Training Ch. 02

"You look marvelous," he said. "Come over here." He took her hand and drew her close. "You are absolutely beautiful. That's what I like-a high-class sex slave."

She blushed and turned away. He grabbed her arm and dragged her close; she whimpered in protest and pushed at him as he kissed her roughly, forcing his tongue between her lips. His hand pressed against her thighs through her dress.

She squirmed and pulled away; he released her suddenly. "Finished getting dressed. I'm going to put some clothes on and then we're going out."

"What-what do you mean? I am dressed!"

"No, you're not. Go put the spikes around your thighs."

"But-"

"Now!" he said firmly. "It's time for you to take some responsibility for your training. You will make sure you're wearing them whenever you leave the room for any reason. It will be your responsibility to make sure they are tight and locked. Go!" He turned away, dismissing her, and reached into the closet.

She turned back to the bedroom, unable to lift her eyes from the floor. With shaking hands, she picked up the wide rubber straps. She wrapped each one around her upper thigh just as he had done, and jumped slightly as she pressed each tiny padlock closed with a click. Her heart pounded and her lips trembled; a part of her could not accept the way in which she became an accomplice to his sexually deviant "training."

When she returned to the living room, he was getting dressed; formal black suit, white shirt, tie. When he'd finished, he smiled warmly and held out his hand to her. "Shall we?"

They left the hotel and headed out into the city's streets. She walked awkwardly, hampered by the dress as she tried to keep her legs far enough apart to prevent the cruel metal spikes from stabbing the smooth skin of her inner thighs. He hurried her along, and she gasped each time metal scraped along skin. It was not until after they'd been walking for nearly ten minutes before she finally found the rhythm that kept the points away from her, swaying her hips with an even more exaggerated motion than she had before.

The eyes of every passing stranger were a tangible weight on her as they walked. She lowered her head, feeling exposed and vulnerable, the wag of her ass an invitation to everyone who crossed her path. Anthony moved quickly, making her scurry to keep up.

Eventually, as evening fell, they made their way to the Tower of London, the magnificent, palatial monument to conquest. He led her toward one of the tower's many gates. "Amazing sense of history here," he said conversationally. "There's a ceremony they hold every night here I've always wanted to see. The Chief Yeoman Warder locks up the tower and presents the keys for safekeeping. They've been doing it for five hundred years now. And look!" He reached into a pocket. "As it just so happens, I have tickets!"

She made no reply as he presented the tickets and ushered them through the gate. "True story," he said. "Only once in modern times has this ceremony been interrupted, during World War II, when Nazi bombs fell right by the tower. What a big mess that caused! The warder was a few minutes late turning in the keys. Whole big stink about it. Letters to the King, you name it. They eventually decided not to punish the poor guy, on account of it being the Nazi's fault and all." He grinned boyishly. "Now that's what I call tradition."

His voice faded to the background of her consciousness as he spoke. Her nipples had begun to itch, and a growing, insistent tingle was spreading between her legs. The sensation grew stronger by the minute, an irresistible, stinging irritation she could not ignore. She struggled to keep her hands at her sides; she felt desperate to touch herself, to ease the maddening itch, and mortified at the thought that someone might see her. Her nipples grew hard of their own accord, and between her legs, dampness spread as the tingle took hold. She folded her arms tightly in front of her and tried to rub her nipples surreptitiously through her dress. They were far more sensitive than she was prepared for, and the brush of her arm sent a jolt through her, making her moan. She tried to squeeze her legs together against the heat and the demanding, insistent itch; metal studs bit into her thighs, and she yelped and opened her legs.

The ceremony was quite simple, and took only a few minutes. Eileen scarcely noticed; her attention was consumed by the sensory assault. Her nipples burned; her pussy and anus prickled from within. She could not stop thinking about the things she had done to herself in the hotel. A tiny part of her longed for the dildo inside her, the cool metal shaft in her ass-not for sexual pleasure, she hastened to tell herself, but just to relieve that maddening itch.

People jostled around her. Anthony took her arm. "My, my, my. You can't keep still, can you, little whore?"

She jumped at his touch, only then becoming aware that she had been moving her hips steadily back and forth-here, in this very public place. Her face flushed and she looked down, not wanting to meet his gaze or the eyes of anyone around her. The sun had long ago set, and the pale moon glowed down, turning the tower to a dark silhouette.

"Come on," he said. "Ceremony's over."

He led them through the thinning crowd away from the tower. Each step, each sway of her hips, sent urgent little flashes through her body. So absorbed was she in her own discomfort and in the task of walking without letting the spikes poke her that she didn't even notice the direction in which they were traveling. Her clit throbbed; when he took her hand and urged her to speed up, each footstep sent sharp twinges straight to her most sensitive place.

The buildings around them changed. They seemed to be getting well away from the tourist areas, into a grimmer industrial neighborhood. The streets grew darker, and she grew more aware of her surroundings. "Anthony?" she asked nervously. "Are we going the right way?"

He said nothing, but urged her onward. Her apprehension grew and she clung tightly to his hand. "Where are we going?"

He slowed, eyes scanning both sides of the street. He spied a dark opening between two tall brick buildings. "There," he said.

He seized her by the hair and dragged her into a narrow alleyway, hemmed in on both sides by dank, rough brickwork. She cried out in pain and surprise, and struggled to break free. He tightened his grip and dragged her farther into the alley, where he slammed her roughly against the damp brick wall.

"What are you doing? Let go of me!"

"I am horny. You are my sex slave. I am using you," he said. His fingers caught the neck of her dress and he yanked it down over her shoulder, exposing her bra.

She kicked and fought wildly against him. Her hands sought to push him away. "Let go of me!" she cried.

One hand dipped into his pocket, and came out with the knife, a long chiseled blade folded back into a black handle. He unfolded it and laid the blade flat against the sweep of her collarbone. "Hush."

Her breath caught in her chest; her protest died stillborn on her lips. She froze, immobile as a statue.

He slid the knife slowly along her skin, as gentle as a lover's caress. The cold steel blade slipped beneath the strap of her bra. The barest hint of motion, and it sliced effortlessly through the narrow strap. The bra slipped away with a whisper of sound; her bare skin shone in the dim light.

His hand folded around her breast. He shoved her hard against the wall; hard, uneven brick pressed into her back. His hand squeezed and twisted roughly. She cried out. "It hurts!"

Instantly, the tip of the knife came up to her lips. "Shh," he said. The blade caressed her lips softly. His fingers tightened hard on her breast, making her shudder and moan. "You want it, little whore. Your body is begging for it. It's not your fault; the cream I put on you is doing this to you. When the numbing agent wears off, the other ingredients take over. That's why you can't stay still, and that's why you need something inside you. You need to be fucked, little whore. Just relax and let it happen."

She looked into the dark, still pools of his eyes. "No...please..."

"There is nothing you can do to prevent it," he said. "You are a sex slave." The tip of the knife traced her lips. "Kiss it."

"No, please...don't!"

His hand squeezed her breast roughly, fingers digging in hard. She gasped.

"I won't tell you again. Kiss it."

She closed her eyes. Slowly, her lips parted. The tip of her tongue touched the flat of the blade. A strange, erotic thrill shot through her.He's making me do this, she thought,I have no choice, it's not my fault...

Her lips parted wider. Her tongue caressed the blade, and soft, moist lips closed around it. She moaned, her breath fogging bright metal.

"Good." He drew the knife point over her chin, very light, and slowly ran it down the hollow of her throat, and over the curve of her breast. It left a very faint white line in her skin, describing where it had passed. Butterflies churned in her stomach; her breathing came fast and shallow.

The tip of the blade came to rest against her nipple. She shuddered as he pressed harder, creating a needle-sharp prick of pain. "Hold still."

She nodded wordlessly.

He reached down and pulled up the hem of her dress. She let out a startled exclamation as he yanked her panties down to her knees in a violent motion, but remained unmoving. He drew the key on its silver chain from beneath his shirt, unlocked the bands around her thighs, and let them fall. She panted, frightened and aroused.

He stepped back away from her and stared levelly at her as he slowly, deliberately, unfastened his slacks. He pulled them down just enough to free his erection, which strained at its confinement. She tried to shrink back against the wall as he stepped forward and pressed his body against her. He laid the knife flat against her cheek and looked at her with calm, dark eyes. "Now," he said.

He entered her hard, and oh, God, it hurt. She screamed, and his hand came up and clamped roughly over her mouth. "Hush," he said. "You want this. I can feel how wet you are. You're totally drenched. This feels good, doesn't it?"

She wanted to protest; she tried to say she didn't want what was happening to her, tried to explain that it was only that maddening tingle that was making her wet. He thrust again, and the only sound she could make was a long, drawn-out moan, stifled by his hand.

He pressed against her, his hips pushing her hard against unyielding brick. The knife caressed her cheek gently; she shivered and moaned softly. His cock, buried deep inside her, felt overwhelmingly, achingly good, exactly what she had been craving; she could not stop herself from moving her hips against him. Her nipples, exposed to the cool evening air, itched fiercely, she cupped her hand over her breast and squeezed, and pleasure rippled through her.

He took his hand off her mouth and smiled. "That's what I thought."

He took her roughly then, against the wall, pounding savagely into her as he held the knife against her cheek. She screamed in ecstasy and gave herself to him, her body yielding completely to his demands. He grew harder within her. She squeezed her breast more tightly and cried out as they came together, the sharp wet slap of his ejaculation inside her sending her over the edge herself.

She came harder than she ever imagined possible. Darkness crept in from the corners of her vision. Pleasure tore through her, so overwhelming that she was only barely aware when he pulled out of her and stepped away. She slid down the wall, still twitching and gasping with the aftershocks, until she was sitting on the ground at his feet.

Many long minutes passed before her vision cleared and awareness returned.

He tucked himself back into his pants and zipped them up. "Very nice. Your body likes being used hard," he said as he crouched beside her. "You're a mess. I can't take you back to the hotel this way. You look like you've just been fucked in an alley."

A few quick motions of the knife had the remnants of her bra cut completely away. He dropped it to the ground and left it there. A moment later, the bands with their spikes were once again locked around her thighs.

"You are just dripping with come," he said. "It's almost all the way down to your knees. We can't have you leaving puddles of come behind. Hmm." He thought for a minute, then brought the knife up between her legs. She flinched as he sliced her panties off.

"This should do the trick." He mopped her up with the panties. She moaned softly, nearly coming again as he wiped up the come dripping from inside her. When he finished, he raised the come-soaked cloth to her lips. "Open your mouth."

She whimpered and turned away. He raised the knife once more to her cheek. "Open your mouth."

That strange, erotic thrill passed through her body again, electric and intense. Her nipples hardened; between her legs, she felt a quivering.It's okay, she told herself.It's not my fault. I don't have any choice. He's forcing me to do it.

Se turned toward him and slowly opened her mouth, shaking in anticipation and dread. He shoved the soggy cloth deep inside, pushing it in firmly with his fingers. She mad a small coughing noise and closed her mouth around it. "Keep it there," he said.

He stood and pulled her to her feet. He brought the neck of the dress up over her shoulder and smoothed it out. The back of her dress was damp and stained with dirt; the front, now that her bra was gone, revealed the curve of her breasts invitingly. Her nipples stood prominently against red silk, obvious at the slightest glance. The taste of sex filled her mouth.

"Come on." He led her by the hand from the alley.

They walked down the street, her hips swaying, exaggerating her feelings of helplessness and shame at being in he open without underwear. Cool air circulated over the sensitive parts of her body, a steady reminder of her nakedness.

A cab drove by, light on. Anthony stepped forward and flagged it down. Eileen blushed furiously and hid herself behind him, reluctant to be seen by anyone. The car slowed and pulled up at the curb, He opened the door and gestured. "After you."

She climbed silently into the cab, avoiding the driver's gaze, and sat awkwardly in the back seat with her legs apart. She offered a silent prayer that he would not talk to her.

Anthony sat beside her and flashed the cabbie his disarming smile. He gave the address to the hotel, and put his arm around her as the cab sped away from the curb.

"I'm glad you came by when you did," Anthony said. "I think we were completely lost!"

"American?" the cabbie asked. "Tourists?"

"Is it that obvious?" he laughed. "Yep. We're here for our honeymoon." He wrapped his arm more tightly around her and drew her close. "Isn't that right, honey?"

She flushed and made a small sound, unable to speak.

The cabbie's eyes in the rearview mirror met hers, and she turned a deeper red. "You shouldn't be walking in strange neighborhoods at night," he said. "No telling what kind of trouble you might get in to. Especially the missus."

Eileen turned her face into Anthony's shoulder. He smiled at the cabbie again. "My wife is a bit shy. At least when it comes to talking to people." His hand curled around her breast, and he pinched her nipple lightly. She shuddered and whimpered through the panties wadded up in her mouth. "In other ways, she's not shy at all. I'm sure you've probably noticed she's not wearing any underthings." His hand squeezed and groped, then slid inside her dress. His touch on bare skin made her moan involuntarily. "We had an interesting first honeymoon night, let me tell you!"

The cab driver's eyes scarcely seemed to leave the rearview mirror through the entire trip. Eileen flushed red and whimpered helplessly as Anthony's hands squeezed and fondled her breasts, none too gently, on the ride home. Every touch on her exquisitely sensitive nipples drew out another moan and another blush. By the time they pulled up to the hotel, her emotions were roiling, caught between arousal and shame. She hated the way her body turned against her, how the things he did to her made her respond, but at the same time a small part of her didn't want his hands to stop touching her.It's okay, it's not my fault, he's making me do this...

By some miracle, they made it to their destination without a traffic accident. Anthony gave the cabbie a knowing wink as they left the cab. The car sped off, and Anthony led her into the hotel.

He groped and fondled her roughly in the elevator on the ride up to their suite. She squirmed and tried to push him away. Instantly, he whipped out the knife from his pocket. Her breath caught in her throat as he slipped it beneath the neck of the dress. He pinned her to the wall and in one motion sliced the dress from neckline to hem; the fabric made a ripping sound as the knife tore through it. It fell from her, leaving her standing entirely nude in the elevator.

"We've been through this," he said mildly as he ran the tip of the knife lightly over her chest. "You are a sex slave. You are not allowed to push me away."

The elevator dinged and lurched to a stop. He folded the knife and returned it to his pocket, then grabbed her tightly by the arm and the hair and pushed her out the door, leaving the dress where it lay on the elevator floor. Her squeal was stifled by the scrap of cloth still in her mouth, and she reddened in shame. He held her firmly with one hand while he unlocked the door, then pushed her into the suite ahead of him.

Once inside, he pulled her head back and fished the panties out of her mouth. She gasped and breathed deeply, breasts heaving.

"You've been a very good fuck toy today," he said. "I'm very pleased. Your body really likes being used for sex. So tonight, I'm going to give you a choice." He pulled her hair more tightly, forcing her head back still further, and ran his fingers lightly over her face. "I can shove things up that wonderful, tight little ass of yours and then use you in filthy ways for my own pleasure, or we can just call it a night and go to sleep. What do you think?"

"I-please, I just want to go to sleep," she quavered.

"Hmm," he said. His hand caressed her shoulder and slid down her side. "That's not quite what I meant. Perhaps I should have said I'll let your body choose. Which one do you think your body wants?" He took her hand in his, still holding her by the hair. "If you're wet between your legs, that means your body hasn't had enough yet, and it still wants to be used for sex. Wouldn't you agree?" He placed her hand between her legs. "Now tell me, are you wet or not?"

"I don't want it!" she cried, and moved to take her hand away.

He grabbed her tightly and shoved her own fingers roughly into her snatch. "I don't care," he said. "I'm asking your body. Are you wet or not?"

She shuddered. Tears rolled down her face, but she said nothing. He pulled her hand away and held her fingers up in front of her face. Wetness glistened.

"Are you wet? Does your body want it?"

She shook her head mutely.

"No? You look pretty wet to me." He shoved her fingers into her mouth. "Do you taste your wetness on your fingers? Tell me!"

More tears flowed. She nodded, very slightly.

"There, that's better," he said as he drew her hand away. "Now tell me the truth. Are you wet between your legs?"

"Yes," she sobbed, staring at the floor.

"Yes what?"

"Yes...yes, I'm wet."

"And does that mean your body wants to be used for sex?"

She opened her mouth to say "no." He pulled her hair tightly and his hand squeezed her breast, painfully hard. A dangerous light glinted in his eye. "Think carefully about how you answer."