“The ultimate result of shielding men from the effects of folly, is to fill the world with fools.”
A Dominant is many things, among these a teacher. Whether by design or default, it is often a big part of the role. Our submissives are the default students. Sometimes, they’re slow learners, like *Brent. This gentleman has been coming to play with me for a few months. He makes a lot of lofty claims about how he wants to be trained as a slave. He talks a big game about wanting to be useful to me and to the other Mistresses of our house, but he is careless and inattentive to instructions. These are not desirable qualities in a slave, or anyone else, really. When he showed up late for today’s training session I decided he was gonna learn, one way or another.
“I explicitly told you that you were to arrive precisely on time, Brent. Would you like to explain to me why you are ten minutes late?”
Brent was on his knees in front of my throne. He gave a casual, half hearted shrug. “I don’t know. Traffic I guess? It was only ten minutes.”
“Only ten minutes? Ok, since that’s how you feel about it, our time together will be cut ten minutes short today.”
“Heeeey,” Brent drawled. “That’s not fair. Ten minutes isn’t a big deal. Why does it have to come out of my time?”
“Well, it certainly isn’t my fault you were late, Brent. I was here and ready to go, right on time. But since you claim ten minutes isn’t a big deal to you, then you shouldn’t mind absorbing the penalty. Unless you were rescuing a lady who was tied to some railroad tracks, you’re eating the ten minutes. Next time, don’t be late.” I paused, gave him a moment to express further objection or acceptance. He did neither, which was just as well. I was about done listening to him anyway. I tore off a piece of duct tape and applied it firmly to his mouth. He gave me a questioning look as I did this. “What, you think I want to listen to your mouth today? First you claim ten minutes isn’t a big deal, but it sure seems like it’s a big deal when it’s about your time instead of mine. Do you think your time is worth more than mine? Is that it? You think I have no life plans aside from waiting for you to show up at your leisure?” I buckled a training collar around Brent’s neck, then grasped it and tugged it until he lifted his head to look at me. He shook his head “no”.
“I’m glad we agree on that point, Brent. Because when you show up late, especially after being reminded to be on time, that is inconsiderate of my time. I am not willing to tolerate it. Do you understand this?” I was still grasping the back of Brent’s collar. I gave it another brief, sharp tug just to punctuate my point. He nodded.
“Good.” I let go of Brent’s collar. “Hands and knees, now.” Brent obediently assumed the position. I knelt next to him. He turned his head to look at me. “No. Look at the floor. I will tell you when I want you to look at me.” Brent did as he was told. “All right Brent. Now I want you to understand that things are going to change. More to the point, you are going to change. Your carelessness, your lack of attention to instruction, your habitual tardiness, your overall slacking …all of this ends today. Nod if you understand me.”
Still facing the floor, Brent nodded.
“Very good. Now, I want you to crawl to that wall over there by the door. Kneel on the floor with your back against the wall, knees apart, hands on top of your thighs. Do that, and wait for me. I have to get a few things so I will be a minute.” I left the room as Brent crawled toward his destination. There were a few things in the other play room I wanted to assemble: a tube of IcyHot, and some wooden clothes pins. Also, I wanted to give Brent a chance to fuck up the instructions I had just issued.
He didn’t let me down. Upon my return to the playroom, I opened the door and it would barely budge. I put my weight into the effort, gave the door a good hard shove, and heard a grunting sound from the other side. Then the door gave way and opened, and what do you suppose I saw? Brent, sprawled on the floor, with a surprised look on his face.
I strode over to where lay askew, and yanked the duct tape off his mouth. He gave a little yelp when I did this. Good. “Well, what’s the goddamned problem, Brent? Is there some reason I couldn’t open the door, and now I find you on the floor instead of against the wall where you were supposed to be?”
“I thought you told me to kneel with my back against the door.”
Good lord. Really?
“Against the door, Brent? Against the door?” I loomed over Brent, who cowered on the floor beneath me. “Why in the hell would I tell you to kneel with your back against the door? Did I not tell you I was coming back in just a minute? Was I supposed to come in through the window?”
“I, uh, don’t know, Mistress…I thought you said…”
“You thought I said, what? You know god damned good and well there is no earthly reason why I would tell you to kneel with your back against the door.” I grasped the lead ring on his collar and forced him into a semi upright kneeling position. “Crawl. Right now. Get over here to this wall and kneel, like I told you to do in the first place.”
Brent scrambled to obey me. In a few seconds, he was in the position I had ordered before leaving the room: kneeling, back against the wall, knees apart, hands on top of his thighs. He kept his eyes forward, apparently fixed on some undetermined spot on the rug. I stood in front of him, straight and tall as the Colossus, crop in hand.
“Brent, I’m pretty tired of your carelessness. When I give instructions, I expect them to be followed to the letter.”
“yes, Mistress. I understand.”
“No, Brent, I don’t think you do understand. I hear you telling me that you understand, but your actions show that you are pretty clueless. So, I think it’s time for a bit of remedial education.” I knelt in front of Brent, uncapped the IcyHot, and applied a bit to each of his nipples. Then, before the tingle set in fully, I attached two clothes pins. Brent winced and grimaced. “Now. What did I tell you to do before I left the room?”
“Uh, you told me to kneel…”
“Yes, I told you to kneel. Continue, please. Where did I tell you to kneel?”
“I, uh, thought you told me to kneel with my back against the door, but I don’t know….”
“What, Brent? What don’t you know?” I used my riding crop to give the right clothespin a nicely measured little smack. Brent squeaked out a little yelping noise when I did this. I dug the heel of my boot into his flesh and leaned in closer. “What don’t you know, Brent?”
“I don’t know …it doesn’t make any sense.”
“What doesn’t make any sense?” I brought the riding crop down on his left nipple, a little harder this time. He shrieked.
“It doesn’t make any sense that you’d tell me to kneel with my back against the door when you were just about to come back in.”
“There we go! That’s the first insightful thing you’ve said all day.”
“Thank you, Mistress. I’m trying.”
“Stand up,” I ordered him. “Now. Quickly.”
Brent was on his feet in about two seconds.
“Stand straight. Shoulders back. Feet about shoulder width. Hands at your side. And lower your face; you don’t get to look at me like we’re equals.”
Brent carried out these instructions with sufficient accuracy.
“Now, Brent, it seems that you don’t listen very well unless I do something to compel your attention. As soon as I put the IcyHot and the clothespins on your nipples, you got smart in a hurry. Do you know what that means?”
“It means that now I know how to get your attention, so I will be making both our lives simpler. Hold out your hand, if you please.”
Brent produced his right hand. I dispensed about an inch of IcyHot into his waiting palm.
“Now I want you to apply this to your dick. Rub it on there, and try not to have too much fun because I have plans.”
Brent attended to the task as mandated. “Hey, don’t forget the balls. Make sure you get it all over. Do you need more?”
“No, Mistress. I think there’s enough.”
“Oh good. Open your legs a bit farther.” Brent complied. I pulled up a stool, sat down, snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Then I began attaching clothespins to the skin of his scrotum. Brent made a little whiny gasping sound every time the tightly hinged wooden jaws bit into his flesh. I figured a half dozen was enough. I glanced up at Brent’s face as I applied the last clothes pin. His jaw was clenched, perspiration forming on his forehead and upper lip. Still watching his face, I flicked one of the clothes pins. He made a sort of squeaky grunting sound when I did that. I snickered and twisted the clothespin. An abrupt little shriek followed. Satisfied, I dispensed with the gloves.
I sat on my throne. “kneel on the floor in front of me. Be careful to not dislodge any of the clothes pins. If you do, I’ll add an extra one for every one you knock off.”
Brent lowered himself to a kneeling position. Whether through luck or effort, he managed to not displace any clothes pins.
“Knees far apart, now. Hands on the floor behind you. Lean back, and hold that position until I tell you differently.”
Tentatively, Brent placed his palms on the floor and leaned backward, his arms bearing the weight of his upper body. Still sitting on the throne, I extended my leg and rested the sole of my boot against his chest, squarely between the clothes pins. He absorbed this extra weight. A tiny rivulet of sweat trickled down his left temple. Deliberately, with carefully measured force, I dug the heel of my boot into his flesh. His jaw clenched and his neck cords bulged under the strain of the added weight, but he remained more or less steady.
“Ok, Brent. It seems that I have your undivided attention at long last. Are you ready to listen to me?”
He nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Great. Because from now on, repeated lessons will be exponentially more painful. So it would be a lot better for you if we don’t have to revisit today’s drills.” I nudged him once more with the heel of my boot, just to drive the point home.
“I understand, Mistress.”
“Good.” I lowered my foot, demurely crossing my ankles. “Now I want you to stand up. Carefully, the same way you knelt. Stand with your back against the St. Andrew’s cross, with your feet wide apart.” Brent duly followed these orders. I knelt and used rope to bind his ankles to the legs of the cross, then another piece of rope to secure his midsection to the center of the cross. Finally I fastened leather cuffs around his wrists, which I clipped behind his back. Once he was secured, I gave him a final cursory inspection: all the clothes pins were still in place. One on each nipple, six on his scrotum. I observed his face. His jaw was set. His nostrils flared in cadence with the rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was a little fast, but regular.
I stepped away from the cross and inspected the toys: an assortment of whips, crops, floggers, and paddles were displayed on the wall, suspended from hooks. Some were made of leather, some of rubber, and others of wood. All of them well kept and cared for. Briefly touching or even glancing at any toy calls to mind immediate memories of use. Finally my eyes fell on the tool I sought: the dragon tail whip. A beautiful, well made, elegant creation. One of my personal favorites. I caressed the length of the tail: twenty two inches of beautiful, supple, evenly thick leather. I lifted it, allowing myself a moment to marvel at the craftsmanship of the steel handle. I have used it well and in good faith, whether to reward or to discipline. Today would be no different.
“It is the duty of a Mistress to see that her servant is well trained. Obedient, punctual, mindful.”
“Yes, Mistress. You’re right.”
“Lately, I have had difficulty in getting you to manifest self discipline. You don’t listen. You are sloppy about following directions. Just today, you were late for your training. These behaviors do not bode well for one who wishes to be trained as a slave.”
“I understand, Mistress.”
“Do you understand, Brent?”
“I do, Mistress. I am really sorry I displeased you. I didn’t mean to.”
“Oh, I know.” I smiled and nodded, still fingering the whip. “I know you didn’t mean to. I know it wasn’t your intention.” Still holding the whip, I stepped closer to Brent, until I was nearly toe to toe with him. I eased my fingers under his collar, pulling his face just a bit closer to mine. “That’s the problem, Brent.” I spoke very softly now, to compel his undivided attention. That’s one thing I have learned during my years in the play room: if you really want them to listen, don’t raise your voice at all. Lower it to a near whisper. It worked: even the hairs on his arms stood at attention, like a few thousand tiny satellites tuning into every syllable. “The problem is you have no intentions. You don’t intend to mess up, but you also don’t intend to excel. You’re just kinda here. Like furniture. And you know, that’s just not good enough for me.” I punctuated the last syllable by tweaking the clothespin on his right nipple.
Brent blinked, shuddered, and finally nodded. “I understand, Mistress. You are right to punish me.”
Whip in hand, I took two steps backward. My eyes never left Brent’s face, which showed a mixture of fear, resignation, and even a bit of relief. Finally, he would be held to a standard. He would answer for his slacking, slothful ways.
I took aim, measured my distance, and let the whip fly. It lurched forward with an audible snap. Right on mark, the tip of the whip made contact with the left clothes pin, which gave up it’s grip and fell to the floor. Brent sucked in air and grimaced. Quickly, as soon as the whip recoiled, I took aim again: this time at the clothes pin on the left. Head thrown back, neck tendons straining, Brent roared in pain.
“I know this is hard, Brent, but it’s necessary. Tell me why you are being punished, please.”
Brent gasped and gulped in air, and managed to stutter: “because- because I am careless and disobedient and I don’t listen!”
“That’s right. Very good. I am glad you are beginning to see the error of your ways. Now Brent, it’s very important that you remain still now. You don’t want to move. Trust me. This is going to hurt, but it will hurt much less if I make my target… and the only way I can do that is if you don’t move at all.” I was already poised and taking aim at one of the clothespins on his scrotum. Carefully, steadily. As soon as I was certain of my mark, I snapped my wrist forward and the whip flew. It knocked off one of the clothes pins. Brent wailed and strained against his bounds. After his reaction was over, I aimed again: another clothes pin fell to the floor.
“I don’t appreciate having my time wasted, Brent. I expect you to arrive on time for your training sessions. You will be prompt and considerate of my schedule.”
Brent’s legs were trembling, but he endured without moving. Still, steady, calmly I aimed again. And again. Brent let out a sobbing howl. “I’m sorry Mistress… I will do better.” .. “I know, Brent. It’s okay. We’re almost done here. Only two more clothes pins. I need you to hold still for just a few more seconds.” Carefully, I drew back the whip, took aim, and let it go. The whip sailed forward, slicing through the air with a hiss. It landed perfectly. Better than perfect: it hit and dislodged both of the remaining clothes pins. Unfortunately, Brent wasn’t in any frame of mind to appreciate my skillful marksmanship, being somewhat distracted by his own agonies. His face turned reddish purple and he let out a feral, visceral shriek. Out of deference for his pain, I allowed him a moment to indulge in these expressions, and stood at a respectful distance until his howling quieted. Once he was sufficiently calm, I offered him water, holding a cup while he sipped through a straw. His hands were still bound, you see. I wasn’t quite ready to let him go yet.
“Is there anything you would like to say, Brent?”
“yes Mistress. I will say again that I am sorry and I will earnestly try to do better.”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid that is not specific enough, Brent. I will need you to be more explicit regarding your intentions.”
“I will be on time, I will pay attention to instructions, and I will be more careful to follow directions and do what you ask.”
“That’s great, Brent. That is the decision I hoped you would make.” At this point, I was ready to release him from his restraints. First, I untied the ropes that bound his ankles, then I unfastened the leather cuffs. Brent stepped away from the cross. I motioned for him to kneel on the floor, and I unfastened his collar.
Often I allow a slave in training to relieve himself manually after a session, but as this was a punishment session, I felt it would be inappropriate. Also I would ordinarily allow a subject to clean off the IcyHot. Not today. Today, the IcyHot would remain on his skin, providing a subtle, lingering reminder of our time together, thus allowing the day’s lessons to make a deeper impression. Time will tell.