Bought and Trained (25 page)

“Good girl, Rose,” Abigail said. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Miss,” Rose said.

Abigail put her hand down to touch Rose’s new silver collar. “Lovely,” she said.

That was when Rose noticed Joanne, who had hung back a little.

“Joanne!” Rose cried. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to help,” Joanne said. Then, as Abigail and Joanne had agreed on the flight
to Saint Martin, she said, “I’m here to take you home.”

Abigail was not surprised to see that Rose’s face did not reflect pleasure at this
news. “But… I
am
home,” she said, unhappily, “aren’t I?”

“Oh, Rose,” Joanne said. “I’m so sorry. They can never predict exactly what will happen
with the memories, it seems.”

“David doesn’t want me anymore?” Rose asked Abigail, pleadingly.

“That’s not exactly right, Rose.” Abigail replied. “Let’s take a walk and talk about
it, OK?”

Rose got up, looking puzzled.

“I know how strange a thought it is to take a walk with me,” Abigail said with a smile.
“I want you to hold onto that feeling.”

They walked along the beautiful beach. Abigail said, “David does want you, but he
wants, and has paid for, a concubine.”

Rose gave a little sob. “I was just so scared, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“When?” Joanne asked.

“When he was going to give me thirty-six with the cane, like Kerry had at the Institute.”

“Here’s what it is, Rose,” said Abigail, “and it’s really very simple. The question
is whether everything you’ve done up to now—your breaking by Master Leo, your training
at the Institute, your life with David and Grace and Hannah so far—whether that has
changed you enough that you want to take that caning, because your master wants to
give it to you.”

Rose nodded.

“Do you remember how you felt when you saw me, a few minutes ago, and came to kneel
in front of me? How did you feel?”

Rose hesitated, then she said, “This is going to sound crazy, but I felt happy—happier
than I’ve been since… since the memories came back. Maybe even since the whole thing
started, because seeing you reminded me of how it feels to know you’re a good girl…
and then, when you said, ‘good girl’… it was just pure joy, for a few moments.”

“That’s what I thought,” Abigail said. “Now you have to decide what that feeling really
means to you.”

“So David still wants me?” Rose said, with hope rising in her voice.

“He does, but it would be under the new contract we use for pick-up concubines who
have recovered their memories. And, David says, you’re going to take that caning.”

“Rose,” Joanne said, “I know this is going to be difficult to hear, but think about
it. Even if he does want you back, is life as his concubine what you really want?
I got you into this, but it wasn’t supposed to happen the way it happened, with you
recovering your memories, and I just don’t know if it makes sense for you to stay,
when you could still have a normal life, with a lot of money. No, don’t answer me
now,” she hastened to add, as she saw Rose start to shake her head. “Really, that’s
just what I want to persuade you to think about—not right now, whether you want to
stay with David, but whether you want to take a day or two, or a week or two or even
a month or two, to think about it before you decide to go back.”

“Well,” interjected Abigail, “remember that you might go back to the Institute for
re-placement as a volunteer, but you would not be going back to David and Grace.”

“Even if she just took a day or two?” Joanne asked.

“We could give her forty-eight hours, I think,” Abigail said. “I’d have to approve
it with David and Grace, but I imagine that they’ve grown fond enough of Rose that
they would like to give her that space. We’d have to put her up at a hotel and take
the charges out of her account at the Institute, but it’s not an uncommon request.”

“I don’t…” Rose started, then stopped. Then she said, “Can I talk to Hannah? I don’t
think I need forty-eight hours. I think I just need to talk to Hannah.”

“I’ll have to ask David and Grace,” Abigail replied, “but I can’t see why they’d refuse.”

* * *

“Why,” said Rose to Hannah, without preamble, when they were both sitting on the sand,
looking out at the bay, “did you volunteer?”

It was nearly dark now; only the faintest glow of gold colored the sky above, while
in front of them, far, far past the boats with their lights in the bay, far past even
the freighter whose lights twinkled out in the Atlantic, the Eastern horizon was nearly
indistinguishable in the gathering gloom upon the sea.

Hannah was silent. “Was it the sex?” Rose asked. “Because… because if it’s just the
sex, then… I guess…” She let her voice trail off, having no idea how to finish, but
meaning that she had always heard, before Joanne had referred her to the Institute,
that sex was something you did in your bedroom, sometimes, that didn’t have anything
to do with ‘real life.’

When Hannah finally spoke, her voice, youthful as it was, had none of her light, giggly
virgin tone. She sounded like a much older person: a person who had thought long and
hard about the things she now said. “It
was
the sex, and it
is
the sex, Rose, but what I never understood before I came to the Institute is that
for me, and for you, and for David and Grace, and Miss Abigail, and the masters… for
people like us, the sex isn’t just the sex.”

Rose was puzzled. “You mean, like, romance?”

“No,” Hannah said. “It’s not about commitment, or maybe it doesn’t have to be about
commitment. It’s about… fantasy, and… creativity, and sharing the things that make
us feel really, really good.”

Rose whispered, “Like anal?”

Hannah’s solemnity went away in an instant, and she giggled. “Yes. Like anal, sweet
Rose. Like having your master make you take a big butt-plug because he wants to see
your bottom full of black rubber.”

“Oh, God, Hannah…”

“Like,” (here Hannah deepened her voice, so that she almost sounded like Miss Abigail)
“having him ride your backside until you’re screaming that you can’t take it, because
his cock is just too big, and your bottom is so little, and you know you’re a bad
girl because he put his cock in there, and now you’re learning your lesson.”

“Hannah…” Rose heard the plea in her voice, and she realized that, thank goodness,
Hannah had heard it too, for Hannah’s eyes were shining in the twinkling lights from
the boats on the bay.

“Get on your stomach, Rose,” Hannah said. “I’m going to finger-fuck your ass that
way, right now.”

“Yes, Hannah,” Rose said, and turned onto her belly, and pulled down her shorts and
panties. She got on her knees, with her cheek upon the sand.

As Hannah took her bottom with all five fingers of her right hand in a little cone,
thrusting in a controlled, dominant way, Rose thought about how she would tell David
what had happened, and about how David, in the dominant tone that he used even better
than Master N or Miss Abigail, would sternly decree her punishment. Thinking about
it, and thinking about what Hannah had just said about creativity, she felt a strange,
perverse little fantasy-hope rise up inside her heart: suddenly she wanted Hannah
to use her so shamefully that David would have no choice but to cane her until she
couldn’t sit down for a month.

“Hannah… Oh, God…” she cried as Hannah’s fingers filled her as full as David’s cock,
or Uncle Peter’s, burning her little ring with each thrust, “use me hard… so that
my master will see how naughty I am… please…”

“Hush, Rose,” Hannah said, and fucked on, and Rose knew in those two words that Hannah
would do as Rose hoped, and that when Rose went back, and asked for her caning, they
would all live happily ever after.

David scheduled Rose’s caning for New Year’s Eve. Christmas in Paris with the girls
had been magical. David and Grace’s house, right on the Seine, had been lit up in
a style rather more American than French, and there was still, in the living room,
an enormous Christmas tree. David’s family had some very large trees over the years,
but on this occasion, in Paris with the girls for the first time, he had tried to
outdo all of them and had—if he said so himself—succeeded: the poor angel at the top
was crowded against the ceiling, though that ceiling was twenty feet high.

Seeing Rose’s joy at being a consenting, submissive member of her new family made
it hard to conjure the righteous anger to cane her as a punishment for her disobedience.
Really, though, a fantasy of righteous anger wasn’t requisite at all. He had not spanked
Rose since the single cane-stroke he had given her the night she had recovered her
memory, and now he could not wait any longer.

The next day, when Rose and Hannah had come up the beach and into the house, and Rose
had fallen to her knees in front of him, begging him to cane her then and there, he
had refused. He had said, instead, that they were going to Paris, and Rose would be
punished there. All the way over the Atlantic, in first-class on Air France, sitting
next to Grace and watching Rose and Hannah cuddle and whisper like kittens in the
seats across from them, he would catch Rose looking at him apprehensively every five
minutes or so, and his cock would swell as he watched her blush and cast her eyes
down to her lap, but he had not taken her to the airplane lavatory to bare her bottom,
though he had thought of it over and over.

In the limousine from the airport, Rose had sat next to him, and he had put his arm
around her, and she had even flinched a little bit, but even then he had not pulled
her over his lap the way he wanted.

“Shh, Rose,” he had said. “It’s alright. We’ll wait ‘til New Year’s Eve. I’m not going
to beat you until then.”

“Oh,” Rose had said, sleepily. “OK, Master, but…”

“I’ll have you tonight, in my bed, yes. We’re all going to sleep together there, tonight.”

And they had; they had all slept through the rest of that day, the day before Christmas
Eve, and most of the night, but David had awoken long before dawn, and found that
Rose, too, was awake, looking timidly—shyly, almost—at him. He saw her notice that
he was awake, and his heart filled with dominant joy when he realized that she remained
silent, like a good concubine, waiting upon his waking pleasure. On the other side
of Rose was Hannah, sleeping like an angel. Grace stirred a little, beyond Hannah,
fitfully moving the arm that rested on Hannah’s white-nightgown-covered waist.

“Your bottom, Rose,” David said softly. “Back to me, and your left leg bent.” He reached
over to the nightstand and got the lube.

Rose gave a little whimper of submission, and complied.

David raised her nightgown, and began to get his concubine’s anus ready for him. As
he entered her, gently, and she yielded to him, he kissed her blond hair, touched
her silver collar, and whispered in her ear, “You are mine, little Rose, aren’t you?”

She nodded, making little whining sounds as he moved in and out of her bottom. “Shh,”
David said, “don’t wake them,” though really he hoped that Hannah and Grace would
wake up, and see that he had his cock in Rose’s ass. Rose nodded bravely, and tried
to suppress her little cries, but after a minute, David saw Hannah’s eyes open, and
then widen as she took in what was going on next to her.

“Give Rose a kiss, Hannah,” David said, and watched Hannah lean her face in to kiss
Rose. Then Grace woke, and she moved them all closer to one another, snuggling Hannah
and Rose close together while David kept up his steady rhythm in the backside of the
girl Grace had given him for his birthday. Grace propped herself up on her elbow,
and kissed David, then Rose, then she turned Hannah around so that she could kiss
her little girl, too. As Grace moved down the bed to taste Hannah, the girls’ cries
in the still air of early morning grew louder and louder, until finally David came
inside Rose’s bottom, with a shout.

“Grace,” he murmured when he had caught his breath, “lie on your back.”

He told Hannah to get between Grace’s thighs, and put Rose on his wife’s right side,
to kiss her breasts, while he kissed Grace’s mouth passionately.

Grace came, screaming, three times, and then she said to David, “Rose’s turn.”

“No,” David said. “Rose doesn’t come until after her whipping New Year’s Eve.”

“Yes, Master,” Rose said.

“Surely…” Grace said.

“Is it my decision or not?” David asked.

“Of course it is,” Grace said. “But think of everything she’s been through.”

“I think it would be a very good thing if Rose felt what it was like to go without
an orgasm for a few days, at least, don’t you?”

Grace twisted her mouth in silent disagreement, but said to Rose, “I suppose it won’t
hurt you in the long run, will it, my love?”

“No, Mistress,” Rose said. “And…”

“Yes, Rose?” Grace asked.

“And I deserve it. I’ve been very wicked.”

* * *

Now Rose stood in her white nightgown next to the Christmas tree in the enormous living
room. David had taken her at least twice a day every day in the intervening days,
in the sweet little room on the third floor that Rose could call her own and had once
been Grace’s bedroom when the house had been her French grandmother’s. Possessing
Rose against the windows overlooking the Seine and the Ile de la Cité started each
day beautifully, in a fashion worthy of Paris, and commanding the pleasure of her
mouth in the afternoon was no less charming. Rose was in her white nightgown tonight,
though, because that day—New Year’s Eve—David had merely given her a great many hugs,
while they enjoyed the wonderful Paris New Year festivities. Rose seemed to run to
him over and over for reassurance that she pleased him with the way she skated with
Hannah, with the way she drank her hot chocolate at the little café by the outdoor
skating rink, with the way she ooh-ed and ah-ed at the sights of Paris.