At my utterance, Isabella closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. Her stomach muscles clenched, and when I dropped my hand and casually slid a finger between her folds, I found she was already wet enough that her inner thighs were slick with moisture. Her body tightened around me, and I withdrew the hand abruptly. "Isabella," I said, shaking my head as if disappointed, though I was anything but. "You are strangely eager to begin our training. I wonder…would you be, if you knew what I had planned for you?"

She opened her eyes and stared past me at the floor, her soft lashes just low enough to prevent me seeing whether those eyes held fear or desire.

"We start slowly tonight," I reminded her, letting the wet knuckles just brush her hip. "You will be collared tomorrow. Tonight will be an…introduction of sorts."

Without further commentary, I closed my hand firmly around Isabella's scrawny wrist, leading her into my bedroom and over to my bed, which the housekeeper had made up that morning with forest-green 1200-thread count sheets and a matching cotton bedspread. Only about one fourth of our clients' fees went towards the salary of the trainers and staff—the rest was spent on overhead and general maintenance, but also luxuries like these.

Perhaps this was not a spa getaway, as I had so emphatically reminded the students at Reception, but our facilities were just as well equipped. All the women's needs would be well taken care of. And we didn't see any reason why the school had to be ugly, either.

The school actually wasn't anything more institutional than an 1890 colonial home which originally held five large bedrooms, but had easily been renovated until the second floor was split into four practically identical suites—the bedrooms of which were cursorily soundproofed, the playrooms heavily so. Yes, the doors to the hallway were secured, but that was more to keep people out than in. Who can put their whole self into a scene if they're worried about someone barging in at any moment? The 2¾-inch-thick soundproofed doors already came equipped with keypad entry systems, in any case.

Downstairs were the kitchen, dining hall, reception room, office, and bedroom suites for Dr. Cullen, our staff psychiatrist, and Kate and Liam, our housekeeper and cook. Mrs. Cope handled the receptionist duties, but she lived just three miles away with her retired husband and never spent the night here. During the school year, she worked in the main office over at the high school, but like me, her summers were free.

I slid open the drawer of my nightstand and lifted a dark blue silk blindfold from within. I closed the drawer and stepped back so that I stood behind Isabella. "This is another of my especial proclivities, Isabella," I said as I fastened the cloth securely around her head. "As you may already know, where one sense is impaired, the rest are enhanced in order to compensate." I gave the knot a tug and turned her gently to face me, and it was amazing what it did to my cock to see how willingly she moved in response to my manipulations. It was like having clay, wet clay, to ply and mold as I wished.

And 'clay' was exactly how my hands would treat her most sensitive area.

"Your checklist had very few handwritten comments," I remarked, wondering if she could feel my gaze boring into her forehead. "But you specifically indicated that you enjoy being slapped across the mouth. Not the face—not the cheek—but the mouth. Tell me why that is."

Isabella hesitated, and I saw her dilemma. "When I specifically say for you to tell me something, or to answer me, you may take that as your permission to speak."

"I, um…I don't really know why it is," Isabella hedged, starting to twist her hands again. Obviously this was a common nervous habit of hers. And being unable to see had to be making her even more nervous than usual. "I just know that it takes me right out of things if my face is slapped." She took a deep breath. "But, well, on the mouth it's different. I still feel horrible for disappointing my Master, but it…tingles. It's…I know he's disappointed, and that hurts, but it keeps me wanting more."

Fuck, yes. "Then I imagine that will be an ideal punishment for when you speak out of turn, or disrespectfully towards me," I said decisively. "A quick slap on the mouth will remind you of your place, without our having to break our routine and spend too much time on harsher measures."

Isabella didn't answer, of course. And I didn't ask her to. I had already given her opinion too much weight in the matter. Punishments were for me, her Dom, to decide. "It stands to reason, Isabella. The lips are an erogenous zone. Why do you imagine kissing is so stimulating?" Leaving my rhetorical question hanging, I switched topics abruptly. "Did you enjoy being paddled in the reception room?" I asked her. "Answer me."

"I…I didn't like that I had made you angry with me," she answered hesitantly.

"I wasn't angry then, Isabella," I said, immediately wanting to kick myself for my reassuring tone. For some reason, I needed the collaring as much as the subs did, or I sometimes slipped out of my role. "You are here to train as a submissive. I don't expect that you will never make mistakes. But that does not mean you will be excused from consequences."

Isabella shook her head mutely.

"But you have not answered my question. Did you enjoy being spanked? I will not ask you again."

"Yes, sir," she said in a whisper, ducking her head shamefully even though she couldn't very well see my face.

"Tell me something," I asked, "and don't you dare lie to me." I saw the stomach muscles tense again. "I find all forms of discipline to be very erotic. But how are you to be punished at other times if you take pleasure in them?"

Her mouth opened, but closed just as quickly. Then she must have remembered that Tell me was the equivalent of a command, because she did finally speak. "It still hurts very much, sir. And it isn't all pleasurable, especially with the cane or the strap. I do enjoy it in a way, but it's very painful. I'll never bait you just to get a spanking, sir. I swear."

I smiled, even though I knew she couldn't see it. Perhaps she could hear it in my voice. By the end of our time together, Isabella's senses would have developed to the point where she could determine my mood even without my speaking. "Now, let's not promise away all our fun, Isabella."

Whatever her reaction may have been, I didn't notice, since I was busy pulling back the sheets and bunching them up at the foot of the bed. "Undress me," I ordered. "You can easily do that by touch."

Hesitantly, she reached for me, her little fingers scrabbling a bit as they knocked against my ribs. She ran them down my stomach, finding the hem of my t-shirt and lifting it up towards my shoulders. When she got high enough, I raised my arms to make it a bit easier, and she ran her hand around to my back to pull the shirt up and over that way.

Isabella stood holding my t-shirt in both hands, obviously unsure of what to do. "Drape it across the footboard," I said. She put out one arm in front of her and stepped toward the foot of the bed; when she found the curved footboard of the sleigh bed by touch, she laid my shirt over the edge, pushing it in a bit so it wouldn't slide off the end.

Isabella had an easier time unzipping my jeans—I was the one who had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming when the zipper had to be dragged over my erection, my boxer briefs thick enough to protect my skin but thin enough to make the sensation almost maddening.

Having folded my jeans in half and laid them over my shirt on the footboard, Isabella returned to her place in front of me and slipped her fingers inside the waistband of the shorts. I don't imagine she meant to do it, but she didn't know enough to pull them out a bit first to fit over my hardness, and so not only did the elastic scrape my entire length, this time eliciting a groan despite my efforts to stop it, but since she had to bend to get the shorts down, my cock ended up springing up and striking her face once it was freed of its attire.

Isabella startled, but she only hesitated for a second before bending her knees the rest of the way to bring the shorts down to my ankles. I stepped out, she stood up and placed them on top of my jeans…and we were ready to fuck.

"Lie down," I said. "Next to the pillows, flat against the sheets." I didn't tell her to spread her legs, nor what to do with her hands. I would take care of that myself.

Isabella could have crawled onto the bed on all fours, offering me a tantalizing view of her ass, but apparently she was a very self-conscious woman. We would have to work on that, but I didn't feel like making a point of it tonight. I watched as she backed carefully up against the mattress, sat down as though on a chair, then reached behind her to brace her hands and pulled herself backwards until her legs weren't hanging off the bed anymore. She lay back, parallel to the pillows as I'd instructed, and rested her hands against her lower belly.

I was taller than she was, and it only took putting one knee down and pushing my weight off it to get me to where I was straddling her supine figure. Isabella's body tensed when she felt my warmth next to her, and she instinctively pulled her arms and legs closer together. I was having none of that. I pulled her right leg away a bit and then climbed over it so I was kneeling between her legs, then pushed her thighs apart so she lay spread before me.

"While I fuck you, Isabella, you will remain as quiet as possible. You are not to speak, and keep the noise to a minimum. The exceptions, as always, are your safewords. And if I ever, not just tonight, ask you specifically if you need to safeword, you will answer without hesitation. Tell me you understand."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you need to safeword?" It was highly unlikely, but no harm in asking.

"No, sir." No, indeed. Her voice, suddenly high and breathy, told me that she wanted me inside her, probably just as much as I wanted to be there. "So we are clear, what are you to say to me if I ask and you wish to continue?"

"Veni," she answered.

"If you are frightened and want to slow down?"

"Vidi."

"And to stop the game entirely until you have collected yourself?"

"Vici."

"You please me, Isabella." Was it my imagination, or did her thighs squeeze inward at my praise? I slid my hand between them and brushed my fingers against her; she whimpered at the unexpected touch. Yes, she was certainly very wet, even now.

I reached over to the nightstand and snapped off the light; before going down to Reception, I had lit a taper candle and placed it next to my clock, and now the room glowed faintly with the light of that single flame. I was able to see Isabella, though not very clearly, but enough for what I had in mind.

Once again, I slid my hand between her thighs, but this time I began to move my fingers in and out of her, my thumb pushing down against her clit and dragging up the short length before starting again from the bottom. Isabella clutched at the sheets next to her hips, breathing heavily but not daring to make another sound just yet.

I could have shifted closer to her and let my fingers go in deeper, but I liked it just fine this way: I knew the length I was allowing her would be enough to tantalize, but would leave her desperate for more with each thrust. For the same reason, I sometimes held back from grinding my thumb against her clit, instead passing over it with barely enough pressure to tickle her silky hair, or giving the little nub a quick tap before going back to the feather-light brushes.

My eyes were adjusted to the dark by now, and I could see that Isabella's nipples were raised and hard. Taking my weight off my other hand and settling against my heels, I reached out and gave each of them a light tap, which made her betray herself with another moan. Pulling my right hand out from between her legs, I leaned forward and held my palms flat just above both of those pebbly mounds. Her back arched as she tried to reach my hands, but fell back when I told her sharply, "Be still."

Her nipples received the same treatment as her clit, with me brushing my thumbs against them for several minutes with varying degrees of pressure. Isabella's body was trembling like a leaf by the time I pulled my hands away, and the way she was breathing through her nose told me she had to be clenching her teeth to keep from moaning.

One last time, I tested her with my fingers. She was ready. I was, certainly; my cock, at that point, was so hard that I hissed when I had to grip it in order to maneuver it into her. And when I felt her warm wet closing around the very tip of me, I found I had to breathe through clenched teeth myself.

I could have been gentler, but she was so wet that I doubted she'd feel any pain. So rather than enter her slowly, I thrust all of myself into her at once. This time, when she cried out, I didn't rebuke her, though I gave her mouth a gentle tap to remind her to keep herself in check…that, and knowing it would also give her a tantalizing bit of pleasure.

I drew back slightly, and Isabella's hands came up to grasp my hips. Then I had to speak, because she would feel much more vulnerable with her arms at her sides. "Hands down, Isabella. You have already been warned once for moving. Do it again, and I'll have to get the paddle."

Isabella's walls clenched around me so hard that I bit my tongue in my shock. Well, fucking wonderful; the idea of being paddled turned her on. Despite her promise not to, would she bait me to punish her?

Apparently not. Maybe Isabella did find being paddled to be erotic, but it also could have been the sound of my voice, firm and commanding, that stimulated her. Either way, her hands fell to her sides, and she didn't try to move after that. I quickly fell into a rhythm, slower than normal so I wouldn't accidentally shoot off too soon, but hard enough at each thrust that Isabella's breasts bounced under my palms and her hands were yanking at fistfuls of sheet for dear life.

I could tell she was about to come from the way she suddenly went too quiet and dug her fingers deep into the mattress. Her breathing had become a series of shallow animal pants as I drove her closer to orgasm. The candlelight flickered across her bouncing breasts, the nipples like pencil erasers when I pinched them hard between my thumb and forefinger. Isabella's soft little moan let me know that she was mere seconds away from release. One final time, I thrust into her…and then abruptly pulled out, my still-hard cock springing back up almost to my stomach, slick and wet with her juices.

"No!" Isabella cried out as she felt me leave her, and the pale hands flew up to fumble with her blindfold. Expecting such a reaction, I took hold of both her wrists and pinned them together in my left hand, then slapped her forcefully across the mouth with my right. "I didn't ask you to speak," I hissed.

Isabella, whose body had stilled when she felt my hands on her wrists, opened her mouth as though to answer, but I cut her off impatiently. "If I hear so much as one word out of you, I'll slap that mouth into the middle of next week. Is that understood?" I waited through five seconds of silence before continuing. "Good. Now…" I heaved myself off her, sitting back on my heels against the pillows with my painful erection straining for the ceiling. "Get a towel from the warmer in the bathroom and finish me by hand. You may take off your blindfold."

Isabella obeyed, pushing the blindfold over the top of her head before sliding off the bed. I snapped on the bedside lamp and looked carefully at her face, expecting to see frustration there, even anger…but strangely, Isabella only looked very sad, as though she might start crying at any moment. I hoped she wouldn't.

Fuck, what was the matter with her? She wasn't supposed to break this fast. This whole coming week was geared towards removing her pride and instilling humility in its place. A person could certainly remain very strong, even controlling, in his or her "other" life and still make a good submissive…but that pride had to be conquered in order to do so. Isabella should know this. Carlisle had interviewed her during selection and pronounced her mentally healthy enough to withstand our program. He was a brilliant doctor with decades of experience. Could he have been wrong?

But when Isabella came back from the bathroom with a warm, folded towel in her hands, her face was blank again. She climbed back up on the bed and started to reach for me before stopping with her hand almost to my throbbing cock, obviously unclear whether she ought to proceed.

"Put the blindfold back on. Then wrap the towel around me and bring me to orgasm."

I would really have preferred to be inside her again, and I cursed the training that deprived not only Isabella, but me also, of real satisfaction. Still, the towel was soft terry, and so warm, and Isabella's hands were surprisingly strong for someone who appeared so frail otherwise. Before long, I was fighting against my urges to moan, to speak, to tell her that yes, that was what I needed…but I choked the words back, and my few noises of pleasure were carefully controlled.

"Twist your hand on the way up," I ordered her, my voice impassive. Isabella complied, wrenching my shaft until it burned from the scraping of fabric against skin. My head went back; I was thankful that she couldn't see my reaction. Oh, fuck, yes…YES…

After a while, my head came back up and I stared at Isabella, at her thin, naked body sitting back on her heels before me with the hair between her legs wet and plastered against her skin. I knew she must desperately want for me to finish her, yet she was serving me instead. That, and the memory of her being paddled, were too much for my brain to handle, and I came hard into the towel.

Isabella stopped when she felt the sudden release against her hands, but she held me firmly until I was spent, keeping her body perfectly still as she listened to me gasping and panting.

I lay back against the pillows once I had calmed, speaking to her in a monotone with my eyes closed. "Clean up and go to bed. You may not pleasure yourself. Not tonight, and not ever—not without my express permission. Your orgasms are mine to control. Tell me you understand."

"I understand, sir," she said, her voice trembling. Whether that were from desire or unshed tears, I didn't know. But fuck if it didn't almost make my spent member start to get hard again.

When Isabella had retreated to the bathroom, I got up and slipped my briefs back on, then rolled back onto the messy bed. I groaned as I landed on the towel soaked in my jizz. I should have had Isabella bring it to the hamper on her way to bed.

The bathroom light was shining from the crack under the door, and I heard water running inside. I waited until the water stopped, the light vanished, and until I heard the door to Isabella's room shut. I counted off five minutes, giving her time to get settled into bed, then rolled back over and stood up.

I took my time flossing and brushing my teeth and using the toilet. Finally, when I had nothing left to keep me in the bathroom, I opened Isabella's door without knocking first and snapped on the light. Isabella had been facing away from me, curled up in a fetal position under her covers, but she rolled onto her back when the light went on. She glanced up at my face for a split second before dropping her eyes to what was probably my knee level.

"Get up," I ordered her, enjoying the way she scrambled to obey without hesitation. "Come with me."

Back in my bedroom, I pointed to the towel that lay in the center of my bed. "Bring this to the hamper. Then you may go to sleep. You know what I expect of you in the morning."

Isabella obeyed me meekly, taking the towel and straightening out the sheet under it. Her hair was loose now, and it fell like a lush mahogany waterfall around her face as she leaned over my bed. I watched her as she disappeared back into the bathroom, then reappeared in her lighted doorway and entered her own bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

I knew Isabella had had enough for tonight, but damn if I could make my cock understand that. It had been almost a year since I had a submissive to train, and I had forgotten how fucking hot it was to have a woman give me the gift of her submission. Every timid little mannerism of hers made me want to throw her down and fuck her senseless. Isabella may have been untrained, but she was obviously willing to learn and so eager to please.

And I? I was willing to teach.