Zippers

PART 22

 

 

As I stepped out of the house, I held my fear in check and made a mental review of all the things I had to remember to do; there was no way I could afford to fuck anything up. The day had been terribly busy and actually just plain terrible. Now I was hurrying because I knew I didn’t have much time to do what needed to be done.

 

After another session licking, sucking and fucking myself to exhaustion on the latex sensor-cock and being thoroughly worked through increasingly complex routines by the computer, I had more sessions; but this time, in other ‘disciplines’. I had not been able to approach them relaxed and with a clear mind as once again, my jaw ached from all the blowjob techniques I had been made to practice. As well as that, the muscles in my vagina throbbed from over-exertion and I was breathless from spending the last twenty minutes being forced to rapidly ‘bunny-fuck’ the cock as I straddled the training horse.

 

Of the new classes, the first of which, had been taken by Cara.

 

I was not interested in learning ‘Erotic Dance’ but I had been overjoyed to see her as she had stepped through the door wearing her calm, worldly smile and a tight black track-suit. I had hugged her tightly. After what Lisa had done earlier, she was now the closest thing to a friend that I had and that was so depressing. I felt a little lump swell in my throat as I thought that, but then forced a smile onto my face; I didn’t want to lose her as well.

 

As we had walked into the living room I saw a logo on the back of her track-suit jacket. Written in pink, in cursive neon lettering was the word ‘Zippers’. I had never heard of that brand before but before I could ask her about it, I heard the door open a second time and, turning, I could see Lisa come in. I looked away immediately but could hear that she was carrying lots of bags. I wasn’t going to go and help her, not after what she had done. She must have dumped the bags straight on the floor because in no time she was in front of me, tearful, and on her knees.

 

I looked down at her and just couldn’t hold myself from crying as I saw her, weeping at my feet,

 

‘I’m so sorry Anita, please, you have to believe me, I’m so, so sorry, so very sorry……I just couldn’t take what they were going to do to me….I didn’t mean to hurt you, I love you!...I just couldn’t…not being put in that box…..not that….’

 

She was hysterically upset, barely able to speak with her frantic sobbing. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. I had been so hurt that she had betrayed me but, now that I had felt that unspeakably evil thing myself, I could understand why she had done it. Maybe I would have done the same had I been threatened with more of it; I couldn’t say. Either way, we both had far too much to deal with, without any difficulties between us. I wasn’t going to punish her any more, even though she had so readily sold me down the river. I could see that she had suffered with her guilt already and was clearly and terribly sorry.

 

I knelt down next to her and held her. I told her that it was okay. She grabbed me tightly and tried to break a smile through her tears. I kissed her and she struggled to look at me again. I could see that it would take a lot before she could forgive herself for what she had done to me. She knew exactly what she had condemned me to and she knew the magnitude of her act.

 

 

 

‘Ahem’, Cara cleared her throat loudly ‘come on now you two. You have work to do now. You will behave and you will apply yourselves to this; as if I’m not happy, you will both be punished again. I have control and punishment privileges over both of you and I will use them if I don’t think you are working your hardest. You will remember that and you will treat me as a Mistress’

 

I was a lot happier with Cara than my other two Mistresses. We both knelt in front of her and she had us strip there. She had us both wearing only our shoes; I fetched and tied on my white ankle-boots. She had then stood each of us up and had inspected and then adjusted our posture. She spent a good time teaching us a number of poses and then cycled us through them calling out each one by name - ’Hands on hips’, ’Look at my tits’, ’From behind’….etc…

 

She then spent an hour showing us some basic dance moves.

 

She put a disc into my player and made us sway and gyrate our hips to the pulse of the beat. She told us to practice that whenever we had a few spare moments, she wanted the basic rhythm to become like second nature to us. As the lesson moved on, she had each of us trying to lap dance in front of her as she sat on one of my dining chairs, giving us pointers.

 

She had brought a crop with her which she had taken from her bag after the first few minutes. She still had her kindly way about her but there was no mistaking that she was here to train us and was very much in charge. I felt a lot less nervous in front of her, while she was holding a whip, than I did in front of Vivienne, even if she had nothing. I knew that Cara would have no option but to treat us like this. She would have the threat of her own punishment hanging over her, to be instigated if she didn’t achieve results with us.

 

She was, however, a superb teacher. She expressed what she wanted us to do very clearly and encouraged us when we did it properly. Halfway through the session, I lowered myself, bending my knees, keeping my back straight, swaying in front of her, with my hands above my head as she had shown me, so I was lifting my breasts. My mouth was parted as she had shown us and my tongue was just visible inside my lips, like I was ready to kiss or lick. She wanted me to have my legs further apart for that move. I didn’t resent her for training me, I knew she had to, but it didn’t lessen the pain from her riding crop as she switched me cruelly on my inner thighs telling me to look like I was lowering myself, needfully, onto a lovely, erect penis.

 

A tear of pain in my eye, I repeated the move for her, pretending that I was slipping myself over a stiff cock until she smiled, nodded and beckoned Lisa over to try the same. She told Lisa that her Mistress would want to see her feminine needs too, so she would make the same display that I had. She threw herself into it and escaped the lashing that I had received. Soon after however, she was whipped for not smiling and not looking enthusiastic or hot enough as she danced. As this was a more serious transgression, Cara beat her with ten fearsome strokes across her breasts. Lisa stood still with her hands behind her back, holding her breasts forward, yelping miserably with each blow. At the end, the tears ran down her face.

 

I had tried my hardest to do that well, the whole way through, as it was the first and most important lesson that Cara had stressed to us – in all things we did, we must look like we were joyful, horny, appreciative and desperate for sex. Following her advice, I tried to imagine that I was deliriously hungry for sex as I danced. I pumped and ground my body like a whore and it helped me to avoid her whip. I felt like such a slut though.

 

After the dancing I was even more fatigued and was glad that my next session was a less physical one. In fact, the ‘Behaviour’ session consisted of just me, alone, doing some research. I sat in front of the computer screen while Lisa sat behind me, noisily lapping at the artificial pussy while the computer gave her instructions.

 

I followed the programme that was laid out for me. I was to browse through the extremely comprehensive library on the hard drive and the internet and ‘get ideas’ for my role as a ‘slut’. The focus was not to be on sexual technique but rather how a girl behaved and if there were any mannerisms, touches or finesses that I could pick up or develop. After sufficient time, I would be interviewed with a view to planning my behaviours. My mind looked back to the time Vivienne and Trisha had sat me down in the Café; I knew how effective their interviews could be. As I read the instructions, I could feel that I was being subconsciously forced into a state where I would, once again, not be able to hold anything back. As I looked down the list of titles and I felt my hand move the mouse pointer, I despaired and felt a sense of woe in my very soul.