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This afternoon they started with archery training. John always enjoyed this, the pure physicality of it. He liked the part where after having demonstrated them the correct position, they had to obtain it, and he went behind each pupil and from close up reached around to fine-tune arms and body posture. He liked it because his pupils were a bunch of naked slave girls.
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They liked it, too, more or less. Being in the fresh air, doing something active, not being tied up for a change... In the harsh reality of a slave girl's education it was one of the more enjoyable ways to spend an afternoon.
John took great care to teach them how to avoid hurting themselves. Shooting bare-handed and bare-breasted presented some difficulties. Everyone knows the ancient amazons had one of their breasts cut off for unhindered bow-handling. But John had doubts about this story. It wouldn't be practical. A tight bandage would be as effective. Both these options weren't available for John's part-time amazons. Their breasts were more valuable assets on than off - and they had to do their fighting in the nude, therefore no bandage. He taught them to always keep their valuable assets and their pretty fingers out of the bowstring's way. He described vividly the hard-healing burns, sores and scars. They exercised a lot, he showed them some tricks with pieces of strings, or strips of paper.
To stay unharmed and be effective as shooters, they had to learn to hold the drawn bow precisely and steadfast. A central part of their training would be to gain enough strength to do this with ease, and repeatedly. After an hour of preliminary explanation and bow-drawing exercises, the girls were already covered with sweat, before even shooting their first arrow.
The other central part was target practice, of course. Learn to be calm, learn to aim, learn to let go. He told them about breath control, line of sight, and which movements would make the arrow go astray. The aiming lessons drew their attention. They always did. Learning how to kill made them feel in a way they weren't used to. Empowered.
Most slave masters wouldn't be comfortable with the thought that their plaything could accurately pierce his balls from 30 yards or more. There is an ongoing campaign to outlaw the training of fatal arts to slaves completely. John didn't care. He liked his girls dangerous.
There were three of mine in his group: Arlena, a petite 18-year-old beauty, originally from South America, but living in the city since early youth. Ula, a 19-year-old sun-tanned Miss Goldilocks hailing from a Northeastern province town. And Sasa, 22, perhaps the prettiest of them all, a half-mulatto with cream-coffee skin and wild hair, from the Southern borderlands.
"How did they do?"
"Quite good. All three showed good elasticity and confidence; of course they are not strong enough yet. The big one," he nodded in Sasa's direction, "doesn't like to obey. It's in her eyes. I had to punish her once, and will have to punish her more in the future."
"Yeah, she's a wild one. It's a pleasure to whip her, but she makes life hard for herself. Just go on with it. Punish her as you see necessary."
"Ok, I will. You care to check their scores?"
"Yes. Are they about average? Do they need to work on something?"
"It's too early to tell. They all seem to have good aim, especially the blonde with the pointy tits," he meant Ula. He gave me three sheets, which showed, as he explained to me, their scores, the average score of the group, and the long-time average according to his experience. "But the goal today was to accustom them with the equipment. Which they did." He smiled. "I'll do an individual evaluation after three days. Then I can tell you more."
"Fine, thanks. Sounds like the professional, systematic approach. I like it."
We watched the girls having some fun washing the sweat of each other's bodies with a garden hose and cold water.
For the way home, I tied them only lightly, just the wrists tied together behind their backs, and a leash around the neck. But I gagged them thoroughly, each with a rather big ball-gag, and covered their heads under slave hoods so they couldn't see. I tied each girl's leash to another girl's wrists, so they would have a sense of where the other was moving, and commanded them to walk in front of me. We had an hour's way along the open country at the city border, and I made some detours, which took another hour, to show them off, and to enjoy the view of their well-formed buttocks. And how they managed not to bump into each other every now and then after a while!
Arlena was freshly cleaned and oiled, but still gagged and hooded, when I took her to my bed later that evening.
"I want you to sit on top of me, straddling me." I told the undistinguished light brown jute hood, which nodded in confirmation.
"I'll tie your ankles to a very wide spreader-bar behind you. And raise it to about hip-height behind you. So you won't sit comfortable."
Another nod.
"Quite uncomfortable, if you manage to do what I want. You probably would fall over, without some kind of support, we'll come to that."
We sat in the kitchen, where I had diner with the other girls. She probably thought she would not have a chance to eat something in the foreseeable future. Girls do think about eating a lot. Especially after a long day of exhausting physical activity. Probably she felt really hungry.
"You'll cross your wrists behind your back, and I'll tie them together, than draw them up between your shoulder-blades until it really hurts. You know, kind of the reverse prayer position."
An unintelligible mumble from under the hood. It may have meant "I know."
"I'll tie them up nicely with two ropes crossing in front above your breasts and going back under the arms. It'll look cute. Ties around your breasts always do."
Her answer sounded like a muffled "bwww" but may have meant "Thanks."
"Perhaps I'll add another rope below the breasts, and connect them to form a real breast-tie. To make them stand out. We'll see."
I touched the tip of both breasts, lightly.
She shivered in response. Never one to miss an opportunity to impress her master, my Arlena.
"I'll sling a girdle around your waist, very tight." I put my hands left and right on the narrowest part of her waist.
"That girdle will be tied to a hook in the ceiling. That way, with some flexibility, you'll be able to keep your seat even with your ankles drawn up to hip-height behind you. Of course, it might be difficult to maintain an upright position. Once you start losing control, you probably could do nothing to stop toppling over. The point of support will be in your lower back. Everything above it you will have to support yourself. You'll have to show a good sense of balance, and stamina."
I fingered her belly-button, and felt for the muscles beneath it. She would need them.
"For fun, my fun, I'll add another rope, a thin one will do, around both of your elbows. Drawing on it, I shall try to squeeze them together. I don't know if it will be possible, what with your wrists drawn upwards between them."
I touched her arms, which have been unbound for a while now. Not for much longer.
"We'll see how you handle this. If you do well, I'll put a hook up your ass, and tie it up to the top of your hood, drawing your head back down as far as it will please me. Your lithe frame will look splendid, thus arched and drawn and constricted."
My finger wandered down between her buttocks, until the tip reached her little hole, pressing slightly at the upper edge, where the metal would protrude. She playfully bent back her head. The bitch!
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