Training Ch. 01

...and she jerked awake, with a start, covered in a sheen of sweat, to the sound of Anthony's quiet breathing beside her.

The third time this happened, on the eve of their wedding, she lay in bed trembling, and sleep would not find her again. Tightness gripped her chest; she felt a quivering in her belly, and felt a sense of strange, indefinable longing. The dream had been so vivid, she could almost feel the hands still on her body, taste the warm and slightly salty fluid in her mouth...

She ran her palms flat over her breasts, and discovered with surprise that her nipples were hard. The longing increased. She moved one hand down between her legs, and her fingers found wetness. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and her heartbeat quickened. Carefully, slowly, afraid to wake her fiancée, she parted her legs and slipped her fingers between the folds of her labia. She masturbated quickly, her head still filled with visions of penetrating tentacles, and sighed softly as she came.

Instantly, shame and revulsion filled her. She turned on her side, away from Anthony, and closed her eyes. She drifted into a restless sleep, but the dream did not return.

The morning of the wedding dawned with a watery sun partly hidden in a threatening sky. Eileen's mother fretted about the weather, concerned that rain would ruin the day; Eileen herself remained quiet, reserved. The memory of the night before, her perverse dream and what she'd done afterward, lingered; she feared the dream meant she was some kind of sexual deviant, and worried what might happen if Anthony somehow found out. Had he awakened when she touched herself? Was he, even now, having second thoughts about marrying her, unwilling to be with a woman who would do something so filthy? He had left already, gone to the church early with his friends; her mother bustled about, adjusting her dress and fretting about the weather, and Eileen found herself detached, scarcely even paying attention as her mother turned her this way and that in front of the mirror.

"Did you see that man of yours this morning? He looks so handsome in a tuxedo! No, of course you didn't. It's bad luck for a bride and groom to see each other before the wedding. It's tradition, you know. That's what's wrong with these younger people today. Tradition. I do hope it doesn't rain. Rain would ruin everything. We don't want to get your dress wet! I hope the limousine shows up on time. I sent your father to call the limo driver. They should be here early. It's just not right, making a woman wait on her wedding day. Turn a little this way, dearie. Eileen? Are you listening to your mother?"

"What?" She blinked and shook herself. "I'm sorry. I was thinking about other things."

Her mother's face creased into a smile. "Oh, that's all right. This is a big day for you! Your father and I are so proud of you. I'm sorry to be carrying on like this."

Eileen smiled back. "It's okay, mom. Everything will be fine." Somewhere deep inside her, a nagging feeling told her there was something she was forgetting. Something important. Something about the honeymoon, perhaps? She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Her father came in to announce that the limousine had arrived. The nagging voice in the back of her mind disappeared, and she swept up the train of the dress and hurried out the front door.

Her mother's fears proved unfounded; the sun's rays had burned away the forbidding clouds, and by the time they arrived at the church, the midmorning sun streamed down in all its glory.

The ceremony went flawlessly. Eileen's mother sat in the front row and glowed with pride as Eileen walked down the aisle with her father, cried in happiness as she and Anthony, resplendent in his tuxedo, exchanged their "I dos." Afterward, the entire crowd of people, nearly sixty in all, descended on the banquet hall for the reception.

The afternoon was a jumbled whirlwind of activity. Eileen's mother fretted over the time; "I know the airline tells you to be at the airport two hours early. You're flying overseas; shouldn't you get there even earlier than that? Maybe you should leave now. Is four hours too early? Did you remember your passports? I knew it was a bad idea for you to leave straight from the reception. What if you left something at home? You won't have time to stop and get it. Did you leave anything at home?"

Anthony's friend and best man Robert, who'd traveled from Chicago for the wedding, offered a long, rambling toast, filled with in-jokes and very slightly off-color comments that made Eileen's mother harrumph and give him disapproving looks. He ended on a more seriously: "As Anthony and Eileen travel forward together as husband and wife, they will face surprises and challenges as they adapt to their new roles. I am certain that they have it within them to adjust to these changes, and will ultimately find happiness in their new lives. To Anthony and Eileen!"

The guests applauded, drank champagne, danced. The photographer took pictures of the two of them, their family, and the guests; the guests took pictures of the two of them and each other. Eileen's mother became obsessed with the clock, and grew more and more agitated until finally she couldn't take it any more. "Off! Go! Both of you! Right now! You need to get to the airport! Do you have your passports? Go!" Anthony laughed and humored her, and bade Eileen to change for the flight. He commended her wedding dress and the tuxedo into the care of her mother, task done, he took Eileen by the arm, and escorted her to the waiting limousine.

The trip to the airport went quickly. Anthony had packed an astonishing quantity of luggage including a very large steamer trunk locked with a heavy padlock, whose contents were a complete mystery. He paid a skycap to cart them to the ticket counter, and checked them in with the agent. They cleared security and customs with ample time, and waited at the terminal, tickets in hand.

"Do you feel any different, now that you're officially my wife?"

She smiled. "Not really, no. I feel the same as I did this morning, only maybe a little more tired."

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure you will. I have plans for you this evening."

She slapped his hand. "Anthony! Stop that!"

"Stop what?" he asked innocently.

She lowered her voice. "Stop referring to sex! There are other people here."

"How do you know I was referring to sex?"

She looked away without answering.

Presently, they boarded and were on their way. The layover in Newark was brief, and before long, the plane was winging over the ocean. Eileen, exhausted, Settled back in her seat, and soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, where she remained for most of the flight.

They arrived midmorning London time. They were greeted by the driver from the hotel where they'd booked their stat; Anthony struggled with the pile of baggage, wrestled it into the van, and they made their way through busy streets. Eileen watched the city go by with wonder and awe; this was her first time out of the United States, and everything seemed strange and exotic. The buildings of the theatre district slid by the windows.

When they arrived, the driver helped Anthony unload the baggage. Eileen listened entranced as Anthony spoke to a man behind the desk about their reservations; everything about the place, from the accents of the hotel staff to the unfamiliar road signs on the street, seemed to reinforce the sense that they were in an exotic, faraway land. Se was almost disappointed when he finished checking in and they rode up to the penthouse suite.

The disappointment vanished as they stepped into the penthouse. It was huge; larger than the first apartment she'd lived in. Five huge, floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room offered a breathtaking view of London, and gave the penthouse an open, spacious air. A huge flat-screen television dominated one wall; the room even had its own office, with an equally stunning view. The bedroom, tastefully appointed in white and muted colors, sported the largest bed she'd ever seen.

Anthony pushed the baggage into the closet. "Do you like this place?"

"I love it!" she burbled. She jumped into his arms and kissed him deeply. "This place is gorgeous! I can hardly wait to go out and explore!"

"Plenty of time for that later," he smiled. "I think we need to unpack and get settled in first. Why don't you take a bath? We've been on the plane for eleven hours. I'll get everything put away."

She trotted into the bathroom, tiled in pale pink stone, and let out a yelp of glee. "Wow! Did you see the tub in here? It's gigantic!" He smiled as he hung clothes in the closet.

She stripped and drew a bath. The tub was enormous, and very comfortable; the hotel had thoughtfully provided a wide variety of bath salts and bubble bath, and she relaxed in the fragrant water and let the tension flow out of her. She stayed there for a long time, daydreaming about what the city might show her. Two weeks hardly seemed like enough time to explore such a magical place.

Her mind wandered, back over the wedding and the reception. The nagging feeling came back to visit; what was she forgetting? She was certain she'd remembered to pack everything, but still, that voice told her there was something else she should be remembering,..

She shook her head d pushed the feeling back. Whatever it was, it was too late now; if she had forgotten something, she'd have to replace it here or do without. She rose from the tub, rinsed, dried, slipped into one of the plush white bathrobes hanging in the bathroom. "Anthony," she sang as she walked into the bedroom, "let's go out! I want to explore..."

The words died on her lips. Anthony was sitting on the bed smiling, naked save for the towel wrapped around his waist. He'd scattered rose petals around the floor, and placed a row of small candles around the bed. The lighting in the room was a subdued, soothing blue.

He rose and took her in his arms. "The city can wait, don't you think?" he whispered softly; she felt his breath on her neck as he nuzzled her. She moaned, weak-kneed. He turned her gently in his arms, kissed the back of her neck sensuously. His hands descended to her waist, untied the sash of her robe. He parted it, slipped it from her body. She tried to turn to face him; his hands on her shoulders stopped her. "Lie down."

She walked over to the bed and stretched out on it; one finger beckoned him over. He smiled and held up a small bottle. "Turn over."

She rolled over face down; he knelt on the bed over her, straddling her waist. She felt him shift as he opened the bottle, smelled peaches and honeysuckle. Something warm drizzled down her back, then his hands caressed her shoulders. She smiled and closed her eyes as she relaxed under his hands.

He massaged her shoulders, strong and skillful hands warm on her body. His hands worked slowly down her back, kneading muscles tired from the long flight. He poured some more oil into his palms, then worked the small of her back, steady and thorough. She sighed with pleasure when his hands worked their magic on her buttocks, and made their way down the backs of her legs. By the time he reached her feet, she was nearly asleep.

"Turn over." He helped her roll over, drizzled more oil down her body, between her breasts. Softly, gently, his hands caressed her collarbone, slid down over her breasts, moved back up her sides. She moaned and arched her back as they repeated the journey, pressing her breasts into his hands.

"Does that feel good?"

"Oh, God, yes. It feels wonderful!"

He smiled. "Good. Here, put your arms over your head." He took her hands in his, raised her arms, placed her hands gently on the edge of the bed above her head. "There. Just like that."

"Why?"

"So I can do this." He reached beneath the bed, brought out two lengths of chain, each ending in a wide, bright metal cuff, padded on the inside with thin leather. Before she could respond, he had locked the cuffs around her wrists.

"Hey!" She pulled on her wrists, but the chains were fastened securely beneath the bed, and they would no come free. A strong feeling of déjà vu took her, and she felt a touch of irrational fear. "Take these off!"

He moved down to the foot of the bed, drew another chain from beneath it, grabbed her ankle tightly. She squirmed and twisted as he cuffed her ankle. The fear turned to panic; she felt that there was something wrong, something she couldn't remember. "Anthony, I mean it! I don't like this! Take these off!"

He crossed to the other side of the bed, grabbed her other ankle. She fought and kicked like a wildcat as he struggled to chain it down; twice, she drove her foot into his stomach, causing him to let out a "whoof!" of surprise. Finally, he took her ankle in both hands, pinned her foot to the bed, and sat on her as he attached the manacle. He was panting with exertion when he stepped back to examine his handiwork.

She thrashed and struggled against her bonds. "Let me go! This is not funny! I don't want this! Take these off of me right now!"

He sat on the edge of the bed next to her. "You are a very beautiful woman," he said. He reached out and touched her breast lightly; she twisted away and glared at him. "Oh, yes. You're going to make a great fuck toy."

She stopped moving, shocked, and looked at him with venom in her eyes. "What did you just say?"

"I said," he repeated, "you're going to make a great fuck toy." He gripped her upper arm tightly, turned her body toward him, and squeezed her breast. "I'm going to enjoy using you for sex."

"How dare you! How dare you talk to me that way! Get your hands off of me, you filthy pig! I mean it!"

He released her and arched an eyebrow. "Filthy pig? That's not very nice." His hand pressed between her legs; even as she squirmed to get away, he shoved three fingers roughly into her. She screamed.

"If I'm a filthy pig, then what does that make you? You're wet down here. I think your body likes this. What kind of little whore gets turned on by being chained down against her will?"

"Stop it! Why are you doing this to me? Stop!"

He slid his fingers from her and wiped them on her thigh. "I suggest you consider your position. I don't think you really ought to be telling me what to do." He grinned, relaxed and confident. "Let me be very clear here, so there's no misunderstanding. I am not going to stop. I'm going to use you for sexual pleasure. I am going to fuck you," a subtle emphasis on the word, "whenever I want, however I want, whether you want me or not. From this point forward, you exist to serve my sexual needs. Your job is to give up your body for sex. You wanted to be a stay-at-home wife; this is how you will earn your keep."

"I will not! Let me go, you...you...pervert!"

He laughed. "Let you go? No. I want you to tell me that you're my sex slave and you want my cock in you."

"Absolutely not!"

"You don't want my cock inside you?"

"No!"

"Well, then. We'll put something else inside you instead." He lifted a dark, leather-bound case, about the size of a briefcase, from beneath the bed and set it on the nightstand. The feeling of déjà vu returned; she was sure she'd never seen it before, but it looked familiar anyway. The panic increased.

He drew a small gold key from around his neck and unlocked the case. He flipped open the lid, took something out of the case, and sat down on the bed again.

"What are you doing?"

He showed her a large, egg-shaped object with a cord coming out of it. "If you don't want my cock inside you, I'm going to put something else there instead."

"What is that? Some kind of sex toy? I don't use sex toys! Don't you dare touch me with that!"

He grabbed her thighs tightly and pushed them apart. "You're dripping, little whore. I can see your juices running out of you. I won't even have to lube this up. You want it that badly." He picked up the egg and shoved it into her, not gently. The shock paralyzed her for a second, then she shrieked and burst into tears.

He turned a wheel on the battery pack. The vibrator came to life, buzzing inside her. She thrashed and wept. "Take it out of me! Please!"

Anthony stood and pulled up a chair next to the bed. He sat down, adjusted the chair for the best view, and watched her. She shook and struggled against the chains as tears streamed down her face. "Take it out! Take it out!"

He leaned back in the chair, smiling, watching her struggle. She thrust her hips in the air, trying to dislodge the buzzing toy; from his vantage point, it looked like she was fucking an invisible partner.

She writhed and twisted, heedless of the hard metal manacles digging into her wrists and ankles. He ignored her screams and pleas, and sat patiently, waiting. Slowly, her struggles grew more feeble as she exhausted herself, until finally, she could do nothing but lie still on the bed, weeping.

He turned up the vibrator. She twitched and moaned. "Please, please stop," she whimpered. She had heard stories about women who used such things, about how they became desensitized to regular sex, or worse yet, became desperate sex addicts, unable to think about anything else. The stories had made her, long ago, resolve never to use such things, nor to spend time with those who did. Her body shook with her sobs. "Please..."

He leaned forward. "Tell me that you're my sex slave and you want my cock."

"No!"

He smiled and sat back again. Her sobbing gradually subsided; the vibrations inside her continued, relentless, wearing her down. She clenched involuntarily around the hard, smooth object, and the vibrations grew, became a tingle in her belly. She moaned softly in spite of herself.

He waited. Little by little, the tingle became stronger. Her nipples grew taut; wetness leaked from her. She felt a subtle longing, a quiet desire that slowly dampened and replaced her fear. The thing inside her thrummed, fanned the desire into a sense of raging, desperate need. She sighed and moaned as her hips rocked up and down.

"Yes. That's it. It's better if you don't fight it." He sat on the bed beside her and reached to touch her. She flinched and shuddered as his fingers lightly touched her thigh.

"Good girl. Take it." One finger parted her folds; she gasped as he found her clit. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

She pulled weakly at the chains and turned her head away from him. "No," she whimpered. "Please. I don't like it."

"I don't care." He moved his finger in circles against her. The constant buzz chipped away at her resolve, and the tingle in her belly grew, spread through her legs. Soon her hips were rocking again, and she threw back her head and moaned. He pressed harder. "Say you're my sex slave and you want my cock."

She whimpered wordlessly and ground her hips against his finger.

"Say it!"

"Please...please..." The need consumed her. Her body was on fire; she could think of nothing but the vibration inside her. She clenched and thrust her hips upward. "Please!"

He grabbed the cord and in one single instant pulled the vibrator out of her. His hand gripped her breast tightly. "Say it!"

"Ow! Stop! You're hurting me!"

He pushed three fingers roughly inside her. His grip tightened on her breast. "Say it!"

"Please, it hurts!"

"Yes, it does." He thrust his fingers savagely in and out as he twisted her breast hard. "Now say it!"

"Okay!" Sobs wracked her body. "I-I'm your slave! I want your cock! Please stop hurting me!"

He released her, slid his fingers free. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" he asked mildly. "Eventually, you'll obey me quickly. You are here for my sexual use, and I will punish you for failure to perform." He stood and dropped the towel from around his waist. "Now I am going to give you what you want."

He crawled on top of her, slid his arms under her body, held her tightly against him, crushing her body to his. She turned her face to the side and trembled. He moved his hips carefully against her, lining the head of his erect penis to the dripping entrance of her sex. "No, please don't..."