Paul’s Taming at the Hand of The Baroness La Strange

{Note: The following is an eThe following is an excerpt from Paul’s Initiation. The entire text is available here in glorious Kindle! I will post the schedule for release soon!

The high priestess’ name was Frederica Le Strange. Baroness Frederica Le Strange, actually, though being so down to earth she always insisted she be called Freddie by those she was not intent on enslaving. She was at least five hundred years old, but she didn’t look a day over forty. To Paul, she bore an unfortunate and uncanny resemblance to Dame Helen Mirren at a similar age. Unfortunate because he was doing all he could to keep his prick in check. But the Baroness was so effortlessly beautiful and MILFy-erotic he felt that it was only a matter of time that he would be forced to retreat into the unisex bathroom for relief. He seemed to be drawn to her erotically. How was she accomplishing this trick? As tea and cakes were served, the Baroness was mostly ignoring him but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. He had to be asked three times by the male server how he took his tea. Even Lady Amelia, who he was mad for, was temporarily forgotten. The Baroness had done something to him to make this so. There was gesture or flashing of the eyes that engendered a fascination that if allowed to continue would become an obsession.

He did everything he could to stop staring lustfully at the Baroness. Over the past few weeks, he had developed certain techniques for avoiding detection. He would pretend to busy himself with his meal only looking up to eat or drink. He would focus on a bit of tapestry hanging on the wall behind his true object of desire. He would sweep the room with his eyes and avert his gaze immediately when his idée fixe so much as glanced at his direction. Thus far, the Baroness, or Dame Frederica, had taken little notice of Paul. Ordinarily he would have found this slightly insulting but at least this had given him the opportunity to cool down.

What had happened to him since he had come to place, anyway? If propriety allowed him to do so, he would be jerking off ten times a day. Even this would only partially diminish his raging lust. Were the women of this School that hot or had somebody or something placed a spell on him to aid him in this illusion? He noticed the waistbands on some pairs of his underwear were stretched out because of his constant erections. As in Hitomi’s Kurosawa’s class it was rapidly becoming pointless to hide it. And weirdly the women didn’t seem to want him to hide it. He didn’t know what their intentions were towards him. He figured they were being nice or at least well-mannered when in the presence of his turgid, needy dick. At some point, however, it would surely grow too lewd for them. He would then need to de disciplined in some way. But the idea of being bent over Lady Amelia’s shapely legs and spanked to his bottom was red was the most erotic vision he had yet encountered. Best that he could do, therefore, was to ride it out. Perhaps he would grow used to the heightened eroticism inherent in this school and calm down. He supposed he would never be back to “normal.” He didn’t want to be back to normal. Back in Ohio, the dowdy schoolmarms would barely merit a distracted stare no matter how much they flirted with him.

Soon enough, one of the male servers placed a large Etruscan bowl  on the floor at the center of the tea room. He bowed in the Baroness’ direction and let himself out locking the door behind him. The plates had all been cleared by then. It seemed the ceremony was about to commence.

Freddie La Strange asked Paul Sanborn what he made of the Etruscan bowl.

“It’s the calicem deae,” he told her eagerly, recalling Professor Lindsay’s lesson. “The chalice of the goddess.” 

The Baroness nodded. “The chalice of the goddess. What’s it for then?” she asked.

According to Rachel Lindsay, the chalice was meant for the goddess’ lips only. The nectar She sipped was a sacrifice intended only for her and inner circle. He always assumed this was a metaphor of some sort. The terms bull or stallion were used interchangeably in the literature. These two likely had another meaning entirely.

For the first time Baroness La Strange fixed Paul Sanborn with the full power of her charisma.

“Stand up for a second, please,” she said to him in a slightly husky voice. He complied instantly as if Lady Amelia had ordered him.

“Remove your jacket, please,” she said. “Give it to Amelia to hold.”

He did as the Baroness commanded. Then he awkwardly shuffled over to stand in front of her.

The Baroness stared passed him at Lady Amelia.

“Amelia, please quell him,” she said.

Suddenly Paul felt the Lady’s fingers on the back of his neck. “Drift and dream,” she whispered to Paul in the irresistible honeyed voice of hers. Immediately Paul’s eyes lost focus. He stared forward vacantly lost in a daydream.

He heard the Baroness wonder aloud if he was deep enough in trance.

“Is he capable of resistance?” she asked Amelia as she rose herself and began to unbutton her gown.

“He’s a natural submissive,” Amelia told her. “The Goddess has chosen well. He won’t scar and be traumatized in any way, I shouldn’t think. And you’ve said it yourself on many an occasion, I believe. The bound sacrifice should always be a willing participant in his binding. I believe you’ll find him a more than willing offering,” Lady Amelia told the Baroness. “He’s aware of what we’re saying but he’s ignoring it. He’s ignoring it because I told him to ignore it. I can take him as deep as I want to, actually. But, for now, I think it would be preferential to leave him in this twilight state of mind. Neither fully awake nor asleep. This will be more than a dream for him but something less than waking reality. He’ll comply and learn and offer his sacrifice willingly,” she said.

At this, the goth girl with the Louise Brooks haircut, Rose Thorne, spoke up.

“Whenever I rape a slave,” she said, “it takes about ten minutes. Just take him. He’s cattle. It’s animal husbandry. It’s demeaning to do anything else,” she said. “It’s like you’re saying he’s our equal.”

In fact, Lady Amelia had said no such thing.

“In the first place,” she told the goth girl, “Paul’s not a slave. Not yet anyway. Secondly, it’s always more effective to provide a potential thrall with the illusion of choice. I think the studies over the centuries have confirmed this.”

According to Rose Thorne she could entice, seduce, enthrall, and rape the most belligerent of alpha males in less than a half hour.

“I do it all the time,” she told Lady Amelia. “I did it to the bodyguard on the private car over here in front of his son. He gave me shit about the amount of luggage I carried on and had to be punished. I induced three extended orgasms and made him lie in the sperm puddle on the floor for the majority of the trip. And, you know, every time there’s look of abject worship that comes over them once they are broken. Slavery Amelia, sexual slavery that is, is the state to which most men aspire. They enjoy being raped tremendously as far as I can see. They enjoy the feeling of powerlessness it gives them.”

Her argument was that Amelia was not doing Paul any favors treating him as a favored child, but the Baroness put an end to this argument immediately.

“The headmistress rules this academy,” she declared as the last of her clothes were deposited on the chair. “Her house, her rules, my dear. It’s as simple as that. And I would doubt young Mr. Sanborn would object to his Binding Caeremonia either way. He seems to be enjoying our company most wholesomely already,” she said, gesturing at his tented trousers. “Besides afterwards there will be plenty of opportunities for boy-rape,” she said. “He’ll be made available next semester to all priestesses,” she said. “He can be mind wiped and made to believe that this is his first time. It’s that expression of fear a man’s face assumes during his rape that you prize so, isn’t it my dear?” the Baroness asked tiny Rose Thorne. “According to Amelia, young Mr. Sanborn is deeply susceptible to hypnosis. He’ll be rented out in a few months and passed from witch to witch. And once your turn arrives you can do anything you want to him. This seems like a suitable compromise, don’t you think?” she asked everybody but Paul. As this coven was not a democracy, it didn’t really matter what they thought but she asked anyway. The Baroness realized a good leader was occasionally responsive to her underlings’ wishes. But all the priestess-witches understood that the matter had already been decided. Here was the sort of compromise that would make nobody especially happy. Rose Thorne lived to crush virginal young men whereas Amelia Haversham was half in love with Paul already and wanted to keep him for herself. She assumed that after his binding Paul’s further availability would be subject to negotiation. As he was under sixteen, she assumed that consent would have first had to have been gained from his parents. That had been the standard procedure up until now. But the hunger amongst the coven for Paul and his sacred fluids had for a change of plans. The Baroness sensed that if she kept Paul at the school there would be a witch’s revolt. The priests from Scotland would need to be brought in to sexually subdue the coven. And usually there was a high price to be paid for their services. There might be years of sexual servitude required on Freddie La Strange’s part until the bill was paid. Which wasn’t the end of the world certainly, but the Baroness had made plans for the summer. More importantly she would want a second crack at Paul Sanborn. She could smell the lust oozing off him. She could taste the sweetness of his sacred fluids before a drop of his pre-cum had made it onto her tongue. She could already tell that after this ceremony she would be forced to stay the night at this school due to sexual exhaustion. She should have had Lady Amelia prepare her standard suite for the evening but she was too excited. She wanted to yoke him to her own desire and give Venus another slave. She wanted to make him aware of the innate superiority of the female. His cock was not his own anymore. It was a gift rather to the coven of Venus and theirs to do with as they pleased.

Naked, the Baroness was even more stunning than when she was clothed. Even her sisters for several seconds were caught staring. Her face was slightly weathered if only to allow her to confer a sense of authority, but her body might as well have belonged to the eighteen-year-old captain of the cheerleader squad.

“Dim the lights and start the music,” Freddie La Strange told Amelia Haversham distractedly. On her command the chairs all save one were moved out of the way. The women formed themselves into a circle with the large Etruscan bowl at its center. From a closet a thick tapestry depicting lurid sexual displays was brought into the circle and folded into fourths to form a mattress.

The music began to pour forth from hidden speakers in the room. It was similar to Gregorian chants but rather than the veneration of Jesus Christ these Grigorians praised the Goddess of love. According to Paul’s studies with Professor Lindsay, these chants predated Christianity by several centuries. Much of Christianity was meant to serve as a corrective to Venus-worship. But the old ways had survived and thrived in hidden places. Unlike the God of Abraham Venus’ power was transparently real. She was the personification of lust. Every act of human coitus was an act of reverence for Her. She was what men imagined they saw when they stared into their eyes of their beloved.

“Prepare the sacrifice!” said the Baroness La Strange. Her words seemed to explode from her mouth with the violence of a godly command. Immediately, Lady Amelia strode into the circle and approached Paul Sanborn.

“Darling, I need you to remove clothes and give them to me,” Lady Amelia whispered to Paul from behind him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of here,” she said. “And once your clothes have been removed, please open your eyes and stand near the bowl on the floor. I will allow you to speak but only when spoken to from this point forward. You will be able to remember everything that’s happening to you unless I command you to forget. If you have any questions, you can ask them now,” she told him.

He asked her what was expected of him.

“Merely to enjoy and accept your binding,” she said. “I shouldn’t try and fight it because it will be of no use,” she said. “You have no will of your own anymore. You are the goddess’ consort. She will take you and remake you. She will instruct you in the pleasures of submissiveness. I know you fancy me, Paul. This is the way we can be together. It’s intense what’s about to happen to you,” she said. “You’re about to learn your place in the pecking order. But once you do endless pleasure will be yours. I counsel you to submit now. It’s sexy for us to watch a man thrash around when trying to resist but resistance is futile. I prefer that you emerge from your binding ceremony content and intact. I fancy you, too, darling. I prefer that you comply willingly. Unlike so many others in this room I have your best interests in mind.”

Once his clothes were off the gasps of appreciation coming from the witches were frequent enough for the Baroness to comment it.

“There will be silence in this room until the Caeremonia is at an end!” Freddie La Strange commanded, taking Paul Sanborn in hand. Lost in trance Paul’s eyes were far unfocused. She accepted the Baroness’ hand willingly. He was led over to the bowl by her. Naked she stood on its opposite side and began to incant in a language he did not understand.