Bound and Initiated (14 page)

She had a big cock in her mouth. Her master moved the cock in and out, because that made him feel good. Sarah couldn’t protest, because a man’s hardness had taken her voice away, because a true man knew his rights when it came to a girl like Sarah James.

She saw only the parting of the red silk robe over Robert’s loins: dark, wiry hair that as a man, of course, he could keep, and the base of the cock he sheathed completely in Sarah’s mouth with every thrust, so that the hair tickled her nose and she worried that she would run out of breath while he arrogantly held her face tight against his lap.

The ring made her drool and drool, and she felt very grateful for Claudia’s having made her drink all that water—especially because her pussy seemed to respond so urgently to the way Robert used her mouth, fluttering and clenching like, well, like a dove. Her jaw ached terribly. The cock thrust in and out; Robert had both hands on Sarah’s head now, holding it perfectly still so he could come and go through the ring and into her mouth just as he pleased.

“What a nice mouth, Sarah. Like velvet. I’m going to come here, I think, in a few minutes. Will you like that, Sarah? Your pater’s seed down your throat?”

She tasted the bitterness of the beginnings of it, and she felt his moisture joining with her mouth’s to create a stickiness that felt shameful even as it seemed to ease the passage of his cock.

“So pretty, Sarah,” he said. “A man likes to see a girl take her first cock like this.”

What did he see, looking down at her? A pale face wreathed in golden hair, her eyes turned submissively toward his manly lap. A little mouth, held open by a gag so that his cock might come and go. Her neck bound by the collar and secured between the columns so that he need feel no anxiety that she could escape a single thrust deep into her throat.

He withdrew then and swiftly unbuckled the gag, dropping it to the floor. Sarah closed her mouth, tasting even more of the fluid Robert had put there in his arousal. She worked her jaw, trying to make the ache fade, but her master said, “Get that mouth open again, before I whip you for disobedience. Remember you promised to be a good girl.”

Sarah looked up at him, hardly even comprehending the words, so quickly did things seem to be happening, as if her soul had adopted a different rhythm in the Hall of Initiation and now Robert moved and spoke at a speed too great for her to react properly.

He vanished again, and she knew without the slightest doubt where he had gone.

“Oh, please! Pater… sir, no!”

But now he had returned, holding what could only be a cat o’ nine tails or something like it but much more ancient. Weren’t there vase paintings and frescoes and things of a whip with a wooden handle and long braided leather lashes?

He held his cock in his left hand, stroking it, and the whip in the other. Sarah couldn’t help looking up into his eyes, hoping to see that he didn’t really plan to use the whip on her, but she saw the opposite: the stern look of a man who will do what he must to make a girl provide the pleasure he deserves. He raised the whip.

“Please!” Sarah cried, but the whip came down behind her, upon her bottom, with fiery tendrils that made her cry out as tears came to her already watering eyes.

“Open your mouth, columba,” he said sternly, and he lashed her again.

“Please… please… it hurts. I’ll be good!”

“Do you wish to please me, Sarah?” He held the whip above her, but did not let it fall.

“Y-yes, pater,” she stammered, and opened her mouth as wide as she could. Robert guided his cock back inside, and then, now holding her head more gently with his left hand, he began to enjoy her mouth again.

And then he started to whip her softly at the same time, and Sarah knew she wanted only one thing: to be a good girl for him, to give him pleasure, and to receive his semen in her mouth. The feeling of those gentle lashes went beyond pain or pleasure into a space that seemed to her to redefine who she was just as the Hall of Initiation had.

I am the fire.
She whimpered around the big cock of her master with each gentle lash.

“Do you understand now, pretty columba? Do you begin to see?”

On and on, and now her jaw ached more, even without the ring gag. The thrusting, his little noises of pleasure, and the whip on her bottom, telling her she must accept what her pater gave her.

Then he dropped the whip, to her astonishment, and withdrew from her mouth. He bent down over her and his right hand—the hand that had held the whip—gave her a simple spank, right in the middle of her bottom.

Sarah yelped, but then immediately that hand began to rub, and its fingers to push in roughly between her thighs from behind, and Sarah started to cry out with the forced pleasure.

“Oh, God,” she whispered, and gave a moan that sounded just like a dove’s to her ears.

“Come now,” Robert said in her ear. “Come right now, Sarah.” The aching soreness of her backside couldn’t be separated from the pleasure his fingers forced on her—a pleasure so great that it felt to her almost unwelcome. She had never known that pleasure could feel that way, and yet she felt that it was a sort of pleasure that befit her, Sarah James, columba, better than any other, simpler pleasure. That thought, along with the way the head of his hard cock felt against the skin of her breasts as he bent over her, demonstrating a possession of her body so thorough that his cock would claim whatever part of her it wanted, whether in her mouth or just casually upon her chest, made the climax come—an orgasm so complex, because of her bonds and her whipped backside and the way Robert stooped masterfully over her to force it upon her, that she screamed and screamed and did not know whether the sound came from agony or from ecstasy.

“Good girl,” he said, standing up. “Open that mouth again.”

Sarah obeyed; now the face-fucking became brutal, and she could do nothing but sob as he gripped her around her head with both hands, and his hips flashed back and forth.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “That’s it. Nice and open. Suck my cock, Sarah. There you go. Take it now. Be a good girl for me.”

Something at the back of her mind wondered why Pater Robert attributed to her any agency at all. He held her head, already bound in place by the crossties between the columns, and he thrust in and out with his hard cock, seeking and finding the back of her throat with every stroke, sometimes holding himself in at full length, seeming to revel in the way his hardness filled a place not made for fucking but for nutriment and speech.

Because I’m not biting him, maybe?
But that seemed wrong. No, something much more essential seemed to be at work. Robert seemed to desire both her absolute passivity as he fucked, and her paradoxically active consent to the fucking.

His voice became a growl. “Almost there, Sarah. Your mouth feels so good that I have to fill it with my seed. So good, you little cocksucker. Such a pretty little dove to put my cock in whenever I like.” Then a jerk, and he held himself in very deep again, and whether or not she liked it, Sarah James became a girl who swallowed as the thick stuff filled her mouth and she managed somehow not to gag.

Robert kept hold of her head, still murmuring, “There you go,” for a long time, as if he wanted to teach her to swallow every drop of his essence like a precious gift.

Then at last, though still without withdrawing his cock, which had become so much softer and smaller now that Sarah almost liked being made to keep it in her mouth, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles and said, “You
are
a good girl, my little Sarah. That felt wonderful. You made your master’s cock very happy. Hold the phallus in your mouth for a little while now, to show how much you love it. You may look at me, as well.”

Sarah turned her eyes up at last and saw him smiling down at her as he continued to stroke her cheek. His cock was quite soft now, but she felt in the way he left it in her mouth that he honored her, and that feeling made her blush.
Honored by his softening cock in her mouth.

What have they done to me?
she tried to interrogate herself. But she couldn’t seem to make her mind ask the question that way, and over and over it came out,
How can I serve him?
She remembered a line from the second
Forever Girl
novel,
Loving Steven.
Sara Jane was talking to her best friend from college, about her dominant billionaire. “All I want to do is make him happy. I guess I’m just like that.” Part of Sarah had wanted to retch, reading that, while another part of her had said,
Yes.

I am the fire, and he has begun to tame me.

She kept looking at Robert’s smiling face, while she held his penis in her mouth and he stroked her hair. His face—
his noble face,
she simply couldn’t help thinking—looked very happy indeed, and it made her heart flutter violently, because to see him happy, though she had known him less than a day and he had done to her what normal people would call abuse, made her happy too.
Am I just like that?

He spoke, and his voice seemed to come from far away, like a sound from the edge of a dream. “I’m worthy of what you feel now, Sarah. I want you to know that. This life of which you’re now a part will sometimes seem strange, and you will wonder where your loyalty should lie. You will see things you don’t expect, and you will have to do things of which you don’t have the faintest idea now. You will almost certainly come to doubt me, as you discover what it is we really do, for there is much more to it than sex. But I promise you that you can trust me.”

As if to emphasize those final words, as he spoke them he unclipped the crossties from her collar and withdrew his cock from her mouth. He bent down and gathered her up into his arms. Then he simply held her for a very long while, with his left arm around her waist and his right hand cradling her head against his strong chest, covered in his silken robe. The strength of his body, enfolding her securely and holding her though she could not hold him since her arms remained bound to her sides, seemed to release something in her heart, and without warning Sarah simply began to cry, until her body shook with huge sobs. Robert simply held her a little tighter, and stroked her hair, until the sobs had passed away.

Then he picked her up, as he had before in the Hall of Initiation, and to her surprise he brought her to the bed and laid her atop it on her side. He lay down beside her, facing her. The bed had only a single fitted sheet to cover it, of pure white, but that sheet seemed to Sarah to have been woven of the finest cotton, and it soothed her wonderfully, especially when Robert unclipped her wrists from her belt, and then clipped them back again to her collar.

“Your hands must not be free, Sarah,” he said softly. “That is very important to your early training.”

Robert Bennet looked at his beautiful new columba, marveling at her beauty and at the intelligence that shone forth from her every glance. The weeping—absolutely normal, of course—had tugged at his heartstrings more than he had ever felt them pulled. Those
Forever Girl
books that he had spent his flight back from Rome and then the day in his office speed-reading seemed like they’d been written by a computer, but the girl he had in front of him, in bondage, clearly felt all the repressed need to submit the author of
Meeting Steven
and
Loving Steven
must have.

And Robert was in fact a billionaire of course, which gave him many humorous moments in the reading of Sarah James’ really quite terrible novels: above all, the moment when Sara Jane, the obvious surrogate for Sarah herself, at last gained admittance to Steven’s mansion, an improbably large pile on the California coast. Looking down at Sarah’s face, Robert thought he could remember the passage verbatim:
I stood and stared. Wow. I had never imagined I, Sara Jane, might even be a guest at a place like this, let alone be its owner’s girlfriend.

Robert felt a twinge of regret that Sarah James’ new life wouldn’t involve anything like being a billionaire’s girlfriend. A billionaire’s fucktoy, yes. Romance, no.

But the twinge didn’t grow in his heart, because he knew both from those mediocre romance novels and from the way Sarah had responded to the beginning of her training for the use of the guard that she didn’t really need romance. Indeed, in his brief experience of Sarah James so far, she didn’t even seem like the sort of girl who would write those books. Among other things, he couldn’t believe she could be so poor a writer, or so disorganized a thinker. Sarah seemed to Robert highly analytical and very ambitious; still, people were endlessly complex, and he wouldn’t put it past her to write intentionally bad books both for the purpose of selling them to the apparently enormous market for such things and also perhaps because by writing badly, she could avoid the depth of the craving to submit that shone forth in the fantasy of the college girl and the billionaire.

“Do you want to know why your hands must not be free, Sarah?” A startled look appeared in her eyes. Sarah very clearly knew the fear that Claudia and Dr. Adams had worked very hard to instill: to ask any question other than
How may I serve?
provoked punishment. Now, though, the time had come to show her the other side of that coin. “It’s alright to answer, my dear. It’s even alright to say yes. I know you have a great many questions, and you have been a very good girl to understand that you weren’t permitted to ask them before. Now, though, you may, although there are still many things I may not tell you.”

Her eyes widened even further. “You’re… you’re not going to tell me not to ask useless questions?”

Robert smiled. “I’m not. Your questions were useless before, because once we had decided that you would join us as a columba, for your own sake and for our efficient use of you it was far better that you simply learn to submit. Now that you have begun to learn that, my role as your pater will include times like this, when I allow you to ask as many questions as you like.”

Sarah compressed her lips into a tight line, and her brow furrowed. She seemed almost to fight with the sense of what Robert had just said, as if she worried that despite his words, if she asked too many questions, or the wrong questions, he might punish her.