He walked from the other side of the room to Brie’s desk. He glanced at her collar momentarily and then began speaking again.
“You will find the more power you give up, the more powerful you will feel. You are, in essence, giving a magnificent and selfless gift to your Dom. It is sacred. Never lose sight of that. A true submissive is a jewel of great worth.” His voice dropped lower and became sensual when he added, “There is nothing more intoxicating than looking down at my sub when she’s trembling at my feet in breathless anticipation for my next action or command.” Brie found her body responding to his words and had to force herself not to envision herself bowing at his feet.
He continued, “What does your Dom give back to you? He takes on the responsibility of caring for your needs throughout the scene, but he also brings to the table his imagination and experience. His is the art of arousal. A Dominant’s job is to increase his submissive’s state of excitement throughout the encounter, while at the same time testing and challenging her limits. Not an easy task, mind you, but one well worth the staging and planning required.” Mr. Gallant’s voice took on a silky consistency. “The union of a dedicated Dom and a confident submissive is a harmonious marriage of souls. There is no other experience like it.”
Brie closed her eyes as he spoke, his words resonating through her. Just listening to his description of a Dom/sub relationship gave her chills of pleasure. She couldn’t wait for the next practicum.
“I would like you to write down a favorite scenario that arouses you. One you have fantasized about for years because it makes your loins quiver when you think about it.” He handed out cloth-covered notebooks, each one different. Brie’s was a luxurious wine color. “This is your fantasy journal.”
She opened the book and was delighted to see each page was lined with gold. It was an opulent book, made to hold her sumptuous and naughty dreams. Mr. Gallant then handed each of them a gold pen. “You will not find a better writing instrument.”
Brie took hers and wrote her name on the first page. The pen glided over the paper effortlessly. She purred, loving everything about this assignment.
“Please include as many details as you can,” he continued. “You will also want to describe your feelings throughout the fantasy. You will find it aids tremendously in understanding your deepest desires. Being an exceptional submissive depends on you connecting to your unspoken needs and underlying motivations. A fantasy journal can help you do that.” Mr. Gallant sat down at his desk and proceeded to write in his own journal.
Since she was a filmmaker, Brie’s fantasies were complicated affairs. They had to make sense and her characters needed to have believable backstories or she couldn’t get into it. She took a deep breath and dived in, knowing exactly which fantasy she wanted to release onto the page.
My parents wanted to move us to Kansas in the hope that we could make a fresh start. My father had been a dreamer ever since I could remember. He’d lost everything we’d owned pursuing his impractical schemes. It didn’t surprise me when he jumped at the chance of free land when they opened up the West. He had no qualms about taking his family into the wildness. When I voiced my innate fear of Indians, Papa chastised me so severely that I never spoke of it again.
I was only eighteen at the time, a proper young woman of marrying age. Naturally, my mother and I were concerned about finding a suitable husband for me on the prairie. Papa dismissed those worries as well, claiming that Kansas men came from good stock and I would have plenty of fine gentlemen to choose from.
We were just days from our destination when our wagon train came under attack.
I hear the wild cries before I see them circle us. A cold chill grips my heart. Momma screams, “Run, Isabella! Run as fast as you can!” She pushes me off the wagon. The terror I feel gives my feet incredible speed. I don’t look back when I hear her scream—I only run faster.
I sprint until my sides ache, but I refuse to stop, knowing that it will spell my doom. Just when I think I can run no more, I come upon a stream and plunge my face into the cool water, to try to quench my insatiable thirst.
After several desperate gulps, I feel eyes boring down on me. I look up to see a savage warrior on a roan horse. He says nothing, watching me from the other side of the stream.
His look is foreign and frightening: bronze skin, long black hair, high cheekbones, and eyes that pierce my soul. When his horse starts towards me, I spring in the opposite direction even though I know it’s pointless. In a matter of seconds, the horse is running beside me.
The Indian launches himself off the large beast and tackles me to the ground. I struggle beneath him, but I am powerless against his incredible strength. He chuckles, as if he enjoys my terror. Then he turns me over in the dirt and crushes my body with his weight while pulling my hands above my head. I look into his dark eyes and see unbridled lust. It both frightens and excites me.
His lips come down on mine, demanding and firm. I whimper softly, unable to break from the intimate embrace. His smell and taste assault my senses, stirring something inside me I haven’t felt before.
Suddenly, he lifts himself off and ties my wrists together with a leather strap. He boosts me onto his horse and gracefully jumps on behind me. He nudges the magnificent beast towards his village. Once we arrive, I see that his people are celebrating the raid and showing off the spoils. As horrifying as that is, I cry out in panic when a brutal-looking warrior pulls me from the horse and drags me away.
He is stopped and a verbal exchange begins that I do not understand. To my relief, my original captor leads me to his tepee, but then he leaves me there alone. I listen to their inhuman screams and laughter throughout the long night.
Eventually, he enters the tent. I am petrified. Tears stream down my face unhindered, for I know he is about to take me. My only consolation is that he is not the other warrior. He gently wipes the wetness from my cheeks and murmurs something reassuring I can’t decipher.
I stiffen when he forces me down onto the buffalo hide. I feel his hands reach under my dress and I cry out for mercy. There will be no mercy tonight. I close my eyes tightly when he forces my clenched legs apart.
He moves between them, his manhood pressed against my womanly flower. I start to scream, but his lips muffle my cry. I struggle at the burning, pinching sensation caused by him forcing his large shaft into me. When he has pushed the entirety of his cock into my virginal depths, he stops and gazes into my eyes. There is something tender in the fierce eyes of my warrior.
He kisses me again and I feel myself start to melt. I am his now.
He gives a deep, guttural growl before he begins stroking me with his rock-hard…
“Please place your journals on my desk.”
Brie looked up with a frown, disappointed that she could not finish the fantasy. Glancing around, she noticed that the other girls had finished. Brie wondered if she was the only one who entertained such detailed fantasies. She lovingly fingered the book before placing it on Mr. Gallant’s desk. Sitting back in her seat, she willed her body to calm down. It was only a silly fantasy, after all.
“Before you start your practicum tonight, I want to inform you of tomorrow’s event. We started our first class on Wednesday for a reason. We wanted two days to weed out the non-submissives and one day to prepare you for the auction.”
Now he had Brie’s full attention.
“Every Saturday, you will participate in a private auction. It provides you with a chance to practice what you’ve learned while experiencing different Doms outside the Training Center. Rest assured, the Dominants invited to these auctions are prescreened. We guarantee whoever ends up ‘winning’ you for the day is worthy of your trust.”
Brie’s heart rate shot up. An auction? Her loins warmed at the thought of being purchased by a stranger and used for the day. Even though she was certain it wasn’t a possibility, she daydreamed Sir would be the one to win her.
“Tonight’s practicums have been especially desig
ned to meet your individual needs. We want you prepared for tomorrow’s event. Take what you learn to heart and trust our training methods.” For some reason, Mr. Gallant stared directly at Brie when he said it, making her curious about what lay ahead.
As she was leaving the classroom, she heard him call out her name and her heart sank. “May I have a word with you?”
He was going to lecture her about almost being late—she just knew it. Brie walked over to him sheepishly. Mr. Gallant didn’t need to reprimand her; there was no way she would make that mistake again. Her ankle was still aching from when she’d wrenched it.
“I have a quick question,” he said kindly. She smiled, feeling a surge of relief that he wasn’t going to chew her out. “Why are you wearing a collar?”
Brie blushed slightly when she explained, “Sir felt a few Dominants needed a visual reminder to stay away until the end of the course.”
“Interesting,” he said, as if to himself. “Thank you, Miss Bennett. You may leave.”
She hurried towards the door, excited to join the others for the first practicum. Before she made it out of the room, however, he added, “For the record, being late is a sign of disrespect.”
She cringed inside, but turned and gave him a bright smile. “I promise not to let it happen again, Mr. Gallant.”
She almost threw him a kiss goodbye because she was so giddy about the upcoming session, but managed to stop herself. OMG, how embarrassing would that have been?
Blind and Stripped
They entered room twelve again, the room that looked like a dance studio with its mirrors and wooden floors. Brie remembered to take off her heels and to keep her eyes down when she entered. She stood before the panel of four trainers, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to spread across her lips. Being in Sir’s presence after such intimate contact the night before gave her delicious butterflies.
“Tonight’s first practicum will involve yesterday’s Doms putting you through your paces. We want the commands to be second nature for you, but we also expect to see grace and poise at all times,” Sir explained in his deep, commanding voice. Brie physically trembled at the sound of it.
Their handsome Doms entered the room—all except Tono. Instead of her gorgeous Dom, Brie had a small Middle Eastern woman. Had Sir ordered Tono away because of his interest in her? The thought both saddened and pleased her.
Ms. Clark stood up and walked over to Brie. “Miss Bennett, because you had such difficulty averting your eyes yesterday, you will wear this the entire night.” She produced a blindfold and ordered Brie to turn.
Brie swallowed hard. Facing the unknown without the benefit of sight was terrifying to her. “Please, Mistress Clark,” she begged, “I learned my lesson, I promise.” However, she made the mistake of looking directly in Ms. Clark’s eyes.
“Turn,” barked the trainer angrily.
Brie dutifully turned. With deft movements, the imposing Dominatrix tied on the blindfold and snorted. “I am a strict teacher, Miss Bennett. You will learn that I do not tolerate disobedience.”
In a softer tone, Ms. Clark said, “Let me know if she disobeys you in any way.”
Brie heard a gentle voice answer, “Yes, Mistress.”
“You may go now.”
Brie felt a tight grip on her arm as the tiny woman led her from the room. Everything in her cried out to remain with Sir, but she knew defying Ms. Clark was not an option. Obviously, as the headmaster of the school, Sir agreed with her punishment or he would have prevented it.
She tried to hide her disappointment by concentrating on the woman’s touch. Although it was tight, the woman exuded calm control. Brie remembered Mr. Gallant’s assertion that she should trust the trainers’ lessons tonight and forced herself to relax. This is to prepare me for the auction, she repeated to herself.
She felt a temperature difference in the new room they entered. It was significantly colder, which made her nipples harden into tight buds.
“I want you to undress and lie on the table,” the woman commanded softly as she directed Brie’s hand to the edge of it.
Brie ran her hands over the table to get her bearings before undressing. She left her clothes on the floor and climbed onto the small table. It was barely wide or long enough to hold her. She gasped when her warm skin touched the cold vinyl. Then she heard the distinctive sound of stirrups being pulled out from the table, as if she were at a doctor’s office. With small, warm hands, the woman placed her feet into them.
It reminded her too much of a medical exam. “Please, Mistress, what are you planning to do?”
“I am not a Mistress. I would have you call me Sting, but I do not want you to speak again. Nod if you understand.”
Brie nodded, trying not to let her fear take over. Why would this woman be called Sting?
She heard a buzz and felt the woman touch her mound. “Don’t move.”
Brie bit her lip, tensing up until she felt the pleasant vibration of an electric razor. The woman trimmed her pubic hair with quick motions. Afterwards, she smelled the sweet scent of talcum powder as Sting sprinkled it over her mound and rubbed it into the skin.
Brie heard her leave the table and move across the room. When the woman returned, she felt the edges of a tray as it was placed between her legs. She tensed again, making Sting laugh. “Relax, Miss Bennett. I am good at what I do.”
Good at what?
Brie suddenly understood when she felt the hot wax. The woman pressed a strip of cloth against it and—without any warning—ripped it clean off. Brie screamed in surprise and pain.
“No more noises from you,” the woman admonished.
Brie swallowed hard as Sting spread the second application onto an adjacent area and pressed another strip of cloth onto the wax. When the woman readied for the pull, Brie held her breath and then screamed silently, feeling each individual hair rip from her body as the woman yanked off the wax. An errant tear slid down her cheek.
“Good girl,” Sting replied soothingly. “If you breathe in when I pull, it won’t hurt as much. However, I recommend you give in to the pain. Some of my clients come when I do this.”
Brie couldn’t imagine that and had to squelch another shriek. Sting was relentless as she plucked at the remaining hairs. She could only imagine what her now completely bald nether regions looked like. Afterwards, Sting applied a soothing cream to her burning skin.
“You did well, Miss Bennett. I will report that to Mistress.”
The fact that Sting had simply called her Mistress made Brie think she was Ms. Clark’s official sub. Brie had so many questions she wanted to ask Sting, but obediently kept silent.
Once Sting had cleaned up the room, she took Brie by the arm and helped her off the table. Brie stumbled, still recovering from the shock of the treatment.
“Take your time to dress,” the small woman said gently.
With shaking hands, Brie pulled on her crotchless hose and then attempted to tie her corset. After several failed attempts, she felt Sting take over. She tied it far tighter than Brie ever had. So tight, in fact, that she had trouble breathing.
“There. You look much better now. You should strive to always keep it this tight.” She helped Brie into her skirt and shoes. “Hold your panties in your hand. Mistress will want to examine my work.”
Brie blanched at the thought, but nodded. Sting led her back to the main room, where she heard the grunts and moans of the couples finishing their sessions together. Brie sighed inwardly, unhappy that she’d had to endure pain and miss out on a sexual encounter. Ms. Clark definitely knew how to make a punishment hurt on many different levels.
Brie stood there quietly until she heard the Doms leave the room.
Ms. Clark spoke in a firm voice. “Was she obedient?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Fine. Let me see.”
Brie felt the hem of her short skirt being lifted up. For the first time that night, she was grateful for the blindfold. It was humiliati
ng to be treated in such a manner. She could only imagine the delight Blonde Nemesis must be experiencing at witnessing her degradation.
“Well done,” Sir complimented. Brie’s whole attitude changed with his simple statement. If her new look pleased Sir, then there was no reason to feel mortified.
“Attractive,” Marquis Gray added. His voice held a possessive tone that unsettled Brie.
“Enough about this girl’s kootch,” Master Coen said. “We need to discuss the next practicum.”
Ms. Clark spoke up. “You may go now, pet. Thank you for your service.”
“It was my pleasure, Mistress.” Then Sting whispered to Brie, “Hold onto me while you put your panties on.”
Brie leaned against her as she tried—as gracefully as possible—to follow her command, despite the tight corset, high heels and blindfold. Blonde Nemesis snickered softly, so that only Brie could hear.
After Sting had left, Brie heard manly footsteps enter the room and wondered who it was. Sir addressed the group. “You will proceed to the commons. Miss Wilson, you are responsible for escorting Miss Bennett to and from the commons tonight.”
Brie groaned inside, but dutifully followed Blonde Nemesis. As they walked down the hallway, Wilson laughed. “Nice kootch, Bennett.”
“Shut up. You’re just jealous,” Lea retorted. She grabbed Brie, and the three walked arm in arm as if they were all good friends.
“What do you think this practicum is going to be like?” Brie asked. “It seems odd that they are still talking about it.”
“It does make me suspicious, especially with Mr. Gallant joining them,” Blonde Nemesis said.