The Hottest Fire Ch 10

Chapter 10.

Barbara’s Advanced Training

That afternoon Ludlow took Barbara to London in the Jag, to a certain Victorian row house in Kensington. There he introduced her to the Iron Lady. The Iron Lady looked very elegant in a simple blue dress with a double strand of pearls around her neck; a golden silk scarf about her shoulders was held in place by a cameo brooch. She greeted Barbara in classic aristocratic manner, pro-offering her gloved hand to be kissed while at the same time managing to exude a friendly warmth. It seemed to Barbara that the Lady was somehow subtly suggesting that Life itself was nothing more than an amusing distraction.

“So this is the fresh meat, then, is it Jonathon?” she asked, choosing her crude expression for sheer effect upon Barbara. Startled, Barbara glanced over to Ludlow with widened eyes.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered respectfully.

“Hmmm, good then. I think I’m going to enjoy training you, then, young miss,” she said, speaking directly to Barbara. Her eyes travelled blatantly up and down Barbara’s lush, ripe body. Barbara had chosen a long, navy blue, sleeveless over-garment cut low that presented her tits to their best advantage; sitting up and pretty, a nice pair of cupcakes. Indeed, she seemed to be literally bursting out of her bodice. It was done up in the front with a long row of tiny black buttons, cut open below the waist and featured a slit in the back; a sort of equestrian outfit, her black leather miniskirt did not seem at all gaudy or ostentatious. She wore one of Ludlow’s white shirts; a white button-down collar number with the long sleeves rolled up at the cuffs. The necktie she wore, Ludlow’s also, lay between her bulging tits and almost gave her the countenance of a schoolgirl. Her blonde hair, plaited in braids that hung down over each shoulder, added to the effect, but the wickedly high-heeled shoes she wore, with little straps that buckled about her ankles, made the schoolgirl-ish look give way to a sort of wild adventuress air. A riding crop would not have been out of place.

The Iron Lady turned to Ludlow, “Does she know exactly what she’s getting involved in here?”

“Only in the most general of terms, ma’am,” Ludlow replied.

“Good, then. I tell you what, Jonathon. Due to the urgent state of the ongoing operation, why don’t you let young Miss . . .”

“Barbara,” Barbara interjected, “my name is Barbara.”

The Iron Lady gave Barbara a look that could freeze mercury over the tops of her tortoise-shell reading glasses. “. . . Miss Barbara and I get acquainted, and start with her training program,” she said acidly. “You can return to University College, Jonathon, and I’ll let you know when you can return to pick up Miss Barbara.”

“Very well, ma’am. About when might that be?”

“In about two weeks.”

Barbara stood quite demurely, clutching her handbag in front of her, her back straight and her titties pushed out, pert and impudent. Butterflies raged in her stomach, from the thought of unknown territory that lay ahead.

“Very well, ma’am,” Ludlow remarked. Jonathon turned to Barbara and they exchanged a soft, brief kiss on the lips. She felt like clutching him; she did not want him to leave. Barbara’s eyes revealed her concern. Ludlow gave the nervous girl a wink and a smile to cheer her up. “It’s quite all right,” he said. “just think of it as an in-depth studies-observation project in one of your sociology classes. That’s all it is, really. You’ll see.”

“I love you, Jonathon,” she said simply.

“I love you, too, ducks.”

“It’ll be a long two weeks, darling.”

“It’ll be over before you know it, love, and it’s for the best. You’ll see.”

They kissed again, lightly, then he turned to leave the house. The Iron Lady rose to see him to the door. At the door they held hands briefly, exchanged polite kisses on the cheek in the French fashion. She looked him in the eye; Ludlow detected a softening in her normal haughty persona. “She’s a beautiful young woman, Jonathon,” she said, quite out of character.

“Thank you.”

“I think you’re a very lucky man.”

“Please don’t be too hard on her,” he said.

“It takes the hottest fire to make the hardest steel,” the Bitch replied, returning to her normal demeanour. Ludlow nodded; it was true of his own training. The young girl must face her own trials and tribulations and emerge, stronger and the better for it. The Bitch softened again, placed a gloved hand to his face and lightly stroked his cheek with a finger. “We’ve had our moments together, Jonathon,” she said quietly, “let her have her turn.”

Ludlow nodded. They stood silently for a moment, holding hands and facing one another. The Bitch lightly squeezed his hands. “Goodbye, Jonathon.” He closed his eyes and ever so lightly kissed her on the lips.

“Goodbye, ma’am.”

When Ludlow left the Iron Lady returned to the room and said to Barbara, “Now then, young lady, why don’t we sit down and have a cup of tea, and we’ll go over your training program before we get started.” They moved into the front sitting room. The room was stark, almost barren, yet despite the bare walls and the uncarpeted hardwood floorboards, was appropriately appointed with a few pieces of silk-upholstered furniture that seemed not out of place. Yellow light of the afternoon’s sun flooded in through the swathes of gauzy drapes that adorned the two broad windows on either side of the white marble fireplace. A girl in a traditional French maid’s attire was placing a tray bearing a porcelain tea service on a small side table.

“Thank you, Gabrielle, that will be all for now.” The French maid performed a courtesy, of all things, and turned to leave the room. When she did so Barbara became aware that the maid’s outfit was actually only white cuffs and a frilly starched white apron worn over a black fishnet body stocking. Barbara was taken aback to discern that the girl was quite naked beneath the see-thru garment. The Iron Lady seemed not to take any notice, either of the erotic nature of Gabrielle’s costume, nor of Barbara’s gaze as Gabrielle’s shapely backside exited the room.

The Iron Lady spoke as she poured tea for the two of them. “Before we proceed, it must be understood that normally an operator goes through a quite extensive period of training, in three phases, the longest of which is eight weeks. Given the current situation, and the fact that you’re involved in the conduct of an ongoing operation, we’ve narrowed down your training regimen to the absolute basics required to ensure your survivability in an operational environment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barbara replied, taking her cue from Ludlow’s etiquette.

“It will be almost impossible to impart upon you the kind of discipline that an agent normally develops over years of preparation and training. You shall have to rely upon a deep sense of self-discipline, which we have detected in our investigations into your school performance, both academically and in sport. Hopefully your stay here over the next two weeks may heighten this trait, for it is absolutely necessary for survival in our line of work.

“Having said this, it is absolutely imperative that from this moment onward, for the duration of the next two weeks, you obey any and all commands and directions given to you, immediately and without question. Are you willing to do this?”

Barbara hesitated for the slightest moment, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I noticed that you did not give your assent right away,” said the Bitch. “This is good – we do not want automatons here, we want agents capable of free will, able to think on their feet and to make difficult decisions under the most trying of circumstances. We have already determined you to possess this personal trait, part of the reason why we are willing to bring you onboard at such short notice. However, I will say it again; because of the extremely abbreviated time to which circumstances limit us, during the course of your training here you must be willing to obey any and all directions that you receive. Immediately, without hesitation. Is this completely understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Barbara said, with the slightest hint of resignation.

“Very well then,” the Bitch proceeded. “Subjects covered will include simple tradecraft, clandestine communications, an introduction to explosives and pistol marksmanship to name a few. Are you quite comfortable with this?” She held her cup up by the saucer and sipped her tea as she imparted this, as if she were discussing something as mundane as The Royal Horticultural Society’s annual Rose Exhibition.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied. Ludlow had briefed her on some of what she was to expect, although he had not gone into great detail.

“You’re an open-minded and intelligent young lady, otherwise you wouldn’t be here with us.” The Iron Lady replaced her teacup and saucer to the table and faced Barbara, her gloved hands folded primly in her lap. Barbara nodded politely, holding her saucer in one hand and holding her teacup daintily in the fingers of the other. “Now then, I’m sure that you have a healthy and enthusiastic interest in

shagging

, don’t you my dear?” She said this last with special emphasis on the earthy term.

Barbara nearly lost the tea she was sipping; it was her first introduction to the Lady’s habitual use of crude language quite out of context with her surroundings, her refined poise. “Well, uh, yes, I suppose I do. Yes, ma’am.” Barbara was apprehensive, but not anxious. Jonathon had asked her to have faith in him; that no matter how bizarre or outlandish the course of events that followed may seem, everything that was to occur served a legitimate reason and that although she may not realize it at the time, given time the point of it all would come to her.

“Of course you do. It seems that we humans are the only members of the animal kingdom that engage in

sport-fucking.

” The Iron Lady said this, looking at Barbara quite straightforwardly over the top of her teacup. “You’re young, free-thinking; a modern woman. Why should you deny yourself exquisite joy and pleasure when such is so readily available, quite literally at an arm’s length if necessary?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am, quite,” Barbara replied, a bit nervously. She was not sure where the Lady was going with all this. The entire discourse was beginning to remind her of certain uncomfortable conversations she’d had as a young girl with her mother, who would have positively

died

if she’d known of her sixteen-year-old daughter’s nightly digital adventures.

“A woman’s sexuality is, after all, her greatest weapon, don’t you agree?”

“Uh, yes, quite,” Barbara replied.

“History is replete with examples of remarkable women who have made full use of their natural, uh,

assets

in order to achieve certain objectives,” when the Iron Lady said this Barbara imagined she detected a slight emphasis on the first syllable of the word ‘assets’. “The

femme fatales

of this world are quite legendary – Mata Hari, Cleopatra, Helen of Troy; why the list goes right on back to the Old Testament. One thinks of Delilah, or even Eve, for that matter.

“My point is that no matter how strong the man, how invincible the warrior, they all have the same vulnerability. Some may be more immune to temptation than others, and that’s where, shall we say, certain ‘advanced’ sexual techniques come into play.

Barbara was beginning to feel a bit warm in the bright, sunlit room, and wondered if she could open a window, when the Iron Lady said quite abruptly, “Well then, are you quite ready to begin?”

“Uh, now?” Barbara had anticipated a good nights rest, a chance to acquaint herself with her new surroundings, perhaps getting off to a good start in the morning.

“There is no time to lose, my dear. Please be aware that Jonathon is, at this very time, critically involved in a very important and very real-world operation.” The Iron Lady regarded Barbara with a look over her spectacles that left no question to the seriousness of the entire enterprise, “an operation that you are already involved in, regardless of your wishes or desires.

“I’m ready,” Barbara said in a quiet voice, wondering not for the first time exactly what she was getting herself into.

“Good girl. Now go stand over there in front of the mantelpiece and take off your clothes.” The Bitch said it simply, as if she were asking Barbara to pass the sugar, yet Barbara sensed a dead earnestness in her voice. Her heartbeat increased noticeably as she stood up, walked stiffly to the fireplace and turned to face the Bitch.

Her fingers seemed to fumble as she undid the long row of buttons down the front of her dress. The buttons came undone ever so slowly, one by one, until at last she reached the bottommost one. She looked up, took a breath, and shrugged the garment to the floor. The Bitch merely looked on expectantly, a look of studied boredom on her face. Barbara unzipped the side fastening to her leather miniskirt; that, too, fell to the floor and she stepped out of it, careful not to catch her heels as she did so.

The long tails of Jonathon’s white shirt still covered her, but not for long. Barbara’s pulse raced in her ears; she felt a heat flushing her face. She was embarrassed! To please Jonathon she had lately taken to not wearing panties beneath her skirts; she found this excited him. Now her secret was about to be revealed! Still, she had just agreed to obey

any and all

directions she received here immediately, so to hesitate was out of the question. Fumbling with the knot she undid the necktie, then somehow managed to unbutton the front of her shirt. She opened it slowly, her fingers gradually pulling it back to her shoulders, to let it fall to the floor.

Now she stood clad in only the thigh-high, lace top stockings that she wore just for the occasion today and the white lace-trimmed, scalloped demi-bra that displayed the rounded tops her breasts to their best advantage. Other than these delicate underthings she was quite literally bare-ass naked. Her high-heeled shoes, with their little straps that buckled about her ankles, only served to enhance her loveliness, to present her natural beauty in a truly erotic manner. She went to unfasten the plastic hook that held her bra together in the front when the Bitch spoke. “You can stop right there, young lady. That’s fine for now.”

As Barbara stood before the Bitch she felt cool air about her naked ass. Her freshly shaven pussy was for all practical purposes fully on display; her slit quite visible beneath her tiny triangle of neatly trimmed blonde stubble. She felt more than a little ridiculous with her schoolgirl’s braids hanging down her shoulders, and wondered what was the purpose of this exercise, where this was all going, when the Bitch reached over to a side table to lift a little bell and gave it a ring. To Barbara’s utter discomfiture, the French maid appeared bearing a tray.

Upon the tray were a number of strange devices, two of which Barbara recognised as vibrators; they looked rather like plastic flashlights but they each tapered to a cone-like head, such as a man’s penis only smoother, more conical. One of the vibrators was smaller than the other; it was not as quite as thick around as a standard flashlight; indeed, it was rather slim. The other was of a more standard length and width; indeed, it looked larger than Jonathon’s cock, even when he was fully rigid. Barbara did not recognize the other three objects. They were identical, but in three different sizes; each one was slightly larger than the one next to it. Black in colour, they were made of a smooth, shiny material; perhaps finely polished ebony, or some semi-precious stone. Rather cylindrical in shape but slightly curved with a rounded head on one end, widening out come to an abrupt flat end on the other. She was curious as to what the strange items were. Little was she aware that she would very soon be quite intimate with their use and purpose.

“Thank you, Gabrielle,” the Bitch said, as she got up and ran her fingers over the items on the tray. She passed over the vibrators and selected one of the other strange devices, not the biggest one nor the smallest but the middle-sized one. “This will do nicely,” she said, holding it up with both hands. “Bend over, Missy.”

“Ma’am?”

“Bend over and grasp your ankles.

Do it!

”

Mortified, Barbara did as instructed, placing her feet about a meter apart in order to be able to grasp her ankles. As she placed her head down between her ankles her blonde braids fell forward about her face. How utterly humiliated she felt, bent over with her ass in the air; spread wide open with the most intimate part of her body quite on display for the Bitch and that strange foreign girl in the bizarre maid’s outfit!

The Bitch placed her hand on Barbara’s ass, caressed it, ran her fingers in between Barbara’s asscheeks. Barbara was dismayed to detect the Bitch gently

stroking her asshole!

Thankfully, Barbara thought, Jonathon had been quite efficient in cleaning her ass that morning in the shower! Then she felt something round and blunt pushing against her asshole; she suddenly grasped the purpose of the strange items that lay on Gabrielle’s tray. The Bitch had her hands on either side of Barbara’s ass and with both thumbs was pushing the thing into her asshole! It was some kind of

buttplug!

When her little asshole tightened up instinctively against the intruding device, the Bitch spoke up, “you might as well relax, darling. This thing is going in, so the best way to take it is to just breathe out and relax.”

Barbara realized the validity of this advice. She let out a breath and tried to relax her anal sphincter as much as possible. She detected a wetness; the Bitch had applied some kind of lotion to her asshole as a lubricant. There was a slight pressure and suddenly the buttplug was inside of her. The rounded head hurt a little going in, but not much; her asshole seemed to easily adapt to the foreign item jammed into it. The Bitch ran her fingers lower, trailed them across Barbara’s pussylips before she said, “That’s good enough for now, young lady. You may stand up now.”

Barbara stood up, brought her legs together. The horrible buttplug remained wedged firmly in her asshole, a humiliating reminder of the entire embarrassing ordeal. She wondered what the possible purpose the offending episode might serve, and was beginning to suspect that possibly the Bitch was simply kinky when her musings were answered.

“Most women fail miserably to fully employ that which God and Nature have provided us. A woman’s body has three orifices that men seek to enter; most women fail to properly make use of even the first to deliver pleasure to a man. In recent years there has been growing acceptance, indeed an active interest, for using the second orifice to provide men pleasure, although the history of fellatio dates back at least to ancient Babylon. The third method available also dates back to ancient times. The ancient Greeks come to mind. Despite their culture of physical purity they did not limit themselves when it came to seeking physical pleasure; indeed, it is suggested that they

preferred

a certain, uh, ‘backdoor’ approach to things.”

Barbara shuddered when she realized the ultimate objective of the afternoon’s humiliating training session. She was relieved somewhat when the Iron Lady continued, “it is not our intention to have you pleasure a man in such a way, at least not here and now. For one thing, your anus will need stretching, loosening; hence the purpose of the buttplug, and this will take some time.”

Barbara wiggled her asscheeks a bit, flexed her buttock muscles and attempted to squirm about the object which so rudely penetrated her asshole. As she patiently stood in her bra and nylons she found she was growing a bit cold in the room, which not so long ago seemed quite stuffy and warm. Her nipples stood out, poking through the flimsy, sheer material of her brassiere. It was not at all unpleasant when the Bitch pinched her nipples through her bra, one at a time. They tightened into hard, little cones; an electricity coursed through Barbara’s entire being. Gabrielle the French maid stood to the side, her hands in front of her, with a look of studied disinterest on her face.