I don't think that's true at all."
"Who said...ooooh!" His fingers slipped between her labia, caressing her clitoris. He kissed her neck softly, gently, as his fingers played over her with great delicacy. He touched her with exquisite care and consummate skill; the longing reawakened within her, and she closed her eyes and parted her legs, ever so slightly, scarcely even aware of her actions.
He accepted her invitation; his fingers probed deeper, still with that same extraordinary tenderness. Each motion drew from her a shudder and a moan. So subtly did he bring the pleasure from her that she was not even aware of her approaching orgasm until a gentle wave of ecstasy lifted her and washed away her shame. She sighed deeply and quivered against him, drinking in the heat of his body.
When it was over, he quietly slipped her robe from her shoulders. He took her by the hand and led her naked to the bed. She made no protest as he sat her down gently and pulled the strange briefcase from its hiding place beneath the bed. He opened the case and produced two wide, black rubber straps, which he buckled around her upper thighs. These he locked in place with a pair of tiny padlocks.
"There," he said. He took a tiny key from the case and slipped it around his neck on a fine silver chain. She looked down at the straps, saw two rows of short metal spikes facing inward. Fear stirred inside her, and her heart beat faster. "These will encourage you to sit properly." He placed his hands on her knees, and drew her legs together. "If you try to sit with your legs closed..."
Spikes dug into the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. She gasped and pulled her legs apart. He laughed. "Exactly. Consider them a gentle reminder. From now on, I want you to sit with your legs open at all times. Now, while I have your legs apart..."
He reached into the case and came out with two large, silver metal balls that chimed musically as he turned them in his hand. He nudged her knees open a bit wider and brought the balls between her legs. "Now let's just open you up and..." With a hard push, he shoved both balls into her. She yelped in surprise at the suddenness of the intrusion, and closed her legs tightly as she scrambled away from him. Spikes pressed into soft skin. She cried out and flung her legs apart again.
"Hold still! I'm not finished yet." He took a black leather belt from the case, which he buckled tightly around her waist. He reached into the case again and withdrew a leather strap with a wide, stubby dildo riveted to its center.
Her eyes widened as she realized what he intended to do; she squirmed and began struggling in earnest. He gripped her arm tightly and wrestled her down to the bed. He straddled her waist, pinning her down with his weight, facing toward her feet, and allowed her to thrash and flail beneath him as he pulled her legs apart. He hooked one end of the strap to the back of the belt and drew it up between her legs.
She gasped, feeling a sudden sense of intrusion and fullness, as he forced the dildo into her. The gasp became a wail as he pulled the strap tight between her legs and fastened it to the front of the belt, where it held the dildo stuffed tightly up inside her. He attached another small padlock to the buckle.
"There," he said. "Get dressed. We're going out."
She curled into a ball on the bed. "I...I can't. I can't stand up with this in me!"
"Sure you can!" He took her arm, drew her to her feet. The heavy metal balls shifted position within her, and she gasped again and staggered slightly. As she straightened, she could feel the dildo pressing against the balls, holding them far up inside her.
She took a step, awkwardly, then another. The bands around her thighs, with the row of points facing inward, forced her to hold her legs apart; the stance felt awkward and uncomfortable. As she moved, the balls shifted in her and tapped together, sending small vibrations coursing through her. She whimpered. "I can't!"
He smiled. "You'll get used to it." He moved to the closet, tossed her a skirt, a button-up shirt, stockings, a pair of shoes. "Here, get dressed. I thought you wanted to see London?"
She turned away, face red, and dressed without a word. As she bent to pull on her skirt, the metal objects chimed and against each other within her, and she closed her eyes and moaned. Her nipples hardened.
She took a deep breath, held still until the ripples of sensation quieted. She lifted the shirt from where it lay and twisted it in her hands. "But what about..."
He grinned, anticipating the question. "No bra."
"That's indecent!" Her face turned crimson. "I can't!"
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. No shirt, then."
"I'm not leaving!"
He grabbed her wrist, hard, and half-dragged her to the door. She struggled and fought as he threw it open and dragged her out into the hall. She put her arm across her breasts. "No! People will see!"
"You should get dressed, then," he said mildly.
She glared at him in outrage, met calm dark eyes. Oh my God, he means it! she thought. She stared down at the floor, defeated, arms wrapped tightly around her body. He stood patiently in the hallway, waiting, as she darted back into the room. She finished dressing quickly. Her breasts bobbed underneath her shirt, hanging free, and she shuffled self-consciously back out to meet him.
They headed slowly down the hallway. Her gait was made awkward by the bands and their spikes; she found that she had to hold her legs apart to prevent them from poking her thighs when she walked. Her stride felt unnatural, clumsy.
"It will help if you move your hips more," he said. "Wag your ass. Pretty soon we'll have you walking like a stripper."
She flushed, ashamed. The idea sounded perverted, and entirely unladylike; not the way a proper woman should walk at all. Yet she found she could walk more easily if she followed his advice, even though the gait felt exaggerated, slutty, like the way that disreputable women would walk.
She also quickly discovered that the dildo strapped into her seemed carefully designed to press the steel balls against some very sensitive place inside of her as she moved. Her g-spot? Is that what it was? Every step sent a short, sharp jolt of pleasure through her.
When they reached the street, he took her elbow and increased her pace. She felt exposed, indecent, as they made their way into the mid-afternoon throng of people, Her ass wagged back and forth obscenely as she walked; her nipples strained against the white cotton shirt; with each step, she had to summon her entire force of will to keep from moaning aloud.
They made it halfway to Trafalgar Square before her control failed.
Waves of pleasure surged at every step. A tightness and a quivering deep inside her warned her of what was about to happen. Her knees buckled and her head swam. Her fingers clutched at his sleeve. "Please, please, I can't keep going. We have to stop. Just for a minute. Please!"
"Why ever for?" he asked. "We still have a ways to go. Keep up!"
Tension coiled through her thighs. She took a step. The steel balls moved; the stubby dildo shifted. She closed her eyes and moaned. Her grip tightened on his arm. "Please!"
He ignored her, hurried her along. Another step, and then another. The balls pressed against that magic place. People hurried around them. Wetness leaked past the strap, dripped down her leg. Another.
She felt a sharp contraction inside her. She gritted her teeth, tried to force it back. No, please, God, no, not here, not in front of all these people... Another step. Musical chimes. Surely everyone around her could hear them, knew what she had inside her! Another. A wave of pleasure, so strong she nearly lost her footing. Another.
And then it took her. Wave after wave of raw, carnal ecstasy crashed over her, and she stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk and let out a long, loud moan of animal pleasure. People turned toward her, but in that one instant, she was beyond knowing or caring. She clenched around the objects inside her as she came, hard, on a crowded, sunny street in the middle of a city far from home.
In a flash, it peaked and was gone. She stood frozen, praying silently for the earth to open beneath her feet and swallow her whole. People all around her were staring, men smiling, women hostile She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Anthony had let go of her hand and kept walking, leaving her behind; he was now several paces further down the street. She hurried to catch up with him; the dildo moved in and out jerkily as she ran. He smiled as she caught his hand. "Did that feel good, little whore?"
"I want to go back! I want to go home!"
"I want to go get something to eat. Then I need to find something before we go back."
He led her down the street, indifferent to her suffering. Every step was torment; she was hypersensitive, still throbbing from the orgasm, and the steel balls did not let up. They moved and shifted and pressed and chimed, and she gasped and whimpered as she walked. She closed her eyes, trusting him to guide her, oblivious of her surroundings, and forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. With each footfall, pain and pleasure warred inside her, and she was terrified she might lose control again.
Something hard bumped against her knees. Her eyes flew open, and the world swam back into focus. Se realized that he had brought them to an open-air café, and led them to an empty table. She sat down hard, overcome with relief and gratitude, and felt the stern prick of small spikes bite into her inner thighs. She yelped and spread her legs.
"Good girl. You stay right there. I'll be right back."
He left to order food, returned with steaming plates. She ate wordlessly, feeling lewd, exposed, and obscene. It seemed to her that every person who passed them by was staring at her, noticing how she sat with her legs apart, seeing her breasts move and sway, thinking her a slut; she ate mechanically, barely tasting her food.
When they had finished and left, she found walking to be much easier. She seemed to be getting the rhythm, a slightly open-legged gait, hips swaying. The balls moved in time, distracting but not overwhelming. "There you go," he said, "now you're moving like a stripper."
He seemed to have a specific goal in mind. For the next hour or so, they ducked into one small store after another, making a wide circuit of the blocks surrounding the hotel. Each time, he conversed briefly with the shopkeeper and left empty-handed. Eileen was too wrapped up in her own internal struggle to wonder what he was looking for, or why.
Finally, he pulled her into a tiny, narrow shop crammed with tall shelves of cooking supplies. The shopkeeper nodded and smiled in response to his question. He passed her some folded bills, and she gave him a small, tightly-wrapped plastic bag. He thanked her and took Eileen by the arm.
"Did you still want to explore?"
She shuddered. Heavy round objects pressed against sensitive places. Her eyes closed; her breathing quickened. "No! I want to go back."
The return trip went much more quickly, in no small measure because of her increasing skill walking without letting sharp metal teeth rake her thighs. Even so, by the time they were within sight of the signature tall, narrow revolving door to the hotel, the sun had settled low in the sky. Her breathing was erratic, as she battled a growing sense of urgency within her; she won the race only narrowly, contractions already building around the steel balls as they crossed the threshold of the hotel. She fled into the relative safety of the elevator and leaned against the wall, panting.
The elevator lifted them smoothly to the top floor, announcing its arrival with a musical chime. He stepped out in front of her, took her by the hand. The door yielded to his key, and he led her back into the penthouse.
As they stepped into the suite, he grabbed her by he shoulders and threw her roughly against the wall. His mouth, hungry, found hers; his tongue pushed its way past her lips, demanding. His hand closed over her breast. She shuddered, moaned, tried to twist away. He dropped his package and took her wrists firmly in his hands. He growled and pinned them beside her; his tongue forced its way deeper. She quivered, helpless; wetness trickled down her thigh.
When he finally broke the kiss, she was flush with need, and her hips ground against his. He smiled, pleased. "Turn around. Face the wall."
She hesitated. He growled again. Strong arms twisted her around. He shoved her hard against the wall, held her there with one hand. "Hold still." He reached into his pocket.
Something slid across her eyes, obscuring her vision. She felt a strap slide snugly behind her head. Her hands flew to her face, and found a smooth, soft leather blindfold. He slapped her hands away. "Don't touch."
He turned her around again. His lips met hers; the kiss began softly, gently, and built very slowly. Coiling tension spread through her as he pressed harder against her; her lips parted this time, inviting the tip of his tongue deeper, and soon the last tattered shreds of her resistance had blown away and she had become a willing partner, kissing him back deeply, passionately. She felt the heat of his hands on her sides, the firmness of his body against her; a giddy rush passed over her, and she contracted around the balls still within her and nearly came right there against the wall.
His fingers rose to her throat, unbuttoned the top button of her shirt. Her breath caught, and a tiny jolt of fear rippled down her spine. The fear found the heat of her arousal, joined it, and she moaned. His fingers moved again, and the next button opened. He bent down, kissed the hollow of her throat softly. Another button parted. One hand slipped inside her shirt, cupped her breast. She moaned again, louder this time, and her fingers twined through his hair.
Before long, her shirt hung open. His fingers turned their attention to her skirt, which yielded quickly beneath them and fell to the floor. A short pause, then his fingers manipulated the lock in the front of the belt she wore. Cool air touched her throbbing, hardened clitoris; his hand slid between her legs, tugged the strap holding the dildo secure inside its wet hole. One strong pull and it slid free. She cried out sharply, thrust her hips hard against his hand. The warm heavy balls tumbled out of her with a wet squishing sound; her own juices poured from her, soaking his fingers Musical chimes as he rolled the balls in his palm. "You are absolutely drenched, little whore." Nimble fingers stroked her, coaxing the longing within her to life. She heard him chuckle at her moan.
Steel manacles closed around her wrists. She jumped in surprise, and a touch of fear quickened her breathing. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked, her voice small.
"I'm going to train you, of course." He knelt, and hard metal closed around her ankles, just above her shoes. When he rose again, she heard the heavy clanking sound of chains. Something tugged on her wrists, and she gasped as she felt herself pulled abruptly away from the wall.
He led her by the cuffs around her wrists. Chains dragged behind her ankles as she moved, weighing down her steps. She walked with exaggerated caution, unable to see, legs wide apart; with every step the fear grew stronger, and her heart pounded more wildly. Vivid memories of what he'd done to her when she was chained to the bed flashed through her head, and a tear leaked from beneath the blindfold and rolled down her cheek.