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The Training of Slave Girl Shana Ch. 05

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2006-04-10

Shana was awoken by a clatter on the ladder. She jumped out of the bed and knelt on the floor just as the Usher came through the curtain with a tray. He placed it before her on the floor. "Breakfast," he said. "I'll return in fifteen minutes and take you to the shower. Bring your sandals. Then you will be expected in the studio by the Understudy. "Shana was able to walk more normally as she followed the Usher to the shower. Once under the hot spray, Shana gingerly examined herself, feeling around the outside of her stretched pussy. It seemed more returned to its normal shape and feel, and she soaped herself gently between her legs. Outside the shower, she towelled herself and fixed her hair at the small counter. In the mirror, she could see the small lump of clothing left behind her on the chaise, and knew from its colour that it wasn't her uniform tunic. She picked it up and saw it was the white top and denim wraparound miniskirt she had seen on her first day. She heaved a deep, weary, sigh and wriggled into the top. The scoop neck exposed her cleavage most of the way down her breasts, and her nipples were prominent through the fabric. She was disheartened, but not surprised, to find her request to the Usher had gone unanswered, and she slipped on the miniskirt without any panties.

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   The stiff denim flared outwards, and the tiny skirt was shorter than her tunic. She slid into her heeled sandals and turned around to look at herself in the mirror. She gave the skirt a tug. The choice became clear: wear it a little lower, and expose her bare belly and navel as well the tops of her hip bones; or wear it a little higher, and expose a sliver of bare cheeks when she walked. She decided she could handle her bare, flat stomach on display, but the thought of someone seeing under her skirt was mortifying, especially with her bare, stretched pussy visible. Shana stepped meekly into the studio and found the Understudy sitting at a small table on wheels with two chairs and a laptop computer. He turned to her as her heels clicked on the wooden floor. "Ah, Slave Shana. Let's begin. " Shana knelt before him, staring at the floor. The Understudy paused. "I hope there's no hard feelings about what we did last night," he said. Shana shook her head. It seemed to be the answer he wanted. "Good!" he said, "Because it helped me out a great deal in my research.

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  " He rubbed his hands together with satisfaction, and pushed the table to one side. "Today," he continued, "I think we'll keep the training light and brief so we can get to other things. First, stand up, and tell me, what do you think of your outfit today?"Shana stood and looked at the floor. "It's. . . it's short," she said. "Do you feel uncomfortable?"Shana nodded. "Do you realize if you stood on this chair, I could see up your skirt?" Shana hesitated, then nodded. The Understudy nodded back. "So stand on the chair. "Shana blushed, and stepped awkwardly up onto the chair. The Understudy said nothing, and paced around her slowly. Shana kept her eyes averted in the silence. "Well," he said.

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   "That's enough. I will now ask you to adopt Pose Two with your shoes on. " Shana got off the chair and knelt on the floor, tucking her legs to the side and arching her feet in her sandals. The Understudy nodded approvingly. "A little harder with the toe point. Good. Now look in the mirror. "Shana looked in the mirror. She could see right up the back of her skirt, to where the cheeks of her ass met her swollen pussy. The tips of her pointed sandals only partially eclipsed her brown and pink furrow. Her hand twitched instinctively and she held it in check. She looked away. The Understudy paced around her, taking her in from all sides, but did not comment on what he could see. "Tuck your legs back more," he commanded. She pointed her toes harder and tucked her legs back further.

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   The tips of her sandals moved to within half an inch of her exposed pussy. "More," he insisted. She tucked them back as far as she could. She felt her cool, bare toes and the gritty edge of the tip of her sandals graze her pink folds. She began to blush. "Watch yourself in the mirror," said the unrelenting voice of the Understudy. "Do not look away. Watch what your feet are doing. "Shana stared at her arched feet, straining with effort to keep her legs tucked so far back. She became increasingly aware of the feeling of her soft toes and hard sandals lighty touching her. "Slave Shana, twitch your toes. Move them back and forth," he said slyly. Shana blushed furiously. As she moved her toes, they rubbed lightly against her exposed folds. First the swelling soft skin of the tips of her toes, then the harsh grittiness of the sandal.

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   Then the toes again. The Understudy watched silently as Shan watched herself, stroking the toes slowly, her face cherry red. "After last night, does it hurt at all to do this?" he finally asked. "Yes," she whispered. "Alright," he nodded. "Then adopt Pose Six. "Shana relaxed her toes and brought her legs around and up, drawing her knees toward her chest and letting her heels rest on the floor. The change of position made her tendons cry. "Now, remember, you're wearing shoes. . . " said the Understudy. Shana remembered, and brought her knees further up to let the toes of her sandals touch the floor. "And look in the mirror. .

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  . " he continued. Shana knew what she would see before she looked. With her knees drawn up, the view up her miniskirt was unmistakeably obscene. She flicked her eyes at the mirror, to the reflection of her great, brown folds, and then flicked them down again. "I think you get the idea," said the Understudy. "Now, get up, come on over to the table. I need to interview you about yesterday. "Shana felt a spasm of anxiety course through her. She sat down in the second chair, smoothing her miniskirt beneath her. Sitting down had the effect of pulling up the back, and she could feel cold plastic against her cheeks. "Please remove your sandals," said the Understudy, as he sat down and began touching various icons on the screen. Shana slipped off her sandals into her bare feet. "Please cross your legs and keep your upper foot arched," he continued. Shana pointed the toes of her crossed leg.

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   "And finally, rest your bottom foot only on your toes. " Shana arched her other foot, letting just her toes rest on the floor. The Understudy launched an application and a video popped up on the screen. Shana's eyes widened in horror as she recognized the machine from the previous night, and saw herself laying back on the slab, tugging the hem of her tunic down over a clearly visible tuft while the Understudy loomed over her. "Yes," said the Understudy, answering her unspoken question, "you were on camera for this. " They both watched the screen as the girl was buckled to the table and sat up to protest. Shana could not watch as she saw herself pushed back down on the slab, and she covered her face with her hand. The Understudy firmly guided her hand back down to her lap. "Do not turn away," he said. Shana began to shake. "Please, I don't want to see this. . . " she whimpered. The Understudy raised a hand, while staring at the screen, and silenced her.

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   Shana's tears began anew, as she realized she would be traumatized again. They rolled slowly off her cheeks and pattered onto her lap as she watched herself struggle in vain against the advancing piston. The Understudy froze the video and said, "I think it's pretty clear to me how you are feeling at this moment in the treatment. I have nothing to clarify about your fear except to ask you when exactly you knew this was coming. "Shana said nothing, and stared dully at the frozen image of herself. The piston was on the verge of penetrating her. "I asked you a question," said the Understudy. "When it moved," she said flatly, quietly. "Thank you," he said, and started the video again. On the screen, the piston breached the squirming, crying girl, and she cried out sharply. Her hands grabbed between her thighs, then jerked and clenched, as she fell silent and began to arch her body back. Shana's lower lip began to tremble. "This is the interesting part," said the Understudy casually. "You grew quiet here, very quiet. " They watched the girl reach the zenith of her contortion, her arched feet catching and losing their traction on the slab, her mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

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   The Understudy continued his commentary. "And then," he said, and gestured to the screen. The girl's mouth fluttered as she broke the silence every so often. It was the same surreal performance, playing out again, the same surreal sounds. For Shana, the replay seemed to go on forever, the violation never ceasing. She ached between her thighs at the memory, and her ears burned as she listened to herself. The Understudy froze the video again. "What was going through your mind at this moment?" he asked. Shana shook quietly, the tears still rolling. She blinked and blinked again to clear her eyes. "I. . . I don't remember," she said quietly. "Are you sure?"She straightened her crossed leg out, and up, for a moment to relieve a cramp.

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   The Understudy said nothing, and gazed at her outstretched leg, the foot arched, before she brought it back down. She spoke so quietly, the Understudy had to lean in to hear her whisper. "I. . . I was. . . thinking about how it. . . it. . . it was splitting me.

 

  . . " her voice trailed off. "You could feel it stretching you. "She nodded. "You were. . . making noises. What you were trying to say?"Shana didn't answer. "Please answer," he said. Shana's face crumpled and she sobbed. The Understudy watched her cry: a young, beautiful girl in a tiny denim wrap-around miniskirt without panties, a tight top, no shoes, perched on the edge of a chair, her long bare legs poised on the tips of her bare toes, one leg crossed, the foot arched and dabbling in the air, and her ponytail bobbing, her slim body shaking while she cried. Shana finally managed to answer between sobs. "It was.

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  . . all. . . I could. . . make. . . "The Understudy stared at her, fascinated. "Really," he said. He shuttled the video back and played the scene forward again, intently watching the girl's hands clench and listening to her croaks. He let Shana sob quietly while he tapped furiously on the keyboard.

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   On the computer screen, the tiny girl was hoisted up on the piston, squirming on its end. Shana broke the silence as the Understudy typed. "I don't want this job anymore," she said softly. The Understudy continued typing. "I want to quit," she said, a little more firmly. The Understudy finished typing and pushed away the table. Then he turned to her and jerked away the chair. Shana tumbled onto the floor with a sharp cry. "Pose Five, now!" he snapped loudly, holding the chair up. Shana flinched and  scrambled back away from him. She lay quickly on her back, arched it, and drew her legs up, breathing quickly, and shaking. The Understudy paced around her, still holding the chair. "Point the toes," he said, "more arch. Do it like you did last night when I stretched you!"Shana grimaced as she strained at the pose. The Understudy made her hold it in silence for an interminable moment, staring up her skirt, before he finally put the chair down and spoke more quietly.

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   "Did you read the entire paper you signed when I hired you?""Y-yes," she squeaked, her head arched back. "Do you know what 'indenture,' means?""Y-yes. ""That's right. You're mine until eight months is up. Does that answer your question?"Shana said nothing. "Good! Now Pose Four, Variation D. Perform for me, slave. "Shana relaxed her body, meekly rolled on to her stomach, came up on her elbows, and kicked her feet up in the air. She felt embarrassed, humiliated, as she arched her toes and brushed her pointed feet against each other, in a grotesque parody of a cheesecake pinup pose. The Understudy said nothing, merely contemplated her for a while, his eyes rolling shamelessly over her. "Meet my gaze while you do that, slave," he said. Shana slowly looked up at him with her wet eyes, and continued her performance, humiliated. The Understudy nodded approvingly. "The Master will often ask for this," he said. "And that's all I require of you for now.

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   I'll have the Usher take you to the scullery. I'm sure your special friend has more work for you. Now hold that pose in A, and don't drop it until the Usher gives you permission. " The Understudy turned and briskly left the studio, leaving the video on the computer screen to play over and over. All was quiet in the room except for the tiny cries of the girl on the screen, which Shana could hear with crystal clarity as she held the pose dutifully and waited. Her head dropped to her forearms and she quietly sobbed into the sleeves of her top until she heard footsteps echoing down the hall. She breathed in deeply and held her head up, her tear-streaked face now stoic, as the Usher marched in. He stopped short at the sounds coming from the computer, stared at the screen for a moment in bewilderment, before a flicker of recognition crossed his face. Then he turned to stare at her, lying on the floor with her pointed, bare feet kicked up behind her, taut and still. She looked ahead, still stoically. "Get up, Slave Shana. I'm taking you to the scullery," he said. * * * Daniel was very happy to see Shana, but could not figure out why Shana seemed so uneasy and untalkative. She wouldn't even meet his gaze. He had fed her lunch and then put her to work slicing a mountain of vegetables on the prep counter.

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   The Master was having guests that night, and he had a lot of work to do, so Shana's presence was welcome. But he could not take his eyes off her skirt. Shana had her sandals on, and every time she walked from one table to the next and back again, the heels of her sandals would clack on the tiled floor, drawing Daniel's eyes like a magnet to the back of her hem. Her bare heels would softly slap the strapless sandals as they lifted while she walked. Shana would hug herself under her breasts as she walked, and the hemline of the skirt would shift hypnotically. It was right on the border, where the tops of her bare thighs began to swell into the soft cheeks of her ass. Daniel wondered if she was bare again under her skirt, and hoped she would reach or bend far enough for him to find out. "Eh girlie," he said, "Where's dat funny uniform dey make you wear, eh?" Daniel had been scraping the giant grill clean from the breakfast cooking. Shana smiled shyly and walked to the corner to pick up a sack of onions. It was the movement Daniel had been watching for: a slight forward bend, very quick, but it was enough to flash the cheeks of her bare rear, and reveal a swollen, bulging, brown and pink pouch between them. Daniel's eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. She stood up with the onions and Daniel averted his eyes and turned back to the enormous grill to continue scraping. He could hear her cross back to the counter, and for the first time realized what was making him uneasy. Shana started slicing onions, and Daniel turned to her. "Eh you, why are you walking like dat?"Shana looked up nervously.

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   "Walking like what?" she asked. "You walkin' all stiff and funny, like you ran dat long race," he said. Shana looked down at her onions studiously. "I-it's nothing," she mumbled as she started slicing. "I'm fine. "Daniel stared at her. "You really t'ink I believe you?" Shana didn't answer. Daniel looked around, and then said, "Alright den. Der's a big jar of eggs I need in dat walk-in fridge, if you can go an' get dem for me, girlie!""Okay," she said and disappeared inside the fridge, her heels clicking on the tiles again. Daniel stared after her as she walked, watching the skirt hem undulate teasingly. Shana stood on her toes to reach the top bolt on the door and slide it back. Her skirt pulled up behind her, slowly, as her heels came up from her sandals. Her legs straightened, the calves went taut, and the tight, bare cheeks of her ass, framed by the stiff, flared denim, popped out. She slid the bolt back and came down off her tip toes, her hand smoothing the skirt down as she did so. It was over in a moment.

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  The door to the fridge opened, then closed behind her, and she felt around for the switch in the cool darkness. The cold air of the fridge wrapped around her bare legs and went up her skirt. She shuddered and felt goose bumps breaking out over her bare legs. Just as she found the switch, the door opened with a woosh and in swooped Daniel, closing the door in one smooth movement and backing Shana up against the wall. Shana squeaked in fright and Daniel put a finger to her lips. "Shhushh, girlie!" he hissed. "Now listen. Dey can't hear us inside dis fridge. So listen. You wanna say somethin' to me widdout getting caught, you do it in dis place. You understand?"Shana nodded, her eyes wide. "Okeh. Well, now, you can't be 'eard in 'ere, like out dere. So I'm goin' to ask you again: are you alright, girlie? Because you shore don look like it!" Daniel looked into her eyes intently. Shana averted her gaze, and stared at her sandals.

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  "I- I'm not supposed to be. . . I'm not supposed to chat with you. . . like we did before," she said softly. "They. . . told me. "Daniel stared at her a moment, his eyes wide. He seized her firmly. "Did dey hurt you?" he asked. Shana continued to stare at her sandals.

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   Daniel whispered again, fiercely, violently. "Did dey hurt you? Answer me!"Shana nodded meekly, her eyes tearing up. Daniel grasped his head, squinted his eyes. "Tabernac, tabernac, tabernac, tabernac. . . " he whispered, "Eh, girlie, wad did dey do?"Shana sniffled, wiped her eyes. "It hurt. It hurt so much!"Daniel shook his head blindly. "Oh, mercy tabernac!" He turned away and leaned against the wall. "Oh I 'ate dis place. Eh tabernac, fucking 'ell!" Shana held herself and softly sniffled. The two stood in silence for a while. "Daniel," said Shana, breaking the silence softly. Daniel held his head.

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  "I yam so sorry, girlie. So goddam sorry. Dis was my fault. ""Daniel. . . " "I'm always sticking my goddamn foot in it, tabernac. ""Daniel, please hug me. " Daniel slowly looked over at her. She looked back at him, pleadingly. "I need somebody to hug me," she whispered. "Please hug me. "Daniel was over to her in one stride and sweeping her up in his big, wide arms. He lifted her off the floor in a strong embrace, and she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder. Daniel had one arm and hand around her shoulder, and the other around her tiny waist.

 

   The hem of her little skirt popped up over her bare rear as he lifted her, and she felt the cool air on her cheeks. Daniel could feel the bare skin of her back against his forearm, where her top separated from her skirt. She hugged him tighter, feeling his neck on her cheek, and he feeling her warm, slim body against his. Daniel kissed her head and rubbed her back. Shana arched her feet and her sandals slipped off her. It was then that Daniel's wandering hand slid down to support her under her seat, and found bare softness, perhaps by accident, perhaps not. His fingers grazed her pouch and she cried out in surprise. "Ow! Daniel! Ouch, no, not there!" Daniel froze. "Wha? Wha?" he said, breathlessly, sliding his hand away quickly. Shana caught her breath and held Daniel's cheek. "I'm sorry. . . I'm sorry," she panted. "Not there.

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   It hurts too much to touch there. And. . . and. . . you shouldn't touch me there. " Shana surprised herself at her command. She had forgotten her station for a moment, and she waited tensely. Daniel held her tightly, and rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. "I'm sorry. I got carried way. Oh lord, girlie, you are a china doll," he finally said. Shana breathed out a sigh of relief.

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   "We shouldn't stay in here," she said. "If they catch us in here, they'll hurt me again. " Daniel let her down slowly, and took her face in his hands. "I've got yor back," he said. "You 'ear?"She nodded. "Let's go," she said, tugging on his arm. Daniel looked sheepishly at the floor. They emerged cautiously from the fridge into the warm kitchen. No one was there. Shana went back to slicing vegetables and Daniel to cleaning the grill. The ensuing silence was unnerving for Shana. She couldn't escape the feeling that their brief foray into the fridge wouldn't have gone unnoticed. sirwhereareyou@hotmail. com.

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