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Authors: Emily Tilton
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probably from the coincidence of the sight
of her own caned bottom with the lesson. It was exactly what Leo was looking for.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it, Rose? That’s enough for tonight. Time to tie you up,
sweetheart.”
The way Leo did the tying was an essential part of the breaking process: he made a
big shibari-like show, with great lengths of doubled rope wound round and round her
legs and arms. But, pretending to be careless, he left one of the ends of the rope
around the wrists loose. If she was as determined as he thought she would be, it would
take her about 10 minutes.
After tying up her wrists and ankles, Leo hogtied her on the bed. “We’ll wax you between
your legs tomorrow, Rose,” he said. “I think you probably need some good sleep.” She
looked absolutely lovely, in the rope there on the bed, looking exactly the way an
owner wanted to find a concubine. He took some pictures for David. Her expression
was unreadable; Leo knew that Rose still stood a great distance away from being able
to analyze the emotions she felt at what he was doing to her. Abigail had said that
the most important part of Rose’s process would involve giving her the sense of a
solidity in her new life—getting her to understand that she had come into a kind of
fellowship of Dominants and submissives: a strange, but real, family. To trick her
into a final attempt at escape, oddly enough, would be an essential part of that process:
only when she realized she was not going to get away would she start to feel the solidity
that would finally make her part of her new family.
“Rose,” he said, “do you think you’re about as comfortable as a hogtied concubine
can be?”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Alright, Rose, I’m going to go sleep on the couch. It’s important that I keep my
distance from you during the break-in period. Owners like that because they want to
be the first master who gets to sleep next to you.”
This was nonsense. He was going out to sleep on the couch to allow Rose to make her
escape attempt.
“Good night, Rose,” he said. “Now you say good night to me.”
“Good night, Master,” she said. She was, fortunately, very transparent. He could hear
even in her words ‘Good night, Master’ that she was going to try to escape, for she
had uttered the phrase as if she were not intending to sleep—the intonation was subtle,
of course, but very noticeable to Leo’s trained ears. That transparency had all sorts
of implications for how good a concubine she was going to be, as well. Owners prized
very highly concubines whose little rebellions and defiances they could predict and
enjoy chastising. And Leo knew that he was going to enjoy chastising Rose for her
escape attempt.
Leo puttered in the kitchen for just a little while, to give Rose a chance to work
out her plan, and then he turned out the light and went to the living room to lie
down on the couch. He doubted that Rose would be crafty enough to recognize a true
sleep rhythm of breathing, but he could certainly do a very convincing one. He gave
it five minutes, and then he began to pretend to be asleep.
It took two hours. Longer than some, not as long as others. It was always an intensely
boring time for Leo, but over the years he had developed a series of mental games
that he played with himself at such times. He also had a large store of memorized
poetry whose continuing presence in his mind he valued highly, and of which he generally
would run through as much as he could during these moments, to make sure for example
that he was not forgetting the tenth line of the first book of Virgil’s Aeneid .
He was halfway through a long passage of memorized Wordsworth when he heard Rose coming
out of the bedroom. For the past half hour he had been listening to the sounds of
her quietly freeing herself from the ropes. He continued with his sleep rhythm until
she had
of her own caned bottom with the lesson. It was exactly what Leo was looking for.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it, Rose? That’s enough for tonight. Time to tie you up,
sweetheart.”
The way Leo did the tying was an essential part of the breaking process: he made a
big shibari-like show, with great lengths of doubled rope wound round and round her
legs and arms. But, pretending to be careless, he left one of the ends of the rope
around the wrists loose. If she was as determined as he thought she would be, it would
take her about 10 minutes.
After tying up her wrists and ankles, Leo hogtied her on the bed. “We’ll wax you between
your legs tomorrow, Rose,” he said. “I think you probably need some good sleep.” She
looked absolutely lovely, in the rope there on the bed, looking exactly the way an
owner wanted to find a concubine. He took some pictures for David. Her expression
was unreadable; Leo knew that Rose still stood a great distance away from being able
to analyze the emotions she felt at what he was doing to her. Abigail had said that
the most important part of Rose’s process would involve giving her the sense of a
solidity in her new life—getting her to understand that she had come into a kind of
fellowship of Dominants and submissives: a strange, but real, family. To trick her
into a final attempt at escape, oddly enough, would be an essential part of that process:
only when she realized she was not going to get away would she start to feel the solidity
that would finally make her part of her new family.
“Rose,” he said, “do you think you’re about as comfortable as a hogtied concubine
can be?”
“Yes, Master,” she said.
“Alright, Rose, I’m going to go sleep on the couch. It’s important that I keep my
distance from you during the break-in period. Owners like that because they want to
be the first master who gets to sleep next to you.”
This was nonsense. He was going out to sleep on the couch to allow Rose to make her
escape attempt.
“Good night, Rose,” he said. “Now you say good night to me.”
“Good night, Master,” she said. She was, fortunately, very transparent. He could hear
even in her words ‘Good night, Master’ that she was going to try to escape, for she
had uttered the phrase as if she were not intending to sleep—the intonation was subtle,
of course, but very noticeable to Leo’s trained ears. That transparency had all sorts
of implications for how good a concubine she was going to be, as well. Owners prized
very highly concubines whose little rebellions and defiances they could predict and
enjoy chastising. And Leo knew that he was going to enjoy chastising Rose for her
escape attempt.
Leo puttered in the kitchen for just a little while, to give Rose a chance to work
out her plan, and then he turned out the light and went to the living room to lie
down on the couch. He doubted that Rose would be crafty enough to recognize a true
sleep rhythm of breathing, but he could certainly do a very convincing one. He gave
it five minutes, and then he began to pretend to be asleep.
It took two hours. Longer than some, not as long as others. It was always an intensely
boring time for Leo, but over the years he had developed a series of mental games
that he played with himself at such times. He also had a large store of memorized
poetry whose continuing presence in his mind he valued highly, and of which he generally
would run through as much as he could during these moments, to make sure for example
that he was not forgetting the tenth line of the first book of Virgil’s Aeneid .
He was halfway through a long passage of memorized Wordsworth when he heard Rose coming
out of the bedroom. For the past half hour he had been listening to the sounds of
her quietly freeing herself from the ropes. He continued with his sleep rhythm until
she had
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