THAT AFTERNOON, ELLA ENTERED HER activity room in high confidence. She was learning a lot about this place, and in the process, she was learning a lot about herself…but she no longer had to fear losing herself to these men, who seemed intent on making her their puppet. She could act the bottom, but still maintain control. The knowledge brought her comfort, and made her feel like she had the upper hand.
As soon as she entered the activity room, her eyes fell upon the long balance beam going across the floor, sitting on short legs about six inches off the ground.
Mr. Harden greeted her from the other side of the room. He held in his hand a long and thin riding crop, reaching from his palm to the floor.
“I hope you had a nice rest and a good lunch,” he said, “because we have a long afternoon ahead of us.”
Ella said nothing to her trainer’s greeting, but stared at the crop.
Mr. Harden whipped up the crop, pointed the tip under Ella’s chin, and forced her face up to look at him.
“Proper Bentmoore etiquette, Ella. Greet me politely.”
“Hello, Sir,” she responded, her face impassive. When Mr. Harden didn’t pull the crop away from her chin, she gave him a fake smile.
“That will do, for now,” he said, lowering the crop. “Turn around, let me look at you.”
Ella turned in a tight circle, wobbling on her feet with clumsy sways of her hips. She had put on her brand new lavender corset, along with the matching black and lavender skirt she had found waiting for her, crisp and folded, outside her bedroom door.
Her nipples were barely covered up by the top layer of flimsy lace; they threatened to peek out with each movement of her hips. The skirt was tight, and clung to her waist and thighs like second skin. It was also extremely short, and showed off a nice expanse of slender leg. Her calves and ass were stretched and lifted by a pair of new stiletto heels.
“You look lovely,” Mr. Harden said.
“Thank you, Sir,” Ella replied. She had learned by now she should acknowledge his praise, but appreciation was another matter. There was none in Ella’s tone.
Mr. Harden sighed. Then he creased his brows, studying her form. “You did a good job putting on the corset, but I think we can get it a little tighter. Turn around.”
Ella turned, careful in her new wickedly high heels. Mr. Harden untied the bow in the back of Ella’s corset, grabbed hold of the strings…and pulled.
Ella sucked in her breath as her ribs compressed. Her back straightened, her neck stretched, and her breasts lifted.
“There we go,” Mr. Harden said. “Much better.”
Ella would have loved to refute that statement if she had not been putting all her focus on breathing. White rage bubbled up in her chest, and her hands clenched into fists.
She had no idea where this anger was coming from, and why it was causing her to resist her new trainer at every turn. She told herself she had better do a better job of acting the obedient, docile female, and not let anything faze her….
Until Mr. Harden grabbed her skirt by the hips, and yanked it all the way down to her ankles.
“Much better,” he said. He pulled the skirt away from her feet as Ella skipped and hopped in place, doing her best to maintain her balance. She was now wearing nothing but the tight lacy corset, the vicious shoes, and the lavender ribbon in her hair. Resentment flitted across her features as she fought the urge to cross her legs.
“Don’t hide yourself from me. You are a vision of beauty.” He pointed to the balance beam with the crop. “You have a new assignment today. I want you to stand on the beam.”
Ella was taken aback. “Sir?”
Mr. Harden cocked his brow. “I said, get up, and stand on the beam.”
Ella studied the narrow beam with unease. “Can I take off my shoes?”
“Of course not. That would defeat the purpose of the exercise.”
Nervously, Ella stepped onto the slender beam. She had to put one foot in front of the other to stay on, and wobbled inelegantly as she swayed with both arms out.
Mr. Harden looked up at her, tapping the crop in his hand. “A Hotel Bentmoore woman always carries herself with poise and dignity,” he said. “She is refined. She is confident. She holds her head up high. No matter where she is, who she is with, or what she is doing, she knows the effect she is having on everyone else around her.” He waved down the length of the beam with a swish of the crop. “Now walk.”
“Sir, I—” Her sentence was cut off as Mr. Harden struck her backside with the tail end of the crop. Ella stumbled off the beam, crying out and barely catching herself from falling on her face. She looked over her shoulder at her trainer in fury.
“Every time you fall, you will get a taste of the crop,” he said. “If you break your composure, you will get the crop. And if you don’t listen to my instructions, you will get the crop. Now get back on.”
Ella’s eyes darted up and down the beam as she paused, tense, unyielding, weighing her options. For a moment, the room was quiet. Mr. Harden’s lips pursed as he waited, the crop ready and waiting in his hand.
Finally, with tiny reluctant shuffles of her shoes, Ella stepped back on the beam.
“Good,” Mr. Harden said. “Now then: back straight. Face up. Shoulders down. Good, very good. Now walk.”
Ella lifted her back foot off the beam, swayed wildly, and fell off. Immediately, she felt the bite of the crop on the curve of her ass.
“Back on,” Mr. Harden snapped. “Try again.”
Giving him a look of pure venom, Ella stepped back on the beam. Again her trainer had her fix her stance, and again she corrected her posture without a word.
He told her to walk, and this time, Ella managed a single, lumbering step, but the second step saw her crashing to the ground.
She stood up, brushed her legs off, took a deep calming breath…and felt Mr. Harden swipe the crop against her vulnerable ass once more.
“Back on,” he said.
Ella gazed at him with murder clear in her eyes. Mr. Harden struck her again with the crop, making her cry out and cringe away from him.
“Back on,” he repeated.
Rubbing her ass like a petulant child, Ella climbed back on the beam. It was a little easier now—she was beginning to get the hang of it—and she balanced herself quickly. She managed six single steps.
Then she fell off.
Ella braced herself for the sting of the crop, and felt it in short order.
“Again,” Mr. Harden said, swatting her harder.
Ella climbed back on.
Laboriously, and with frequent smacks of the crop against her derriere, Ella figured out how to walk across the detestable beam: with a narrow tread of her feet, and high lifts of her knees. Even after she had resolved how to stay on, Mr. Harden continued to correct her walk and stance, making sure she looked straight ahead at all times, with her face relaxed, her chest out, and her arms down at her sides.
“How am I supposed to see where I’m going if I’m looking straight ahead?” She asked him after falling off the beam once more.
“Widen the scope of your eyes. See everything around you. The beam, the floor, the wall straight ahead, me—everything. Open up your peripheral vision.”
“I can’t do that.”
Mr. Harden tapped the floor with the crop. “Yes, you can. You will learn.”
“My eyes don’t work that way.”
His voice grew hard with impatience. “Do you think you’re the first woman to learn how to do this, Ella? Many women have gone through our training procedures, trying to become a mistress of the Hotel Bentmoore. Countless have tried. Most have failed. Do you want to fail? Or do you want to succeed?”
“I want to succeed, Sir.” Her voice was quiet.
“Then try again,” he said as Ella wobbled and weaved across the beam. “Poise, Ella. Dignity. Grace. Elegance. These are the attributes of a Hotel Bentmoore mistress. Her surroundings are irrelevant; her quality comes from within.”
Ella fell off once more, and Mr. Harden smacked her with the crop.
But this time, when she got back on the beam, her efforts showed a renewed sense of determination. Without having to be reminded, Ella stretched her body up, lowered her shoulders, and lifted her head up high. Her steps were confident now, even as she swiveled around the beam. Her hips swaggered, and her lips curved in a beguiling smile.
“I think you’ve got it,” Mr. Harden announced. “Yes, that’s it. Now turn…tilt your head a little…yes!” He gave her a wide smile. “You’ve got it down perfectly! I can see that in time, no man will be able to resist your charm and appeal. You’re a vision of sensual beauty, Ella. A true Hotel Bentmoore woman.”
Mr. Harden had meant to please Ella with his praise. In all his years, he had never met a woman who reacted adversely to words of gushing approval.
Until now.
The change in Ella was swift and obvious. Her face hardened, her shoulders squared, and her lips tightened. For a second, she stood on the beam and stared down at her trainer, looking like a cat about to pounce. Then, with a gleam in her eyes, she hopped off the polished wood.
“I’m done,” she said.
Mr. Harden’s brows rose. “Excuse me, I don’t remember saying so. Get back on the beam.”
“No.” Ella faced him. “I’m not getting back on that thing.”
“Ella, I’m warning you, if you don’t get back on, there will be consequences.”
“Like what? Whatever you’re going to do to me, just do it, cause I’m not taking orders like some bitch in obedience training.”
Mr. Harden’s eyes filled with surprise; then they flooded with anger. Satisfaction welled up deep inside Ella’s chest.
He was angry; good. Now she would see what he would do—now she would see what he was capable of. If he wanted her to submit, then by God, he would have to dominate.
His eyes narrowed into hard slits, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “Very well. I suppose, just like I must test your boundaries, you must test mine,” he said. “Go to the bed. Lean against it—and brace yourself.”
Breathing fast now, Ella moved over to the bed and leaned her body over the edge of the mattress. Her fingers clutched at the sheet, and her legs shifted nervously, but she held herself still as she heard Mr. Harden come to stand beside her.
“Remember, you brought this on yourself,” he said. “Widen your legs more. Straighten your toes. And take a breath, because this is going to hurt.”
Even as her fear made her shiver, Ella widened her stance and straightened her feet. She would not grovel and cower before this man; she would keep herself composed. He wanted poise? She would show him how poised she could be.
She heard the hiss of the crop as it sliced through the air a second before it sliced into her ass. To Ella, that’s exactly how it felt: like a sharp knife slicing into her soft flesh. She gripped the sheet and lifted her head as if looking toward the heavens for help, but she did not cry out.
Another blow of the crop came down, striking her across the thighs, and Ella squealed, but held the pose.
Again, and again, the crop bit into her flesh. Mr. Harden left grill marks across her buttocks, thighs, and hips. A few times, he even aimed lower, hitting her slender legs right above her knees.
Ella began to cry out after each blow, releasing her pain in a series of high-pitched whines. But otherwise, she said nothing. She did not alter her stance, either, but kept her legs apart and her head down. After a particularly vicious strike, she even jutted her ass out further, as if trying to dare the man on.
Mr. Harden accepted her challenge with another burning swat of the crop that made her stiffen and screech.
But after a few minutes, it was obvious the scene was beginning to take an interesting turn. Ella’s grip on the mattress began to ease, and she grazed her slender hands up and down the length of it, caressing the silky sheet. Her eyes, squeezed shut before in grimacing pain, now smoothed out in calm repose. Her sleek ass cheeks spread wider as she relaxed her muscles, no longer fearing the crop.
The agonizing blows of the crop, once so terrible, didn’t feel so bad anymore. In fact, they felt kind of…good. Hazy warmth was spreading across her ass and thighs, along with a luscious tingling that heightened every time the thin deadly crop lashed across her reddening, welting skin.
A dreamy smile played across her mouth now. Her head came up and she let out a low moan of delight from the jolting, prickling mix of pain and pleasure.
Mr. Harden paused his strikes to study her. He took in her spread haunches, tranquil features, dreamy eyes, and rich moans.
“You like this, don’t you Ella?” He asked.
Ella nodded yes.
“I thought so. Reach down and feel how wet you are.”
Ella reached down between her legs, and gasped. Her cunt juices were running down her thighs. Her pussy lips were swollen, and her clit throbbed with arousal.
“That’s right, girl, you’re dripping with need. I bet it wouldn’t take you long at all to make yourself come. Go on, do it: rub yourself off!”
In her hazy state, Ella thought this was a marvelous idea. Pushing her legs back even further and spreading her hips, she widened her stance, giving her fingers easier access inside her pussy. As she fingered her own clit, Mr. Harden began to crop her once more, urging her on with quick, scouring smacks of the crop.
Very soon, Ella was moaning into the mattress, jerking her head from side to side, and pumping her thighs back and forth in abandon.
“You’re gorgeous,” Mr. Harden said behind her.
Ella had to smile. She felt gorgeous.
“Do you want me to go harder?” He asked.
The question surprised her…and filled her with a rush of anger. Why was he even asking her? Why was he giving her the option to say no?
Who was the one in control here?
And then she remembered—she was. That was how she had wanted it: for her to stay in control, even as she allowed herself to be cropped.
Her mood deflated, and her pleasure in the scene disappeared.
“Yes,” she answered him. “Go harder.”
“You’ll have bruises in the morning.”
“I don’t care.” In that moment, she didn’t. All she wanted now was to come, and get this scene over with.
Immediately, Mr. Harden began to crop her harder. As Ella’s orgasm built, she gave him quick, direct orders.
“Yes, there, now my other leg…move up a little…a little slower, please…harder…yes…yes…fuck!”
Mr. Harden played a symphony on her ass with the mastery of a conductor, whapping the crop against her quivering flesh with careful, rapid, taps. Ella continued to rub her pussy between her legs. As her desperation crested, she let out a series of high-pitched cries.
At last, she came, arching her back and rocking her hips from side to side as Mr. Harden continued to crop her.
Mr. Harden stopped his steady staccato against her skin as her orgasm receded. Ella leaned her elbows on the mattress and took deep, convulsive breaths.
“It wasn’t the lesson I was going for,” Mr. Harden said. “But it will do.”
Ella stood up from the bed and wiped her sweaty brow, feeling confused and angry. She had come, but her satisfaction had been hollow, and now it was filling her with impotent rage.
But she plastered a smile on her face before her trainer could see the real state of her emotions behind her eyes.
“We had a scene this morning. I’m not sure it went well.”
“Tell me.”
“She refused orders, and earned herself a punishment. I’d actually been waiting for the chance to test her pain tolerance. I thought this might be the perfect time to take her to her breaking point, make her safeword, but…she somehow turned the tables on me. She came, but….”
“But? But?”
“But that was it. She had an orgasm—I know she wasn’t faking it—but it still felt like all she was doing was putting on a performance. There was no sacrifice of herself, no relinquishment of power. She’s not giving up an inch, but I can tell it’s beginning to wear on her.” He paused. “Mr. Bentmoore, did Lamont say anything to you about getting Ella into subspace?”
Mr. Bentmoore’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “No, Mr. Harden. Now that you mention it, he did not.”
“I cannot get her there, either. She has no problem performing humiliating acts for me, as long as she doesn’t feel like she’s giving up any control. But subspace is another matter.”
“Yes, it is.”
“We haven’t managed to push her into subspace, because she won’t let herself go. I think, for some reason, she’s afraid.”
“Afraid? It’s possible.” Mr. Bentmoore drummed his fingers on his desk. “What do you plan on doing about it?”
Mr. Harden gave it a moment of thought. “Lamont said bondage was a trigger for her?”
“Yes.”
His expression turned hard. “Then I think it’s time I pulled the trigger.”
