Never Let Me Go

I listened intently to the sound of my heels clicking on the hardwood floor as I took three measured steps to place myself at the ideal vantage point for inspecting my handiwork. I paused to give my audience an arrogant grin before I turned to ensure that my arrogance was warranted. That bit of showmanship completed, I spun around on my right heel and I found my masterpiece was just as perfect as I had left it. He was beautiful. His dark brown hair was just long enough to curl boyishly against his neck and his lightly tanned skin shined with the oil I had lovingly spread over his body. I couldn't see his face but I knew the brave yet uneasy look that would be filling his pretty hazel eyes, just as I knew that his aching cock was hard and pressed against the unyielding coolness of my parlor's wall.

It had taken my toy and I several charming hours to find the precise placement that was needed for each of the four hangers so that he was spread in a pleasingly helpless X position. And then it had taken me the full seven days I had with him to train him to hold himself in the position that I desired without restraints - his legs being held wide by wooden pegs pressing against the inside of each ankle and his hands fiercely griping the hooks above him. His muscles trembled gently with his effort but without any indication that he would let go. Not yet anyway. We would see how obedient he would be when the strap started to fall, but for the moment, his performance was delightful.

This was to be my last night with Adam and I wanted to make it a memorable one. My former pupil, Christine, had come to me in tears last week because lovely Adam would no longer play her silly games. For two months, she had spoiled him, she had ruined him, and then she had brought him to me to fix. So I have resolved his issues with obedience, after all that is what he is paying for, and I can only hope that my show will remind Christine and the assembled novices what being someone's Mistress really means. Because Adam deserves to live the next ten months of his contract as the abject slave that used to only exist in his fantasies and not as a confused man being pushed around by an uninspired girl playing a bitch. Some people like Christine's soft style, her gentle push to a playful surrender, and potential slaves do tend to get distracted by how gorgeous she is. But others need a firmer hand and a guide through the maze of emotions that lead to complete submission. And Adam was not the playful type.

After a sufficiently agonizing pause, I addressed Adam with one of those erotically charged questions that only has one correct answer, "Are you ready for your discipline, Adam?"

His well-muscled bottom clenched almost imperceptibly at my question which it only did when I used that word. I had painstakingly taught him the difference between punishment for disobedience and discipline. Discipline was an exercise in self-control. Discipline was pain purely for my enjoyment. It was his willing participation in the use of his body in whatever way pleased me and it was what Adam needed.

"Yes, Mistress," he answered with an intoxicating mix of excitement, fear and sexual heat.

Not giving him any time to dwell on his fate any further, I lifted the heavy leather strap in my right hand and snapped it solidly against his waiting buttocks. He tensed and as I lifted the strap again, I watched his subtle struggle with himself not to run away from the pain. The leather cracked against his skin again, harder this time, eliciting a low whimper that was almost as arousing as the sound my whip made. The next firm blow brought out a small rough cry as his muscles tightened, then after another few strikes I got what I wanted. Adam let out a tortured moan and relaxed into his suffering, no longer struggling to escape the pain. I rewarded him with lighter and faster lashes that stung tantalizingly across his buttocks and thighs. I didn’t count the blows, I never do, and I stopped only when I was satisfied with the reddened color of Adam’s skin and the softness of his body.

When I was happy with my work, I paused to catch my breath and to listen to Adam's exhausted pant. Then tossing the strap on a nearby chair, I said, "Come here, Adam."

I didn't wait to watch him carefully release his desperate hold on the hooks, that was a show for our guests to enjoy. Instead I busied myself with arranging the piece of furniture that was to be a key prop in the next part of the performance. Placing the large square ottoman directly in front of the Mistresses that I had invited for my demonstration, I gave them a haughty look and then noticed that they were not looking at me. I followed their gaze and there was Adam kneeling beside me. I had fully expected to find him defiantly standing behind me, just waiting for the opportunity to force me to demand that he kneel. I smiled despite myself and ran my hand through his hair before telling him to bend over the ottoman. He immediately rose and took up the required position, his legs spread, bending at the waist with his forearms resting on the cushion.

"Wider!" I admonished and slapped the inside of his thigh, "You know better than that." And he complied, widening his stance.

"His back isn't arched enough," Leslie offered brightly. I gave her a withering glare but I put my hands to Adam's hips and lifted them so that his back had to arch to keep him in the position I wanted. Then I left him there and walked slowly to the chest that I kept next to the fireplace. I noisily opened the box and rummaged through my toys until I found my favorite strap-on. I took my time putting it on over the lacy black panties that I was wearing and adjusting it securely.

When I returned to Adam his pose had become lazy. His back had rounded out again and his knees had started to bend, one of his problems that still needed fine tuning, but I didn't have time to correct the behavior, so I settled for intimidation.

"Do you need more attention from the strap, Adam?" I threatened and brushed a hand over his buttocks to remind him of how sore he was.

"No, please, Mistress," he replied in a rush but I didn't give him time to fix his mistake. I kicked his legs a bit wider, wider than I needed, and adjusted his hips again.

"Lucinda," the novice Amy began, knowing that Adam would have to wait in this position again, "In seven days, you had a rebellious slave tamely holding himself in position for you. Your methods must have been severe. Poor thing!"

I chuckled, caressing Adam's back where pale pink lash marks were healing nicely, and the others murmured their agreement. I felt him tense at Amy putting into words what had been done to him. But it was good for him to hear it. To know that he had accomplished the emotional and physical surrender that I had been coaxing him to for the past week. To be reminded of the journey we had taken into the dark depths of his soul and the release that he had found there.

"It's all a matter of training," I said, "And you have to understand your charge in order to know what methods to use. Don't you Adam?"

Adam had stayed where I had put him this time and when I had run my finger along his anus as I asked him the question I received a restrained moan that was most certainly an affirmative. I smiled and reached for the oil to carefully lubricate the shaft of my strap-on. Then without any further dawdling, gave him only a brief tease with the tip of my leather cock before I sunk it into him as far as it would go, pushing with my calf muscles to press my hips against his sore bottom. Adam groaned in pleasure mingled with pain and I reached a hand between his legs to caress his swollen cock as I began to drive into him with slow, firm strokes. This wasn't punishment for Adam, it was a kind of sexual torture that had nothing to do with violation. In fact, he had grown to love the feel of a dildo inside him, rubbing teasingly against a certain male gland. When one's existence is reduced to varying degrees of pain punctuated by brief moments of ecstasy, you learn to welcome anything that will bring release. The true purpose of the act was to taunt and arouse him. Even though I couldn't not feel the sensation of being inside him, I held the power to enter him, while his hunger to bury himself in me would go unsatisfied.

I rocked my hips in more and more exaggerated strokes, letting him feel every inch of me, mimicking the long, sure thrusts of an attentive lover. Adam groaned again. His cock had continued to harden in my hand and was now so unreservedly ridged that I was toying with the edge of his control. Adam fought hard to restrain his body because he knew that he would not be allowed to reach his climax so easily. Last night I had bestowed upon him the reward that his submission sought to earn, the singular bliss of being the devoted lover of a contented Mistress. He had been granted entrance into the temple of the female, a place forbidden to all but the most obedient slaves, and now he was paying for the indulgence.

Abruptly, I drew out of him, leaving him gasping for breath and composure. Then I unbuckled myself and flung the used toy next to the strap.

"Up, Adam," I said, releasing him from his stance, "Follow me."

As I moved to take a seat on the couch across from my now fascinated pupils, I couldn't help but smile in anticipation of the grand finale that I had planned.

"Kneel over my lap, like I taught you," I told him as I took one of his wrists to guide him. I positioned him with one knee on either side of my left knee so that his chest stretched over my head as he supported himself on the head rest.

"Good," I cooed to him and caressed the backs of his thighs, his hamstrings bulging wonderfully under my hands. Adam shuddered for me and I murmured more soft encouragements as moved my hands to play with his already hardened nipples. He lowered his head to my right shoulder and sighed heavily. My right hand soon found its way to his hardness and as I stroked his cock, he leaned forward and pressed his forehead more firmly against my shoulder. A low anguished cry escaped him which drew admiring murmurs from the ladies and bought him a remorselessly cruel pinch to his nipple to keep him in line. He whimpered, but my hand never stopped its relentless stroking.

Adam knew this game intimately. It had been an important part of his training, but sexual obedience had always been the hardest part for him, especially in front of other people. I had found this to be true of many men especially when they discovered that they actually enjoyed it. From early on, however, Adam had understood the exquisite suffering that was required to perform it properly.

The obvious rule was that the slave could not climax until I gave him permission but also he must fully give himself to the experience. I want to hear his pleading moans, to see his hips thrusting eagerly in time with my strokes, and to feel his body tense as he struggles for control. I want everything. And only by giving it to me could he escape punishment. At first many men simply refuse to play the game and let themselves come quickly no matter how severe the punishment will be. Then eventually they begin to try to figure out how to beat the game by holding something back. This never satisfies me and the punishment I mete out reflects my disappointment. And then one day they simply give in and discover that it is better to trust me with their bodies and fail than to fight my touch and succeed. It is the slave's duty to surrender and the Mistress's job to learn the slave's body well enough to get the performance she desires. So if the reason the performance ends prematurely truly lies at my feet, then correction my slave will receive is half-hearted at best.

Adam, with his sharp mind, had quickly understood what this game was asking of him and once I had realized that, there had been no mercy for him. There had been no excuses for refusing to submit his orgasm to me. But that didn't make it any easier for him to display his body in the throes of passion for a rapt audience.

Adam moaned again pitifully, his hips snapping helplessly to the rhythm that I had set, a rhythm that he would frantically continue to follow when I released my grip to ease off on the sensation. I relaxed my hand and bit at his neck and I was rewarded with an imploring "please" as he thrust wildly into my loose hand.

"We don't beg, do we Adam?" I asked him evenly though we both new how much it excited me when he pleaded. My clever pet had learned when he could implore me for leniency and not be reprimanded for it.

"N- . . . Mistress," he sighed.

"I didn't think so," I replied and I took a firm hold of him again and continued his torment.

The next time Adam cried out to me in wordless desperation, I did not give him the relief of a flash of pain or the easing of my grip.

"Adam," I said.

"Aaaah!" he responded.

I paused, basking in the joy that an obedient slave can bring.

"Come for me," I whispered to him and that was all that it took. He spilled himself into my hand, his whole body participating in the offering of his seed, his harsh moans filling the room. And when it was over, the only sound was his rough breath against my shoulder. I gave him a moment to compose himself before I pushed him back and kissed him deeply. His lips responded, soft and defeated, and I had to force myself to let him go.

It really was a shame that I wouldn't be able to take him to my bedroom and use him for my pleasure. He deserved to be the one to quench the fire that he had lit between my legs despite my efforts to remain detached. And I had grown quite fond of him, how valiantly he had fought me and how utterly he had eventually given himself over. But tonight I must hand him over to the Mistress he had chosen and she would have the privilege of continuing his training.

"Get up, Adam, and stand before us," I made myself say.

Adam rose weakly off of me and stood where the coffee table had been between the couches before I had moved it for this evening's performance.

"Well, what do you think, Christine?" I asked bitterly. "Is he tame enough for you?"

"My dear, Lucinda," she gushed, "You've really out done yourself this time. He's exquisite."

"Yes, well," I began, rising from my seat, "Just make sure you don't ruin all of my hard work."

"Oh, don't be cruel. . .," she started to reply when she noticed Adam moving to kneel in front of me.

I smiled, proud of him. He had been on his best behavior for the Mistress who had come to reclaim him and now he was showing off for her. It is supremely satisfying to see a slave eager to please his Mistress, however unsuitable she was for him, but Christine was furious.

"Adam," she shrieked.

"I think he has chosen a new Mistress," Bianca, who had until now remained silent, commented.

"How dare you!" Christine rose, not amused by Bianca's goading remark, and stomped over to my side. "You belong to me," she informed Adam and reaching down, snatched a handful of his hair and wrenched his head back so that she could look him in the eyes.

But it was too late. Even she knew that. I could see it in the set of his jaw and the defiance etched in the lines of his face. He was mine now and there was nothing either of us could do about it.

"So be it," she spat and released her hold, storming out of the room with the rest of the Mistresses trailing after her like driftwood caught in the tide.

I watched Christine leave and I could not keep a triumphant smile from spreading across my face, such is the pride of a Mistress. I was vaguely aware of Adam lowering himself down into a bow again but when I felt his lips pressed reverently to my feet, I looked down and my composure shattered. As he continued to shower my feet with gentle kisses, my smiling lips began to tremble, tears welling in the corners of my eyes. How many times had I told him to kneel before me? How many times had I demanded that he kiss my feet? Countless, surely! But this display was not performed to fulfill the ritual of obedience or to buy mercy when punishment was due.

His kisses were real. And they were an offering I was not prepared to accept.