Bought and Trained (21 page)

“You may come now,” he said quietly, “as long as you are thinking about yourself on
the bench, taking something much more precious in that cute asshole. As long as you
are thinking about my cock, in your ass, at last.”

* * *

That happened just five days later. Hannah sat in her white nightgown in Grace’s lap,
off to the side but facing the audience of the other girls of the Institute, while
Rose shrieked at the rough way David rode her bottom. As the contents of her closet
had promised when she had first arrived at the Institute, David had chosen as Rose’s
only garment a pair of white seat-less panties, so that his predilection for fucking
girls still in their lingerie might easily be honored, while at the same time Rose
might feel as she approached the bench to have her backside deflowered by her owner,
that she would from henceforth be subject to that predilection and every other desire
her owner might have in regard to her body.

In the intervening five days, Rose and Hannah had done their finishing work; for Hannah,
at Grace’s request, this work had comprised some tongue-strengthening exercises—apparently
Grace hadn’t been quite satisfied when she had put Hannah on her back to ride her
face, though Hannah told Rose that she guessed Mistress just wanted something to have
Hannah work on, for she had seemed very happy, and had played with Hannah’s own private
part as a reward until Hannah had screamed and come over and over.

For Rose, however, the finishing was harsher: she was sent to Miss Abigail for twelve
from the cane, so that she would bear those marks when her master took her backside,
and so that Rose would have a grasp (so David said himself) of the way that he might
delegate her punishment to others, just for the pleasure of knowing that Rose was
being beaten, without having to take the trouble to do the beating himself. Rose had
tried to be brave, but Miss Abigail had to call Master N at the end, and have him
secure Rose to the bench for the final six, because Rose had tried to run away. Thus
the bottom David fucked was adorned with twelve lovely purple welts, an art-form in
which Miss Abigail was very skilled indeed.

As Rose sobbed over the bench, feeling David’s cock in the place where she had fantasized
a master fucking her so very many times, she remembered Grace’s words, as she had
so often over the past days, and wondered how something so painful, and so shameful,
could feel so right to her. By breaking her, had Master Leo somehow unlocked a part
of her that couldn’t have been unlocked any other way?

David’s cock was huge in Rose’s anus, filling her over and over, holding her burningly
open there. But the idea that he, her owner, was enjoying himself in her bottom turned
that terrible discomfort into a kind of tribute to Rose’s finally emerging submissive
nature and to her acknowledgment—even if it was just the tacit acknowledgment of not
needing to be beaten, nor to be bound to this erotic altar upon which she was being
consecrated to David’s use—of her need for mastering by a man like David.

As Rose felt David begin to come inside her anus, shouting out his pleasure at the
delicious tightness his cock was experiencing inside his concubine’s virginal rear,
she suddenly saw a strange vision before her eyes: her signature on a contract—more
specifically, on a schedule that made up part of a contract—which said, “I, the undersigned
Rose Hutchison, consent to be penetrated in my anus by my owner, or by anyone to whom
my owner gives the right to penetrate my anus.”

What did it mean? Was it real? How could it be real? It was like one of those strange
dreams where your entire life turns out to be different from what you thought it was:
sometimes it’s wonderful, but mostly it’s terrible—you’ve forgotten that crime you
committed ten years ago, but here are the police at your door, and then you wake and
it takes long minutes before you can convince yourself that the dream wasn’t real,
and you never committed that crime. With this vision of the contract, though, Rose
was suddenly filled with a strange joy: somewhere, as unreal as the contract seemed,
there was something inside her that knew what she really needed… that might even sign
a contract to say so. Some version of Rose knew that the kind of family David and
Grace were offering her could be the foundation of a much, much better life than any
of which she had ever even dreamt.

“Thank you, Rose,” David was saying, as he stroked Rose’s back and her bottom cheeks,
letting himself detumesce inside her anus.

So confused was Rose by the vision of the contract that she nearly forgot to say,
“Thank you, Master.”

“We’re a little concerned about how distracted Rose was at the end, there,” said Abigail,
after Joanne had watched the video of Rose’s ass-night.

“It looked like subspace to me,” Joanne said, puzzled. “Isn’t that exactly what you’re
hoping will happen?”

“Subspace definitely accounts for a lot of her reactions, and Neil has done a wonderful
job with Rose. We have no doubt at all that she got the full benefit of the experience
of being taken that way by her owner for the first time. But towards the end there’s
a look of surprise on her face that could be indicative of memory-recovery.”

Abigail found the point on the video she meant, and froze it for Joanne. Joanne had
to agree that Rose’s look was strange—but, really, what constituted strangeness when
it came to the way people reacted in BDSM scenes, especially fully realized ones like
the Institute mounted for an occasion like an ass-night?

“So what does that mean?” Joanne asked.

“First,” replied Abigail, “it means that we’ll be watching very closely for further
memory-recovery. When memory-recovery does occur, it very rarely causes any problem,
but there have been instances in which the concubine repudiated her consent, and while
there are procedures in place for that, it’s best for everyone concerned if it’s caught
quickly and the concubine is removed and counselled. Second, if recovery does happen,
and it’s positive, it would mean that you would have to be ready to intervene to help
Rose make the decisions she’ll have to make.”

“That would have happened at the end of the year anyway, right?” Joanne asked.

“Yes, that’s right, but we’re going to have to ask you to check in with us every day
from this point on, because if Rose does get her memories back, you’ll have to be
ready.”

“That makes sense,” Joanne said.

Grace couldn’t get over how lovely Rose and Hannah looked together, bound side-by-side
upon the double spanking bench, waiting for the guests to arrive. Next to each of
their lovely naked bottoms, presented in the foyer of the Handelsons’ villa on Saint
Martin, was a little table, and upon each little table was a paddle: a little leather
one for Hannah’s bottom and a big wooden one, with holes to let the air through so
it could strike the backside harder, for Rose’s bottom.

David and Grace had agonized for quite a while about how to present the girls: should
they enter in elegant dresses, and then remove them to reveal naughty lingerie? Should
they simply enter in the lingerie, or even without it?

They had decided that there would be time, by end of the evening, for an entrance
like that, but that the breathtaking spectacle of two such shapely backsides, clearly
owned by David and Grace and offered to the discerning guest for exploration and chastisement,
would convey both the Handelsons’ pride in having acquired the girls and the way they
regarded such fabulous treasures as Rose’s and Hannah’s bottoms not as riches to be
hoarded but as wealth to be shared with the friends who would understand the meaning
of the gift.

Under each bottom, between the girl’s spread knees, Grace had placed a little card
on a wooden stand. The cards read:

Hi! I’m Hannah, and I’m only nineteen! My mistress is teaching me to be a good girl,
but I always need a reminder. Spank my bottom with my paddle to show me how important
it is to be a good girl.

and

Hi! I’m Rose, and I’m my mistress’ birthday present to my master. I’m a very bad girl:
before I became a concubine I used to touch my anus when I shouldn’t. Now my master
fucks my bottom every night to teach me my lesson. Please paddle me hard, to help
me learn.

Grace and David had the girls read their cards at breakfast that morning. Both Hannah
and Rose blushed so charmingly at the indignity that Grace couldn’t help giving them
each a hug.

“Will it hurt very much?” Hannah had whispered.

“I’m afraid it might, little one,” Grace had said. “Our friends know how to give a
good paddling. But I’ll be watching to make sure your pretty bottom isn’t really harmed.”

“And I’ll be watching yours, Rose,” David had said. “I wouldn’t miss watching my girl
get paddled for the world.”

“Yes, Master,” Rose said.

It had been two weeks since they had left the Institute, driven by chauffeur to the
little airport and then making their way via helicopters and private jets down to
the island in a mere four hours or so. Every day, Grace had found that she seemed
to love the girls more than the day before—Rose especially, because Grace had been
so worried about how she would feel, watching David go in to Rose every night, watching
him fuck Rose on the beach, in the water, on the balcony. But David was so blissfully
happy, and it truly seemed to Grace that what he gave to Rose had not been taken from
her.

That was why she loved Rose, Grace thought. Rose truly was the submissive that Grace
had pretended so many times to be for David, to make David happy. Grace could see
on Rose’s face that having David’s cock in her ass took her to that different place—the
same different place, really, Grace thought, where Grace herself went when she spanked
Hannah.

Because from the first moment when she had taken Hannah over her knee in the little
bedroom at the Institute, Grace had known that she had finally found out who she was
supposed to be. She was Hannah’s mistress, and when she had arisen from the chair
where that first spanking had taken place, there had been an enormous wet spot on
the cushion; Grace had never been so aroused in her life. When she had held Hannah
on her lap afterward, with those bright, dark eyes looking into hers and the tears
running down the little face, she had thought, almost hyper-consciously, “This must
be what it’s like for David to put his cock in a submissive girl’s ass.”

It had been the look on David’s face, at that party in Paris, when he was at the host’s
encouragement fucking the backside of the host’s concubine, that had made her think
she had to ask him whether he wanted one. Now she felt the look on her own face, as
she surveyed Rose and Hannah—especially Hannah, Grace’s own little girl—offered in
that same way to the guests of the Handelsons’ island villa.

These guests, all associated closely with the enclave in which Grace and David had
grown up, would start arriving very soon. Grace was too intelligent a woman to think
that things could finally have become as permanently blissful for her and David as
it seemed right now, but the project of acquiring the girls had apparently done wonders
for their lives together, and it was hard to see how it could fail to continue thus,
happily, for a good long time. She remembered her mother saying to her, when Grace
had come home crying from school once because she had seen her best friend Ellen Stoddard
teased and bullied over living in a polyamorous household (the elders of the enclave
had resolved long since to send their children to public school to prepare them to
deal with the outside world), “Family is not a single thing, Grace, though you will
meet many people who think it is. You may be bullied someday yourself because of choices
your father and I make about whom we love, and Ellen probably will be bullied many
times, but listen to me: these years, before you come of age, when you look back at
them, will have gone in a flash, and you will have a life ahead of you so much more
fulfilling than the lives of any of those bullies that you may find yourself truly
feeling sorry for them.”

Best of all, Rose and Hannah both seemed happy. Really, Grace supposed it to be terribly
difficult not to be happy on Saint Martin, as long as you wore your sunscreen. When
they weren’t being played with, they spent their time reading or exercising at the
club (they had been given suitable clothing to wear outside the house), or watching
movies in the screening room, some of which wouldn’t be in cinemas for weeks, since
David’s book of business included some of the Hollywood studios. Or they would be
online, often with friends from the Institute who had been placed, like them, and
were allowed the privilege; the Institute maintained an ultra-secure social network
for the purpose, and monitored all the communications.

Every day they spent two hours on the beach with David and Grace. Mostly, if David
and Grace weren’t interested in enjoying them over a lounge chair or in the water,
they built sandcastles, with Hannah taking up her girlish role with apparent joy and
Rose coming along as a sort of older-sister helper.

Only once had Hannah had to be punished; Rose had not been punished at all, though
of course David beat her from time to time, for both their pleasure. Grace had to
have David give Hannah a very hard paddling because she had misbehaved at the club:
a friend of David’s family, rather older than David, had heard Hannah use a bad word
to Rose in the bar, where David and Grace had allowed the girls to go on condition
that their behavior be perfect, and had told her to get over his knee for a spanking.
Hannah had refused and said, sassily, “You’re not my master or my mistress, are you?”

After her paddling from David, which occurred as soon as the girls returned home,
the incident having been relayed to them by the friend, who was called Uncle Peter,
Hannah had been sent over to his house for additional punishment and a long afternoon
of pleasuring him.