Chapter Twelve
Serteau, in the study of his suburban mansion, decided to watch some of the video footage his monitoring system in the city apartment had captured of Helen’s training.
He was at ‘home’ (though he considered his city residence his real home) for no good reason other than to maintain the illusion of his marriage to a woman he had married twenty years before without thought on either side of anything but appearances. They had called those appearances ‘love’ at the time, he thought, but he and Beth had admitted to one another ten years in that they didn’t love each other in any romantic sense. They had stayed together for their two children, of course, now flown from the nest, one to the opposite coast and the other to England.
But Beth, despite knowing about his concubines—and perhaps for that very reason, out of spite—demanded that Serteau spend weekends in the suburbs, holding in her back pocket the threat of an extremely messy divorce that Serteau, feeling he already had everything he wanted, had no desire to undertake. Most of the time she would—again, he thought, in order to spite him—go out with her own friends, and possibly a lover, for which Serteau certainly didn’t blame her.
It did leave him with time on his hands, which he usually whiled away reading, but tonight, unable to stop thinking about Eric Lindgren enjoying Helen, he selected his much less frequent pursuit of reviewing video from the life for which he truly lived: his time with his indentured girl.
Serteau didn’t have a great deal of vanity, so he generally didn’t watch videos of himself fucking or flogging his concubine. He greatly preferred to watch a girl being trained by the marvelous Mrs. Foley, usually during one of the weekends, when he turned them over to his housekeeper completely. He browsed through the files in the folder called Helen on his computer, and selected the first Saturday of her new life in his apartment.
The camera, placed in an upper corner of Helen’s little room, showed her sleeping under the white comforter on the queen-sized bed where for the first time, the previous night, she had not received her owner, since Serteau had departed for his suburban domicile. Helen had arrived on Tuesday, and of course each night Serteau had come to her to enjoy her mouth and her cunt, before returning to his own bed. In the mornings Helen had been allowed to sleep in, and, upon emerging, set by Mrs. Foley to minor secretarial tasks.
On the video from this first Saturday morning, however, Mrs. Foley, wearing a silk kimono over lacy black panties, opened Helen’s door and slipped inside. She stood looking down at the sleeping girl for a moment, a smile on her face. Serteau sometimes felt that Mrs. Foley’s smile represented the absolute epitome of the excitement she brought to his arrangements with his concubines. In the slight curve of his housekeeper’s lips he saw not only authority and lust but also sympathy: she would train his girls for their good, and Serteau’s; she would not spare the rod—or, in her case, the wooden spoon; she would enjoy their blushing, weeping submission to her lessons; but she would remember even as she called them sluts that a frightened young woman was learning to come to terms with her body’s needs in Mrs. Foley’s arms and under her firm, if feminine, hand.
Mrs. Foley dropped her robe and slipped into Helen’s bed, drawing down the comforter to expose the girl’s lovely naked body. Unless Serteau had specified some kind of nightwear for his own enjoyment, his girls were required to sleep in the nude, in order that they feel he might come and use them at any time.
Helen stirred in her sleep. Mrs. Foley propped herself on her elbow and gazed down into the new girl’s face. She stroked Helen’s cheek, then planted a gentle kiss on the girl’s lips. Helen stirred again, but didn’t wake.
The housekeeper grew bolder, the smile still upon her lips. Helen’s left breast came within Mrs. Foley’s grasp, the nipple toyed with until Helen gave a fitful cry, and opened her eyes very wide.
“Mrs. Foley?” she whispered, as the older woman continued to play with the erect pink nipple, now meeting the concubine’s startled gaze. “What are you doing?”
“What did Mr. Serteau say about how you should behave while he is away?” Mrs. Foley asked. She moved her hand from Helen’s breast to the gentle curve of the girl’s hip. Helen gave a little shiver.
“He said… he…”
Mrs. Foley’s hand was between her legs, now, where Helen was still getting used to the feeling of being bare.
“Yes, little slut?”
“Oh, please… he didn’t say that…”
“Hush, girl. What did he say?”
Serteau couldn’t see on the video footage, of course, exactly what transpired between Helen’s thighs, but the rhythm of Mrs. Foley’s hand was clearly visible.
“He said I must do as you say. Oh, no… please…”
“Are you sore from his cock, slut?” Mrs. Foley asked.
“Y-yes,” Helen stammered. “Not as much as yesterday, but…”
“This feels better, doesn’t it?”
The girl’s hips had begun to move. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.
“Saturdays are for my training,” said Mrs. Foley. “If you’re a good girl for me, you’ll earn pleasure. If not, you’ll go over your spanking stool.” She gave a significant nod to the corner of Helen’s room where the little stool stood, over which the girl had as yet gone only once, on her first day.
Helen whimpered. “Training?”
“Yes, slut. For your owner’s cock. Lift this leg.”
The concubine’s right knee went up, and then she gave a little cry as Mrs. Foley touched further back. “Training here, especially,” she said. “You must be widened for the penis.”
“How?” Helen’s voice had grown very soft, but Serteau could hear even on the video’s imperfect audio track her fascination had also taken hold. This was his favorite thing about Helen: her complicated feelings about having the cock in her anus.
“Turn over,” said Mrs. Foley with sudden authority. “Onto your tummy, and raise this bottom for me.”
Serteau didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone use the word ‘this’ more effectively than his housekeeper. He resolutely avoided jerking off as he watched the videos of his concubines. The sight of Helen on her front, though, trying to see behind her so that she could puzzle out what Mrs. Foley meant to do, her backside lifted a bit to comply with the command, nearly broke his self-command. The crease on the girl’s brow seemed to speak louder than any words could of how the prospect of being trained for anal sex affected her.
Mrs. Foley had climbed out of bed for a moment to fetch the lube and the little plug with which she always began a young woman’s training. She came and sat down for a moment on the side of the mattress, so she could show them to Helen, the golden-haired girl’s bright blue eyes gazing up in consternation at what the older woman held.
“This will go in your bottom now, and you will wear it all day today, slut,” Mrs. Foley said. “Anal sex is very important to dominant men like your owner. It’s my job to make your body pleasurable for him in his favorite place, and to make it as comfortable as possible for you to receive him there, so that he can use you as he likes without compunction.”
Watching the video, Serteau smiled. Mrs. Foley had certainly accomplished that goal with Helen, as she had with his previous concubines. Then he felt a cloud come onto his brow, as he remembered that Eric Lindgren might very well now be enjoying the tight little anus that rightfully belonged to Serteau, which Mrs. Foley had trained for Serteau’s ordinary, though sizable, cock and not Lindgren’s monstrous one.
As he watched Mrs. Foley lube Helen’s little rose, inserting her finger gently at first and then more insistently as the girl cried out in need and in shame, Serteau couldn’t help picturing the scene in the hotel, seeing the possibilities and wondering, though he tried to stop his mind from the fruitless effort, which of them had taken place, or would take place. Lindgren would have her all night, in the city, while Serteau sat in this suburban prison.
The idea of sharing a girl whom you owned, as a favor to your friends and as a sort of ultimate proof of your mastery of her, appealed in the abstract. The first few moments—displaying her charms and discussing the way you liked to fuck her and the way you liked to discipline her when she misbehaved—got a man’s cock hard.
Even turning her over for the first of your friends to use, and watching her perform her shameful duties because you had chosen to give her away… watching her receive the cocks of strangers any way they chose, watching her spanked by another man because her pretty backside was made for punishment… all that could prove very arousing.
But when a boy with a huge cock took your girl to a hotel, and you were left watching videos of her undergoing anal training that now would serve the boy’s lusts, and not your own, even the abstract enjoyment of having provided a slut for the use of other men faded rather noticeably.
He pictured the scene despite himself. Lindgren would find out very quickly how very charmingly Helen responded to anal stimulation. He had in fact already seen it, when the other men had lubed her back there, at the restaurant, and used her bottom to make themselves come. Watching the end of the gangbang, in his office, Serteau had seen on his concubine’s face what Lindgren must also have seen, when the first man entered her narrowest place: mingled shame, discomfort, and submissive pleasure so great that Serteau never fucked Helen’s ass without placing her so that he could watch her face very closely in a mirror while he rode to his climax in her bottom.
And now she would have his enormous shaft there. He would certainly make that the very first order of business, in the hotel room. Helen would be on her knees on the sumptuous bed, and Lindgren would bend her over until her cheek rested against the crisp white sheet. Bra and stockings would still be on, of course.
“Reach back and spread your bottom-cheeks, sweetheart. Show me that little hole where my cock is going to go.”
Helen would whimper, the same way she whimpered on the video for Mrs. Foley, as the housekeeper set the butt plug for the first time, filled the girl there in a fashion she had never expected and which her face said she found compelling in some shameful way. Lindgren would lube her as she held her ass open with trembling fingers.
On the video, Mrs. Foley went to get her strap-on harness, to introduce to the new girl, who now lay impaled with her first plug, this other important aspect of her training.
Among his imprisonment in his beautiful mansion, the visions of Lindgren putting the enormous muzzle of his cock to Helen’s cringing bottom-hole, and the images of Mrs. Foley making Helen suck the big rubber cock she wore on the leather belt she had donned, Serteau began to feel he might have done better just to put on a news channel and to try to pay attention to it.
Mrs. Foley sat with her back to the headboard, on the video, with Helen on all fours now as she learned to please the big black phallus, nearly as big—Serteau thought—as Eric Lindgren’s cock.
“Good little slut,” the housekeeper said. “I’ll fuck you with my artificial cock very soon, I promise, but right now I want that pretty mouth between my legs.”
Visions of the hotel room where Lindgren enjoyed Helen faded, thankfully, as Mrs. Foley unbuckled the strap-on harness, and made Helen pleasure her for the first time, murmuring all the while about how much her owner would enjoy her bottom once it had been made sufficiently pleasant for his cock. Serteau sat back and concentrated on the video, telling himself as forcefully as he could that Helen would be back under the housekeeper’s care at noon tomorrow. Perhaps he would even defy his wife and take a quick trip into the city for a fuck in that beautiful bottom, to remind the girl to whom she belonged.