Chapter 10

“Thank you for walking me to my training session,” I said to my sons as I high-stepped out of our yard. I walked with my shoulders back, tits and hips swaying, hands behind my back, and a smile on my face. The sun was shining on my bald head.

Technically, I own nothing as a slave. Yet, I felt I had everything I could ever want.

I didn’t need to be told to walk that way – it was just assumed. I wore a rope leash that hung from my collar, and my sons gently guided me forward in front of them. If all went as planned, I’d have a new stainless steel eternity collar soon.The boys applied light taps of a wooden dowel to my buttocks to tell me to step forward or stop.

It still didn’t feel like a “habit” to automatically lift my knees and walk proudly out of the house like this. It took effort on my part. I had to consciously decide to smile and sway my hips more exaggeratedly than I would have if I were walking in a shopping mall or grocery store back home in Minnesota. It didn’t feel ridiculous or absurd though – because this is how things were in Dolphin Shores, and the training sessions reinforced that.

It helped that we would pick up Bambi, and she would walk with me. I felt a little like a pony pulling a cart, and when we arrived at Bambi’s home, I would be paired up with another bald female in a chastity belt.

Bambi was waiting for us. She was handcuffed, smiling, and standing just outside of her lawn. Her ass and tits were clearly recently flogged.

“Did your Dad do that?” Steven asked with new empathy for Bambi. He seldom showed that concern for my bruises. I have them all over. My son may be getting used to seeing little marks all over me.

The red stripes on her tits looked fresh. There was no bruising, but there was no mistaking she had been punished.

“No, my sisters were getting me ready for pain training today,” she smiled politely as she lined up next to me. She seemed a little disappointed the boys didn’t bind our tits with rope as they had the day before. She did have a dog leash attached to her collar, and she indicated that the boys could use it to guide her forward with a nod of her head.

“Pain training?” Steven asked with worry.

“No pain, no gain,” Mike chuckled as if he understood the point of today’s lessons.

“My sister thinks bondage is just a bunch of Miss Ontarians that like to hurt women,” Steven observed as he prodded us forward with a very light tap of a wooden dowel he brought from our house.

“Miss Ontarians, Sir?” Bambi seemed amused and puzzled by that reference.

“Misogynists,” Mike clarified for his younger brother and then explained that they were women haters.

“Oh, that’s a very unhealthy myth. Do you mind if I offer my opinion, Sir?” Bambi asked brightly and respectfully. I was envious of how casually she could converse with the boys and still remain very submissive. I found myself simply remaining silent when they were talking until I was asked a question, but I liked how Bambi could talk and still remain submissive.

When they gave her permission, she explained that there were some misogynists that enjoy BDSM but that it attracts all kinds of people, including misandrists that believe women are superior to men and they should be controlled. “Pepper is a misandrist, and she has a cuckold husband who is her slave, and she teaches her son to serve women, but she also has a Mistress. She doesn’t HATE men. She likes ones that accept a role as inferior and subordinate to powerful women. I am a misogynist.”

“Hold the phone. WHAT?” Mike stopped us both with a slight pull of the rope binding our collars.

“Oh, I absolutely believe men are the stronger, smarter sex,” Bambi said. It seemed like she might be having a laugh because of her clever grin, but she insisted that she meant what she said. It seemed strange as well because she was so much more mature and clearly intelligent, even though she was around the same age as my boys.

“I didn’t just wake up one morning and say tra-la-la, I want to earn my eternity collar. I am a natural submissive, and I enjoy traditional gender roles where males are in charge. If I were born with a cock instead of a taco, then I might feel differently, but I appreciate the differences between men and women and look at it as a privilege to serve. If I believed I were superior to you, then I might have a more difficult time with you leading me to class.”

“You let your sisters whip you,” they pointed out as being inconsistent to logic where women are weak.

“My sisters are older than me, but they also did that because they were just warming me up for today. It’s going to be a very painfully intensive day, and they wanted to get my blood flowing. Don’t worry, we also made out after because sex is a big part of today too!”

“Whoa, you make out with your sisters?” Mike was floored.

“Yeah, I thought you kind of picked up on that yesterday, Sir,” Bambi giggled. “Incest is an open secret here at Dolphin Shores. Not everyone does it, but we don’t judge or kink-shame, and so it is far more accepted. Besides, have you SEEN my sisters? They are hot as shit. Who would turn down an extended make-out session with them?”

Bambi implied that her older sisters were far hotter than her. She had a very sexy tight little body and a beautiful face. I was sure her sisters were just as aware of her sexiness. “I’ve been making out with my sisters to turn their boyfriends on while they watch since before I could grow hair on my cunt. We eat each other out when we get bored. It’s really no big deal. It’s just sex.”

“Would you have sex with your brothers?” Steven asked as he prodded us gently to continue walking.

“I do not have brothers,” Bambi shrugged that the question was moot and abstract. She considered it. “I guess I would – are we talking oral or going all the way?”

“Both,” Steven answered. Mike seemed to think the question was pointless since it was a hypothetical.

“Oral definitely. I have always had an oral fixation. I would have to be in the mood for anal or vaginal,” she shrugged.

“You are a slave now; you wouldn’t have a choice,” Mike teased playfully.

“You guys have a lot to learn about consent,” she replied in a polite but condescending tone that suggested the boys really did have a lot to learn.

“Once we are on Grove Street, technically, we could have sex with you.”

“Yes, but just because you CAN do something doesn’t mean you SHOULD do that thing. I agreed to let you escort me because I trust you. Technically, you can spank me or hit me harder with the wooden dowel. When we get to Grove Street, you could order us both to make out or fuck the shit out of you. However, we trusted you to escort us safely and on time to our sessions. Authority to do something doesn’t mean you should not consider the feelings of others.”

“Okay, so no sex, and don’t hit you hard with the dowel,” Mike nodded his understanding.

“I never said you can’t hit my pooter a lot harder with the wooden dowel. I can take it,” she joked. “It’s important to understand just how what you are doing to us feels like so you know whether it is painful or not. It’s also important to discuss with your partner what their limits and boundaries are.”

She seemed a lot wiser and more grounded than most adults that I knew, much less teenagers. I doubted I could have said what she just said any better.

Steven and Mike switched each other’s butts with the wooden dowel. They were wearing shorts, but they hit each other hard enough to sting. They both laughed a little as they traded swats.

“So, you can handle that?” Mike asked.

Bambi implied that would be a love tap but also said that they needed to ask me.

“That would be fine,” I felt excited and guilty for giving the boys permission to hit much harder.

“You will tell us if we hit too hard?” Steven seemed reluctant, especially to strike my bottom harder with the wooden dowel.

“I won’t, but if you knock me to my knees, then I might,” Bambi teased playfully. I didn’t agree, but I could take a far heavier spanking. I just hadn’t received anything approaching a serious swat from my sons before then. They began to take turns swishing our butts, and they asked if that was pain training.

“It’s a form of it, Sir,” Bambi explained. We couldn’t stop the boys even if we wanted to use our hands to hide our butt cheeks. My ass was much too large of a target for anything other than presenting it to them. “There is so much sexual repression and taboo in vanilla sex, Sir. Pain and pleasure often intermingle, but many people are taught that everything has to be gentle. Rough sex, choking, slapping, it can seem like a form of sexual violence, and what I said about CONSENT is what ALLOWS it to ever be a pleasure.”

“Excuse me, Madam,” Mike imitated an overly polite British man doffing an imaginary fedora as he asked permission in an elaborate way. “May I please have the pleasure of choking the shit out of you on the morrow?”

Bambi giggled. “You make fun of it, but you are partially correct. There is no certification for Masters at Dolphin Shores, and your ideas of how consent work proves there probably should be,” Bambi observed. It was a valid observation, and Mike took it almost like an insult. Bambi added that some people have what is called consensual non-consent.

We were almost to Grove Street. “One of the slaves in our class named Karen probably has this with her husband. If he asked ala carte every time he wanted to smack the snot out of her, then it would seem silly and like the arbitrary scenario you just roleplayed. Her Master and her have a blanket understanding that she will do whatever he tells her and what her limits are.”

“Do you and Dad have that?” Steven asked me.

“I think there is nothing I wouldn’t do for your father. I do not have any limits with him,” I said.

“Yes, but you know that your Master won’t chop your head off with a guillotine, don’t you?”

“Well, obviously,” I harumphed at the absurdity of the question.

“It may sound weird, but there are women with fetishes about having their tits lopped off. We had a neighbor that lived full-time as a dog in a kennel with other dogs. She stopped talking like a person. The most bizarre fantasy you can ever conceive is probably someone else’s reality. There are a lot of people who would never believe that you would allow your sons to spank you and lead you like a pony around the neighborhood.”

She had a valid point.

“You and your husband have no stated limits in a written contract, but you TRUST him that just because he CAN order you to do something, that he WON’T order you to do something so extreme that you could die. Do you eat shit and drink piss?”

“No,” I stammered.

“There are a lot of slaves that do, so maybe that is a limit that you just have never verbalized to your husband.”

I felt embarrassed. I hadn’t thought about it – because it never occurred to me, Pat would require that. I wondered if he might and how I’d process it.

“The point is that every relationship in Dolphin Shores, and in the world, is unique and cannot be defined as one size fits all, but that consent drives it. I enjoy pain and sexual violence – it turns my screws. What you will discover here is that the people who engage in breath play and rough sex are usually far more aware of what the dangers can be and are far more likely to be safe, and that’s why it is easier to give consent – but consent is ALWAYS required. It doesn’t always have to be verbal consent. The fact that I am wearing a collar and asked you to walk me to session is consent for the duration of the walk, but I also TRUST you not to violate that consent by making me late for class making out with me. Which is probably why I didn’t ask my SISTERS to walk me.”

She grinned – she genuinely smiled at my boys. They smiled back.

“We could spank you now that we are on Grove Street, though?” Steven was grinning like he was just given his ideal Christmas Present.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Sir,” Bambi responded before pointing out that she had behaved herself and didn’t need a spanking and that we needed to get to our training. “When you escort me, I’ll obey the community rules for collared women in public. I’ll try not to misbehave to force you to make me late. Will you be here to walk us home?”

“Yes!” they both agreed.

“I don’t have to hurry home,” she winked as we reported to Pepper. I was still blushing. They hadn’t asked me the same questions, but in my mind, I was wondering if my boys could or would SPANK me in public for misbehaving.

We quickly reported to Mistress Pepper and Master Tucker. They were waiting for students on the sidewalk leading to the community center training facility. They shooed the boys off. They seemed to be lollygagging around and fawning over Bambi. “You can watch on evaluation day, but for now, I need you to bugger off. You are making my subjects nervous,” she said.

Karen had been left out all night. She was bound and hung in a very excruciating position. Her legs were splayed open, and she had a metal weight hanging from her clit, and she was gagged with a heavy dildo stuck down her throat.

She was bald, sweaty, and had bruises all over. Karen had a bitter expression on her face and reminded me of sour milk that had been left out all night.

It must have been terrifying that anyone could have just come up and done anything to her while she was completely vulnerable. I thought about what Bambi said about consent and asked her in a whisper, “If Karen didn’t want someone to touch her, how would she tell them she didn’t consent while she is gagged?”

Miss Pepper overheard my question. “Karen would love it if someone was horny enough to fuck her wrinkled, stretched-out asshole, wouldn’t you?”

Karen looked pathetic as she nodded in agreement. She looked miserable and exhausted, but there was an honest response that she would have liked to have been touched.

“How do men know that she consents, Mistress?” I asked.

Pepper was taken aback by my question. “I think the fact that Karen agreed to be hung out on Grove Street is probably their first clue.”

“What if she was hung out here against her will, Ma’am?” I offered a hypothetical. I felt silly for asking the question.

“It’s a valid question, Jasmine. In the time that I’ve lived in Dolphin Shores, we’ve never had a case of rape or domestic battery. For that matter, we’ve never had a case of burglary unless you count a few bored teenagers,’ Pepper looked disapprovingly at Jasmine, and Jasmine looked down. It was hard to believe she might have been involved in any shenanigans, but I got the impression there was a little history.

“That’s not to say it cannot happen. We have monitored cameras everywhere,” Pepper pointed to several cameras. “We also have a community where everyone knows everyone, and everyone knows Karen is going through her evaluation. We’d have checked with you and your husband before we hung you up there if that was something you wanted to do.”

I nodded and felt silly.

Tucker said he was glad that I asked the question. “Most kink-friendly communities do not permit families to live there. They prefer not to deal with people under 18. If some stranger talks to a teenager at the pool, there are a dozen eyes watching that person. In a normal community, an adult might be able to offer alcohol or lure a teen away from the pool, but in ours – we’d all be aware that someone is talking to something they shouldn’t.”

I felt a lot better about consent after that.

“If you have questions like that – I want you to ask, Jasmine. Even after the evaluation! It’s healthy, and there is nothing wrong with questioning things. Karen is a chubby, filthy, stinky cunt that deserves to hang every night in Grove Street, aren’t you, Karen?”

Karen nodded in agreement.

“But, after she earns her collar, THIS time, she is going to appreciate it, aren’t you?”

Karen nodded emphatically.