Chapter 16: Getting What She Came For

FCE Internal Memo:

Confidential: Elly to Larry

Freddie and I have just discussed the team's views after the Inward Bound event.

We are all very impressed with what has been achieved. The infrastructure and investment are both very much in order, but the crucial issue is the quality and (in this case) the originality of the staff and that's excellent. All in all, our visit confirms the feelings expressed at the Board Meeting: this is a very important initiative and we are happy to do what is necessary to protect and nurture this project.

Course 8 / Day 12: Course Progress Meeting

Participant Notes: Fifty

J: She has handled the cleaning and domestic duties reasonably, It should be time for her to move her experience up a level. Further session planned with Ylena for today.

Jenny's Recollections

I'm told that I have to go again to see Ylena, my Gaspazha. I imagine it will involve another beating. But, somehow, I long to see her again; to hear her soft, insistent voice. One of the escorts comes to take me from my cell. He tells me to face the wall and draws a broad belt around my waist. He buckles it tightly. He takes my wrists and cuffs them behind my back. He slips the hasp of a padlock through the staple on the buckle and clicks it shut.

"Turn around, Fifty," he says flatly.

I see he's holding a leather dog's leash. He clips it to my nose ring. "Are you enjoying this, Fifty?" he says.

I blush. The truth is that I am. He knows. I don't have to say. He's holding the leash in one hand, gripping my arm with the other. I can't help comparing his decisive grip with how Joe touches me. Where Joe is tender and gentle, this man's grip is firm: not rough, not violent just very controlled, very measured, and very determined that I should do as he wants. Why do I find it so hard to be really aroused by Joe's loving touch when this man's grip makes me so wet?

He steps away from me, turns his back and says, "Come along, Fifty," over his shoulder. I don't have any choice but to follow him as he leads me out of my cell and along the corridor back to the centre, the leash looping down from my nose ring to his hand.

He stops outside Ylena's room and hangs the loop of my leash on a hook beside the door. Before he goes he takes my arms and sets me back, firmly, against the wall and then he leaves me. Why doesn't Joe treat me like this? Why can't I ask Joe to treat me like this?

I stand there for several minutes, not knowing what to do. Eventually, I decide to try to attract some attention from within. I lean across and tap the door gently with my forehead.

The door opens. It's Ylena. "Fifty! Excellent. Come in." She reaches up and unhooks my leash. Once inside the room, she unclips the leash from my nose ring. "Now let me see you!" I'm standing with my head bowed; partly because that is how I have been told to behave, partly because I'm afraid she will see a brightness in my eyes as a result of my encounter with the guard and my anticipation at this encounter.

She puts her hand beneath my chin and lifts my face. "Ah, you seem much more confident today. I expect you are getting used to your position here?" I don't think she wants me to answer. "Do you remember our last meeting?"

I nod, "Da, Gaspazha," I say remembering to use the Russian.

"And do you remember what you are?"

"Da, Gaspazha. Vash slooga." I drop my eyes. It seems the only thing to do, acknowledging that I am her slave.

Ylena smiles. "Bravo, little one, bravo. Do you remember what I promised you the last time?"

I bite my lip and nod. "Da, Gaspazha."

"Good. Today I begin to teach you how to take a good caning. Today. Now. How do you feel about that?"

"Nervous, Gaspazha." I'm almost disappointed that I don't know the Russian word for how I feel.

"Nervous? Good, that's excellent. It will heighten your experience. Now, I think you know where to go."

I make my way through to the red and blue room and over to the spanking horse. I lay myself down across it. Obediently. Without protest. Without even the need for further urging. I know that there will be pain. That this will leave me sore. Even so, I bend across the horse, trusting Gaspazha to take care of me.

She unlocks the padlock that holds my wrists to my belt, takes it off and methodically straps me on to the spanking horse. And, I lay there, my belly against the cool leather of the horse, and allow her to do it. Without protest. Am I just becoming chronically obedient or trusting or secretly looking forward to my ordeal? If I am honest the answer is all of them. I am greedy for sensation! Like having the largest box of chocolates, but knowing someone else has to choose them and pass them to me.

Ylena strokes the nape of my neck. That touch alone is almost enough to make me whimper. I sense that she realises that too. "So, moi slooga. First, I shall warm your bottom because the cane on a cold unprepared bottom is very bad news indeed. Like when you exercise you must warm up your muscles, so it is with beating. Understand, moi slooga."

She begins. First a hand spanking, short firm slaps then heavier blows, slow pats and rapid swats. Then comes a strap, then a tawse. Never hard blows, just rapid slaps, they hurt but not badly.

Then, comes a small whip. "Look at this moi slooga, see how small this is." And it is, the grip no bigger than her hand, the tail no longer than her forearm. "But, small things can be very effective can they not, moi slooga." The blows come quickly, back and forth, hard then soft then hard again, left buttock then right, working up from the base working down from the top. Every one of my senses is tuned to what Ylena is doing to me.

After this preparation, I am gasping, squirming and enjoying it. I can feel sweat trickle down from my back around my belly and down onto the leather of the horse. I'm not just enjoying this — that's not a strong enough word. I try to stand aside psychologically — to revisit my analytical self — and watch my reactions objectively — but I can't be objective. I'm not just enjoying it. I'm lost in it. Abandoned to it. Unaware of anything beyond, Ylena, me, the spanking horse and Ylena's toys. The sensation is extraordinary and I know that this is why I came. I would not be anywhere else for anything.

"Ah ha! What a nice hot red bottom!" I feel Ylena's hand on my buttocks.

I can feel the results of her work and a large floor-to-ceiling mirror lets me see what is happening to me. I see Ylena wearing the same leather skirt and bustier that she wore before. I can feel what she has done, but I cannot see the results of Gaspazha's efforts yet. And besides, she hasn't finished.

I watch with trepidation and anticipation as she picks a cane from the rack on the wall. She swishes it through the air.

"Well, Fifty, the cane! Have you been caned before? I think not?"

"No, Gaspazha."

"Pardon?" Ylena's tone is indignant.

"Nyet spaseeba Gaspazha."

"Better. This is not a good time to forget what I have taught you, is it?"

"Nyet, Gaspazha."

"Nyet! So, I think I shall start with six of this light cane."

She takes up a position behind me.

"Are you ready moi slooga?"

"Da, Gaspazha, I think."

"Time to learn a new word, moi slooga. You know the word for 'please'? It's 'pazh'alsta'."

"Pazh'alsta?"

Before the word is out of my mouth, I hear the swish. I look up at the mirror as the cane connects with my bottom. It feels hot and bright, stinging and burning. But nice. I can't believe I think that. It feels nice. It's not nearly as bad as I feared it might be. I feel curiously light-headed, almost drunk.

A second, third and fourth stroke connects, each separated by perhaps thirty seconds of rest.

I am breathing in shallow gasps now. It may be pleasurable, but there is still pain and the pain is building into a wave crashing onto me. It's not unbearable, but I hope she will let the wave crash and recede — and she does.

Ylena walks around to my head and crouches down so she can look me straight in the eyes."

Just two more, Fifty," she says.

She walks back to stand behind me. The first of two! AHHHHH! I bite my lip. That hurt. She waits and saws the cane slowly back and forth across my bottom like a violinist drawing their bow across their instrument. It feels good and the respite feels better.

The second blow comes without warning. AHHHH HHHHHA! I squeeze my buttocks together in response as the final stroke of the six burns its way into my bum. I realise there is no more to come. I relax onto the horse, breathing heavily, like an athlete after a hard run is over.