It had been three weeks since I had been rear ended by Zara, the beautiful and oh so commanding Desi goddess who responded to my superior attitude by stripping me naked in the streets and giving me the spanking I deserved, and in the process discovering how many needs I had that she could fulfill.
Here I am, ready for my training. I shiver in anticipation. I stand only five seven, my weight is a constant battle as I am built to Ruben's taste not current fashion, my long red hair, blue eyes and pale skin pass the muster for suburban royalty, but my 48GG-40-46 figure requires lots of hard work to keep lush not just round.
I am dressed in tight black yoga pants, and a tight yoga top, both stretched beyond decency. They were custom ordered for me by Zara. The top says Randee, and the pants say Angrejee Veshya, all with matching Hindi beneath them. The top says prostitute, and the bottoms say English Whore. It amuses Zara to make me wear these in public on the way to and from my training. She knows how shy and conservative I am, to be so publicly exposed as a proper married woman, and openly advertised as her plaything didn't just make me humiliated, it made me almost insane with lust. The final article of clothing I was permitted was my collar, a pretty pink dog collar, also ordered off the internet, with stainless steel letters "Zara's Pet".
Zara's home was not opulent, it was beyond that. She had a large dance studio where we worked out, and then played, adjacent to the sauna and hot tub where we would relax, and I would massage her and we would do each other's hair. Every day I came here to work out, because Zara was determined to put me in the best shape of my life. She also made me dance for her, as sensually as I could, teasing me, taunting me, refusing to lay a finger on me or permit me to even kiss her pedicured toes until I had driven her so mad with desire she would pin me to the wall and ravage me.
I am a submissive, I have lived my life hiding my body, being the first girl to develop does not make you popular, it makes you a target for all the girls and boys to tease, so I have always been ashamed of my body, always hidden it. I was the good girl every mother wanted to have, but my body and my sex drive had needs of their own, needs I always supressed because I had no idea how to fulfill them, and lacked to courage to do it on my own. Zara is not training me out of my submissiveness, she is training me into it.
How can I describe her? She moved with a sort of supple sensuous grace that left me feeling like lumbering cow. Her saree looked formal from a distance, but closer in revealed a similar green leaf pattern bodice under the wrap, and much of her body, down to the swell of her generous hips was highlighted more than concealed. The gold and green fall of the saree called attention to the swell of her high firm breasts, just as the water like flow caused your eyes to follow the roll of those hips, the line of those long bronze legs, and wonder at the mystery just concealed between them. Looking up into her eyes, flashing like onyx beneath an odd gold chain of medallions affixed in her hair and hanging to her forehead, I saw a look of bored anger and contempt forming on a face that was exotic, beautiful, and fierce in the way of a falcon. Her lips were warm and sensuous, a lipstick of blood red matched the smoky eyeshadow to give her face a sort of opulent and open sexuality, coupled with the hauteur of a goddess slumming among mere mortals, gave her the power to stun a man at fifty paces, and it seems my own gender was not defense enough against her regard. She stood only five foot five, but her bearing was that of a queen, so I fond myself instinctively lowering myself around her to never look down at her. Her hair was black like a raven's wing, long and straight, like a fall of midnight over skin the colour of a temple bronze. Her breasts were C cup, with dark sensitive nipples she had taught me to suck, and even to bite when she commanded me to. Her ass was like an apple, pert and round, it moved so expressively when she walked I swear she need never speak, simply walk, and you would know everything she needed you to.
In the last few weeks I have seen her wearing nothing but the sheerest silk scarf wrapped more as accent than dress around her rich form as she took me in all three holes with a golden strap on she called "Practice", but wouldn't say why. She didn't tell me why to put in the blue gem butt plug and make sure I was very well lubed either, but I was hoping that if I danced well today Zara would take my ass again, holding my long red hair, so both of us could see us both in the long mirrors of the dance room as she takes me from behind again.
I arrived at the dance studio door as I have been trained to do. I entered, removing my street shoes and putting on black jazz shoes. I rang the bell to announce that I was here, and then went to the corner to strike my waiting pose, forth position. My right arm raised above my head, left on my hip, right leg crossed in front of left and turned out. Back slightly arched, chest out. I am well displayed forward, and at a single clap can turn through a slow turn to show my side profile and rear for inspection.
The lights are low in the studio, but the flash in the mirror shows the door has opened, and I hear Zara's laughter. My nipples are so hard right now that they ache. Zara keeps threatening to put bells on them when I dance, I am getting close to asking her to. I am blushing, so ready for her to train me as her personal sexual servant, her pretty white slave girl. I hear a second voice, low and sensual, like a jungle cat. It is Vivek! Her husband!! I freeze and do not know what to do.
Zara's voice is like sensual honey flowing down my spine, washing all thoughts of anything but pleasing my Desi goddess, and igniting a fire in my loins.
"Vivek darling, it is your thirtieth birthday, and I have brought you a very special present. This is my slave Jan. Display your self slut!" Zara clapped imperiously, and obedient to my training, I turned slowly, showing off my overdeveloped chest, and the ass I have never been prouder of since Zara undertook my training.
As I turned, I saw Zara, she was staring adoringly at Vivek. I am used to seeing her as the angry goddess with the dark flashing eyes, punishing hands, and the golden goddess of pleasure, whose sensual smile and knowing eyes, and yet here she was, adorning Vivek's arm like he was a visiting god, and she his adoring priestess.
Vivek took my left hand, and raised it to his lips for a kiss. I shivered at the lazy sensuality of it all. His eyes slowly took in my body, caressing my ass and chuckling at what it read. Turning my hand until the wedding and anniversary band sets caught the light, he turned to Zara and asked quietly.
"Your slave seems to have wedding rings, we do not steal other peoples property Zara, am I going to have to punish a disobedient wife?" His voice was like Zara's only ten times as potent, flowing over my skin, burning down my nerves and lighting my brain on fire.
Zara simply sneered and stepped forward, she pulled my head around by my hair, and bent me back, leaving my heaving chest and exposed throat open, then she hissed like a cobra.
"This little slave was running around uncollared, unmastered, unused. The only time she has ever known what it is to be a proper and submissive woman is when I have mastered her. She has never been owned by a man, this is only part of what I give to you, my husband." She said.
And then she kissed me. Hard at first, and then softer, knowing as much as I would like to surrender and pretend it is something she forces upon me, when she starts to withdraw I lean into her eagerly, my tongue darting into her mouth, my hands rushing to her raven hair to hold and kiss her. She lets me work myself into a frenzy and then puts first one, then the second arm behind my back, and whispers.
"Stay, do not move until I release you!"
I freeze in place, seeing the lust awakened in Vivek's eyes as he looks upon both of us. Zara moves to the stereo and begins the dance music. I want to move, to dance for her, for him, for them, but am forbidden to move.
Zara is like flame, moving with an arrogant grace, her head rock steady as her body sways beneath her, arms and legs moving in graceful arcs that seemed random until you realized each kept her perfectly in balance and displayed her charms to maximum effect. Vivek unbuttoned his shirt and sat back on the stool to watch, picking up a tumbler he poured a few fingers of gin into it and sipped as Zara danced for him.
His hands toyed with my ass, and when I squirmed, he would slap it casually, but so much more powerfully than Zara did that my pussy was betraying me with such wetness he must notice by now. He finally asked Zara.
"Does your slave dance, or do her fake tits break if she bounces?" Vivek asked.
