“This time put your hands behind your neck,” he instructed, waiting until she had obeyed before continuing. “When you stand up, keep your hands behind your head. Remember, you are an object to be enjoyed by others. Consider yourself on display at all times, and behave accordingly. Focus on rising gracefully, your motions fluid and smooth.”
Her face twisted in concentration, she managed to get herself to her feet, though she nearly lost her balance in the process.
Aaron kept the smile that was trying to move over his mouth in check. “Better—marginally,” he pronounced dryly. “Back on your knees. Try it again. Be aware of how you lower yourself, as well. You are striving for grace of movement. Watch yourself in the mirror and imagine you’re a ballet dancer. And try not to make such a horrible face in the process.”
She frowned, a flash of actual fury moving over her features, though it passed so quickly he might have imagined it. This one was a hellcat. Was there even a submissive bone in that gorgeous body? Had he just been handed a bloody impossible case?
Up and down, over and over, he kept her at it until her body was trembling, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, her eyes flashing with barely controlled rage. “I’m doing the best I can,” she finally blurted, adding a belated, “Sir. I don’t know what you want from me.” She bit her full lower lip and then formed her pretty mouth into an actual pout.
“What I want,” Aaron said, regarding her with calm amusement, “is for you to show a modicum of grace. But I believe you, Morgan. I believe you’re doing the best you can. Happily, I’ll leave the considerable work you’ll require in this department with Claudette, who is much better at teaching this sort of thing.”
He retrieved a bottle of water from the small refrigerator they kept beneath the supply counter and returned to Morgan. “You may lower your arms.”
She dropped her arms onto her knees with an exaggerated sigh. Clearly, he had his work cut out for him. With only two weeks, there was no time to lose.
“Thank you, Sir,” she breathed as she accepted the bottle. She drained most of its contents and blew out a breath. “My knees are killing me.”
Aaron frowned, about to rebuke her sharply for both speaking out of turn and forgetting his honorific, but then he remembered what a total novice she was. She was untrained, with no Master, and she’d only been there a couple of hours. She was like a puppy and until he taught her the rules, he could hardly expect her to obey them.
“Stand up one last time,” he said, “as gracefully as you can. Assume an at-ease stance, arms by your sides. Don’t fidget or shuffle your feet. Just stand there, back straight, chin slightly raised. Don’t move until I tell you to do so.”
She set down the empty water bottle and, to her credit, rose with more grace than he’d seen previously, though her legs trembled ever so slightly.
He took a slow walk around her, pleased when she didn’t try to follow him with her eyes. She had an ass that was ideal for whipping, and his palm actually itched with the need to smack those round, perfect globes. Keeping himself firmly in check, he returned to stand in front of her.
“A few basic rules before we go any further,” he said, staring down at her. “Pay close attention, because the next time you break the rules, I will punish you.”
She tilted her head up and fixed her luminous eyes on his. Her small, pink tongue appeared on her lower lip, and he could almost smell the pheromones zinging between them. This had to stop, or he wouldn’t be able to do his job.
He took a step back and snapped, “Eyes straight ahead.”
Once she had obeyed, he said, “First, let’s review the very first rule, which you seem to have trouble retaining. You will always address me as Trainer or Sir. There will never be an occasion during our two weeks together when you’re not in training, and you’d do well to remember that. For all intents and purposes, I own you during this brief tenure, and my intention is to mold you into something resembling a proper submissive, if that’s even possible in the timeframe we’ve been allotted.”
Her eyes flashed, but she managed to keep her expression otherwise neutral.
“While in a formal setting, such as this training room or a dungeon,” he continued, “you will not speak unless directly addressed. If you have something you feel you absolutely must convey, you will first ask for permission to speak, and then wait for that permission to be granted. Do you understand the rules so far?”
She met his eyes briefly, recalled herself, and looked straight ahead again. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Rule number three—never fall out of position until given permission. If I tell you to get on your knees, you will stay there until I tell you otherwise. Mistress Claudette will work with you on a series of formalized positions first thing tomorrow. You’d do well to pay close attention, because I’ll expect you to know and execute them by tomorrow afternoon.”
Her expression was dubious, but she said, “Yes, Sir.”
“One more rule, and then that’s enough for now. During your stay here, you will always promptly obey whatever anyone in authority over you tells you to do. You don’t take liberties or make assumptions. You wait for direction, and then obey it to the letter. Got all that so far?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Summarize the first four rules for me.”
She started to look up at him, but caught herself in time, managing to keep her eyes straight ahead. “Um, rule one is always address you as Trainer or Sir, Sir.”
“Go on.”
“Rule two is don’t speak without permission, Sir.”
“Good.”
“And rule three is, um…” she paused, but finally managed, “don’t fall out of position without permission.”
“Sir,” he reminded her.
“Sir, she parroted.
“And rule four?”
“Um…” Again the pause, then, “Always obey anyone in authority and obey them to the letter.”
All at once, he reached for her throat, causing her to gasp. Gripping her lightly beneath her jawline, he forced her head up slightly so she had no choice but to look into his eyes. “What just happened there?”
Her pupils dilated, her larynx moving under his fingers as she tried to swallow. Her lips had parted, the tempo of her breath suddenly elevated. Her nipples were fully erect, and he bet if he checked between her legs, he’d find she was sopping.
Her reaction wasn’t unexpected. Something about the primal response to a hand on the throat cut right to the heart of a true submissive. While a vanilla girl might pull back and express her outrage or confusion, a sub melted at this show of dominance, and he was both relieved and glad to see her reaction. At least he wasn’t dealing with an imposter. Though untrained, she had definite potential.
Still, he had asked her a direct question, and he expected an answer. He applied the slightest bit more pressure to her throat. “Tell me what happened. What did you do wrong?” he prompted. “What did you forget to say?”
“I-I forgot to say Sir or Trainer at the end of my reply, Sir.”
He nodded and let her go. “And what did I say would happen when you broke a rule?”
Morgan bit her lip. “I would be punished, Sir.”
“That’s correct. And you will be, but not yet. I need to learn more about you. From what I understand and have observed, you have no training and minimal understanding of what’s expected of you, so we need to remedy that. Now, where do you fall on the submissive spectrum?”
She looked confused.
“That was probably too broad a question. Let me clarify. Most trainees I get are sent by their Masters for refinement in a particular area, like learning to take all forms of erotic pain without resistance, or getting comfortable with intensive bondage. As an example, I had one trainee recently who longed to please her Master, but had a terrible fear of confinement in small spaces. His favorite fantasy was to keep her in a coffin-like box under his bed for hours at a time and pull her out when he was ready to u
se her. The box was perfectly safe, with air holes for breathing, and padded for comfort. But, while the fantasy deeply excited her, she’d always been claustrophobic, and had a very hard time enacting the scenario. We were able to work with her to desensitize her enough to obey him without it endangering her mental stability. Another trainee needed to learn to handle caning, severe caning, without letting her fear get in the way of her acceptance.
“Those are very specific sorts of training. In your case, all we have is the boilerplate contract stating basically that you belong to us while you’re here, and we can do whatever we need to do to train you. That’s pretty broad, I’m sure you’d agree, so let’s narrow it down. When I ask where you fall on the spectrum, I mean, what are you? Are you a pain slut? A masochist who regards submission as just another tool to get you off, along with the whips and the chains? Or are you submissive—someone who longs to serve for its sake, who takes real joy in giving yourself—heart, body and soul—to another and trusting him to safeguard and nurture that submission?”
When she didn’t answer right away, he added, “You can speak freely, Morgan. This isn’t a test. I’m not trying to trip you up, and there is no right or wrong answer. I genuinely want to know what makes you tick.”
She seemed to be thinking it over. “I don’t really know the answer, to tell you the truth, Sir. I mean, yes, I’m definitely sexually masochistic—I do know that. Whips and chains totally do it for me and vanilla bores the crap out of me.” She gave a small laugh, and he allowed himself a small smile in return. “As to submission—true submission—I don’t know what it is. I mean, watching Laura today”—she sighed, shaking her head—“she’s amazing, Sir. And Claud—er, Mistress Claudette, too. Both of them have something—I don’t even know what you’d call it—serenity, maybe? I know a few other women like that in the scene, and I’ve always envied them. They seem so”—she paused, as if trying to come up with the word—“so content in their own skin, Sir.”
Aaron nodded, pleased by her apparent honesty and insight. She’d stopped trying to be seductive, and she hadn’t tried to say what she thought he might want to hear. Impulsively, he reached out and stroked a tendril of her long, lovely hair from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.
A slight tremor moved through her form as he touched her. He jerked his hand away and took a step back, shocked at the electric connection between them. Keeping his focus rigidly on the matter at hand, he said, “I appreciate your candor. I’ll explore your masochistic limits during our training, and in the process, I can help you figure out where you lie on the submissive spectrum, and where you want to be.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Sir. Um…permission to speak?”
“Go ahead.”
“How do we figure that out, Sir?”
“For me as a trainer, the basic game plan is the same as that of a coach. Before I can build you up, I have to take you apart to see what you’re made of, and what your potential is. I’ll test your pain limits, your endurance, your sexual responsiveness and skill, as well as your willingness and ability to submit with grace and honesty.”
“Sexual responsiveness, Sir?” she repeated in a throaty voice as she again shook back her lovely mane of hair.
Christ. She was flirting again, and she’d spoken without permission. Aaron bit back a sigh of frustration and reminded himself to be patient. Choosing to ignore her behavior for the moment, not to mention the erection trying to make itself known in his jeans, he said brusquely, “Of course. While not all submissives provide sexual service, it’s certainly a part of basic training.
“When we’re through, if I’ve done my job, you won’t need chains or outside controls. Your commitment will come from within. But in order to get there, you’re going to have to yield control in every aspect of your life. That’s why we start with so much restriction—no clothes, no sitting on the furniture, no speaking out of turn, no rights regarding your person or your station. You do as you’re told, period. After a time, you come to freely accept the abdication of basic freedoms, and recognize the gift of each one when it is returned to you. If you can get to that place where restriction, training, obedience and punishment aren’t only what you want, but what you need, that’s when you begin to internalize true submission. That’s when you’ll get a sense of the scope of your commitment. Are you with me so far?”
“Oh, yes, Sir. I’m with you.”
Her voice was low and seductive. His balls ached. He needed to get a grip. He took a step back.
She took a step forward as she looked from his face to his crotch, her expression shifting into something calculating and almost sly. Then she reached up and circled her slender arms around his neck, pulling down his head as she tried to kiss his mouth. As her soft lips brushed his, they parted, a small, sexy sound coming from her throat. For a split second, Aaron tumbled into the fantasy of kissing her back, and more.
It took only that long to regain his control, however. Grabbing her wrists, he yanked them from his neck and pushed her roughly away so that she stumbled backward, her face blank with shock. He was angry not only with her for the affront, but with himself for nearly giving in to his own weakness. Reaching for her he spun her around and grabbed both her wrists, pinning then behind her back. Keeping his voice level, he said, “You just made a serious miscalculation, little girl,” as he frog-marched her out the door and into the punishment room.
Chapter 4
Aaron hauled Morgan directly to the cleanup corner, a tiled area in the back of the training room where a small but functional shower had been installed. Nylon cuffs hung from chains in the ceiling above the stall. He positioned Morgan beneath the cuffs and snapped, “Lift your arms over your head so I can secure your wrists.”
Morgan looked from the chains to Aaron with frightened eyes. “Please, I—”
He cut her off. “Not a word. Not one word, Morgan.” He kept one hand firmly on her shoulder. “You stepped way over the boundary back there. I know you’re probably used to getting what you want with your pretty face and your hot little cunt, but that won’t work here. I’m shocked you’d even try it.”
He waited, staring her down until finally, her eyes wide with fear, she lifted her arms. He wrapped the cuffs around her wrists and stepped to the side. Reaching for the cold-water tap, he turned it on, and a jet of icy water blasted over the bound girl.
Predictably, she yelped and tried to twist away, but the chains held her in position. “Stay still,” he barked. Two weeks would not be enough. Should he bag this charade right now? He didn’t want to waste his time on some poser.
Once she was sufficiently drenched, he turned off the water and pulled open the Velcro cuffs on her wrists. He led the now shivering, dripping girl to the center of the room. Briefly, he considered his options and decided he would use a paddle—her paddle. If she balked, he was done. They could find someone else to train her—if she was even trainable.
“Get on your hands and knees,” he commanded, letting go of her. “Crawl back to the other room and get the paddle out of your bag. Carry it by the handle in your mouth and crawl back to me.”
Her skin was stippled with goose bumps, her long, lovely hair pressed flat against her head and dripping down her body. Her face was a study in mixed emotions, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if she told him to go fuck himself and flounced out the door. After all, the contract was only binding if all parties agreed it was so. If she didn’t like the terms, she was free to walk out.
She opened her mouth, and he held his breath, waiting to see if she blew her last chance, startled to realize just how much it mattered to him.
She closed her mouth. There were tears in her eyes but she dropped slowly, almost gracefully, to her knees. Aaron began to breathe again.
Placing her hands on the floor, she crawled out of the room, her luscious ass swaying. She returned a few moments later, the handle of the paddle held awkwardly in her mouth. She dropped the paddle at his feet and remained on her ha
nds and knees.
He resisted the absurd impulse to pull her up into his arms and whisper into her hair that all was forgiven. Instead, he bent down and picked up the paddle. “Crawl over to the spanking bench. Then stand and bend over it so your palms are resting flat on the bench, your ass out, feet shoulder-width apart on the floor.”
Instead of obeying immediately, Morgan looked up at him. “Permission to speak, Sir?”
“No.”
She furrowed her brows, her consternation evident, but she managed to keep her mouth shut.
“Now, do as you’re told.”
She crawled to the bench, stood and assumed the position, ass out.
“Why are you being punished, Morgan?”
A beat, then she replied, “Because I forgot to say sir, Sir.”
“Yes, and what else.”
“I…”
He waited. She started to turn her head toward him. “Don’t come out of position,” he snapped. “Do you want to make things even worse than they are?”
She whipped her head forward. “No, Sir,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Sir.”
Was she? For what, exactly?
“Why else are you being punished?”
She blew out a breath. When she spoke, her voice was small but resolute. “I tried to kiss you, Sir. I, uh, I took liberties. I—got confused. I thought—”
“Stop,” he interrupted. “I didn’t ask about your state of mind or your thoughts. I asked what you did. You flagrantly violated rule four, right after you’d parroted it back to me.”
Leaning over her, he wound her wet hair around his hand and yanked her head back. “Let’s be very clear going forward, Morgan. I am not your lover, nor do I want to be. I’m your trainer, that is, unless you keep up this kind of behavior, in which case I’m going to recommend you be expelled from the program. Are we very, very clear?”
This was it—this was when she’d stand up and walk out, if she was going to. He waited, his heart beating too fast in his chest.