Lady Charlotte's Conditioning, Part 1A

[imreadonly2]

Not realizing I had already written chapter 2, I wrote another chapter 2. This chapter is now 1A. Happy Thanksgiving, and enjoy.

Omar was wrong about Charlotte. She did not break by Tuesday, or Saturday, or the following week, either. Instead, 67-8585 trained with the other girls. She did her exercises, and rolled naked on the great lawn for my viewing pleasure, and the pleasure of Omar’s many customers, business associates, and guests.

Charlotte was never rude, but compliant and obedient. No doubt the whip played a big part of that, although I knew from watching her training that the light welts on her bottom were from failure to perform to her trainer’s exacting standards of perfection rather than open defiance. She rubbed her pussy with great gusto, and had shattering orgasms out on the lawn, for one-and-all to see.

Charlotte was obedient, but not broken. She did not beg for Omar’s brand, and looking at her, one could always see the fire and defiance burning in her eyes. She still saw herself as an English lady playing a role, rather than as numbered slave meat l fit only for the auction block.

Nonetheless, Charlotte had picked up quite a few tricks, and had become a world class cock sucker. I learned this firsthand at dinner one night, when she was serving as a table maid, and sucked off Omar, his friend Abdul, Lord Wellington, who was visiting from London, and myself.

Lord Wellington had known Charlotte since she was a small child, having been a close friend of both her father and grandfather. Charlotte was horrified when Lord Wellington entered, and actually tried to cover herself, humiliated at the thought of an old family friend seeing her naked.

“Come now, 67-8585,” Omar said, tapping Charlotte’s bottom with the whip. “Lord Wellington is my honored guest, and you a mere slave girl. His Lordship has an unchallenged right to see everything about you he wishes to see. Now squat before him, and spread your legs wide.”

As a man of the world, Lord Wellington seemed most amused at our wager, and the tattoo slave number on the inside of Charlotte’s lip. During dinner, he stroked her head lovingly while she sucked his old gray shaft.

“I always thought her father spoiled her, and the little Miss thought far too much of herself,” he explained. “She and those little chits that she hung out with used to make fun of my limp, which I got in the war, don’t you know. Quite good to see you taking her down a peg, Omar, and teaching her respect for her betters. Best thing for her, really.”

“That’s a good little girl,” Wellington said, brushing back her hair. “Remember when I used to give you candy sticks, when you came to my estate as a little girl? Well, now you’re sucking on the sweetest candy stick of all, with a hot, warm, gooey surprise when you’re done.”

Charlotte, eager to end the ordeal, quickened her pace, as Lord Wellington breathed in deeply.

“Very good, Charlotte. Here it comes… swish it around like honey before you swallow. I want you to get a good taste.”

Charlotte rarely pleasured me in that way when we were back in England, as she considered it “disgusting”, and not the sort of thing a proper lady did. However, when my turn came, she sucked my cock with gusto, and a technique born or hours of practice under the tutelage of men expert in producing the world’s most lascivious sluts.

After dinner, Lord Wellington took us out into the garden, with my wife on a leash, wearing a pink dog collar with sparkles, and crawling after him like a dog. As we talked of politics and cricket and what was going on at The Hartford Club back in London, Charlotte sniffed the flowers and bushes, and Lord Wellington’s shoes, like the little bitch she was.

Lord Wellington led to his dog to a beautiful, low rise star shaped fountain, with a single spout shooting water high into the air. Pushing her forward, he ordered her to put her face in the water and drink.

Charlotte protested that she wasn’t thirsty, but Lord Wellington, lighting his cigar, was not having it. Looking to Omar for relief, he smiled.

“If you wish to concede our wager, and get dressed, we shall see you in the morning, my dear.”

Charlotte stuck her face in the water, and began drinking. “It’s important to keep pets properly hydrated, particularly in these harsh desert climates,” Lord Wellington intoned. “That’s it, my dear. Drink it all up. We want to make sure you have plenty of fluids to wash down all that scum we put in your mouth.”

Lord Wellington made Charlotte drink far more than was necessary, all the while puffing on his cigar as he regaled us with stories about Charlotte’s childhood, such as when she had hidden his cane, or drew a mustache on him when he was sleeping. By the time he relented and permitted her to stop drinking, she looked quite seasick, much to Omar’s amusement.

As Lord Wellington enjoyed his cigar, we took a leisurely stroll around the garden. From time to time, Lord Wellington would pause, and take a bit of licorice out of his pocket. Dangling it in the air, he’d make his puppy jump and bark for it, her titties bouncing as she strained for her treat.

“The most important part of dog training is consistency,” he explained, warming to the subject. “Nothing wrong with a little treat now and then, but you mustn’t let them think they’re running the show.”

“Perhaps you could take her home for a few days of training,” Abdul suggested.

“Oh, my that does fire the imagination,” Lord Wellington said, immediately warming to the idea. “I’m not sure where I’d put her, though. I could kennel her with the Great Danes I use when I go hunting. It does get a bit chilly at night, but she’ll stay warm enough, cuddled up with the 8 of them.”

“Yes, but one has to be careful about those sorts of things, though,” Abdul noted. “They might see her as an intruder.”

"Yes, the dogs are quite large, and can be quite aggressive," he said, turning to me. "She had come over for breakfast with my granddaughter a few years ago. I was coming back from a fox hunt, and the dogs actually knocked her down. She fell in the mud and ruined her dress. She was quite upset, and suggested I have the dogs neutered. I tried to explain to her that it was simply their natures, but she refused to understand."

Omar disagreed. “I think she'll be fine. The collar she’s wearing belongs to my wife’s dog, Dina. I’m sure the pack will pick up her scent, and think of her as just another dog.”

"Oh, my, that does put a new slant on things, doesn't it?" Lord Wellington chuckled. "Yes, we'll kennel the little bitch with her collar locked on tight," Lord Wellington insisted. "It will be safer that way."

"Yes, much safer" Abdul agreed. "Without a doubt, the collar is essential. Actually, we might let her Charlotte play with Dina a bit, before we send her over. I'm most curious to see how the other dogs will react to her scent."

Lost in thought, Lord Wellington blew a smoke ring before continuing.

"No matter! New dogs sometimes get a few nicks and scratches, as the pack sorts it out, but I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Lord Wellington said dismissively. “Over the years, I’ve found it’s best not to interfere, and let nature take its course.”

Looking down, Lord Wellington examined Charlotte's wiggling bottom as she crawled along beside him. "Whatever happens, I'll just watch."

Although the tone of the conversation was relaxed and jocular, Charlotte’s eyes were bulging, and she was chewing her lip nervously as she listened to the details of her kenneling unfold. Clearly panicked, she panted in short gasps as she struggled to keep up with her master, who was constantly jerking her head up and keeping her on a very short leash. I wasn’t sure if Omar was kidding, but it was clear to everyone present that Lord Wellington had quickly moved past mulling over an idea that amused him to implementing a definitive plan.

Lord Wellington stopped in front of a large twiggy shrub, with pink flowers and maroon leaves. Lord Kensington examine one of the leaves critically as his doggie sniffed the flowers.

Lord Wellington smirked down at her as he jiggled her leash. “I think this French tamarisk could use a bit of moisture. Lift your leg, and make your water, Charlotte.”

Charlotte looked up at him, dumbfounded. Surely, he wasn’t serious! Drinking water from a fountain, and begging for doggie treats was bad enough, but did he seriously expect her to pee on command, with everyone watching?

Charlotte looked up at him with pleading, puppy dog eyes. “We could get some water from the fountain,” she suggested meekly. “It’s only a few feet away.”

“No, no,” Lord Wellington said, shaking his head. “Water in the fountain doesn’t have the nutrients that urine does. We want to fertilize this plant to. Now lift your leg like a good bitch, and water the garden.”

Charlotte looked to me, then Omar, desperate for some reprieve. “It looks like someone has lost her wager,” Omar said.

Charlotte, clenched her teeth as she glared up at us, but after a long pause lifted her leg high as she wiggled herself into the optimal position for watering the craggily bush. Omar, Lord Wellington and I repositioned ourselves, so we could get an optimal view of her humiliation.

Given the amount that she had drunk, I knew her bladder must be bursting, but the shame of being ordered to pee into a bush like the leashed bitch she now was made it impossible for her to perform.

Lord Wellington tapped his toe impatiently. “Come now, my little puppy. Make your water! The tamarisk is waiting, and so are we!”

Charlotte strained to obey, much to Omar’s amusement. “Perhaps you’re not as good with dogs as you let on, Wellington!” he teased, “to let this little bitch get the better of you.”

Losing his patience, Lord Wellington reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of rolled up brown leather. Shaking it out, I realized it was a short, two finger Lochgelly tawse, the sort of childish instrument of correction that wouldn’t never have been used at any school my privileged wife would have attended.

With her leg raised high, Charlotte’s naughty bottom was completely, delightfully exposed. Raising the strap up over his head, Lord Wellington snapped it down with a positively wicked flick of his wrist.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

With her leg in the air, and bottom cheeks spread wide, the wicked fingers of the tawse snapped into her exquisitely sensitive bottom crack. Our little puppy howled, and what started as a trickle soon became a gusher, as the powerful stream launched out of her crack at a 45-degree angle. It formed a perfect parabola that soaked the leaves of the dusty red tree.

I couldn’t tell if the tears rolling down my wife’s face were from the red stripes across her bottom, her fear of being kenneled, or the shame of being made to water the plant, or the way we were laughing as we watched her piss spurt out of her crack.

“Now turn a bit, Charlotte… that’s it, you want to spray your water everywhere. Lift your leg a bit higher. We want to get the leaves on top, don’t we?”

Lord Wellington, satisfied that the tree had been watered, gave her leash a firm tug, causing her to fall back on all fours as she peed on herself.

Lord Wellington was not pleased. "Look at what you did!" he said, grabbing her by the collar. "You peed on the sidewalk! Bad girl! Bad girl!"

Charlotte whimpered like a bitch as her master rubber her nose in her "accident," while striking her bottom with the tawse.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

“Come now, my little puppy,” he said dragging her along as she struggled to keep up with him. “This is a big garden, and there’s lots of thirsty plants that need our care. Then we'll introduce you to Dina, and get you kenneled for the night."

[Belinda]

Just another magnificent segment. Truly genius. As a highly educated woman with submissive feelings it touches me so dear.