my
heart.
He kisses the top of my head, and I close my
eyes.
I’m so tired, and his touch, his voice, his
very being is so soothing that I can’t hold out any longer. I drift
into the first truly restful sleep I’ve had in days.
Chapter Eight
The days blur together.
I think this must be at least my sixth day
here, possibly even my seventh. I don’t want to lose track of time,
but it’s so hard to keep up with its passage. Every morning, I’m
bathed, fed, and told to relieve myself outside. Afterwards, the
training begins.
I’m forced to crawl, even trot on all fours,
for hours on end. I learn to sit and stay and fetch on command. I
keep expecting something more…intimate than the continuous drudgery
White Coat puts me through, but other than a steady bit of
fondling, no man has ever tried to force himself on me.
I appreciate that.
Ever since that afternoon beneath the apple
tree, I know Master has been trying to go slow with me. I hardly
ever jump when he touches me now, and I really do try to be good. I
need him to take my obedience for granted, but sometimes…sometimes
it’s just so hard. If I let my thoughts fade away, if I just let
myself pretend that crawling and begging for a fingered cunt are
typical everyday activities, then I can sometimes manage. But when
I actually think about what I’m doing, what I’m becoming, then the
shakes start all over again and it’s all I can do to push myself
back into action before White Coat’s crop bites my rear.
God, I hate that crop.
Only a few lingering welts remain, but
they’re enough to remind me of what’s to come if I don’t obey. I
suppose I’m lucky that disobedience doesn’t come naturally. I
generally do like to please, but to be expected to obey every act
of depravity White Coat sets before me…
I shudder.
I’ve had it easy so far. God only knows how
I’ll react when the really hard stuff begins. But of course I can’t
think about that right now. No, now I have to watch White Coat. He
beckons Miss Priss to the center of the yard, and she crawls easily
to him, her breasts swaying gently along with her hips. When she
glances back in my direction, a shimmer of amusement colors her
eyes, and she wiggles her ass my way.
God, I really, really hate that smug
bitch.
White Coat snaps his fingers above me, and I
turn my attention back to him. He points down to Miss Priss.
“Voro.”
Watch. Okay, I can watch.
I sit back on my knees. All week we’ve gone
through this. Miss Priss will demonstrate each command, and then
I’ll be expected to do the same. It’s become pretty monotonous by
now, but I don’t dare let my attention wander. Lord knows I don’t
want any more marks on my ass.
“Nita!” he says, and Miss Priss sits back on
her knees just as I’m sitting now.
He’s drilled this command into me for so long
that by now I do it almost on reflex. Just like Miss Priss, I
spread my knees open in a wide V while resting my ass against my
own upturned heals. The big toe of each foot touches the tip of the
other. My chin is up, shoulders back, and each arm bent at the
sides so that my breasts are fully exposed while my hands hang
aloft like the paws of a begging dog.
Miss Priss and I are mirror images of each
other, and White Coat nods to us both before moving to the next
order.
“Dinsi.”
I don’t know dinsi.
Miss Priss drops back to her hands and knees
before lowering her chest to the ground. With one side of her face
pressed against the grass, she looks up at White Coat and parts her
legs.
My stomach lurches.
He strokes her cunt before turning to
retrieve something from the black case he’d brought with him this
morning.
God only knows what he has locked inside that
case.
I see its tip first. Silver and long, an
ungodly-sized dildo rises up from White Coat’s supplies. My mouth
goes dry.
Sweet Lord, that thing has to be nearly as
thick as my wrist. There’s no way any woman could ever take
something that
heart.
He kisses the top of my head, and I close my
eyes.
I’m so tired, and his touch, his voice, his
very being is so soothing that I can’t hold out any longer. I drift
into the first truly restful sleep I’ve had in days.
Chapter Eight
The days blur together.
I think this must be at least my sixth day
here, possibly even my seventh. I don’t want to lose track of time,
but it’s so hard to keep up with its passage. Every morning, I’m
bathed, fed, and told to relieve myself outside. Afterwards, the
training begins.
I’m forced to crawl, even trot on all fours,
for hours on end. I learn to sit and stay and fetch on command. I
keep expecting something more…intimate than the continuous drudgery
White Coat puts me through, but other than a steady bit of
fondling, no man has ever tried to force himself on me.
I appreciate that.
Ever since that afternoon beneath the apple
tree, I know Master has been trying to go slow with me. I hardly
ever jump when he touches me now, and I really do try to be good. I
need him to take my obedience for granted, but sometimes…sometimes
it’s just so hard. If I let my thoughts fade away, if I just let
myself pretend that crawling and begging for a fingered cunt are
typical everyday activities, then I can sometimes manage. But when
I actually think about what I’m doing, what I’m becoming, then the
shakes start all over again and it’s all I can do to push myself
back into action before White Coat’s crop bites my rear.
God, I hate that crop.
Only a few lingering welts remain, but
they’re enough to remind me of what’s to come if I don’t obey. I
suppose I’m lucky that disobedience doesn’t come naturally. I
generally do like to please, but to be expected to obey every act
of depravity White Coat sets before me…
I shudder.
I’ve had it easy so far. God only knows how
I’ll react when the really hard stuff begins. But of course I can’t
think about that right now. No, now I have to watch White Coat. He
beckons Miss Priss to the center of the yard, and she crawls easily
to him, her breasts swaying gently along with her hips. When she
glances back in my direction, a shimmer of amusement colors her
eyes, and she wiggles her ass my way.
God, I really, really hate that smug
bitch.
White Coat snaps his fingers above me, and I
turn my attention back to him. He points down to Miss Priss.
“Voro.”
Watch. Okay, I can watch.
I sit back on my knees. All week we’ve gone
through this. Miss Priss will demonstrate each command, and then
I’ll be expected to do the same. It’s become pretty monotonous by
now, but I don’t dare let my attention wander. Lord knows I don’t
want any more marks on my ass.
“Nita!” he says, and Miss Priss sits back on
her knees just as I’m sitting now.
He’s drilled this command into me for so long
that by now I do it almost on reflex. Just like Miss Priss, I
spread my knees open in a wide V while resting my ass against my
own upturned heals. The big toe of each foot touches the tip of the
other. My chin is up, shoulders back, and each arm bent at the
sides so that my breasts are fully exposed while my hands hang
aloft like the paws of a begging dog.
Miss Priss and I are mirror images of each
other, and White Coat nods to us both before moving to the next
order.
“Dinsi.”
I don’t know dinsi.
Miss Priss drops back to her hands and knees
before lowering her chest to the ground. With one side of her face
pressed against the grass, she looks up at White Coat and parts her
legs.
My stomach lurches.
He strokes her cunt before turning to
retrieve something from the black case he’d brought with him this
morning.
God only knows what he has locked inside that
case.
I see its tip first. Silver and long, an
ungodly-sized dildo rises up from White Coat’s supplies. My mouth
goes dry.
Sweet Lord, that thing has to be nearly as
thick as my wrist. There’s no way any woman could ever take
something that
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