Author's Note:This story is a minor offshoot of The Hotel. This story will stand alone, but will have more context if The Hotel is read first.


Prelude

My name is Fatimah bint Mahmoud bin Abdulaziz Al-Fulan - my Master calls me Teema. I was his ward until I reached my twentieth birthday. The reason that I actually reached that date, is due to his kindness in keeping me safe from a certain set of relatives in my native country. My parents were fairly important government employees in the foreign service, and we spent most of our lives living in some embassy somewhere in the world. During that time, I picked up fluency in almost a dozen languages.

One fateful day, while I was in the embassy school, I heard a tremendous explosion and soon heard that my parents had perished from the terrorist's car bomb. The estate they left was substantial, and far more than enough to get a young girl started in life on her own. However, due to the laws of my country, I could not take possession until I reached my majority - three years from then. Also, due to the same laws, if I should fail to inherit, then the estate would pass to my father's closest relation - a half brother.

After a puzzling and almost fatal poisoning of a kitchen assistant and some members of the staff, and a later assault which was aborted only by the fortunate arrival of an official, my Uncle on the distaff side of my family realized that these acts were not random or coincidental. He had no proof, but was as sure as a man can be that my father's brother was behind them in an attempt to inherit the estate.

My Uncle had a very good friend in America, and asked him if he would accept myself as a ward until my majority. He became my Master - not master in the sense that I was his slave, or bound girl, but rather that he acted as though I were a younger sister, and he was now in charge of my upbringing until I reached my majority.

This friend, one Mr. Tatum, and a most wonderful man, assumed the burden of my protection. Never once, did he presume to take advantage of me - on the contrary, he showed me all the respect that he actually would have displayed to a favorite younger sister. And woe unto any agent of my father's brother who presumed to try to change the order of inheritance while I was in America. My Master was wealthy and powerful enough to handle any such interloper with ease.

He had a beautiful home, high in the mountains, and had a most unusual business. And hobby. He offered a service to wealthy women who wished to play at sexual submission. Actually, some of them did not play - they offered actual submission and were defacto slaves while in his bondage parlor. Over the years, this made him very wealthy, as did certain investments and sales.

In addition, he had a hidden cave far beneath the house in which he kept a... well, it could only be called a seraglio and held several girls who lived a life of slavery and bondage. Interestingly enough, a couple of these were there of their own accord. Two were actually slaves who were purchased back in my country, but were far better off than if they had been free women back home. There were a couple of others who had transgressed on my Master's rights, and were there involuntarily. Others came and went on occasion.

My Master had a favorite girl, one who actually got him started in his "business" and was instrumental in the building of his vast fortune. He could never bring himself to enslave her until circumstances in her life caused her to enter a self-destructive episode. Finally, she was sent off to a specialized school that turned ordinary women into absolutely premier sexual... what is a good word?... practitioners? When she came back, over a year later, she was no longer the high class assertive woman that she grew up as. At the time, I was eighteen years of age and surely had no eye for what made a female desirable, but I was assured by my Master that she was the epitome of her class of sex object.

I had in mind to start a similar school, except that this one, instead of accepting virtual girl slaves from all over the world, it would train educated, upscale women who where there by choice. For themselves, their husbands, or their boyfriends. After some extensive planning, I laid my thoughts in front of my Master, who was noncommittal, until I stated that I had planned to enroll myself in the same school that my Master's favorite girl had attended to get a first hand knowledge of the actual cycle of courtesan training. The reaction was sudden and negative - to say the least.

The arguments, for and against, have been cataloged in another missive, but suffice it to say that eventually my Uncle and my Master allowed me to enter Suliman's academy for Courtesan training. It actually had a much longer name, but that is effectively what it was.

Many were the times during my training that I wished that I had not been so persuasive.



Chapter 1

I sat quietly in a chair in the office of Suliman, the master of the school, while he and my Master made arrangements for my entry. This was an establishment known all over the world for the exquisite training females in the art of companionship. At least that is what the management would say. It was actually a school to turn a woman into a extremely talented courtesan.

I recall that my Master emphasized that no privileges were to be given to me because of my status as his ward. Eventually the agreement was reached, he hugged me and gave the the appropriate parting words from a man who would apparently really miss my company, and left. Suliman looked at me for a few minutes and eventually an older woman entered and motioned for me to follow her. She led me through a maze of hallways to a small room - just an ordinary cubicle, but with no furniture. The door had a small window, but no doorknob on the inside. The only additional item was a small rug in the center of the room. There was a "commode" in one corner, but like in most structures in this part of the world it was just a hole in the floor that one squatted over. It had a flat piece of wood for a cover.

The woman said nothing, but indicated that I was to remove my clothes. Nudity was an old thing to me, so I just stripped everything off and handed the pile to her. The woman left and since there was no where else to sit, I just sat down on the rug. Hours went by in which nothing happened. Eventually, a small flap at the bottom of the door opened and a tray with a jug of water and a bowl of what only could be described as tasteless gruel was shoved in. It was fairly bad, but I managed to eat it anyway. I heard a bell ding on occasion, sometimes once, sometimes two or three times in a row, but it meant nothing to me.

The members of this establishment obviously assumed that I was here to be turned into an exquisite sex object, but in actuality I was here to learn HOW one was turned into said object. For now I assumed that there would be a period when the new girl was broken down into a entity who would be a blank sheet of paper onto which they could write. The water and the gruel was the start of that process. I was way ahead of them. I would anticipate everything they did and everything they would try to impress upon me.

The daydreams of an eighteen year old girl who thinks that she can take charge of any situation tend to be pitiful, in retrospect.

Finally the boredom and the jet lag got to me and I lay down on the rug and went to sleep.

I woke in excruciating pain from something, then realized that my back was stinging terribly. I rolled over and saw a large woman, dressed in a shapeless pullover, standing at the end of my rug. As my eyes focused, I saw a long thin rod in one hand - obviously the source of my pain.

She pointed it to the center of my breasts and said in a no nonsense voice, in Turkish, "The sleeping bell has not rung! Why is the girl laying down?" She didn't wait or want a reply. "Get in the position you were told to assume!"

I started to rise, saying, "Nobody has told me..." That was as far as I got before my right breast got a stinging lash.

"Don't answer me back, girl. Get in position!"

I didn't know what position she wanted me in, so I tried again. "Nobody has told me anything about a posi..." Again the lash against the other breast.

She pointed to the rug with the whip. "Kneel there" I quickly got on my knees. Whack, another stripe, this time on my shoulder. "Dumb bitch. Face away from the door." I spun around. "Knees apart." I suddenly remembered the position that Stephanie, the favorite girl of my Master, used to assume. I quickly put my hands on my thighs, which caused my elbows to be held out to my side so as to not obscure the breasts, and bowed my head. "Do not move from that position until the bell tells you to."

I quietly said, "May I ask about the bells?" Thwack, another stripe, this time on my back. I flinched. This was not quite the way that I had visioned my education.

"There is no 'I' here. A girl is asking. At the time of four bells, you may assume the sleeping position. At one bell, you may get up to relieve yourself, or stretch. For one minute. At two bells, a girl may eat for five minutes. Make sure that a girl does not forget." With that, she laid the end of the whip in a stinging pop on my bottom and left.

By the time I heard one bell, I didn't know if it had been twenty, or thirty or fifty minutes. What I did know was that my muscles were cramped and jumping. I almost jumped to my feet, and stretched, trying to unknot my limbs. Then I remembered that I had less than a minute to relieve my bladder, squatted over the hole and peed. I was barely done, when I heard the bell again, which I assumed meant that time was up. Suddenly, it came to me that another item of civilized life was missing - there was no toilet paper. I attempted to shake it like a man, but of course that was an exercise in futility. I headed for my rug to kneel again, hoping I got there before someone looked in the window.

Finally, after three more one hour bells, then an unknown two and three bells in a row, I heard the welcome clang of four. I collapsed on the rug, wondering how I could be so exhausted after almost four hours of doing absolutely nothing.

Morning. At least, I thought that I had just been woken up by four bells. I lay there trying to remember, then realized that if someone looked through the door window, I would probably get another lashing. I got to my knees, then almost fell over from the soreness in my legs. Apparently I made it before being observed, since the door didn't open.

One bell later, I heard the sound of a tray being slid under the door. By now I was starving, both since the meal the night before was less than satisfying , and the fact that my stomach was totally off schedule from jet lag. I turned around, picked up the tray and brought it to the rug, wondering how long I had to eat it. Not much time, if I was allowed to wager, then I remembered that it was for five minutes. Again it was water, and some kind of potato cakes, maybe. I had just picked one up, when the door slammed open and yet another woman in the same type of shapeless pullover, entered and laid her whip across my back.

"Stupid bitch! Do you think the eating bell does not apply to you? Lay on the floor!" I dropped to my stomach and she proceeded to whip me severely - probably six or seven lashes - through my screams. Before yesterday, I had never been struck, let alone with a whip. The pain was all out of proportion to what I expected it to feel like. I began to understand what Stephanie meant when she talked of being a slave to the whip. After that, I would do anything to, for or with any woman who held one. "Get back in position, bitch." She picked up the tray, left the room and locked the door.

I just kneeled there, hands on thighs, and head bowed for hour after excruciating hour. I wondered - how did Stephanie do it? She was an intelligent woman with an active mind. How did she keep from going crazy from the boredom? Eventually, I heard another tray being slid under the door. I just kneeled there until I heard the double bell about five minutes later. I don't know what it was, but I gobbled it down regardless. By then I was almost faint from hunger.

More hours, then finally the evening meal bell and then the sleeping bells. I collapsed again.

The next day, the same thing. What was happening? By now I expected... something, but not this interminably kneeling and facing a blank wall day after day.

A week went by. I think it was a week. In terms of perceived time, it was months. I had always been an active person, with a very low threshold of boredom. If I sat waiting for a meal to be served, within twenty seconds I would be reading the backs of the condiment jars, or the menu - anything to keep my mind engaged. But this was torture of the most refined sort. Nothing except empty hours, one after another, slowing passing though a never ending day. At least by now, I could kneel for an hour without pain. It had become almost natural.

Finally, one day after the morning meal, my door opened and a set of feet under a pullover sack dress appeared in front of me. I was glad to see ANYTHING different, even a woman with a whip. "Get up," she commanded. "Follow me." Finally, something will start to happen.

Well, not much to start. We entered a larger room, only this time with four rugs in a row - also facing the back wall. Two other girls were already kneeling. Without a word, my guide pointed at an empty rug, and I immediately kneeled on it and assumed the position. Shortly, another girl entered and, in the corner of my eye, saw her also kneel on the one remaining rug.

There we kneeled. Without moving my head, but by shifting my eyes I could see the girl on each side of me, although at that angle I couldn't make out any details. Once again, we just waited. When the hour bell rung, I finally could look around and see my companions. All were older. Two were in their twenties, I estimated. A girl of Middle Eastern extraction, and a black girl. The other was older, thirty or so, and of indefinite origin. We just looked at each other, not daring to talk. The eldest took the opportunity to relieve herself before the bell had us back on our rugs again.

Lunch came and went. Then the door opened and a woman stepped in front of us - the same woman who lashed me the first day. She walked back and forth, looking at her charges, I assumed. I dared not look up.

Finally, she said, "All of you are here to learn how to be an exquisite pleasure to men. You will learn EVERYTHING there is to know of how to be a desirable female. You will call me and every other female instructor, 'Mistress'." Suddenly, through the corner of my eye, I saw her stride to my right. Suddenly there was a loud thwack and a scream. "Did I tell you to look up, bitch!" she shouted. Another lash. "Answer me you stupid cunt."

"No... no Mistress," came a shaky voice. "I am sorry, Mistress."

Another whack. "A girl is sorry!" There is nobody kneeling here who is important enough to be an 'I'! Again!"

"A... a girl is sorry, Mistress."

Back in front she continued, "Forget everything you think you know about fucking men. You don't know shit, just like all the other girls out there. When you get out of here, you will be able to twist a man's balls from across the room with a glance better than a regular woman can with her twat. The first thing we do today is some modifications on your bodies. Everybody get up, and follow me."

In single file, we walked quickly down the hall to yet another room with rugs. Three of us were set to kneeling again, while the forth was led into another room. Shortly we heard, not screams, but low cries of pain. It wasn't reassuring. I knew that Stephanie had a tongue piercing that was used for sexual stimulation, and assumed that we would get one also. She also had other jewelry on her body, but I never thought to ask which was hers and which she got here.

I was third into the room. I was put onto a gynecological type of table, only unlike a normal examination, my arms, legs, forehead and midriff were tightly strapped down. Now I was definitely apprehensive. There was a man (a doctor?) and a woman helper moving around me. The first thing the woman did, is strap a device onto my head that held my mouth open. From my observations at my Master's dungeon, I knew that it was called a spider gag. Almost before I could react, the woman reached into my mouth with forceps of some kind, grabbed the tip of my tongue, and pulled it out as far as it would go. The man leaned over with some like of gun looking device, and suddenly I felt a sharp and very unpleasant pain in my tongue. The woman did something in my mouth, then touched my the wound with a piece of cotton on a stick, and numbness replaced the pain. When she removed the forceps and the mouth spreader, I could feel some foreign object on the top and bottom of my tongue, close to the end.

Suddenly, I felt a stinging pain in one earlobe, then in the other. Then one nipple after the other. By this time I was jumping at every touch. Finally, I felt several stings in my labia. Then the woman touched each abused point with a swab - antiseptic, I suppose - I was turned loose and led back into the holding room.

Finally, the Mistress allowed us to choose from a box of supporting halters. These we would wear most of the time to prevent breast droop. Interestingly, these had the nipple area cut out that would allow our entire areolas to show. I was glad of that, since the halter pressing on the inserts in my new nipple holes would have been painful.

The four of us were left alone with our pains for a couple of hours, then the Mistress returned with a handful of red silk... scarves? Standing in front of us, she said, "You will wear these at all times, unless you are bathing. The color indicates to the trainers how far along you are in your course." I suddenly noticed that she was wearing a piece of green silk laced with gold threads around her neck. With that, she led us to a tiled room with showers, handed us each a small pouch with soap, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a small package of tampons.

"For now, you will bathe every evening before the meal. Later when you are physically engaging, you will bath more often. You will brush your teeth after every meal and you must do it during the time allowed, and with the water in your jug."

It had been a week or more since I had bathed last - by far the longest that I had ever gone. And I needed a shower bad. All of us entered the shower closet, and luxuriated in the warm water coming from the single shower head.

When we came out, there were no towels. Apparently we were just expected to air dry. The Mistress tied a red scarf around each of our necks, then led us back to our individual rooms. I knelt on my rug, not exactly in pain, but with some definite twinges from all the holes that had been drilled in my anatomy. At the next one bell, I looked at all the spots that they had pierced. Of course, I couldn't see my earlobes, but I could feel some kind of rod through each. My nipples had two plastic rods stuck through the holes. My lower lips had six, three evenly spaced down both sets of inner lips. I assumed that these penetrators were just temporary hole keepers. My tongue had something in the hole, but it definitely was nowhere close to the device that Stephanie wore.

Back in the lecture room, the Mistress pointed us to our rugs. On the table were several wisps of silk - red, yellow, green and blue. She held up the red one. "These pieces of silk will indicate to the member of the establishment just how far along you are in your training. You are now red. This indicates that you could be anything from a raw girl, to one who knows considerably more than the average woman on the outside."

Then the yellow was waved at us. "Eventually, you will be yellow silk girls. At the end of that training, you will know far more about pleasuring a man than any ordinary female. In fact, if you were to leave here as full yellow silk, you would be a prize catch for any man out there. And they will know it."

"Unless, you are a complete dolt, you will eventually receive green silk status. It is during this training where almost every girl reaches her plateau - the level beyond which she is incapable of going. When you leave here as green silk, either low or high level, you will be a desirable prize for any wealthy man anywhere. In fact, so prized that we have to take steps to prevent your being kidnapped and spirited away to some remote casbah somewhere in the world. You will receive multiple offers from exceedingly wealthy men from all over the world during your training. Whether or not you avail yourselves of those offers, is between you and whomever sent you here."

"You will notice that I am wearing green silk. The gold threads in the cloth indicate that I am an instructor. That is the highest level of green."

Pausing for a few seconds, she picked up the wisp of blue cloth. "It is unlikely that you will come close to wearing this. To reach the blue silk level requires a level of skill, concentration and dedication so great, so immensely intense, that in the hundred years that this school has been in existence, less than twenty girls have achieved it. There are none here at the moment, and haven't been for many years.

Finally, the evening meal bell rung, then it was time for sleep, despite all the different pains that would spring up as I moved around on my bed/rug. By putting my little pouch under one end of the rug, I managed to create a small pillow.

The next morning, as the Mistress gathered us from our rooms, she gave each a simple pullover like she was wearing. This was nothing more than a sack dress with holes for the neck and arms. Except for the twin bumps of our breasts, it effectively hid the outlines of our bodies. Later, I understood that this was to prevent unwanted stimulation of the men that were used for our training.

Our rooms were in a little cul-de-sac at the end of a corridor. I could see six doors, plus the little shower room, so I assumed that two were empty. The floor of our little area had red stripes down the sides, and across where it joined the crossing of another hall. Only later did I connect the color of the stripes with our scarves.

We four were together on our rugs again, but this time, a glance that fortunately for the sake of my skin wasn't detected, showed that there was a male in front of the class. And wearing absolutely nothing. And a table. Suddenly, I wondered if I would be engaging in sex today. It had never occurred to me that I would do so with an audience. I wondered just how many other things I would experience that I hadn't thought of - many, I was sure.

The Mistress tapped her ever present whip on the table. "All girls may look up now." With her whip she pointed to the man who just stood there quietly. He was young, and average size and weight, and his penis was fairly large - I think. I have to confess that I am not a expert on the subject. Or at least, I wasn't then. Also, it was flaccid, so he apparently didn't find four kneeling women to be erotic.

"This is the reason that you are here. To manipulate to the last degree until the recipient begs for you to finish." She carefully pointed her whip to the man's privates. "Notice that I am not talking about his cock. That is only the organ that is used to finish your work. The real courtesan works on the whole body and his mind before she even notices his man meat. Watch and learn."

She was dressed like us - shapeless and barely recognizable as a woman below the neck, except that I could tell that she sported some fairly large breasts. But still, there was nothing showing to cause any arousal. She stepped behind the young man and put one hand on his shoulder just beside his neck. With her other she was doing something at his back, but it came nowhere close to approaching his bottom. The visible hand was pressing on certain areas and then stroking others. I have no idea what the hidden hand was doing, but the results were immediate and impressive. His penis began to expand and rise, and in just a few seconds was totally hard and erect. She stepped out from behind him.

"You will have noticed that I came nowhere near his privates, or anything else that the world calls an erotic area. Yet, he responded immediately and directly." We watched as the erection gradually changed to a limp urinary organ again. "Do you think that was just happenstance?" She stepped behind him again, and this time we could see neither of her hands but his pole immediately went to full attention. She gestured to him and said, "Lay face down." Now that the Mistress was speaking in more than just commands, I could detect a slight lisp. Apparently she had a tongue piercing also, but it had to be just a hole holding device, because it wasn't visible and the slur was very slight.

He immediately climbed on the table, which was equipped with a thin mattress, and lay down, hiding his now again declining erection. At least, I thought it hid it, until I noticed that the table had a strategically placed hole that let his man parts hang free.

"Step up here, girls." We jumped up and gathered around the table and she began to lecture. "The male body has certain nerve endings and pressure points that will directly effect his libido. You are going to learn them intimately." She wagged her finger. "Also, there are certain like points that you can manipulate to cause severe pain. You will also learn those, but for the reason that is to keep you from being beaten by your man." She stepped up to the table and pushed three fingers into a point under his shoulder blade. "Here is one set of nerve endings. I am going to push and rub and watch what happens." She began to manipulate, as we continually stooped down to see the result from a vantage point under the table. Shortly, she pointed to the black girl and asked, "What happened?"

"Nothing, Mis'ress," she hesitantly answered, not wanting to be the purveyor of unwanted information. Her words were fractured from the sore tongue with the metal device. "He didn't get hard."

"No, he didn't," she replied. "The male body doesn't come with simple pushbuttons that just allow us to turn him on and off. If that was the case, any young twat could be a courtesan. But watch what happens now." With that, she began to manipulate the same area, but also was pinching on something at his neck line. Like magic, his... pecker? (I was going to have to learn the slang) immediately rose, or I should say dropped to point in full hardness at the floor. "And if I do this..." She moved her hand that was by his neck to a lower spot. "...watch." His erection immediately began to subside.

At this point, I had to agree that this woman was an expert.

For the next hour, she had us pushing and pinching, feeling and watching as she guided our hands over his back. We were required to memorize the positions and names of the areas that were were manipulating. I couldn't believe how many there were - and we were still just working on his back and neck, with some slight forays to his upper buttocks. Finally, to the amusement of the Mistress and the startlement of us, the constant stimulation finally made him boil over and his ejaculation spewed onto the floor under the table.

That was impressive in itself. None of us had showed the young man any part of a female body, other than head and hands, and none of us had come close to his privates in our lesson. But he still erupted in a full fledged orgasm. I decided that this establishment was not selling - what was the term that I heard my Master use for phony services? - snake oil? - yes, they were definitely not selling snake oil.

The Mistress pointed at the older student, and then to a shelf of towels on the wall, and ordered her to clean up the mess. At that point he was excused and we went back to our mats for more lecture.

That afternoon, we were back in the same room with a different... guinea pig? - that is, another male. All of us were still covered up, of course.

"The male," she started, "is a creature of imagination and vision. He can be forced to orgasm through just mechanical stimulation, but that will be an unsatisfactory and low intensity pleasure. Sometimes all it takes to get him started, is just the glimpse of a tittie, or a flash of upper thigh as he hopes you will bend over more so he can get a glimpse of your cunt. Sometimes not even that." As she was talking, she casually moved into the line of sight of the young man and, apparently absentmindedly began to gather her loose garment at the side so that it outlined the body underneath. Wow, I thought. She really had a set of massive breasts.

As she continued to speak to us, one hand casually reached for a breast and scratched the underside. It jiggled back and forth under the cloth. Her subject's eyes were focused with laser intensity on the garment covering her chest. His erection was immediate and impressive. She smiled and pointed at the standing hardon and let her pullover drop back around her body. "That was imagination," she said. "He never saw anything that he couldn't have seen on the streets of most cities, and a lot less than some."

When his manhood had dropped back to normal, she pointed at me. "Stand in front of him." I jumped to my feet and moved to a position about six feet from the boy. "Lift your hem above your waist so he can see your pudenda."

I hesitated. I was used to nudity from the Master's dungeon. In fact, nobody ever wore clothes in it and thought nothing about it. But the idea of deliberately exposing myself before strangers, and directly to an unknown man was... POP, went her whip on my butt. Not a lash, but a good sting that the cloth of my garment didn't prevent.

"Modesty and shyness are baggage that the courtesan has to jettison, totally. A shy courtesan is an oxymoron." I didn't understand the English reference, translated into Turkish, but I got the gist of her words. I didn't want any more of her whip, and possibly a real lashing so I immediately reached down and lifted my dress above my hips. "Spread your legs widely," she continued. My face was flushing red as she ordered, "Now with one hand, reach down and spread your lips with two fingers." Now I was scarlet - it felt like my face was burning up. I finally noticed that the male target of my visual attack had his eyes focused on my privates and was back to total erectness. She lightly tapped me with the whip, and said, "Back to your rug."

I almost fled the short distance to my sanctuary, squatted, then assumed my position again, except with my head up and looked at the Mistress.

"That was visual action. He saw, he lusted, he reacted."

The next day was totally different. Our rugs were arranged in such a way that there were two pair of girls, each facing her partner at close range.

The Mistress was slowing walking in a circle around us. "The embarrassment reflex, that you saw yesterday with her..." she pointed to me with the whip, "...has to be totally suppressed. Nothing that you see, do or hear should trigger it. Today, we are going to start removing it from your psyche. Everyone remove their garments." We pulled them off and dropped them on the floor.

"You and you." She selected one of each pair, but not me. "Stand up. Spread your legs. Widely. Show your partner the inside of your pussy." Whack, as my partner hesitated. She immediately reached down with both hands and pulled her lips apart. I looked - I didn't dare not to. "Now tell us what you are displaying." Both girls opened their mouths, but closed them in confusion of not knowing what was expected. "Say, this is my pussy." They both hesitantly parroted the Mistress.

"Bend over toward your partner. Wiggle your boobs." They did it. "Now hold them and tell us what you are holding." This time, my partner immediately cupped her breasts and said, "These are my breasts." The other girl did about the same.

The Mistress gave my partner a light tap on her bottom. "A courtesan doesn't have breasts unless she is in a doctor's office. She has titties, or boobs, or knockers. Again. And tell us what is on the end of them."

"These are my titties. And my nipples."

"Turn around and bend over with your legs spread," the Mistress ordered. She waited for a few seconds, then whacked each girl on the bottom. Not a love tap this time - it made both yelp. "Do I have a couple of imbeciles here? What do you think you are supposed to do?"

My partner, stutteringly said, "This is my... my... ass... hole." The other girl did about the same.

Then, our places were exchanged, and I went through the same paces. After a half dozen times of that routine, the Mistress changed the procedure.

"This time ask your partner to feel of what you are describing." I didn't have a problem with that, since I was very familiar with a girl's body from a slave that I was allowed to use back at my Master's dungeon. We used to explore each other's intimate parts very often. But, when it got to feeling of the other girl's rear hole, one of girls of the other pair absolutely refused. I knew from talking to my Master's favorite girl, who had been through this establishment, that refusal was something that was not tolerated, at all.

"On your stomach," ordered the Mistress to the recalcitrant girl. She walked to a cabinet and brought out a long wide stiff leather strap. I drew a deep breath. I had seen something like that used by my Master on a client and knew what it was for. It was a punishment strap that could inflict terrible pain, but was incapable of cutting a person's skin. She pointed to myself and the black girl, "Each of you hold a leg." Then to the older woman. "You hold her arms at the elbows and put your knees on her hands." Soon the disobedient girl was spread out in an X on her rug. I knew what was coming.

"Hold her tightly," the whip wielding woman ordered, then laid the lash across the prone girl's back as hard as she could swing. The girl gave out an ear piercing scream and began to babble in some unknown language. Again and again the lash came down and after each a bright red inch wide strip began to develop on the back of the victim. A dozen of so strokes later, the girl was out of energy and air and her screams dwindled to a desperate set of pleas for mercy. Finally, the Mistress waved us away, and the whipped girl just lay there panting.

After a pop with her ordinary whip, she said, "On your knees, slut. Get in position." The sobbing girl managed to get unsteadily to her knees and assumed a fairly sloppy courtesan waiting posture. She pointed to the girl's companion. "As you were. Bend over and use your hands to spread your ass cheeks." Then she poked the kneeling girl in the right breast with the end of her whip. "Continue. Touch the part she is displaying to you." The girl immediately reached up and lightly touched the bending girl's asshole with a finger. "More. Feel of it. Move your finger around it." She did. "Now kiss it." The girl looked up at the Mistress with a look of panic, saw the expression her face, then leaned forward and kissed the little dimple. "Use your tongue. Lick it." Still sobbing, the girl complied.

"Enough." She tapped the bending girl and said, "On your rug." Then looked at us. "Everybody." We scrambled to get to our individual rugs and into the proper position. She walked around us tapping the whip on the floor for a minute or so. Then said, "Anybody else who refuses an order in the future, will be sent to the punishment room where a man will do the discipline. He has a much stronger arm than I have and a lot more devices to make a little girl wish that her parents had never met. Does everybody understand?" There was a chorus of "Yes, Mistress." In the corner of my eye, I saw her leave the room and shut the door behind her.

Hours later, we were still in our positions, standing to stretch only at the single bell. We spent the rest of the morning and much of the afternoon just waiting. I still didn't know the names of my companions, but was afraid to say a single word, as apparently they were also.

In the late afternoon, the Mistress came back, got us started on the same naming and touching procedure, except now she required us to penetrate our companion when we touched her. We alternated back and forth, over and over for hours. At sometime during the early part of the session the Mistress left us to our ritual. We continued until she came back just before the evening meal bells. I was glad for the lesson to end, as my rear hole was beginning to get very sore from my partners continual prodding.

However, the lesson worked. Not only was the embarrassment of displaying one's body parts gone, but so had the reluctance to look at and touch another's. In fact, it had become boring and routine.

The next day was more of the same, only in a different format. This time, the girl would be laying on her back, and her partner would start at her feet, touching and feeling of every square inch as she slowly worked her way up to the other end. Our labia and nipples had to be bypassed since they were still sore from the piercing and the temporary hole keepers that were inserted. Once we got to our partner's face, we were then required to give her a long kiss on the lips after which the two girls changed positions. We were kept at that all morning.

When these routines ended, all embarrassment of the sight of female parts, ours or theirs, was gone - replaced by boredom.

At the end of one day's training, the Mistress stood in front of us and said, "All of you are not doing too badly. Just as misconduct is punished, effort is rewarded. Starting tonight, at three bells, you may have the thirty minutes before sleeptime to yourselves. Your rooms doors will be left open, you may leave and visit each other, if you wish." She popped the whip on the table. "You must not leave the red corridor for any reason."

A pause. "If any one of you commits an infraction, all of these privileges will be revoked. Remember that."

I marveled at the malleability of the human mind. A few weeks ago, I was a free female who could come and go as I pleased. Even at my tender age, I had seen many of the world's cities and wonders. Now, at three bells, I stood up and hesitantly walked to the open door, luxuriating in my new freedom - a freedom that seemed in my current circumstances to be equivalent to being a world traveler again. But in reality, the freedom only existed for a few small rooms and a short corridor.

I looked up and down the empty hall, then, almost fearfully, stepped out. The little black girl's head appeared in her doorway, and I walked toward her. Then the others appeared, again like me, almost furtive in their outward aspects - as though expecting any moment for punishment to descend on us for daring to leave our rugs.

The first order of our business, was of course, names.

The black girl called herself Sukie, I think. With her tongue piercing it came out as "Thookie." The girl with the brown tinted skin, (like me) was Tuana, and the older woman was Marjorie. Over the next few days we got to know much more about each other. All were here voluntarily, of course, but the other three had been sent by husbands. I was the only single girl among them. Of course, I couldn't reveal my real purpose, so I stayed within the truth and told them that I was the ward of a man who had sent me here. Of us all, only Marjorie had a deep accent, which showed that Turkish was not her milk language.

No aspect of a sexual situation was too small or ordinary to be made aware of. For instance, most of a week was devoted to the proper way to climb into a bed. One would think that something like this would be fairly apparent, since it was performed several billion times a day around the world. But here, it was an excruciatingly choreographed action.

Over and over, we would rise from a rug, and our kneeling position, slowly. Remove our two garments in a seductive manner, then looking over our shoulder, just so, toward but not at the man who was supine on the bed, we would put our...

Twack! The whip would pop. "You look like a goose with a broken neck flopping around. Your head should be looking like THIS... And your eyes are looking HERE... Start over!"

The leg would be lifted just so, and in such a way as the male could watch her crack open up to show the where the pleasures of the flesh might be found. Then with a subtle...

Whack! "You look like you are squatting to piss on the edge of the bed. He needs to see just a hint of your tunnel entrance, not something that looks like a prepared cauliflower salad... Do it again!"

Like any female ignorant of the fine art of seduction, I had always assumed that there was one way to get into bed, not a dozen, with variants on each of them.

Over and over and...

The weeks and months flowed by. I now knew more about a male nervous system than many doctors. But not a single one of us had touched a male's private parts or had been touched in return. All we had preformed on a male, so far, was to cause him to get an erection - or not.

On occasion, down a hall we would see other groups of females, usually wearing yellow or green neck silk, walking to wherever their destination was. But, mostly, all we ever saw were our group, Rana the Mistress and the young males that were our practice subjects. On occasion, another trainer would take over for the day and very seldom, the owner or equivalent would enter and look around.

One subtle change happened very slowly. As we progressed, Rana, and the other mistresses, became less aloof and, well, not friendly as in casual girl talking, but more informal. We could ask questions and even offer observations without constant fear of the stinging whip. This isn't to say that any of the instructors wouldn't take the skin off a girl for giving less than maximum performance, but we became more students and less bond girls.

We were taken to a small room with a window at one end and told to stand quietly, not to assume the position. Though the glass, we could see a furnished room with a real bed, curtains, and other civilized furniture that I had almost forgotten existed. At that moment, I realized that the window was probably one-way and that we were going to be spectators.

Sure enough, shortly a girl wearing the normal shapeless pullover and green neck silk, entered and assumed the submissive position on a rug at the foot of the bed. Shortly thereafter, our Mistress came back to us, and waited also. Eventually, a man entered the room, looked around for a few moments, then removed his robe - other than slippers, the only thing he was wearing. He wasn't of the same category of the immature males that we practiced on - this was a real man, older and self assured.

He lay down on the bed, on his back, and said something that we couldn't hear. I realized that the window was almost soundproof, in addition to being transparent only from our side.

Very quietly, Rana said, "Watch and learn."

The girl slowly got to her feet, removed her pullover and her halter, and sort of flowed, rather than walked to the side of the bed. She was big all over - big heavy breasts, and a set of hips to match, but the waist was narrow which only emphasized the size of the girl above and below. Brown skin, obviously of Middle Eastern extraction. Beautiful face. All in all, a woman that would cause man fights in any part of the world.

It is hard to describe her actions, but they dripped sensuality as she moved. This was a woman that I assumed was close to graduation. In any case, she made me move from thinking that I was getting pretty damned sexy, to feeling like a immature little girl who would offer to show her "thing" for a similar glimpse of his.

The girl slipped onto the bed, then moved closer to the side of the supine man. Some subtle touching with her hands, and with her breasts swinging back and forth through the male's line of vision, and he was rock hard and ready. I won't catalog her actions, but for most of an hour she manipulated his body, bringing him almost to climax, then backing off and letting him cool down - again and again. At one point, she slid backwards off the bed and slinked around to the other side.

He would reach for her, or some part of her, and attempt to bring her to some action. Without disobeying the man, she would distract him in some way and then continue her ministrations. Finally, she rolled over onto her back, and the man, now almost blind with lust, entered her and finally got his desired result. His orgasm rocked the bed and the big girl.

As we left the viewing room, I noticed that I was soaking wet with perspiration. So were the other girls. And there was a growing flame in my loins.

That evening, during our free time, Sukie and I discussed the act that we had seen. Suddenly, both of us were in the arms of each other, locked in a deep kiss, and clumsily trying to manipulate the clitoris of the other. Our juices were running strong and in a very short time we had brought each other to climax. A very good one on my part - I realized that the demonstration that I had seen today had aroused me greatly. Then we just lay there until the four bells indicated sleep time.

The next day, we exchanged our red silk for yellow. I assumed that meant that we had reached some plateau, but wasn't exactly sure of the significance. That soon became apparent.

We were led back to the area where we had been pierced, in the beginning. Noticing the familiar area, all of us were nervous about what was going to happen. We went into the back room one by one, just like last time, but the result was much more pleasant. As each girl came out, her plastic inserts were gone and she was sporting golden jewelry in place of the temporary hole keepers.

I was ordered in, but this time instead of being fastened to an examination table, I was just told to remove my clothes and stand straight. First, the woman removed the inserts in my earlobes and attached two small rings. A man, not the doctor person from last time, did something with two wires to each ring. Immediately after he did whatever it was, I felt a burst of cold. It was puzzling.

Next were my nipples. The rods came out, and two gold rings were inserted. As I watched, the man connected the wires with little clips just next to the break in the ring. As he pushed the open ends of the rings together I think he stepped on an actuator or switch on the floor. I saw the disconnected ends suddenly glow orange, then just as suddenly return to the normal luster of gold. The woman immediately inserted a swab inside the ring - a swab that had apparently just come out of ice water. Now I knew what the purpose was - to prevent the heat of welding from traveling around the ring to my flesh.

Next, I was told to lay back on the table, my legs were raised in stirrups, and the same procedure was done for the six rings in my inner labia.

Lastly, I was told to sit up, stick my tongue out and something was both removed from the hole in my tongue, and something else put back in. Having seen the insert of the favorite girl of my Master, I thought I knew what it looked like. If like hers, it would have a flat surface on top that was very rough and that would be used to stimulate various man parts. The bottom would have three balls in a stack, small medium and large, where the largest one was about six millimeters across and closest to the tongue. It would mostly be for inserting into the urethra of a man's penis for stimulation.

That was all. I was immediately replaced by Marjorie and sent back into the waiting room.

The tongue piercing was very apparent. My tongue kept exploring the object by moving around and rubbing it on various parts of the inside of my mouth. I knew that it would take a few days before I would cease to notice it.

All of these rings and piercings were permanent. That is, there was no feature to allow them to be removed, other than being cut off.

Back at our lecture room, we got to choose jewelry for our ear piercings. They just hooked on to the small rings in our earlobes and could be changed out at will. All of the selections were large, heavy and gold. I selected two large plain gold rings, almost fifty centimeters across. We giggled like adolescent girls as we examined each other's new adornment. There was a selection of smaller jewelry for use on the nipples and labia, but we were not offered them at this time.

From then on, all of us talked with a pronounced lisp from the tongue hardware.

Now we were yellow silk girls. What that meant, we soon found, was that the time for actual sex had come. I was ready. I had skills that would make a man like wet dough in my hands. I wanted to test them out.

Another change was our quarters. Like the previous, these were in a cul-de-sac marked with yellow stripes, but our individual cubicles were much more luxurious. They actually had a bed, and a small dresser with a mirror. We had really moved up in the world. It was time for each of us to become a seductress.

But first...

We were each given a replica of a male organ. A godemiche, or olisbos - what westerners call a dildo. We had used these before as instruction items during lessons on the sensitive parts of the male, but now we were actually going to use them. With a harness worn around the waist to hold the dildo in the proper position, one girl would play the part of the man, with her partner the courtesan. At first, we had trouble containing our amusement. In fact, several times a girl tasted the sting of Rana's whip as she, and often, her partner broke out in giggles.

For a month or more, we play acted with each other. Exploring the myriad of techniques for what would seem to be the simple task of inserting a long object into a soft yielding hole.

Interspersed with the physical aspects of copulation, we had other lessons. For instance, how to enter a room. One would think that would be fairly straightforward, but an entire day was devoted to the topic. Another was the proper way to remove her clothes. That also had several variations, depending on the circumstances and the attitude of the man.

And so on - topics that I would never have considered to be in the arena of sex, were lectured on, discussed, practiced and evaluated at length.

One of the more unpleasant aspects of our training began with the issuance of a long thin soft plastic rod. Not exactly a dildo - that is, it resembled a stylized version of a male organ, smooth on the side and rounded at the tip. A large flared base prevented it from being shoved up too far, or being lost in... what?

Rana held up mine for a moment. "Every morning before the first meal, you will spend five minutes practicing with this." I was puzzled. We had been poking each other with far larger instruments for the last few days - this little rod wasn't going to stretch or stimulate anything. She continued, "Like this..." We watched as she proceeded to swallow the entire length clear to the flared base. After pausing for a period of about ten seconds, she slowly withdrew it. By now, all of us were watching, goggle-eyed.

"This will require that you conquer the gag reflex. It doesn't take long, but it is important that you master it." She handed the tool back to me. "I expect all of you to be able to swallow the entire length within two weeks. Or you can be strapped down with your mouth held open and trained. Take your pick."

Finally, the day came in which we would put our training to actual use. Three of us were in the observation room watching Tuana, who was currently kneeling in the proper position on the rug. We were to evaluate her performance in detail so that it could be discussed in depth later.

Shortly a young man entered, walked over to look at the kneeling girl and stroked her hair. Then he removed his clothes and lay back on the bed. This was another young man, not high class from the look the attire that he had taken off. I wondered where the house got their subjects. Were they volunteers off the street, lured in by a promise of free sex? Were they paid employees? At the proper time, someday, I would ask.

Tuana began her performance. I thought she was pretty good, and long before she touched her "client", he was erect and ready. In about fifteen minutes, he had reached the point where he was no longer in control of his libido. In the middle of Tuana working the muscles of his neck, he grabbed her, rolled her on on her back, and proceeded to pump her for just a few seconds before he exploded.

We waited in our usual lecture room for Tuana to finish her shower. She entered tearfully, expecting the worst for her perceived failure.

We were pleasantly surprised when Rana said, "The girl did well for the first time." She motioned for Tuana to take her place on the rug. She looked at us for a minute, then continued, "The men - boys that yellow silk girls practice on are just that - boys. They are a set of gonads hooked to a penis that is usually erect. The problem is that when their organ engorges enough blood to get hard, there isn't enough left to operate their brain. They have no subtlety, no finesse - all they wish is to put their hard-ons into a pussy and begin fucking." She knelt down in front of us and smiled.

"We use them because they are cheap, plentiful and reload quickly. And because they are a better teaching item than a dildo. Later, when you become green silk girls, you will be practicing on real men - high class men who appreciate the skills that you are learning."

"I don't know anything about any of you - who has a husband, or boyfriend or is here on their own. But you probably know that the education that you get here is expensive, to say the least. You wouldn't be here if someone close to you, or yourself, wasn't very wealthy. When you leave here, your worth will be so high that only upper stratum men will ever be allowed to get close to you."

She turned to Tuana, who was definitely more cheerful than when she had first returned. "You did very well to keep that stud from taking you in the first five minutes." She turned to us. "Ok, what did she do. Both sides of the question. Good and bad."

The discussion went on for a long time, but I think it was more for our morale than any expectation of solid information coming out.

Sukie was next. Then Marjorie. Then... It was my turn.

As I knelt on the rug, I was furiously reviewing what had happened with the previous three girls. My idea was that each had tried to do too much too fast and pushed her subject over the line. I heard the door open, and a pair of legs came into view in front of me. A hand reached down to bobble one of my breasts under my garment.

Shortly, the man was on the bed and called for me. I went through all my training steps for initial contact, stood up and tried to seductively remove my clothes, moved over the the bed and climbed on the mattress. I briefly showed a bit of the inside of my pussy, and scooted up to him on my knees. Now I could see that he was a very young man, not bad looking and already hard and obviously wanting to put it in.

I began my repertoire, starting with some light moves, and all the time keeping a eye on the state of his testicles. If they began to disappear, then I was pushing him too fast. Nonetheless, despite all my previous plans, and resolutions to move slowly, he didn't last any longer than the others before I was on my back and he was pumping into me. As he climaxed and finally collapsed on top of me I was chagrined at my failure.

Again, Rana was very supportive of my effort, probably more from a first-time encouragement standpoint than any real belief in the superiority of my performance.

Back in the lecture room, she said, "Today you had your first experience with some rutting young studs whose only desire was to empty their balls as fast as possible. They would have gotten off with a slut from a bordello just as fast. In the future, they will be used twice a day. Once in the morning and again in the afternoon. The later use will be more significant since they will be much less horny after their nuts have been emptied once already."

"Eventually, you will be allowed to practice on older men - men who will be here to enjoy the experience, not just to hump a girl."

For more weeks we practiced our moves on the young men, morning and afternoon. As she had said, the afternoon sessions were the ones that were significant. With their testicles emptied earlier, the subjects were much more willing to allow us to proceed through our moves to completion. Some sessions were very satisfying, as the young man responded as we were willing them to do.

By now, all of us could swallow a penis all the way down to his balls, and manipulate it. We practiced endless hours on dildos - rubbing various parts of the skin with the rough top of our tongue piercing. Inserting the little ball stack on the bottom of the piercing was more difficult, since it had to be done with an eye out for the reactions of the male. Some who had never had that done before might translate the feeling as unpleasant, rather than an erotic feeling. We learned never to use the bottom piercing on an unknown male until he was well along in his erotic climb. Then, once past a certain point, any pain would be automatically interpreted by his nervous system as tillitating.

Of course, once it had been performed on a particular male a few times, they loved it and were expecting it to be performed on them. There was quite a repertoire that could be used with the little balls, pushing in and out like a little fuck session on his pee hole, or pushing the entire stack in as far as it would go, then squeezing on the head of his penis with the lips while withdrawing it. In fact, for a male who had never had the experience, it could be a overwhelming erotic feeling. All of us, at one time or another, were suddenly surprised during the procedure by a sudden gush of man-cream down our throats as the stimulation pushed our subject over the edge.

Our oral sex instructor was a mistress known as Yazmira. According to Rana, this woman could play a man like a concert violinist, just by using her mouth on his member. He would shoot off when and if she wanted, despite what his desires were. And I have to admit, she showed us techniques that I would have thought impossible for a human mouth to perform. Many, I have yet to master.

Interestingly, we realized that, unlike the tongue piercings in our mouths, those in the mistresses' were removable at will. I assume that was because the piercing fractured speech so badly, that it would have interfered with verbal instruction. Of course, we as potential someday courtesans, were not expected to use our mouths for speech, so the heavy lisping was not considered anything to be concerned about.

Suddenly all woman-months of training were coming together. We luxuriated in the power that we had over the young male subjects. They had their favorites among us, and even favorite techniques from each girl. And our enjoyment was for the knowledge of our ability - there was nothing sexual about it on our part. I never had an orgasm while performing, and I don't believe any of the other girls did either. It wasn't a sexual act - it was a intricately planned, carefully choreographed, minutely monitored act to reach a certain goal. The immense satisfaction that we got when all went well was almost orgasmic - after a session when we played the reactions of the man, up and down, on and on, knowing that he lusted for our bodies, but delayed in taking them because of his intense desire to find out what exotic pleasures we would perform on his quivering body next.

That being said, does not mean that we had totally abrogated our own needs. Many were the free periods before sleep when a girl pair was desperately relieving each other of sexual pressures. It is just that we didn't really connect our new profession with our own erotic needs. A man wasn't a sexual object, he was a goal, a target, an object to be manipulated. The feeling of power was overwhelming. I began to wonder if my goal of learning so as to duplicate the training for my own business was all that important.

But, the important realization that had began to dawn on me is that I was good at this.

We were given green silk to wear around our necks.

"All of you are green silk girls. What you know is far beyond what the ordinary female would ever learn." Rana was lecturing us after giving us our new color. "It is time for you to learn how to be courtesans." We looked at each other in amazement. What had the last many months taught us? We knew we were highly trained, desirable women whose grasp of the sexual act was... Rana smirked as she read our thoughts. "You think that you are already close to the plateau of courtesanship. All you are right now are some ignorant cunts who have managed to learn a few techniques that might - and I emphasize the word 'might' - lead to becoming a courtesan someday." She pointed her finger at each of us in turn. "Tomorrow, your real training starts. And it will be far more intense than what you have been through."

In growing astonishment we kneeled on our rugs, frozen. The months proceeding were the most involved, intense and work filled days that I could have ever imagined. And now we were going to really start learning? What? What else could possibly be taught about sex?

"Probably none of you will become blue silk. In fact, very few girls do. For one of two reasons." She ticked them off on her fingers. "One, your significant others may not wish to pay for the training - it is very expensive. And two, and the most likely, you will not achieve the level of ability to be blue silk." She looked at each of us for a moment. "That is not a disgrace. Courtesanship is like anything else - some have more ability than others in a particular field. Remember, as you leave here as a green silk girl, you will be levels of magnitude above the average woman in sexual skills." She motioned us to rise. "Follow me."

As green silk girls, our quarters changed. This time we were in a suite, small individual bedrooms off of a larger common room, with an open shower in one corner. There were even books on shelves and a small television. We suddenly felt like millionaires.

Once Rana pointed each of us to our new bedrooms, she said, "You have the rest of the day to yourselves. Beginning tomorrow, the free time bells will ring here an hour before the midday meal and and the same before the evening meal. You must not leave this area suite without permission." With that she left.

What luxury! We now had two hours of free time every day. We could read, watch TV, or retire to an individual girl's room and enjoy each other. The rest of the day, we just sort of wandered around luxuriating in our new freedoms. And we discussed what Rana could possibly mean by saying that our training starts tomorrow.

Our first day of green silk training was unpleasant, to say the least. We fitted each other with a strap harness around the waist and upper legs, then inserted into each other an anal widener, to be worn all day during our lessons. Apparently, Marjorie was an old hand at anal sex and actually enjoyed the stimulation of walking around with a plastic plug up her butt. I definitely did not - in fact, before I came here all of the sex that I had ever had with males could have been enumerated on the fingers of one hand, and none of it had to do with my rear end. In fact, I had never even heard of anal sex until I entered my Master's dungeon.

In my case, the shaft was not painful, but just an unpleasant intrusion into someplace that I didn't consider sexual. Rana assured me that the feeling was only temporary, that in a day or so I would barely feel it, and also, that eventually anal sex would seem quite normal. I reserved my opinion.

It was removed at night and every two days a slightly larger shaft would be inserted. Sure enough, as she said, in a few days I forgot that it was inserted. As I mused about the procedure at night, I realized that all sense of embarrassment in our crew was totally gone. Being told to shove a piece of plastic up our companion's butt hole might have caused us to wonder why, but there was no hesitation in doing so from any sense of shyness over the intimacy at the action.

There was a room - actually a large lounge where men would sit and talk, play cards, watch TV and in general, do what I assume that men do when they get together. I didn't know if they were customers, employees, hangers-on or why they were there. But, we would be brought into the room, in which kneeling rugs were placed at random, and while carefully keeping our eyes lowered, would remove our garments - pullover and halter, leaving only the silk around our neck - then kneel, naked, in the proper position, knees spread, hands on our thighs and heads lowered.

We were never physically touched, and I assumed that it was forbidden, but often the discussion would be about an individual girl. Some of the comments would have seemed sexist, or insulting to my less enlightened sisters in the outside world. I remember feeling a deep sense of satisfaction when I heard two men discussing my intimate anatomy between them. At that point all I desperately wanted in the world was for one of them to take me to a bed and allow me to work my skills on his body.

At night I would try to remember the importance of why I was here - to be trained so that I could train others. But soon the thought would trail off and be replaced by an image, glimpsed only through furtive glances from downcast eyes, of a man who had discussed the use of my body that day. At ever fewer intervals, I feared that I was truly on the way to becoming a real courtesan.

Eventually our sphincter muscles became pliant enough to be able to practice anal sex with each other. Just like vaginal sex, this act had multiple manifestations and permutations. We explored every one of them over and over.

Much of our lecture time was now in an observation room, where other green silk girls would perform. There was much less emphasis on the mechanical aspects and far more on reading the changing situation during the act. Rana emphasized that unlike the young studs that we were used to, older men were much more discriminating. For them, there was more to sex than just pushing in and out, and to keep one man happy on a permanent basis, the girl had to evolve her patterns and techniques. Plus, every man had different likes and dislikes. Where one may become a rutting man slave during an oral sex session, another may consider it to just be a convenient way to become lubricated. For some, anal sex was the be-all end-all of stimulation - for others, it was disgusting. The courtesan had to read all of this - preferably before the act even started, but during if some indication of dissatisfaction came up.

The observation room here was not as before, with an obviously one way mirror on the wall. This one had multiple hidden high definition cameras covering all aspects and we watched on large screen monitors. Rana would continually ask us to narrate what was happening - not the physical process, but the action and reaction of both parties to stimulation.

Several days were devoted to bondage and discipline. Rana informed the girls that many men got off on a restrained girl, or a punished girl. This was nothing new to me and I smiled inwardly as I thought of my Master - an acknowledged world wide expert on the dual subject.

We explored the various ways of restraint, and I even pointed out some that were not mentioned - an act that raised eyebrows on Rana as she wondered where in the world I had garnered such information.

The discipline training was only for learning reactions to pain. Rana asked if any of the girls got off on being punished physically. None did. She mentioned that on occasion a student would actually enjoy the punishment - another fact that I knew to be true.

We would be restrained on our backs, or bent over, or with arms suspended from the ceiling and legs spread apart. Rana would lash us with a cloth whip while we tried to act as if the pain was severe. We were being trained to move our bodies in as erotic a fashion as our bonds would allow - breasts bouncing, muscles trying to pull our legs together or up, arms jerking, hands clenching and unclenching, head tilted back as we screamed and pleaded. All to make the man doing the punishment think that it was severe and to play on his erotic pleasure so as to stop the action and begin to enjoy the results. Tuana kept treating the training as a joke, and something to laugh at. She stopped laughing when Rana exchanged the cloth whip for the wide punishment strap. Shortly, Tuana was bouncing her boobs and screaming for real. After that, all of us treated the lesson with deadly seriousness.

One thing I noticed that night is that Tuana almost couldn't be satisfied by Marjorie. They were still locked in each others arms when the sleeping bells chimed.

The young men were made available for practice on oral sex. They would lay there as we tried all kinds of techniques on them. Eventually, they would erupt, the girl would have to swallow the result, clean it up, then wait for a few minutes for the sensitivity of his dick to subside, then she could resume her practice. I developed a technique where I could swallow his member as I was facing his head, kneeling between his legs, or straddling them. This would allow me to drag the end of the ball stack of my lower tongue piercing up and down the underside of his penis, following the seam upward from his nuts. As I learned how much pressure to apply, it became a very good method for stimulation. In fact, sometimes the boy would grab my arms or head in response to the feeling.

I was first, this time.

Hesitantly, and with some trepidation, I knelt at the foot of the bed waiting for my first real man. My arrogance at my skills in dominating young men was gone - destroyed by what I had observed in watching experienced girls work on mature men. I was back to feeling the same as in the beginning - a novice, unsure of herself and hoping not to be a flat failure.

I reviewed what I knew about the preferences of the client. Unlike the horny throw-away studs of the yellow silk girls, these men were well-to-do clients. I still had no idea as to their relationship to the school, but it was made plain to us that their satisfaction was to be utmost in our minds. This one had a fairly ordinary set of preferences, anal sex being one of them but not to the exclusion of all else.

I heard the door open and tensed inside. A man walked around and stopped in front of me. "How are you called?" he asked. Arabic, this time - not Turkish. High class diction, but I couldn't quite place the accent.

"My name is Teema, Master," I answered, keeping my eyes on the floor.

"Well, Teema, help me out of my clothes and join me on the bed."

I rose, still not seeing his face, and began to assist him as he removed a set of Middle Eastern robes and sandals. Then he assisted me in removing my two garments, after which he moved to the bed and lay back. This wasn't a young walking groin, so I made sure not to flash my entire crack in his face as I climbed onto the tall bed, and scooted up to him. I began a slow massaging of his chest, letting my right hand stray down and around other parts of his body. He responded just as fast as one of the young studs and was just as hard. As I settled down to work, my training came into play. I forgot the watching cameras. I no longer cared about his status. He became a goal - something to be achieved. My hands played up and down his body, on occasion lightly followed by my tongue. My breasts just barely rubbed their nibbles across his chest as I massaged his head and ears and scalp. His rod was already leaking a bubble of semen as I lightly stroked the bottom with my tongue and piercing.

I could see his testicles rise close to the danger point, as I moved to the other end of his body. I slapped the soles of his feet with my palms and massaged the bottoms. This was a feel good, but non-arousing move. I monitored his descending balls until I determined that the danger had been passed.

I had no idea of his like or dislike of anal play on himself, so I lightly allowed my fingers to approach and recede from his asshole. Then closer and harder, and finally a single wet finger lightly probed the hole. His cock throbbed at the touch and his balls tightened up. That answered that question.

The rest of the world disappeared. There was nothing in my universe but the responding male body in front of me and my moving hands and body. I gently pulled him over on his side to better work on some new territory. Of course, by happenstance, this just happened to put my pudenda in his full view as I worked his back and buttocks. Shortly, I had to spread my knees apart and lay my breasts on his body to get a better purchase for what I was doing. It was just a coincidence that he could now look straight into my wide open crack - at least, it appeared to be.

Pushing him on his back, my tongue ran up and down his spine. Then lower, circling that forbidden hole, but never quite touching it. Then once again, a different massage to give a timeout. Finally, I decided he was ready. After letting him cool down a bit so that he didn't just blow off at the first entry, I completed the roll to his other side, then with my back to him, snuggled up in the spoons position with his arm over me and on my breasts. I lifted my leg, and let him choose the hole he wanted to use. Sure enough, it was the back one. Letting my leg back down after he had fully entered and began to pump, I lay my upward arm back across his lower half. It wasn't long enough to do any work on his prostate, but I circled his asshole and dimpled it as he started reaching his crescendo.

After a time, he shot off, violently, on and on. The rectum has few nerves, but I could feel the warm liquid gushing into me. I just lay there until he pulled out on his on volition, then rolled over to continue my post-coitus feel down. I hoped he was satisfied. He appeared to be as he toyed with my nipples.

Finally, he said, "Teema, I understand that you are not married." By now I was back to the mode of not looking at a male in the face. I affirmed my single status. "I am very wealthy, with a mansion and villas all over the world. I would be pleased to have you with me as my concubine." I said nothing, mostly from utter surprise. "You would have only the best - silks and slaves, gold baubles and the like. My home is rich in tapestries, counterpoint and sculpture. You would have the freedom to come and go as you wish."

Holy fucking shit, as my Master would say. I have just been offered the opportunity to... what? sell myself, I decided. Think of something, you dumb broad. "Mas'er is ooh kind." Thinking furiously, I continued as the piercing made me sound like some cartoon character. "But iss girl belongs ooh 'e man ooh 'as pwaced 'er in is school. How'wver, 'e offer iss greawly appweciated an iss girl will assure the Mas'er that she will give it consideration when 'e girl weaves iss estabwishment." Crap. What a steaming pile of hokum. Any school girl could have come up with something besides that.

Apparently it wasn't too offensive a reply. He smiled and began to rise. I immediately, slid off the bed, walked to my rug and assumed the proper position. He finished dressing, walked over to me and reached down to massage a titty.

"Good day, Teema."

"Goo' 'ay, Mas'er."

I joined the other girls in the observation room, then suddenly had an attack of nerves. I had to kneel down on my rug before I fell down. I suddenly remembered that I still had Rana's evaluation to go yet. The others came over and knelt beside me. "How was it," Marjorie asked. All of us had the bad lisp, but this is the gist of the conversation.

"Nerve racking until I got started," I answered. "All I could think of was, 'don't make him shoot off before he enjoys himself a little.'" I looked around for Rana, but she wasn't in the room yet. "I was just hoping that I could make him last for at least fifteen minutes," I continued. "I think I did."

Sukie looked at me - to see if I was joking, I think. "Fifteen minutes!" she exclaimed. "You were in there for an hour and a half! Hell, we thought you were going to spend the night with him."

I looked at her in disbelief. No way it was that long. Then I saw Marjorie nodding. I just kneeled there, reviewing what had happened.

Rana entered and sent me off to shower. Afterward began the evaluation. I only listened with half an ear. I was still trying to sort out the timeline on my performance. The midday meal bells rang.

The next day, Sukie was scheduled for a session later in the morning. For now, we had started learning about the multitude of sex toys that might be used for play. Anal beads were on the agenda, and Marjorie was kneeling over on the table with the end of a string hanging out of her asshole. Rana was about to demonstrate the method of removing them for maximum pleasure, when a normally dressed woman appeared in the door way and summoned both myself and Rana.

As we walked down the hall, I was on pins and needles. This had to have something to do with my performance yesterday. I had already gone over and over in my mind all the multitude of ways that my replies to the client could have been improved.

Finally we turned a corner to an elaborately engraved wooden door. My heart almost stopped. This was the office of the owner of the establishment. Oh my god! I wasn't Christian - actually, I wasn't anything, but the exclamation seemed appropriate. Was I going to be expelled? Walking though the now open door, still with my eyes on the floor, the woman pointed and I instantly dropped to my knees on the indicated rug. I assumed that Rana did the same, but I couldn't see and my eyes were frozen straight ahead on the floor.

A set of legs appeared in front of me - Suliman's I assumed. There must have been a non-verbal command because the woman said, "Rise Teema. Remove your garments."

I rapidly rose to my feet, pulled the bag dress over my head then followed by my halter. I dropped both to the floor. My eyes were still frozen on a section of the wooden floor with a particular pattern in the grain. Hours seemed to pass.

Finally a man's voice. "I have received reports on your progress, Teema." What did I do? Answer? Wait? Fortunately, he continued. "A client was very satisfied with your performance. The instructors believe that you have the skill and aptitude to become an elite courtesan. I will report that to your master." He walked around me and out of my vision. "However, since you are here on your own accord, part of the decision will be yours." What decision? To stay? Leave?

"What is her timeline?" This to someone else.

I recognized Rana's voice in answer, "She has just become green silk, Master."

"Hmmm. So soon after?" His lower body entered my vision again. "Look up, Teema."

Yes, it was Suliman - the same man as talked to my master on the day that I was enrolled. I looked him in the eyes, for a few seconds, then leaving my head leveled, dropped my eyes again - more from habit than anything else.

"Teema," he began, "You have permission to speak at any time." A pause. "From time to time we take certain students who show exceptional promise and put them into a special program. They receive instruction that is beyond even what green silk girls end with. You possibly have the skills to excel as a courtesan. And notice that I say possibly - at this stage of your training there is no certainty. But skill and aptitude are not enough - it also requires absolute single minded concentration on achieving that level of eliteness."

I waited.

"You probably have the skill and aptitude," he continued. "The question is, do you have the concentration and the desire? This isn't a slave camp - it is your decision." He stepped up close to me. "For now, all you have to do is answer one question. If your master approves, do you wish to attempt the special training?"

In a dawning realization - NO! It was more like the sun coming out after a major storm. I did want it. More than the trivial business that I thought of starting that was the reason for my being here. I looked up and into his eyes and said quietly, "Yeth, Mas'er. A girl wants 'at more 'an any'hing."

On the way back to our lecture room, I realized that I meant what I had said. "More than anything," was accurate. I would concentrate with a single minded intensity on the task. I would become a blue silk girl.


Chapter 2

Nothing changed after my visit to the Suliman's office. Besides, it might not change. My master in America who was footing the bill for this education had to approve of my entry into advanced classes. And one thing I understood, was that the cost for such classes was astronomical. Probably far beyond my whole inheritance, which, of course, I didn't have possession of yet.

Besides, I was barely green silk. I had a long way to go before dreaming of the epitome of courtesanship - the blue silk girl. Heck, I had never even seen a trace of blue silk yet.

Lectures continued every day, usually with one of us having a session with a man that day. That meant that each of us preformed with and on a man every four days on the average. That didn't include minor sessions with what we thought of privately, as yellow silk studs. They were used for us to practice on to hone a particular technique that we either needed to perfect, or wanted to expand on.

Following every girl's action with a man, her performance would be examined in such detail to as to make the after game evaluations of major soccer games look like a casual rerun. No girl was punished for a failure. In fact, she was encouraged - no, required to point out her failings as they were viewed on the TV.

By now our status was such that we could request time with a young man to attempt to recreate the action that had failed, or at least was unsatisfactory. Usually, the other three, and sometimes an instructor, would be watching also. In this mode, the satisfaction of the boy was unimportant - they were told to cooperate with us. Only once did a boy get out of hand - angry that Tuana wouldn't perform what he demanded, hitting her across the face so hard that she had a black eye for the next couple of weeks. Rana instantly disappeared from the viewing room, and in less than a minute, two huge men entered the room and the young man was removed from our sight - and not gently. In fact, we never saw him again.

The word must have gotten around, since the others treated us with much more respect from then on.

We were far beyond any possibility of being embarrassed at any sexual sight or action, but that didn't mean that we couldn't be shocked. Another instructor, Talya, gave us a demonstration that had us goggle eyed.

She was lecturing on different pressure points of a man's scrotum area, when the young man whispered to her. She walked to the cabinet and retrieved a beaker. Handing it to the boy, she indicated that he was to use it. Right there, he peed into the glass container, then handed it to the Mistress.

She held it up, looked at the overhead light shining through it, then put it to her lips and took a healthy swallow.

Mouths open, we could do nothing but stare. She smiled at our shock, then said. "Sukie, what is this called?"

Sukie managed to get out a "U... u... urine, Mistress."

"What else... Marjorie?"

"Pee?... Mistress." the older girl said quietly.

"Yes," confirmed the instructor. "Urine, pee, piss. Despite its reputation for being a nasty liquid, not to be mentioned in polite society, when it comes out of a body, unless that person is diseased, it is sterile and safe to drink. She handed it to Tuana. "Taste it."

Aghast and wide eyed, Tuana stared at the beaker that she had just taken. We had long been taught that refusal was not an option to a command, so she hesitatingly put the glass to her mouth and took a sip. "You next," pointing at Marjorie. She gave it a taste. Next it was me and then finally Sukie.

"Notice that it doesn't have much taste. Neither is it dangerous to drink." She took the glass back. "Why am I telling you this?" Marjorie raised her hand and Talya nodded to her.

Without dwelling on the lisping and fractured words, she replied, "Because some men get off by having women drink their urine."

"Correct. The slang used for that is a 'Golden Shower.' You may or may not have a man who requires you to perform this. Just know that it is not in anyway harmful to drink." She handed the glass back to the boy with a gesture to dispose of it. "It is unlikely that you will have this come up - few men who are wealthy enough to afford a real courtesan, will waste her on such an activity. He can find any number of sluts to perform it on. The same goes with that subset of men who make a woman eat shit." That opened our eyes again. "Yes, that happens also." She was amused at our reaction. "Rest easy. You will not have to perform that here."

There were four sets of very visible relief in the room.

We now had what is called in a college, as elective courses. Two hours a day in the morning we could spend in practicing anything we wanted, or to read about it in the massive library of sexual information. Many of the books were in English, which myself and Marjorie could read, so sometimes we read aloud to the other two girls. Sometimes we would double up to test a particular technique, both of us trying to figure out a better procedure, or giving advice for something else to try. On occasion, the poor young man would have all four of us working him over as we attempted to improve on an action.

But, the best training was actual sex with men. Some time in the past, the school had decided that more often than every three days didn't give a girl time to analyze her last session, and more than five days between them might cause her to begin to become stale. So we averaged about four days between "clients."

Each time we honed our skills a little sharper. Actually, there was little to improve on as to our physical techniques. The main emphasis was still on "reading" the man. A misread client could have a disastrous result, as far as satisfaction went. Some men would want no holds barred sex, intense stimulation leading up to a massive orgasm. Some were looking more for companionship, to "cuddle" as it were, with the actual sex act put off for a while, and much more sedate when it came. Mistaking one for the other was not acceptable.

The most challenging was the unknown - the man whom nobody had serviced before. Then the girl had to start the action cold, with no advanced knowledge, changing her routine as she discovered what he liked and disliked. I have to say, that the sexual experience that he got from us was so far above the efforts of the average lay-on-her-back-with-spread-legs girl, that even a bad performance was rated by the man as superior.

I came to realize that the offer of companionship that I had received as my first green silk girl session, was not at all uncommon. All of the girls received the offer from time to time.

We now were in the company of men very often. It was done so that we would automatically react to the presence of a male with the proper decorum, i.e. eyes down deference, shyness, total silence. Unless we were being led somewhere by someone, we were always in the courtesan position in the presence of a man.

Now we began to experiment with different garments. We were introduced to a very large room in the basement - the clothery. In it was every kind of habiliment that a girl could imagine, and some that were beyond imagining. In one section, a girl could cloth herself to look like a sensational female world figure and in another, like the actress in some outlandish Hollywood Arabian Nights movie.

Our instruction moved into the idea of threesomes. Sometimes two girls on one man, other times two men would service one girl. All two men/one girl acts were performed with our young men and only for training - there being apparently no call for it from the upper class clientele. But, on occasion a man would ask for two girls for his session. This took some close cooperation between the girls, as being worked over by two young women will push a normal man over the edge in short order. These sessions were usually much shorter than usual, since there was no tendency for the intimacy that usually developed between one man and one woman. It was just a pure sexual act.

Late one afternoon, I received another summons from the office. The same woman escorted me, and again, pointed me to the rug to assume the position. Suliman walked up and told me to rise, but this time he left my clothes on.

"Teema," he began. "Your Master, the esteemable Mr. Tatum, has agreed to your continuation of training, if you wish, and if you succeed in your current course."

Happiness flooded over me as I tried not to grin. I held my expression down to a smile. "Thank you, Master. That is wonderful news for this girl."

He continued, "He also asked me to tell you that it is 'on the house'. That you need not use your inheritance to pay for the service." I was looking down, but I sensed his puzzlement. "I'm not sure what the reference to the house is, but I assume that you do."

"Yes, Master. Again, thank you very much. A girl will try very hard to succeed."

I wasn't just smoothing him. I was focused with maniacal intensity on learning everything. Except for the occasional times that I just had to have some sexual release, and chose a partner among my friends for the action, I spent my free time either in the library or practicing something on one of the boys. If they had allowed me to take one to bed every night, I would have done that, also.

We lost Tuana. Her husband had come to visit her, and, probably overwhelmed by her skill, decided that she was trained to his satisfaction. We all cried as we wished her goodbye, and exchanged addresses so that we could communicate after all of us left here. For the rest of the day, we were gloomy and worthless as sex girls. Rana knew this, and left us alone in our grief. Besides, I am sure that she was sorry to see the young girl leave, also.

My training began to change. I was taken upstairs for the first time, and let into a fully furnished bedroom. I knew that this session would last much longer when I was told to bring my little hygiene bag. When Yazmira closed the door behind me, I quickly glanced around to make sure I was alone. Then I quickly inspected the room. It had nothing but the usual furniture, although there was nothing cheap in the room. After making sure that there were no surprises, I knelt down on the rug to wait. I now had a full set of jewelry. Not only the big gold rings dangling from my ears, but my nipple rings were connected by a short and drooping length of fine gold chain. From my six labia rings dangled fine short chains that ended in small gold weights, in each of which were set small rubies - three each spaced around the perimeter. All in all, I was wearing a small fortune in jewelry. Men enjoying pulling on the labia chains - my pussy would spread like a flower when both sets were pulled sideways. For some reason, that had a major erotic effect on a man.

That evening, the man who came in was very high upper class. His diction immediately proved that. I knew before the session that he was the owner of the largest shipping company in the city. He wasn't bad looking, although that had nothing to do with anything. About fifty years of age, so he would probably be limited to a single act per day, although I could force more than that if he wanted. But he had possession of me (rented? leased? lent?) for two days. The report from him would have a great impact on my future and I vowed that when he left, he would be as empty as olives from the press.

I knew that any fifty year old man who was expecting two days of companionship would not want to climb on me and empty his seed immediately. This would require a much more subtle approach than my usual two hour bang-bang sessions.

He undressed, got into bed, and I did the same. But instead of beginning an arousal procedure on him, I assumed the helpless little female routine and snuggled up to his side. He immediately began to roam his hands around my body, which I expected, assuming that he was a man with normal desires. I just touched him here, and there, a tweak on this, a casual nip there - nothing erotic, just a shy young girl, timidly touching the important entrepreneur.

As time went by I slowly increased my stimulation. Two hours later, I knew that he would soon be ready for sleep, and I began to bring him to the upper stages of desire. Soon, he was breathing heavily as I began to apply more intense stimulation. Finally, I let him know that I couldn't wait any longer and for him to please put it inside me and give me relief with his rock hard male member. Both of us seemed to cum at the same time, he collapsed onto me, gasping. Shortly, after a bathroom trip, he was sound asleep. I got up and quietly ran water for a bath, then lay back in the scalding hot water and continued to read the book that I had stashed in my hygiene bag.

By the end of the second day, he was relaxed, drained and satisfied. He told me honestly that there was nothing left in this old man - that I had extracted it all. I assured him that he was underestimating both himself and me. By now, the shy little girl was gone, morphed into a confident courtesan who knew how steer a naked man in any direction she wanted. It took a while, along with lots of use of my tongue jewelry, and a vigorous prostate massage, but he ripped out another orgasm that I knew would be the last until he had several days of recharging.

I decided that I must have been satisfactory - I got another offer of companionship. This time with a spare-no-expense offer of anything I wanted. And I was true to my vow. When he left he was as dry as the Sahara - a covey of heaven-sent virgins couldn't have gotten anything to rise.

Marjorie was gone. I was told later that she had reached the the highest level that she was likely to obtain, and her husband came and took her away. I missed her - she was a pleasant woman, skilled in sex, never complained and was always cheerful. I knew that her husband would have no complaints once she started working on his body.

Of the four, only Sukie and I were left. We spent most of our nights together. She was a warm and soft companion who always tried to give more than she got.

I spent another two nights and a day with a wealthy... well, I never did quite understand what he did. But he was younger than the last one and much more vigorous. Also more dominant. Upon his arrival, he himself removed my clothes, turned me around and fastened my wrists together behind me with some kind of manacles. I immediately changed into the slavegirl role, but this time I had to perform without my hands - a definite handicap for a woman of my profession. Nonetheless, with just my mouth and the strategic display and use of my body parts, along with my helpless servile role playing, he left after the second night with aching testicles and a well exercised penis.

Sukie and I began to practice the routine in which the supposed man was accompanied with his significant other - a wife or girlfriend. One of us would play the part of an ordinary sensually deficient woman while the other used her skills on both. Of course, the part of the male would be played by one of our usual young studs. We enjoyed trying to bring the other woman to climax, despite her trying to act like the dumb wife. Of course, by now each of us knew intimately the wants and desires of the other, so it was usually easy for myself to trigger Sukie to her orgasm, or her to mine.

I had practically memorized the Kama Sutra and several other books from the library. I was always trying one of the positions on a young male, trying to decide which were of erotic use and which were just to show that they could be done. Many techniques and routines were almost impossible to do or get into without help. On occasion I would ask Sukie to accompany me to assist myself and my male partner with some of the more esoteric contortions.

During one of these more laughable attempts, Rana suddenly entered the room and popped each of us on the behind. "You are supposed to be working, not giggling like little girls who just saw their first penis." Her smile robbed her words of any serious meaning, but, nonetheless, we got back down to serious study.

A black day arrived. Sukie told me that she was leaving, that her husband would be here tomorrow to pick her up. I asked permission of Rana for us to be able to spend the day together and she granted it. We lay in our room, both feeling and enjoying each other, between burst of tears. The black girl lived in South Africa so the possibility existed that we would never see each other again, but we still exchanged addresses and promises to keep in touch. The next morning, I met her husband, briefly - a real man. Intelligent, well built, educated. As he was doing whatever was required to get her released, I tried to cheer her up by offering to go in her place. I assured her that it would be a pleasure to be dominated by a man like that.

I sat in my room, depressed, just sadly thinking over the time that I had been here. We four strangers had become the closest of friends, and knew each other far more intimately than any man would ever come close to knowing us. I knew that we would never be back together again. A sad time, but life moves on. I removed my garments, turned the only light to low and laid down and cried softly, thinking of each of my now departed friends.

In a while, I was startled to feel a hand on my shoulder. Who...

It was the Mistress Rana, kneeling beside me.

Stunned, I immediately tensed and attempted to get to my kneeling position, but her firm hand held me in place. She reached up and pulled the bag dress over her head, then her halter. Then she lay down beside me and pulled me close, her arms around me. At this point I really broke down, and it all came out. Long racking sobs along with rivers of tears.

All this time, her hands were randomly stroking my body in a soothing pattern. Eventually I ran down, and began to attempt to pull myself together. Suddenly, I realized that her movements weren't random after all. I looked up at her solemn face, and she only had to move a few inches for our lips to find each other. I suddenly realized that this woman was as expert at manipulating the body of another woman as I was a man. She was much older than me, but far more lush and, well... sexy than I was. She had big hips, and a waist that wasn't a teenager's anymore, but was still as narrow as a woman her age could have. Above massive breasts she had full lips that were pressed against mine.

Suddenly, I wanted this woman more than I ever desired sex with a man.

Afterwards, we lay there in each other's arms until I fell asleep, exhausted - from the sadness, the temporary depression, and the intimacy like I had never experienced before tonight.

A few days later, Rana surprised me when she handed me her whip. Since that wonderful night that she helped me over my emotional hump, our relationship had subtly changed. She was still my mistress, and I made very sure to act as her acolyte and assumed no additional privileges because of our bonding session. Nonetheless, our relationship slowly merged friendship with professional respect. On infrequent occasions she would enter my room at night and we would enjoy one another again.

"We have three new girls coming in today. I want you to monitor them to make sure that they get started in proper fashion. Bring their clothes to my room."

"Yes Mistress," I replied with a smile. "I know that new girls can be very sloppy in their deportment."

Shortly, the office woman came down the red silk hall with a young girl following. Her charge was not frightened, but was obviously apprehensive. With a nod, she handed the girl off to me and left. I motioned the novice into one of the rooms and followed her in.

As she stood there looking nervously at my whip, I inspected her. Very nice, probably twenty years of age or so, not beautiful, but pretty - no man was going to refuse any offer of using her. From her clothes, she was probably European.

"Remove your clothes," I said in Turkish. I had to speak fairly slowly so that I could annunciate the words around the tongue piercing. My speech had gotten much better over the months, but there was still a pronounced lisp that probably would never go away until the jewelry did.

She looked back blankly at me. I tried Arabic. Nothing.

Hmmm. If she would say something it would help. "Entfernen Sie Ihre Kleidung." No? "Enlevez vos vêtements." She couldn't possibly be oriental, so I had to hit something eventually. "Rimuova i vostri vestiti." That did it. She reached up to the top button on her blouse and hesitated. "Now! All of them," I commanded in Italian. She immediately began to disrobe. Then she stood there in the usual and futile female position of trying to hide behind her hands. A good looking body - like me she was either shaved or dipilated all over.

"Kneel on the rug, facing away from the door." As she assumed a kneeling position, I knelt down facing her and set the whip on the floor. "The proper position for a girl is like this." I stood up with the whip and place the end of it between her legs. "Knees wider apart. Move your hands up to here. Bow your head - a girl's eyes are always lowered and on the floor in front of them."

I walked around behind her and gently touched her back with the end of the whip. She jumped. "This is what is called 'The Position.' You will always assume it when you enter a room, and most definitely in the presence of a mistress or a male. You do not speak unless spoken to and you will insert the word 'Mistress' somewhere in each sentence." I lectured her on the bells, and what to do at each of them, then left her.

Shortly, the other two were delivered and properly instructed. One of the two girls was almost prepubescent. She couldn't have been more than fourteen years of age. When I asked Rona about it, she told me that many times they had received students whose breasts hadn't even filled out. It was thought that the best courtesans were those who started training at an age before her body began to develop urges.

For the rest of the day, I peered into their rooms on occasion to make sure that they were properly submissive and in the proper position. One girl, just like me on the first day, immediately turned to get her food tray before the proper bells had rung.

Stepping into the room, I echoed those words that had unpleasantly surprised me long ago. "Stupid cunt! Do you think the rules do not apply to you!?" Whack went the whip across her back, followed by a scream. "Get in position! Did I not tell you that eating time is when the two bells have rung!?" Another crack of the whip and another scream. I picked up her tray and set it back in the hall for the food service worker to pick up. She would go hungry until the evening meal.

Back in the hall, I leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. That was the first time in my life that I had ever struck another person with anything, let alone a whip. Well, not entirely. I had lightly whipped a woman who had disobeyed me back at my Master's dungeon. The feeling was... I couldn't define the emotion, but I began to understand the feelings of having another helpless body under your control. Interesting. Could a person be a dominant and a submissive at the same time? Turn one off and the other on at will? That would require some thought.

Later, I caught one other girl looking around, rather than properly keeping her eyes on the floor in front of her. I left her wearing a pair of red stripes across her back.

For the next few days I monitored my charges as they knelt interminably in their room, wondering just what they had gotten into.

The library was only just down the hall, so I spent the days reading and doing more research.

My training was becoming even more intense, but not in the physical meaning. I was now being instructed, one on one, by any of the three teachers, Rana, Talya, or Yazmira. Each had their specialty and in each were still far beyond my skills. They were still my mistresses and I gave them the full respect of their station, but, instead of just another miscellaneous girl to be trained and sent back, I was more in the fashion of a senior graduate student. They disciplined my failures with more instruction, rather than the whip. I finally learned what I had been suspecting for months - all three were top level green silk girls. The only ones in the establishment at the moment. And I desperately wanted to be the forth. Blue silk I had stopped thinking about. If these three women hadn't reached that level, what chance was there for me?

Yazmira was an expert on oral sex. After a few hours of instruction by her, I realized that my previously assumed expertise on the subject was equivalent to a young girl's first time crude licking of her boyfriend's cock. She knew techniques within techniques - and then subtle variations on top of those. I watched the TV monitors in awe as she serviced an older client with her mouth. His back would arch off the mattress from the stimulation that she would give, then withhold when he was about to blow. Her tongue would roam over and in every part of his body - every part.

We would go over and over the videos of her action, with her pointing out subtle points that I would overlook. Using one of the young guinea pig males, she would coach me in her techniques. Then for hours and hours, I would exhaust each boy in his turn as I practiced. Rana came in an jokingly complained that by the time I was through for the day, they were useless for training the other girls until they had rested for a few days.

I began to assist in the training of the new girls coming in. For now I was limited to the red silk students, and I sometimes would handle them alone for an entire week. Rana would come by now and then, obviously checking up on my competence as an instructor, and probably to make sure that my use of the whip was for instructional purposes only, and not for satisfying a sadistic need for myself. It wasn't. I still felt the thrill of being in absolute command over three helpless females, but I never punished one for my own pleasure.

Talya knew every pressure point, nerve ending, pleasure center and pain trigger of the male body. She could have instructed at a medical school on male physiology. Using one of the young men's erection as an objective, I watched as she stimulated his rod with just her fingers - fingers that might not be within two feet of the growing and shrinking organ. Organ was a good noun for the object - she could play it like a musical instrument. Once again, she would guide my hands and fingers up and down, in and out, all over his body for hours, until he was limp and empty as a dry well. Sometimes we would have to call for another one to replace the totally satisfied, but now utterly useless for instruction, young stud.

Rana was my favorite. If anything, she was a generalist in that, while she might not be as proficient in the particular arts on which the other two women specialized, she was best at putting the differing techniques together overall. And, she was an expert on arousing women. I have to admit that as she instructed me in female arousal, I enjoyed the sessions far beyond the pleasure of knowing that I was adding to my repertoire of skills.

I also was given a lesson in the vast difference between a conceited student, and a woman who was the master of her skill. One evening, after bringing Rana to what I thought was a very good rollercoaster orgasm, I made the mistake of bragging about my growing skill in the act of bringing pleasure to women. She then proceeded to cut me down to size as she began to manipulate my body, bringing me to the absolute edge of orgasm, then refusing to let me go over, then back down and up again - and again, and again. My self esteem was in tatters as I pleaded, then threatened, then abjectly begged for release. Finally, she showed mercy on me, and I fainted during a shattering orgasm.

The next morning, a very humbled green silk girl finally woke up and, eyes downcast, reported for the day's lessons.

I followed Rana down the hall to a destination that I was ignorant of until we turned into the room that housed the medical facility - or what passed for one. What was this about?

The same man who had originally pierced me, had me sit on a short table and stick my tongue out. Quickly, with some kind of tool, I heard a click, and suddenly after all this time, my tongue piercing was removed - cut into two pieces. There was still the small metal hole keeper in the hole, but my mouth felt weird with the missing, but familiar object.

Looking questionably at Rana, she smiled and led me back to the green silk girl common area - a room that I had glimpsed but had never been in. It was well furnished with many things, as one might expect of the "office" of highly skilled employees.

Reaching up on a shelf, she pulled down a small wooden jewelry box. Opening it, I saw three piercings for a girl's tongue. They looked identical to my old one - highly polished stainless steel. She picked one up, held it up for me to see, and then with both hands, unscrewed it into two halves. Putting it back together, she handed it to me for examination.

"As you can see," she said, "these are the same shape and size of your permanent one, but are removable." From the table behind her, she picked one up out of another box like mine. Sticking her tongue out, she first put the top piece in the metal hole keeper, then pushed the little ball stack part up into the bottom of her tongue, then screwed them together. "You will need to practice in front of a mirror for a bit, but it isn't hard to do. The main thing is to be sure that before you have an oral session, that it is screwed together tightly. I had one come off once, and it can be embarrassing if you lose it in a hole somewhere."

The main advantage of the new jewelry was that now I could carry on a normal conversation with only a very slightly noticeable lisp caused by the little metal hole keeper in my tongue. But now I had a box with my own personal removable piercing, and two spares.

More and more, I was involved in the instruction of the red silk girls. I received great satisfaction in demonstrating my skills to the girls - satisfaction that I tried not to turn into hubris. To a girl of nineteen, the ego trip was tremendous. My concern was to keep it from turning egotistical.

From my lofty position - lofty for a senior green silk girl, that is - I now knew much more about this training establishment. At any one time, there were only one set of each color of girl, so between the red, yellow and green, the maximum number at any one time almost never exceeded twelve - or four of each color.

The young men were just that, local young men who applied and vied for the position. They were paid a nominal amount for their services, but I expect that just as many would have applied if they were required to pay. Of course, they were required to undergo an extensive medical examination before being accepted, and a routine scan ever few days.

The high class of men were also locals, normally, but belonged almost as in an exclusive club. In fact, the training establishment was only an adjunct to a real men's club which, of course, which the girls never saw. I assume it was like men's organizations all over the world - exclusive, wealth dominated, invitation only and most definitely male only. The men who came to use the upper silk girls, were also selected by invitation only- and again only after a medical scan for disease. However, the existence of the school, and the silk girls was not a secret - many men vied to be allowed to taste the fruits of our heavenly labors.

Yazmira spent weeks with me on every last detail of anal stimulation. We again wore out young men one after another by probing their rear holes with techniques that I had never even thought possible. There was no a dearth of high class males that liked rear end work also. I was selected for testing on several of them to try out my anal skills on a real basis. Again, after every session, Yazmira and I would pore over the video and evaluate my techniques in with the strictest possible observations.

Rana also led me down the path of intense anal work on females. Of course, with a woman there was no prostate to massage, and thereby no absolute guarantee of successful orgasm. But, no matter - she could have me squealing into my pillow after just a few minutes of work on my asshole.

I led my red silk girls to a room, had them remove the badge of their progress, and gave each a new swatch of silk - yellow in color. I felt as good as they with their promotion. I actually had brought these females from clumsy bed wenches, to beginning courtesans. Of course, the other instructors would interact from time to time, but they did that even with each other's training classes.

On occasions, I was invited into the instructor's common room in the evening. There we would act just like women all over the world, and chatter about anything and everything. I told them of my background, and they some of theirs. The only thing I held back was my original purpose of learning here so as to start my own school. That seemed to be a thousand years ago, and of trivial importance compared to the need to amass even more skill in the manipulation of the male body.

One evening, the three women asked me to join them in their quarters. I could tell from the start that this wasn't going to be a female gab session. None of us were wearing any garments, except for our green neck silk - in their case, with gold threads throughout.

Rana started out...

"Teema. Tell us what your end purpose is of being here."

"Mistress?," I replied hesitatingly, not sure of what she wanted to hear.

"What do you want to accomplish? How far do you want to go?"

Then Yazmira spoke up. "Teema. We are asking because as of now, you are fully trained. And in fact, trained far beyond the usual girl who leaves here. You can leave here tomorrow, and your master will have no complaints about the expertise you will bring back to him."

I thought it over for a few moments. The women sat there patiently waiting for me to collect my thoughts. Then I decided to cross the Rubicon. I would no longer deceive these wonderful friends.

"May I explain?" I started. Rana nodded. "The idea of coming here was mine. I have told you something of my Master, and my relationship to him" All of them nodded this time. Of course, I had never mentioned his business of supplying bondage services to wealthy women - I knew to keep that a secret, even though his bondage studio was half a world away.

"He has a woman that he sent here to be trained - her name is Stephanie." All three instructors looked at each other and smiled as they remembered the student. "I have talked to her at length about her experiences here. My Master is a expert in women, and in dominating and making a woman submissive - he has dedicated his whole life to it. But he told me that the skills that Stephanie brought back from here were not only far beyond anything he had ever seen, they were beyond anything he had ever imagined."

I looked at all three, wondering how they would take my next words. "I asked to be sent here - and believe me, it took some doing before my protector and my Uncle would allow it. I wanted to learn how to train a woman in the method that Stephanie received and for the express purpose of starting a business in America to do the same thing."

Three sets of eyes looked at me. So far they were noncommittal.

"Somewhere during my training, that dream of a business faded away. It seems like some trivial idea from the far past."

I took a deep breath. "What I want more than anything else in the world, now, is to wear blue silk. What is bothering me, is the fact that if none of you have achieved that level, what chance do I have?"

Talya spoke up for the first time. "Teema. What the three of us have attained is almost perfection in our techniques in the art of sexual pleasure. At least as close to perfection as we can imagine. But to attain the blue silk, requires something that we don't have, or know. We don't even know exactly what it is, but a blue silk girl can almost merge her mind and feelings with that of her partner." She sat back, her breasts wiggling up and down. "That isn't an accurate explanation - it is just an example of trying to explain color to a person blind from birth.

"You are very talented," Rana continued. "In fact, you are by far the most capable girl any of us have had, but whether you can attain the next level is something for the future. You either have the capability or you don't. If you don't then no amount of practice or training will get you there."

Blue silk dreams notwithstanding, I still had three yellow silk girls to shepherd through their training. Sometimes I was called in to lecture the current group of green silk girls. And my own study took up all the rest of my time.

I could now specify the type of man that I wanted to service, depending on what I wanted to practice on. I had some favorites, and was warned by Rana not to fall in to the habit of just trying what I wanted. The essence of learning was the unknown, and trying to figure it out on the fly.

I got a letter from Sukie, which I immediately ran to my room to read. She was happy and apparently had her big good looking man twisted around her finger. She described their new home, which seem to me to be awfully luxurious for that part of the world. Actually, they were traveling at the moment, on some business that she didn't explain.

I immediately sat with paper and pen to answer her.

Early in the morning, a few days later, Yazmira came to my lecture room and told me to go to a conference room upstairs. She would take over my class while I was gone. The summons was a total surprise, and I had no idea who might be wanting to see me. Maybe it was another offer of companionship - I was getting them all the time now.

An office woman was waiting at the closed door for me. As I approached she waved for me to follow her into the room, then opened the door and entered. I prepared to assume the proper position in front of whatever male was waiting, but it was a woman, sitting in a chair. Uncertain as to her status, I stopped and waited. The sitting woman was old, very old, probably in her seventies - maybe even older. I could tell that she had been a beauty in her youth, and was still a long way from a withered old crone.

The office woman gestured at me, and said, "This is Teema." Turning to me and indicating the woman, she said, "This is Mademoiselle Clarisse Guizot." I bowed to the sitting woman. "She is of blue silk."

My eyes expanded and my mouth probably dropped open. I immediately stepped up to the front of her chair, dropped to my knees in the position and said. "Mademoiselle Guizot. C'est un grand honneur." I heard the door close behind me as the office assistant left us.

The woman reached over and with a hand, pulled my face up to look at her. In French she said, "Get up child. Bring that chair and sit down in front of me." I scrambled to obey, not really believing what was happening. She looked at me for a minute. "Teema... may I call you that?" I nodded. "Would you mind removing that shapeless bag so I can see you?"

I stood up and yanked the pullover off and then my halter. "Please turn around, slowly." As I completed my rotation, she commented, "So young and so beautiful." She indicated that I should sit down again.

"Thank you Mademoiselle Guizot." That was for the compliment, not the offer to sit down.

"Please call me Clarisse. We're just two girls in the same profession." She waited a few moments behind her friendly smile. "So you're the girl who wants to wear blue around her neck?"

"Yes, Mademoiselle... I mean, Clarisse. More than anything."

"Once upon a time I felt the same. I would have signed any reasonable pact with the devil to achieve blue silk status. Does that describe you?" I nodded. "But you worry at night that you might not have what it takes. And wonder how you could ever manage it if your instructors can't." I gulped. She was describing my thoughts exactly.

"Yes, Ml... Clarisse. Those three women are far above my abilities - in fact they are suberb instru..."

Clarisse interrupted me. "I know. I trained them."

Swallowing again, I continued. "Sometimes I watch them perform, and wonder if I will ever even come close to their abilities, let alone..." I didn't want to use the term blue silk. Coming from me, it seemed, well, somehow boastful. "...a higher level."

"Do you know why they will never achieve blue silk?" Wide eyed, I shook my head. "Because they always concentrate on the physical characteristics of what they do. Oh, I know that all three have taken the art of physical sex to its far limit. There are no, and probably never have been, green silk girls better than them." She leaned toward me. "In fact, they are better than myself and the only other blue silk girl I have ever known."

I sat there in shock, playing her last sentences over again. What she said wasn't making sense. She watched, apparently amused at the confusion she could see in my face.

"Teema. Realize that the art of physical sex is only part of being blue silk. I have viewed some of the videos of your performances. You have already far passed the attainment of mere sexual ability that is required for blue silk. No, don't speak. Listen closely to what I say."

Listen closely didn't begin to describe my attention. I was permanently inscribing on my memory ever word and expression that she made.

She leaned back. "To be blue silk is a mental state and possessing an almost telepathic ability. Do you know what that term means?" I nodded. "Of course, there isn't any such thing as telepathy, but you need to have it anyway. Listen to me..."

We talked for hours. Obviously, she was a VIP of the highest status, since Suliman himself brought us refreshments. And Clarisse ordered me to stay in my chair, rather than instantly assuming the position when the man walked into the room.

In response to one of my questions, she answered. "Well, most of my life I have been a prostitute." At my raised eyebrows, she continued. "That is an honorable profession. In fact it was one of the most well regarded occupations for a girl who was willing to become proficient at it. Only the rise of the organized religions in the last several hundred years has degraded it in the eyes of the public." She sipped her tea. "Now, I didn't stand on street corners and solicit random men. But, I am a very wealthy woman and my riches came from my performance in the bedrooms of moneyed men all over the world. So, I still took money for sexual activities, and by definition that makes me a prostitute."

I thought about that for a moment. "Then that makes most women on Earth prostitutes. Most exchange sexual availability for a home, security, and, well... clothing and other needs."

"Very good!" Gosh, did I impress this woman? "Always try to see through all 'les conneries' of the world." The French term is 'bullshit' in English. "You will go much farther than a person who just accepts what she is told. I have something that may help you."

She reached into her bag and brought out a small leather bound book. "I want you to have this, temporarily. If you become a blue silk girl, you may keep it and someday pass it along. If you decide to end your quest, then I ask that you send it back to me." She handed me the book. I took it, hesitantly, like a novitiate nun being handed a sacred scroll. "This does not tell you how to be come what you want - no mere book can do that. But, if you read it deeply enough, you will get a greater understanding of what you have to do to accomplish your goal."

She stood up, the interview being at an end. I immediately knelt in front of her - not The Position - just a respectful gesture. I took her hand and kissed it. "Mademoiselle Guizot. This has been an honor beyond belief. I will never forget it, or you."

"Stand up, child." She pulled me to my feet. "You have impressed me. I have no doubt that you have the gumption to reach your goal. Don't let anything keep you from it - focus on it with every ounce of intensity that you can muster." With that she was gone.

I somehow navigated back to my room. I assume that my feet touched the floor during the journey, but I can't attest to it. I held the small book to my breasts the entire time - I would die before I would let someone take it from me.

From that day on, my status in the school changed, although I was still the same me. The office women now referred to me as Miss Teema, rather than "you, girl!" I became an equal among the three instructors, and something more. There was a subtle undercurrent in the interaction with me from then on. As though I were now destined by somebody for something.

For the next several days, I didn't leave my cell. At the appropriate times, a tray of food would be delivered, but as often as not I would forget to eat it. I was engrossed in the little leather bound book.

The name, in gold leaf, on the cover and spine was "L'art de l'attraction." Interestingly, there was no publisher leaf or copyright information anywhere in the book.

My first reading came up as complete confusion. This had nothing to do with sex or pleasuring men. It was a treatise on emotion, and mental interaction. But on the assumption that Mademoiselle Guizot wasn't playing a joke on me, I started again. On this reading I got a bare hint of what the author was trying to say. The third reading barely enforced that hint. I set it aside for a few days, and went back to my normal studies.

My next client was a wealthy and powerful middle aged politician. From the pre-session information that I was given, his sexual desires were fairly normal, except that he liked young girls - the younger the better. I made up my hair like a schoolgirl, and left off all makeup so as to give a fresh faced appearance. All the jewelry, except the unremoveable rings were taken off. The first night went well, as I expected, and as usual, devolved into conversation after the first sex act.

I was the child of two professional ambassadorial staff support people, and as such, knew much more about politics and the world than the average person. To his surprise, I could follow his talk and ask intelligent questions at the same time. Our talk went on until late hours, until I brought him to orgasm again, this time with my tongue ball stack orbiting in the end of his penis, my finger stirring around in his asshole, and my twat in plain sight in front of his face. He went off like a rocket, and collapsed into sleep in minutes.

The next day was much the same - conversation interspersed with sex. I was surprised when the session didn't complete at the scheduled. He had arranged for another full day and night with me. He seemed to enjoy the back and forth communication as much as the sex. Suddenly, the gist of my leather book jumped into my mind.

My forth reading of the book was much more fertile. The idea that the sex act was only the conduit for attraction started making sense. I remembered a woman in my Master's dungeon, Pancake by name. She was much older than the others, frumpy I think the term is, somewhat overweight with pendulous breasts. No man would look at her if she happened to be standing next to a younger woman. But my Master bedded her as often or more as any of the younger girls at his command. As he told me, she was pleasant to be with - a characteristic that overrode the younger bodies of his other girls. She gave him more than just sexual satisfaction.

A man had to be "read" by the courtesan, not just screwed, or sucked, or whatever. His mental state and desires had to be determined along with his physical needs. The most important organ on a man is his mouth, not his penis. Far more attention needed to be paid to what he was saying, rather than what his body was indicating. At least up to the point where his gonads began to override his brain.

I asked for another session sooner than would have been scheduled. From the start, I paid more attention to his talk than his body. By now I could empty the balls of a stone statue without concentration. That part of my training required no more practice. I needed to pay attention to what Mademoiselle Guizot's book called, "The Whole Man."

As I gained confidence, my powers of observation grew. The slight emphasis of a word, the barely perceptible smirk after a statement, a slight rolling of the eyes with a comment - All gave informational juice to be processed.

I knew I was on the right track, when, after I had just violently emptied his balls, a man wanted to continue conversation rather than turn over and go to sleep - sometimes to the point that I could barely keep my eyes open.

My fifth reading of the book, confirmed my thoughts. Now all the seemly random ideas that were presented made perfect sense - that is, from the theoretical standpoint. I still had lots of work to turn them into real practice.

Remembering Rana's warning to avoid the familiar, I tried to interact with as many new men as possible. Other than what was on their data sheets from the office, I would have to tailor my interaction with them based on a dynamic session in determining their makeup - both sexually and cerebral. That is, I would have to decide on the fly, what they liked and wanted. Soon, I became very good in determining what would be intellectually stimulating to the current client. Then, finally, I could almost automatically sense the proper course to take with them during a session.

The epitome of my skills came when I was able to engage intellectually with a client to the extent that he would forget that he was laying next to a naked female. His hands would be waving and gesturing to underline a point that he was trying to make, rather than feeling my body, which was the reason he got into bed in the first place.

A day arrived when I was informed that I would be traveling outside of Suliman's establishment for the first time. The client would be... well, suffice it to say that he was well known in the world politico. I spent an entire day on a computer researching every last bit of information about the man that I could find. There was almost nothing as to his private life. At the appointed time, which was probably timed so as to arrive at the other end at night, I was taken to the airport, placed on a private plane, and several hours later was met by a limo at the other end. Shortly, I was escorted into a Palazzo, to an exquisite room two female servants, and unbelievable luxury. This was obviously a client that was at the top of the upper crust of Suliman's list.

My traveling clothing was a shalwar kameez, or a long loose dress that was not quite a burka, but more than the average secular woman wore. Of course, it was kind of out of place in this country, which happened to be Italy. This, and my halter, were removed by my two servants and I was led into a large bath. After being scrubbed with several different kinds of soap and oils, I was taken to the huge round bed and a beautiful silver filigreed ankle cuff was locked on and connected to a long thin chain.

This was interesting - was this client into bondage, or was this just to keep me from wandering around and possibly causing an embarrassing incident? I kneeled on the bed and looked around at the gigantic room. I was like a prop from Hollywood. The ceiling must have been ten meters tall, and the irregular floor plan was bigger than the average house. Tapestries and paintings - most of them, erotic - hung from the walls. Sculptures, large and small, were on pedestals, in wall nooks and on shelves. Many were very good and I wished I could get closer to inspect them.

The information was pouring in, but not enough to build an outline of the client. He obviously was male chauvinistic - the chain on my ankle showed that. He was fabulously wealthy, in addition to being in the top of the national government. His culture was apparent from the art in the room - all was erotic but none crossed the line to being vulgar. My two, now departed, servants were cheerful which indicated that he didn't run a sweatshop environment.

Any other processing would have to wait for further data.

I used to watch the favorite girl of my Master, after she had returned with green silk training, kneel in her position for hours and wondered how she did it. Finally, I realized that she had taught herself to sleep, or at least, catnap, in that position. I had long since learned the same trick. Not only did it pass the long hours, but it prepared the girl for a possibly long night.

I had been in that position for an unknown time, when I came instantly awake as someone entered the room. It was just one of the servant girls. She brought a banana shaped bowl to the bed, and indicated that I should use it. Still on my knees, I rose off my haunches, slid the bowl between my legs, and emptied my bladder. I didn't need to poop, since I had made sure that I was completely cleaned out before I left Sulimans. When I was through, the girl wiped me down with a warm wet rag, gave me a drink of water from a glass, and hurried out of the room.

As I settled back down, I assumed that something was about to start. Shortly, I heard someone come up behind me, then around to the front. Of course, I kept my eyes lowered onto the bed.

"Ciao. Siete una bella fica." ?! A woman's voice! One who had just greeted me and called me a beautiful cunt in Italian. Now I was definitely confused. Was this the wife, girlfriend, secretary? Was she my client? Because of the training from Rana, I was very good at servicing females, but it was not my line of strength. I looked at her, without making eye contact. Like most upper class persons in this part of the world, even the casual clothes she had on would have bought food for a family for a year. I waited.

She sat on the bed, then scooted around and lifted one of my breasts, then the other. A slight pull on a nipple and then her fingers traced down between them to my stomach, then down my crack to the first opening. As she wiggled her finger between the rings of my inner labia, she said, "I hope you stretch well, my pretty little cunt." Moving closer, she placed her lips on mine for a few seconds. I wasn't sure whether to begin to respond to her or not. My man radar that I had been developing for years was totally ineffective on a female. She then, got up and moved out of my sight. I assumed that she had left the room.

After a short while, I fell back into my catnap, until something woke me up. Suddenly, the lights began to dim and finally reached the level of dusk. Then some blue accent lights began to glow and turned the room into looking sort of like an ice grotto. I heard movement at the door, and waited. Finally, in front of me were almost nude two bodies, one was the same woman but now wearing a transparent wisp of gauze, and the other was male. I could tell because he had the largest piece of meat hanging down that I had ever seen. It was limp at the moment, and I knew that large penises usually didn't get much larger when erect, but this was going to be an impressive filling. Then suddenly, I had an attack of qualms at the idea of this... thing up my rear hole. I wondered if he was an ass man. And, since throats didn't stretch like pussies, there was no possibility of my swallowing that.

"So this is Suliman's star performer," he said. I knew from his biography that he was thirty eight years old, and his wife was thirty two. Of course, I still didn't know if the woman in front of me was her. "What's your name, woman?"

Still with my head bowed, I answered, "Teema, if you will, Master."

"Are you good, Teema." I could detect amusement in his voice."

"Yes, Master," I answered truthfully. "Teema is very good."

"What if I find out that you have spoken untruthfully?" More amusement.

"Then Master may punish a girl as he will. Possibly by stretching the girl out on her stomach and beating her severely with a belt or strap. Or a cane." I wasn't asking for punishment. I was trying to determine if he reacted to the idea. "Or Master could hang a girl up by her wrists and stripe her in that position. Or give the girl to your women and let them punish her." No reaction, so B&D didn't seem to be his driver.

"Hmmmm." He moved around behind me. "Do you think you can make me cum?"

This was a game, obviously. I wondered what it was. "Master is joking, yes?"

"No." He replied. "Qui è l'affare." I translated the colloquialism to be 'Here is the deal.' He continued, "If you can bring me to orgasm, despite my trying not to, you will sleep in this warm bed tonight. If you fail to do so in, oh, say, 20 minutes, you will be chained in the cellar on the concrete floor for the night as a warning not to be so self-aggrandizing." I assumed he meant boastful.

Since any green silk girl worth her kneeling rug can squeeze the jism from the balls of a brass monkey, he was betting on the wrong horse - unless, I told myself, he had a medical condition. But that was unlikely, since I wouldn't be here if he were impotent.

But, in the course of female ego versus male sexuality, well... "Master wishes to cum quickly, rather than slowly for maximum pleasure?" I was already laying out his path of failure. At his affirmative reply, I asked, "Does the Master have any inhibitions for any type of sexual encounter?" I needed to know if anything turned him off, or disgusted him. No? Ok, let the battle begin. But first, "Will the Mistress be participating?"

"No," she said. "I will just watch and learn about these miracle girls that can be ordered for pleasure." Ah ha. There was no mistaking the sarcasm. I had her pegged now. A skeptic who disbelieved that any girl could possibly know more about men than her. Signora female, whoever you are, watch and learn that you are the equivalent of a little girl who has just learned that her finger can create really nice sensations by rubbing around her little pee-pee hole.

He climbed on the bed and lay back and gestured for me to begin. For the first time I saw his face - not a bad looking man, totally unlike the pictures in his biography. His body was lean and in good shape. Somehow he had so far missed the prebends that were the signature of European politicians. And, of course, there was that massive tool that he was equipped with.

I scooted up to him, and began to lightly stroke his chest. He was looking off in the distance, no doubt concentrating on some political problem, or soccer, or anything but his cock. Of course, he was wasting his time. I reached up and pulled his ear firmly, just to distract his attention, then with my three fingers of the other hand pushed on the Tenth Intercostal muscle. Then the other hand went to the bundle of nerves next to the Adductor Longus of a leg. In a few seconds, his penis was engorged and full. Now, since he was a male, and was missing vital blood for his brain, the rest was easy. A moderate stimulation of the Peosas, then a hand reached under and massaged the vicinity of the Rectus Capitis Posterior Major muscle and the adjoining nerve bundle.

Bending over, my tongue raked the rough top of my tongue insert back and forth on his Frenulum, that super sensitive part of the penis just under and back of the head, followed by a little action on his uthrea with the other end of my tongue insert. Then it was just a matter of my thumb stroking his testicles, while my middle finger pushed on the gooch area of his prostate, and it was all over. Despite the tales in the erotic literature, the size of the male organ has nothing to do with the amount of semen produced. His was a normal load, and I swallowed it easily as he thrashed around in a normal orgasm. Time elapsed - about a minute.

Of course, it was just a mechanical climax, without much pleasure or anticipation. I looked over at our spectator, who was saying nothing and had a most interesting expression on her face. I turned to my subject. "Master wanted to cum. Master has cumm'ed." A silk girl is not supposed to use one-upmanship, just to use an American expression, but I couldn't resist.

"San Marie!" he exclaimed. "Suliman wasn't speaking falsely, in your case."

It was time to get this show on the road, just to use another favorite expression of my American benefactor. "Master has wasted his seed too quickly. This girl can help you do it much more pleasurably."

For the next hour, I slowly brought him to the precipice of orgasm, then let him descend, then back up again. About halfway through, the female stripped and joined us, laying down beside him. A really nice body, she had. Again, no fat that was indicative of politician's wives. Now I had two subjects to work on. That was never easy, since the intimacy factor of one on one was gone. Nonetheless, I spared a hand to roam up and down her body as my male subject tried to decide which set of titties to fondle.

Finally, I decided that she was getting in the way, so I stimulated her to climax then began to focus full attention on my male. Eventually, he went off with a huge orgasm that left the pair laying side by side in a post coital haze. I resumed my kneeling at the lower end of the bed.

They both finally got up and left the room. Before I could wonder about what was to happen next, the lights came on, the two servants entered and totally remade the bed with new linen. Once that was finished, I was unchained and led back to the baths for another long soaking and scrubbing session.

Afterward, and squeaky clean, I was chained back to the bed. I was beginning to wonder if starvation was the lot of a courtesan in this household when a serving cart with a massive assortment of foods was wheeled in. There was enough for myself and all my green silk girls, had they been there. It was absolutely sumptuous. Especially after almost three years of Suliman's fare - which wasn't bad but which would never make the Cordon Bleu lists.

I spent the week in Italy. Then others in Austria, Germany, Italy again. In all of them, I had offers of companionship that would have made me the woman behind the throne, so to speak. By now I was... I wasn't sure what the word was. Confident was the closest that I could get to. I knew that I could interest any man in keeping me as a sex object - even some that were far beyond wanting the actual sex act. It took a long time for me to finally realize the whole truth that I received from Mademoiselle Guizot and her little book - that the actual copulation was just the icing on the cake - the importance was the entire recipe, and the anticipation of the sweetness, the smell of the cake when cooking, and lastly the visual appeal of the pastry sitting there ready to be eaten.

There came a day when I was called... no, escorted by my three instructors, into Sulimans plush office. Before we entered, Rana told me not to kneel, just stand straight and bow respectfully. I stopped in the middle of his room, and waited. He was smiling broadly as he rose, walked around his desk and handed be a piece of paper. As I took it, he nodded to someone behind me.

The paper was a draft on a Swiss bank for an amount of over eight hundred thousand Euros. And it had my name on it. Totally confused, I looked up at him, then to my friends. "Master, what...?" I began.

"Teema," he answered. "These are the gifts from the men whom you have serviced since you became... so desirable?" He grinned at my comrades. Apparently that was a private joke. "Anyway, you have learned all that can be taught here. Anything else, you must find on your own." His assistant came into view holding a tray with filled glasses. He picked up one and handed it to me, then all the others took one also.

He held up his glass and said, "To the newest Blue Silk girl. May her talents take her to wherever she wants to go." There was a round of congratulations, and all took a drink. Champaign, I discovered, although it could have been water to me. My attention was definitely not on the drink.

Blue Silk! But, in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn't a surprise. I had realized months back that I would reach that pinnacle no matter what. That I had the ability and knowledge to be come that color of girl. Nonetheless, I cried when Rana tied the coveted piece of cloth around my neck. After leaving Suliman's office, we adjourned to the green silk girl suite and conversed the rest of the day. Even the other students were given the rest of the day to do as they pleased.

That was seven months ago. I am still at Sulimans, helping in the training, accepting invitations from the rich and powerful on occasion, and receiving considerable rewards for my talent. I will be leaving soon, but will return on occasion to my Alma Mater, as my Master calls it. I have to admit that the vanity in me loves the attention I get when the students see my blue silk neckwear coming down the hall. And the awe that I am the only one they will probably ever see, and wondering just what I know about the act of sex that they can probably never learn.

I visited Mademoiselle Guizot at her chalet in France. It was a wonderful week. She called it the changing of the guard, a reference that I have yet to look up.

Next, I will visit my Master in America, the man who made it possible to reach the level that I am at, then... Who knows? I am rich and getting richer but more importantly, I have the whole wide world as my domain.