Retraining Julia (Pt. 2)

Originally written for Henry Higgins

Content warnings for this story (click here for guide):

Corporal punishment, bondage and captivity, nonconsent

The lights were dimmed in the hallway, and the shadows of nude statuettes drifted over Julia’s body as the Master led her along. He did not say anything, which worried her.

Bronze figurine of a shy nude girl drawing her knees up to her chest

How had it been, the last time? She had blocked most of it out, but it had been painful and degrading. She remembered her hands being tied together with soft black rope, and this being looped over a hook in the high ceiling. And there were long, unforgiving implements – many of them. But the pain had not been the worst part. That had been the moment he reached a hand between her legs and observed that she was wet.

The Master led her now up the stairs, her lead making soft metallic sounds as they went. He did not look back. At least he had let her get up off her knees.

They entered a bedchamber Julia had not seen before. A four-poster bed stood in the corner, and there were cupboards and drawers all around. Julia shivered at what might be tucked inside them.

The Master clipped the end of her lead into a ceiling fitting, and instructed her to stay.

He was only gone for a few minutes, but the time yawned wide, and the creaks of the house seemed louder than before. Julia’s heart rate began to climb.

It would be worse this time. So much worse. She cast her mind back to the client’s house. He was a cruel and smug man, and used her like – well – a slave. She slept in an attic bedroom, surrounded by framed mantras about obedience and pleasure in pleasing. He would take her out, whip her and put her away again like a doll.

She was sometimes brought down in the evenings, and made to kneel at his feet while he read. He had brought her a prim cotton dress, but no underwear. She was not allowed shoes. Her own clothes had been locked away somewhere on the day she arrived.

It was one of these evenings, kneeling meekly in the drawing room, when the junior groundsman had come in to ask if the client had any further need of him. Julia had not been introduced to the staff, and certainly not the menial staff. She had looked up at him, and he curiously at her, and then both of them had looked away. Clearly Barker knew his master was eccentric, just as Julia knew her master was possessive. Neither wished to displease the boss.

She was sent to her room for the rest of the day, emerging only to sit at the client’s feet at dinner and eat from a dish on the floor. He had given her a collar to wear, and had threatened that if she defied him, she would lose her dress and have to go about in nothing more than the collar. She had learned early on that disobedience met with swift punishment.

At midnight, though, she was still not asleep. She found herself hungry again, and had wandered downstairs in her white nightgown to see if she could scrounge any extra food. Luckily the cook had left some sandwiches wrapped up in the fridge, along with a slice of orange cake. Julia snaffled the lot. Needing to wash the dry food down, she leaned over the sink to drink from the tap.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

Julia started at the male voice behind her, and banged her head on the tap.


“I’m so sorry, Miss. I didn’t realise anyone was in here.”

Julia rubbed her head and looked round to see Barker. He took a bag of ice chips from the freezer and offered it to her, apologising once again. In the hot, close evening, the ice was blissful on her aching head. As she held it in place, it melted down her cheek, into her nightgown. Barker stared at her throughout.

She had excused herself that night. But the following night she had returned, and so had he. He was not a beautiful young man, but he wanted her, and she had liked the thought of him against her. The client never looked at her like that – he was interested in holding power over a thing, simple as that. Barker’s uncomplicated, large-eyed hunger had stopped her sleeping. Up in the bedroom, her hands delved below the covers, and a ticker-tape ran through her head. He was only downstairs. He was only downstairs.

They had met in the kitchen a few more times before giving in and fucking. After drinking from the tap, allowing her to watch her nightgown ride up in the back, she heard his breathing grow heavier. She had turned and kissed him hard, sneaking a hand down to touch his hardening cock. They had stumbled out to the summer house where he’d hesitated at the door, glancing up to the master’s bedroom, but desire overrode his fear and once inside, he’d set upon her with an appetite.

This happened three more times, and each time she let Barker fuck her, Julia delighted in spiting her client, and in biting her thumb at the Master. They couldn’t train this out of her. She would give it away to all comers if it proved she wasn’t his property.

All the time they were meeting, Julia truly believed she and Barker were not being observed. But as she headed back to her bedroom one evening, someone caught her collar and swung her into an alcove off the stairs. She shrieked, and a hand was clapped over her mouth. It was not the client, but just as bad: his valet, Daniels.

“You little whore,” he hissed.

“I…don’t…” began Julia, hopelessly.

“Don’t try to talk your way out of it. The master will hear all about this in the morning.”

“Please don’t tell him,” pleaded Julia.

“Too late,” smiled the valet, meanly. “Too late. I dread to think what he’ll do. The last one kissed the gardener and he had her birched until she could hardly walk. So for you, I imagine that will be the least of it. Unless you’d like to make me an offer.”

His cock was clearly hard beneath his trousers. He wore a thin, mean smile, like that of a snake discovering a baby bird.

“Never,” spat Julia.

The valet slapped her across the face.

“A very bad attitude,”he chided. “But have it your way. We shall see what the master says in the morning.” 

He pushed her into her bedroom, locking the door. 

After an hour’s crying and panicking, Julia had scrambled through the window and made it down the drainpipe. She had gone several miles, barefoot and directionless, before the bounty hunters caught her.

The door clicked and Julia woke from her daydream, as the Master strode back in. He carried with him a barber’s strop, a paddle and a belt.

“I think we’ll start with these,” he said. “After what you’ve done, we need to make you very, very sorry.”

A smartly-dressed man holds a large wooden paddle with holes in it.

Julia dropped her gaze, blushing, and tugged at her bonds. The Master approached her and spoke closely into her ear.

“You’ve been very dirty, Julia. A dirty. Little. Slut.”

“I don’t -” Julia began, pathetically. Her arms above her head, her little breasts and pussy were exposed, and she squirmed on her rope.

“Shh,” said the Master, reaching for a gag and popping it into her mouth. He buckled the strap behind her head. “You don’t get to talk. That’s a privilege you have to earn. I think we’re going to start you right at the bottom. That’s where dirty little sluts belong.”

Julia bit down on her gag, her eyes pricking with tears, as the Master began to search through a drawer.

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