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 John Dick's I: Slave Training

   by Sirkeljerk (sirkeljerk@hotmail.com)

   Sax used pity to get work.  Former colleagues would call, apologizing
for nothing, reveling in his fall, tempted by his fate.  He would let them
know what he was doing to make money.  Lawyers always were needing a Dick.
Invariably something needed to be tracked down, somebody needed to be
found, pictures needed to be taken.  Sax wasn't proud, used the pity, asked
them to throw something his way.

   While he waited, his relationship with Violet developed.  Some would say
the result was mutually destructive, but Sax had pretty much left those
people behind when he'd lost his wife, house, and job.  Others he would get
to know would call their new relationship mutually enlightening.  Sax had
given up control of the rest of his life, but wanted, no needed it over
Violet.  For her, at first, it was just another whore job.  She told
herself even after she moved in to Sax's seedy place that it was just
long-term whoring, steady paycheck-like.  But his rules, his demands, they
worked on her, eventually brought her through to a far steadier, safer
place then she had ever been.

   He had just started making demands, telling her exactly what to do when
they had sex.  He told her to come over and kneel at his feet.  Take off
his shoes, his socks, massage his big feet.  Kiss his feet.  Shut her fat
whore mouth and do as she was told.  Suck his toe.  Like a fucking lollipop
bitch.  Like a little cock.  He led her through everything step by step. 
She did it at first because she was so used to whoring.  You get a vibe
from Johns and then you give them what they want.  It was the safe way to
play it.  This John definitely vibed on the control.  But she'd gotten so
wet kneeling on the floor, mouth wide open, while he slowly fucked his long
cock in and out of her mouth.  It was so slow, that big penis running in
and out along her tongue.  The control of it all was a little overwhelming.
Most men when they are whoring have no self-control.  Wam, Bam, thank you
ma'am.  The experience is simply in getting the gumption to actually pick
up a hooker.  Then they are usually so ready to get it over with and tell
their buddies that not much comes of the sex.  This was different.  It was
epic self-control.  And where usually she wouldn't need to worry about her
own, his demonstration made her lose her cool.  That and he'd ordered her
not to touch herself.  With each slow stroke, she could have sworn that it
felt just like he was fucking her cunt and not her mouth.  Her clit had
burned to be touched, but he kept reminding her while he held her head
perfectly still and fucked her mouth not to touch herself.  Then, after
what seemed like hours of the slow rhythmic thrusting, he pulled all the
way out and dumped his hot cum all over her face.  The hot white jizz slid
down her face and she gathered it all up with her tongue.  She looked up at
him and he'd smiled down at her and told her how good she'd been.  It
wasn't the mindless yammering that some John's gave her, like they'd never
gotten off before, and it wasn't the dismissiveness of the one's that knew
it was her job.  It was approval, appreciation.  Then he told her that she
deserved a reward.  Her clit was already throbbing, but when his tongue hit
it, she thought that she'd died.  He strummed her with the slow control
that he'd fucked her face.  The slow rhythm on her aching clit was
incredible.  She came three times and passed out.  Woke up on the floor,
Sax in bed.

   The next day she'd gotten her first punishment.  She'd woken up horny as
all hell and began to lightly masturbate her still sensitive clit.  John
had walked into the room and ordered her to stop.  She told him to fuck
off. He'd stared at her until she stopped.  He told her that he would not
take backtalk from her whore mouth.  She began to apologize, not really
sure of her role.  He told her to come bend over her knee.  She did and he
spanked her ass with all his might.  After the first slap, he'd instructed
her on how to take a spanking, hands behind head, legs together, thank yous
after each slap.  It had burned so bad, those first ten spanks on her large
upturned ass.  But she dripped to, all over his knee, her cunt leaked. 
Afterwards she bent over the bed and begged for him to fuck her hard, she
was dripping and she needed his cock bruising and abusing her.  He warned
her not to touch herself and then got dressed and went out.  Two hours
later he returned and she was still bent over the bed, nearly crazed with
lust.  Her hands were in her mouth, teeth biting town to ensure her own
self control.  She could feel him watching her.  Looking at her big ass
stuck up in the air.  Looking at the stain of her pussy juices on the end
of the bed, her fat, throbbing clit, the shocking pink of her cunt lips. 
She begged, pleaded, incoherently, hands clasped behind her head.  She
heard his pants fall to the floor, heard him whispering behind her, felt
the heat of his body near her upturned ass.  The first thing that touched
her was his cock, a slight pressure on her pussy at which it took all her
self control not to scream, wriggle uncontrollably.  The pressure mounted
as his fat cockhead slowly pierced the lips of her pussy and pressed slowly
inward, millimeter by delicious millimeter.  She'd literally been standing
for hours, there was no feeling in her legs.  There was just this slow
relentless pressure filling her pussy, spreading to her clit which was
pinned to the bed and her breasts which were dragging against the sheets.
When his full long white cock was buried all the way within her folds,
bottoming out against her cervix, she came, screaming, sweating, the
pleasure making her head swim and the room fade.  He fucked her ever so
slowly for two hours.  She passed out, fell asleep and came all while he
fucked her.  When she woke, he was still hard inside her, asleep on her
hunched back.  Something changed in her on waking at the feel of his
pleasant weight.

   From then it became easier.  She was punished and rewarded often and
from sex, the orders spread to all other parts of her life.  It was easier
to get off coke when he demanded it of her, and almost enjoyably to get the
shit spanked out of her the couple of times she slipped.  Within a month,
Sax was telling her when to sleep and when to wake, when to eat and when to
piss.  For that first month there was no leeway, no unmade decisions, no
discretion.  After years of painful self-reliance, never a soul around who
she could depend on, Sax was the soul she needed, her control, her
relaxation.  The selfpreservation that had ruled every moment of her very
hard life was no longer hers to bear, Sax handled it.  Sax ran her life
within a month, and in the meantime he slowly began to piece together an
existence for himself.  In that way she was his crutch, too.  She was the
return of control.  The proof that he could rise, changed from the ashes.
His marriage to his wife was very vanilla, his life was very vanilla. 
Living in an insect infested apartment in the ghetto with no job and no
money and a newly trained whore who would and had drank the piss right from
his cock, not so vanilla.  In that way, Violet was proof of Sax's rebirth.
A new Sax.
   Next, the first assignment...