The Clothes Horse
by Raul Roget
I use a variety of commands with a new trainee or a sub. It might be “Strip” or “Get Naked” or “Off with the clothes,” or even “Show me all your skin.” Simple, direct, to the point, perfectly clear to even the ditziest female.
So, what do I get in return? A blank stare. “What do you mean? Everything? I don’t do things like that.” You can count to 10 with some of these dumb tenderfeet before the import penetrates.
Makes you want to take a flogger and slice them six ways from Sunday. And sure as the sun rises in the morning they will take things off down to their bra and panties and stand there and look at you, expecting you to allow them to keep them on. Ninety-nine out of a hundred will do that to you. Talk about exasperation!
To restore order, you’ve got to punish them, which is about the only way to get the pretty little boneheads to wake up to reality. That turns into a hell of a mess, ‘cause you gotta whip their little pink ass cheeks, and they bawl and whimper and carry on like you were murdering them. Then you've got to stop and pet them and rub lotion on their welts and generally make nice, which brings the whole concept of training to a screeching halt.
I want to make the point that I’m not talking about girls that get themselves kidnapped and forced. These are girls who are at least intelligent enough to recognize that there are benefits in having a Master or a Sir to love and protect them. Yet, the minute they are faced with an order they’ve never heard before, that they know is coming, they go ape on you. Just read the literature and you’ll see what I mean.
For a man, I’m relatively patient, but this kind of stuff gets under my skin a little bit more each time. One of the key problems is that only one girl at a time benefits from the discipline lesson. It’s not like you could line up a hundred trainees and say, “Here, watch this. This could be your striped ass if you question my order.” No, you gotta do the same damn thing with everything that comes through the system, one by one.
Reading about it doesn’t solve the problem. The girl is either going to have a heart attack when the first piece of rope enters the picture, or she is going to dismiss it as pure fantasy and ignore the valuable information that’s laid out for her. Once she reaches the point where you’re ready to admire her nude body it’s too late for any more of the preliminaries. But, guess who wants to go back to the beginning and start over.
It’s their prime stalling tactic. It all boils down to the cold hard fact that a girl entering a submissive relationship is scared to death that her man is going to look at her and decide that her tits are too small, her pussy is too big, she’s too dry or too wet, or her hips are whatever. It’s this fear of comparison that drives them to play dumb when you demand your viewing rights. A lot of this crap goes back to the days when they turned out all the lights before they got it on.
Me, I’m always looking out for number one. I don’t find the nearest rut and stay in it. At least not when it comes to women.
Not so long ago, this black haired beauty turned up, wanting to be trained. I’ll call her Claire, which isn’t her real name. I got her up to speed and got both of us in the mood. She was pretty well aroused by the time I reached the “Take it all off” point. She had a serious case of bedroom eyes up to that instant. Jeez, you’d think I’d asked her to shoot her grandmother. She was throwing sparks like a Fourth of July pinwheel.
Now I know that she had a body. The weather was above normally hot and I had seen her with the bare street minimum of clothing. This was a cool evening and she had another layer or two, which somehow must have short circuited her thinking process. She got pretty noisy and called me a couple of things that I don’t take from anybody, especially a greenhorn.
All my experience told me to string her up like a side of beef and start raising welts, to see how many I could cram onto her tender frame. But, as I sat there listening to her foul mouth something snapped and I decided to try something different.
I had her cuffed in seconds, narrowly avoiding a place kick to the family jewels. I changed my new plan to fit the circumstances and grabbed an ear and force marched her to the basement. She struggled and spat like a caged cat, but she had lost the battle before it started.
My house has two full bathrooms upstairs. Instead I directed her to the half bath in the basement. It was small enough so that you had to back out before there was room enough to change your mind.
I latched her cuffs to a convenient eyebolt and gathered up a chain, which I locked around her ankle. I released her from the bolt and slid the chain around the base of the toilet and locked it, leaving her about a foot of slack, not enough to reach the door. In the meantime she’d run out of vocabulary and was repeating herself. I made myself stay calm and not beat the crap out of her as she so richly deserved.
I did slap her face because she was working up a classic case of hysterics. That both calmed her and shut her up as she began to realize she was getting in deeper and deeper.
I didn’t waste any time on her. I sat her down on the toilet, got her attention and gave Clair her first rule. “I will return at 8 a.m. You will have one minute to beg me to allow you to remove your clothes.” She killed me with her eyes and cussed me out with some fresh ammunition. I closed the door and put a chair under the knob to keep it closed. Then I went upstairs and called the sub at the top of my list and enjoyed her company for the rest of the night.
On an impulse I took the sub with me when I went down to visit Claire. When I opened the door she was sitting on the toilet lid, looking like she had been through a wringer with all her clothes on. I let her get a good look at my very naked sub and asked if she had anything to say. She went into her sticks and stones routine, threatening me with the police, the FBI and the county sheriff along with a bunch of names that I can’t repeat in polite society.
I shut the door, put the chair back and went back upstairs to enjoy breakfast. Clair as of the moment was on a starvation diet. She had plenty of water and of course the toilet but otherwise her accommodations left a lot to be desired. She could lie on the tile floor but there wasn’t room for her to stretch out, and of course she had to sleep in her clothes. With her hands cuffed behind her I doubted that she could even reach her panties to get them out of the way, let alone off.
I left her by herself for exactly 24 hours. Sub and I went calling at 8 a.m. She looked like she had been run all night and put away wet. A wave of female essence greeted us as the door opened. Clair was getting ripe. Her vocabulary was still off scale, but I could see in her eyes that living in her clothes was beginning to get to her. I gave her one minute of my time. She didn’t even come close to begging, unless you consider “Go fuck yourself” as a plea.
After another 24 hours, I could smell her as soon as I opened the door to the basement. The stink was enough to knock you over when I opened the bathroom door. Sub held her nose, a move that wasn’t lost on my once beautiful prisoner.
She used her minute to beg. Trouble was, she begged for the wrong thing. She wanted a shower and food. I didn’t even respond, slamming the door and placing the chair again. I could hear her start to bawl.
Finally! It was morning again. Sub and I headed for the basement, waded through clouds of stinky sweat and aged pussy juice and I held my breath and opened the door. Clair was kneeling, legs spread wide. Before I could open my mouth she begged, “Master, may I please have your permission to remove my clothes?”
I looked at her, watching her eyes. She had in fact learned her lesson. I held my breath and reached in and unhooked the chain around the toilet. I motioned her to stand. “Remember that line. You will use it to beg me and every Master you serve. You are never to come into my presence without you clothes on and you will remove them only when you are given permission.”
I put a leash on her collar and handed it to the sub. “Take this stinking piece of crap upstairs and clean her up. Her clothes go in the dumpster, OUTSIDE! When she is clean, bring her back down here and have her clean and deodorize the bathroom and the rest of the dungeon. Then give her another shower and dress her, to appear before me at 5 p.m.
My sub did a superb job of dominating Clair. The basement was sparkling when she was through, smelling like a fresh spring breeze. At the appointed hour she led a fully clothed and very repentant Clair to crawl to the spot in front of me where she was signaled to kneel. “Master, may I please have your permission to remove my clothes?”
I nodded my approval. “Is there anything else you would like to say?”
“Yes, Master. This girl apologizes for the names she called you and begs punishment for uttering them.”
“What about the names you thought of but didn’t say?” She looked at my feet, her head shaking slightly. “Master, those too. A girl begs punishment.”
“Very well. As long as you are in this house, or come into this house, you will be fully clothed. On each hour you will appear before me completely dressed and beg permission to show me your nude body, as you just did. This order applies until further notice."
I looked at her, kneeling in perfect position. “You have permission to strip naked. Then fix breakfast for the three of us.”
Copyright 2008 By Raul Roget