Training Two (extract)

Mystic Shade

 

Prologue

 

Power surged through his arm as the lash fell across the woman's white skin. This is what it meant to feel alive. He hefted the handle, feeling the weight of the whip and swung his arm again.

She did not flinch, did not cry out or protest as the thin end burned across the roundness of her beautiful, unblemished ass. He wouldn't have bothered with her if she had. Not for him the pitiful who begged and whimpered, whose eyes filled with tears at the first touch, the wimpy little girls who didn't understand true power. The power that flowed along his arm now as he raised the whip again, lashing it against her skin, making deep welts rise almost immediately. Once, twice, three times in succession, not stopping until he forced a small, involuntary whimper from her throat.

She couldn't give him more than that. The dark red of the rubber ball gag stretched her jaws mercilessly, preventing her from giving her pain voice. He'd placed her before the long mirror on purpose, wanting to see her beautiful face contort as she fought him for control of her body. Her arms stretched overhead and slightly out to the side gave him full access to her backside while her legs, similarly stretched outward, allowed him to reach her most private areas.

Jack Kariola stepped behind the slave, running his hand possessively over her hip. He heard the intake of breath as his fingers brushed a sensitive tickle spot, but he chose not to press his advantage. Not this time. This time he had something else in store for her. One last test.

"Remain silent, slave. Utter not one word." He slid his hand along her soft skin, finding the valley where thigh met hip. For a moment, he lingered there, inhaling the musky scent that gave away her enjoyment. This was what she lived for, this was her usefulness in life.

Oh, she might have other talents, but those did not concern him now. Only her ability to obey. He pressed his clothed body against her naked one, sliding his fingers deeper, invading her most private of places.

Warmth cocooned his fingers as they slid between her shaven lower lips. She remained silent as he explored, although her head fell back on his shoulder and her eyes closed in total surrender. With a small, voiceless sigh that wasn't much more than a breath of air, she gave herself over to him entirely.

He fingered her to a silent orgasm, holding her body as the waves of pleasure coursed through her muscles. But she uttered not a sound. Tears slid down her cheeks, but not a whimper came from her throat. Not a cry, not a whisper.

"You are ready, little slave," he whispered in her ear. "Time to go to auction."