The Institute techs had set up a little command center for Oliver in the music studio he had built up the hill from his house, with an even more splendid view of the sound than the house itself had. He found Martin there, the Institute’s nondescript white van parked out of sight behind the building. Oliver put his BMW next to it and went inside.
“You did it,” Martin said as he shook Oliver’s hand. “That was magnificent. This is going to be hard to watch—if you even want to watch it—but Robin is going to be a very happy, very submissive girl. And the two of you will be happy together.”
Oliver nodded sharply, wanting to make it clear that he knew the real work lay before them. “I definitely want to watch.”
Martin kept his hand for a moment, looking into Oliver’s eyes, then returned the nod. “That’s good. I think you’ll learn a good deal from watching Connor at work, your experience notwithstanding.”
The monitors in the control booth, where Oliver usually mixed the recordings of classical chamber music that constituted his one hobby and the most relaxing part of his week, now showed various camera feeds from the house. As he sat down in the chair next to Martin, Robin had just unhooked her skirt and stepped out of it, leaving her in only the panties around her thighs. Oliver found it a more than a little interesting, as he looked back, that she apparently hadn’t tried to pull them back up.
The look on her face had the air of concentration Oliver knew from times when his wife became utterly engrossed in a good book. She frowned as if she wanted to understand everything, feel everything in the narrative. He had suspected for a long time that the way Robin read represented an intensely alive part of her to which she had never given full rein: as disparate as the two experiences might be, her responding the same way to being made to take off her clothes for a stranger seemed to show Oliver he had understood the expression correctly. His wife might take a very long time to admit it, but she was ready for training in how to please a man.
In the upper right of each monitor the same number was displayed: a five. Martin must have noticed where Oliver had turned his attention, because he said, “The number is what we call general arousal. Once we get Robin to the Institute we’ll be able to monitor her responses to training very precisely, and be able to follow several different numbers that can guide us in helping her learn, but in a few minutes Connor will put a sensor on her perineum—between her pussy and her anus—that will make the general arousal number more precise.”
“Is five good?” The question went unanswered for the moment, because on the monitor, the enormous Connor, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, had stepped forward to touch Robin’s pussy above the blue nylon panties that remained bunched, where Oliver had pulled them down to spank her. Just like that, it had begun. Oliver swallowed hard, and forced himself to keep watching.
The five changed to a six as Robin shied away from Connor’s massive upturned hand, backing toward the corner of Oliver’s study, but Connor said, “Stand still, Robin. I’ll touch your pussy when I feel like it. I think you know enough about submission to stay in one place when your master fondles you. Your husband touches your pussy twice a week, I hear, and you’ve learned to obey his most basic commands.”
“But he’s my husband!” Robin protested, trying to cover herself with her hands now, her right hand over her pussy with its sparse chestnut curls and her left arm across her firm little breasts.
“He’s given you to me, for training, Robin. Your pussy is on loan to me, along with the rest of you. Touching it is the very beginning of what I’m going to do with it. In a few minutes we’re going to go into the bedroom and I’m going to fuck you harder than you’ve ever been fucked before. Your cunt is going to be wetter than it ever has been, before I put my cock inside it. Stand still, or that nice part won’t happen without the big black punishment plug in your anus. If I have to plug you before I fuck you, it won’t be quite as nice for you, even though it will make your cunt nice and tight for me.”
Robin had retreated another step as Connor delivered this information. Her back had almost come up against Oliver’s desk. Her arousal had gone down to four, Oliver saw.
“Connor will definitely put the plug in before he fucks her,” Martin said conversationally. “The scene is designed that way, so don’t be alarmed.” Then, as if reading Oliver’s mind or following his eyes, “The drop in arousal is completely normal, especially for a girl like Robin. This process, especially in its early part, is all about backing her off her desires with just the right amount of fear and shame for her to handle, then leading her forward to embrace her fantasies of submitting to things like rough sex and anal discipline.”
The big, blond man stepped forward, his hand still outstretched. Robin still had her right hand in front of the place Connor had just called her cunt. “Please don’t call it that,” she whispered.
“What? You don’t want me to call your cunt your cunt, Robin? High-class Robin Reed Marlowe is too aristocratic to have a cunt, like other girls do?”
Robin’s face had gone bright red, and she shook her head wildly. Her arousal, though, had climbed back up to five. Oliver thought ruefully, I’m definitely learning a lot.
That sparked a question for Martin. “What would have happened if I had said something like what Connor did? Told her I would plug her, and talked about her cunt that way?”
Martin gave a knowing little nod. “It wouldn’t have worked. That’s the difficulty of the position you’re in—which is the one place where your situation intersects with the problems the Extreme Marriage program is designed to solve. To have her husband say something crude like that would cause Robin way too much conflict. There’s a small chance it might have helped, and you wouldn’t be paying me an obscene amount of money to send Connor in to do it for you, but the much greater probability would have been that you would have lost the opportunity to dominate her authentically, forever.”
Connor, who had given Robin time to think about his terrible question, pressed the matter now. “Robin, take your hand away from your little cunt.”
“Please. Please say pussy.”
Oliver never could have imagined that the purely verbal matter of the c-word might have this effect on her.
“I’ll call your cunt whatever I want, Robin. You are a disciplined wife, now, and you will be a submissive concubine for your husband when your training is over. Before I fuck you, in the bedroom, you will ask me to fuck your cunt. You will say, Master, please fuck my wet little cunt.”
“You can’t!” Robin wailed. “I’m married!”
But her number had gone to six.
“From now on, you’ll be fucked when it’s time for fucking. It may be me, or it may be another trainer. It may be another girl, if a trainer gives her the command. Your husband is the true master of your body, and he has decided you will learn what it means to serve the pleasure of the man who owns you.”
Robin breathed very hard and very visibly now, her naked shoulders heaving. The number in the upper right descended to four again.
“Watch this,” Martin said simply.
“Now you’re a very pretty girl, Robin,” Connor said, in a less severe tone. “I’m going to enjoy fucking you very much indeed.”
“And you’re going to enjoy having a big cock inside you that isn’t your husband’s, knowing that he wants you to take it like that.”
“Move your hand, Robin, and let me feel how wet you’ve already gotten.”
“That won’t work,” Oliver said, hearing anxiety in his voice. “She doesn’t really get wet.”
Martin gave him a smile that Oliver couldn’t think of as anything but sympathetic, though he didn’t like the pity it implied.
Robin moved her hands, hung them at her sides.
“Feet apart, honey,” Connor said. “Just a bit more than shoulder-width.”
A deep crease formed on Robin’s brow, and she bit her lip as she complied. Oliver had never seen that expression, he suddenly realized, even when trying to force pleasure on his wife.
The hand moved closer, between Robin’s legs. Oliver wished wildly for a close-up of his wife’s pussy, so he could verify that no, she wasn’t wet.
Robin gave a little cry. Again, she whispered, “Please,” but now the word seemed completely ambiguous. Another cry, as Connor’s fingers explored her, and then, to Oliver’s astonishment, his wife bent her knees as if to ride her trainer’s fingers, and Oliver heard the unmistakable, wet sound of an aroused pussy getting a finger-fucking. Robin gave a questioning little moan, and her eyes closed.
“Remember,” Martin said gently. “She’s only so aroused because she knows you sent Connor to train her.”
Oliver felt his eyebrows go up. The notion did make it a good deal easier to watch another man give his wife more pleasure than Oliver himself had ever been able to do.
“Look,” Martin continued, though Oliver’s attention of course had remained glued to the indescribably erotic sight of Robin bouncing helplessly up and down on Connor’s commanding hand, whimpering with each little pleasure-seeking bend of her knees. But Martin’s look clearly had a figurative dimension: “Men and women, no matter how faithful they may be to their spouses, don’t stop fantasizing about fucking other people, even if it’s just the latest hot guy or hot chick from the silver screen. One of the things the Institute can do in a situation like yours, which comes up fairly often—a situation where partners intend to remain faithful to one another—is let those taboo fantasies serve the main goal of creating a healthy dominant-and-submissive dynamic.”
On the screen, Robin let out a long moan, and her eyes opened. She looked down at the terribly naughty sight of her trainer’s hand between her legs, where only Oliver’s hand should go. Oliver set his jaw. Before too long, Robin would be riding the shameful saddle of her husband’s hand, and no one else’s.
Unless… To his surprise, Oliver suddenly found the idea of watching Robin in the throes of erotic passion under the cock of another man, because her husband had decided she must learn submission, had gotten him very hard. Maybe once her training had reached its completion, there would be times when he might give his wife to a friend for a night—even share her with that friend, as he knew she would soon be shared at the Institute, as part of her training.
“The scale we’re using for Robin’s arousal,” Martin said, “is based on our best estimate of what she’s previously been capable of feeling. Once Connor puts the sensor on her pussy, we’ll get a more accurate idea of that, but it’s important to understand that the top score—ten, which she’ll probably hit when Connor fucks her—doesn’t represent as much arousal as her body can generate. If we do our job, that top score will keep recalibrating, until it matches what we call bodily max, where Robin can let herself go completely and let herself have the kind of screaming orgasm I know you’d like her to have.”
Robin gave a soft cry, and Oliver knew she was coming—a feat he had managed only twice, one of them on their wedding night. A bit of jealousy returned at how easily Connor had accomplished the feat. She turned red, and every muscle in her body seemed to tense, but of course that was all: Robin’s orgasms were like little tremors that her shame refused to let spread farther than her hips.
Martin nodded. “No recalibration there, probably. A recalibration happens when a girl hits an arousal level that raises her ten closer to bodily max. If that had happened, the ten would have flashed. A nice little orgasm, though.”
Connor Allen, most experienced of the Institute’s five breaking masters, knew that the beginning of Robin Marlowe’s training would prove a good deal more difficult than this deceptively easy first orgasm seemed to demonstrate. The basic principle of breaking a girl picked up for service as a concubine lay in the proven idea that her repressed fantasies could be brought out sufficiently in forty-eight hours to allow her transfer to the Institute itself. (Picked up of course generally misrepresented the actual state of affairs since most girls were broken in their own homes.) Without this breaking, a girl might prove disruptive once she reached the Institute; with it, she could begin to accept her new life.
The trainers called it the chain of the heart: an alliance between the idea that the girl would receive severe punishment if she caused trouble or attempted escape and her growing ability to accept her own need to be a bed girl, ready for fucking whenever and however her master wanted to fuck her, ready to accept his discipline when he chose to administer it, ready for display, naked, at a party of elite, elegantly clothed men and women of the world who would politely command from her shameful favors as her owner looked on in satisfaction. Institute concubines chosen for service and captured by a breaking master could not generally admit that they loved their lives of sexual bondage even by the time they had their ass nights, after which their owners brought them home, but the chain of the heart meant that their training could continue into a phase where they would become accustomed enough to it to live in their owners’ homes without a lock on their doors.
An A double minus, however, according to the Institute’s data, could take several weeks to develop the chain of the heart—if she ever did. Nor did the Institute’s assessors feel that they even had enough data on the category to say for certain that girls like Robin could ever really develop the true synergy between the threat of punishment and their submissive desires. Charlotte Elkins Nakama, the academic dean, had confessed as much to Connor and Martin when they had met the previous week to discuss the Marlowe case.
“I have to admit that I’m in the minority who think Double-M’s” (the usual jargon for the category officially designated Alpha Double Minus) “don’t go through synergy at all. When we succeed with one of them, in my opinion, it’s because some triggering event lets her admit to her master that she loves him.”
“So,” Martin had said, “we should be alright with Robin Marlowe.”
Charlotte nodded slowly, as if reluctant to express the same confidence Martin clearly had.
Connor finished the thought, just to be sure he understood his bosses. “Because Oliver and Robin are married, you mean.”
“Exactly,” Martin said. “Oliver wouldn’t have contacted us about Extreme Marriage if there weren’t a romantic connection there worth saving.”
The orgasm Connor had just given Robin seemed to indicate the reliability of Martin’s conclusion. Her husband’s authorization of a stranger touching her pussy had allowed her fantasies to rear their head enough to permit her arousal all the way to climax. If the assessment team’s idea of how Robin would react was right, though, the most difficult part was about to begin.
He would probably have to restrain her for sex and insert the plug before he fucked her for the first time—a very delicate little scene that could set her back if Connor didn’t handle it with precision and read Robin’s arousal cues correctly. And everyone on the team agreed that any setback for a girl like Robin could spell the doom of her chances for erotic happiness, and marital happiness as well: until she had finished her training, a Double-M could always regress all the way to full repression.
Robin had closed her eyes again, and her puckered face showed the weight of shame she now bore. Connor continued to fondle her pussy gently, not yet trying to get her to multi-orgasm—something she had certainly heard of, and might even have decided was a myth—but simply letting her know that he would have his hand there when he chose.
“We’ll shave you down here, a little later, Robin,” he said gently.
Her eyes flew open, and she tried to step back, but found herself corralled by her husband’s desk. Connor advanced a half-step, keeping his possessive hand between her legs, where the sweet warmth and the wetness had not abated.
“Because your husband wants your cunt bare, honey. When he looks at it, he’ll know your cunt belongs to him, because he took the hair away.”
Robin’s nose wrinkled in humiliated distress. “Do you have to call it that?”
Connor heard the sign he was looking for in the petulant emphasis in Robin’s voice. He took the turn toward authority that he thought would most effectively move her to the point of breaking.
“It’s time for you to call me by my proper title, Robin. You will call me Master from now on, or I will punish you.”
Robin’s mouth and eyes both went very wide. “I… I don’t…”
“Of course you understand. I’ve already explained it to you. I’ll be happy to tell you more about why I call your vagina a cunt, when you address me by my proper title, and you kneel to speak to me. In the place where you’re going tomorrow night, you will always be punished if you fail to observe these simple rules.”
Her pussy’s wetness had receded. Good. An arousal drop at this point served the purpose very well. She trembled as she stood with her trainer’s hand between her legs, the blue panties still bunched around her thighs from when Oliver had pulled them down, what must seem to her like hours ago. Connor withdrew his hand from her pussy and put it on her shoulder, cupping the back of her neck and immediately applying firm downward pressure—not real force, but the bodily analogue of the strictness in his voice.
She closed her mouth, but the furrow in her brow did not smooth. Connor knew what she would do before she did it—indeed he felt sure he knew before Robin had even made the conscious choice. She knelt.
The attempt at false obedience has begun, Connor thought with grim satisfaction. Robin would try to comply with the letter of the rules, which had certainly resonated, as he intended them to, with her husband’s rules. She would try very hard to go no further: she had begun to construct an interior fortress against his assault on her sense of herself as an unsubmissive woman—just as she had constructed more homely defenses in her cold war with Oliver, sucking his cock when told to but not trying to please him, bending over the bed for fucking from behind but pretending doggy-style sex didn’t have for her the deep appeal of shameful forbidden fantasy.
Robin looked up at him without defiance but also without the respect Connor would have to teach her.
“Remember what I said, before you speak again, Robin,” he said in a soft but still stern voice. “Are you ready to hear why I want you to think of your vagina as a cunt?”
At the sound of the c-word, Robin winced, as she had each time Connor had said cunt, but now with greater emphasis as he informed her so flatly and simply that in her new life as a submissive bed girl she would not be allowed to think of her pussy as anything but the demeaning term so dear to experienced dominants and submissives alike.
“No,” Robin whispered.
Connor moved with lightning speed now, having prepared himself before he spoke for exactly the practiced bodily response to her disobedience that he now made. He stooped, took the kneeling Robin firmly around her waist, then bent her over while holding her hips high, pushing her face into the carpet and raising her bottom, still a light pink from Oliver’s hand. She cried out as Connor straddled her, his denim-covered calves around her ribcage to render her motionless, and then he started to spank her upturned bottom-cheeks in alternation, very hard.
Robin screamed and struggled, but Connor kept spanking at a steady though slow space. He had given her five hard spanks on each cheek by the time she sobbed, “Master! Master! Please!”
But Connor spanked her five more times on each cheek, speaking now as he delivered the open-handed blows that set her little round cheeks wobbling very prettily. “You… need… to…. learn… that… disobedience… has… consequences… Robin.”
By the twentieth spank Robin had stopped struggling, merely whimpering and heaving great sobs as Connor finished disciplining her for the moment. He swung his right leg back over her rear end, now a very pretty shade of red, leaving her in the classic submissive position, face down and bottom raised for her master’s attention.
“Remember this posture, Robin. This is submissive posture number one.” He stood next to her, and stooped to fondle her pussy, at which she cried out again, and tried to raise her torso from the carpet. “Stay down, girl,” Connor said sternly, and enforced the command with his left hand on her back, pushing her face back down where it belonged, while he continued to force pleasure between her legs.
Robin let out a pitiful moan. “Please, Master. Please, don’t.”
“I’ll do as I please with your cunt, Robin. And with your anus.” He withdrew his caress from her clit and placed the tip of his index finger there. “You’re going to get up and go to your bedroom, now. You’ll take the covers from the bed and lie on it with your knees up, and you’ll hold yourself open. I’m afraid I have to put the punishment plug in your bottom, because you couldn’t address me properly.”
“No! Please… Oh, God… Oliver… Master, please…”
“Your husband sent me, Robin. You’re learning to be a good girl for him the way you should have been from the beginning. Anal sex is going to be part of your life from now on, though it will be your husband’s cock that goes in there first. I’m going to train you for it, and I’m going to punish you with my plug. By the time you have the honor of taking your husband here…” Connor pushed his fingertip in, now, and Robin let out a yelp, once again trying to rise and once again pushed down by Connor’s left hand. “You will be ready to give him what he’s entitled to—a nice tight ride in a pretty bottom.”
He moved his finger in and out gently, as Robin whimpered.
“Your cunt is open to me, though, and I can’t wait to fuck you while you have the plug in your anus. That’s what’s going to happen after I put it in, so as you walk to the bedroom I want you to think about how grateful you should feel to your husband for letting you have another man’s cock inside you. Being loaned to other men is part of a submissive bed girl’s life. I don’t know if your husband will do it very much, once he gets you home from the Institute, but you’ll be ready to please as many friends as he wants to show what a submissive wife he has.”
Robin greeted this news with a wail. Connor sensed an arousal drop and knew he had to ward it off. He took his finger from her bottom and returned to caressing her clit, switching hands to keep everything hygienic. The warmth and wetness didn’t take long to return, though Robin’s voice as she whispered, “Please, no,” over and over kept its distressed quality.
Connor withdrew his hand again, with a final firm rub at Robin’s clit that made her moan softly into the carpet.
“Alright, honey,” he said in a much more gentle voice. “Go ahead and get up and go to the bedroom. You can take your panties off and give them to me before you go. I’ll be there in a few moments with the punishment plug.”
As he expected, Robin returned to her false obedience. She rose, without looking at him, and pulled her panties down, stepped out of them.
“Say Yes, Master, Robin,” Connor said gently.
She did look at him then, as she held the panties out. Her eyes held the deeply troubled quality of a repressed submissive who had started to lose faith in the person she thought she was.
An A plus would have spoken the words with a certain sincerity without knowing exactly why; Robin’s voice had none, as if she were actually working very hard not to sound scornful. “Yes, Master.”
Connor took the panties. “Thank you, Robin. Get going, please. Keep your hands at your sides. If you try to cover yourself in my presence again, I’ll whip you.”
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