Couples Retreat: Obedience Training - Part 3

*Disclaimer. These stories may contain forced femdom, CBT, ball busting, bondage, anal/enema, servitude, slavery, torture, and other mature themes. They may move a little slow for your taste, I am trying to paint a full picture. Please be patient and enjoy.*

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**Driving to the Chateau**


The weeks that followed Sandy’s phone call with Lady Chanterelle went by fairly quickly. Mark was up to his typical bad behavior but that didn’t seem to upset Sandy as much as it normally did. She had light at the end of the tunnel and it came in the form of Lady Chanterelle. Scraping the money together for the getaway had been no easy feat. She luckily had recently received a quarterly bonus at work and was able to piece together the rest from her rainy day fund. Getting Mark on board for the weekend getaway was a different story.


“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Mark gruffed. “This better not be one of those lovey dovey, kumbaya types of deals.”


Sandy rolled her eyes. “No, it’s nothing like that.”


“That couples counselor we saw three times last year was a joke. Ooooh, ooooh, let’s all talk about our feelings.” He mocked.


“I know, I know. Opening up has never been your thing. I assure you, this is nothing like that. Think fun and sexy.”


“Oooo, fun and sexy huh?” He paused, “I’m just saying. If we ended up passing on an all inclusive weekend in Mexico, sipping tequila and margaritas poolside, for some sweater wearing, tree hugging, couples counselor to try and give us ‘fun’ little activities and try to get inside our heads I’m gonna be pissed.”


“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. I won’t ever try anything like that with you again. I know you hated every second of it and it obviously didn’t help anything.” Sandy conceded. This car trip could not go any slower. The one nice thing about this four hour car ride were the sights. It was mid-autumn and the leaves on the trees were in the middle of changing colors. Green broad leaves gave way to the most vivid and brilliant gold, amber, and ruby hues. Mark’s grumbling at the steering wheel gave Sandy lots of time to admire their stunning beauty.


“What is this place called again? Google maps couldn’t find the name you said, but it did find the address.”


“It’s called Chateau hommes brisés.”


“Oh yeah, a French place.” Mark perked up. “I hope the maids wear those cute little French Maid outfits.” Finally a smile came onto his face as he was clearly beginning to fantasize in his head. Sandy knew Mark’s looks quite well. She didn’t mind though, whatever got him through the trip with less bitching. “What does that mean anyways, ‘hommes brisés?” He asked.


“I am not really sure. I think it sounds pretty.”


“Hmmm, Chateau is obvious, but hommes, brisés….Hmmm. I think hommes means friend or man or something, that much I remember from French class. I always remember that because my friends and I would joke around in class. ‘What’s up hommes?’ But brisés I have no clue. I think that is a dessert or something. Maybe we are going to the house of friendly dessert. That could be nice.” Sandy rolled her eyes once more at Mark’s vocalized thought process.


“Ha, yeah maybe.” Sandy said with a little bit of sarcasm in her voice.


“Well whatever it is, I hope it’s fun.” With that, the remainder of their car ride went by relatively in silence with Mark’s Spotify list playing through the car radio in the background and Sandy day dreaming, looking outside her car window at the beautiful landscape passing by.


**The Chateau**


They finally pull up to the estate in the late afternoon. There is a black ten foot tall rod-iron fence surrounding the property with spiked ends at the top of rods. At the gate there are two stone pillars on either side of the entrance to the road inside. On a post just outside the gate there is an older call box. It looked like something out of the 1970s. It was a large and clunky plastic box, yellow-orange in color with a single button marked ‘call’ and a grill for a speaker. Mark rolls down his window and hits the call button. He waits five seconds with no response and follows up with three more presses in rapid succession. A few seconds more pass by.


“Hello, who may I ask is calling?” the female voice behind the box responded.


“Let me handle this, Mark, I got it.” Sandy says to Mark in a hushed tone. Mark shrugs and leans back in his chair to allow for Sandy to lean over him and speak into the box, “This is Mark and Sandy, here for our couples retreat.”


“Oh yes, the couples retreat. We have been expecting you. Please make your way up the road and park to the right. You can leave your luggage in the car, the attendants will be grabbing it shortly.” **CLICK** The line closes with a small popping sound. Moments later, a loud buzz can be heard from the gate and it gradually begins to slide back. Once the gate is clear, Mark puts the car back into drive and slowly they work their way down the road to the Chateau. Both Mark and Sandy are in wonder as they slowly venture down the road. The smaller trees evenly spaced every 20 feet along the road are beautifully manicured. Not a single leaf out of place. The grass is flawless, Kentucky blue grass all cut to three inches precisely, no brown spots or weeds to speak of.


After about a couple hundred feet they reach the house. For Mark this was his first time seeing it. “Not too shabby. Nothing screams super fun but they take really good care of it anyways. Wonder where all the grounds keepers are?” Mark seemed to be thinking out loud again Sandy figured.


“Not sure, maybe they’re off on Fridays. They can’t work every day.” Sandy placated Mark’s comments with the semi-sarcastic response.


She was in awe of this place. Everything was so beautiful. The tall grey stone pillars looked both regal and natural in their setting. The bushes and small trees around the mansion, like the trees and grass leading up to the place, were all well kept. The grandeur of the mansion was not done any justice from the photograph in the ad. The mansion had dignity, history, and strength emanating from its aesthetic. All of Sandy’s doubts and worries had slowly melted away. From the looks alone, she knew she was in the right place and made the right decision. No longer was she concerned that she had just wasted all this money by giving it to a stranger.


“Well, let's get this over with I suppose,” and with that Mark unbuckles his seatbelt and jumps out of the car. “The box said we can leave our stuff here Sandy. Lets scoot, I need a beer after that long drive.”


“Alright, alright. I’m coming. Hold your horses.” Sandy exited the car and caught up behind him. They quickly made their way to the front of the house, roughly 150 feet from the right side of the mansion where they parked their car. Up the three stone stairs and across the porch landing they found the front doors. Two large doors, roughly 12 feet tall, appeared to be solid oak with very intricate carvings of horse drawn carriages. BOM BOM BOM, Mark hammered on the door, with slightly more force than necessary. “Was that really necessary? This place is fancy and that door is antique. No need to pound on it so hard, “ Sandy sniped.


“It’s a big place, how else are they going to hear me?” Mark fired back. Before Sandy has time to respond, the large wooden door slowly swings open.


Pulling open the door is a fairly brawny woman, by no means overweight, but not small either, very muscular and toned but not overly so. She has the figure of a gymnast with strong, powerful, hearty thighs and arms without an ounce of fat. She has excellent posture and stands at roughly 5’ 8” with shoulder length dirty blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, light freckles and brown eyes. She is wearing shiny black riding boots, khaki colored, form-fitting, riding breeches, a shiny, black, leather belt, and a white button up dress shirt neatly tucked into her breeches with moderately sized C-cup breasts pressing against the fabric. “Hi, my name is Samantha. We have been looking forward to your stay. Please come in.” Mark and Sandy stepped inside the Mansion and Samantha closed the large door softly behind them with ease.


“If you would be so kind as to follow me, I will take you to Lady Chanterelle’s office so we can check you in.” Samantha flashed a smile in Mark’s direction. In return, Mark’s eyebrows raised up, his cheeks flushed red ever so slightly and he gave her a large, toothy smile back in return. Samantha then turned and began walking towards Lady Chanterelle’s office, Mark turned to Sandy, still with the shit-eating grin on his face, Sandy only shook her head in mild disapproval.


**Check-In**


Mark and Sandy followed closely behind Samantha as they crossed through the large, echoing, foyer. Sandy couldn’t help but notice all the beauty of this place. The well polished, black marble floor, the sculptures and pedestals placed throughout, the renaissance era oil canvas paintings along its dark auburn colored walls. Mark barely noticed the sculptures, he only registered them in the back of his head as things to avoid bumping into. He was more focused on Samantha’s butt. With each step, the muscles in one butt cheek would tighten up and rise in her tight khaki pants, the other butt cheek would fall and droop slightly, and repeat. He was mesmerized. Following her butt cheeks rise and fall in those pants was nearly hypnotizing him.


They made their way to a doorway at the back of the foyer, the door was closed. Samantha lightly knocked on the door. “I have Sandra and Mark here to see you.” The fact that Samantha named Sandy first when announcing the couple to Lady Chanterelle had never even crossed Mark’s mind, it did however cross Sandy’s mind. She also noticed that Samantha had used Sandy’s full name. She gave a small smirk.


“Oh yes, please send them in,” the voice on the other side responded.


Samantha opened the door and waved them inside, “Lady Chanterelle, I present to you Sandra and Mark.”


“Thank you Samantha, you may leave for now. I will call upon you again shortly.” The woman sitting in the button-tufted, brown leather office chair calmly replied. Samantha nodded and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. “Sandra, please take a seat,” she motioned Sandra to a similar button-tufted, brown leather chair. “Mark, you may sit as well. I’m sorry for the lackluster chair, but this should only take a few moments,” and she motioned this time for Mark to sit, but in front of him was only a black metal, folding chair remaining. “Our other chair is currently being serviced.”


“Oh great, give her the nice chair. I’m the one that did all the driving,” Mark said agitated.


“We can switch Mark, I don’t mind,” Sandra burst out. Lady Chanterelle shot Sandra a look that was both cold and fierce. It shook Sandra to the core.


Something about Lady Chanterelle gave Sandra a lot of fear but also respect, natural respect. Her voice, her eyes, everything about her commanded respect. She couldn’t quite put her finger on exactly what it was specifically but more so it was the total package. There was not one weakness that Sandra could see and visually speaking, even Sandra was taken back by her beauty. She wore her jet black hair up in a tight bun. Lady Chanterelle had no freckles or blemishes to speak of and a light ivory skin tone. She had full, bright red lips and dark hazel eyes. Sandra couldn’t see below the desk but she did notice that Lady Chanterelle was wearing a tight black corset. Not a corset you would see at a lingerie store with the wearer’s breasts smothered and popping out the top, but kept her ample bosom firmly held in place and left largely to the imagination, only the slightest crack of cleavage could be seen at the top.


“No, no. It’s fine. I can deal, so long as there a beer waiting for me at the end of this….what is this? A meeting?” Mark said in a huff and plopped down onto the metal folding chair. Mark also started to notice Lady Chanterelle’s appearance now. To him, she was simply gorgeous. He loved her pale skin and dark black hair, he thought she reminded him of a 1950 pin-up model like Bettie Page or something. Maybe with her hair down. He too noticed the corset although he was more focused on it’s contents.


“Not a meeting, we just need to square away some paperwork before we can leave you two to your relaxing weekend,” Lady Chanterelle replied calmly. She pushed back in her chair slightly and pulled back the top right drawer in her desk. From it she removed two packets of paper, each held together with a paperclip. “Sandra, this packet is for you to sign.” Lady Chanterelle hands Sandra the first packet, with three pages in it. “And this packet is for you to sign Mark.” She hands Mark the second packet, with ten or more pages in it. She also hands them both a pen, Sandra an antique, heavy, black with gold trim, fountain pen, and Mark a black disposable Bic pen.


Mark once again noticed the inequity with the pens and forms. “I suppose the other good pen is being serviced as well?” He said sarcastically.


“Something like that,” Lady Chanterelle replied.


Mark and Sandra began thumbing through their respective packets. Sandra’s packet included a Non-Disclosure Agreement and a very mild waiver. Nothing too serious, so she signed after just thirty seconds. Mark, however, looked very confused and increasingly irritated. “What the hell is all this crap?! NDA? Personal Injury waiver? Reproductive concerns? And did I see something about servitude? Just what the fuck am I getting myself into?”


“It’s just our standard release form, clearing us of any potential legal repercussions from the weekend’s activities. Are you going to be injured? More than likely not, but if you get drunk and slip on our marble floor, or something to that effect, we need to make sure that our interests are protected, legally speaking.” Lady Chanterelle coolly replied.


“Hmm, I’m still not sold. Why is her packet so much shorter than mine?” Mark inquired.


“Because Sandra told me that you like to drink. Things can get a little rowdy around here, especially when the drinks are flowing. If you know what I mean.” Lady Chanterelle gave Mark a subtle smirk and a cool wink that immediately quieted the logic side of his brain and re-engaged the sexual side once again.


After a few moments of contemplation Mark reluctantly signed the forms. “Alright I suppose, let’s get this show on the road! Where’s the bar at?” Mark slid the paperwork back across the desk to Lady Chanterelle, she picked it up and thumbed through it to make sure it was fully signed. All clear.


“Great. For this first portion of your retreat we are going to split the two of you up. Your initial experiences will be catered to what you both enjoy the most.” This was a lie. Sandra was going to have a great time, but for Mark there would be no joy. “My assistants Samantha and Tabitha will get the two of you started.” Lady Chanterelle pushed a button on her intercom module at her desk. “Samantha and Tabitha, to me.”


Moments later, the door to the office opened up once again, standing at the doorway was Samantha from before, and Tabitha. Tabitha was petite and very beautiful. She had short brunette hair just above her shoulders. She was clad in shiny black boots with a tall heel, tight black leather pants, and a shiny, black, vinyl corset. Similar make up as Lady Chanterelle with her deep red lips, although her lips were quite thin. She had beautiful olive skin and appeared to be Vietnamese by Mark’s estimate. Her breasts were also smaller and modest to fit her frame. Mark’s eyebrows once again raised up, “I’m going with Tabitha right?”


“You will follow Samantha for now. You may see Tabitha yet again this weekend.”


“G’awww, alright,” Mark whined. Making an ass of himself which embarrassed Sandra again.


“You two have a good time this weekend and I will likely see you both later.” Lady Chanterelle motioned for them to get up out of their seats and gave them a small wave as they are led out of the room by Samantha and Tabitha.


Samantha closes the office door behind the group and says, “Ok Mark, follow me. Time to start the festivities.”


Without a moment’s hesitation Mark waves goodbye to Sandra, “See you in a bit, have fun!” Mark has his flirtatious smile on again, knowing he gets to walk behind Samantha again.


“I will! You try to have some fun too!” Sandra gives him a little wink and begins to walk with Tabitha back towards the front of the foyer.


**Mark’s Rude Awakening**


Mark follows Samantha along the back wall of the foyer. When they get to the opposite side of the back wall from Lady Chanterelle’s office they happen upon a large metal door. The metal door has riveted support bars surrounding the outside of the door and three metal support bars running across horizontally. There is also a sliding metal plate roughly two inches tall and a foot wide with a metal knob on the end. Little hairs stand up on the back of Mark’s neck. *This is crazy. It must be from the civil war or the slave era,* Mark thought to himself. Samantha slowly knocked three times on the door **POM**…..**POM**….**POM**. Moments later a large **CACHUNK** is heard and the heavy metal door slowly opens.


On the other side of the door is another woman dressed similar to Samantha and equal in stature. She has a similar hearty athletic build. She has brunette hair, also pulled back into a ponytail, brown eyes, and slightly larger breasts concealed behind her white button up shirt. She has one less button fastened on her shirt than Samantha does. Likely due to her larger breasts. A yellow light is flickering behind the woman.


Samantha gives a nod to this new woman and steps into the yellow light, Mark follows behind, albeit a little hesitantly. With Mark and Samantha inside the space, the woman closes the large metal door and a heavy metal bar is lifted up and placed back into its holder, securing the door behind them. “Don’t worry Mark. This house has a long, storied history. We have reused most of the existing structures and learned to live with its charm.” Samantha assures Mark.


“Oh it’s quite charming alright.” Mark let out a nervous chuckle. Mark notices a very basic wooden staircase leading downwards into a lower level.


“If you please, follow me. We will be going downstairs to the dungeon.” Samantha quickly tries to correct herself, “Well, at least it was previously a dungeon.” Scanning Mark’s face for alarm.


Mark’s face showed little alarm. He thought everything looked pretty cool. After all he had never been in a real life dungeon, or whatever this was, before. “Sure, no problem,” he replied.


“This is Ashley by the way, you will also see her throughout your visit with us this weekend,” Samantha said as she slowly began to descend the creaky wooden staircase.


Mark shot Ashley a quick glance. His eyes met hers, flicked down towards her cleavage, and once again his eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you Ashley.” He smiled. Ashley nodded in return, not amused.


“Yeesh, tough crowd.” Mark jested and began to follow Samantha down the stairs, gripping the old wooden handrail tightly. The single plank, wooden stairs creaked and flexed under his weight. He had visions of a board snapping and sending him tumbling below. Once Mark got a few stairs down, Ashley followed in behind him. *It’s a Mark Sandwich*, he thought to himself, *and with two beautiful ladies. This weekend is shaping up after all.*


They reached the bottom of the staircase and arrived at a large rectangular corridor. Two long walls shot out from either side of the staircase, roughly twenty feet wide. Along the middle of the corridor were fluorescent lights which lit up the dank musty, concrete floor well enough but left the walls dark in places. Samantha continued along the corridor and Mark obediently followed, anxious for what came next. *Maybe there are some old war relics down here or some vintage Whiskey.*


They reached the end of the corridor, roughly 100 feet or so and Samantha turned to the right. “Right this way, there is someone I would like you to meet,” Samantha stated.


The three of them pass into what appears to be an old jail cell, or slave quarters. The wall opposite the entry and the two walls on the sides are thick concrete. The barrier between this room and the corridor is barred. Thick iron bars no more than five inches apart and almost one inch thick, just as you would see in a jail cell. The room has a single incandescent light illuminating the middle of it, but similar to the corridor, the walls themselves are barely visible and dark in places. Standing in the middle of the room near the back is another woman. Samantha gestures for Mark to proceed ahead towards the woman in back while she and Ashley stay back.


*Wonder how long she’s been standing there?* Mark wonders to himself, jokingly. *She is absolutely gorgeous, Sandy can keep Tabitha.*


The woman is roughly 5’4” and dressed similar to Tabitha. She had on matte, black boots with no heel and a wide front toe, more like a man’s boot than a woman’s boot with a pointed toe. They were lightweight, however, not big and clunky like a man’s boot. Tight black leather pants like Tabitha although her legs were more muscular and filled them out better. Her top was a shiny, dark red vinyl corset and not very modest. Her modest B-cup breasts fit snug in place with tops of them plump above the top of the corset. Her cleavage wasn’t quite as conservatively concealed as the others. She had stark red hair pulled back in a tight bun, light freckles, and fierce green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the low lit room. She had a burning intensity about her.


“Hello, my name is Claire. I will be your….guide...for the weekend.” Her cheeks pulled back to reveal a beautiful and ravishing, warm smile.


Mark was breathless, stunned by her sheer beauty. “Uhhh..uhhh. I’m...My Name….Mark.” Mark managed to squeak out after what felt like an eternity.


Claire continued to smile brightly. “Yes, I know, silly. Are you ready to have some fun?”


“Boy am I ever!” Mark quickly replied.


Claire stepped forward a couple steps towards Mark. “The first thing I wanted to show you is this inscription on the back wall. If you see behind me, near the top of the wall, there is a phrase etched into the stone.” Claire turns backwards slightly and points over her left shoulder.


Mark glances up at the wall but the light is pretty dark and hard to make out the words with the light dancing on the letters. With a squint and hard focus he starts to see the words come into focus:


**OMNES HOMINES ADORABUNT**


Before Mark can make any sense of the words...


**POWWW**


With Mark temporarily distracted. Claire had taken two quick steps towards Mark and with her third motion swung her right boot up square into Mark’s testicles, connecting with both testicles evenly, square with the broad toe of her boot. Not a full force kick, but a powerful controlled kick with enough force to incapacitate. A master of her craft, the move was executed swiftly, silently, and with all the grace of a professional. Her aim was deadly. Her boot’s purpose was revealed.


Mark's vision flashes white and he falls to the ground instantly like a sack of potatoes. Out of reflex he curls into the fetal position, unaware of what just happened. It feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. He cannot breathe, his body has let out every ounce of air that previously occupied his lungs. Finally, after around ten seconds or dry gasping, he is able to draw in his first breath with every survival instinct screaming at once. The first breath is short but it’s a start, it feels foreign in his lungs and is quickly let back out. His second breath is more fruitful; he breathes in a big deep breath of cold, dank air, gasping like a free diver coming up to the surface after a long dive, and lets it out almost as quickly as he had drawn it in. After a couple more deep breaths it hits him.


The pain is intense and by far the worst thing he has ever experienced. First it feels like his testicles are on fire. A sharp throbbing with the intensity of a college marching band’s drum section hammering to the beat of his own pounding heart. Each throb sends the pain higher and higher, to unbearable levels. Next comes a dull ache in the base of his stomach. The dull ache grows and grows until it consumes his every thought. The ache feels like a balloon swelling with water. Mark feels like he is going to throw up but maintains his breathing and swallows back any gags that involuntarily occur. Meanwhile the pain in his balls continues to grow, he is incapacitated, incapable of any rational thought. He can only roll about slightly and focus on his breathing, curled up in a ball.


While trying to maintain his breathing he doesn’t pay any attention to what’s happening around the room. With a nod from Claire, Ashley and Samantha, walk up to either side of Mark. Ashley carefully and masterfully pulls Mark’s left wrist away from his clutched balls. Around his wrist she carefully wraps a leather wrist band around his wrist, fastens the buckle and secures it with a small lock. Samantha on the other side of Mark, does the same, however she has to get down on her knees to pry Mark’s right hand away from their grip. She frees his right hand with a little struggle but no match for her strength and Mark’s very weakened condition. Ashley and Samantha then walk to their respective walls, Ashley to the left wall and Samantha to the right.


A **CLICK** is heard from both sides of the room and **WEERING** sound fills the room as each woman walks back to Mark holding the end of a braided steel cable. At the ends of the steel cables are a loop. When they reach Mark, the loop of each cable is locked to a loop on each wristband with another small lock. Once the locks are secure, the two women step back, to resume their posts on either wall, they nod in unison back at Claire.


Claire walks to the back wall and swings open a control panel lid exposing a small array of glowing buttons. She presses and holds two of the glowing, yellow buttons at the top of the panel and the two steel cables begin to recede back into the wall. Once the slack has been pulled up, Mark’s arms slowly begin to pull away from his body.


Up until this point Mark has been largely unaware of anything that has transpired around him. All he feels is the aching in his balls and stomach, and subconsciously has registered the pressure on his wrists. He has been concentrating solely on his breathing, not puking, and the intense pain that still pulses throughout his entire body. As his wrists pull away from his body he finally starts to become aware of what has happened. His arms were secured skillfully and tight in their restraints. Mark only fought against their pull so he could resume clutching his aching berries, he didn’t yet fully comprehend what kind of predicament he had got himself into.