Tales of the gynarchic land”

“Nightingale’s POV of the Slyvia and Sophia Ordeal”

I never had a better teacher than Oscar.  Oscar was my childhood pet, a lovely greyhound.  Naturally docile and devotedly affectionate, I loved Oscar as much as an 11-year old daughter of power can love in this gynarchic land.  But as the girls here begin the transition to woman, that is when the truth about the world is revealed and taught.  It is taught in the most efficient manner available and always individualized for the recipient so as to leave no doubts about how the world works, where a girl fits into the fabric of things, and what a girl must do.

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“Leaving so soon little Nightengale?”  Slyvia was behind me.  That meant two things.  Firstly it meant that Sophia was here as well.  I turned my head just enough to spot her to my left, between me and the door leading out of room 3A and into the relative safety of the hallway.  I take a step and pivot and place my back against the windows.  Slyvia is correct to label me “little.”  The two jealous girls are each eight inches taller than I.  They moved in.  I drop my bag but resist the urge to clench my fists.  I have to be careful.  I always have to be careful. 

“We found something,” Sylvia was holding my face in her hands as she spoke the words.  Then she touched my cheek.  Her gentle touch reeked of irony considering the ominous message it was meant to carry. 

“Your journal…”  Sophia moved in as she spoke.  My taller classmates were visibly delighted to notice my knees give slightly.  They think my gasps and my trembling are manifestations of the fear they intend to cause.  And while their ambush is the root cause of my racing heart, they are wrong to think I am afraid.  It is true that Sophia and Sylvia exude an intimidating dominance with their carefully choreographed display of power and mockery.  But I am not afraid.

I am wanting.

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My mother often spoke of legacy.  Our family legacy was relatively new.  My grandmother ascended the ranks from complete obscurity.  She consolidated wealth, power and influence.  Perhaps that fact was what focused my mother on protecting what Grandmother had built.  My mother, Lady Josephine, was like a machine.  She was calculating.  She was efficient.  She was focused.   When my sister, Isabelle, reaching the age of 10, Mother took her from the main house and tutored her personally.  Rarely in our world of transactional relationships is this attention bestowed upon a child.  Such was my Mother’s love. 

Love of position, that is.

After that, I rarely saw Isabelle and I never heard her laugh.  I so used to love her joyful laugh.  It had been replaced by a whistling bemused giggle that seeped from her lips like air from a punctured balloon.  A peculiarly unnerving sound signifying the end of something that was once bright.

As Isabelle was approaching the age to go off to the Academy, for my part, I was ready to begin my tutelage at the foot of my mother.  I was eleven instead of ten.  No one dared insult my mother to ask her why the extra year.  Which segways to an interesting point.  I always knew that my Mother was shown respect and deference of the highest order.  Actually, the second highest behind only Officials, and of course, my Grandmother.  I always believed this treatment was simply a courtesy afforded the wealthy, which we most certainly were.  You see, I thought wealth, and talent, and maybe charm were the keys to comfort and affluence.  In my lessons, Mother would explain to me that those things are necessary good practices and resources, but not the true key to power.

Power is wielding cruelty.

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Sophia did most of the binding while Sylvia kept me still.  I didn’t struggle.  I was transfixed.  They laughed and taunted me as they bound me in the same manner they’d put to good use in their classes on Male Handling.  They were both advanced students on a track toward prestigious courses of study, and no study was held in higher regard than the torment of the lesser half of the species. 

Thick, braided cords twisted tightly, crushing my arms against my sides more with every turn.  Each breath became just a little hard to expel than the one before.  I was feeling lustfully overcome, but I remembered to plead and whimper.  I felt the blood flow slowing as my hands were wrenched together behind me, flexing my arms and exasperating the crushing tightness of the arm loops.  Sophia now dug her cords into the naked flesh of my wrists.  Pretenses of playful fun were abandoned as she cinched them extra tight.  Both girls took turns lashing me with cruel and mocking accusations. 

“You wanted helplessness, didn’t you?”

“Shhhh, we’re only giving you what you wanted.”

Now the critical moment has arrived and I actually do feel the fear of discovery that Sophia and Slyvia presumed I dreaded from the start.  Thankfully, they seal my careless mouth with a large rubber ball gag just before my low moans can expose my actual secret.

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Mother generously referred to me as her ‘challenging’ student.  Once she’d called me youngest daughter, but those days were past.  Now I was like Isabella, a block in the next tier of the foundation of the House Josephine.  And a foundation block as to be hard.

Mother was committed to making me a proper hard block.

At first, lessons were for texts.  Mother taught me histories.  She explained how women were not naturally superior in EVERY way to males.  In fact, physically, males have a significant advantage in terms of strength that if properly harnessed could topple the correct order of things.  Can you imagine?  But cruelty is a power that far exceeds wealth or intelligence and especially physical strength.  And wielding cruelty is more about becoming ambivalent to its application than clever in its form. 

Mother was renowned for her ambivalence. 

My lessons shifted to practical lab work.  Specifically, I was instructed in methods of subjecting the males in our family stables to increasingly cruel torments.  I was strong enough in theoretical evolutions.  I was creative.  I was logical.  I commanded acute technical prowess.  But when time came to applications…to actually tormenting the helplessly bound males….I struggled.  

Mother raged at me. 

“Martina Josephine, you cannot be so weak.  No daughter of power can possibly have such a soft heart.  I will not have it, little Tina.  Do you hear?  You MUST learn to be cruel.”  Mother would emphasize her point with the crack of her whip upon a whimpering male.  “See how easy that was?”

And then I flinched.  My outward sign of aversion to cruelty was an affront to Mother and to our family.  She stared holes through me as her expression cycled through confused bewilderment to crazed, and then to rage.

“ENOUGH DAUGHTER!”  There was no voice in her house that carried the same authority as Grandmother’s.  Mother and I both stared at our family matron, stunned to see her descend from her private wing to attend my training in the stables.  And yet, here she was.  “I will be taking Martina with me now.”  Grandmother gave me a look that spoke caution.  I received the secret message and took slow steps to hide how unsteady I was.  “I wish to teach her things that only I can.  After that, you will go back to preparing her for Academy.”  Grandmother’s smile announced all the power of our family.  “This is how it will be.”

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As Sohpia and Sylvia nudged me, helpless and bound, into the small wooden prison, all I could do to resist was shake my head in frustration.  Again, my tormentors presumed that my frustration was at my helpless plight.  They imagined my pleading eyes begging for merciful release from the inevitable embarrassment of discovery in the morning.  But that was not the situation.  Not at all.  And that was my secret.  They mocked me claiming that I wanted this degrading experience meant only for those of lesser station than mine.  It was meant as a cruel taunting lie.

Only, I actually DID want this.  In fact, I know in my soul that I was made FOR this.  The thought of being used excites and arouses me.  Enflames me, in fact.  Being overpowered and made helpless makes me wet in every place where moisture truly matters.  Threats of pain and cruelty bring me pleasure like nothing else other than actually being subjected to those most coveted sensations.  Oh the goddess, how badly I need what they’re doing.  I shake and tremble and strain to be able to touch myself.  They see a damsel struggling to escape and snicker at the sight.

In reality, I am a frustrated animal in heat desperate to find anything I can grind upon during my term of captivity. 

“Look at the camera,” Sophia instructed.  “Show us how beautifully helpless you are!”

I obey the command.  I do so without making a choice.  I’m no longer a creature capable of choice.  I am reduced to something that reacts.  I am instinct.  I am involuntary.  I am out of control helpless.  I am exactly as I was meant to be.

“You’re beautiful,” the jealous girl, Sophia said.  “Especially like this.”  They close the door and secure the lock.  They think I’m trapped inside.  In fact, I’m not trapped.  I’m finally free, if only for one night.

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Grandmother’s chambers were more than opulent.  Every luxury and lavish pampering accouterment one could imagine was available.  All except for servants.  Strangely, Grandmother kept none for herself.  But my time with her still felt as though is was not lacking for anything.  I spent three full months being instructed about power and influence.  Grandmother did not offer lessons in cruelty.  I assumed she was leaving those for Mother to teach, and I was more than happy to put those dreaded lesson off for a time.  But in reality, Grandmother was replacing those tools with something else that she said was fragile, but potentially even greater.

Appearances.

“Dear Tina.  Have I ever told you about where I come from?”  Grandmother was looking out at the rolling hills.  Grandmother never looks her age.  Bathed in the glow of the settings sun’s rays, she looked even more radiant than I’ve ever seen her.

“No Grandmother,” I responded.  “Only that you came from a place where you learned how to thrive.  And our family has been blessed by what you have built for us.”  Grandmother smiled at my innocence.

“That is true, Tina.  But there is more to that story than just that.  There are things that make me different.  And those are things that I never saw in your Mother, or in your sister, but I have seen them in you.”  I walked over and sat next to Grandmother.  She put her arms around me.  It felt so comforting.  “And because I seem to have passed something of my nature on to you, I have to share with you what they are, where they come from, and how you can survive in this world as you are.”  I was confused.

“Survive in THIS world, Grandmother?  What does that mean?”  Grandmother sighed.

“Tina, I am not from this world.  I am from another place where, among other differences, woman are not in control.  In fact, males have almost all of the power.”  I was stunned.

“But Grandmother, you are so expert in cruelty!”  Funny how I thought that was a compliment in the moment…

“Yes Tina.  That is true.  But I learned cruelty from men.  The most powerful ones were the cruelest.  But even as I understood cruelty, I didn’t have the heart to wield it.  Instead, I lived in hiding.  I concealed my fears and my weaknesses and my disapproval from everyone, and especially from the people I cared for.  Cruelty seeks out weakness, so appearing strong is everything.  Knowing how cruelty behaves and being two steps ahead of it is how you hide the way it makes you feel and it protects you from everyone by making them think that you are exactly like them.”  As Grandmother spoke, her words were helping me understand the confusing thoughts I’d been battling for years.

“How cruelty makes me feel?  What do you mean Grandmother?”

“Well Tina, if you are as much like me as I believe, then cruelty is revolting to you.  When you see it, it hurts your heart so deeply you want to turn away.  Or worse, you want to step in and stop it form continuing.”  I was nodding my head.

“Oh my goddess, yes Grandmother!  That’s exactly how I feel.”  Grandmother frowned.

“You must NEVER reveal that to anyone, Tina.  You must find a way to survive this life surrounded by cruelty without participating in it, but more importantly, without exposing how you feel about it.”  Grandmother’s expression made me frightened.

“Can I tell Isabell?”

“No precious girl.  You cannot tell your sister.  Doing so would put you both in danger.”  I stopped to think.  Then I spoke again.

“Can I tell Mother?”  A tear rolled down Grandmother’s cheek.

“No.  You must be especially careful to never tell your Mother.  If you ever told your Mother…”  Grandmother didn’t finish her statement.  She shook her head to clear her thoughts and she continued.  “Tina, to live this was in secret, you have to be smarter than you can imagine.  You have to create camouflage.  You have to form disguises for your desires.  Desires like the ones you have for dominance.”  My heart sank.  How did she know.

“Grandmother…I….”

“Martina, it is that I know, but only me.  Your cravings to be possess and controlled are a natural female impulse in the world that I am from, but I’m afraid they will make you a target in this one.  Unfortunately, your desire will only grow, and you will, at times, have to feed it.  And I will tell you how…”

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“Sleep well little Nightingale.”  The degree of darkness in my little wooden prison is surprising.  I dislike the darkness.  But the confinement is a glorious enhancement to my bondage.  My fingers strain and stretch, reaching out for relief.  I whimper through the heavy gag.  It echoes in this space and further intoxicates my mind.  Still clawing, my fingers finally reach what they’ve been seeking.  Not a knot that might be the key to untying my bonds.  No.  Quite the opposite.

As carefully as possible, I pinch the very edge of my panties.  The silk is slippery so I pinch it hard.  I inch it up one tiny pinched step at a time until I have a good grip with both bound hands.  My panties are now stretched tightly over my fleshy mound down in front.  Kneeling is already such a pleasurable experience for me.  It reminds me of my submissive nature.  Kneeling also is an ideal place to rock my hips.  I rise and lower myself just the few precious inches my confines afford me.  While doing so, I tug on my panties in rhythm, slowly working them to cleave their way between my vulva’s lips.  My shoulders roll back and I feel my breast pressing out and straining the buttons of my blouse.  I wish the fabric were more coarse so as to scrape my engorged nipples.  I’m panting hard from the effort and from the thrill rising up inside.  I finally manage to work my panties deep enough that the smooth material can slide against my clitoris.  My eyes roll back and my head arches as I press my pleasure button over and over.  I feel supremely exposed and helpless.  I bounce harder and harder.  Somehow I achieve enough momentum for my breast to bounce in the stretched tight blouse.  Oh such wonderful friction.  I’m so desperate.  I’m crying out in shrill primal shrieks without worry about a janitor discovering me.  Nothing matters but reaching my climax.  On and on and on, my pleasure builds until I can take no more.  And then I erupt.  And I scream so that my ancestors can hear me in both worlds and know that I understand exactly who I am and what I’m made for.

I am made to serve and please and submit, joyfully and without apology.

Exhausted, I slump to my side, a neat little bundle, helpless as the goddess intended.

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This was my final lesson with Mother before Academy.  But I didn’t think I could pass. 

“Mother, this really is an unnecessary use of a valuable resource.”  My face was stoic.  My voice was practice calm.

“Unnecessary, or is it unpleasant, Martina?”  Mother was studying me.  Observing.  Measuring.  Calculating.  My mask was holding.  But I was struggling.

“It’s just a dog, Mother.”  My words felt like a stake in my heart.  I couldn’t believe how cold I sounded.  Grandmother had taught me very well.

“True.  But then why aren’t you looking at it?”  This was it.  My final test.  I’d have to look and not react.  I knew what I’d see because Mother told me what she’d done.  Also, I could hear Oscar scrambling and whining for his life.  My beloved Oscar, my companion since I was just a girl, was hanging by a noose in the middle of the stable.  He’d been raised a few inches above the 10-foot high platform he’d been placed on for my viewing.  Mother’s cruelty was legendary.  Of course she meant well.  She meant to make me cruel enough to be like her.  This was something I could never do.  Grandmother knew it.  And Grandmother had planned my escape.  And it was happening now.

“Daughter!”  Grandmother’s voice rang out in the stable for the first time since the last time she interrupted my lessons.  “Is this the final exam?  Really?”  My Mother was offended.

“Well, I really do believe this is a worthy test, Moth….”  Grandmother interrupted her.

“This is a formal occasion Daughter.  You will call me Madame Josephine.”  Grandmother began walking the flight of steps up the to the platform.  “And I am the one who decides what, AND WHO, is worthy in this house.”  My Mother flinched.

“Yes Mo…I mean, Yes Madame Josephine.”  Grandmother freed Oscar from the noose.  The dog scampered down the platform and then sprinted past me, his trust shattered, and disappeared into the fields beyond.  I never saw Oscar again.  Grandmother adjusted the rope.

“I think a more worthy test is needed, Daughter.  I think our Martina deserves the chance to prove herself forever beyond all semblance of doubt.”  I squeezed my thumbnails into my palms so hard they nearly bled.  I needed to distract myself from feeling the agony that was coming. 

Grandmother put the noose around her own neck.

“Granddaughter.  My legacy.  I am proud of what you have become.  You will carry on and live well and make our house even greater.  But first, you must perform the cruelest act of any member of our family.  You must not flinch.  You must not hesitate.  Do you understand Granddaughter?”

I nod my head.

“Speak your answer Granddaughter.”  Somehow, my voice does not break.

“Yes Grandmother.  I understand.”

“Good Granddaughter.  Now, I pledge to obey the very next words that come from your mouth.”  Grandmother and I locked eyes.  “I have prepared you Martina.  This means everything to me.” 

“Madame Josephine?”  My mother didn’t understand, but she was about to.  Grandmother continued.

“Martina.  YOU mean everything to me.  Remember what you’ve been taught.  Remember how to survive.  Don’t ever doubt.  Don’t ever hesitate.  Always do what you have to do.”  I nodded to Grandmother knowing I could not speak until told what to say.  And I dreaded it.

“Granddaughter.  Ascend to your position in the family and be cruel.  Tell your Grandmother to step off this platform.”

With all of the love my Grandmother brought with her from her world and passed on to me, I did what I needed to do.  And I did not hesitate.

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I was discovered the next day in the little wooden cabinet.  I was a dirty and sweaty mess.  This was simply excused as a result of my vigorous struggles.  Nobody faulted me for being overpowered by two older and larger students.  Of course, Sophia and Sylvia both gained status for such a cruel display.  Cruelty toward each other, while not encouraged away from academic institutions, is considered good practice when only taken to a certain point.

My tormentors still had a ways to go before they came close to THAT point.

But as for THIS occurrence, my painful night served me well.  I enjoyed a night basking in orgasmic joy imposed on my against my will by an overpowering force.  My natural submissive impulses were satisfied beyond my wildest hopes.  And more lasting was the advantage of camouflage.  I was granted a degree of leniency as I “recovered” from my “embarrassing” ordeal.  No one felt it out of place for me to flinch at certain times or hesitate at others.  After all, I was a daughter of power.  I was sister of Isabell.  I was daughter of Lady Josephine.  And I was the cold, cruel girl who commanded Madame Josephine to step to her demise the day before coming to Academy.

That was what the faculty and student knew.

But what no one knew is that I created the journal and made sure Sophia and Sylvia found it knowing it would trigger them to carry out a cruel assault.  Just as my Grandmother taught me, I had to understand cruelty, anticipate it, and stay two steps ahead of it.

My disguise is holding up.  But I will not be cocky.  I have a lot of Academy left to endure.

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 (For @Lady-Sarah-Ines )

TO BE CONTINUED