Naked Exposure free porn video

Have you ever tried to serve a someone a meal, flirt with them, then seduce them, all while being desperate to cum – and have to do so without making the tiniest mistake? I have.

Mistress Andrea stood off to the side, watching as I performed an erotic dance for an honored guest, Master Aleksandr, who was watching from the dinner table where I had just finished serving his meal. Mistress Andrea would ultimately be the one to pass judgement on whether I was good enough to be initiated as a slave for my Mistress, so it was vital that I impress her.

This was a multiple trial. First I had been expected to serve his meal perfectly, laying the table, going to and from the kitchen without dropping or spilling anything, anticipating what he would want before he knew himself so that he never had to wait for anything, and ensuring the food was exactly to his liking. Any mistake, no matter how tiny, was considered grounds for punishment later on, and I know Mistress Andrea was keeping close track of how I was doing.

Now I was to entertain Master Aleksandr, enticing him as much as possible as he was a very experienced, somewhat jaded Master. If I were successful, it would then be up to me to perform any sex act he asked. I would be graded, both by him and Mistress Andrea on how well I did at serving, the seduction, and the sexing.

Yet, the greatest challenge was that they had had one of the other trainees perform cunnilingus on me, but not to orgasm, to get me hot and desperate. Then they had inserted Ben-Wa balls into my cunt before the dinner started.

Their purpose was to edge me, to make me horny right from the start, in order to test my ability to control my feelings. I was absolutely forbidden to cum. If I performed all of my tasks perfectly, I would be allowed to cum later. If I made even a small mistake, I would be denied, and if the mistakes were not small, I would also be punished.

I was desperate to cum, which meant I was even more motivated to be perfect. And I had to do this while smiling, flirting, enticing, and subtly edging Master Aleksandr himself with my presence during dinner, and with my performance afterwards.

Being on edge, sexually, also made it that much harder for me to get everything else right as it messed with my concentration. Because I am naturally a slut, this ran completely counter to my nature, so I had to focus hard on what I was doing.

But that was the purpose of this training. To force me to concentrate, and to be able to do ordinary things – or extraordinary ones – perfectly, no matter how I felt.

~~~~~

All trainees are referred to by a number, not a name, to underline that we are property, not people. In what might have been a joke, or an acknowledgement of my occupation, my number was Sixty-nine.

By the second month of my training, most of my waking time was spent actually learning things. These fell into five main categories: personal fitness, deportment, serving, sex, and entertaining. I was now being trained, at times, alongside two other candidates, a guy, Carel, and another girl, Adriana.

We each had unique courses of learning, but there was also a fair amount of overlap. We also instructed and practiced on each other, especially where we each had particular talents. Adriana, for instance, wasn’t much to look at, but was an amazing cook, and was, I think, being trained as a domestic slave for her Mistress.

I, on the other hand, spent time teaching both of them sexual techniques because of my background as a sex worker. Typically, I would demonstrate, then require them to repeat my lessons, using me, each other, a dildo, or another male slave brought in for the purpose to practice on.

This was typical of our educations. There wasn’t much in the way of book learning, but a great deal of time spent in listening, watching,  doing, and practicing.

Personal fitness consisted of actual physical workouts, mostly involving stretching, light weights, but also diet, yoga, meditation, and, for me, self-defence, including Tae-Kwon-Do. And as I was to be primarily a sex slave, I was also instructed in additional forms of dance, including ballroom, line dancing, belly dancing, and specific kinds of Eastern erotic dances. All of these involved significant physical workouts in addition to learning the steps.

Slaves are supposed be sexy, and that means their bodies need to be sleek and attractive, hence the emphasis on diet and fitness. And Mistress wanted me to be a lioness, she had said, so for me, particular attention was given to self-defence, which proved to be useful later on.

The personal deportment included speech, which turned out to be particularly difficult for me. I was from Rotterdam, and from a working-class family, so my accent, vocabulary, and elocution were not up to my Mistress’ precise and exacting standards.

What I got was not formal instruction per se, but rather lessons were imparted as we were engaged in other pursuits. If I said something improperly, or with the wrong accent or vocabulary or pronunciation, I was corrected immediately. If I repeated the mistake, I was punished, although lightly.

As well, we were taught how to walk properly, which few people ever learn. We had to look proud, but not arrogant; elegant, but not entitled; and seductive without being obvious about it. Learning how to convey all that through our gait was surprisingly difficult. It was something we were constantly being reminded of as time went on until it was second nature.

We were also taught to speak in the third person. Nika would often refer to herself as her Mistress’ slave, rather than me saying I was my Mistress’ slave. The purpose is to emphasize that we are property, not individuals. It’s a habit I still fall into.

And we all learned the etiquette demanded of slaves, including how to behave towards, greet, and obey Masters and Mistresses, ordinary people, submissives, and other slaves, including those we knew, and those who were strangers to us. This involved showing appropriate deference, of course, but also when we were supposed to make ourselves available for service or sex, and who determined what orders we should follow, and which ignore.

Not all slaves are available to all Masters or Mistresses, for instance, so knowing how to behave, and when, was critical.

Serving is straightforward but requires specific, detailed knowledge. It means knowing the proper way to set a table, the use of each kind of utensil, which side to serve on and which to clear from, how various courses were served, and so on. And it included mixing and serving drinks, both in private residences, and in a bar or restaurant setting. This wasn’t sexy (although sometimes it was supposed to be, as when we were flirting with or seducing guests), but was something every slave needed to know.

Likewise, I learned a lot about cleaning house, which is not something most people would expect from a sex slave. But as I am naturally a slob, and my Mistress is a neat freak, I got a lot of instruction in this that I didn’t particularly enjoy.

Sexing should have been straightforward, but very much wasn’t. It depended on what one’s Master or Mistress wanted a slave purposed for, the social setting, whether one was in public or private, whether it was in a BDSM setting or something more vanilla, and much more besides. At its essence, this boiled down to whatever direction one was given by one’s Mistress or Master. Yet, we were expected to be able to anticipate what they would want of us, so we needed to be able to assess situations quickly for ourselves.

This became very important for me, as Mistress would later send me out on my own, either on loan to someone, or through an auction or other financial transaction. She expected me to use my own knowledge and assessment of a situation to behave properly – and Mistress’ standards were the highest of anyone’s, for reasons I would not learn until after my initiation.

Entertaining was both simple, and complicated. It often entailed dance, of course, whether as a single person providing a floor show, a group of dancers providing entertainment for a crowd, or as a dance partner for a Master, Mistress, or someone else, on loan or for rent.

But it also meant we needed to be able to engage in polite conversation, be witty without being offensive, to know when and how to laugh, and show fascination for someone, even if they had bad breath and were a crashing bore. In short, we needed to learn how to be the perfect date or escort, typically without revealing our status as anything other than an upper-class member of society. Later on, I would often serve as an escort, with or without sex, for someone to an event, a gala, the opera, or some other public function.

This meant that I had to know how to dress, how to be glamorous, how to use the proper fork at dinner, how to be bright and witty, and how to be interested and flattering. In some ways, the hardest thing of all was to be bold, and not be intimidated by the people I was with, or the surroundings I was in.

All of this constituted a post-graduate degree in navigating society. In several different societies, in fact, from the wealthiest, most elite, to everyday working folk, to people in the Lifestyle of BDSM, and much in between. It helped, of course, that many members of BDSM societies were, themselves, wealthy, and members of society’s elite.

It was an immense amount for us to learn, and we were expected to learn it quickly and flawlessly. Unlike slovenly university students, we could be punished – hard, if need be – if we goofed off or were sloppy. This was particularly hard for me as I was an indifferent and troublesome student in high school.

Yet, as this education unfolded, I quickly noticed something strange about the way I was being treated.

~~~~~

“Your fish fork is too close to the dinner fork.” Mistress Andrea swept the utensils aside. “Do it again.”

I glanced at Carel’s place setting, and saw that his was distinctly worse than mine had been, yet I knew I dare not say anything in protest.

Quietly, but quickly, I set about re-doing the place setting.

“You went too far in your turn,” our dancing Master said to me. “Repeat it.” I had gone a fraction farther than was perfectly correct in a rapid, and difficult dance turn, so small that I was surprised it provoked comment.

Yet, Adriana’s twirl had barely made it, her feet were set wrong, and her knees were bent instead of being straight, but he said nothing to her.

I repeated the turn without even a pause.

“Better,” he said, grudgingly, and we moved on.

“No, no, no, no! You do not cover your mouth with your hand when you laugh at someone’s witticism!” The crop came down on my hand, smashing it away from my face. “That’s something a country bumpkin would do, not an elegant lady.” I didn’t seem to be able to do anything right for our deportment Master today, which meant I would definitely not be allowed to cum tonight.

Of course, I had come from a poorer background than the two other trainees, and therefore had more to learn, but it was not lost on any of us that I was being singled out for criticism.

It didn’t take long for all of us to realize that I was being treated more harshly than the others, and expected to perform to a higher standard. No one offered an explanation of why, and at first, I resented it.

But over time, our attitudes shifted. My fellow trainees began to wonder whether their training was inferior, and therefore they would be valued less highly than me.

Meanwhile, my puzzle-solving mind quickly saw the hand of my Mistress in this. Her standards went well beyond “very good,” and even past excellent. She clearly wanted me to be the best, and at everything. And it seemed clear that our trainers were intent on making sure that was precisely what happened.

Once I had reached this conclusion, I remembered what she had said to me in the car, just before leaving me at the door of DeCoven on the first day of my training: “It is critical that you learn everything you need to learn, that you be perfect in everything you learn, and that you persevere until you are perfect.”

It was clear that this was my Mistress’ will – and therefore, it became mine, and I embraced it with a vengeance. So, I began to take pride in being held to a higher standard, and started to work even harder to be not just the best, but to be perfect!

And slowly, grudgingly, the trainers began to agree.

It was a proud day for me, the first day they couldn’t find a single fault in an entire day. Not only was I allowed to masturbate to orgasm that night as a reward, but I exulted in the knowledge that I was pleasing my Mistress. And that was a feeling that took me well beyond a mere climax.

~~~~~

There were other strange things that happened over the course of the training, and one in particular sticks in my mind.

It occurred following a yoga session, which for some reason I did without the other two trainees. Proper yogic practice always ends with savasana, a form of meditation. In my yoga sessions, the savasana always stretched into more formal meditation, often with the trainer chanting, or leading me through some form of guided meditation. At times, at the end of the meditation, I would awake, as if I had fallen asleep, yet feeling far more awake and refreshed than any short nap would have left me.

This particular day, when I was brought back from the meditative state, there was another trainer there, a Master whom I had never seen before.

“When you are ready, Sixty-nine, sit up in Easy Seat,” he said.

I quickly sat up, relaxed, shoulders back and down, neck straight, eyes forward, legs crossed in Easy Seat.

In a loud voice, he said, “Nika, climax for me now.” And he snapped his fingers.

And I came. It was as if a lightning bolt struck me. One moment I was relaxed, seated, and the next I was writhing on the floor, back arched, quivering in an astonishing orgasm, mouth open and screaming in ecstasy.

When it finally passed, I was exhausted. I have rarely experienced an orgasm as extreme as that, and never without extended foreplay.

“Very good,” the strange Master said, and departed, leaving me completely flummoxed as to what had just happened.

I later decided that I had been hypnotized, and instructed to climax on command. It would explain things that happened to me later on.

~~~~~~

Most of the second month had involved increasingly detailed instruction in a variety of areas, with every day full of active instruction of one form or another. There was never any time off, so we were able to cover an incredible amount of material in a relatively short period of time

Up until now, all of this had taken place in the Dungeon. Yet, as the month wore on, we began to be taken out of the Dungeon, first into the wider DeCoven Club premises, and later into the outside world.

Among other things, I got to see that the true Dungeon was hidden deep within the Club, and was distinct from the one the public saw and played in. The door from the public part of DeCoven into the Dungeon was an impressive metal door with a serious lock on it, and was hidden behind a tapestry well away from the public play areas. No one who wasn’t in on the secret would be able to tell it was there, or that there even was a true Dungeon in the Club.

At first, we were taken to the public rooms of DeCoven as waitresses and waiter, to serve in the bar and restaurant. I wore my training collar plus red thigh highs, a crop top, and red thong as food service required a higher standard of cleanliness that being naked would not allow.

My job was fundamentally to serve, but also to flirt, act seductively, and be bubbly and fun. There was no tipping, but I got a lot of attention, in large part because flirting and seduction were old, familiar games for me, and I was – and am – really good at it.

Before long, I started being used in the play rooms. I took this as an indication that there had been requests for my services, stemming from my successes in the bar and restaurant. At first, I would entice people, mostly men, but with a steadily rising percentage of women, into the rooms, and help them get started with their own sex games.

I quickly moved into being part of those games, after having been given orders by my trainers. Again, it was my popularity that seemed to be motivating the change. And the play rooms were often fun, even for me as a servant.

Yet, there was one drawback for me: I wasn’t allowed to cum, which sometimes made my service awkward, and, at times, incredibly difficult.

I could be engaged in a scene, often involving several men and women, which would be reaching a climax for the participants, and the attention would sometimes turn to me. This typically happened when it became apparent that I was the only woman who had not cum. In fact, at times, this became a point of honor, or even a challenge, for some of the men, notably those who thought of themselves as great lovers.

Fortunately, I can fake an orgasm well, having had lots of practice. Yet, because I’m so naturally horny, even a fake orgasm held dangers for me. As a result, I tried to avoid being noticed, and instead worked on trying to bring others to climax.

For the record, I can state from first-hand knowledge that almost no men are as great lovers as they think they are, and most are distinctly uneducated when it comes to pleasing women.

Almost.

But there is a small handful of men who truly are great lovers, and they became my most dangerous playmates. I remember one scene, which involved two other women plus four men, where one of these men seemed to be paying particular attention to me. Finally, he managed to get me off to one side, and said, “Sixty-nine, you’re the only person here who hasn’t cum yet. Let’s fix that, shall we?”

My blood went cold because I knew what he was capable of, and had been trying hard to stay away from him. But I smiled up at him, put my hand on his cheek, and said, “Lars, I’m just a little tired. Perhaps another time?” And kissed him gently on the cheek, then tried to move away.

He grabbed my hand, and pulled me close to him, close enough that I could tell he was fully erect – again – without looking. Then he smiled and said, “I know how to fix tiredness. Lie down here, and let me give you a massage.” And he guided me over to a lounger.

“Lars, no, please, I’m not in the mood…”

“You’re a servant here. You don’t get to talk about… mood. Do you?”

Slowly, I shook my head.

“Then lie down… no, wait. I think I understand. You’ve been told not to cum, haven’t you?”

I stood perfectly still. I wasn’t allowed to say that, either.

Lars looked at me with what I thought was longing, then let me go. “It’s all right, Sixty-nine. Some other time, okay?”

I nodded, “For sure, Lars. I promise.” And I reached up and kissed him.

And we did – at a later time, when I made sure he knew how much I appreciated his thoughtfulness.

As time went on, I was taken out of the Club, typically with a trainer. In the early days, it was meant as a trial. I would either have Ben-Wa balls, or a remote-controlled vibrator in my vagina. I was told categorically that I was not to cum, and then the trainer and I would go out. I continued to wear my collar, but although it attracted a few stares, as long as I acted as if everything was normal, most people didn’t give it a second look.

We would walk, and talk, and act like ordinary people. We would stop in to get coffee, and once stopped in for lunch, all of which was a real treat for me after more than a month and half indoors.

But the purpose was to test my control, because we would stay out until I did, finally, cum. And, of course, because we were in public, I would draw stares, even as I tried to minimize my reactions. Once, I was tempted to pretend I was recreating the famous scene from “When Harry Met Sally”, where Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm in public. I decided against it since the trainers seemed not to have any sense of humor.

The trainer would note the time, and hence how long I had held out, then we would return to the Club, and I would be handed over to Mistress Andrea. She would consider how long I had held out, then decide whether to punish me or not, based on whether my control was getting better.

And I was getting better, even though this was not a skill I truly wanted. Yet, it was a skill I had to master if I wanted to be initiated. I was finally able to increase my endurance by working with my meditation instructor on controlling my breathing and autonomic nervous system. It’s a skill that has stood me well in the years since then, but I learned it specifically to avoid something I dearly loved to do: cum.

~~~~~

Another skill that I developed was one I asked for: to improve my ability to bathe Mistress, and give her pleasure through massage. I knew Mistress enjoyed having me bathe and massage her, and I wanted to get better at it. It also got me into trouble during my training.

I started my instruction by bathing Adriana, the other woman trainee under supervision. And, as I did with my Mistress, I lathered and massaged her breasts and kitty. Since Adriana was under the same restrictions against cumming that I was, she moaned, then told me to stop it. The trainer supervising told me to keep going, which I did, even though I realized I’d made a mistake, and was making things more difficult for my fellow trainee. Fortunately, I was able to move on, and finish bathing Adriana without making things too much more difficult for her.

Some time later, I was once again practicing bathing someone, but this time it was one of the Mistresses, whom I bathed under supervision. And that’s when my bratty nature got the better of me.

I started soaping her body, but intentionally focused on her erogenous zones. I washed her entire body, as well, but went more slowly along her sides, around her breasts, and between her legs. I quickly washed her vulva, but did not emphasize it, and did not linger over her clit.

When I started to rinse her off, she turned to me and said, “Are you stopping, slut?”

I knelt down quickly, cast my eyes down, and replied, “Mistress, I have done washing you. Is there something more you wish me to do?”

She glared at me, then stood up. “A towel.”

I jumped up and handed her a towel.

“Now, massage me.” And she walked over and lay, face first, on the massage table.

By this stage in my training, I was getting good at giving massages, so I put oil on my hands, and began on her shoulders and upper back. I made sure I was taking things nice and slow, so that when I got down to her hips and bum, my tempo didn’t seem to change.

In particular, I massaged her thighs with lingering care, and was able to cause her legs to roll back and forth, which made her pussy lips rub together. Then I moved away from her thighs, leaving her hanging and, I’m sure, wanting more.

Then I massaged her feet.

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but one sure way to a woman’s pussy is through her toes and feet. So, when I finished with her right ankle, I worked first the sole of her right foot as slowly as I could, then worked her toes, one by one. I took time to smooth, stroke, and stretch them, and to gently smooth back and forth, as if fucking a finger between each pair of toes.

Toes are not often thought of as an erogenous zone, but I knew better. I was exploiting this fact shamelessly, and was pleased to hear her moan.

Then I moved to the other foot, first rotating the ankle and giving her time to miss the sexual stimulation of her toes for a while, then finally moving to the sole of her left foot. When I started on the sole, she groaned, and I smiled to myself, while keeping my outward face neutral.

When I got to her toes, her bum started to wriggle, and I smirked to myself again. I could smell her by now, so I spent much less time on her right foot than I had the left. When I moved my hands to her left calf, she lifted up and glared back at me.

“Mistress?” I asked, casting my eyes down.

She collapsed back onto the table with a huff, so I went back to massaging her calf.

I took my time working my way up her left leg, taking too long on her left knee, then finally moving up her left thigh at a glacial pace. I continued to “accidentally” roll her body back and forth as I massaged her thigh.

By the time I got to her left inner thigh, she was breathing heavily, and trying to stifle moans. But when I stopped, and knelt down into Nadu to indicate that I was finished, she pushed herself up and glared at me.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” she demanded.

“Mistress?” I said, in my best, innocent-little-girl voice.

She pushed herself off the massage table, grabbed a crop, and slashed me across the tits. “Bitch! Now finish me!”

“Mistress? I’ve finished the massage. Would you like me to start again?”

“No, slut, I mean finish your seduction! You thought you were oh, so clever. Now, make me cum. Immediately!”

“Of course, Mistress. At your command.”

And I stood up and moved back to the table, where she lay, face up. I put more oil on my hands, and started to massage her abdomen below her belly button, then slowly, slowly moved towards her mound. I started massaging between her legs, but avoided her pussy lips.

She was getting antsy, and her hips were moving back and forth. When I finally started to massage the outside of her labia, her hips moved up off the table towards my hands. I allowed her to push towards my hands, but still moved them away slightly to minimize the pressure they placed on her.

She groaned and arched her back., then let her hips fall back to the table and spread her legs.

I gently pushed her outer lips apart, and ran my fingers in parallel between her outer and inner lips, moving as slowly as I dared, and repeated his action several times. Then, finally, I split her inner lips, and slowly started to run a finger down and up her slit – but deliberately kept missing her clitoris.

Finally, in frustration, she sat up, grabbed my hair, and pulled my head down between her legs.

“I said: Make me cum. Now, slut!”

Smiling to myself, I proceeded to lick and suck her labia, again avoiding her clit until she forced my head directly over it and pushed down hard. I feathered my tongue over her clit, and she started to writhe beneath me.

I thought I had strung things out as long as I could get away with, so started licking strongly and steadily, varying the intensity and my approach. Shortly, she started to moan loudly, and finally came, her body quivering as she shouted her orgasm.

I kept licking her until she pushed my head away.

Eventually, she sat up and looked hard at me. “You did that deliberately.”

“Mistress?” I asked.

“Don’t play the innocent with me, slut. You edged me deliberately and repeatedly. Bring me the crop.”

I stood up, walked over and picked it up, knelt down and presented it to her with both hands. She did crop me several times, but apparently hadn’t been told that I enjoyed it.

It was a win-win – for me.

Purrrrr…

~~~~~

So, gradually, I was trained in the things I needed to be able to do as my Mistress’ slave. I needed to be the best, because that is what Miriam always wanted – the best. I was the first submissive that she had trusted enough to train, in whom she had seen enough promise that she decided to believe in me.

By the third month, I was taking part in events at the Club, and, over time, being taken as an escort to events outside the Club by various Mistresses and Masters.

~~~~~

The music reached a crescendo as I twirled on the ball of one foot, while pumping the other out and around, one arm straight out, the other arm up. When the music crashed to a coda, I stopped, stood up tall, both arms in the air, then collapsed, one leg stretched out before me, the other bent underneath me. I folded my body over the extended leg, head down, and waited.

The applause started, then grew.

After a few moments, I stood up, with a flourish, hands above my head, elbows bent, feet in fifth position, displaying my body, naked but for the collar. As the applause crested, I relaxed my arms, then curtsied several times. Finally, I stood, eyes demurely downcast, and waited.

The Mistress of Ceremonies moved forward, clapping. “Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, this trainee is graceful as well as erotic. She is also very lithe, and can flex into many – interesting – positions. She is well-known to many of you who have been in the playrooms. She is Trainee Sixty-Nine, and available for a night’s pleasure here in a private room at the Club.

“Who will start the bidding?”

“Five hundred Euros,” said a voice near the front. I glanced up through my lashes, and saw Lars, who was smiling at me. He winked when he saw me looking at him.

~~~~~

My Mistress for the evening was one I loathed. She was arrogant, cold, and demanding, without, in my opinion, a scintilla of grace or warmth. She was the one who had me after the first, triumphant performance of “Eve and the Serpent” here at DeCoven, several months ago.

Yet, I was instructed to make sure she enjoyed the evening, so I was laughing at her comments, smiling, and making conversation as we got out of the cab. I straightened the black cocktail dress I was wearing. It was rented, but very fine, and complemented my coloring. In place of my training collar was a black, leather Hermès choker, my hair was done beautifully, as was my make-up. It was a gala event being held at the Opera, and I was Mistress Estée’s date for the evening – and for her fun afterwards.

I didn’t like it, but it was very much a case of “You pay, I play.” Except I wasn’t being paid, the Club was. I was being tested, and Mistress Estée would be reporting to Mistress Andrea in the morning, so this was important to me.

I slipped my hand into the crook of her elbow and smiled up at her. Her responding smile was cold, and her eyes glittered, but she patted my hand. I was not looking forward to sexing her later. She said something, and I laughed gaily, and we made our entrance.

The event was essentially a cocktail party fund-raiser for patrons of the Opera, and the cream of Amsterdam society was there. My instructions were simple: fit in. No one was to guess that I was anything less than a debutante from Rotterdam, staying with her patroness for the weekend.

The two of us moved through the crowd, chatting with a wide assortment of beautifully dressed people. I laughed a lot, which is always engaging, and smiled at almost everybody, listening attentively and speaking little. I had my hand kissed several times, including once by a woman, which surprised, but did not shock me. I actually enjoyed myself – save for the ever-lurking presence of the arrogant Mistress Estée. The two hours flew by.

Finally, we found ourselves in a cab on the way to her apartment. She looked at me across the cab and actually smiled. I smiled as warmly as I could in return, and bowed my head slightly.

“You did very well. Surprisingly well for a whore from the gutter. A veritable Eliza Doolittle at the Ball. Well done.”

“Mistress is most kind,” I dimpled, and bowed my head again.

“Yes, well, Mistress is not going to stay very kind when we get back to my apartment. Let’s see how you are at fucking, shall we?”

I dropped my eyes coquettishly, let my smile broaden, and breathed, “I can’t wait…”, and meant every word.

~~~~~

I was sore the next morning when a cab returned me to the club in my rented finery. I had expected that, but was unsure what Mistress Andrea would have to say when she sent for me later that morning. She had given me a chance to shower, strip, return the clothes and jewelry, reclaim my collar, and refresh myself.

I entered the training room, immediately went into Nadu before her and waited.

“Mistress Estée was impressed. We chose her because she didn’t think we could turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse. She disapproved of your candidacy – not that she had any choice in the matter. But she says we have transformed you, that you performed remarkably well at the gala last night – while retaining your sluttish ability to fuck and please your patron after.

“You have passed your penultimate test.” She paused.

“Mistress was most kind in her assessment,” I said.

Mistress Andrea sniffed, “And I have no doubt she was less than kind afterwards.”

I remained silent.

“Now we come to your final test. We are sending you off next weekend with a very important Master from a club with which we have a long-standing relationship. He is very cultured, brilliant, sophisticated, and extremely demanding. He is the Grand Master of the Berlin club, and, as such, his standards are incredibly high. He only works with the best, he is doing this at our request, and as a favor to us.

“Normally, we would not propose such an extreme test for someone so young. You are, what, nineteen?”

I nodded, “Yes, Mistress.”

“But your Mistress has expressed such confidence in you, that she, herself, proposed this.”

Involuntarily I glanced up, then quickly down again. This was the first time I had heard anything of how my Mistress felt about my progress. My cheeks flushed, and my eyes moistened, but I remained still.

“You will need your wits about you the entire weekend. He is going to test you in every way he can imagine.” She smiled, “And I can say from personal experience that he is very imaginative. He is also exceptionally good looking. I almost envy you.

“You may go.”

I stood up, bowed low, walked backwards three paces, then turned and walked gracefully away, returning to my trainers.

~~~~~

I was incredibly nervous in the cab over to the Waldorf Astoria Amsterdam. I was dressed fashionably as a young sophisticate in a black sheath dress that fell five centimeters above the knee, with a white chiffon blouse, and a simple pearl choker and matching pearl earrings. I wore Gabrielle Chanel perfume. Underneath I had on expensive black lingerie, and there were expensive clothes and jewelry in my Hermès suitcase.

This would, indeed, be an extreme test. I was going to mingle in Berlin society at the highest social and business strata, and everything would be conducted in German. I spoke German well as Mistress and I often spoke it at home, but was worried about my accent and vocabulary.

But it was the Master who worried me most. I was pretty sure I could swim in Berlin society – my training had been extensive, and I was confident in my ability to charm almost anyone. Yet, this man, about whom I knew nothing, not even his name, was the true test. He would be with me all weekend, judging me, assessing me, deliberately throwing me into novel situations, and demanding, I imagined, every possible sexual trick I could offer.

And I knew from my own experience that the Germans who are involved in The Lifestyle tended to be cruel, demanding perfectionists.

I entered the hotel lobby, took the lift up to the penthouse level, rang the bell of the Presidential Suite with a gloved finger, and waited. My right foot would not keep still, but kept twisting back and forth on the ball of the foot, like a school girl called before the headmistress.

“Komm herein!“ an arrogant voice called.

I opened the door, walked into the room, closed it firmly behind me, then gently put down my suitcase, and dropped to my knees in Nadu, waiting.

“Hello, Nika. Good to see you again,” the voice said with a chuckle.

Shocked, I looked up to find myself face-to-face with Miriam’s older brother, Hans.

©Copyright, JamesLlewellyn and NikaS at Lushstories.com, April 2021.
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May not be duplicated in any medium without the express, written permission of the authors.