Lucy sits in her white linen dress trying not to squirm. She's almost ready to go out. Her buff-coloured high-heeled boots are being laced up her slender calves by her Mistress' maid, Nanette. Lucy has lifted her skirt for Mistress' pleasure, and she trembles to imagine the sight she must present: the split-crotch leather thong between her leg holding a trainer dildo into her narrow sex, the wetness leaking from around it to bead her thighs, and most embarrassing of all the silver ring piercing the hood of Lucy's clitoris, with a fine looped silver chain pulled back between her legs and ass cheeks so that Mistress can take hold. Lucy has no doubt that Nanette is intimately familiar with this instrument of exquisite torture. The beaded silver oval ring is Mistress Caroline's trademark, common to all who serve in her household. But it's new to Lucy. She's just healed from the piercing. Her training has to start as soon as possible, and today is the day Lucy has been cleared for action.
Physically, she's ready. Mentally...that's another question.
"Stand," Mistress orders.
Lucy realizes that Nanette has finished her task and is kneeling to the side in respect, as their imposing Mistress has come up behind Lucy's chair. She jumps to her feet, smoothing her short, full skirt down to her knees. That's about all the coverage she'll get –less, in the back, when the chain is pulled. But from the front, she looks decent, even innocent, in her white dress and blonde curls, with a little silver choker-style necklace and oval ring pendant around her throat. Lucy catches sight of herself in the mirror by the door, her Mistress tall and proud behind her, and gives a bright, angelic smile.
Mistress' hand twitches.
"Oh!" Lucy gasps. The chain has gone taut between her legs, pulling the ring and putting pressure directly on her clit. A vivid lancing pain shoots through her sensitive tissues. At the same time, though, she feels her cunt tighten around the dildo, sending waves of pleasure through her thighs. She's been denied release for so long. Her angelic expression transforms into one of sexual urgency: chin tilted up, mouth open as if begging to be filled, eyes half-closed in surrender. She does squirm now. It hurts to move, and yet it feels so good she can't help it, she just has to...
"Ah ah," Mistress Caroline scolds, letting the chain go slack. "I can't take you anywhere with that 'come fuck me' look on your face. We're going for a walk in the park, and I want you decent in public, no matter what you are underneath. Got that?"
"Yes, Miss." Lucy closes her mouth and straightens up.
"Good. Just one more thing, then."
The taller woman reaches around and roughly cups Lucy's firm, high breasts in both hands. Lucy yelps. Sewn inside the bodice of her dress is a fine layer steel wool, stripped, cut, and abraded to prickling sharpness. The mesh chafes Lucy's nipples to standing, which only makes them press harder into the harsh fabric, swelling until they are just visible through the lacy breast of the dress.
Mistress nods in satisfaction at her little pet-girl, and Lucy's heart bucks in simultaneous adoration and anxiety. She knows her hard, flushed nipples show through the white dress. Worse, the chain tugs up her skirt when taut, revealing and stimulating her most private parts at the same time. Lucy has never done anything so humiliating in public. Part of her wants to beg–oh kind, generous Mistress!–to call it all off.
But at the same time, Lucy senses a challenge. Despite her fear, this young woman in white with her soft ringlets and long lashes has an iron core of determination. Something inside her spurs her to perform even the most degrading tasks with utter competence. Through her grace and skill, she wants to transform her degradation into a beautiful expression of devoted servitude, of willing obedience. And so Lucy accepts the first challenge of her training, and steps out with her head held high to go for a little walk.
Walking, as it turns out, is harder than she thought. At least, walking naturally. The couple has stepped directly out from Mistress' historic brownstone townhouse, through the wrought iron gate of her willow-hung yard, and into New York's downtown rush. Sure, it's a side street in a genteel neighborhood, and the velvet evening has slowed business traffic to a trickle. But it's still a big, busy city, and they have to walk four or five blocks just to get to the park. For this first part of the trek, Lucy has to pass perfectly. She can't show any sign of her condition. And that means walking normally, casually, in heels –and everything else she is wearing underneath.
Her first steps make her breath come shallow and fast. The split-crotch panties leave her so exposed that her thighs chafe her delicate labia every time she puts a foot forward. The ring and chain pull cool and wet between her inner lips, tugging at her clit. The dildo feels hugely uncomfortable, though Lucy knows it's barely half the size she's being trained to take eventually. Altogether, the only thing she can think about with every step is the intense sensation between her legs. Her sex is pulsing so hard that a kind of elated terror sweeps over her as she thinks,
'Oh God, I'm going to cum already. We're barely ten steps from the door and I think I'm going to gush right here in the street. No, no, please, not yet!'
Her steps falter as she tries desperately to rein in her body, the thrust and twist of her unruly hips. She knows she's biting her lip, blushing hard, betraying herself, and to add to her humiliation someone is coming down the street towards them. No, oh no!
"Lucy. Relax."
It's Mistress Caroline's deep, calm voice. The older woman stops and admires a tiny patch of garden, pointing things out to Lucy so that their backs are turned to the passer-by. She murmurs,
"Breathe with me now. Nice and slow. In. And out. In. Out."
Lucy is already there. The moment she heard the word "relax" her breath slowed automatically, her panicked spike of arousal fading like a dream. She's been trained that way; she had to be in order to take the pain her Mistress loves to inflict. Her desire is still terribly inflamed, but the burn is slower, deeper, more manageable. She straightens her posture, sets her face, and gives her Mistress a meaningful glance, mixing gratitude, wry relief, and new confidence. Her efforts are rewarded with an archly amused smile from the one she adores.
"Good girl. Now let's go. We're not even to the park yet."
They set out again, side by side now. Lucy can't help but sneak glances at Mistress Caroline, who looks so sophisticated in her light summer suit with glossy black highlights of patent belt and boots, her dark hair swept up high.
Looking at her, Lucy remembers the first time she saw the woman who now owns her. Lucy was a struggling college student working at the makeup counter of a department store. She was studying literature in the evenings and reading the most explicit stories of bondage and humiliation she could find online so late into the night that all the makeup in the world couldn't cover the dark circles under her eyes. Not to mention the bruises she inflicted on herself, trying to cuff her own wrists to the headboard of her bed.
It was those cuffs that gave her away. She wore a heavy long-sleeved blouse to hide her strange bruises, but it was the middle of summer and she stood out like a sore thumb (or wrist!) in such a wintery blouse. She was already embarrassed when a tall, stylish customer in a short-sleeved suit called her over just because she knew she looked so weird by comparison. The woman asked for a blusher. Lucy handed it over. And, oh God, she still shivers to remember the appraising look her elegant, slim-suited customer gave her wrists as she passed the compact over the mirrored counter. Her right sleeve pulled back, not too much, but enough to give away her secret. Seeing those tell-tale marks, the stylish woman caught Lucy's hand and stared straight into her eyes, as if stripping her soul bare right there in the department store.
Lucy can't even recall now what they said or how they agreed to meet after that. In fact, she's pretty sure she was totally incoherent. But she will never forget how Caroline (then, just Caroline) pierced her with that irresistible dark-eyed stare and pulled her deepest desire to the surface, like a fish on a silver hook. Lucy knew the woman's true power in that electric moment of unspoken mutual revelation. And she knew her own submission to it.
Mistress Caroline later scolded Lucy for projecting her submissiveness so readily, telling her that she was an open book and people would tear out her pages if she wasn't careful. Lucy parried that maybe she liked to be torn. So Mistress had taken her at her word, physically and at length. The leather flogger, wasn't it, that time? And then---
Lucy doesn't realize her quick glances have become a heated stare until her Mistress gives the chain a jerk and murmurs,
"Eyes down. You beg when I tell you, not before."
"Mmph!" Lucy gasps at the sharp pressure on her clit and looks down, feeling chastised. "I'm sorry, Miss. I was just remembering...you're so elegant, I couldn't help it."
Mistress Caroline snorts at the attempted flattery.
"Well, you'll have to get used to it. You're the one in my sights, pet, and you always have been. Get back out in front, at the end of your leash where I can see you."
Lucy obediently picks up her pace, striding forward until she feels the chain just touching the hem of her skirt in the back. She shudders at the hint of pressure and the stimulation of walking faster. She is a pace or two in front of her Mistress, just enough to present a nice view of her ass and the movements of her hips, which will betray her squirming arousal if she start to succumb again. Lucy makes an extra effort to smooth out her stride and concentrate on getting down the sidewalk in front of her. Focus. Breathe. Relax. Yes.
"Very good." Mistress says. "And here we are."
They've reached one of the many gates to the park. The trees are already overhanging the sidewalk, shading the couple. Mistress Caroline steps in close to Lucy, who quivers at the contact in sudden anticipation. But Mistress just puts a hand on the iron push-gate to let them both in. She gives instructions in a low, firm voice.
"Listen. I want you to stop thinking about your pussy for once and look around. Engage all your senses. What's it like to be here, now, knowing what I'm doing to you? Don't talk, just feel it."
She gives Lucy a guiding push forward and they are off down a little side path. Like a magic trick, Lucy's field of vision widens and clarifies even as the branches close in around her. She was so lost in thought earlier that she didn't even notice the scenery. She'd been walking blind. But now, the world seems to flood into her senses with almost surreal intensity. All at once she becomes aware of the musky scent of crushed leaves and damp earth, the cottony-thick air of a humid summer's evening, the way tops of the trees still catch the last of the mellow sunset above them while the shadows get bluer below. Everything seems imbued with the new tang of her heightened awareness.
She can feel much more of her body than just her throbbing sex now, too. She pays attention to where she places each high-heeled foot on the uneven path and the way her movements make her skirt sway. She notices the brush of the skirt's hem against her thighs, stiff and soft at once. Trailing her attention up her body, she feels the tightness of the bodice around her ribcage and under her breasts. And oh, her breasts! The chafe of the steel wool, forgotten in her earlier frenzy, comes back to her even stronger than before. It pricks her nipples mercilessly, but at the same time it feels so delicious that she wiggles her shoulders in sensual appreciation. She tilts her head back, looking up and all around.
"What does the world look like to you, Lucy?" Mistress Caroline asks.
"It's...so beautiful. I can't even say. It's so intense."
"Mmm. It looks beautiful from here too."
It takes Lucy a moment to realize that Mistress Caroline is talking about her, about the sight of her weaving through the woods at dusk. But before she can look back to smile her thanks, she feels a tug to the left deep between her legs. Like a horse responding to the rein, she turns. She heads down the left-hand side of the forking path before she fully understands what has happened. Then it comes to her: Mistress Caroline has pulled the left side of the looped chain to steer her by her sex.
