("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2010. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Whitney's Training Session by MarArch (mararch@ix.netcom.com) *** There is such a thing as a submissive woman. Some women really do get off by submitting their will AND body to other people's will. This story was written for Whitney as a tool in her submissive training. (MF/F, d/s, bd, cons) *** It was a long and difficult day for you, wasn't it, my dove. Signing on to collect any morning mail, and discovering those instructions... and how elaborate they were... the toys, the clamps, the ropes and that agonizing moment when you considered whether or not to simply skip them and get started with the day that was already beginning to run late. In the end you sighed and complied, didn't you... binding and clamping your body beneath your tasteful outer garments, setting yourself up to endure a day of torment that would have you wet and reeking by the time you arrived home. And then, upon returning, signing on once more and discovering the other letter... this one informing you that you would have guests this evening, and should be prepared for anything... absolutely anything. That sent a shudder through you, didn't it, little pet. Because you well knew that when I used that word "anything", you would very shortly find your limits stretched a bit further than ever before. Were you really up to such activities tonight? And did that really matter? You are a sub, to the very core of your soul... and when your Master tells you to dance, you do not complain of sore feet or fatigue... you merely blend your body to his and swirl into the soft music of the night. So, you quickly undressed, preparing yourself, as instructed... and when the doorbell rang, you took a deep breath, feeling very naked and vulnerable covered only in the skimpy thong panties, stepped over to turn the lock on the door before returning to the center of the room, where you knelt in the position you know would please me... knees spread wide, fingers laced behind your neck, back straight, eyes cast downwards. "Come in, Sir," you call, and the door opens before you. You felt a deep flush of shock rush into your cheeks as you realized that I was being followed into your sanctuary by two others... a couple, you imagined.... him, tall, slender, with dark hair and eyes... she almost as stately in height but with hair the color of glowing embers and eyes of burning jade. We were laughing lightly as we entered, the tail end of some small humor trailing in behind us as we stepped past the portal and I cast a casual glance at your kneeling form, my eyes registering pride and approval before moving fully into the room and admitting them. He, however, paused to gaze down at you for a long moment, his eyes sweeping slowly over you, as if appraising your worth, before the smile spread out onto his lips. "Very nice," he said quietly, and then moved past you, as if having seen a work of art, appreciated it and complimented the owner, was now concerned with other matters. She, on the other hand, drilled you with her gaze, and even from that distance, you could feel her hunger suddenly begin to swell. A low, appreciative moan slid past her lips and she gazed down at you for a long moment before turning to close the door and slip the lock with ominous slowness. Then she turned back to you and moved, her body almost slinking with each step, until she was no more than a foot from you. Your eyes were fixed on her stomach, just where the top of the slit in her long skirt revealed the very top of her stocking. And you watched as her long-nailed hand slid over her hip, her palm drifting lightly across the fabric as she gently stroked her lower abdomen, no more than a foot from your face. And then, you caught her lusty scent rising up before you, and watched as her hand slid back, the fingers slipping into the top of the slit in the skirt and slowly disappeared as her hand now brushed over her hip and toward her own hidden sex. And you saw as her other hand slowly began to rise up toward you, the palm opening, as if to gently place itself upon your cheek. But then, before it made contact, you heard from somewhere behind you, that cautioning tone I sometimes use. "Uh, uh... no touching." She never took her eyes off you as her voice growled up, hungrily, somewhere above you. "I want it." "Later," you hear me say, and she whimpers, disappointed, her hidden hand slowly withdrawing from beneath the skirt and raised, casually, slowly to her mouth. Because of your downcast eyes you cannot see but only hear the faint sound as she dips the finger into her mouth and tastes her own growing lust. Then, with a sigh, she turns and moves away, leaving you kneeling, waiting, in the center of the room. That was how long ago? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour? Only long enough for a quick tour of the place as I guide them around, explaining how we have used each location, what was done to you in what place and what innovations you endured during our play. And then they returned for a little more idle chatter, before you heard my voice, somewhere behind you, "Well, shall we get started?" And the sound of them sinking into the two chairs which faced the open area of the room, the tinkling of ice in glasses as they got comfortable and then the sound of my voice, "Whitney? Please come here, dear." And so, it has begun... "Kneel, please." Without unclasping your hands from behind your neck, you kneel, in the center of the room, facing the two chairs into which our guests have settled to observe your training. Even though you carefully keep your eyes averted and fixed on the floor just between the chairs, you cannot help but notice the woman shifting in her chair slightly, nor her hand as it slides down into her lap, the fingers beginning to curl and uncurl at the fold in her long skirt just over the mound of her sex. The man sits, legs crossed, observing dispassionately, his drink held casually before him. I am standing beside you, my voice casually drifting through the room. "As you can see, she has taken well to her training so far. But I thought that, for tonight, we would go just a bit further and see how much she can endure. She, of course, knows her safe word and understands that she won't be harmed in any way. But tonight, I did want her to feel what it would be like to be... shall we call it 'tested', while others looked on." "Whitney," you hear me say from above you, "what is the most distracting sense?" "Sight, Sir" you reply, having come to understand this through long sessions of experiment and training. "Yes. Sight," you hear me say, and from the corner of your eye you see me step to a table beside the seat in which the strange man is settled and place my drink upon it, before turning and moving off behind you, out of your vision. A few moments later, you feel the first touch of the heavy blindfold on your hair and you close your eyes to allow it to settle into place, its thick fleece lining brushing gently down over your face while its thick, tight elastic strap grips the back of your head. Your vision thus cut off, you reach out with your ears, straining to fix on any clue as to what might occur next. The answer is not long in coming. A faint rattle behind you and you instantly recognize the familiar clanking of the restraints on the ends of the spreader bar. This is followed by the touch of my fingers on your left ankle, as the restraint is slipped around it and buckled into place, securing it tightly. I gently press against your other ankle, forcing it outwards and causing you to shift your weight, spreading your knees wider, until you can feel the tension in the joints of your hips, before the other restraint is fitted around your right ankle and pulled snug. The position hangs just on the verge of being uncomfortable, and you can already feel the muscles of your upper thighs beginning to tense, straining to hold you upright. A small groan escapes your lips, and from before you, you hear an answering sigh from the strange woman, as if she has absorbed your discomfort and converted it to some secret, inner lust. A few moments later, you are startled to feel something hard pressed against the small of your back, almost knocking you forward. But before you pitch over, you feel the press of my palm against your shoulder, pulling you back, and you realize that it is, in fact, that low, small stool that normally sits against the wall near the front door. You feel me bend down and my fingers grip your thigh, just above your knee, urging it even further open. You strain to press it outward and then feel the forelegs of the stool slip down between your calves, just below the knees, holding you now spread to the limit. You shift slightly, and realize that the stool is now placed so that it sits almost gripped by your lower legs, it's four firmly planted posts touching the insides of your ankles and your upper calves, just below the knees. "Hands behind your head, please, Whitney," you hear me say, and unclasp your fingers from behind your neck, moving your arms around until they encounter the sides of the stool. It is a bit of a strain to turn them so that they come to rest at the small of your back, but the instant you feel the long, silk scarf beginning to wind around the wrists, you relax them, and the tension ebbs from your now oddly positioned elbows and shoulders. You feel the wrapped fabric of the scarf pulled tightly into place and knotted securely, trapping your hands in that familiar arrangement, but before you can relax and begin to absorb that delicious sense of helplessness, you feel the end of a second scarf looped over the first a single time and tied off. Before you can figure out just what this new sensation portends, the answer is driven home to you, as you feel this silken leash gently pulled back, drawing your bound wrists outwards behind you, sliding them over the seat of the stool, causing your body to bend backwards. Just when it reaches a point that puts the maximum tension on your spine and shoulders, you feel your wrists slip down the opposite side of the stool and plunge straight down behind it, causing your upper body to arc back until it is virtually lying across the seat. A torrent rushes through your mind, as you realize that you have never felt this exposed, this vulnerable, your body bowed back and all your most sensitive flesh exposed. You feel the other end of the silken leash pulling tight and assume it has been tied off to the center of the spreader bar. In fact, it is almost possible to relax your body and lay flat long the seat of the stool to which you are now securely bound, but the tension of the moment prevents this. You hear me rise from behind you and move around your side, kneeling once more on the soft carpeting. Your breathing is now becoming shallow and rapid, both with apprehension and excitement, wondering what next will occur to you. You do not have long to wait for the answer. The very faintest tickling at the joint of your hip tells you that my fingertips have grasped the small bow that holds together that side of the tiny thong that covers your nakedness, and you feel the bow being slowly pulled, until, with an almost audible jerk, it opens, allowing the thin triangle of cloth over your naked, smooth mons to peel down, exposing your sex. You groan at this and deep inside you feel the clenching of your sex which causes your body to tingle and begin to moisten. From before you, you hear the gasp of the woman, quickly followed by a low, appreciative moan as she catches the first sight of your naked sex. And perhaps even the rustling of cloth, as if her skirt is being moved aside, allowing her to fully appreciate her admiration of you through gentle caresses to her own body. You feel the other strap similarly tensed as the knot loop is gently pulled and then it too slips free and the thong falls away from your hips, exposing you completely. In a few moments you sense rather than feel something close to your face, and then you catch the scent of your own lust, and quickly realize that the bundled thong is now being waved before your nostrils. "Give it to me," you hear the woman hiss, urgently, and the scent fades as the thong is moved away. "Whitney," you hear me say, calmly, "What is the second most distracting sense?" "Hearing, Sir," you manage to gasp, and a shudder rolls through you, knowing what is to follow. In a few moments, you feel the thick padding of the headphones being slid down over your ears, gripping them snuggly, and then the faint hiss as the cassette tape is switched on, followed by the quiet strains of the music pumping directly into your mind. And, in the background, almost so faint as to be barely noticed, the steady moaning and whimpering of the woman, undergoing some delicious torment... and you realize that that woman is yourself, having been recorded on a number of previous occasions and mixed with the music to create this tape. The next few minutes you merely hang there, bent back and exposed over the stool, your mind gently assaulted by the sounds of your own past lust. You try to reach out past the darkness and distracting melody, wondering what might be going on mere inches from your pinioned body. A sudden sharp chill explodes on the point of your right nipple and your whole body shudders in response, as the wave of sensation ripples through you. Something intensely cold has been brushed against the already tight bud of flesh and then, as the dull throbbing begins, you feel it slowly begin to change... alter... and the nerves beginning to tingle.... The medicated cream which had been sitting in the freezer since our arrival produces a torrent of sensations that roll through your chest and sink down into your stomach, which flutters in response. And you feel the chill of the ointment beginning to mix with the rapidly growing chemical "heat", the two contradictory sensations blending in an explosive assault on the sensitive, tight, throbbing skin. Between your legs, you can feel the first droplets of your lust oozing to the edge of your lips and beginning to bead there, waving gently back and forth, this tiny movement adding the faintest tickle to the assault upon your nipple. The other nipple erupts with a stab of cold, and the entire process is repeated, doubled, as both of your nipples now are throbbing and aching under the icy, heated attack by the lotion. And even before your mind and flesh can fully adjust to the ripples of sensations that now roll through your entire chest and settle deep into your sex, a third sensation... a sudden, shocking stab of something which explodes as a pinpoint of heat against the outer ring of one nipple, is added. Your entire body shudders deeply as the melted wax strikes the outer edge of the areola and slowly trickles down an inch or two before cooling enough to begin hardening. You are whimpering now, your upturned chest under the first stages of a slow, methodical assault by the varying sensations of heat and cold... and your mind begins to draw down, tightly, rushing to focus on each pinpoint along your skin where every fresh droplet of melted wax strikes and awakens the nerves with an intense stab of something that almost brushes the underside of something a little like pain, but which quickly becomes mere intense sensation. For how long this continues, you have no way of knowing. Your mind begins to drift off, stretched between the shattering burst of each new pinpoint of torment on your flesh and the deliciously wicked images called up by the sounds of your own past lust faintly drifting into your ears. But this combination of trickling, burning, chilling stabs of sensations against your vulnerable skin and the racing conjurations of your mind carries you up to a constant throbbing deep in your sex, and your reddened, swollen clit begins to ache for release. Again, the sensations begin to ebb, your body adjusting to them, absorbing them, and your mind turns to reach out once more, wondering what might be occurring outside the confines of your trapped flesh... Then you feel the it... first the light touch, then the grip, and finally the pinch of the clamp as it slides down and captures your nipple, holding it tightly, and this fresh attention sends the nerves soaring once more, fresh waves of throbbing rolling deep into your flesh. You cry out in alarm, your voice a gentle, innocent "oh" that dissipates into the blackness surrounding you, as the second clamp slips around and takes your other nipple prisoner. You feel the chain which connects the clamps playing out along your skin, and when it's center finally touches the upper reaches of your stomach and is slowly released, you realize from the light tugging on your now captured nipples that a slight weight has been affixed to it, applying a slight pressure to its assault. Now your head is rolling slowly back and forth, as if seeing to stretch out and allow some form of escape or release, your throat producing a low, steady moan with every breath, a mantra from your over-stimulated flesh sung out to the void that surrounds you. Then you feel the first of the caresses... the light, almost tickling fingertips, begin to sweep over you, like the breath of an angel on the downy hairs of your body. They sweep slowly, deliberately over you, lightly touching every part of you, your neck, your chest, your arms, your legs... even slipping up your inner thighs and toward your now aching and throbbing clit. But, maddeningly, drifting away before providing that single touch that might ignite the explosion your body now craves. And every place the fingers touch, fresh waves of need burst through you, sinking deep and settling inside your now trembling, flooded sex. You feel your back arching, urgent, hungry and desperate, but to no avail. When it first brushes the tight pucker of your nether opening, the tip of the small, slender vibrator causes you to suck in a gasp of breath and expel a loud whimper of shock. But as the slickly coated invader is pressed against you, parting your opening and sliding up into you, stretching you and contacting those as yet untouched nerves, your cry is one of abject surrender, as the heat of this new torrent of sensations boils up, stabbing deep into your sex from beyond the thin membrane of flesh. Your body is twitching now, short rapid shudders sending automatic quivers through every part of you, as if each nerve were charged with some electric spark and every muscle was tensing against its own will. You feel the invader sink slowly to its hilt, impaling you fully, like a stake through the soul. When the larger vibrator is pressed against the naked lips of your sex and begins to part them, your cry is that of an animal, and the fleeting image in your mind is of a butterfly, as the pin stabs through it, pinning it to the soft bed of cotton below. The second vibrator penetrates deep into you, it's angle bringing its slow inward stroke firmly against the front of your inner sex and releasing even more explosions of assaulted nerves into you, which roll outwards and lap against every part of your skin. Then it too is fully seated, deep within you, and you feel as if you are split and filled and trapped on a pair of soft pikes that will hold you in place until the end of the world. When they are both switched on, and begin to tremble inside you, you scream, your mind shattered by the assault, it's thousand pieces flung into the void and only the overwhelming waves of your own lust, your own heat, your own need remaining. And when the tip of the finger lightly slips between the parted, throbbing, aching and desperate lips of your sex, and gently brushes over the base of your clit, stroking up along its length, a deep sob escapes you and the explosion ignites. Your body goes rigidly tense against the searing heat of the cumming that flares through every nerve, every pore, every atom of your flesh, washing away the last of your identity in an explosion of fire and ice that devastates the very core of you. And even before it begins to ebb, the fingertip slowly starts to move, it's gentle strokes tracing over the outer edges of your clit, beginning a rhythm... and the second blast of cumming leaps up to burn the ashes left by the first... Your eyes slowly open, and you realize you are lying on the couch, a soft blanket pressing gently down on your naked flesh. Across the room, I am standing by the open door, just shaking hands with the strange man who turns to smile at you with deep appreciation before stepping through. The woman leans in to plant a grateful kiss against my cheek and, even as she holds my arm, slowly turns her head to fix her gaze upon you, the blaze deep inside her eyes now dulled to a contented ember. You watch as she slowly raises a hand, extending her middle finger toward her slightly parted lips, her tongue slipping out just enough for her to lay the fingertip against it and lick it, savoring something sweet and special, before she turns and moves through the door, which is quietly closed behind her... END E-mail with comments: MarArch@ix.netcom.com * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world contract HIV every year. You only have one body per lifetime, so take good care of it! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Kristen's collection - Directory 67