The Awakening of Angel Ch. 06

21 June 8:25 PM

Tillman

All the preparations were in order and my other guests had arrived an hour earlier so that "Countess" Circe could be the center of attention. The other guests were in fact various members of my team or previous members that I called on from time to time for special contract work. They were a mix of sexes, ages, body types and ethnicities and therefore was a good cross-section of society. Circe would have no idea that they all worked for me. And they all had very specific roles to fill tonight and I knew that each understood the script in detail.

I found myself nervously pacing awaiting her arrival. Of course I knew exactly where she was since the limo driver was also part of my team and was giving me continuous updates. So why was I pacing? Why was I anticipating her arrival so much? One of my instructions to Madame Moliere was that I was not to be told what gown Circe had chosen. My life in the military had conditioned me to not get close to people since they might get killed and the loss would be that much harder. But honestly this girl Angel was making it almost impossible to maintain distance. Oh, and I call her a girl because she just had this freshness, this innocence...oh hell, she was just the girl next door.

Yeah, the girl next door. I was thirteen and the girl next door was Brittany Bensen. She was fifteen. Up to that point I really hadn't had any girlfriends and Brittany became the object of all the testosterone that had been plaguing me for the past year or so. She was just so damn cute and practically perfect in every way. And I'm betting that you think I'm going to tell you she was a cheerleader. Wrong! She was a runner, mostly the long distance stuff rather than sprints. It's really strange that I remember thinking what a hot body she had but looking back she had a runners body. Not an ounce of fat anywhere and even her breasts very small. Like I said, a runners body. But I thought she was s feminine. A goddess in my thirteen year-old estimation.

One thing that really turned me on was watching her run with her hair in a ponytail, which was about shoulder length. When she ran that ponytail swished back and forth in time with her stride. Guys know what I'm talking about. You just want to grab it and pull it close to you. Not that I would have known what to do with it at thirteen, but I did know one thing to do with the images of her in my mind, and honestly I did it a lot.

Please indulge me for a moment ladies while I go off into a side topic regarding masturbation. Men seem to be much more open about the whole shooting match (sorry) than what the ladies are. If our wife, girlfriend, friend, or a random female off the street just walked up and said, "Please jack off and spray your cum on my face," we would be all over that in a heartbeat. Reverse the roles and you never know what's going to happen. If you are a lucky guy the panties immediately get whipped off and she's rubbing one out straddling your face. The rest of the responses range from an, "Okay if that's what you want" to "I'm embarrassed" to "you pervert!" to "I don't masturbate." Come on ladies! We know you do. But for some reason you don't want anyone to think you do.

Is it because if you admit to the sexuality then you might be called a slut? Listen, I know that sometimes you want to handle things yourself and sometimes it's the only way you orgasm, or have really good ones anyway. I get that. But you are missing out on a great opportunity. Guys love to have their women really need them. I don't mean in a clingy, needy, stalker way. I mean the, "I love you so much and all I can think of is your cock in my pussy and you are taking too long to whip it out and I'm so horny for you that I'm just going to have to rub myself raw" way.

Let me tell you, you will have his full and undivided attention if you do that. Or anything remotely like that. Why do you think we like you wearing our dress shirts as loungewear? The message from that is, "I need you to be inside me right now but since you aren't I'm going to get as close as I can by wearing one of your shirts that smells like you." Do you get what I'm saying here? If you do things that display your sexuality or state of arousal, the result will be a more energetic and engaged lover. Remember the old saying, "A man wants his wife to be a saint in public and a whore in the bedroom"? Well I'm here to tell you it's true. So do us a solid and start acting like a cum slut in the bedroom, but also please try to sound sincere. There's nothing worse than hearing a bored, monotone, "Oh baby, yes baby, give me more baby, just like that baby." We sure don't want it to be a chore for you but I'll give you a hint, do it right and he will be harder and bigger.

Now with all these mental images of Angel masturbating what do you suppose happened next ladies? I can tell you that men's 18th century dress wasn't designed for a Free Willy moment and I sure didn't want the team noticing. A short message in my earpiece told me that the limo had just pulled up and I glanced up the grand staircase to see my butler, another very trusted team member, move towards the door. Within seconds she was standing at the head of the stairs and my butler loudly announced, "Countess Circe de Moliere!" The room went silent as every eye turned to see this radiant figure standing above them, and then they began to clap. Yes, this was part of the script, but later I was told that my team was truly stunned and entranced.

Her cheeks reddened momentarily and she cast her eyes down at the same time, which told me that she was not full of herself and had a sense of humility. I felt myself rolling ever deeper into this woman. I snapped back to reality. If I was going to help her then I needed to maintain discipline. I banged the knuckles of my right hand on a nearby table to help focus my mind.

Moving to the foot of the stairs I extended my right arm and gave a slight bow. She struggled a bit with the unfamiliar shoes and the hooped skirt but made it down without falling and took my hand.

"Welcome to my soiree Countess Circe," I said loudly enough so that all could hear. Then I leaned in and whispered in her ear, "And for this evening you may refer to me as Lord Tillman," and then raised her hand to my lips and lightly kissed the back of her hand. And on that cue the quartet began to play a waltz and I led her to the dance floor.

She got her hand placement correct but I could sense through mine some resistance and as we started to move through the steps the resistance increased even more. She wasn't letting me lead. In an attempt to correct her I provided more force on her waist and hand, giving her the cue as to which way I wanted her to move. But it had no impact and her resistance to my instructions increased. Leaning in close I said quietly but firmly, "In dance the man leads and the lady follows. You must go where I direct."

I noticed even more of a stiffening to her posture and saw a flash of anger in her eyes. It was one of those, "I'll show you!" looks. We made it through about ten more steps when she decided to go a different direction than my input which resulted in her getting her feet out of place an going off balance. Could I have caught her? Of course I could have, but that wouldn't have provided a lesson, and after all I was the Teacher.

The fall was in slow motion and the bulkiness of the gown and hoops cushioned her fall but the hoops had another effect. Because of the way they were designed they basically flipped her gown up over her head when she hit the floor. And if you remember during her dressing at Madame Moliere's there were no bloomers or drawers since it wasn't something ladies of the time wore. So here she lay, naked from the waist down, struggling to push the hoops down and get herself covered, but they just kept flipping back up. To top it all off the stiffness of the corset wouldn't allow her to get up. By now the music had stopped as had the dancing, and people were staring at the spectacle.

"Countess, I can help you up, or give you instructions on how to get up, but you must ask."

The struggling increased and became flailing and kicking. "God damn you! You tripped me and made me fall you bastard! What kind of asshole are you? I don't need your help! I can do it myself!"

But she forgot about the restriction of the corset and her breathing became labored as the oxygen intake lagged behind what her effort required. Her breathing became choppy and her vocalizations turned incoherent. Eventually she went limp as she fainted.

Circe

There was a strange black fog around me and indistinct murmuring of people off in the distance. I wanted to open my eyes but they were just too heavy. Then a breath of cool air entered my lungs and the fog cleared. The weight lifted off my eyes and I saw I was surrounded by a few women dressed in 18th century gowns. Where in the world was I? Then the events of the past few minutes came flooding back to mind and the tears began to flow. The ladies helped me to sit up and I noticed the hoops were gone and the corset had been loosened. I buried my face in my hands and had a good cry. What was up with that? I don't cry. Never! At least not since I became an adult.

During these few moments the ladies must have left the room and when I looked up there stood Tillman, all quiet and composed but with a stern look on his face. He didn't move and said nothing. The silence was deafening. I had to say something. "I, I'm sorry."

He just stood there for a moment. "I told you early on that I don't want to hear apologies. What I do want to hear is your assessment of what just happened. And also to realize that you are in breach of our agreement, and by that contract I am free to end this now, punish you, or do whatever I deem fit."

There was a steely edge to his voice that sent a shiver up my spine and it truthfully scared me to death. But something inside me found comfort and strength in his confidence. And he had placed the ball back in my court asking for my assessment of the events. That was allowing me control wasn't it? I mean he could have just ranted at me for what I'd done and whipped me or sent me home. But he didn't. I was conflicted. The voice in my head said to scream and run away. But my heart wouldn't let me. I softened a bit.

Quietly I began, "I guess I..."

He interrupted, "I can't hear you trainee, raise your head and speak up!"

Then I began again louder, "I refused to let you lead. I was too proud to let someone else control me. I didn't want to submit. And then I fell because of my own actions and embarrassed you in front of your guests. I don't know how to dance like that and you do and I should have let you guide me and I ruined your party. And then I yelled all those horrible things at you and you didn't deserve any of it. And I was just being stubborn like an old mule."

He stood there for a moment, those laser eyes boring into my soul and at that moment I wanted him to be harsh with me, to punish me, in order to somehow make up for the embarrassment that I had caused him. Why wasn't he saying something? The wait was agony.

Very firmly and calmly he began, "Let me assure you that you in no way ruined the party. My social events are very often filled with unusual occurrences and my guests have come to expect that. Yes you are correct in your assessment of the fact that you should have let me lead."

"Your first lesson is that a truly confident person is able to let experts handle things, able to let leaders lead. An insecure person is afraid to trust others and has to control everything. You must come to the understanding that allowing others control is a way of having control. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I nodded but held my head high. "Yes I think so, Teacher."

"Very well then. Having said that, it is a principle of training that there must be negative reinforcement for negative behavior and positive reinforcement of positive behavior. Tonight we have seen examples of both. Your outburst was the major offense and negative behavior and the accurate and honest evaluation of why these things happened was the positive. In light of that, and as positive reinforcement I will allow you to choose your punishment. Follow me, but stay six steps behind me."

He walked over towards a wall of bookcases and stopped. I obediently followed but was careful to maintain my distance. My fear and sorrow had partially been replaced with excitement and anticipation. Only partially though because I remembered that as part of the contract there was no "safe word" and I would be at his mercy. He tapped a corner of the bookcase and it swung away to reveal a dark passage lined with large stones. Why did it look so familiar? Then my throat tightened up. It looked like the room in the Carriage House that was set up like a dungeon. The one I had put the black ribbon on the door to indicate that it was the room that had made me the most uncomfortable. I felt a sudden urge to pee. I was that scared. And yet I continued to follow this man down the stone stairs, my legs having a mind of their own.

Finally we entered the dimly lit chamber and unsurprisingly it was equipped like the Carriage House room except that it had lots more stuff in there. Some things I recognized from books and movies. Iron Maidens, The Rack, stocks, leg and arm irons chained to the walls, etc. Then there were lots of other devices and implements that I had never seen and had no clue how they were used. The room had a smell of sweat and fear and I was adding to that at the moment.

He stopped by one wall that was covered with cases full of different devices and implements, and turned to face me. "Are you frightened?" he asked.

Part of me wanted to hide the fear from him. I didn't want to appear weak. I can't stand weak women and truthfully I was ashamed that I had cried. But the fact that I was shaking, my eyes were as wide as saucers, and was about to piss on an antique gown pretty much precluded me form telling a convincing lie. Again my heart overrode my brain and I blurted out, "Hell yes I'm scared out of my wits!"

He contemplated for a moment and asked, "What are you afraid of?"

"Well for one, look at all of this," as I gestured around the room, "I'm afraid that you are going to use some of this stuff on me and torture me!"

Then he totally surprised me by using my name. "Angel, look at me. Look into my eyes. You must understand that there is a difference between torture and pain. Torture only benefits the sadistic mind that is dispensing it and there is no value to it for the one being tortured. It's true that pain can be used to inflict torture, but pain is also a very valuable tool for learning. As an example, pain teaches us to not touch things that could burn and do much worse damage. And without pain we would not know pleasure."

He continued, "I will never, nor have I ever tortured anybody. Any pain I have ever inflicted is for a purpose and not one that personally benefits me. Do you believe that?"

The statement had to soak in for a moment. When he said it, I saw a brief moment of pain or sorrow in his eyes. Then it was replaced by a hard resolve and it made me shrink back a bit, like a turtle pulling its head back into its shell. I had this fleeting image of a soldier interrogating the enemy and using pain to do it, but he was doing for a purpose and not some sick lust to cause another human being agony. Truthfully Tillman's eyes told me that he wasn't a sadist. "Yes, I believe you Teacher."

"Good! That pleases me. The instruments in this room are not for you, not right now anyway. In fact you may one day decide to request to experience one of them. For tonight's purposes though, the items in the case behind me are what you must choose from. Your positive reinforcement is that you get to make the choice and you may choose just one or many. Please select wisely."

His statement about me maybe one day requesting to be placed in one of those devices seemed ludicrous to me. That was never going to happen. But right at the moment I needed to make a selection, partly to get out of that oppressive place, and mostly to complete an act of penance to make up for my bad behavior. Truth be known, I also really wanted to please him, but just didn't know it at the moment.

The case was filled with all sorts of devices. Whips, flails, paddles, straps, restraints, cuffs, gags, hoods, needles, clips and just a ton of other stuff I had no clue what it was for. Then my eyes stopped on something and I made up my mind.

"Teacher, I have decided but I would also please like to make a request, even though I don't deserve one and you would be fully justified in saying no."

"Go on, I will consider a request."

"Thank you Teacher. Because I behaved like an ass I should look like one. I choose the item that has the shiny thing with the horse tail attached. It's called a butt plug isn't it?" He nodded assent. "And for my request I would ask that you put the corset back on me, and we go back to the Ball and you teach me to dance. Would that be okay? Please Teacher?"

He seemed to be thrown off guard for a moment and then I saw a tiny, almost imperceptible beginning of a smile. Then, just as quickly, it was gone behind the mask. "Yes, I think we can accommodate that, considering the humility of the request." He pressed nearby button, spoke a few words, and soon a servant walked in with the corset, and just as quickly departed.

Reaching up to the case he removed the horse tail which was attached to a highly polished metal tapered plug. When he had it in his hand I could see the relative size of the plug and it hadn't looked so big on the wall. Now I wondered if I had made a foolish choice.

"Time to begin your punishment. Go to the table and bend over on it and raise the back of your gown."

I quickly did as instructed and while I was laying there the funniest thought entered my head. I wondered if the lady who originally owned this gown had ever been bent over a table about to get a plug stuck up her ass. I couldn't help but giggle a little bit and that was a bizarre contrast in itself. Here I was, in a dungeon, a place of death and pain, and I was giggling like a fifteen year old girl.

Tillman placed a tube of lubricant and the plug in front of me. "As another small reward I will allow you to do this yourself."

My heart sank. Why was I feeling disappointed? Then I realized that I had wanted him to do it. To have his hands on me, touching me and guiding the plug into my ass. I started to protest but thought better of it. He had given me instructions and I was going to follow them. I popped open the cap on the lube and reached back and squeezed some out where it needed to be. I let it run down the crack of my ass to roll seductively across my hole before I scooped it with my finger to start working it in. As I touched my anus I realized it had no sensation. Holy crap! The masseuse at Madame Moliere's had put that desensitizing stuff on me. Now I was off balance again. Tillman has them numb my butthole and then I pick a butt plug? Was it just because I was subconsciously thinking about my butt and picked the plug? Then why would he give instructions to have my ass numb in the first place? Or did he know I was going to pick the plug? Was all of this scripted? Did he know what I was going to do before I did it? This was starting to bug me but right now I had to figure out a way to get King Kong's thumb comfortably inserted in my ass.

Tillman

I have to admit that I was taken aback by a few things, one of which was how quickly she embraced her errors and admitted to them. That's not an easy thing for any well-adjusted human being to do. People with extremely low self-esteem, or those who have been abused will easily admit to error, often taking the blame when the fault wasn't theirs in the first place.