My new owner fucked me in front of the entire audience at the auction, after his bid of twelve and a half million dollars had proven the highest. Two enormous screens showed different angles on his enjoyment of his new property. The images on them came from AI-controlled micro-drone cameras, capable of getting into very tight places and thus of showing the most shameful, forbidden views of the scene taking place on the auction stage.
Thirty or so of the global corporate elite, tuxedoed men mostly but with a few haute-couture-clad women mixed in, had the honor of watching my owner’s first use of his new nineteen-year-old bed girl. That lewd spectacle represented a consolation prize of sorts, for the victory he—Hendryk Vanderbruggen, one of the Selecta Corporation’s sizable but nevertheless extremely exclusive cadre of senior vice presidents—had just won over them. Despite their best efforts to acquire me, to have the right to penetrate my pussy, mouth, and anus whenever and however they liked, Master Hendryk now had that right instead of them.
He had purchased me from the world’s foremost trainer of concubines, the facility so renowned among the dominant elite, and yet so hidden from the vast majority of their well-controlled, obedient consumers, that it was known only as the Institute. The auction had featured five concubines in all, and I had come last on the bill.
Each of the other girls sold to the highest bidder that night—including two sets of paired concubines who looked enough alike to be sisters but had never met before arriving at the Institute—sat in the audience as well, by that point. As the hammer fell on Master Hendryk’s winning bid, I could see them, girls I had trained with in the Institute’s shameful classes and tutorials there, watching the same humiliation befall me as had just befallen them.
Some of them still wore the Institute’s ‘uniform’: a silky babydoll nightgown in a color that indicated whether a girl had received fucking or discipline that day. Others had had it stripped away by their new owners as they too had undergone his or her first use of them on stage, just as I would, now that Master Hendryk had purchased me.
They sat upon their masters’ and mistresses’ laps, or they knelt on the floor, or they lay upended over their new owners’ knees, their bare, already red backsides receiving the sort of idle discipline some masters like to bestow. One of the seated ones, a blonde named Kara, gazed back at me, her face as pink as mine. The kneeling ones had been given other duties, for the most part; I watched their heads, held in their owners’ hands, going up and down as they gave the service of their mouths.
One newly acquired concubine, a friend of mine named Martha, had her face forcibly pressed against the furry pussy of a beautiful middle-aged woman in a gold lamé micro dress that she had hiked up to her hips. I saw the beautifully manicured, gold-painted nails of the domme moving in her new bed girl’s raven-dark hair as she was made to perform the degrading duty. I could see from the little movements of her head that Martha was licking frantically at her mistress’ clit, laid open to her just purchased fuck toy’s submissive mouth by the shameless draping of her right knee over the arm of the leather-upholstered chair; half an hour earlier the gorgeous billionaire had worn an ivory strap-on to claim Martha as her own.
Another girl, a honey blonde named Deirdre whom I liked immensely but hadn’t really had the chance to get to know, had her face turned to the floor. She sobbed as her master spanked her bare backside, pausing every now and then to pull apart the two glowing halves of her rear to inspect her tiny, no-longer-virgin anus. He had come fifteen minutes before, after a long, triumphant ride that had made Deirdre cry out with discomfort again and again. The contrast between his black-and-white tuxedoed body and her pale, bare flesh—all except for her painfully rosy bottom—made me feel faint. The sharp, too-familiar noises drifted to my ears where I stood on the stage.
He, a handsome older man with gray hair at his temples, had stripped away Deirdre’s nightgown before he had fucked her on stage. As soon as he had gotten back in the audience with her, he had upended her and immobilized her little bottom with his right leg over her knees and his left hand on her back. Then he had begun spanking her at a slow but steady pace. The girl had done nothing wrong, of course. She had merely had the misfortune to be purchased by a man who liked to spank a pretty bottom.
I had focused on my fellow concubines as I heard my own sale taking place. I had tried not to think about what it meant that I stood on the stage, with my own price going up into the millions and then the tens of millions.
“Get on the horse, please, Renee,” said Miss Charlotte, the academic dean of the Institute. Her voice, subtly amplified by a nearly invisible microphone, carried through the whole room. Watching from the back of that gorgeously furnished salon, the ceremonial heart of the Institute, I had heard her say the same thing to the other girls sold tonight, before they had received their own first fuckings.
I had seen them obey, just as we had all learned to obey in the classrooms and masters’ training rooms. I had watched on the screens, unable to turn away or close my eyes, as the fabulously wealthy men and women of the dominant corporate elite had claimed their new sexual servants with their cocks or in two cases their strap-on phalluses.
My turn, I thought numbly. The man who had just paid so much money for me had stood up from his armchair. That’s my master. Master… I tried to remember the name Miss Charlotte had spoken when she had hammered down the sale. Then I remembered that I could see it displayed in two-foot high letters on the screens that would soon show the audience my sexual submission.
The fucking of Renee by her new master, Hendryk Vanderbruggen, said the golden titles, as the tall, elegantly dressed man walked toward the stage. I noted, through the welter of strong emotions that the brief numbness of shock had covered over, that he seemed to wear his tuxedo even better than the vast majority of the corporate magnates here at the Institute this evening for the auction of trained concubines. European tailoring, I thought. Is he Dutch?
The layer of nothing, of no feeling, that had lain over my emotions started to dissipate. More anxiety and more helpless, wanton arousal took hold of me with every step of Master Hendryk’s gleaming black shoes.
I glanced over at the screen on the right, away from my approaching master and from Miss Charlotte, who stood at the podium stage left. I stood center stage, of course.
The horse stood right behind me.
On the screen I saw a close-up of Master Hendryk, the man who owned me as of a minute ago. Tall, blond, frighteningly handsome. Definitely Dutch-looking, anyway. The corners of his mouth curled in an upward direction, but his blue eyes narrowed a little as he looked at me, standing still when I should be obeying the dean’s instructions. The command to turn and mount the horse, for his first use of me, hung unfulfilled in the air like a threatening cloud.
Miss Charlotte said, a patient smile in her voice, “Renee, sweetie, go ahead and get up on the horse for your new master.” I looked over at the beautiful blonde woman, clad in a white evening dress that reminded the beholder of the babydoll nightgown her bed-girls-in-training wore, my eyes wide with alarm. I should have been ready, of course; Master G had trained me very thoroughly in every shameful duty my owner would expect from me—save one. In accordance with the Institute’s long tradition, he had told me, my virgin anus had been reserved for my owner’s use alone.
The dean looked from me out to the audience.
“Renee is a good girl,” she told them, her eyes beginning with my new master and then passing over the whole of the room. “But of course she’s anxious. Master G, would you come up and help her onto the horse, please?”
The sounds of Deirdre’s ongoing spanking echoed through the hush that followed: her owner’s firm hand coming down on her rosy bottom, her cry of pain. I couldn’t look either at Master Hendryk or at Master G as they approached the stage; I found I could only look at Deirdre’s punished backside, and I saw her owner thrust his hand between her thighs, his thumb pressed between the fiery red cheeks. I watched her back arch, heard her sob of helpless arousal.
Master G had stepped onto the stage. He stood, suddenly, on my left side. He took me gently by the elbow.
“Renee,” he growled, bending down to speak right into my ear, “remember what I taught you. Breathe.”
He turned me toward the horse. A bench, really, with a black padded top above a polished wooden frame, and similar surfaces for knees and elbows to either side. Leather straps, for times when a master wanted or had to secure a girl in place for discipline and use. None of the girls who had preceded me under the auction hammer had required restraint. I hadn’t thought I would either, but Miss Charlotte had told all of us at the beginning of the evening that she wouldn’t hesitate to have our training masters strap us to the horse if necessary. Our submission to the men and women who would purchase us would take place whether we liked it or not.
Master G, in his crimson master’s robe, his huge manhood exposed and swaying menacingly between his thighs, propelled me up one of the three steps it would take to bring me to the horse.
I tried to figure out why I hadn’t obeyed Miss Charlotte immediately. I was indeed a good girl—an angel, as they called us at the Institute, as opposed to a brat, the other kind of bed girl. Once Master G had shown me how much pleasure came with obedience—and how much pain with disobedience—I had done my best to obey him. He had had to whip me only three times, each one for forgetting a lesson about the formal protocol of a concubine’s service.
All the other girls in my training group had received much more frequent punishments, often for reluctance or even resistance to our master’s more shameful commands. Martha, the girl who now worked so hard to please her new mistress’ pussy, had received a terrible paddling over Master G’s horse just a few days ago. Her offense had been that she had put on a sour expression at his command to bury her face in my bottom and prepare my anus for the butt plug Miss Charlotte had made me wear to widen me for my future owner.
Master G urged me forward another step. I looked anxiously over my right shoulder, because I suddenly needed to see him—not my future owner any longer, but my actual owner.
He stood looking at me, his eyes narrow and his mouth set hard. With a rush of heat to my face, I started to understand why I hadn’t immediately obeyed Miss Charlotte’s command, the way that she, and Master G, and the audience—and I myself—had expected I would.
When the Institute’s recruiters had collected me from the youth center and made me strip naked in the van… when they had flown me on a private jet with three other girls all the way to the west coast, all of us nude and two of the others bearing bruised bottom-cheeks that told a tale of defiance overcome… when they had brought us to the grand foyer of the Institute and fucked us there in front of our fellow concubines-in-training, faces to our yoga mats and asses in the air… during all of that, I had known that my degrading training, my new life as a sexual servant, had unfolded according to a definite program.
I had believed what Miss Charlotte had told us that first day: that we would live very happily and very comfortably if we obeyed the instincts our bodies already had. That the Selecta Corporation knew without our telling them anything, that we belonged at the Institute, where we could learn to benefit from our bodies’ darkest needs and desires.
That at the end of our training we would become the property of wealthy dominants, for at least a year, but after that we would have all the money we needed to make a happy life even in this troubled world.
I still believed it, but… I didn’t know this Hendryk Vanderbruggen. I didn’t want to serve him: I had obeyed the Institute’s program, but my heart quailed and my cheeks burned at the idea of serving this man, of belonging to him.
My feet stopped moving. Master G had to draw me the final step to the horse. I heard him say to Miss Charlotte, “I think we’ll have to strap her to the horse. Mr. Vanderbruggen should probably whip her, too, for reluctance, before he uses her.”
“No,” I sobbed, tears coming instantly to my eyes. “Master, no… please…”
I turned my face over my other shoulder to try to look up into his dark eyes.
“Get on the horse, Renee,” he told me, his face pitiless. The idea that my training master, the man who had taught me so much and given me so much pleasure—had unlocked so much pleasure, really, inside my body… that Master G felt disappointment in me… brought a sob of repentance up from deep in my chest.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I said. “I… I just…”
But my training master had had enough of my protests. He shifted me effortlessly over in front of his enormous, muscular body so that he could take my upper arm in his left hand and thrust his right roughly between my legs. He picked me up in that utterly degrading way, seizing my pussy in his strong grip as I gave a cry of fear and discomfort and picking me up off the stage as if I were as light as a feather.
He clearly didn’t care that I had no idea why I had hesitated when Miss Charlotte had instructed me to mount the horse for my fucking. Or maybe he did, I thought wildly, but he knew, as he had always seemed to know, what I needed better than I did myself.
But I don’t need a whipping! I thought desperately.
“You need to apologize to your owner, Renee, not me,” Master G said, his voice so severe that a thrill of panic traveled up my spine.
As he placed me on the horse, still struggling out of sheer fight-or-flight instinct, I twisted my head wildly around to try to get a look at the man in the tuxedo who had just stepped onto the stage.
Mr. Vanderbruggen… Master… Master Hendryk.
His face wore the same stern expression it had the last time I had managed to look at him, but I saw something more in his eyes that made my heart jump—the same dark light as I had seen in the eyes of the man who had bought Deirdre. My new owner liked to punish young women. He liked it very much.
“Master,” I cried, feeling the tears of fear trickle down my cheeks. “I’m sorry… please…”
Master G held me down atop the horse, while Miss Charlotte began to fasten the straps. Like a consummate show-woman she kept up a kind of patter with the audience to cover over the awkward silence I had created with my unexpected misbehavior.
“Mr. Vanderbruggen already has one of Selecta’s newest cutting-edge products at home, ladies and gentlemen,” she said as she tightened the belt around my waist, pinioning me to the padded surface. The words seemed so unexpected that I found myself relaxing my tense, resistant muscles a little as I tried to figure out what they meant.
“I know he won’t mind my telling you about it, because it’s good corporate marketing—right, Mr. Vanderbruggen?”
Despite myself I tried to get a look at my owner over my left shoulder, but Master G’s solid form blocked my view of him entirely. I heard a chuckle and then a clear, deep masculine voice say, in unaccented English, “Of course not, Miss Charlotte.”
“Thanks,” said the dean, finishing buckling the strap around my right ankle. “If you’d like to whip Renee, by the way, please feel free to choose any implement from the rack next to the podium.”
No other girl had gotten punished on stage before her fucking. A wave of heat traveled up from my chest and into my face, so strong I thought I might actually have started to glow.
Miss Charlotte continued her flow seamlessly as she started to buckle the wrist strap on her side of the bench. Master G, on my other side, had just fastened the one around my left ankle. I heard a low whimper come from my throat at the sensation. My limbs moved of their own accord, squirming as if to make certain they had bound me entirely fast, and had actually secured me beyond the possibility of escape.
Master G had never had to strap me down before, even for punishment. At the Institute, I had learned, as one of my very first lessons, about what Miss Charlotte and the trainers called ‘the chain of the heart.’ A bed girl must understand, they had taught me, that if she resists her master’s correction of her faults she will only earn further correction.
She must learn to submit her body—her backside above all, but also her mouth, her breasts, her pussy, and whatever other part of her that her master decides to discipline. She must furnish them without hesitation or question, and she must receive what her master bestows in gratitude for the lesson he has meted out for the purpose of improving her in sexual service.
I had imagined the feeling over and over, of course, but I had never actually felt it: the leather tight around my waist, my wrists, and my ankles. My chest filled with panic as I squirmed and felt myself entirely restrained. To my dismay, though, the sensation of bondage sent need surging through the places down below my fluttering tummy. I swallowed hard as I felt the heat between my thighs, the arousal Master G had brought there so many times as he taught me about my shameful new life as the indentured bed girl of a wealthy man—the wealthy man who now stood behind me, surely holding something terrible that I couldn’t see.
That too—the idea of the tall, elegant blond man in the tuxedo holding a paddle… or a strap… or even a cane… it made me clench as hard as I had ever clenched under Master G’s gentle, knowing hand. Miss Charlotte had buckled the belt over my white nightgown, and its skirt still covered me, back there. The anticipation of Master Hendryk’s hand lifting the hem to uncover the most intimate, embarrassing parts of me… the places that from now on he would use exactly as he chose… made me bite my lip and make little kittenish whining noises with each breath I exhaled through my nostrils.
Breathe. I tried to do it the way Master G had taught me, in through my nose and out through my mouth.
I had never expected that the most important thing I would learn at bed girl school would be how to breathe. Very frequently during my training, though, Master G’s simple lessons in taking air in, holding it inside, and then letting it out had seemed to work miracles for both my body and my mind.
“Breathing mindfully creates little moments for self-acceptance,” he had told us, over and over, as we, his training group, sat kneeling before him on the mats with our names on them. “I want you to remember with each mindful breath that you would not be here if you did not belong here.”
I realized that I had been panting for the last minute or so—that I had actually come close to hyperventilating. I opened my mouth and let out a long breath that way, trying to empty my lungs. then I tried to take in the air I needed slowly through my nostrils, feeling them flare with the effort, fighting the flash of irrational panic that I wouldn’t get enough oxygen.
With my inhalation came a warmth in my chest, a wave of helpless affection for Master G. I loved him, because he had taken such care of me, even if the care had involved more shame and discomfort than I had ever imagined my body could feel—as well as more pleasure. I wasn’t in love with him. I told myself that he simply scared me too much, though really I didn’t feel any fear of him now. The thought of leaving him, of leaving Miss Charlotte and the Institute itself, filled me with even more fear than the idea of his disappointment in me and its painful consequences.
As I took that breath, and found inside myself a tiny bit more clarity as to my thoughts and feelings, the world had seemed to slow around me. I remembered Master G talking about that, too: about how mindful breathing could help so much with panic, simply by making things happen at a pace easier for the mind to deal with. A way to hack your nervous system, he had called it.
To my surprise, Miss Charlotte said something that intersected oddly with that idea, of hacking your body’s systems.
“Mr. Vanderbruggen,” she continued, “is one of the first owners of an artificially intelligent concubine.”
I had just started to let out my first mindful breath, from my diaphragm, through my mouth. I stopped involuntarily and the exhaling action changed to a sharp inhaling one. I felt the alarm rise inside me, but for a moment I couldn’t seem to do anything about it.
An artificially intelligent concubine? For a strange instant I thought Miss Charlotte meant me—after all, Mr. Vanderbruggen had just purchased a bed girl for himself. How could I be artificially intelligent, though? Did it just mean I wasn’t very smart? I felt my face go red—I definitely wasn’t a genius or anything, but I’d done pretty well in school, after all.
The murmur that went through the audience at the dean’s words, though, seemed to mean something else. I honestly wouldn’t have expected these billionaires and trillionaires to murmur at anything at all: they seemed so well-heeled that the end of the world wouldn’t faze them—they’d just get in their escape pods or something and go off to another one, where they’d built their fifth vacation home or something.
“Selecta’s AI concubine,” Miss Charlotte continued, “is currently only being marketed by invitation, so of course Mr. Vanderbruggen had an advantage there.”
It wasn’t me. AI, like in the movies. My eyes went wide. Like, a sexbot?
Miss Charlotte and Master G had finished binding me to the horse. They stepped back and to the side, stage right, to allow the audience to watch as my new owner disciplined me.
“So,” the dean said, her voice conveying an air of finality that suggested Mr. Vanderbruggen had chosen his implement and stood ready to use it on me. “Renee will have another girl at home to help her please her master.”
I tried to take another mindful breath, but my body had other notions. Not meaning to in the slightest, I turned my face back over my left shoulder and saw him closer up than I had yet seen him—very much too close for comfort.
Yes, the man I must call Master Hendryk from now on was devastatingly handsome. His golden hair fell in loose curls around his square-jawed face. His blue eyes narrowed as he looked at me, and the smile that again curved his lips suggested that he knew how he frightened me, and liked knowing it.
My heart beat wildly, and mindful breaths became impossible, when I saw what he had in his right hand. A rattan cane, long and thin, its length resting on his left palm as he walked slowly closer.
Desperate, my brain tried to think through what Miss Charlotte had just said, as if it could offer me any help.
Another girl… but not a real girl? The question echoed through my mind—did he whip the AI concubine, too? Surely she must obey him without question, no matter how degrading or uncomfortable the duty Master Hendryk demanded of her.
But I had seen it in his eyes before, and I saw it now as he took a position right behind me but far enough to my left that he could maintain eye contact: my new owner liked to punish girls. Would he whip her, even though she couldn’t disobey him? That thought sent a cold thrill of fear up my spine.
But why would he need me, if he had her? Couldn’t he get his fill of whipping girls’ bare bottoms with the help of a sexbot?
Of course not, my mind whispered, seeing the crazy logic even in my fear. He’s a wealthy man. He collects girls and he enjoys them as he pleases. He collected the AI girl, and he’s collected me, and he’ll undoubtedly punish us both whenever he feels like it.
“Hello, Renee,” Master Hendryk said, his tone calm and pleasant. “It’s nice to meet you. I’d say that I’m sorry I have to whip you before I fuck you for the first time, but I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression. I’m not sorry at all—as Candy, your new bed sister, would surely tell you.”
Candy… your new bed sister…
Surely being a member of Master G’s training group had prepared me for the kind of kinky polyamorous household so many of the Institute’s clients maintained. I knew I would share my master with as many other girls as he wanted to fuck. I knew he would share me with as many other men and women as he chose to favor with the pleasures my body could afford. None of this had anything to do with monogamy, or romance in any traditional sense.
I had had to learn, as had most of my fellow concubines-in-training, that our needs had a much darker side to them than the brightly colored needs of the girls in the romcoms.
Candy. Something about her name seemed to evoke all those shows and movies I had watched at my educational facility—EF 8917, the corporate-sponsored school that had served as my darker version of the idyllic sunlit high schools where girls with nicknames like Boopsie and Buffy and Candy dated the quarterback or the handsome nerd or the bad boy in the leather jacket.
Candy, my new bed sister. The image of a peppermint candy cane floated into my mind, and I swallowed hard. Striped with vivid red lines, just like my bottom is about to be.
Candy: a sweet little morsel to be savored in its buyer’s mouth.
Waiting at home… my new home… the home where Master Hendryk would bring me, after he had finished claiming me up here in front of this audience.
I felt all my training sliding away, out of my body and out of my mind. I couldn’t bear to look at my new owner anymore; I closed my eyes and turned my face forward. From out in the audience I heard a moan that I thought must belong to Deirdre, as her master forced pleasure on her after her spanking.
Something had gone off track. I tried to retrace the events of the last few minutes, looking for some way to understand my responses to these things I had felt so sure I was ready for.
Miss Charlotte had struck the podium with the auctioneer’s hammer. She had said, “Sold to Mr. Hendryk Vanderbruggen.” She had told me to climb atop the horse, just as all the other girls had done for their own first fuckings by their new owners.
I had felt reluctant to mount the horse and, worse, I had shown that reluctance. Suddenly, belonging to the man who had placed the highest bid… leaving the Institute to go home with him so that I could serve in his bed for at least a year… had seemed a much scarier idea than it had been during my preparation for precisely that under Master G’s firm hands.
Had I suddenly lost faith in everything the dean and my training master had told me about the Institute’s safeguards, its hyper-careful screening of the wealthy men and women who purchased their luxury product? Had I gotten scared that my new master would harm me—whether physically or psychologically? That seemed the obvious explanation, but I knew it didn’t actually account for what had just happened inside me.
To my dismay I heard the unmistakable creak of heavy masculine footsteps coming around to my left, downstage of the horse. I kept my eyes tightly closed, still trying to get hold of myself. I took a breath through my nose, but I had to open my mouth halfway through because I felt sure I wouldn’t get enough air, that I would faint from fear.
Fear of what?
Miss Charlotte’s voice, over the perfectly balanced sound system, smoothly covered over the pause as Master Hendryk stepped around in front of me.
“Mr. Vanderbruggen’s Candy is one of the first AI concubines to come from Selecta Research’s first production line. They call them Pleasure Girl 2.0.”
The dean’s voice sounded so businesslike that her words almost seemed normal, like a marketing campaign for a new phone or a new dishwasher. At the thought of Candy… Mr. Vanderbruggen’s Candy… as Pleasure Girl 2.0, my heart flipped over. Something started to become clearer in my mind… an unwelcome realization, but one that at least made some sense of my strange reactions.
The sudden reluctance that had made it necessary for Master G to come on stage and manhandle me onto the horse, then strap me down atop it… the rebellion against my training… came from a new need to feel that I didn’t want this.
I don’t want this, a voice inside me said. I’m an intelligent young woman with a good education—so far, anyway. People could rant all they wanted about the corporate takeover of the public secondary schools, but those teachers had taught me how to think for myself. A young woman who thinks for herself doesn’t end up bound over a bench in a babydoll nightgown so that her owner can punish her and then use her without having to worry about the possibility of her interfering with his enjoyment.
Unless it’s against her will, I told myself.
Same with going home to a house where an artificial girl already occupied my new master’s bed—a Pleasure Girl 2.0, a sexbot whose numerical designation indicated that she could give more pleasure than a human girl like me could.
It’s monstrous, the scolding voice inside me declared. So much worse than being trained at the Institute. Of course you don’t want that.
“Look at me, Renee,” said my master’s voice, from above me and right in front of me.
I tried to close my eyes tighter.
“Renee, my dear,” he said again, his tone even and calm but with a hard edge to it that made butterflies fill my tummy, “I’m going to whip you more severely if you continue to disobey. I believe in making it clear to my girls that it makes much more sense to follow my instructions immediately than it does to follow them with a bottom you can’t sit down on for a day or two.”
With a little sob of fear from deep in my throat, I opened my eyes and looked up into Master Hendryk’s face.
What I saw in his expression drew an even deeper sob—not just of fear, but of something else, too… something that came from the fear but also from a place Master G had, it suddenly seemed to me, only scratched the surface of.
Force. That was the only way I could describe it. Master Hendryk’s blue eyes, slightly narrowed as he gazed down at me, and the slight smile on his lips, seemed to me to embody some special kind of power. This man would follow all the rules that would keep me safe, but he and I both knew that those precautions wouldn’t spare me from any measure, no matter how harsh, that my owner deemed necessary to get what he wanted from me.
How can that naked force shine out of such an angelic face? I wondered, trying desperately to get my breathing under control as I blinked up at him. Up close, Master Hendryk looked like a heavenly messenger from an old, old painting. Instead of announcing joyful news and telling me not to fear, though, my new master’s face told me that I should most definitely fear him.
I felt my limbs start to struggle against the straps securing me atop the horse. The movement, and the defiance it implied, came upon me without my consciously trying to escape. I saw myself squirming as if it were someone else. That detached part of me condemned the girl on the horse. She was ignoring what her training master had taught her. She was breaking the chain of the heart that should make her submit meekly to her master’s will. To struggle only meant more punishment.
But Master Hendryk said, “I know how frightened you are, Renee. I’m not going to whip you for struggling, especially since it gets me so hard to cane a girl who can’t get away.”
Oh, no. My back had arched, as he said it—the cruel sort of thing Master G had never said to me because, I had thought, he had never needed to. Between my legs, a surge of heat, and a hard clench, at the terrible thought of my owner’s hardness.
I felt my forehead crease as I looked up at him and I saw that his smile had grown a little wider.
“Yes, my dear,” he said, his voice somehow both soft and brutal at the same time, “that makes your little cunt wet, doesn’t it?”
Master G didn’t use the c-word. The sound of it, out of Master Hendryk’s mouth, sent a shudder through my whole body: the word had shocked me into humiliated arousal on its own. More, I could tell from the casual way he had just called my pussy by that filthiest of names that I belonged from henceforth to a man who would clearly refer to it that way all the time. I could even imagine that he would speak about me that way at a cocktail party, or in a business meeting with other men… My bed girl’s little cunt gets so wet when I whip her—you wouldn’t believe it. Come over tonight and watch me punish her and fuck her.
I bit my lip and shook my head.
“Come now, Renee,” he said, the smile getting even bigger, curling up the left side of his mouth a bit more than the right in a way that to my shock and distress seemed endearing despite the panic that gripped my heart. “Don’t lie to me. That’s not a good way for us to start out, is it?”
Past Master Hendryk I could see Miss Charlotte and Master G standing watching, and I could see the big screen that gave the audience a close-up of my tearstained face. I had a dizzying moment as I wondered whether I actually had left my body, and the girl who had just so unwisely lied to her owner really had become a separate person.
Then a movement right in front of my face drew my attention back to the man in front of me, but not to his face. He had shifted the terrifying length of rattan from his right hand to his left, so that he could draw down the fly of his tuxedo trousers. I felt, more than heard, a whimper rise from my throat.
My owner’s voice floated down from above, his tone light and almost mocking.
“I want to make something very clear to you, Renee,” Master Hendryk said as he reached into his pants to free his hard cock. “Your punishments will always be a sexual thing for me. As you’ll learn, I hope, right now in front of all these people, I’m not a sadist. It’s not your pain that gets me hard.”
An approving murmur went through the audience of kinky billionaires. Heat traveled up and down my body, into my face and between my legs, at the thought that the close-up on the big screen now showed my frightened face with my master’s rigid penis only a few inches away.
“After all,” he said, “I can whip Candy as hard and as often as I please. As you’ll soon learn, her screams and moans are exactly like a real girl’s, and her ass shows cane marks beautifully. But that gets boring. No, I won’t take the strap or the cane to your backside to hurt you. I’ll do it to teach you the most important lesson I know.”
I tried so hard to breathe the way Master G had taught me. I wanted to see him, my wise trainer, but Master Hendryk had stepped closer to me now, so that his lap, and his huge, throbbing manhood, represented my whole field of vision, my whole world. He had it in his hand, pumping it slowly, brandishing it at me.
My mouth filled with saliva, and my hips bucked under the belt. The wanton, animal part of me that Master G had brought out so thoroughly responded to the obscene sight of my master’s cock sticking out of his elegant tuxedo pants. Sheer reflex, conditioned into me by my Institute training, made my jaw slacken and my lips part.
I had sucked so many cocks—I had done it a few times even before the Institute had recruited me at the youth center. The ones I had pleasured in New Jersey had never been as clean as my Institute trainers’, and my new owner clearly groomed himself just as carefully. I could smell the expensive soap Master Hendryk used along with a shamefully thrilling whiff of the forbidden musk of a man’s private places.
I raised my eyes to his face, and the idea that if I pleased my master with my mouth perhaps he would go easier on me came to mind. Some part of me wondered, with a flush of heat in my cheeks, whether that represented only an excuse: deep inside me, my heart felt that dangerous thing that my training master had only helped me glimpse, before.
Force. This man knows how to use force on a girl like me.
I put out my tongue, the way Master G had taught me, curling it over my lower lip. Master Hendryk gently laid the head of his cock on it, and I tasted the slightly salty flavor of his skin.
“Eyes,” he said, his voice taking on a deeper, growly tone that I knew came from the pleasure he had in possessing me. I lifted my gaze again, to see that his eyes had narrowed and his mouth had set into a line that sent a thrill of fear through my chest.
He spoke slowly and evenly.
“I’ll whip you and your bed sister to teach you that I can.”