Training Day

I had finally grown sick of her shit. I didn't doubt that Stacy loved me, but she had grown much more fond of what I could do for her than anything else. It was not as if she did not know who I was or my personality, but it seemed like she constantly wanted to make life as difficult as possible. Even though I worked hard, made very good money, supported her in all of her endeavours, she always seemed to have something to complain about. Through it all though, I loved her, and didn't want to lose her. As such, it seemed as if only daring measures would bring some peace to our lives.

The thing that bothered me most was that she brazenly used her body to extract more from me. When she wanted to spend a few hundred dollars of my hard-earned money, she would be wet, open and available for anything. But, let me be the initiator or she be unhappy about something, then I would be painfully rationed.

To stem my rapidly draining bank account, and perhaps gain the upper hand in a relationship that I desperately wanted but could not have, I took drastic measures. I called my accountant, and had her bank accounts frozen. She had been vacationing in Jamaica at an all-inclusive resort by herself, while I toiled away at work. I knew she had enough money to cover getting back home from the airport, but she would have nothing more.

Her entry was not surprising. She tried to go shopping when she got back, and was terribly embarrassed at Macy's when she presented over $1200 worth of clothes, and was politely told that her credit card was declined. Stacy was in a rage when she came home.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Where is my money?" She screamed, slamming her two suitcases down on the floor in the entry way to the home that I had built for her when we first married. "I went to pick up some things and my fucking card was declined!! Where is the money?"

I was cool as a cucumber, as I sat in my recliner in the Armani suit that I reserved only for board meetings, calmly sipping a whiskey sour. I set it down on the end table and said, "Your money has been spent."

"What the FUCK are you talking about?" she exclaimed in her usual foul tone.

She had not even noticed Rafale standing calmly by the curtains.

His French accent was heavy, "Pardon me, mademoiselle. Your money has been spent on my services." Rafale was a striking figure. Very slight in build, tall, with a jet black ponytail, and impeccably dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

"And who the hell are you? " she replied, walking towards him, almost stomping to emphasize the sound her heels made on the marble floor, as if to express her dominance. She stopped at arms length from him, when his hand lashed out, and grasped her slender neck.

"My name is Rafale, mademoiselle. I see from your behavior that James was right in seeking me. You are, what do you Americans say a 'bitch.' " His grip on her neck was firm, but not overly constricting to the point of being painful.

I could see the rage in Stacy's eyes when she turned towards me. "Get up off your ass you worthless piece of shit!! How dare you let him talk to me like that! You better get this grubby little Frenchman's hands off of m....."

Her words trailed off into the vaulted ceilings of Stacy's mansion, coupled with the stinging clap of Rafale's hand slapping her cheek. I admit I winced at seeing my beloved Stacy being struck in such a manner, but I kept my seat. Tears were running down her face at the force of the blow, and I could see the reddening of her cheek moments after.

"Mademoiselle," said Rafale calmly. "James has paid me the healthy sum of 20 thousand US dollars to correct your abhorrent behavior and I will not accept you addressing him in such a fashion." Rafale turned, holding tightly to Stacy's neck and guiding her head, to survey the high ceilings, the expensive imported furnishings, plush rugs, and the evening sunlight peering through large plate glass windows. All things that Stacy had demanded at my expense as a condition of her love.

"20 grand you cocksucker? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

The second slap resonated even louder than the first. Stacy's cheek was a bright, angry red as he loosed his grip, and dropped her to the floor, one of her heels sliding away across the floor. I gripped the sides of my chair, as the pain of seeing my love hurt so ripped into my soul. But I knew that it was for the best, and I did nothing. Even through her sobbing eyes looking up at me, I did nothing.

Rafale smiled at me. "You have done well Monsieur James. I am sure that you will make a fine Master to this little bitch. Others have caved even this early on."

I looked at Stacy and saw her all too familiar rage flash for a moment, and then she went back to her quieting sobs.

"Monsieur, " he continued, "I am ready to take her, but I have one question for you."

I rose from my chair as I prepared to say goodbye to Stacy. "Yes, what is that?"

Rafale grabbed Stacy briskly from the floor by a handful of her dress, her gasping limply as he held her aloft. "Do you wish for me to address her as her given name, Stacy, or by my preference, as bitch as she has so deftly proven herself to be?"

Stacy raised her head at me with pleading eyes, mascara running down her face in dark ugly streaks, literally begging me to do something to call this off.

"Bitch will work fine for now," I said, staring at her. "I might decide to call her Stacy again some day, but not today."

Rafale smirked again. "So it is done." Rafale glanced at his watch. "Monsieur, I will take her now. All of her things must remain here, including her clothes, so you may not wish to witness her departure. She will be ready for you to retrieve her in 7 days."

"That will be fine." I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I had intensely researched Rafale. I knew what she would endure, hence the high price for his service. But I had also heard of what he could accomplish. "I'm going to go upstairs, I don't need to watch."

As I walked up the stairs, I heard the rip of her $1000 dress as he tore it from her body. I couldn't resist one last backwards glance as I walked, a last glance of my old, beautiful, mean Stacy. There was a flash of anger as I saw that she hadn't even bothered to wear panties, her naked body skidding across the floor as he held her by one hand to the waiting car outside.

Stacy cried the entire way to Rafale's home, an almost pretentious manor around 30 miles away, nestled in a tree lined valley. There was a light mist falling on the windows of the car, and they mirrored Stacy's tears as she sat curled in a naked ball in the back seat of the car, the leather seat of the late model Mercedes providing her a stinging reminder of the life that she might not ever have again. She had no money, no clothes, no anything but herself. She would have to earn it back. But only with her compliance could she do that. Unless, she thought, she could figure out a way to escape. Then she could exact her revenge on that bastard James, and this Rafale character. But, as Rafale had called her earlier, she was a bitch that never really had learned any skills that might do her any good to get herself out of this situation. Stacy shut her eyes and tried to close out everything.

She was successful at that, until she heard the car door nearest to her open, and a hand grasp her wrist. But it was not the rough hand of a man, but the soft, soothing hand of a woman. It was so firm, yet soothing at the same time. She forced her eyes open just enough to see the reddish brown skin of a beautiful, round Indian woman holding onto her, pulling her from the car. Stacy had not even heard the sharp sound of gold locks clinking against the shiny steel cuffs and anklets circling her ankles and wrists. When she finally realized, she became a little frightened at at the sight, the knowledge that this graceful, beautiful woman was bound to whomever held the key to those locks. Stacy heard another door slam, and the jerk of the woman became violently strong, yanking Stacy from the car and onto the concrete. Stacy cried out as the hard ground abraded her skin, made so soft from years of pampering and luxury. She could only manage a glance sideways as she saw the woman kneeling as Stacy laid there in a naked, disheveled heap. She could barely see the tips of her toes peeking out from beneath the rich, thick red and gold embroidered dress that she wore, her feet crossed. Her hands, all ten fingers adorned with silver rings were, neatly crossed hand over hand in her lap. Stacy looked up at Rafale.

"Hello, Bhuvi," he said politely, bowing and very gently taking her left hand, kissing it. "I hope you have been well."

Bhuvi had a very sing song, melodic tone to her voice, thickened by her Hindi accent. "I have been fair, Rafale, but I am so happy that you are finally home. My heart has ached to see you."

"And mine for yours, my love. Surprisingly as Stacy watched intently, Rafale plopped down on the hard ground, his clearly expensive suit becoming dusty and dirty in the process.

" We have a difficult one here." He cast a sideways glance at Stacy. Stacy dropped her eyes, as his stare almost seemed painful to return.

"Yes, Rafale." She returned the same gaze to Stacy as Rafale had. "She is an undisciplined little bitch."

Stacy winced as Rafale's hand rose, delivering the same slap that she had experienced rang across Bhuvi's face. He rose to his feet, dusting off his pants.

Bhuvi literally had to crawl across the ground to rest her fingertips at Rafale's feet. "I'll not have that language from you, dear." He said, looking down at her. "I have spent years training you and I will not accept less from you now."

Stacy was very afraid. "Rafale, please do not be too mad at me. I lost my control for a moment. Don't withdraw your love. I will have Adam and Michael whip me right now if it will restore me in your eyes." Her eyes looked up at him, pleading, framed with beautifully thick jet black hair.

Rafale's gaze waxed judgmental for what seemed like ages as the tears rolled like amber down Bhuvi's cheeks. "No my love, your whipping will be for reserved for my own hands, so that I can share the pain with you." Bhuvi dropped her head, almost touching her head to the ground.

"Oh Rafale, please you don't have to, I'm sure that they can see to it."

Rafale reached down, almost visciously, and took a thick handful of her hair, and leaning down said, "I told you I would do it myself. Besides, I have much more important tasks that I need you to attend to. This 'bitch' will need your attention, because her James needs her to be properly corrected. I'm sure that you will make sure that she is properly trained."

Bhuvi nodded as best she could, her hair held taught by Rafale's firm grip. He continued, staring into Stacy's bewildered eyes the entire time, "And you will not refer to her as 'bitch' at any time, otherwise I will let Adam and Michael do whatever they please with you. You will address her by her proper name, which is Stacy."

"Yes Rafale."

Rafale's hand reached out to clasp Bhuvi's throat, holding her chin high. Stacy gasped.

"However, if she defies you, then you will answer to me. Are we in agreement."

Bhuvi nodded nervously.

"Very good Bhuvi. You have never failed me before, I am so glad to have you with me. But there is one question that i've had since I arrived with the bitch." He let go of her hair, and she collapsed down to the ground.

"Rafale, tell me what is it?"

"Why did you greet me wearing a dress? You know my preference in that matter."

Her eyes were downcast again. "Oh Rafale, I wanted to give you the pleasure of unwrapping your gift."

Rafale smiled and laughed. "Bhuvi, I could not have asked for anyone better." Stacy was in awe, as she knelt there, naked, with scuffed and aching knees at the display before her. With the grace of a perfect gentleman, he leaned and took her hand, raising her to her feet. She stood at tense attention, her ample chest heaving as he, never letting go of her hand and never releasing his gaze into her eyes, almostly surgically reached around Bhuvi's back and unzipped her dress. With a quick twist of her shoulders, it fell away. Stacy felt a hint of wetness between her legs as she saw the full round breasts, reddish brown with dark thick nipples and Bhuvi's curvaceous hips. In between was the lightest dusting of straight, dark hair as she held her knees tight. There were thick black henna tatoos of vines and flowers snaking their way up both of her legs, around her calves and up her thighs, ending on both sides of her pelvis. Their beauty was interrupted only by the harsh steel of the cuffs around her ankles, and the jingle of the locks that held them in place in the silent air.

Bhuvi relished in grace at that moment, her body there for Stacy to see.

She broke her lover's stare with Rafale long enough to say, "James will see you the same way soon...." Her voice trailed away as Rafale took her from behind the neck and pressed her passionately into her, kissing her with a violence that could only be possible through years of practice.

Stacy slinked down onto the driveway, glancing curiously at the thin, dark lines that crisscrossed Bhuvi's back and full round ass, not caring how much the cement irritated her soft, pampered buttocks. She laid on the pavement and whispered to herself, "Please James, I hope you think the same way about me some day."