Bought and Trained (24 page)

“Let’s reverse Hannah,” David said, quietly. Hannah felt Grace nod, her chin pressing
against the top of Hannah’s own head. “Hannah,” Master said, then, “you’re going to
kiss Mistress’ private part, now, and Master and Rose are going to kiss your bottom
and your little pussy, okay?”

“Yes, Master,” Hannah said, feeling ashamed, but knowing that the sorts of things
she had imagined so many times were finally coming true. They were things that you
couldn’t do as a virgin because you were always supposed to pretend to be so innocent.
And if she hadn’t had that training, this moment wouldn’t have made her so very lightheaded:
all of the training seemed to lead up to the delicious shame she felt, seeing her
mistress’ private part under her mistress’ trim waist, with a neatly shaped patch
of private curls that left the thick lips, running now with Mistress’ wickedness,
mostly bare.

“Kiss, Hannah,” she heard Master say, from what felt like it was far above, up the
bed where the others’ faces were.

It looked so funny that it made her blush, and it smelled very wicked, but Hannah
gave a little kiss there, and Mistress said, “Good girl,” and Hannah felt content—and
then she heard Master say, “Look at that sweet little slit. Kiss it, Rose,” and Rose
did, using her tongue that was now so very experienced. Hannah screamed into Mistress’
pussy at the pleasure of what Rose did to Hannah’s own.

Master’s voice became a little labored as Hannah could hear him pushing in and out
of Rose more vigorously. Rose herself made the little puppy sounds Hannah knew so
well now, as she tried to keep giving Hannah pleasure with her lips and tongue. Master
was using his fingers, too, which distracted Hannah greatly from her own task, though
Mistress seemed happy with Hannah, from the evidence of the harsh sighs coming from
Mistress’ chest.

Rose planted a series of desperate kisses on Hannah’s pussy, and then she said, “Master,
may I come?”

“Not yet, Rose,” Master said. Rose gave a little whimper.

Mistress said, “Oh, Hannah, good girl, keep doing that, please. Oh… David… may I come?”

“Alright, girls,” Master said, “Let’s all try to come together.” Then he fell silent,
and made Rose cry out as he thrust into her.

Then they all seemed to be gasping and grunting and sobbing in pleasure, knit together
in the writhing mass of their unconventional new family.

Rose woke with worry already sitting in the pit of her stomach. Master would give
her ass to Uncle Peter tonight. Why did that idea seem so terrible, so much more shameful
than anything that her masters had made her undergo before? When David had deflowered
her bottom, somehow it had seemed like he had made that part of her precious to him—like
he had at last taken responsibility for the fantasies that she had never been able
to confess to, which her masters had now forced her to live out.

David had used her bottom almost every night since they had left the Institute. Rose
could tell that to use her bottom made him feel truly masterful, and that had somehow
become her solace as she thought about the life ahead of her. She loved Grace and
Hannah, but to know that her backside belonged to her master alone made her feel content
with her lot as his concubine.

Rose remembered that strange vision, of the contract that said that her owner might
take her anus, and might assign the right to take her anus to whomever he chose. What
did it mean? Was there something inside her that wanted her master to give her bottom
to other men for fucking?

David didn’t spank her or take her that day, as they had their usual Saint Martin
morning and afternoon, sunbathing, swimming, reading. When, around 3 o’clock, Grace
had Hannah kneel on a towel by the pool, between Grace’s spread knees, and give pleasure
thus, Rose’s master looked at her and said, “I’m saving you for Peter today, Rose.”
That felt to Rose like David now rejected all the pleasure he had taken in her, like
the whole basis of her submission in being a bad girl who needed to be owned by a
man like David and bent to his will and his pleasure had come to pieces. Silent, she
trembled.

Grace laid out a beautiful white dress for her on her bed. It had a deep V in front,
and a low back and a short skirt that hugged her bottom tightly. “I picked it,” said
Grace, when she was going in to put it on. “Good for the occasion.”

“So lovely,” said David, when she emerged. “Peter won’t be able to take his eyes off
your bottom.” Grace gave her beautiful white pumps, too, saying, “These will just
give that bottom a little extra lift, don’t you think?”

Hannah gave her a big hug. “Trust Master,” she said.

With a little sob of fear, Rose said, “I’ll try.”

In the car, on the way to Peter’s house, David said, “I can’t wait to see Peter’s
cock in your ass, Rose. Your submission pleases me so much.”

Rose knew she couldn’t do it, then. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her stomach
felt heavy. She wouldn’t be able to do it: she couldn’t submit that way, despite being
broken, despite being trained. Rose Hutchison was not a girl whose ass could be given
to another man; it was too much, and she would rebel.

Dinner was a lovely
boeuf bourguignon
, but Rose could hardly eat a bite. Afterward, there was chocolate mousse. Rose had
a single spoonful. David looked at her sympathetically, then at Peter, and said, “I’m
sure you can understand she’s nervous; it’s the first time I’ve given her ass to anyone.”

“It’s alright, sweet Rose,” said Peter. “You’ll get used to it.”

The dishes were cleared away, and a velvet cushion was put on the table. “Why don’t
you get over the cushion, Rose?” Uncle Peter said. “It’s time.”

Rose got up and tried to run away, but David caught her, held her fast despite her
struggling, and laid her over the cushion. They had to hold her down, and to pull
her dress roughly upward, and her lace thong down to her knees, and Uncle Peter had
to spank her with his strap, which hung conveniently from his mantelpiece. David said,
“Get that bottom up, Rose. Peter is going to have your ass one way or the other before
we leave here tonight. Your backside is already going to pay a heavy price for this
disobedience when we get home, young lady. Don’t make it worse for yourself.”

But when they were lubing her anus, she began to struggle again, and Uncle Peter had
to give her six more strokes with his strap, until her bottom was aflame with pain.
With a sob, she pushed her bottom up and felt them, both of them, getting her ready,
pushing their slippery fingers into her.

Rose heard Uncle Peter’s pants fall to the floor. She turned her face this way and
that, but she couldn’t see anything except her master’s shirt, as he held her down
over the cushion.

“Open up, Rose,” he said quietly.

Her master’s voice said, sternly, “You’re a bad girl, Rose. Bad girls get fucked in
their bottoms, so there’s no use trying to keep Peter’s cock out of there. Open up,
naughty slut.”

The shame, and…
oh, no
… the sudden on-rush of arousal—more arousal than she had ever felt in her life, arousal
that made her feel like her pussy were gushing moisture onto the velvet cushion—seemed
to explode inside her, then, and she opened to the cock that mastered her.

Uncle Peter’s cock pushed hard, now, at her bottom-hole. Rose cried out, loud.

But that explosion of sensation, and the pain, as it lifted her into realms of eroticism
she hadn’t known existed, seemed also to be so powerful that it dislodged some kind
of blockade inside her mind, too.

Rose’s memories came back as Uncle Peter fucked her in the ass, gently at first but
then with more and more violence, as if he simply couldn’t contain himself. Exactly
like that shameful act, somehow, the memories came back a little at a time, and then,
suddenly, all together.

First there was more and more of the conversation with Joanne when Joanne had told
her about the Institute. Then there was the memory of masturbating for hours, thinking
about the concubine program, with the little vibrator inside her bottom, moving it
gently and trying to imagine what it would be like to have a man there whenever he
wanted, whether she felt like it or not; so aflame that after two hours of tossing
and turning she had reached for the vibrator again—how strange to think that now,
after her training, she could come and come and come, when her master wanted it, and
that she knew to keep her own hands off herself except when told to arouse herself
for the pleasure of those who owned her.

Then, all together: the phone call to Joanne saying she might want to do it, the meeting
with Leo (she gasped when she realized that the first time she had met him had been
at the mysterious office and not when, disguised as the cable guy, he had invaded
her apartment). The contract, the psychiatrist who hypnotized her. The money. All
the money. And she could walk away right now. It was all legal, and she had the legal
right to walk away, and pocket a million dollars.

Here she was now over her owner’s friend’s dining-room table, with her owner’s friend’s
cock in her ass, and this part was also in the contract, but the idea that her ass
had been given away—that it
could
be given away, even if her owner was only lending it for an hour or so—seemed to have
done something very strange to her feelings about the whole experience. Something
about the way David had claimed her had made
this
submission—the giving of her anus to another—break open the floodgates of her psyche.
And now, she realized as she felt Peter thrusting deeper and deeper into her bottom,
she would have to choose.

Did she want to have her anus given, if David chose to give it? Now that she had come
so far—now that she was here in this BDSM paradise—how essential did the fantasies
appear? How much did she need them? She had been the one to call Joanne, early the
next morning after that sleepless night spent playing with herself, to say “They’ll
really do it? They’ll really erase my memory and then kidnap me?”

Now she cried out under her master’s friend’s cock as he gripped her hips in the silk
of her white dress, and rode her backside, over her pulled-down white lace panties,
with authority. She screamed, “Thank you, Master,” and she had the first anal orgasm
of her life, every muscle in her body contracting and spasming, until she thought
the pleasure itself was part of her punishment.

And then at last Uncle Peter was coming inside her, and then her master had picked
her up, turned her around, and gathered her into his arms. Rose looked up at him.
David’s face seemed to shine with pleasure, and his eyes were wide. “Thank you, Rose,”
he said, and kissed her.

* * *

When they returned home, at around midnight, Grace and Hannah were asleep in the big
bed, and David led Rose to her room, and closed the door behind them. “Over the bed,
Rose, with your clothes off,” he said quietly. “It’s time for your punishment for
your resistance tonight.”

They had been silent all the way home. Rose’s mind had been racing, and it was racing
still, trying to figure out what to do about the memories, and the knowledge she now
had about her new life. Above all, she had to figure out what to do about the money
and the walking away.

“Did you hear me, Rose?” David said. “Get over your bed for a whipping. You disobeyed
me, and your bottom has to pay the price.”

“Oh, Master,” she said with a sob, “please… please… I’ll be good.”

“What’s gotten into you, Rose?” David said sternly. “Am I going to have to put you
over the bench and strap you down?” He gestured to the training bench that stood in
the center of Rose’s room, as an identical one had stood in her room at the Institute,
over which the masters would have her bend for her weekly assessments.

Rose tried to run away, again, then, but as earlier that night, David grabbed her
around the waist, easily. He held her fast over the bench while he got her cuffs and
put them on her, and clipped the cuffs to the rings on the bench.

“Rose,” her master said, “you’ve earned quite a whipping with this strange, rebellious
behavior. I hope you’re happy. You’ve earned thirty-six from the cane.”

“Oh, no! Oh, please, Master!”

The fear was too much.

“Master…” One last moment’s hesitation, and the cane came down on her bottom with
a fiery line of punishment, and she cried, “Master, I got my memory back!”

* * *

The phone rang in Joanne Goshen’s apartment, waking her. The clock told her the time:
3:07.

“Joanne,” said Abigail Podret, “we have a problem.”

“What happened?” Joanne asked, groggily.

“Rose’s memory came back. Fancy a free trip to the Caribbean?”

“Um… yes?”

Joanne and Abigail found Rose on the beach, at sunset the next evening. She was sitting
on a lounge chair, looking out at Orient Bay as the shadows gathered over the water,
and the boats’ lights began to twinkle.

“Rose,” said Abigail.

Rose turned around. Her eyes widened when she saw Abigail, and she said “Miss Abigail!”
and scrambled off the lounge chair to get to her knees in front of Abigail. As she
watched the tiny scene play out, Abigail saw in Rose just what she had expected. Rose’s
expression, before she realized who was there, had been troubled—almost sullen—now,
looking up at Abigail, there was a life in Rose’s face that simply hadn’t been there
before she had fallen to her knees in front of her training mistress. There was fear
there, too, but of a strangely happy, content kind. From long experience, Abigail
knew that Rose had lit up because she knew
this
fear—the fear of being punished by Abigail—very well. But the fear of what would happen
next—even with a million dollars—was a fear Rose did not want and with which she did
not know what to do.