Chronicles of Raan

Leila’s Training (A BDSM Fantasy Novel)


By Tara Crescent





Chapter 1: The Inconvenient Matter of my Virginity


It was two years into my training as a pleasure slave when I first realized something wasn’t quite right with the way I was being trained.

Let me explain.

There are many worlds in the galaxy that provide pleasure slaves, but all of them – the pleasure slaves of Sarth; the pleasure slaves of Nushur; the pleasure slaves of Tibra; they all paled into insignificance when compared to the pleasure slaves of Argentia. One only contracted with a pleasure slave from Sarth or Nushur or Tibra, or any of the others, if a pleasure slave of Argentia was not available.

In my youth, I assumed that was because the pleasure slaves of Argentia were the most beautiful; the most submissive; the ones best able to tolerate pain, and the ones best able to provide pleasure.

As my training began, and I spent the first two years untouched by any, I started to realize my mistake. I was rushed from class to class; languages, music, art appreciation, protocol, geography, politics, advanced politics, economics, advanced economics. Knowledge was being poured into my open mind; I was getting an education that the rulers of many worlds in the galaxy would be happy to receive.

Slowly I started to realize, the pleasure slaves of Argentia were the best in the galaxy not because of the toughness of their bodies but because of the strength of their minds.

“Lust is in the head, Leila,” my mentor Arya said to me once, when I asked her about it. She was getting ready for her final exam, though anyone who knew her knew there were few doubts that she would graduate with flying colours. “You entice because of who you are; your intelligence and wit keep your contract holders coming back, not the softness of your skin or the tightness of your body. There are many in the galaxy with a tight body and soft skin. You are better. You have a mind.”

I redoubled my efforts in class, determined to be the best pleasure slave I could be. I was also secretly glad. When I had arrived on Raan, to apply to be a pleasure slave, I had been conflicted. My body craved submission and pain, but I was reluctant to give up my individuality. It seemed that as a pleasure slave of Argentia, I would not have to choose between the two.


My raw edges were smoothened, of course. Endless hours of dance lessons made me graceful; music lessons lowered my voice to a lyrical murmur; one designed to give pleasure to any listener. Painful posture lessons corrected my tendency to slouch; hours spent in utter stillness posing as a model for art class corrected my restlessness.

Then, two years into the program, the pleasure training began.

***

Aah. Pleasure training. The words were a misnomer, of course. I was training to be a pleasure slave; it was not my pleasure that was important; just the pleasure of my contract holders. If I’d thought my dance trainer harsh, it was nothing compared to the trainers that were training me in the art of pleasure.

New classes were added to my schedule. Classes where my ass was trained to accept a contract holder’s cock, fist, or almost anything else they chose to insert, classes where I would practice contracting the muscles in my vagina to best pleasure my contract holder. I was trained to swallow a cock, lick a glistening p-ssy, and much more.

Very few things were not taught. There were some restrictions on what a contract holder was allowed to do with a pleasure slave, of course, but they were few and far between.

***

But first, there was the matter of my virginity.

I was taken to get an examination by the Healer before my pleasure training started. He measured the diameter of my jaw, used a device to open up my ass so he could see how much it could be stretched; and had started doing the same to my p-ssy when he stopped abruptly.

“You are a virgin?” His voice was surprised.

I nodded. He made a notation; dismissed me. I headed to my Advanced Politics class, thinking nothing more of our conversation.

My Head Trainer was waiting in my quarters when I returned from class. I eyed her with surprise; I saw her once a week as part of my ongoing evaluation, but I’d never seen her outside of that.

“I hear you are a virgin,” she said without preamble.

I blushed. I didn’t understand why they were making such a big deal about it. Surely some of the girls were virgins when they applied for training. I said that to my Head Trainer.

She laughed. “You’d be surprised,” she said wryly. “Most of our applicants find out they like to submit, to fulfil their partner’s desires, and then they apply. It’s pretty rare to find a virgin here, actually.”

“We’ve all discussed it,” she continued. “Your pleasure training will be harsh, often very painful. It seems a shame to have that experience be your first exposure to sex. So, Leila, for once, and once only, you get to choose. If there’s any trainer or teacher here that you’d like to pleasure you for the first time, speak, and if that person is willing to instruct you, you will be deflowered by him or her.”

I gulped. Choice was the first thing you gave up in the training. I wore a uniform daily; my schedule was determined for me; every hour of my life tightly allocated. And now, I could choose anyone I wanted to sleep with.

I knew who I wanted, of course. For over a year, I’d been fantasising privately about my Advanced Economics instructor. Hassan. He was tall and lean, with a trimmed beard just starting to grey, and a caustic sense of humour that made us all scramble to do our best work in his class; else be the target of his sarcasm.

“Hassan…” I mumbled, my eyes on the floor, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

My Head Trainer laughed out aloud at my fiery cheeks. “Oh, Leila, you’ll soon get over that; Hassan also teaches some of your pleasure training classes. But I’ll send him a note, ask if he’ll do me a favour.”

It stung; the way she worded that. Sleeping with me was a favour Hassan would do for my Head Trainer, not something that was pleasurable in its own right. But then I considered the nation of Argentia, where women were well-versed in the art of giving pleasure; arts that I, as yet knew nothing about. I flushed at my presumption.

But that evening, I received a message from Hassan, telling me to show up to his quarters.