After Leo had fucked her on the bed, it was time for Rose’s review session. Leo stood her up in front of the dresser, facing away from the mirror so that she could look back over her shoulder and see the cane welts on her bottom.
“Now, Rose,” Leo said, “what have you learned today? No, don’t look at me. Look at your bottom. What have you learned about your bottom?”
“Um…” Rose stammered.
“Put your hand on your backside, Rose, and run your fingers along those pretty welts.”
Hesitantly, she complied, a look of woe on her face. Leo snapped a picture with his phone, for David.
“What does that teach you, Rose? You can start with ‘My bottom…’”
“My bottom… I’m sorry, Master. I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s alright, Rose. This review session is for you, so you can learn to please me and your other masters. Say, ‘My bottom belongs.’”
“My bottom belongs… to you, Master?”
“There you go. That’s a good start, Rose. Why did I cane your bare bottom?”
“I… because… because I didn’t obey you?”
“That’s right, sweetheart. You disobeyed, and you got caned. What happens to disobedient girls, Rose?”
“They get caned.” Rose gave a little sob, probably from the coincidence of the sight of her own caned bottom with the lesson. It was exactly what Leo was looking for.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it, Rose? That’s enough for tonight. Time to tie you up, sweetheart.”
The way Leo did the tying was an essential part of the breaking process: he made a big shibari-like show, with great lengths of doubled rope wound round and round her legs and arms. But, pretending to be careless, he left one of the ends of the rope around the wrists loose. If she was as determined as he thought she would be, it would take her about 10 minutes.
After tying up her wrists and ankles, Leo hogtied her on the bed. “We’ll wax you between your legs tomorrow, Rose,” he said. “I think you probably need some good sleep.” She looked absolutely lovely, in the rope there on the bed, looking exactly the way an owner wanted to find a concubine. He took some pictures for David. Her expression was unreadable; Leo knew that Rose still stood a great distance away from being able to analyze the emotions she felt at what he was doing to her. Abigail had said that the most important part of Rose’s process would involve giving her the sense of a solidity in her new life—getting her to understand that she had come into a kind of fellowship of Dominants and submissives: a strange, but real, family. To trick her into a final attempt at escape, oddly enough, would be an essential part of that process: only when she realized she was not going to get away would she start to feel the solidity that would finally make her part of her new family.
“Rose,” he said, “do you think you’re about as comfortable as a hogtied concubine can be?”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Alright, Rose, I’m going to go sleep on the couch. It’s important that I keep my distance from you during the break-in period. Owners like that because they want to be the first master who gets to sleep next to you.”
This was nonsense. He was going out to sleep on the couch to allow Rose to make her escape attempt.
“Good night, Rose,” he said. “Now you say good night to me.”
“Good night, Master,” she said. She was, fortunately, very transparent. He could hear even in her words ‘Good night, Master’ that she was going to try to escape, for she had uttered the phrase as if she were not intending to sleep—the intonation was subtle, of course, but very noticeable to Leo’s trained ears. That transparency had all sorts of implications for how good a concubine she was going to be, as well. Owners prized very highly concubines whose little rebellions and defiances they could predict and enjoy chastising. And Leo knew that he was going to enjoy chastising Rose for her escape attempt.
Leo puttered in the kitchen for just a little while, to give Rose a chance to work out her plan, and then he turned out the light and went to the living room to lie down on the couch. He doubted that Rose would be crafty enough to recognize a true sleep rhythm of breathing, but he could certainly do a very convincing one. He gave it five minutes, and then he began to pretend to be asleep.
It took two hours. Longer than some, not as long as others. It was always an intensely boring time for Leo, but over the years he had developed a series of mental games that he played with himself at such times. He also had a large store of memorized poetry whose continuing presence in his mind he valued highly, and of which he generally would run through as much as he could during these moments, to make sure for example that he was not forgetting the tenth line of the first book of Virgil’s Aeneid.
He was halfway through a long passage of memorized Wordsworth when he heard Rose coming out of the bedroom. For the past half hour he had been listening to the sounds of her quietly freeing herself from the ropes. He continued with his sleep rhythm until she had passed the couch. Then he said, quietly, “Rose, this just got a lot more serious.”
She ran for the door, and tried to open the lock, once again screaming, but he was upon her instantly, with his hand over her mouth. He dragged her over to the middle of the living room, where his bag still sat. He pushed her to the floor, kneeling next to her with his hand still over her mouth.
He got the ball gag from his bag, and buckled it on her. Then, the detail of her voice taken out of the equation, he made her lie flat on the rug.
“Don’t make this worse than it already is, Rose,” he said. “Stay in this position or you’re going to wish I were putting the whole punisher in your ass.”
He got the cuffs and locked them around her wrists and ankles. He got the belt and put it around her waist. Then he got the collar.
“This is your first collar, Rose,” he said. “What color is it? No, don’t answer. I know you can see what color it is, even in the dark. Why do you think it’s red, Rose? You don’t have to answer that either. It’s red because it’s a bad girl collar. Bad things happen to girls in red collars at the Institute, Rose, when they get taken behind the blue door. Let me assure you that you don’t want to arrive wearing a red collar.”
The look of fear on her face was exactly what he wanted to see.
“You’re a lucky girl, though, Rose. In the morning, I’m going to let you earn your good girl collar. For now, though, you really do need your sleep.”
He locked the cuffs together in front of her, and then locked the wrist cuffs to her collar. After taking the ball gag off, with a promise to make her take the whole punisher dry if she made a sound, he left her there and went and slept in her bed.
In the morning, he laid a big bath towel on her bed, and carried her from the living room and put her on it. She was asleep when he picked her up, but she woke as he was carrying her to the bed. He watched her go through the disorientation attended upon waking in such strange circumstances. When he saw that she had remembered, he put the ball gag back on her and said, “It’s time to wax your cunt, Rose.”
He went to the living room to get the waxing kit and the little scissors from his bag. When he returned to the bedroom, Rose began shaking her head. “If you think I’m going to untie you, Rose, you’re fooling yourself. Girls in red collars don’t get what they want; they get what their masters want. And I know what you want to say, too. You want to say ‘Master Leo, please shave me instead.’ Well, if you had been a good girl, Rose, perhaps I would have considered it. Your owner specified waxing, but because you aren’t going to be given to him for about a month, we could have started you off with a shave. But like so much else, Rose, you lost your chance at that when you tried to escape.”
Leo sat down on the bed. He put the waxing kit next to him, and seized Rose’s knees without warning, lifting them and separating them, while her ankles stayed locked together in their cuffs. He stroked her cunt lightly. Then he took the scissors in his right hand and showed them to Rose.
“We’re going to start with a little trim.”
Leo bent to his work. Rose squirmed and tried to close her legs, but Leo pushed his left hand between her thighs and said, “Better not, Rose. These scissors are sharp.” Rose gave a little mew of frustration and stilled her legs.
He could see, as he began to take bunches of the soft, springy hair in the fingers of his left hand, and cut them off, how aroused the shameful process was making Rose. At the fifth or sixth tug on her quickly vanishing pubic hair, she was giving little sighs despite herself, and by the time her golden curls all lay in a little heap on the towel between her legs, there was a wet spot there, too.
“You stay just like this, sweetheart,” Leo said, “while I go get the kit ready. I want you to look at your sweet little cunt, and think about what it means that I’m taking your pubic hair away.”
He got up and took the kit and went to the kitchen to heat the wax in the microwave. He returned to find that Rose had managed to obey him, and was actually looking down at her pussy, with a look of submission in her eyes. The escape attempt, as so often, had done her good.
“Alright,” Leo said, “this is going to hurt, Rose.”
The thing about waxing a girl under these circumstances, Leo thought, as he listened to Rose scream into her ball gag, was that a real concubine like Rose always got wet. The strange truth about waxing, Leo had concluded, was that there were probably a lot of women who did not undergo the process simply because they were embarrassed by how aroused it would make them, despite the pain involved—or, perhaps, really, because of the pain involved.
After the first strip, Rose tried again to close her legs. Leo said, “Naughty,” and slapped her face. “Open up,” he said, and slapped her again, and she obeyed.
“See, Rose?” Leo asked, teasingly. “You’re a very good concubine.” He stroked her, up and down, in between her labia, partly bare, now, and partly sporting only the short, trimmed hair that he would soon pull out with the wax. He gave her a little flutter at her clitoris, and Rose moaned loudly around the gag. “See how wet it makes you to be prepared for your owner?”
After that, it didn’t take long. Rose Hutchison lost the hair on her pussy, and she looked as smooth as an owner could ever wish.
“Lovely, Rose,” said Leo, giving her a little kiss there which made her cry out again into her gag. “I know I say all the time that this or that is a special moment for you, but I want you to think about the way you’ve now become part of a group that I think you’ve probably fantasized about joining since the first time you touched yourself, when the curls on your pussy were just starting to sprout: girls whose pubic hair has been taken away because a man wanted it that way. I know how strange it seems, but that makes you part of a kind of family, and when you have your training, and even more when your owner takes possession of you, you will understand that your submission can be a gift that many others in that family—not just your owner—will value greatly.”
Leo looked into Rose’s eyes, and saw that although she did not understand the words, she would remember them, so that they would make sense to her someday.
Then Leo said, “Now we have to feed and water you.”
He stood her up from the bed, as she winced at the lingering pain from the waxing, and held her around the shoulders to help her shuffle toward the kitchen, her feet moving only an inch at a time because of the lock on her ankle cuffs. He looked at her cane welts, which were beginning the fading process. He still wouldn’t be able to administer a serious spanking, but the discipline he had planned for today didn’t require it.
“I’m going to un-gag you now for a little while, so you can eat and drink. Remember that I can hydrate you with my IV needle, if I have to. As I said before, it wouldn’t make sense to defy me.”
Leo stood her at the counter, and unbuckled the gag and took it out of her mouth. “Are you going to try to be a good girl, now?” Leo asked, gently.
“Yes, Master,” she said. The fear of what the red collar meant was clearly weighing on her mind.
“Now, Rose,” he said. “I think what you’re failing to see about your situation as a new concubine is that trying to get away is the opposite of what you should be thinking about. As a new concubine, selected for our program, you should be thinking about why we have selected you, and what that means about you, and about your sweet little cunt.” At those last words, Leo put his hand down, and gave her a rough, squeezing caress that made her jump back from the counter. But Leo seized her backside with his other hand, and for a full thirty seconds, saying nothing, he showed her the extent to which her body belonged to him. With his right hand on her clitoris and then thrusting deep inside her pussy, he told her about her sex, while with the fingers of his left hand he held her bottom arrogantly and, at the same time, penetrated her anus roughly and repeatedly. He made her gasp, and moan, and finally cry out, “Master…, oh, Master, please… Master…”
Leo released her. “Perhaps that helped a little, Rose; perhaps not. But we’re going to have an extended lesson on exactly that topic now, and then you are going to go, in my van, to the Institute. Maybe you will be wearing the red collar when you get there, and maybe you won’t be. It depends on how you do in your lesson.”
Rose whimpered, clearly at the thought of wearing the red collar to the Institute and what it might mean. The charming, submissive little sound gave a distinct, unambiguous indication that the idea of the Institute, and its program, had become real for her. That was when Leo knew that he had broken her. The next two hours, before the ride over, would merely serve to put a bit of polish on her submission.
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