Talent Training

An image of a woman wearing a bra and thong, standing on her knees to go with my story about training a talent.

Content warning: non-consensual scenes.

Alany nervously ran her hands over the smooth black leather stretching around her thighs. Her eyes fixed on the short, bright red lace top in the mirror. She wore a black lace bra under it, and if anyone looked closely, they could see her nipples.

He had hung out these clothes for her. From the moment his chair had swung around in that first round of the talent show, she was under his spell. Their eyes had locked in that moment, and again when she and the other chosen talents met in the dressing room after the show.

“My way is the only way,” he had said, resting his eyes briefly on each of them. “You might have a talent, but if you don’t know how to use it, it will bring you nowhere. Follow my rules, and you will make it in this world.”

Alany wanted to make it.

She wanted to win, and in that moment, she knew she would do anything her coach wanted.

She would let him train her.

And train her, he did.

Her nipples hardened against their lace coverings, remembering how he had trained her previous rounds. He had made her angry, humiliating her with words, and there was the day they both had laughed so much, their tummies hurt for hours. His ways were highly unconventional, but they worked. She was the winner of their group, and in a week had to battle against the winners of the other four groups.

Alany was determined to win this talent show.

After one last look at her image in the mirror, she went to join him in the auditorium in the basement of his house, the same place where they had practiced for the previous rounds. Descending the stairs, the first drops of excitement moistened the fabric between Alany’s legs.

He sat at the piano and started playing the song the moment he saw her. She was late falling in and stumbled over the first few words, but then sang with all her heart, pouring emotion into the words. Abruptly, he stopped playing and stood up, sending the piano chair flying behind him.

“Pathetic!” he snapped. “Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic!”

With each word, Alany cringed, her heart sinking further into her shoes.

“Do you really want to win?”

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“What’s that?”

“Yes, I want to win. I want to win!”

Her voice was stronger now.

“Take off your pants and top,” he said.

Alany just looked at him, dumbfounded. He sank into the couch, and snapped: “Well, get on! We have a lot of work to do to get you ready for the show!”

She did as told, and soon stood in her lacey bra and tiny thong, holding her arms and hands in front of her in an attempt for modesty.

“Get over here,” he beckoned with one finger. When she was within his reach, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap.

The first slap surprised her too much to evoke any kind of reaction, but by the third she fought against him, trying to get away from the sting in her backside. He held her down with ease, hooking one of his legs over hers, and held a hand between her shoulder blades.

Repeatedly, he smacked her bum.

Tears stung Alany’s eyes, and soon a sob escaped her mouth.

“Good!” he said. “Now sing!”

She was unsure whether she heard him right.


His command snapped through the air, and he put force behind it when his hand connected extra hard with the flesh of her buttocks.

Sobbing, singing, and squirming, Alany endured the onslaught of his hands. Only by the time she reached the end of the song for a second time did he stop the spanking. That was when Alany realized he had long removed the hand from her back, and the leg pinning hers down. She lay still, still crying, but aroused. She welcomed the hand slipping between her legs, finding her wetness, and bringing her a release.

Four nights and countless practicing sessions later, she stepped onto the stage for the semi-finals of the talent show, and remembered his words: “Let the tenderness of your bottom guide you. Put your anger, your humiliation, your lust, your tears into your song. Sing with every emotion of the past week!”

And sing, she did.

The same leather pants she wore the day of the first spanking brushed against her bruised backside. Wetness pooled between her legs, and her nipples hardened in response. The audience greeted her soulful performance with a standing ovation, and when she finally walked off the stage after gathering flowers and stuffed animals in her arms, she couldn’t help but wonder what he had in store for her preparing for the finals.

© Rebel’s Notes
Image by 15915098 from Pixabay

13 thoughts on “Talent Training

  1. This is an interesting style of training. If I was still in a D/s relationship, this would make for an excellent role play haha. Very well written and intriguing.

  2. So sensual throughout… Marie! Wonderful – i loved she got the spanking then had to sing – i can really see how that would work!
    May xx

    1. Thank you, May. This was another story I struggled to write, but love how it turned out 🙂 xox

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