Mistress Talia: a sadistic domme

Chris hadn't said anymore over the past week, but Suzanne had his cynical words blazed into her head.

She did a lot of work, having made them both much better, thicker beds before the snows came. He never needed to cook anymore, she kept them well-fed, with many meals including meat from the animals he trapped. She'd learned to butcher to his specifications, saving the precious furs that represented his annual income. Her only serious frustration with cooking was the lack of eggs.

But... she realized how little this was. The food she prepared was bought or trapped by him. The beds would not have needed the work if he'd not split his bed in half for her, and he still slept with only one blanket because he'd given his to her. In short, she'd given him nothing.

And it was starting to bother her a great deal. He was right when he said he'd risked his life to save her, and since then, she'd been unable to give him anything.

In short, she had nothing to give him. She was helpless, without resources.

The only gift she had to give was her virginity, which would cost her too much. She'd not be worthy of William if she gave that.

But then, she'd have lost that and likely her life as well if Chris hadn't rescued her.

Chris didn't complain, but he was also sparse with praise. When she accomplished something, he would usually give advice about how to better accomplish it. Rarely, he'd grunt his approval.

She wasn't accustomed to such sparse praise, her father had always been very supportive. She was getting hungry for being appreciated, being wanted.

She felt like an albatross around his neck, an obligation he could not rid himself of. And the snows had begun, so it would be a long winter feeling like an unwanted and useless guest.

She wanted to give something to him.

After spending the day worrying over this, she brought it up with him as they ate dinner. As she sat on the floor next to his chair, she meekly said, "I'd like to ask you what else I can do for you."

"What are you asking?" he enquired.

"I owe you my life and I am just an unwanted guest. I'd like to express my gratitude."

"What are you proposing?" he asked again.

"Whatever you'd like," she murmured.

"Such as?" he asked.

She realized he was going to make her say it. In a very small voice, looking at the floor between her crossed legs, she murmured, "my virginity."

She was both surprised and hurt at his response. He laughed, laughed until his eyes teared.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I shouldn't mock you. It's just so funny that someone who is utterly inexperienced and unskilled should value themselves so highly."

She sat quietly, stunned at his words. And yet, what he said made sense. She'd been cooking for years, if she hadn't cooked before, her taking over the chore would've been worse than useless. Was this similar?

"I realize you think you're offering something valuable," he said soothingly as he patted her on the head, "But you'd be much more valuable with some experience and training. There's simply little you could do for me in your current state that I can't do much better for myself."

She blushed crimson at his words.

"See what I mean?" he asked, "You can't even talk about it, how can you possibly do it to a pleasurable degree?"

In a very small voice, that he could barely hear, she said, "You could teach me."

"I see. So your so-called gratitude comes down to me investing a bunch of time and energy in order to make you useful to me."

Tears filled her eyes. This was not going how she'd hoped.

"Is that what you want? To be taught to be pleasing to me?"

Silently, tears streaming down her cheeks, she nodded her head.

"Then you are asking a favor of me. Sitting on the floor, speaking in a little voice and blubbering doesn't seem like a supplicating position."

His words confused her. But within a minute, a light gradually dawned in the confusion. She uncrossed her legs and knelt before him, looking down at the spot on the floor between his feet. In a voice as clear as she could make it, she said, "Please teach me to be useful to you."

"Well, it looks like you're teachable," he said with approval, "Willingness is the first sign." Relief flooded her at his approval.

"We do have a long winter ahead of us, and checking the traps only takes so much time. Still, it will be a lot of work on my part. Hmmm... are you willing to make it profitable for me?"

She didn't understand his question, but did not want to lose the shred of approval he'd bestowed, so she replied, "Yes."

"Yes what?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Yes Sir," he informed her, "And a thank you wouldn't be remiss either."

"Thank you, Sir," she replied.

"Then we shall begin. First, you are kneeling incorrectly. Do you have any idea what is incorrect about how you're kneeling?"

"No Sir."

"Well, there are several things. But the first and foremost is that you are not naked."

Her face burnt crimson again as shame filled her. She had somehow imagined being mostly dressed when she lost her virginity. This must be one of those things her inexperience left her with the wrong idea about.

Because she was kneeling on her dress, she had to rise to undress. Slowly, she got to her feet. Trembling, she began removing her dress, then her underthings. It took some time because her hands were shaking. Her mother had died when she was young, and she had no sisters. No one had ever seen her naked before.

She folded her clothes and stacked them neatly next to her, on the far side of the fire. Then she knelt again before him.

"Not bad, shows willingness at least. Do you know what else is wrong with how you kneel?"

"No sir."

"Well, it depends on the situation. We'll try one for pleasing me first. Spread your knees far apart, your ankles together, and sit back on your ankles. Lace your fingers behind your hands behind your head and thrust your chest forward."

Mortified, she did as he asked. He reached forward to fondle a breast and she flinched slightly, her face filled with fear.

She was shocked when he slapped her face. "Never, ever pull away from me," he scolded. "The entire purpose of this position is for you to be completely accessible to me. That means not just your body, but your mind and spirit as well. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sir," she said through her tears.

"Good girl," he replied, "except you forgot to thank me."

"Thank you, Sir."

"Do you know what you are thanking me for?" he demanded.

"No Sir."

"For correcting you."

"Thank you for correcting me, Sir."

"You don't seem to understand," he said, "The skills I am teaching you are much more useful than cooking."

He seemed to be waiting for a reply, "Yes Sir."

"Good girl," he replied. "Now, this position is good for offering yourself, as it makes your breasts and cunt very accessible. Do you understand?"

She blushed at his crude language, "Yes Sir."

"Good. Offering yourself is useful, and you're not too hard on the eyes, so it is pleasing to see you do so. But we have not yet reached an agreement, which means you must learn the appropriate supplication position. Lower your arms, and clasp them behind your back. Pull your knees together. Lean forward and put your head on the ground between my feet."

She obeyed his instructions, humiliated to be in this position before him.

He said nothing. Minutes passed. Finally, he asked, "Well?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, I don't know what you want, Sir."

"I don't want anything. I was content to spend the winter here alone. Then I rescued your worthless ass. Even then I was content to feed you until I could return you home. You are the one who wanted something. Do you remember how this conversation began?"

"Yes Sir, I offered you my virginity, Sir."

"And when you discovered your offer was relatively worthless to me?"

"I asked you to train me, Sir."

"Exactly, you asked me for a favor. To which I have not yet agreed."

She was confused. Had he not been training her? How else had she wound up naked with her head pressed into the dirt between his feet, her bottom in the air? "Please train me, Sir."

"Train you to what?" he asked.

"Train me to be pleasing to you, Sir."

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and lifted her head to look her in the eye. "You want to be trained to be my slut?" he asked.

Mortified, she nodded her head.

"Say it," he commanded.

"I want to be trained to be your slut, Sir."

"Now beg. And be sincere if you want me to grant your wish."

"Please Sir. I owe you my life. I want to express my gratitude, but I don't know how. Please teach me to be your slut, Sir."

He released her hair, and she returned to between his feet, crying with emotion, overwhelmed at what she'd done, what he'd put her through. And as the awareness dawned that he had not yet said yes, she realized her humiliation might be for naught; she begged and cried, promised to do anything, kissed his feet.

"You seem teachable to me. Your first rule, you will always be naked in the cave. You may put your clothing near the back entrance and dress if you need to leave. But in here, you will be naked - always. After you put your clothes away, you may go to bed."

He was in his own bed by the time she returned. She snuggled under the blanket in her own bed and wondered over the events of the evening. It was a long time before she fell asleep, worrying over what the next day would bring.

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