Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.
Dear reader. First all the characters in this story are over 18. I appreciate your patience in this story. Unfortunately, I was distracted by RL as well as another project. I hope you will all continue with this story and enjoy Angela, Alice, and the others.
Chapter 5
Bridesmaid's Training
Whoosh ... whack ... muffled scream ... sobbing.
Ilsa was teaching Little Slut her proper place. The flogger, a metronome, beating a wonderfully relaxing tattoo on her exposed sex. The little thing had chosen the worst time to show up and demand to see her school chum; it was unfortunate for her, but not so for the Mistress of the house.
Initially, Mistress Cynthia Cline had thought the little slip of a woman was indeed a child, but no, just a tiny young woman. Nevertheless, the foolish creature had managed to bully and intimidate her way into my house. Mistress Cline would have nothing of it. Ilsa, who had overpowered fully grown men, simply picking up the woman, stripped her, stuffing her in the crook of her arm, carried her to the training room.
The breaking and training of Little Slut had to be handled delicately; it was fortunate that she was a natural submissive. One must be more careful when working with women; males were comparatively trivial to train. Break their masculine ego, and they crumble. Women ... well, women are different.
"So, Little Slut will you behave?" Mistress asked without even looking at her subject; she turned a page. The illustrations were most exhilarating and detailed.
"hsfmwh graahf" Again, the subject's answer was meaningless, as she intended to resist, and Mistress knew it. It would take a little more time and Ilsa's loving attention.
Ilsa resumed her work; Mistress suspected the girl's pussy was bright red. However, not as red as her back was, nor her bottom would be. Fifty strokes should do it; most took only forty, some as few as twenty.
Women are stronger with natural reservoirs of strength and resistance. A resistance will resurface at inopportune times and destroy all the hard work one might put into them. One might well have a seemingly trained woman break free and escape or, worse, lash out at her master or herself -- all in a foolish bid for the illusion of freedom.
Mistress Cline taught true freedom comes from surrendering the illusion of independence by accepting one's place as a valued and loved possession. Hence, Mistress had born her burden of teaching slaves their true potential and value; she had been particularly successful because she understood women.
The beat went on till the count was slightly over fifty. Asking
the question
at even decades in the count gives them hope; asking at odd numbers crushes that hope and reinforces that the punishment would go on until Mistress got what she wants -- she always did -- always.
"So, Little Slut will you obey?" Mistress asked the girl without even looking at her.
Weeping was the sign she was looking for. "igsss" Was the reply, followed by uncontrolled sobbing. That was the fracture, and yet another piece of dross came free. Now Little Slut had surrendered; it was time for a reward.
"Cunny Licker!" Mistress called; with that call, a nude woman kneeling in the corner of the room suddenly came awake. She had been the original governess of young Alice, and the foolish woman had tried to stop me in my work. Now she was here. Once a noble's daughter, one of those poor unfortunates who were of the upper class but with no money, had to go into that limbo between honest service and those who lived upstairs. Despised by the servants and derided by those of her class, she still had tried to protect her charge, thus losing what little she had.
"Go reward Little Slut for her obedience." Cunny Licker moved swiftly, sweetly jingling as she went. A narrow triangle of silver chains adorned her torso. A chain between silver rings in her nipples joined, in turn, had chains that ran down to the apex of the triangle in the ring that pierced the nub's hood; the tiny silver bells made such a pleasant sound as she scurried, all furthering her humiliation. The once-proud woman waited for every direction.
"Bring her to the edge and keep her there until she begs for release; keep her there for five minutes, mind you, then let her complete." Cunny Licker began her work with vigor.
"Cunny Licker," She stopped for her Mistresses command, "Do not waste a drop." Pointing to the receptacle below the girl's hole.
Cunny Licker resumed her work as her Mistress continued her ruminations.
'Women are diamonds in the rough.' So thought Mistress, after all, a girl child comes into the world as a pristine gift. A girl child is the only creature capable of creating another just like her, with only the slightest input from the deplorable component provided by males. But from the moment of her birth, that unsullied young creature is burdened by rules and restriction, morays, and notions of how she should be and behave, layers upon layers of foolishness which weighs down her true self until she has no idea who and what she is and could be.
When such a creature is brought to Mistress Cline, she first sifted her charge to determine natural strengths and fissures. Then, to remove this overburden of social onus, find the wild plains of weakness in the layers of rubbish to remove--purging the burden, layer by layer, thus revealing the jewel within.
"mmmffff!" breath then "gswwefgnnn!" Little Slut was becoming more vocal.
The lovely sounds were the gurgling noises making their way around the soiled panties stuffed between Little Slut's lips. Mistress Cline found it delightful, the change from the annoying pleas for mercy or the sounds of nature wafting in through the open windows from the trees that surround the manor house. The very manor house that once belonged to Alice, but Mistress Cline now ruled with an iron fist.
The clock ticked as Little Slut struggled for release, her breath told the tail, and Cunny Licker had become quite proficient.
Mistress Cline returned to reading her treatise on mid-evil inquisition techniques for revealing witches. All as, a middle-aged woman, formerly Mrs. Tudman, the housekeeper, was working at her duties on her Mistresses insatiable quim. Her attention on the dripping cunt freed her Mistresses mind for her studies.
I had summarily dismissed all the male staff save the gardener's helper. The village idiot was exceptionally equipped for the duties being both stupid and very well endowed.
Smut had been a tough nut to crack, but Mistress was an expert. Within a fortnight, she had gone from screaming defiance and hurling curses to working her magic on sopping kitties. In this instance, the very kitty that had produced the soiled knickers in the Little Slut's mouth just across the sitting room.
"Stop Smut," Mistress spoke softly to the woman; she needed gentle reassurance now, "you did very well, darling, but Mistress must go see too Little Cunt." Mistress ran my fingers down her face along Smut's jawline. Smut was older but had once been a great beauty and would have been much sought after had she been born to a father who was not a gambler. 'Such a pity.'
"Sit and diddle yourself but no cummies." She whimpered and set about torturing herself, her hand a blur on the hairless mound between her legs.
