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Chapter 5
That first week was very hard on anna. But I wasn't about to jeopardize a good thing, so I always backed off when she reached her limit. Or maybe a little beyond her limit. I kept stretching her.
Day Four was the first day in which she performed perfect service with no mistakes in my presence. She was rewarded by being allowed to sleep on a palette with a pillow instead of the dog bed. From that day forward perfect service in my presence earned her the palette and pillow. One mistake and she lost the pillow. Two infractions and her sleeping accommodations were downgraded to the dog bed. Three or more meant sleeping on the bare floor with only a pillow for comfort. Four errors and the pillow was gone as well. Her sleeping privileges were not affected by the errors she committed in my absence because I didn't want to discourage her commendable honesty. For those infractions she received only a light flogging, or perhaps a couple of hours crammed into a small cage, or in tight bondage.
A few times I gave her permission to put her doggie bowl on the table and have dinner with me, albeit with her hands clasped behind her. On exceptional occasions — say, when she had endured fairly severe torture and then thanked me prettily through her tears — I allowed her the luxury of a night in my bed and a long session of tender lovemaking. This was not pure altruism; it was to help reassure her that her decision to enter slavery was the right one, that it was paying off, and that the more she indulged her own desire to serve and suffer for my pleasure, the more I loved her.
One of the things that bothered her most at first was the constant nudity. She never admitted it, even during special time-outs when she was permitted to speak freely, but when she was allowed to go to the grocery store, her delight at being able to put on a dress was amusingly evident. A little girl dressing up like Mommy. This was in spite of the fact that her entire wardrobe, hand chosen by me, was just a click away from obscene. I always chose a dress that was short, clingy, usually sleeveless and strong on cleavage. Nor was she allowed to wear anything under it. I had burned all her panties, pantyhose and bras. But that didn't dampen her enthusiasm. She seemed to revel in the glares and ogling she invariably stirred up in her barely legal outfits.
But at home she was bare, period. Training a slave in this clothes-conscious society demands that she be stripped of any sense of dignity that might be conveyed by her apparel. She must be kept forcefully aware that her body is no longer her own property and that her dignity is no longer determined by how society views her, but only by how well she pleases her Owner. Forcing a slave continuously to expose those parts of her body that were formerly private, forces her mind to absorb the reality of her place within the new lifestyle she has chosen. Her Master's clothes become symbolic trappings of His absolute power and ascendency over her. Her nakedness and slutty public attire reinforce her status as a well-disciplined pet and sex object, trained to obey.
Even at the Iron Collar Club event we attended during that first month, I made her strip naked as soon as we were inside. I also cuffed her hands behind her back, put her in leg irons that clanked as I led her about on the leash, and wrote "SLAVE IN TRAINING" on her chest and back with a red felt marker. At one point I blindfolded her so that other Masters could use her and she wouldn't be able to tell whose cock was stuffing her mouth or cunt. One Master wanted to use her anus. She had never had anal sex and tensed up as the intrusion began, but his equipment was not large enough to hurt her, so I allowed it. I enjoy sharing my playthings with my friends. Naturally, they share theirs with me as well.
Another aspect of anna's training that shocked her was the policy of "no closed doors" that I announced on the second day. She was not allowed to close the door of any room she was in, including the bathroom. When she objected to the lack of privacy and claimed she would not be able to pee or move her bowels with me standing there watching, I took her immediately to the dungeon and chained her in a sitting position over a galvanized wash bucket, except that her ass was not touching the bucket. She was suspended by her wrists with her feet wide apart in front of her and chained to eyebolts in the floor. I then took a seat in front of her, opened a book and let it be known that I would remain there until she relieved both her bladder and her bowels into the open bucket. Whether it was from the increasing pain in her wrists and shoulders or common sense surrender to my determination, it took only ten minutes before she was pissing, shitting and crying with embarrassment and humiliation. But it didn't end there. She had to carry the foul smelling bucket up to the bathroom, empty and clean it, and then clean herself as well. All as I watched.
The following day it got worse for her. I instituted a regular bodily inspection to follow her morning shower and ablutions in which I would inspect every inch of her body, including her hair, hands, fingers, feet, toes and all three orifices. She takes it all for granted now, a far cry from the first few times I made her lie on the bed with her ass on the edge, spreading her legs wide and holding them high for me to conduct an in depth vaginal exam, then made her roll over with her face in the mattress and her ass high in the air for a detailed anal exam. The pain of her humiliation was wonderful to watch.
Then came her first enema.
I never tell anna what I have planned for her each evening because I've learned that fear of the unknown is a major part of her sexual excitement. When I told her to spread plastic sheeting on the dungeon floor, placed a stool near one end of it, bent her over the stool and tied her wrists and ankles to the legs, she probably thought she was in for another paddling or caning. She hates the pain, but the anticipation of it makes her juices flow. But when I brought out the infamous galvanized bucket, worry lines appeared on her brow, and when I produced a bulging enema bag, she began lunging against the ropes.
"No, Master! Please! I hate enemas! I can't hold it in!"
My rules allowed her to beg for mercy in the dungeon without asking permission. I love it! The more she cries and pleads, the more satisfying the torture.
Knowing she would tighten her rectum against it, I lubricated the nozzle before working it deep inside her. She was still begging me not to do it when I released the flow of water. Her pleading dissolved into whimpering and facial contortions as the warm water filled her belly, demanding release. "That's enough!" she pleaded. "I have to go, now! Please! I can't hold it!" Her litany of distress became punctuated by little sobs and gasps as the last drop in the bag crowded into her distended abdomen. I withdrew the nozzle slowly, knowing that it would feel to her like the cork being pulled from a champaign bottle. Her body trembled with the strain of keeping her sphincter closed against the watery sewage stretching her belly.
"Please! Please, Master! Untie me! I can't hold it!"
"Ah, but you're holding it very well," I teased. "No leakage at all. I'm proud of you. I want you to hold it like that for a full two minutes. If you make it to the bucket, you may sleep on my bed tonight. I'll count down from one hundred twenty so you can appreciate how well you're doing."
I began the count, knowing full well that she couldn't hold it that long. She wailed pitifully, her body shaking in her valiant attempt to avert the humiliating disaster. To my surprise she actually lasted the two minutes, crying now in her agony. But as I slowly began untying the rope around her left ankle, she uttered a heart-rending cry and a brown stream burst in a high arc from her tortured anus, splashing down on the plastic sheeting stretched out on the floor behind her. I made her clean it up, of course.
She's gotten used to the enemas, now. In fact, I think she may secretly have come to like them, in the same way she loves and fears the pain of being whipped, or left chained up on the St. Andrews cross for an hour or two. These days, if she's been good, I let her get to the toilet in time.
There were some other elements of her training that disturbed her, to say the least. But the one that continued to test her resolve the most was not being able to use the furniture without permission. Any furniture.
"You mean I can't sit down?" she had squealed in disbelief when I first announced the ban.
"Of course you may sit down," I had assured her, "just as you're doing now. On the floor. The furniture is entirely off limits to you, however, just as the dining room table is off limits, unless I give you specific permission. And that includes when you are home alone."
"But what if we have guests? Won't it look strange if I sit on the floor?"
"Our lifestyle friends will understand and even expect it. For others, you will look to me for silent permission and I will give it with a gesture to the chair you are permitted to use. This will be the case even when we are visiting others and in public places like airports. If I am not with you in a public place, you have my permission to use furniture, otherwise, you must always seek my approval."
"But what if I'm at a friend's house and you're not there?"
"That won't happen while you're in training. But later on, if it's a vanilla household, you will behave as they do so as not to raise questions. But in the home of our lifestyle friends, if the Master is present, you will ask his permission to use any furniture. Otherwise, ask permission of his slave."
"You mean this isn't just temporary, not being able to use furniture?"
"Absolutely not. It's the norm. It's an important part of keeping you aware that you no longer have rights, only privileges."
Equally hard for her to accept was my refusal to let her masturbate or reach orgasm at any time without permission. "Since, as a slave, your body does not belong to you, anna, neither does it's ability to provide you pleasure. You must ask you Master for permission to make use of your sexual facilities." Masturbation had been her only steady and reliable release for the eight years since she'd reached puberty. That and fantasies of brutal lovers and violent sex. However, having to ask permission to cum had another desirable effect on horny little anna: in her eagerness to be granted that coveted permission, she became quite willing to pay for it by enduring phenomenal torments.
The day finally arrived when she begged me to end the training period and accept her as a full-fledged contracted slave. She understood she still had flaws and things to learn, but she hated being a slave, yet not quite a slave. A kind of limbo. She handed me a letter she had written. She had taken care to follow the proper capitalization for Masters and slaves and the paper was spotted with the tears of her sincerity.
"Dearest Master Daniel,
From the first time we met, from the first touch of Your hand in that bar, i was in love with You. i didn't know why then, but i do now. There was — and is — an aura about You that fulfills a yearning that's been smoldering inside me since i was a little girl. i loved being bossed around by my older brothers and being punished by my parents when i was bad. And i was bad a lot. Maybe that's why. Right away You dispensed with all that sentimental dating bullshit and let me know that the depth of Your love for me depended entirely on the depth of my obedience to You. O God, how i love that! i get wet just thinking about the many ways you've punished me when i slipped. i fear the punishments and get all weak-kneed anticipating the pain and other tortures, but when it's over, i'm so proud that i managed to endure it and that You love and respect me all the more for it, i just want to throw myself on a plate so you can eat me alive! You've enabled me to be what i've always wanted to be: the beloved captive of a strong and harsh Master, free to abandon all pretense at being "normal" so that i can surrender my mind, body and soul to your unquestioned command. You have released the raving slut in me, shown me the joy of submitting utterly to Your stern will and made me happier than i could have ever thought possible. i offer myself as a gift and beg You to accept, unworthy as i am. i love You and want to please You more than i desire life itself. i will happily do anything You demand of me, suffer any agony You choose to inflict. Even if You should tire of me one day and decide to put me to death, i will accept your decision bravely and be grateful for the enchantment that You brought into my life. You have opened the door to an existence that has, until now, only been a lovely dream. With Your iron hand to guide me, i promise to grow into the well-trained, devoted slave You desire and can love and be proud of.
Your prostrate slave,
anna
What more can a man ask? She had sealed her own fate, exactly as I had known she would.
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