In Need of Training

Well, that could have gone better, I berate myself. As I wander up the lane towards the car park, I mull over the outcome of my last meeting of the day. There was something this client wasn't saying, and that could be the key to the whole thing.

Oh shit, keys! Why do I always leave rooting about for them until the last minute? When I'm laden down with three bags, shopping and crappy, spotty street lighting that only manages to put everything in the shadows?

Sighing, I reach the car, having to slide into the space sideways because some delightful citizen has parked their van over the lines separating their space from mine. This leaves me just enough room to squeeze the door open and limbo myself into the driver's seat. But first I have to find the keys.

For once I have a brainwave and move down to the end of the car, put down all the bags except my handbag and root out the car keys. I open the boot and put everything else in it, shut it firmly and then manoeuvre myself back down to the driver's side door. ‘Why are the drivers of these inconvenient vehicles never coming back when you have spleen to vent?' I wonder, as I make to put the key in the lock.

Just as I put my hand out to do this, I feel the hair on the back of my neck prickle, that old familiar feeling… and adrenalin surges through me violently. Not again! Forgetting the car, I make to get away as fast as I can. As ever though, just as my limbs are galvanised into action, there's that hand over my mouth, an arm around my waist and I am easily, efficiently and apparently effortlessly, bundled into the back of the van.

Once he has me in there, he's gone and the door is slammed shut on me. I immediately try banging on the door, but the bastard has covered it in padding. A quick, if blind search in the dark tells me the rest of the interior is similarly padded, including the roof and the floor. This means no use making banging noises and no chance of being heard screaming for help. Why am I not surprised?

A flood of resignation washes over me, but I am determined to fight it. In order to get out of this, I need to stay calm and stay smart. I also recognise that this time I have to manage to be smarter than him. I'm very aware that, since I have failed so spectacularly every other time, it's not going to be easy.

In no time the van is moving at speed. The driver seems intent on finding every hole and bump in the road. I do the only thing I can and try to find a corner where I can wedge myself and not get too bruised. There might be nothing I can do for now at least, but give me half a chance...

After what feels like an eternity, I become aware of the van slowing, and of the fact that it's travelling up a very uneven road or track. I feel it come to a stop and then reverse in an arc. I crouch at the door, poised to come flying at the bastard, but groan audibly when I feel and hear the side panel sliding back. I have the sensation of the van dipping as a large shape comes towards me, and a vague outline to work from. All it tells me is that it is a man, and that he is bigger than I.

I try to get around him and make a break for it, but he has me quickly captured by the waist, and seems utterly impervious to the kicks and punches I land on him. He merely hoists me to one side and dumps me out onto the gravel. The hand that hasn't been engaged in holding me against him grabs a handful of my hair as he drops me, ensuring that my head flies back and that I have no way of making a run for it. What now?

So far he hasn't made a sound, which throws me. Ordinarily he's big on telling me exactly what he's going to do to me, the reasons it would be easier on me if I just gave in, and how grateful I know I really am that he bothers with me at all.

The silence disturbs me more than the threats and humiliation he's subjected me to before. I know it's him. I can tell it by his scent, and his breathing, and as he's used my hair to yank me back onto my feet, causing me to fall against him, I can tell by the feel of something very hard and very long pressing against my stomach. Oh, God. Again? Just thinking about what he can do makes me tremble.

Without warning, he marches off in the direction of a large house, only vaguely identifiable as an outline of dark on slightly less dark. There are no streetlights, no sign of moonlight, and as it has been overcast and threatening to rain all day, heavy cloud cover.

As for my nemesis, totally unmindful of whether I can walk, stumble or require to be dragged, he goes on regardless, and as I'm attached to him through his hold on my hair, I'm going too, screaming myself hoarse all the while, but still going anyway.

He stops briefly to fish around in his pocket and unlock the door, before progressing inside. He doesn't put the lights on, or stop even momentarily; he simply negotiates his way through the dark house until he comes to the stairs, which he climbs unfalteringly. I scrabble to keep up and not stumble, not easy in 3 inch heels.

Once at the top of the stairs, he pauses, pushing me hard against the wall, and leans his entire weight on me, making it difficult to breathe. His hands slide down, stroking over me. Is this it then, is this when he bends me totally to what he wants?

Then the door on the right is thrown open, he pushes me in, and, with him still in the hallway, merely closes it between us and locks it.

"What the fuck is going on?" I scream, nearly hysterical now, I'm so confused; none of this makes sense given how he's behaved before. There is no response from the other side of the door. I feel like weeping.

To begin with I just sink to the floor, but after a moment I get myself up onto my feet and begin trying to take in my surroundings. Even with my eyes adjusting to the dark, there's nothing I can make out. If there are windows, no natural light penetrates them. I edge my way back to the door. Surely there‘s a light switch here somewhere. Sure enough, I find it and flick the switch – nothing, flick it off and try again - still nothing. Either he is well prepared and has taken out the bulb, or he's too cheap to pay his electricity bill. I don't think it's the latter somehow.

I feel round the rest of the room, starting at one end and moving my way side to side: no windows, which is very odd. Eventually I stumble over something small, metallic and ring shaped sticking out of the floorboards. Weird, but something tells me it isn't accidental. Now on my hands and knees I work my way across the room until I find myself against something fabric and heavy, covering something solid, a silk cover. Further searching with my hands and I discover that it is indeed a cover, for what appears to be a huge bed. About three feet beyond the bed at the other side there's something solid and cold that goes from floor to ceiling. It feels like glass, a wall length mirror?

There doesn't appear to be anything else to do at this point, having discovered as much as I can, and in truth more than I want, about the room I am in, none of which reassures me in any way. All that's left is to sit on the bed and wait.

So, I straighten my clothing and sit, and sit, and sit for what feels like an eternity. I strain to hear something, anything and… at one point believe I hear faint murmurings and movement, but it is indistinct and could be imagination. Then nothing. Just as I find my thoughts drifting and rambling at last, the door opens and he comes in.

I make straight for him, or where I judge he ought to be, initially getting it slightly off to one side, but adjusting quickly - scratching, kicking, and teeth bared, prepared to bite anything in range. He laughs as he captures my hands in one of his, propels me to the bed and bends me over it, stepping between my legs in order to stop me kicking.

As my head comes back, trying to connect with him in the only way left, I feel something cool but very constricting being slid over my head and cover my eyes, and then it's being yanked tighter. What the Hell?

He then lifts me by my right wrist and grabs my left with his other hand, before wedging it firmly between our bodies. Making a claw I grab at him, digging in with my nails against his abdomen, aiming to at the very least shock him into letting go, but he merely makes a tutting noise, slaps me hard, propels me a couple of feet across the room and as I gasp and try to regroup from that, I feel cool leather round my right wrist and hear a click. My wrist is now being held suspended from some contraption on the ceiling.

He had lifted me one handed and worse than a dangling dead weight with no effort at all, and he's all too obviously completely aware of the complete layout of this room. How can I fight this?

Now I'm getting really afraid. None of this is what I've come to expect of him. I panic, lashing out in all the ways I have left to me. I know I connected with some part of him with my left foot, because it hurt me like hell as I did it. He carries on regardless, grabs my left ankle and yanks down.

HARD.

I can't help it, I scream. He's stretching me beyond my body length and there's a line of agony from my right wrist all the way down to my left ankle. Then I hear another click and feel a similar cuff to that on my wrist around the flesh of my ankle joint, and it bites.

Breathing through the waves of hurt that threaten to drown me, I become aware of a slight screwing noise and suddenly I can sense light in the room. Instantly I make to get whatever was covering my eyes off me with my free hand, but as ever, he's too fast for me and intercepts with a sigh. He grabs my left hand and yanks up and out.

Again the sensation of leather against skin and…

CLICK.

God, whilst the pressure on my right side is eased, the strain on my left leg is increased unbelievably. I can't help but moan at how painful it is. Then the anger hits me again. Fuck him; I'm NOT going to make it easy. I kick out wildly with my right leg, desperate to hurt him, although it puts even more pressure on already taut and fiery muscles.

All too predictably, despite connecting solidly with what feels like his ribs, there is no reaction, other than his capturing my leg in both hands and pulling down and out, firmly and sharply.

Another click and I am utterly incapable of any effective movement, other than with my head.

Almost as if he can read the thought, I feel the coolness of leather again, this time being slipped around my neck, pulling tight enough to have me worried, but still able to breathe, and then the collar is pulled back, and I hear another click. My neck and therefore my head are now held back at an angle and I have no real voluntary movement at all. How the hell am I going to get out of this?

Next I feel him at my feet, slipping off my shoes, which were giving me at least some height to take the strain off my screaming wrists, but then he lifts first one foot and then the other, slipping them into other shoes, ones which involve me having the maximum arch to my foot. I'd judge the heels to be at least four inches. Whilst my instep protests, my arms say thank you, as it gives me weight bearing on my feet. I feel ankle straps being fastened, and can't help get a mental picture of what the shoes and me in them must look like. If these are fuck me shoes, then I definitely know what's going to happen to the wearer… and although I would never admit it out loud, the picture in my head causes a rush of desire to pulse through me.

Silence. I strain to make out any sound but to no avail. I can hear my own laboured breathing and fight to slow it, to force calm back into my system, despite the host of feelings coursing through me. I deliberately pull in deep slow breaths, hold them and release them, focusing on that and that alone.

It comes as a shock that the next sensation that hits me is something cool and flat caressing my cheek. I act purely on instinct, seeking to cool the heat that is coming off me, and momentarily press into that coldness.

Instantly I recoil as the tip of the knife draws blood. Not far, I don't have the range of mobility to move far, but everything in me that can cower from the blade does so. I wait, shallow breaths stuttering from me. What is he going to do?

I don't have long to wait. I feel the knife slide to the back of my jacket and the weight shifts as the material parts in a whisper. The knife goes to work on the sleeves and seams on each side until the jacket is just odd shaped pieces of material draping me. He pulls gently at these until all that's left is my dress. I hear him sigh. Is he pleased, displeased, really angry, or just mad? All I know is he has my total attention.

The knife starts a new journey from the back again, at the neck of my dress, sliding a whispering trail down to the hem, which, given my current position is at mid thigh length. As the knife travels south, the material blooms outward, until as it finishes its journey, it simply parts and hangs out from my body.

I feel movement and then the tip of the blade between my breasts, pressing against the apex of the vee of material, and again it slides south, surely and easily, causing the black linen to part as easily as all the other cuts had done. Once he has the dress in tatters, he gathers the material at the arms and roughly cuts through it, again pulling the material insidiously away from my body. He does it slowly, causing my skin to feel each millimetre of movement, like a stroke from a lover's hand.

For the first time tonight I feel the push of air against my ear as he leans in close and murmurs,

"Wish you'd worn underwear today, sweetness?"

I jolt at that, catching a vision of myself as I must now look, in black sheer bra and black stockings, those impossible shoes, stretched out, helpless, collared, bound and blindfolded. Despite myself, a deep, hidden part of me likes that picture a lot and, to the mortification of the rest of me, I feel resulting moisture seep from me. How could I enjoy this? My head is swimming.

I feel him move behind me again, his breath now seeming to caress the sensitive flesh at the back of my neck, making me want to arch my back. Then the feel of cold steel sliding under my bra and a sharp upward tug makes the material part instantly. I gasp as the bra gives up the weight of my breasts, although still covering them from his view. I can feel the fullness of them against the now sensitising material against my nipples.

He moves again and I feel one finger slide under the strap on the left and then feel the knife do its work.. Again on the other side, and then as he slowly peels the sheer fabric from my breasts, the delicious rub as the bra is slid off me. I can't help the moan that escapes me. I can only hope he takes it as being a moan of embarrassment. No such luck.

"Cold, Angel?" He chuckles.

Bastard! I open my mouth to say it out loud, but my breath is taken away as something large, plastic and buzzing is thrust steadily and surely inside me. It feels like it might split me in two. Oh Lord, that stretches me so. I feel so incredibly full, and despite myself, even wetter as a result.

As I try to accommodate to the invasion, and use my internal muscles to push it out, I can feel him attaching and tightening straps around my hips and thighs, holding it in place. Next I feel the buzzing getting even stronger deep inside me. Oh Lord, but that feels so fucking good.

I fight to maintain control of myself, trying to ignore the delightful feelings from inside me. Then there is a whooshing noise and I feel a hard CRACK against my bum. He's caning me. The feeling makes me jolt, in turn making the vibe move inside me. He does it again and again, setting my bum on fire, and creating a delicious ache deep inside me. Then to add to this I feel something cool and oily being drizzled over my chest, running down my breasts, coating my nipples, running down my stomach towards my clit, all the while feeling that maddening buzz and the movement my now instinctive writhing is causing the vibe to make.

Then I feel fingers find my clit, rubbing around it, as with the other hand he still lands blows on my bum with the cane. It's all too much for me. I want to beg him to fuck me, but I can't do that, can I get that wanton? For all I hate the thought, I know the answer isn't a simple No.

Even as I feel the two sides of my personality warring it out in my brain, I become aware that my body is already decided, as my hips are pushing my clit towards the fingers teasing it, which is also creating that wonderful movement inside, and that my breathing has an unmistakeable sexual rhythm to it.

I'm shocked to hear myself making noises of need and wanting, and as his fingers withdraw and aren't returning, sounds of loss. I wait, poised, hopeful that he will continue if I stop reacting, but instead I can feel the pressure building inside me and the unfulfilled need screaming its frustration through me.

"Please," it was a whisper that could be a sigh, but I hope it's enough. Those knowing fingertips return and slide over my wetness, keeping me on the edge, stoking the fires of need in me, and then… cease. I could scream, but after as much hesitation as I can summon the strength for, I swallow my pride and murmur again,

"Please…"

I let out a moan when I am rewarded again, but the silken friction stops far sooner this time. He is such a bastard, and part of me loves that too. I need so badly, I have to admit there's no fight left in me now. I am his creature.

"Please, I'll do anything, please don't stop."

"Anything?" His tone is even, unflurried, in my ear.

"Anything." I sigh. His knowing fingers reward me again and I feel the blindfold being loosened and taken off. It takes a few moments to adjust to the light, but as I focus I can see there is a crowd of men sitting behind what I now know is a glass wall.

"That, gentlemen, is how to train a slut." He says, turning towards the men.

"You need to be fucked, angel, don't you?" He asks me, all the while keeping up that circular delicious motion with his fingers. I moan out my need.

"Mhm hmm," he agrees, "You definitely need cock. These gentlemen want to help fill you with as much cock and cum as you can handle." A thrill courses through me at that. He feels it and I can hear the smile in his voice as he indicates to the men to make their way through. Meanwhile he sets about releasing me from my restraints and slowly, teasingly pulling the vibe from my very wet and hungry pussy.

"Now Angel," he says to me, when the men are in the room, all naked and all encouraging some very impressive erections, "A smart girl would thank the nice men for their interest, and at the same time try to avoid any rough handling by choosing to start with those she judged to be most aggressive, wouldn't she?" As he says this gently to me, he's pushing me down to my knees, and then lightly strokes my hair.

"Are you a smart girl, Honey?" There's a knowing chuckle in his question. He knows me so well.

As I kneel down the men form a semi circle around me. I can't help but scent the aroma of male sex in the air and I want. I survey each man in turn, not only his cock but his face, his stance, hints of his personality. As I survey each, making up my mind who to start with, I allow my hands to wander, gently weighing and stroking cocks and balls. A kid in a sweet shop. My mouth and other parts of me are watering in anticipation. I spot one man in particular who is HUGE, and who has a cold glint to his eye. A clever girl would satisfy him early on. This girl is going to make him wait, and hope for his worst.

At last my body, overcome with the need to feel and taste, takes over. I close my eyes, and allow my hands to roam over one man, relishing the feel of his dark haired stomach, the roughness of his leg hair, the weight of his balls, the delicious taste of his skin, the scent of his sex, and my tongue flicks out to taste his cock. I open my mouth and, having licked the length of him, take him into my mouth. My hands reach out flat palmed, waiting for someone to take the initiative and lay his cock on it, so that I can stroke him, tease him, and hopefully encourage him to spurt cum all over me. Two someones get the idea really quickly, and I slowly match the rhythm of my stroking them to the strokes I am being guided to make on that glorious cock in my mouth.