Perfect

Perfect  

    "I just want you to make me perfect" she says, leaning forward over the table.

    "What are you now?" I ask.

    "Nothing" she answers.  I nod, surprised that she is articulate enough to express the truth.  She had put herself at my mercy before, and I had used her relentlessly, but she had not seemed the type to recognize how deep her need ran.

    "My interest isn't typically in changing a woman" I tell her honestly "It's in using you for my own pleasure."  The head of the young woman sitting in the booth behind my date turns fractionally, and I suppress a grin at the involuntary ease dropping.

    "I want to be like those girls"  She leans even further forward and looks me steadily in the eye.  Her intensity is surprising in such a pretty girl and I'm reminded that few people get into Harvard without the ability to dedicate themselves to a project and work relentlessly towards it.  "The girls you told me about.  Your other girls."  The last time we had been together she had asked if she could date other men, since I was fucking other women.  I had slapped her to the floor and then told her, in detail, every last slut that I had fucked since I had acquired her, and how each one had served me in body and in submission.  She had been crying in big unstoppable gulps by the time I was finished, which made her pussy clench incredibly hard when I was in her.  I made her beg to belong to me before I let her cum.  Apparently the experience had stuck with her.

  "I might consider it, if you're willing to devote yourself to it full time.  You'll have to change your summer plans."  I had thought that this would give her pause. She was very excited about the internship with a prestigious non-profit that she had landed.  But instead of hesitation her eyes lit up with gratitude.  We're all so greedy deep down; saving the world was nothing compared to feeding the need in her pussy.

  "Of course, I can just tell them I've taken something else.  Will I live with you?"

  I nodded and smiled at her.  I have broken a lot of women over the years, but rarely have I found ones with the dedication and the ability necessary to be the perfect slave.  But this little slut had potential.  I found myself looking forward to the summer.

___

    She already knew not to cum without permission.  A girl doesn't last to the second date with me if she can't give up at least that level of control immediately.  The first thing I told her when she walked in the door was that she no longer had that permission.

    "When you can cum without touching yourself in any way, that's when you'll get permission again."

    "That's impossible" she mumbled, not meeting my eyes.  Resistance did not come easily to her but the knowledge imparted by a lifetime of women's magazines and unsatisfied friends was in direct conflict with my demands.

    "Let's hope not, or you won't cum at all this summer."  That got a brief groan of anticipatory frustration.

    Cumming on command was not easy for her.  She was one of those women who was multi-orgasmic on a good day and totally unresponsive on a bad one.  Her pussy was untrained and her every prejudice was set against the possibility of such a thing being real.  For three weeks I fucked her, beat her, used her, and denied her permission to cum while I was touching her.  Then in the third week she found herself bound spread eagled on the bed, face up and without any stimulation other than my voice, orgasming like a fiend.

    I practiced her in this new ability constantly.  Could she cum sitting down?  Standing up?  With a single command, or did she need a lead up?  How many times in a row could she cum?  What was her refractory period?  I treated her like a science experiment and made entries in a notebook.  It took another three weeks for her to meet all of my conditions.  She orgasmed at my word, with no preparation, no matter what activity she was engaged in or where she was, and she would do so up to fifty times in a row.  I suspected I could get that last number higher, but it was a matter of muscle tone, not willpower and I had already used a substantial part of the summer.

    After so many weeks of pleasure training it was a treat for my sadistic side to put her through avoidance therapy.  One morning she found herself tied tightly, bound in one of the many positions that her immature fantasies had anticipated would be used for fucking, for pain, or for humiliation.  But she was to be used for none of those things.  She was still my sleek little lab rat, and now I went to work with new tools.  I used an industrial strength vibrator on her sensitive little clit until she was begging to cum.  I denied her, and denied her, and denied her, the entire time pressing the buzzing tool directly against her pleasure center until finally she couldn't hold herself back anymore and exploded in orgasm against her bonds.

    And at the exact moment she disobeyed me by cumming without permission, I tazed her.

    The shock and pain was amplified by her complete surprise.  This was not erotic.  This was not in an Anne Rice novel or featured on a soft focus BDSM porn video.  This was just pain, just punishment in a way that nothing could make sensual.  She demanded to be let go then, tried to use a safe word that didn't exist, shouted, even cried a little.  But I just told her it was a necessary part of her training and pushed the vibrator against her clit again.  Over the next week I forced her over the edge against her will and without permission in a variety of ways.  But mostly I would fuck her pussy or stimulate he clit till she couldn't hold back.  And, as the conditioning required each time she was punished at the moment of violation.  The only trick was making sure that my dick was completely out of her when she was punished for cumming from a hard fuck; nothing ruins your day like accidentally tasering your own genitals.

    Sprinkled throughout that week, though, were permitted orgasms, orgasms on command.  And although I kept the command, I also gradually added special triggers that she was to cum to automatically.  The feel of me shooting a load into her mouth or throat.  A hard slap to the face.  A discrete touch of my hand behind her ear and on her collarbone.  At first forced, these things were integrated into her behaviors so slowly that she was scarcely aware of what was happening.  But with two weeks to go in the summer I forced her to look her at her new training head on.

    She could no longer bring herself to cum without permission.

    She could no longer stop herself from cumming if she was face fucked or beat.

    At any moment I could collapse her into a quivering heap of orgasming slave with a single word.

    There had been other training that summer.  Physical fitness, flexibility, sexual technique, humiliation.  But all of that shapes her core, takes advantage of what is there.  The thing that makes her perfect are the changes I have made inside of her, the controls I have placed in her mind that are as unbreakable as steel shackles for all that they are invisible.

___

    We stay together for another year, but her career is elsewhere and my life is in Boston.  She goes her way, another strong, successful, beautiful woman whose pussy belongs to me.  She is not on the market long, and it would be surprising if she were.  Within two months she has a boyfriend.  Within two years she has a wedding, which I am invited to.

    But I know the training has held.  Because on the night before the wedding she comes to me and begs me for permission to cum when her husband fucks her pussy.  And I give permission, after I've extracted my price.  After all, a wedding night should be perfect.