Samia Learns How to Walk

Samia couldn’t help but admire Fiorella as Varga left. She was beautiful, hair a deep red, darker than her lipstick, it was braided, hanging over one shoulder. Her eyes glowed like emeralds. Her skin had a gorgeous glowing tan. She wore a leather overbust corset that was laced at the front, with a little of her large cleavage on show. She wore a silver necklace with a blood red stone in it. What caught Samia’s attention the most was the thick leather collar on Fiorella’s neck. Was she a ****?

“What do you think you’re looking at?” Fiorella snapped as the door closed behind Varga.

“I-” the words caught in Samia’s throat, unsure of what she was supposed to say.

“You shall not look at me, or admire my body unless instructed to do so. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

Fiorella slapped the side of Samia’s thigh. “While you’re here, you’ll address me as mistress. Is that understood?”

Samia gulped, feeling like she’d made a mistake coming here. “Yes, mistress.”

“Good. Follow me into the back.”

Fiorella walked through the beads in the doorway, and Samia followed. They headed down a corridor and into a dark room. There were cages, pillories and plenty of whips and canes on shelves or hanging from the wall. Samia looked around in fear. Why had she done this?

“Now remove your clothing,” Fiorella ordered.

Samia untied the rope around her waist and removed her tunic, dropping them on the floor. Fiorella spanked her ass.

“Fold them! You’re a ****, do you think that’s someone else’s responsibility?”

Samia knelt down and quickly folded the tunic, putting the rope on top. She put them down on the table, noticing the flogger in the corner. She was immediately reminded of Sergeant Frost and his foul breath, the way he’d fucked her ass, the way he’d fucked her in front of Varga.

“You have much to learn, ****,” Fiorella said. “Let’s start with some basics. When you’re walking or standing still, put your hands behind your back, and hold your elbows.”

Samia did so.

“Good, now heels together.”

She obeyed.

“Now as I said before. Never look at me unless I tell you to. Your eyes should always be down, or straight ahead, whatever your master prefers.”

Samia looked ahead, focusing on a spot on the wall opposite, trying not to move her eyes when Fiorella walked in front of her. She picked something up from the shelf to Samia’s left.

“Now, let’s see if you can stop embarrassing your master and walk gracefully.”

Samia waited for instructions, then felt the tap of a cane on her ass cheeks.

“Walk, I said. Are you deaf, ****?”

Samia instinctively looked at Fiorella.

“Do not look at me.” The cane struck her ass again, much harder. “I asked you a question, ****. Are you deaf?”

“No, mistress.”

“Then follow my instructions. Walk around the room.”

Samia gulped, then began to walk around the edge of the room, holding her elbows behind her back as she’d been instructed. She tried to be as graceful as possible in her movements, feeling like she was doing a good job.

“Pathetic,” Fiorella said. “Stop.”

Samia stopped.

“Now walk from one side of the room to the other.”

Samia did, then stopped.

“And back, keep walking until I tell you to stop.”

Samia turned, walking back the other way, turning each time she reached the wall. Fiorella had replaced the cane with a riding crop. She tapped Samia under the chin.

“Chin up.”

Samia lifted her chin up, trying to hold it up.

“Back straight.”

She straightened her back as she walked.

“Now walk on the balls of your feet.”

Samia did, trying her best to do all three as she walked.

She continued to walk from one side of the room to the other, feeling utterly degraded, naked here in front of Mistress Fiorella. It was so humiliating, but she’d signed up for this. She needed to do it, she needed to be convincing when she entered House Reyes as Varga’s ****. She had to do this for her family, for Octoton, for all of Hellsmere.

“Chin up!” The riding crop cracked against Samia’s ass. Her head had fallen, she lifted it back up.

She continued to walk back and forth for Fiorella, occasionally forgetting one of her instructions, and feeling the strike of the riding crop as punishment.

Once she’d completed enough lengths without a mistake for Fiorella to be satisfied, she was ordered to stop.