That was an outburst. An unnecessary one. Mason had a plan. He was going to reinforce the importance of Ginny talking to her father about her lifestyle choices. But the audacity of her questioning was crossing a line he couldn’t ignore. Mason got out of the car and opened the door, gesturing Ginny to get out. She got out laughing and fumbling in her heels on the gravel driveway.



“Silly, I told you my house is way over there. This is just th-”



“Take. Off. Your clothes,” said Mason.



“Ginny!” called out Ginny’s father from the front door of his new mansion. “Ginny who is that?”



“Hi Daddy!” cried Ginny.



“Tell him who I am,” said Mason.



“Uh-um, Daddy! This is Mason!” Ginny shouted across the lawn. Her father made a grumpy gesture and went back into the house.



“I’m going to repeat my instructions to you because you appear to be hard of hearing.” Mason’s voice was cool, calculating. His jaw clenched. “I want you to be naked when you are at home. Home starts at this gate. You are to dress and undress here every morning and every evening so that your whole family knows you are mine twenty-four-seven… and so does the neighborhood,” he added with a miniscule smile.



“You can’t be serious? I didn’t sign on for some camping trip! I want to be a concubine. I want to be a sexual servant. I want to be loved! And this… this is preposterous!”



“Would you like to know what it’s like to be a real concubine? Right now?” he asked, completely calm. Ginny’s face changed, her eyes lightened an almost unnoticeable degree.



“Right now?” she asked.



“Right here. But I need you to take off your clothes.” Ginny complied, sensing she was about to experience something she had always dreamed of, and she was, but not this. The moment she was nude Mason pinned her over the hood of her car and whispered in her ear calculatingly. “As your dominant partner I welcome questions of any kind, given they are presented in a respectful manner.” An unscheduled exhale escaped his lips. His weight pressed upon her, with exceptional pressure where his hand held her wrists together high on her back. “This ensures learning. However, your questioning this evening in the car was rude, disrespectful and bratty. This is what happens to a concubine when they behave this way.” He smacked her with his bare hand, which, to Ginny’s inexperienced rear felt like an oar. He slapped her hard, enough so she jerked forward on the hood of the car, engine still warm, heating her torso, Mason’s hand heating her ass. For the first two hits she only made muffled gurgling noises, but she began to let out pitiful little cries. Mason let his spanking weaken, loosened his grip on her and leaned in to hear those sad sounds until they subsided and he began slapping her again. But the cry was gone and Mason felt he had made a point. Ginny began to fold her clothes and looked up at him from beneath orange strands of hair. Mrs. Johnson was standing still as death just outside her front gate three houses down and staring.



“Because of your outbursts I cannot let your previous mistake with your assignment go unpunished. But, I want things to be right with us, so your consequence will be to tell your dad everything about us. Tell him everything you did and how you want to live.” Ginny smiled, as if relieved. “This may be my body,” he said, grabbing her, “and my rules. But this is his property and you follow his rules. Tell him I said that. Let me know how it goes tomorrow.” He drove away. Ginny walked into the house, and shortly after she was shunned to the pool castle, where she already lived. She felt foolishly dirty for telling her folks, her mom seemed especially betrayed, but a part of her felt lighter.



The next morning Mason watched her from across the street, as she dressed herself. He watched her humiliated posture and slow movements. The method, clothing, and demeanor with which she dressed, on the gravel filled driveway reeked of defeat, disappointment, and delicious reluctant acceptance. After the previous evening’s screaming and yelling on the part of her parents, and strangely calm discipline administration on the part of Mason, she didn’t know what she would do wrong today, and what sort of “consequences” Mason would dream up.



“Did you tell him I respect his rules?” Mason asked right away.



“I told him something like that,” she said. Mason sighed, trying not to seem disappointed. “He seemed to get how deep you were about it but then he kicked me out,” she said.



“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that,” said Mason, nonchalantly starting the car. “He’ll come around. In the meantime, I have an assignment for us for first period, possibly all day long.”



“But school-” she protested.



“I’m arranging right now,” he said texting, “for Amanda to take notes for you. However you have to be back for the last period of the day. Mrs. Roberts will notice your absence. Your dress code is rule number one, and needs to be discussed, however your grades need to be maintained as well. I expect an A on Mr. Feldman’s History essay tomorrow.”



“Who’s Amanda?” asked Ginny with an obvious tone of jealously.



“Ginny. Your upbringing is clearly becoming a problem. While I neither discriminate against nor judge individuals who choose a path other than my own, I expect my concubine to be fully my property. You are still completing your application process and your training is so far from beginning you will long for the trials of today when it does finally progress. However, I must understand that you come from… a mother and a father, is that correct?”



“Yes Sir,” she said curtly with full knowledge of where this conversation was leading.



“I know your parents have a marital contract that stipulates monogamy. We discussed this at the mall. How were you born a submissive girl?



“It’s possible,” she said in a way that could only read that she was lying to herself. Mason determined Ginny was in far too delicate of a position on this matter for him to obtain information from her directly. Other means would be necessary.



“Your jealousy was not only apparent in your comment but uncalled for. You need to become comfortable, as soon as possible, with the idea of my having more than one concubine. Is that clear?” He asked gently.



A defeated “Yes Sir,” escaped her lips.



He drove around the outside of town and took her to a Mansion. It was his father’s. Mason too lived in the guest house of his parent’s property, but he didn’t take Ginny there. He took her to the upper most tower of the mansion where an tremendous barrel of a man lived and worked and rarely left. As soon as the two of them walked in the man greeted Mason so warmly, Ginny thought he was going to get slapped. Ginny looked at him slyly, attempting to fix her eyes on his face, but they wandered noticing various details. He wore loose fitting tweed slacks with a vest, pressed white shirt, and a cravat. His shoes were uncreased. His hands were delicate. His face was clean shaven.



“Ahhhh Mason. You grew, what is it? A quarter of an inch since I last saw you? You know that’s too long to go without your tailor! And why aren’t you in school? And do tell me: Who is this pearl of a child you’ve brought with you?” rambled the man. “Oh the colors I could dye to accentuate that hair…” he said, extending his arm to stroke a lock only to be tapped away by Mason.



“Mason,” Ginny said under her breath, “Who is this?” But the man heard her.



“Who am I? Who am I?! Why I am the Great Georgian. I am a world known tailor, commissioned to work here, for the Tearings.” Ginny looked sceptically at Mason who gestured with his eyebrows that Georgian wasn’t lying.



“I have a project for you, Georgian,” he said taking Georgian to the window and out of Ginny’s earshot. They spoke very briefly, Mason clearly giving strict orders and Georgian standing at attention. “Maybe have a few designs ready by later this week?” said Mason on his way out.



“Absolutely, Sir!” responded the Georgian, who took Ginny’s measurements while Mason waited outside. He’s such a gentleman, she thought. After Ginny’s measurements were complete they went back to Cherry Creek and went straight to the women’s department store. Ginny tried silks, designer denim mini-skirts, luxurious bras. There seemed to be no limit to what Mason could buy for her, but she was always on edge, feeling, “This must be the last thing.” By lunch Ginny had a new wardrobe and Mason took her to the concubine administration office where she was issued identification specifying her as unowned and complete with an official bar code. The office had certified tattoo specialists who could copy any bar-code and Ginny’s was tattooed on the front of her sex. Her private parts were in a huge amount of pain by this point, still healing from the piercing, and feeling the fresh scratch of the black bar code, to be seen by everyone who sees her naked, including her father. Lunch gave them enough time to get to school sometime during fifth period. The halls were empty save for the occasional janitor or teacher going in and out of bathrooms or the copy room.



Mason pulled Ginny into the boiler room and the door clicked behind him. There was no question as to what his intentions were, at least vaguely to Ginny. Mason’s shoes clicked on the floor as he walked towards her and all Ginny could think of was the keys on the rings that hung from the janitors’ belts. Mason pinned Ginny against the wall and gripped her under her short, short skirt to check for panties and grooming. All was as it should have been but his fingers lingered as Ginny took in a short breath. Unwilling to risk the possibility of her making a noise, Mason placed a hand over her mouth and whispered into her ear. Ginny’s breath slowed and she appeared to calm at the sound of his cool, low, carefully placed words.



“You are caged by my body and have nowhere to run. I’m going to remove my hand and you will be quiet, are we clear?” Ginny nodded, a tear forming in one eye. Mason removed his hand and Ginny gasped for air from within the confines of his enormous limbs and tilted head. She’d always admired his physique, and now she knew why. The sense of helplessness he gave her was overwhelmingly delicious. She would have done anything he’d asked for at that moment. She’d already forgotten about the janitors’ keys, sixth period, dress code. She was his in the moment only. She was fixated on Mason’s hands, one of which was still stroking under her skirt, causing a great deal of pain when it passed over her fresh piercing and tattoo but immediately afterward providing intense pleasure, teasing her, touching her only superficially. But the circumstances of the situation, the closet, his huge body, getting caught, the pain, made her so excited she called out. Mason’s hand landed over her lips and with a sharp thwack he muffled her pleasure, placing the other hand over her shoulder and turning her around, holding both her wrists behind her back. He used his belt to secure them.



By this point the heat of the room had Ginny’s fair skin severely flushed. Mason pressed her face up against a warm pipe, and she shuddered again. He must have known how hypnotic his whispering was.



“Has anyone ever put anything in your ass before, Ginny?” he asked. Ginny shook her head, scared and unprepared psychologically for the experience ahead of her.



“No.”



“We’re going to play with your ass a little bit right now,” he said. He was pressing her face into the pipe and talking through his teeth into her ears. “Spread your legs and stick out your ass,” he said, and as she did he lifted her skirt above her hips and squeezed her hips, parting her, and pulling her open. It was hard to see in that room but Mason could still make out the intense coloring of Ginny’s sex. Her outer labia were porcelain white, just as was the rest of her, the exterior of her inner labia were a deep pink, but her insides were a near magenta, and her asshole was nearly perfectly porcelain with just a hint of pink around the edge. Mason shoved his hands deep into Ginny’s mouth, coaxing up a good deal of saliva and running his fingers across her ass, pulling at its circumference, first with one finger, then two, then three. Her ability to relax without any experience was spectacular. He put his fingers back in her mouth for a good cleaning.



“The bell will ring shortly,” he said looking at his watch and putting his belt back on. “Your assignment, due this weekend, will be to prepare your ass for my cock. We have one more shopping trip after school to assist you with this.” Mason left the boiler room and the passing bell rang. Ginny walked out shortly after him and everybody stared at her. Had they known what she’d done? She felt the imprint of the pipe on her hot face. She attempted to straighten her hair and while doing so she realized: What am I so ashamed of? She walked to class with a hint of self confidence that was new to her. Even though she sought to belong entirely to someone else, her sexuality never felt so much her own.



After school Ginny dutifully slipped into Mason’s passenger seat. “So what lies ahead, Sir?” she asked.



“Sinsations.”



“Sinsations? Isn’t that a stripper store?” asked Ginny.



“Ohhhh Ginny. It’s far more than that. You won’t be shopping for outfits, but you will be shopping for a minimum of five things in each of the following three categories: implements of discipline, restraints, and toys. You must be clear about what category you are placing something in. Understand?” Ginny shook her head that she did and began wandering around the store with her basket. Mason leaned against the wall and observed her behavior. At first she wandered only around the main open section, taking in the experience of the store. It was nothing like what she’d imagined, with its carpeted floors, friendly staff, and general department store feel to it. In this open section she looked at basic toys, dildos, vibrators, and plugs, reading the boxes and examining the products. In the corner of the store stood a room labeled “BDSM.” Ginny quickly selected a few insertables and was pulled to the BDSM section where she found all sorts of toys. Far more than she could ever ask Mason to purchase for her, she thought, and began thinking of ways in which one could improvise. Panties could serve as a gag, for example. But some things, were to be made with the utmost care, she thought, some things could not simply be fashioned on the scene. She chose a beautiful Koa wooden paddle, and simple but elegant kangaroo hide whip. She returned to the first section and selected a vibrator, dildo, and butt plug. Those were her toys.



As she lingered in the BDSM room there were all sorts of items that caught her attention as she fantasized about punishment, infractions, and discipline. She wandered through the isles feeling the various materials and Mason realized she was daydreaming and needed to be redirected. He approached her swiftly from behind and, looking in her basket, over her shoulder, he gripped all the hair from one side of her head to the other.



“What have you selected?” he asked in a normal tone. He startled Ginny and worked hard at trying to hide how pleased he was with his own stealth. Once Ginny composed herself she began describing the articles in her basket with much self-involved detail about how this grove or vein or fall might awaken her senses. She was very clear that each of the items in her basket were to be in the “toy” category. The last toy was a butt plug and Ginny’s descriptions of it were centered less around herself (which is what Mason had hoped for for this category), but more centered around its features, bells, and whistles.



“Ginny. Why didn’t you ask a salesperson or myself to help you?” he asked.



“I wanted you to think I knew about that stuff,” Ginny replied shyly.



“This morning you told me you’ve never had anything in your ass. I doubted it briefly because you were so receptive, but clearly I was wrong to doubt you.” He grabbed her by the chin and pulled her face firmly up to his and spoke very smoothly and distinctly. “No lying. No hiding. Anything. Ever.” It was as if the world shut down around Ginny. The store blurred around her. The voices and sounds melted into indistinguishable noises until all she heard were those short sentences from Mason. All she saw was his face until he released Ginny’s chin and snapped his fingers. Two sales people arrived almost instantaneously and presented themselves to him.



“I will need a set of graduated crystal anal plugs delivered to room number one please,” and the two staff members disappeared as quickly as they materialized. Mason placed one finger through the ‘O’-ring in Ginny’s collar and tugged on it. Ginny instantly knew she was to follow and he led her to a corner to the store she hadn’t noticed, behind a wall. There was a hallway of doors, and the very first was inscribed with an “M.” Mason wasn’t sharing any information with her, he wasn’t explaining anything, he wasn’t even looking at her. She knew she was in trouble. She didn’t mean to lie, but that didn’t really matter. When they arrived at the door another shop worker arrived with them to unlock the door and as they walked in he asked Ginny to surrender her basket.



“Do you think I don’t know how all this works?” asked Mason, leaning into the employee, using his stature to his advantage. The boy ran off and Mason led Ginny in, who was terrified of what consequences lie ahead. Mason read her silence as obedience, and her behavior was obedient, but psychologically she was in a daze, rummaging through all the possibilities. What could he do to her in that little room? Had she made a selection with one of her “toys” that will undoubtedly seal her fate? Remembering the morning’s spanking and the heat of the car, remembering this morning’s session in the boiler room up against the hot pipe, Ginny felt her face begin to flush. She was mortified that Mason caught her in her lie so easily, she felt humbled by her failure to be less than acceptable, and she was starting to perspire, wondering if her choice of paddle would in fact be a toy or not or maybe Mason would come up with something more creative, more deviant, more twisted. Mason led her in by her collar and positioned her in the corner of the room. The room was lined entirely with mirrors, with one wooden chair in the corner, and just a few basic items hanging from the wall. The graduated plugs were laid out on a table for him and waiting. Mason took a seat in the chair and crossed his legs. He looked at Ginny for an uncomfortable amount of time during which she fidgeted but could not meet his eyes.



“Ginny. How do you feel right now?” he asked her.



“I feel… I… um. I…” No coherent statement managed to escape her lips.



“Take of your clothes,” said Mason.



“Here?” asked Ginny.



In one motion Mason stood up pulling the whip in a rounded swoop from the basket. He stepped towards Ginny, pulled her skirt down, unhooked her bra, and turned her around. He snapped the whip several times in the air, and leaned into Ginny.



“Every noise you make will cost you.” The whip cracked Ginny’s skin again and again. With each strike a lazy mark would emerge upon her flesh seconds later. Some marks bled, some didn’t. No noise came from Ginny’s mouth. When he saw her body slacken significantly he stopped and sat back down at his chair. Ginny didn’t move from her position save for an occasional twitch or tremble.



“Let’s try this again. Take off your clothes,” he said in a normal tone. Ginny pulled the skirt from her ankles off. She dropped her bra to the floor. “Face me. Put your hands behind your back,” Ginny obeyed. “How do you feel?”



Ginny stood before Mason with her head high for a few moments as she searched her mind desperately for the correct answer. Mason watched her shoulders lower, he watched her brow drop, her posture become crooked, and her chin begin to quiver. She began to wring her hands behind her back and again, no response.

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