Chapter 12: Ylena Zhukova

Course 8 / Day 4: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

Jo: Fifty expects corporal punishment to form part of her experience and Ylena has proposed an introductory session today. We will also let her have the first of her e-mail sessions.

Jenny's Recollections

I am in my room. My cell. An escort comes for me. When I stand, she smiles and places a broad leather belt around my waist. My hands are cuffed to the belt behind my back and then I'm plunged into a sweet musky darkness as she drops a leather hood over my head. She must clip a lead to the belt; I feel a tug at my waist. "Come on, Fifty," my escort says, "Just come with me."

I feel panicky at first: walking blind with just the guidance of the lead and the voice of my escort to steer by.

The floor beneath my feet is non-slip vinyl near my room, then stone. We're in a corridor now, I guess. The one that leads to the stairs.

"Fifty, pause." I stop. "Good. You are at some stairs. Now step and step and step. That's it, keep stepping." I keep going up the stairs which wind to the left. Then, there's polished wood under my feet as we reach the landing and finally, carpet as I am guided into somewhere new.

We stop, I hear a door open and then we move again. She pulls the hood from my head and I see that I am in a room with a desk, computer and a stool. The stool is shaped like a saddle. "Sit," says my escort. I lower my backside gingerly onto the chilly seat but thanks to the shape I have to spread my thighs and the front part tends to press on my clit. It feels like leather or vinyl against my naked bum. "You get to send e-mails from here and you'll get to check this e-mail account once a week," she says. She unclips my wrist cuffs. "You can e­­-mail your safe contact or anyone else but we'll check what you're sending before it goes. Mostly the slaves just like to send a "Hi, I'm having a good time" note to friends, but it's up to you. You get fifteen minutes." She stands back from the desk. I'm obviously not going to be left on my own — but the sensations from the saddle stool are a definite plus.

I think about it for a while. There's nothing I want to say to Angela and I'm not sure what to say to Joe. But, in the end I tap out a short e-mail to him saying that I hope he's fine and that I've managed to get access to e-mail occasionally if he wants to send me anything.

Soon enough my escort is telling me that my five minutes is up, She cuffs my hands back behind me.

At the same time Judy arrives. The escort turns to her and says, "You're to take Fifty up to room number 19". Without waiting for a reply from Judy, the escort pulls the hood back on over my head. I'm not sure where I am going now, but I follow Judy, drawn along by the leash, being led along another corridor and through another door until we stop once again.

"We're here," Judy says to me quietly, as she stops. We're both standing still. Suddenly, I feel Judy's hands stroking and squeezing at my breasts. I can't do anything about it with my hands cuffed behind me. In once instant, I'm shocked, surprised and aroused. It's the first instance of any overtly sexual behaviour since I came here. In an instant I remember that there is almost certainly more to being a slave than being kept naked and washing floors. But, she isn't supposed to be doing that I'm sure.

I hear the sound of a door handle turning. Judy's fondling stops. A voice says, "Ah, you are here. Bring her in. Take her hood off and leave us."

Judy removes my hood. I blink in the light looking at her. She grins at me as much as to say, "Enjoyed that didn't you?" I'm not sure if I did, or not. Judy drops the leash, so it hangs from the middle of my belt down between my legs. She smiles at me again and leaves.

Before me is another girl, this one about my own height, with blonde hair and a happy open face. I'm not sure if I should say anything about what Judy did, but I decide to leave it for now. She smiles perhaps a little diffidently and says, "Hello, Fifty. I am Ylena, but you should call me Gaspazha."

Her English is very good, but accented. I guess from having met colleagues from Eastern Europe at the university that she is from Russia, or possibly somewhere on the Baltic. She has a slim athletic build and she is wearing a fitted leather top, which pushes her breasts upwards just enough to be provocative, a very smart leather skirt (not cheap I guess), black tights and black loafers.

"Now," she continues, "you have come to me to continue your education, so today is training! Come with me." She leans forward and grasps the lead, pulling gently, but insistently forward. We go to an adjoining room. The curtains are drawn giving the room a rather secret air. It is decorated in scarlet red wall paper and a pale blue carpet in the centre of the room is a wooden frame, its middle covered with padded leather. I have seen one before at a fetish show. It's a spanking horse. I feel a knot as tight as any that have bound me grip my stomach.

"Kneel!" Gaspazha insists.

I obey.

"Good! So, you are learning some lessons at last." She walks around me looking at me from each side.

"Excuse me," I say.

"Yes?"

"Is Gaspazha your name?"

"Gaspazha is my title — in Russian. So you are going to learn some very useful Russian!"

My guess was correct

"Do you like CP, little Fifty?" I'm surprised by her use of the 'little', but I know better than to contest it.

"In my fantasies, but I haven't had much experience. Well none actually. My husband does not think it's respectful. And before him ... Well no."

"Hmm," she looks unconvinced. She walks around behind me and runs her hands across my back as though searching for some clue that I am lying. "Well, I'm pleased with your lack of experience really, because I like to work with novices. That way, I can mould you to my ways more easily. Easily for me, that is." She smiles. I smile back, but I do feel very vulnerable. I didn't think that she meant it would be easy for me. "Well, so much to do! Where shall I start? It's like being an artist and you, moi slooga, are my blank canvas. When we have finished today, you will be beautifully decorated in reds, pinks and purples." She can see I look confused. "Moi slooga — 'my slave'. You say 'vash slooga' - your slave. Say it!"

"Vassh slooga," I try to copy her sound.

"Not quite: say vash-shlooga with emphasis on the ooo."

I try again. She smiles tolerantly. "Oh well, never mind for now. But, I can be very encouraging to students. Now. Kiss."

She offers me the tab of her riding crop to kiss and immediately I am frightened that I am completely out of my depth. Gaspazha sees me tense. She reaches forward, stroking the back of my neck, a reassuring touch. The crop has a red star at its tip. There is a knot in my stomach and simultaneously a hot wetness in my loins. Fear and sexual anticipation. The combination of sensations that has always drawn me back to this.

"Bend forward and kiss my feet."

I lean forward eagerly. She must know from my application that I have a strong foot fetish. Or maybe she doesn't mind whether or not I like it.

"That's right. Good across the shoe. Around my ankle, then my calf. Now the other one. Good. Now my toes." She has slipped her foot out from her shoe and her foot smells sweet and leathery. "Now that tickles!"

"I'm sorry," I say pulling back."