Association

Association
By Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard

***

Copyright (c) 2003 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard. This
work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivs-
NonCommercial License. To view a copy of this license, visit:

http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd-nc/1.0/

***

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places and incidents
either are the product of the authors' imaginations or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or
dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

***

Note: online/HTML and Adobe Acrobat versions of this ebook can
be accessed at:

http://www.adrianhunter.com/association_about.htm

***

Prologue

International Fashion Council Memorandum

Extract from the minutes of the monthly board meeting
Point 35-c: Cover for Annual Report

The Executive Director motioned to discuss the cover for the
association's annual report.  The ensuing discussion resulted in
general agreement that the theme should focus on the IFC's new
initiative to promote leather apparel to a worldwide audience.

The Secretary opened the floor to suggestions for an umbrella slogan
to encompass the myriad qualities of leather as a suitable material
for haute couture designs.  Additional discussion centered on
leather's benefits, with a general consensus that the proposed
wording would have to accurately deliver the desired value messages
in a simple headline that would also lend itself to graphic
interpretation.

Several themes were proposed and subsequently rejected.  Finally,
the Chairman put forward "The Economy of Movement" as a suitable
slogan that subtly reinforced the association's ongoing efforts to
reduce its operating costs in light of the growing number of
complaints regarding excessive expenses incurred by the executive
committee.

After a brief brainstorm session, the board agreed to move forward
with the Chairman's recommendation, as well as his strong preference
to assign the project to the creative design firm of Geoffrey
Sorenson Ltd.  Given the critical importance of the leather
initiative for the association, the Chairman urged the board to
provide Mr. Sorenson with absolute freedom in regard to the
composition of the cover and the interior pages of the annual report.

The Board selected Executive Director-elect Sabrina Taylor to travel
to Sorenson's studios to supervise the photography sessions for the
cover.  It was also suggested that Taylor should serve as the model
for the project, as it would be a unique opportunity to introduce her
to those members who have not yet made her acquaintance.  After a
brief debate, it was decided that Taylor would research and contact
other professional models for consideration.

A detailed proposal for the project will be drafted by the board for
immediate review and approval.

The board of directors voted unanimously in favor of the
recommendation, with Taylor abstaining.

***
 
From the desk of Geoffrey Sorenson

May 25

On behalf of Geoffrey Sorenson Ltd., we happily accept the
International Fashion Council's proposal regarding principal
photography for the association's annual report, and look forward to
making the acquaintance of Ms. Taylor in the near future.

Sincerely yours,

Geoffrey Sorenson
President and Chief Creative Officer
Geoffrey Sorenson Ltd.

***

27 May

Dearest Geoffrey,

Forgive my use of an ancient typewriter, but I don't trust the
phones, and I can't get away to meet with you in person.

I am very pleased you have accepted the assignment to design and
photograph the association's annual report. However, I'm afraid
there's more to this project than a few pretty pictures.
Specifically, the board of directors finds itself in rather urgent
need of your expertise in the field of, shall we say, international
export of perishable goods.

As you know, one of our senior staff members, Sabrina Taylor, has
been assigned to supervise the project on-site at your studios. When
she returns, Ms. Taylor is scheduled to take over as Executive
Director of the International Fashion Council in accordance with her
surprise victory in last month's election. While the board did its
best to maintain the status quo, her platform of complete disclosure
struck a resonant chord with the membership, and the votes in her
favor were substantially higher than those cast for the incumbent.

This unexpected turn of events is most unfortunate. While the board
is legally required to promote Ms. Taylor, suffice it to say we do
not share her enthusiasm for a complete audit of the association's
records, specifically in regard to some expense vouchers which will
be difficult to justify to outside professionals. In fact, we are
quite certain the investigation will quickly escalate into more
troublesome encounters with law enforcement representatives, not to
mention tax-compliance officers. 

Therefore, we find ourselves in a bit of a tight spot, and feel
compelled to take drastic measures that will ensure Ms. Taylor's
proposed financial review does not occur. I trust you to make the
necessary arrangements in your usual thorough manner. 

I am confident that your efforts will be more than amply rewarded by
the final purchase price negotiated with your friends in Hong Kong.
However, if you need any additional funds, please don't hesitate to
give me a shout.

Thanks again for helping out an old friend. I presume you will know
what to do with this letter, but just in case, I have taken the
liberty of enclosing a book of matches.

Best regards,
A

***

From the desk of Geoffrey Sorenson

May 29
A,
Got your note, and thanks for sending along the photographs of Ms.
Taylor, too. Based on her considerable "qualifications," I am quite
confident that a mutually-satisfactory transaction can be arranged.
Give my best to the board, and please assure them that your "problem"
is as good as solved.
GS

***

International Fashion Council Memorandum

Date:		June 1
To: 		Geoffrey Sorenson 
From: 	Sabrina Taylor
Subject: 	Annual Report Project

Thank you for your recent telephone call; it was a pleasure to
finally make your acquaintance.

While I continue to have strong reservations about the Chairman's
proposed theme, I have come to agree that "The Economy of Movement"
will magnify the qualities of leather as a chic, yet cost-effective
alternative to other materials for today's fashions.

At the request of the board, I have enclosed a detailed list of my
body measurements.  Since I do not share the board's enthusiasm for
posing for the annual report myself,  I have also forwarded resumes
and portfolio samples from several fashion models whom I think will
better capture the approach we discussed. I will leave it to you to
choose the most suitable one(s) and arrange for her/their
participation in the project as required.

Please don't hesitate to contact me if you have any additional
questions. Otherwise, I look forward to meeting you and your team in
person.

ST

***
 
VIA WESTERN UNION

JUNE 6
TO: DAV IWATA/HONG KONG
NEW PRODUCT AVAILABLE STOP PHOTO SENT STOP DETERMINE INTEREST STOP
GS

***
 
VIA WESTERN UNION

JUNE 7
REPLY TO: GEOFFREY SORENSON
GOOD NEWS STOP SCHEDULING 2 WEEK AUCTION STOP PREFERENCE PONY STOP
HAVE FUN STOP
DI

***
 
VIA WESTERN UNION

JUNE 8
REPLY TO: DAV IWATA
TIMING OK STOP CLEANING BARN STOP
GS

***

Day 1--Sabrina

So, there I was, finally.  Three steps and a knock away from meeting
Geoffrey Sorenson, my host for two weeks.  Instead of clearing out my
desk and moving to my new office, I had been sent to supervise the
photo session for the annual report at a studio whose location
redefines "remote."  How absurd.  Did the board still think I was
their cute administrative assistant, so eager to please?  I couldn't
wait to introduce them to the new Sabrina Taylor as soon as I
returned.

It was a wonder I had found this crazy place.  After an endless
drive, I had to ask for directions four times before I chanced upon
the small gravel road fighting its way around pines and firs toward
the "GS Studios."

When I wheeled around the final bend and drove past the large front
yard, I wasn't sure what to expect, but certainly not the modern two-
story edifice ahead of me.  Bathed in the afternoon sunlight, the
white walls, orange-tiled roof and ivy swirls around the front door
made it look like a villa on the French Riviera.  A very unusual
sight in such rustic surroundings.

I sighed with relief and pushed aside my gloomy thoughts.  Maybe
this stupid assignment wasn't going to be so bad after all.  Hell, if
there was a pool behind the privacy hedges, the place could pass for
a resort.

I parked the car, grabbed my suitcase out of the trunk, and walked
to the door, keeping my eyes fixed on the strange knocker in its
center.  A grinning skull wasn't exactly standard issue in Cannes.

I knocked twice, and couldn't help smiling as I recalled all my
worst-case scenarios.  Like how the association wanted to send me
away so they could elect a new director.  Like maybe the chairman's
nephew, a spoiled brat who wasn't smart enough to run the coffee
machine, much less the council.  Or the odd rumors about Sorenson
whispered after the last board meeting.  It was just like me, always
expecting the worst, but secretly hoping for the best.

I was still smiling when the door opened.

--Geoffrey--

Damn!  Another one broken.  And this package read "extra large,"
although you can't really tell by looking.  Maybe these were made for
the Japanese market, where they claim stupendous sizes on the box
while the rubbers themselves are actually smaller than regular.

I balanced the anal plug on its base next to the pile of foil
wrappers, making it look like a Christmas tree from a distant planet.
Well, maybe not being able to get a condom around it was a sign that
it was a little larger than--

A knock.

Another one.

About time.

I scooped up the plug and tossed it underhand into my correspondence
drawer, then swept the condom cases off the desktop into the trash.

Stay cool, I reminded myself as I hurried, then strolled, down the
staircase from my office to the entry hall.  You've done this before.

I willed my most charming smile onto my face, and pulled open the
door.

"You must be Sabrina Taylor," I said as I motioned her inside. 
"Geoffrey Sorenson.  I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance.  I
presume my directions made sense.  Can I take your bag?"

Et cetera.  Smooth and social, yet faintly professional.  A light
conversational patter to cover my brain's dangerous detour toward red-
line overload.

The chairman's pictures scarcely did her justice.  Iwata was going
to pop a cork when the courier arrived with the sample rolls I would
shoot this afternoon.

And I would pay off my mortgage with the profits from selling her to
the highest bidder.

"Career opportunities, they keep you off the dock," I sang to myself
as I carried her luggage upstairs.  No wonder so many of America's
Founding Fathers were slavers, too.

But I couldn't help being a bit nervous.  Things were running too
smoothly.  I saw, I conquered, I came.  My old friend Murphy wouldn't
like that.  His law is absolute; anything that can go wrong, will.

My talent-acquisition process was usually much more of a challenge,
involving all sorts of intrigue, as well as a fair share of danger. 
First, I had to find the right kind of girl.  Pretty, but not
memorable.  Strong, but not muscular.  Smart, but not sensible. 
Restaurants were my preferred hunting ground, as no waitress wants to
be one forever.

Then came the persuasion part.  A little flattery here, some
outrageous sums of money there...let the fish sniff the lure first. 
Bring her to the house, open a bottle of wine, and start talking
about friends and family.  If she has an abundance of either, take a
few sample photos and bid her adieu.

If not, convince her to stay the night.  If she agreed, continue the
process for a week or two.  One night, add a little something to her
wine to help her sleep.

Finally, something besides my camera would click.  And the price of
the key was inevitably six digits, or more.

No, this one required more attention to the details.  For one,
Sabrina Taylor wasn't some anonymous runaway contemplating an
alternative career in pornography.  She had a real job, although that
would be easy to erase, given who had sent her to me in the first
place.  The odds were good she had a full, active life outside the
office, too.  Maybe even a boyfriend.

Luckily, I had two weeks to work all the angles.

Time to bait the hook.

--Sabrina--

"All settled?  Great.  Did you find everything you need?  Brilliant."

Geoffrey escorted me through the living room to French doors that
led to a patio extending across the length of the house.  A huge
swimming pool surrounded by lush lawns and tall trees dominated the
view.  

Not bad for a photographer, I thought to myself.  In fact, he'd have
to be one of the world's best to afford property like this.  So why
was he bothering with a little project like an annual report for an
association?

Something was strange here.  Money for nothing, and your chicks for
free?  Maybe like the expense-report irregularities that seemed to
crop up with increasing frequency in the council's financial
statements?  I made a note to do some research as soon as I got back
to the office.

In the meantime, I figured I might as well enjoy the generosity of
my most hospitable host, starting with what looked to be a delicious
late lunch waiting for us on a glass-and-metal table under an
umbrella near the pool.

--Geoffrey--

"I hope you don't mind Chardonnay," I said as I poured another
generous helping into Sabrina's glass.  "The Beaujolais wasn't worth
the cost of cork this year."

My guest giggled pleasantly, and shielded her eyes from the sun.  We
had been chatting for more than an hour, and the glorious spring
afternoon was well on its way to its rendezvous with twilight.

I stood up and wandered over to a wooden cabinet where I found a
bottle of coconut oil and some ostentatious Swedish sunscreen for her
face.

"It's too nice to sit inside, and you don't want to singe that
lovely skin of yours," I said as I proffered the exotic condiments,
knowing how much better she would photograph with some color,
especially in contrast to the white parts my customers valued most.

"Damn, I didn't bring a bathing suit," she muttered.  "I don't
suppose..."

"Of course I have a spare bikini," I said magnanimously.  "You'll
find it in your bathroom.  Top drawer of the towel cabinet."

As soon as she entered the house, I finished my wine in a single
gulp.  Let's see if she's willing to try something new, I said to
myself.  Something a little risque.  Something out of the ordinary. 
Something to scare Mummy.

Something she never expected.

--Sabrina--

Did Geoffrey really think this minuscule rag--nothing more than
three triangles and string--qualified as proper bathing attire?  The
white rubber was so thin, it verged on translucent.  And the shoe
situation was even worse.  Instead of flip-flops or sandals, all I
could find was a pair of white mules with four-inch heels and straps
like spaghetti.

What kind of game was this guy playing?  Contrary to the board's
expectations, "supermodel" wasn't listed on my resume.  Neither was
prudish, but I hated to be jerked around, especially by strangers on
my payroll.

"Fuck it, and fuck him, too," I said to my reflection in the full-
length mirror, rendered blurry by my wine-soaked eyes.  "I'll show
him who's running this show."

I shoved the bikini back into the drawer, slipped on the ridiculous
shoes, and headed for the stairs.  Strangely, I had never felt so
self-assured in my life.  Naked as the day I was born, I walked
through the French doors and headed straight for the chair where
Geoffrey sat with his mouth agape.  All you could hear was the water
lapping against the sides of the pool, and the click of my heels on
the enameled tiles. 

--Geoffrey--

"Where's your bikini, Sabrina? You'll need it to avoid--"

"Let's get something straight, Geoff-reeeey."

She drawled out my name like a naughty child pulling a piece of gum
out of her mouth.

"You don't tell me what to do.  And I don't like jokes at my expense."

I stared at her in raging silence, my emotions ping-ponging between
panic and lust.  Under normal circumstances, bad manners like this
would present an opportunity to accelerate the incarceration
procedure.  And there was nothing like a little obstinacy to make the
training process more satisfying.

But there was nothing normal about this woman, starting with her
physical proportions, all of which would earn A+ grades from any meat
inspector.

I reminded myself to stop thinking of her like that.  She's no corn-
fed cutie running away from a knuckle-dragging father who starting
fucking her before she hit puberty.  My typical lightning won't blow
her fuse.  And she didn't care about my money, so she wasn't about to
compromise her class by playing fetish doll for me.

This one was definitely different.  What a pleasant surprise.

"I beg to differ, Sabrina.  And so will you.  Much as I enjoy the
show, please go back inside and put something over your skin before
you hurt yourself."

Instead, she flipped me off as she slithered into the chair next to
mine and stuck her hand across the table in search of the wine
bottle.  I was sorely tempted to wrap a manacle around her slender
wrist, but I still needed an airtight alibi before I could engage her
in a more formal curriculum of behavior modification.

"The sun is quite strong, even this early in the season, so I really
must insist.  If you need some assistance, I'd be happy to put the
bikini on you myself."

--Sabrina--

"I see."

Pretending to be calm, I took the wine bottle and filled my glass. 
I needed a few seconds to formulate my reply.  Angry, yes, but I was
interested, too.  I didn't think Geoffrey was the kind of man who
failed.  As to putting on the bikini himself, I had no doubt he
would.  I played with the idea of letting him take the initiative,
just to see how he would manage to keep me still, but I wasn't going
to give him the pleasure.

I took a sip.  Lovely.

"Like I said, you don't tell me what to do.  However..."

Another sip.  I needed this.

"I will put on the so-called bikini, but only because the sun is
much too cruel on my sensitive parts and I value them too much to see
them hurt."

He grinned.  "At least you're reasonable."

I emptied my glass and got up, my eyes locked on his.

"While I'm gone, will you be so kind as to refill my glass, Geoffrey?"

I left him to savor his semi-victory and walked slowly back to the
house, silently cursing the heels with each step.

Once in the bathroom, I dug out up the white latex scraps.  I was
going to look like a centerfold spread in a magazine sold exclusively
from under the counter.  But I could handle it.  If only I could
manage to tie the strings behind my back.  Was I that nervous?

As I walked out of the bathroom, I lost my balance and stumbled,
twisting my ankle.

"Ouch!  Damn stupid heels."

I made an angry move to take them off, but changed my mind just as
quickly.  The day had been long; I was getting tired, not to mention
edgy, and the last thing I wanted was another fight.  We would
discuss footwear tomorrow.

Taking a final look in the mirror, I decided woman's lib would wait
another day.

Day 2--Sabrina

What a weird guy.  Geoffrey was friendly and cheerful to a fault,
but it was clearly painful for him to express any sentiment that
began with the letter "I."

Once recovered from the Bikini Incident (memo to self: why do I get
so prickly around men I might fancy?), we spent the rest of the day
chatting by the pool, sipping his lovely wine, and enjoying the sun
and water.  While Geoffrey listened raptly to the smallest details
about my life, he politely evaded any questions related to him.

After last night's dinner, I pulled out my briefcase to show him
some sample photographs and backgrounds for the annual report.  But
he scarcely glanced at them, dismissing my suggestions with a yawn. 
When I asked to hear his vision, his plan was generic at best. 
Besides, even the dumbest clotheshorse knew better than to lounge by
the pool in leather. 

Did Sorenson have the slightest clue about graphic design?  Was he
even a real photographer?  I flashed back to yesterday's bad feeling.
Maybe I should call someone.  After all, only the chairman and some
board members know where...

Oh, stop it, Sabrina, I admonished myself.  Sorenson's probably one
of those temperamental artistic types who can't verbalize.  Besides,
the chairman may be a jerk, but he's not stupid, especially when it
comes to the association's public image.  No way would he trust an
amateur to illustrate the annual report.

Although there seemed to be some confusion about the professional
capabilities of the proposed model, which apparently was still me.  I
wondered what had happened to the photos, names and numbers of the
girls I had forwarded to him weeks ago.  Geoffrey probably never even
opened the envelope.

After lunch, he suggested we move forward with the program, given
the tight production schedule I had set for the printer.  I soon
found myself putting on various leather outfits and parading around
his living room.

I couldn't shake the feeling that Geoffrey was hiding something
behind his impeccable manners.  And the doubts were becoming more
acute.  The more I thought about it, the more he looked like a cat
playing with the mouse who'll soon become lunch.  He was gently
tossing me between his velvety-soft paws, but the claws were poised
to spring.

I shivered.  Was it my imagination?  Or too much Chardonnay?

Anyway, this was the beginning of a brand-new week, and Geoffrey's
true intentions would reveal themselves soon enough.

--Geoffrey--

It was time to play make-believe, a game I always enjoyed as a
prelude to detention.

After a big breakfast, I led Sabrina behind the house to the large
wooden structures that ostensibly justified the off-the-map location
of my not-so-humble abode.  Although I didn't ask about her
equestrian abilities, Sabrina looked like the well-bred type who
spent her pre-teen summers at a camp specializing in dressage.

Despite my efforts to keep the stables immaculate, I could never
quite eliminate the smells common to all buildings that housed
animals.  Hay.  Wet hair.  Various discharges.  And the unmistakable
tang of leather.

The closet near the main entrance concealed a long rack of outfits,
including pants, jackets, boots, an assortment of riding crops, and
even a collection of authentic cowboy gear like chaps, hats and spurs.

"Why don't you try these on?" I said as I pulled out leather
jodhpurs, a white silk blouse and knee-high boots.  I knew they would
fit her perfectly, but I wanted to maintain the illusion as long as
possible.

"Without the swimsuit," I added when Sabrina started pulling on the
pants before removing the rubber thong and top that had served as her
only clothing since her arrival.

When she was dressed, I pointed toward a row of stalls.

"Pick one."

She wandered down the main hall and stared at the nameplates on each
door: "Thunder," "Dynamite," "Hothead."  She finally came to
"Akasha," and after a moment of scrutiny, she nodded her assent.

"An excellent choice," I said.  "Akasha is my favorite.  She's a bit
wild, but it's mostly in her head.  Once you teach her who's boss,
she's very obedient."

I strolled briskly to the doors and threw them open to reveal a jet-
black mare who snorted at the scent of the stranger before her.

"I suppose we should start with a saddle, but we'll be doing some
bareback shots later.  Sorry I only have western ones.  I find the
horn comes in handy for specific poses."

I led Akasha out of her stall to the main entrance.  After a few
moments of heaving and cinching, I held out my hand to help Sabrina
up.

"Giddyup," I said with the barest hint of a smile.

--Sabrina--

Compared to the frenetic thumping of my heart, the hottest Brazilian
samba would have sounded like a New Age paean to silence.

It started when we were walking down the hill from Geoffrey's house.
There was no escaping the stench.  Then I noticed the hoof marks on
the ground, and I knew we were heading to the stables he hadn't
bothered to mention earlier.

I admire horses.  Their noble beauty fascinates me, and I have
dreams of galloping in open fields, my hair to the wind.  But horses
scare me to death.  When I was young, I was bitten by a horse...okay,
a donkey.  Thirty years later, every time I get close to any equine
animal, I see the monster's head lunging toward my adolescent flesh,
and I panic.

In my city-based life, this has never been a problem, but whenever
I've had the opportunity to ride a horse, I resent my irrational
fear.  I've often wished that someone would push me to overcome it. 
Could Geoffrey?

When we reached the barn and I heard the sounds of stomping and
snorting in the stalls, I had to gather all my strength to keep
walking.  No way was I going to show him fear.

I put on the cowboy clothes in a state of semi-consciousness,
realizing much too late that wearing leather jodhpurs without
underwear was a terrible mistake.  Like he cared.

And then I had to face them and, of all things, pick one.  "Oh, any
without teeth will do, thanks."  What kind of names were these?  I
was just about ready to tell him I couldn't possibly sit on
"Dynamite" when I saw Akasha.  Better to take my chances with a mare.

I followed him out of the barn, my fear building with each step. 
When he held out his hand to help me up, I wished I believed in a
powerful deity whose holy intervention would get me out of this
predicament.

Remarkably, I found myself on Akasha.  Then he said the magic word:

"Giddyup."

I didn't move.  Neither did the horse.  Sweat was pouring down my
forehead as my childhood nightmare clicked "play."

Geoffrey finally noticed something was wrong.

"Come on, you can't possibly be afraid of a pony."

I couldn't tell whether he was angry or disappointed.  In any case,
he certainly didn't show any sign of compassion.  So I got angry for
both of us.  I was on a damned horse, for crying out loud.  To me,
that was worth a round of applause, not sarcasm.

"Look, I've never been on a horse.  Where I live, you drive to work.
I'm not from Wyoming, and I'm no rodeo girl, okay?"  I knew I was
overreacting, but the strain was becoming too much to bear.

Obviously, Geoffrey hadn't anticipated paralyzing fear as a
variable.  While he pondered the right decision, I tried to help.

"Why don't you lead the horse where you want, and I'll try to look
good in the pictures.  After all, that's all you need, right?"

--Geoffrey--

"Right."

Murphy's Law is an absolute, I reminded myself.

Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

Anything that can't go wrong, will go wrong anyway.

Anything that goes wrong, will continue to go wrong, until you stop
doing whatever it is that went wrong in the first place.

So I held out my hand and helped Sabrina off the horse.

As I led Akasha back to her stall, I mentally reblocked the planned
photo session.  The barn would be scenery enough for the outfits in
question, none of which were crucial to the project anyway.

And her palpable fear could prove to be quite useful later on.

"It's frightfully difficult to get pictures in focus when the
subject is in motion," I said upon returning.  "So this should allow
us to move to a second setting earlier than planned.  Now, let's get
you standing over there by the barn door.  Here, hold this crop at
your side.  Let it dangle, don't grip it like you're trying to
strangle it.  Turn a little toward me.  Good, now look up.  Perfect. 
Hold it."

Three hours, four outfit changes and 37 rolls of film later, I
announced it was time for a shower and lunch.

"We'll try something different for the afternoon session.  Did you
ever want to be a secret agent when you grew up?"

--Sabrina--

"You mean like a spy?  Spooks and secret codes and groovy gadgets?"

"Something like that.  Go take a shower while I fix lunch."

If not for the heels, I would have run up the stairs.  The morning
session at the barn had been exhausting.  First, the horse panic,
from which he had mercifully liberated me.  Next, the never-ending
poses, always trying to look good and follow his exact commands.  No
wonder professional models insist they deserve their millions.

Getting clean and fed gave me the extra energy I needed for the
afternoon session.  I followed him down a flight of stairs to what I
presumed was his studio.  When he turned on the light, only the right
half of the room brightened.  A large portion of the space was taken
up by a low stage surrounded by four pillars that supported a web of
iron bars, probably to hang backgrounds.  A black curtain hid the
wall behind the stage.  There were no windows.

As he walked to the dark side of the room, I tried to identify the
mysterious shapes lurking in the shadows.  He motioned me toward a
stool by the stage.  Leaning against it was the most awesome pair of
boots I had ever seen.

"Put these on, will you?"

I sat on the stool and held up one thigh-high tube to take a closer
look.  Supple black leather, laces up to the top, and, of course,
high heels.  Beautiful.  The kind of boots I'd never consider buying.
When would I get a chance to wear them?  At work?  With my oh-so
conventional friends?  With my parents?  My life held no place for
such boots.  Yet, as I slid my feet in--and after the four outfit
changes at the barn, I wasn't surprised that they fit perfectly--I
knew they belonged to me.

It took me a while to lace them all the way up my legs.  I stood up
shakily and peeked at myself in the mirror.  Combined with my rubber
bikini, I had never looked so sexy.  No wonder women paid a fortune
for such contraptions.  The boots weren't just footwear; they were
magic.  The tight cocoon around my legs made me feel weak and
powerful at the same time...a feeling I had never experienced before,
and for which I could find no name.

I stopped my daydreaming when I noticed Geoffrey in front of me
holding another piece of leather.  It was obvious he was trying hard
not to be flustered by my appearance, but his natural charm asserted
itself as soon as he opened his mouth.

"Take the bikini off."

I obeyed and reached out to accept whatever he held in his hand.

--Geoffrey--

"Put this on."

I handed Sabrina the leather dress and smiled as she struggled to
adjust it.  One piece, no buttons or zippers; she had to slither into
it like a sausage casing.  Every time she tugged it down to cover her
ass, the top hem slipped under her breasts.  Finally, she got it to
the point where her nipples were barely concealed, but I could
clearly see the curve of her derriere where it departed from her
thighs.

"Perfect," I said as I admired the slight swell of her belly and the
way her chest heaved with every labored breath.

"Now, you'll need some outerwear."

I slipped into the shadows and emerged with a long leather trench
coat and a wide-brimmed hat.  If the Russians had had spies like
this, democracy would have surrendered in 1955.

"Let's see, what else?  Oh yes, sunglasses.  So convenient that the
retro look has returned.  Or is that redundant?  You'll probably find
a pair in your pocket."

Sabrina reached into the coat and pulled out shades that looked like
they'd been plucked from the nose of a Hollywood starlet preening on
a stool at Schwab's.

"Perfect, perfect, perfect.  Now, the lights."

I fussed with scrims and spots hanging from the grid until the room
looked like the set of science-fiction film.  Satisfied, I turned on
the dry-ice evaporator next to the stage.  A few seconds later, what
looked like smoke began billowing out of it, creating a haze that
diffused the lights in a three-dimensional patchwork of random
patterns.

"Now, I want you to pretend you're a spy, and you're being pursued
by your worst enemy.  You don't know who's behind you, above you, or
perhaps right next to you.  Stay in the middle of the stage so I can
keep you centered.  Leave your trench coat open.  Ready?  Go!"

I shot roll after roll as Sabrina scurried like a rodent trying to
avoid a hawk, peering and crouching and shielding her eyes from the
lights as commanded.

"Good, good.  Now, freeze!"

A brilliant white spotlight pinned her to the center of the stage.

"Excellent, look scared.  You've been caught.  That's it, think
fear, panic, chaos.  Off with the sunglasses.  Keep going.  Good,
better, perfect!  Okay, take a quick break."

I dragged over a wooden chair, then a lamp that was nothing more
than a stick holding a bare bulb.

"Take off your coat and have a seat."

Sabrina sat down as instructed.

"Put your hands on the arms of the chair."

I produced a coil of thick rope and began looping it around one of
her wrists.  She immediately began struggling.

"Easy...this is just for effect.  Honestly..."

Chastened, Sabrina allowed me to finish binding one wrist, then the
other, to the arms of the chair.  Not too tight, I kept reminding
myself.  Besides, the rope was so thick, it almost looked comical. 
But it would photograph marvelously.  And that's all that mattered. 
For now.

I positioned the lamp so the bulb was over her head, and adjusted
some other spotlights.

"I want you to imagine you've been taken to some dark and dank
basement to be interrogated.  You're screwed, but they're not getting
anything out of you.  That's it, resist their questions.  You aren't
going to say anything.  Fuck them, and their mothers, too.  Suddenly,
one of them grabs your top."

I reached over and jerked down the front of her dress, exposing her
breasts.

"Good, get mad.  Indignant.  You're not going to give these bastards
an inch.  Let 'em look."

I kept talking and clicking as she got more and more agitated,
throwing herself around in the chair until it began rocking off the
floor.

"Good, good, try to escape.  Otherwise, you might not get out of
here alive.  That's it, perfect...and...okay, that's enough for
today.  You can stop now.  Here, let me untie you.  That wasn't so
bad, was it?  Take off your things, fold them neatly on the chair,
and come join me by the pool for a drink.  You look like you can use
it.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make a phone call."

I put down my camera on the lip of the stage and walked brusquely
out of the studio.

--Sabrina--

As soon as Geoffrey left the room, I exhaled hard enough to
dissipate the smoke around me.  I took off the dress, appalled at
finding my body glistening with sweat, not to mention other delirious
effects.

I sat on the stage to unlace the boots, reminding myself to ask
Geoffrey if I could keep them after the project was finished.  While
my fingers loosened the soft twine, I tried to calm down.  What
exactly had just happened?

Everything had been going smoothly until he decided to tie me to the
chair.  At first, I thought he'd leave the ropes loose.  I'm known to
imagine the worst, and all I could think at that moment was, "This
guy can do anything he wants now."  Thank goodness all he did was
take pictures.  And leave me in a state of utter confusion.  The
predicament had felt too real to be mere make-believe.  Why didn't I
try to stop him?  Was I playing the game?  Or was the game playing me?

The boots lay in a pile on the floor while I idly tapped my naked
foot, staring at the shadows in front of me.  I had an idea; Geoffrey
would doubtlessly disapprove.

What the heck.  He never said I couldn't.

I stood up, forgetting I was naked, and began to investigate the room.

Cameras, tripods, spotlights; typical photography equipment.  The
walls were covered with closets and cupboards; I tried them all, but
they were locked.  Along the wall opposite the stage was a wooden
table covered with boxes, all protected with padlocks.

My curiosity piqued, I eyed two big chests on the floor.  One was
locked, but the second one opened.  It was filled with ropes and
chains of all sorts.  Probably used to hang scenery.  Boring.

I looked around one more time, disappointed by my findings, until my
attention drifted to a door in the darkest corner.  Probably locked,
I thought.  I tried the handle.  To my disbelief, it slid open.

I hesitated.  I can't do this, I told myself.  I can't violate
Geoffrey's privacy.  Then again, he violated mine two minutes after
greeting me.  Besides, didn't he deputize me as his spy?

I giggled and wondered what Geoffrey would do if he caught me for
real.  I pushed the door wide open.  The room was completely dark. 
Holding my breath, I stepped forward while my hand searched for a
switch along the wall.

--Geoffrey--

I wasn't sure if I heard the scream first and then the crash, or the
other way around.

I ran down the stairs two at a time and hit the master light switch
with my fist.  The room's smoky shadows disappeared as the
fluorescents hummed to life.  But where was Sabrina?

"Sweet merciful Jesus...the wine cellar."

I hurried to the back of the studio and ducked through the partially-
opened door.

"Don't move an inch," I barked as I groped past her head in search
of the tug chain for the light.  I jerked it downward and surveyed
the damage.

"I...I...I didn't..."

"Shut up and stand still."

I gave her body a quick once-over.  No cuts or bruises.  Then I
turned my attention to the metal rack she had pulled over.  All the
new Merlots were shattered on the floor, leaving shards of glass
glittering like a coral reef in the Red Sea.

At least she hadn't knocked down one of the main racks.  And the
Merlots could easily be replaced, unlike the more vintage bottles
gathering dust in the back.  But I was still furious with Sabrina, to
the point where I had to close my eyes and take deep breaths before
continuing.

"Later," I kept telling myself as a series of suitable punishments
fogged my common sense, each more progressively spectacular in
complication and despair.  There she was, naked and cowering, tears
streaming down her eyes, shaking with fear and dread.  It would be a
simple thing to scoop her into my arms, carry her to the stage, open
a box and begin the ending.

I finally regained my composure.  Forgive and remember, my father
always used to say.  Plenty of time for better things to come.  And
come.

"Put your arms around my neck," I said after I opened my eyes.  "I'm
going to carry you out of here."

Sabrina sniffed a little as I stuck a hand beneath her knees and
hoisted her away from the jagged disaster on the floor.

"Wait for me upstairs," I told her as I carried her into the main
room of the studio.  "No, belay that.  This is going to take me hours
to clean up.  So just get out of here. Take a shower.  Make yourself
something to eat.  Watch TV.  Go to bed.  I really don't care."

I dumped her on the stage, turned around and returned to the wine
cellar without another word.  Seconds later, I was listening to her
naked footsteps ascending the stairs.

Let her sleep on that, I thought as I waited a few moments before
heading upstairs myself to gather the necessary cleaning gear. 

Day 3--Geoffrey

Looks like another warm one, I mused absentmindedly as I checked the
clock.

Six a.m.  Time's a-wasting.

Sabrina wasn't amused to be rousted out of bed so early, but I
wasn't in the mood to be charitable.  Minutes later, she was
following me down the dirt trail toward the barn, naked and groggy
and trying to shield her eyes from the rising sun.  We went past the
barn and into the woods, finally stopping in a clearing.

I reached into one of the duffel bags I had brought along and pulled
out something light and brown.

"Here, put these on."

I didn't think she recognized the suede apparel.  Elaborate symbols
and ornaments were embroidered into the leather with colored beads. 
Fringe hung down from the hems.  Moccasin-style boots complemented
the matching top and bottom.

"They're now referred to as 'original Americans,' which replaced
'native Americans,' which replaced 'Indians,' not to mention
'redskins,' 'braves,' 'chiefs' and other colorful team mascots," I
explained.  "But for this morning's session, we're going to be quite
politically incorrect in our portrayal of the noble savage."

Sabrina stepped into the bottom part of the get-up and pulled them
around her hips.  Somehow, I doubted that Sioux and Cherokee women
dressed in buckskin hot pants, but historical accuracy was far down
my list of important elements for this shoot.

I helped her knot the leather lacings that held the skimpy top
against her chest, and then busied myself with my camera equipment
while she sat down to tie the straps around the moccasins.

"Are you ready?" I inquired redundantly, as she looked absolutely
ravishing in spite of her disheveled state.  I produced a black wig
from the duffel bag and positioned it on top of her head, helping her
tuck the stray strands of her own hair under the scalp covering.

"Perfect.  Now, you need to look authentic."

I reached down and grabbed a handful of loose dirt, then smeared it
against her thigh.

"Like that.  Dirty yourself up.  All over your body.  Try not to get
any on your face though."

When I was satisfied with her grime quotient, I pulled out the
makeup kit.

"Now we'll add some war paint, and you'll be all set."

After I finished applying the various colors to Sabrina's cheeks and
around her eyes, I wrapped a beaded band around her head and handed
her a quiver, a tomahawk and several long leather straps.

"We'll pass on the feather, but that just about does it.  Put the
bow and arrow over your shoulder, and stick the axe and the straps
into the side of your pants.  Now, here's what I want you to do. 
You're a fierce Indian, er, original American warrior.  You've
spotted a paleface snooping around your territory.  I want you to
pretend you're tracking her.  Hide behind those trees over there."

The shutter clicked like a machine gun as we progressed through the
woods.  After an hour of stalking, I directed her to pretend that she
had caught her prey.  She looked confused, so I tried to explain.

"Just imagine there's someone else in the picture with you.  I'll
combine the images in the darkroom.  Take out the bow and arrow. 
Pretend to be aiming it at someone.  Good, excellent, now take out
the tomahawk.  Look menacing.  Pretend your captive is in your face. 
Now, get down on the ground.  That's it, perfect.  Okay, now you're
taking your captive back to your camp.  Follow me."

We walked a short distance to another clearing with the trunk of an
old tree, stripped of its bark and most of its branches, standing in
its center.

"You're doing great, Sabrina.  Pretend you're tying someone to the
post.  That's it, a little higher.  Use all the leather straps.  Toss
them out of range over there.  Almost done.  Take this..."

I reached into my backpack and pulled out an old-fashioned bullwhip.

"Your captive was stupid enough to be carrying this when you caught
her.  Use it.  That's right, I want you to whip the post.  As hard as
you can.  Get your arm into it.  No, like this."

I took the handle from her hand, reared back and gave the post an
enormous whack.

"See, you want it to snap.  There, that's better.  Harder.  Meaner. 
You don't like this paleface.  She wants to take away your land. 
And...stop.  That's a wrap.  Good girl.  Great stuff.  I'm starving,
aren't you?  Let's go back to the house and get you cleaned up and
into your cowboy clothes for this afternoon's shoot...well, who did
you think was going to play the paleface?"

--Sabrina--

While trying to finish at least half the salad on my plate, I turned
to look at the quiet surface of the pool with envy.  I sure could've
used a dip.  The cool water might have silenced the millions of
thoughts in my mind.

Geoffrey's last words certainly hit their target.  How had I not
seen this one coming?  Of course I would play the cowgirl.  And he
was giving me enough time to consider our forthcoming session, with
the post and the whip to look forward to.  Was I supposed to get
worried, possibly scared?  This was obviously the price to pay for
his lost wine.

Well, I had screwed up marvelously last night, but he had given me
no time to apologize and try to make up.  At least I could have
cleaned up the wine cellar.  Playing with jagged glass would have
been better than the awful night I had spent tossing and turning.

I laid down my fork, unable to swallow another green leaf, and
raised my glass instead.  A glance at his face proved he was still
mad at me.  Alright, Geoffrey, I thought to myself, I know what it
would take to get even.  Once I played prey to his satisfaction, he
would insist on tying me to the tree.  "For effect.  Honestly."  I
would struggle and argue, but eventually, I'd give in, because I knew
this is what he wanted and, okay, I owed him one.

I sipped more wine as I continued my silent confrontation with him,
creating a strategy while my thoughts were still clear.  I knew how
easily he could bring me to a state of confusion, and I wanted to
make sure I'd be in control at all times, even when he would think
otherwise.

Being bound should make him happy, I reasoned, but that wouldn't be
enough.  When both of us knew I was helpless, he'd try to scare me
with the whip, maybe wait until I screamed in protest.  And maybe I'd
give him all that.  But that's as far as the payback game would go. 
If he even dared to brush me with the tip of the whip...

"Are you finished?"

His interruption startled me, and it took me a couple of seconds to
admit I couldn't eat more.  I declined his invitation for coffee--my
nerves didn't need more stimulation--and helped him clear the table.

Then I waited for him to take us back to the woods.

--Geoffrey--

As expected, the leather chaps looked stunning around Sabrina's
slender legs, as did the matching vest around her chest.  She
probably hated the fact that her ass was uncovered, to say nothing of
the lack of buttons or snaps for the front of the vest.  But her
opinion would be the only negative once the film was developed.  A
most suitable model.  Her board of directors, to say nothing of the
adult paysites on the Internet where I planned to sell the pictures,
would be very appreciative indeed.

I accessorized her with a leather thong, a pair of snakeskin cowboy
boots, a black Stetson, and a red bandanna for her neck that
eventually wound up in her mouth when we returned to the clearing. 
As usual, she kicked up an awful fuss as I lashed her to the tree in
the center.  I ignored her and concentrated on the tasks at hand.

Once Sabrina's wrists and ankles were bound behind the back of the
post, she seemed unusually nervous, even though we were clearly just
working.  I wondered if she expected me to actually use the bullwhip
on her.  Silly girl.  That's much too clumsy a weapon.  A crop, or
perhaps a flogger; those were suitable for human flesh.  Plenty of
time to try the entire collection.  Later.  But not too much later,
as customers who paid handsomely for flesh generally preferred to
receive their purchases in pristine condition.

After I finished the tree shots, I took her to the side of the
clearing where I had planted five stakes in the ground.  At first,
she protested mightily about lying on the dirt spread-eagled, but
when I threatened to gag her again, she calmed down and allowed me to
bind her outstretched wrists, ankles and neck to the short wooden
posts.

"Be thankful there isn't an anthill underneath you," I joked as I
poured a jar of honey on her exposed parts.  "Don't want to be too
authentic."

Speaking of which, I actually kind of liked the way her face
contorted when she yelled at me about getting her all sticky and
messy.  Again, I went about my business, even encouraging her to
scream and thrash as if she really were being devoured by tiny
insects.

When I was satisfied with the shots, I sliced away the leather
straps and helped her to her feet.

"We made a lot of progress today.  Thank you for being so co-
operative."

While I began packing my equipment, she turned on her heel and
started marching back toward the house without a word.

"Sabrina?  Come back here!"

Models will be the death of me, I decided as I watched her storm
away.  But such a necessary evil.  Tomorrow, I planned to spend the
morning in the darkroom while giving her some down time.  Then, in
the afternoon, we would run through the rock-star scenario on the
stage in the studio; she was going to look smashing in tight leather
pants and stiletto heels with a guitar strap pressing against her
breast.

And after that...I reached into my pocket and pulled out the
crumpled piece of paper covered with the calculations I had scribbled
while talking to my wine broker this morning about the current price
for three cases of premium Merlot.

Day 4--Sabrina

When Geoffrey announced I would have the whole morning to myself
while he worked in his darkroom, I felt like applauding.  It was the
best news I'd heard since my arrival five days ago.  I asked if I
could call the association's director to update him on our work,
expecting a polite, but firm refusal.  Instead, he led me upstairs to
his study and pointed at the phone on his desk.

"There.  And please, do not touch anything else," he warned.

"Am I allowed to sit in the chair?"

He didn't bother to answer, and stomped back downstairs.  I hoped I
wouldn't see him again until lunch time.  Good riddance.  

I sat, or rather slumped, in his leather chair, taking off my
ridiculous heels and putting my bare feet on his desk.  Every time I
thought I had sussed out Geoffrey's game, he unleashed another
surprise, always a bad one.

So he didn't use the whip, but he gagged me, which was even worse. 
And what about tying me to the ground, coating me with honey and
joking--joking!--about ants?  Was it my lack of an appreciation for
verisimilitude, or was this guy insane?  I didn't know how many
bottles of his precious wine I had broken the other night, but the
price I'd already paid seemed sufficiently high.  In fact, I would
have told him so, if my anger hadn't reached a level of intensity
quite beyond the capacity of speech.  No words could have expressed
my indignation better than the stubborn silence I maintained until
bedtime.  Not that it seemed to bother him.

I dialed the director's number and, after updating him on the
sessions, tried to get more information on Mr. Sorenson.  Apparently,
his reputation was irreproachable, and no one had ever complained
about his work.  His artistic ideas were praised by his many clients;
working with him was considered a privilege.

Oh, it was my privilege for sure, I grinned as I put down the
receiver.  Well, if he gave up on his bondage madness, I might even
get to see what the fuss was all about.

I left the room and decided to go outdoors.  After a long and
peaceful walk, wandering everywhere but near the stables or that
fateful clearing, I returned to the pool and spent the rest of my
free time in the water.

The solo stroll restored most of my confidence and self-control. 
However, the minute Geoffrey reappeared, I fretted over what his next
"artistic" idea would be.

As it turned out, this one had been fun.  I got to play rock star,
and that was an old fantasy I enjoyed acting out.  He asked if I knew
any Joan Jett, and my rendition of "I Love Rock and Roll" almost
brought a smile to his face.  Almost.  But at least I knew he was
pleased, and I began to relax.  Surely the wine cellar disaster was
forgotten now, and our future photo sessions would be as entertaining
as this one.

Dinner was implausibly enjoyable; our discussion centered on music,
and we discovered we had at least one interest in common.  When I
went to bed, I was convinced I had gone through the worst and things
could only brighten up.  I slept like a baby.

Day 5--Geoffrey

The day dawned red and promptly reversed, growing progressively
darker as the weather took a turn for the wetter.  After a hearty and
strangely pleasant breakfast, I led Sabrina downstairs to the studio.

"Indoor sports today, I'm afraid," I announced in what I thought was
a cheerful tone of voice.  "Looks like this could last through the
weekend.  Good thing we're on schedule."

Stop chattering, you asshole, I almost said out loud.  To distract
myself, I walked to the edge of the room and pulled out a rack laden
with fancy leather outfits, elegant European designs suitable for a
cocktail party at Versailles or a disco on Capri.

Let her go to the ball for a while.  Plenty of time before the clock
strikes midnight.

And I already knew the shoe would fit my Cinderella's foot, not to
mention her ankle, calf, knee and thigh.

I let her have fun playing dress-up, her demeanor becoming less
inhibited as the hours rolled by like minutes.  After a glass or two
of wine at lunch, she became positively saucy, then borderline
obscene, flashing various body parts in perfect time to the lights
triggered by my shutter.

I realized this particular session would give me more than enough
naughty pictures for the association's stupid little annual report. 
If they even bothered to use them.  But I could probably sell several
thousand copies myself after she's safely transported to the other
side of the planet.  Maybe they could be used as bait for new
subscribers to bdsm-vixens.com or whichever porn site offered me the
most money for the proofs.

Not that I was going to need the extra dough, according to the most
recent telegram from Hong Kong informing me that her auction was
progressing splendidly.  But fresh pictures always helped spur
reluctant bidders.

I waited until Sabrina tried on the micro-miniskirt, then suggested
she put on the thigh-high boots from the day before.  Giggling, she
agreed.  She even let me help her squirm into a leather bustier that
covered her torso from her navel to just barely over the top of her
nipples.  Opera-length leather gloves, complete with laces, soon ran
up her arms to her shoulders.

"You look like a gorgeous sex kitten," I noted with a smile.  "Maybe
a kitten with a whip?"

"What is it with you and this bondage stuff?" Sabrina asked with the
slightest of slurs in her voice.

"Curiosity killed the cat," I replied with a wink.

She giggled again while I unlocked one of the trunks and pulled out
a flogger with long leather strips hanging down from a stout handle.

"Hold this like you mean it," I said, handing it to her.  I lowered
my voice into a make-believe villain.  "Make me suffer with your
gaze."

She burst into laughter and started pretending to be a world-class
dominatrix, snarling and sneering and cracking the whip.

"Hurt me," I cried as I snapped picture after picture.  "Make me
your slave.  C'mon, show me what you'd like to do to me."

After several poses, I signaled for her to stop.

"I hate to waste the outfit," I said as I reloaded my camera.  "Are
you game to keep going?"

"Sh-sh-sure," she replied with yet another giggle.

I returned to the open trunk.  "Let's try the other side of the
equation.  Put your hands behind your back."

I walked toward Sabrina holding a pair of handcuffs.

--Sabrina--

I swear I was ready for him.  When Geoffrey whipped out the whip, I
knew we would revert to his favorite sport: tying me up and
pretending it was all in a day's work.  Same old story, same old song
and dance, my friend.

Only this time, I was in the mood to play along.  I had fun.  I was
slightly drunk, too.  I wanted a taste of danger, like I did when I
was younger and hitchhiked with my best friend; two schoolgirls,
pretty and insolent and shouting it to the world, more terrified of
our parents than any dastardly fate that might befall us.  Nothing
bad ever happened, except the one time when the driver started
masturbating as he headed out of town.  We literally jumped out of
the car at the first traffic light, and tried to laugh to forget how
scared we had been.  We were kids, and danger was fun.

That day, danger was fun, too.  Without hesitation, I put my hands
behind my back, and I felt the same thrill as climbing in the car of
a random stranger.  When I play with fire, I occasionally forget it
can burn.

I felt the cold metal on my wrists at the same time as I heard the
"click" of the lock.  He was fast, as always.

Geoffrey took something out of his pocket, brought it up close to my
face, and--yikes!  Darkness.  Total.  Very, very total.  I didn't
like this at all, but I bit my lip.  This is just a game, I told
myself.  Let's see how far you can go.

He led me toward the back of the stage and fumbled with something. 
After the noisy photo session, the silence around us was almost
surreal.  I felt him attach what sounded like a clip to the chain
linking my cuffs.

"I'm tired of these standing shots," he said.  "Time for something
different."

His last words echoed in my ears when my arms suddenly shot skyward.
To keep my balance, I had to bend forward.  When the pulling stopped,
I found myself in such an awkward position, my insubordinate nature
spurted back.

"Hey, not so high.  I can't keep my balance.  C'mon, bring it down."

"Hold on.  Let me deal with that little balance problem," he said as
he walked back to his trunks.

While I was trying to find a more comfortable position--lifting my
head, bending my knees, trying to turn around, none of which really
worked--he grabbed my hips to straighten me up, and asked me to
spread my legs.

"Wider.  Much wider.  There." As he spoke, he clutched my leather-
clad ankles and connected them to something.

When I heard him turn away, I tried to move, but discovered I could
no longer close my legs.  Oh, good, he had me grounded, too.  I
conducted a rapid survey of my situation, and decided the game was
not turning in my favor.  Yet, despite the obvious discomfort, I was
still more thrilled than upset.

Funny what a mixture of wine and adrenaline will do to you.  Two
days before, I had kicked up a fuss about being lashed to a tree. 
And there I was, doubled over, with my ass not even covered by the
almost-nonexistent skirt.  My hands and feet were useless, and I was
completely in the dark as to what was to come.

Then, quite unexpectedly, I burst into laughter.

"Now, this is quite a situation you've put me in, Geoffrey," I
managed to splutter.  "And tell me, what do we do now?"

--Geoffrey--

"I want you to hold this for me.  But if you drop it, I'm going to
use it on you.  Open your mouth."

Before Sabrina could react, I wedged the handle of the flogger
between her teeth, then stood back to watch as she struggled between
the desire to spit it out, and the consequences if she did.

"A very wise choice," I commented once she calmed down.  Not that it
would last.  This one seemed to think that fighting me was a winning
strategy.  I needed to take advantage of it while I could, capture
her aggression and make it come alive on film.

Several rolls later, I decided she could use some accessories.

"I'm going to give you some more things to hold until I need them."

I placed a leather gag with a thick rubber penis jutting out of the
mouth plate into one of her hands bouncing behind her back.  The
other soon received a sizeable plug for her ass.

As I reloaded my camera, I watched her fingers twitch and claw as
she tried to deduce what they were clutching.  She looked so
marvelous when she got agitated.  But such a pity to lose the eyes. 
I would definitely take some pictures without the blindfold.  To see
and be seen, to scream and be screened.

I pulled some clamps out of one pocket and fingered them
appreciatively.  They were the kind that looked like little presses,
the kind used to crush grapes.  A single turn of the screw could
create entire new dimensions of distress.

And if that didn't work, there was always the weights.  Eventually,
the whip would be on the floor, then in my hand.

I reached over to one of her breasts that had popped free of the
bustier and positioned the two thin brass bars around her soft, pink
nipple.  Holding it steady with one hand, I began twisting the
serrated knob with the other.

--Sabrina--

The regular "click" of the shutter was the only thing that kept me
close to a semblance of reality.  Beyond that, nothing made sense.

My attention was centered on my jaws and teeth.  "Don't drop the
handle" was the only thing that registered.  I had no doubt that the
thing in my mouth was the lower half of some kind of whip, and I
wasn't going to let Geoffrey use it on me.  I wasn't sure he would,
but I didn't want to learn otherwise.

My hands, still wrapped in the long leather gloves, had stopped
their futile maneuvers to deduce what they were holding.  The phallus-
shaped object had a square base that disqualified all the items I
could think of.  And the smooth conical form of the other had me
completely confused.  Whatever they were, I knew I should hold onto
them for dear life.

The handle seemed increasingly heavy, and I clenched my muscles one
more time to steady my grip.  At that moment, I felt him place
something hard and cold on my nipple.

Then it went tight.

I moaned under the sharp pain, but bit harder.  Don't drop it, I
told myself.  Just don't drop it.

The other nipple.

Oh, Lord.  Focus.  Bite.  Hold it.

When the pain suddenly grew exponentially, and I felt my breasts sag
as if stones were hanging from them, I let out a cry.  I took a
couple of long breaths and tried to accommodate the pain.  When I
came back to my senses, I realized my mouth was empty.  I had also
dropped one of the objects in my hands, but at the time, the fact
barely registered.

"Shit."  My voice was a coarse whisper.  "You're not really going to
use it on me, are you?"

I heard his voice close to my ear.

"Sabrina, it's about time someone whipped that pretty ass of yours."

Before I could utter a word of protest, he filled my mouth again
and, in doing so, gave me the final clue about the cock thing.  A
gag.  Shaped like a penis.  No home should be without one.  Nor your
friendly neighborhood lunatic asylum.

He lifted the micro-skirt up my hips to expose my ass.  Fear built
up.  He wouldn't.

A short whistling sound.

He did.

Hurt.  Anger.  Shame.  I didn't know which was worse.  I thrashed in
my bonds, but it only increased the burning sting on my breasts.

"One," he counted.

This was a nightmare.  He just couldn't...

"Five."

To hell with humiliation; all I wanted was for him to stop.  I was
frenetically jerking my head around, moaning as loud as I could.

"Twelve."

I dropped the other object as the biting straps landed on my right
thigh.  The pain was unbearable.  My ass, my thighs, my breasts were
on fire, to say nothing of the strain on my neck and shoulders. 
There didn't seem to be a single part of my body that didn't ache.

"Twenty-five."

Can't breathe.  Stop.

"Thirty-six."

He paused.

I prayed to all deities that he would leave it there.  My face was
wet with tears, the blindfold stuck to my swollen eyes.  If only he
could take the gag off, I would beg.  Anything but the whip.  Please.

--Geoffrey--

"Fifty."

I placed the whip on the floor and bent over to whisper harshly in
Sabrina's ear.

"From now on, you will do exactly as I tell you the second I tell
you.  Any hesitation will result in more of the same, only doubled. 
Do you understand?"

She nodded her head vigorously.

"I'm going to remove your gag, but you are not to speak unless I ask
you a direct question.  In those rare instances, the only words you
are permitted to say are 'yes, please.'  Do you understand?"

I reached around her head, unbuckled the strap and pulled the plug
out of her mouth.

"Yes...please," she rasped.

"Would you like some water?"

"Yes, please," she replied, this time with more energy.

I found a bottle of Evian and positioned the opening against her
lips, allowing her to take as much as she wanted.

When she was finished, I began unlocking her cuffed ankles from the
spreader bar, then untied the rope keeping her arms aloft.  I had to
hold her steady while she regained her balance.

"You did very well today, Sabrina.  And I am confident you'll do
even better tomorrow."

I left her swaying in the center of the room while I procured a few
necessary items from one of my closets.

"But there's going to be a slight change in your accommodations here
for the remainder of your stay."

I placed a posture collar around her neck and buckled it, forcing
her chin upward.  A leash dangled down between her still-clamped
breasts.

Next, I took the butt plug and ran it back and forth between her
legs.  When it was thoroughly lubricated, I pushed it slowly into her
anus, savoring the tight resistance and her plaintive squeaks and
squirms.  Then I did likewise with a vibrator, slipping it between
the folds of her very wet sex until nothing remained visible but its
control knob, which I twisted to its slowest setting.

Finally, I wrapped a leather belt around her waist, buckled it, then
padlocked a second strap securely around her crotch.

"This will help prevent any accidents.  In that unfortunate event,
you will clean up your mess with your tongue."

Every slaver needs a proper cage, and mine was custom-built to
enclose a kneeling female with handy openings to access her
unprotected assets.  Reinforced steel bars and three separate locks
on the door, including one with a combination worthy of a bank vault,
ensured it was inescapable unless I decided otherwise, as its many
occupants over the years could attest, presuming their current owners
still allowed them to speak in public.

I lugged the black mass onto the stage, then used a ladder to thread
a chain through a pulley hanging from the scaffolding.  When I was
finished, I picked up the end of her leash and led her to the open
door.

"Get down on your knees.  Good.  Now, move forward.  That's it. 
Bend your head down."

When Sabrina was all the way inside the structure, I padlocked her
ankles together and did likewise to the door behind her.  With a few
hearty tugs on the chain, the cage was soon hanging at eye level.

I wrapped the end of her leash around the bars lining the bottom of
the cell so she couldn't move her head.  The weights, still hanging
from her nipples, swung gently beneath her as she struggled in her
new position.

"If I hear a single sound...100."

I clicked off the lights and climbed up the stairs to cook myself a
well-deserved celebration feast.  But first, I would check the
mailbox for any recent deliveries from Western Union.

--Sabrina--

Abandoned in total silence and darkness, I surrendered to the flood
of confusing emotions.  Anger.  At myself, for playing a game with
someone who won every time.  Fury.  At him.  For so many reasons, I
couldn't think of one in particular.  Incomprehension.  What did
Geoffrey want?  Why was he doing this to me?  Utter distress.  For
there was nothing I could do but wait until he chose to free me.

And the waiting would be long and painful.  My ass still burned from
the whipping; the slightest touch from my hands, still cuffed behind
my back, was unbearable.  The awful plug he had forced into me made
it all the more humiliating.  The pinching on my breasts had weakened
somewhat; I figured the blood had been squeezed out of them, but I
sighed as I imagined what was happening to their pretty round shapes.

Trying to find a more comfortable position, I managed to kneel
completely and lay my chest on my knees, which also alleviated the
strain on my neck.  However, the weight of my whole body was now
centered on my folded legs, cruelly cut by the bars of my cell.

And there was the constant buzzing in my pussy.  I thought I'd be
able to ignore the slow vibrations, but the throbbing between my legs
proved otherwise.

To distract myself, I concentrated on what I would do once I got me
out of the cage.  Call the association.  No, they wouldn't believe
me.  Reason with Geoffrey.  Probably pointless.  Escape.  Barefoot,
naked, whatever it took.  Just leave this hellish place.

Soon enough, the insidious humming inside me did its job, and rank
arousal overwhelmed my thoughts.  All I could think about was the
irksome intruder, and how I could stop it.  Or make it faster.  I
squeezed my thighs tighter and moved my hips up and down, but that
made things worse.  Increasingly frustrated, I felt like yelling at
the top of my lungs, but sobbed quietly instead.

After a long spell, I calmed down and tried to will myself to sleep.
But even that relief wasn't allowed.  At best, I would doze off, only
to wake up shortly later, feeling worse than before.

I began to hallucinate.  I thought I heard him come in and check on
me twice.  I also dreamed that a black horse was licking my bare ass,
cooling the wounds with its huge tongue.  My reality was one of
distress and chaos, and I couldn't even trust the few senses I had
left.

Eventually, after what seemed like the longest night in my life--or
had it only been two hours?--the vibrations stopped, and sheer
exhaustion let me sink into merciful oblivion.  

Day 6--Geoffrey

I woke up early that morning, anxious to begin the day.  Things were
going to go much smoother now.  For both of us.

Control was a powerful aphrodisiac.  Sabrina had given.  I had
taken.  And now the authority in our relationship was mine, and mine
alone.

Walking down the stairs to the studio, I could tell she was asleep. 
Good.  She was going to need her strength, although she would
certainly have ample time to rest.  Well, remain stationary, anyway.

"The Economy of Movement," I chuckled out loud.  The directors of
the International Fashion Council were going to be very pleased with
the results of this shoot.  Not only was I taking care of their
little problem, they'd even get one hell of a photo montage for their
members.

Of course, the odds were good they would elect to use a different
model to showcase this year's fashions, just in case the police came
sniffing around.  But a scrapbook chronicling the last vacation of
Sabrina Taylor would make a fine addition to any private pornography
collection.

Perhaps some of them were even placing bids, although the rules of
the Hong Kong house specifically forbade the kenneling of livestock
in its country of origin.  Not my problem once the check clears.

"Good morning, Sabrina," I said as I untied the leash holding her
head to the bottom bars and began lowering her cage to the floor.

I was hoping she'd respond with something inappropriate so I could
gag her again, but she stayed quiet.  As I unlocked the door, I
decided to gag her anyway.  I had no intention of providing her with
the slightest opportunity for mischief.

She worked her way backward out of the cage, then stood up shakily,
her feet still encased in the leather boots with the skyscraper
heels.  I removed her blindfold, then pulled up a chair and gestured
for her to sit in it.  As she sat down, she obviously forgot about
the plug in her ass, or maybe it was just the lingering damage from
the whip.  Regardless, the resulting moan gave me the opportunity to
stretch a thick rubber strap around her head and push the molded
black ball deep into her mouth.

Good thing, too, as Sabrina screamed like a demon taking a bath in
holy water when I removed the nipple clamps.

I unlaced and removed her boots, then took off the rest of her
clothes and the collar around her neck.  Finally, I motioned for her
to stand so I could unbuckle the chastity belt around her groin and
slip out its occupants, leaving her naked besides the gag and the
handcuffs.

"Follow me...no, wait."

I went over to one of the boxes and pulled out a metal collar with
two iron bars jutting from its sides, capped with matching manacles. 
I also pulled out a matching spreader bar for her ankles.  For later.

I padlocked the big ring around her neck, then unlocked her
handcuffs and did the same to her wrists so her arms stuck out as if
she was being crucified.  I caught myself regretting that she didn't
resist.  No fool she.  But bad girls are so much more fun.

Clicking the leash to a loop embedded in the front of the collar, I
picked up the other spreader bar, turned, and led her up the stairs
to the main house, then up the stairs again to her bathroom.

"Step into the shower," I told her brusquely.  When she was standing
in the tub, I twisted the knobs and let the cold water cascade over
her body as the hot water slowly came online.  Using a sponge and
then a brush, I scrubbed every inch of her flesh until she glowed
bright red.  After I washed and rinsed her hair, I spread and locked
her ankles so I could shave her.  When I was satisfied with her glass-
like smoothness, I prepared the enema bottle and hung it on the
shower curtain rod.

"Wait here while I fix your breakfast," I said as I inserted the
nozzle.

Fifteen minutes later, I was surprised to find that she hadn't
spilled a single drop.  This one is strong, I decided as I removed
the nozzle, then the ankle cuffs.  Best not to take any chances.

I led her out of the shower, gestured to the toilet, and turned
away.  When I figured she was through, I motioned her back into the
shower for a quick rinse, then toweled her off.

Breakfast consisted of a glass of orange juice, a few strips of
bacon and a large bowl of oatmeal, which I spooned into Sabrina's
mouth until she turned her head away.  She seemed to realize without
prompting that it was wise to eat as much as she could whenever food
was offered.  Had she said a single word when I removed the gag, she
would have waited another 12 hours.  Now she might even get lunch.

The gag replaced, I led her back down the stairs to the studio,
recuffed her ankles in the spreader bar, and clipped the chain
hanging down the scaffolding to her collar.

Time to unload the boxes.

--Sabrina--

Thank goodness Geoffrey gagged me.  I didn't think I could have
survived the shower, shaving and enema session without earning 1,000
lashes.  Breakfast was easier, though.  I was weak and starving, and
I figured the best strategy was to gain strength.

And his confidence.  I gazed down at him while he was cuffing my
ankles to the bar holding my legs wide.  He looked so bloody
cheerful, surely presuming he'd won the game.  Think again, I told
myself while he unlocked my cuffs, only to lock them again once my
arms were held up by the chain above my head.

"As soon as I'm out of here," I mumbled incoherently, "you'll regret
ever hearing the name Sabrina Taylor.  I'll ruin your fucking
brilliant career."

But I was worried.  If he kept me bound and/or caged, I would never
escape.

"First, the obligatory leather ornament," he said as he started
lacing up a black corset reaching just under my nipples.

Gosh.  He missed the size this time.  Way too small.

Geoffrey stepped back and pondered for a moment.  Then he readjusted
the chain holding my wrists up, forcing me to stand on tiptoe.

When he was satisfied with my discomfort, he placed a stool under
me, and produced what looked like a huge double dildo.  It wasn't
hard to guess where the ends would go.

When he had thrust both prods halfway through my anus and vagina,
bringing a mute scream to my gagged mouth, he strapped their common
base to the stool.

"Let's get busy.  Business before pleasure, y' know."

I failed to acknowledge his dubious humor as I began to comprehend
this new game.

I managed to stand in the same position until he had finished
shooting two rolls of film.  Then I started to collapse.  Little by
little.  The twin monster forced my openings wider, driving further
inside me, threatening to rip me apart.  I resisted, redressed,
repelled.  He loaded another roll.

Cramps in my legs.  One more inch inside.  I couldn't hold back a
long moan as I tried, one more time, to push back the intruders.  My
arms pulled on the chain while my calves hurt so much, I knew I would
never hold the position for more than ten seconds.

When the dildos hit my deepest core, I thought I had been struck by
thunder just as lightning blinded me.  His voice echoed in the
distance.

"Now, this was a good one."

--Geoffrey--

I left Sabrina writhing on the stool for almost an hour while I put
away my camera gear and prepared a light lunch of grilled fish and
vegetables.

"Need to keep your energy levels up," I said jauntily as I fed it to
her a forkful at a time.

She glared at me with a fury that suggested if I gave her an inch,
she'd be running naked down the road screaming bloody murder.  I
thought she'd be thankful I removed the corset and the double dildo
before serving her.

"So much for gratitude," I muttered to myself.  She definitely
required remedial training, a refresher course in the proper
etiquette to use when one is at the complete mercy of another.

It took me a moment to find it at the bottom of the box with the
other props from the historical photo shoot someone had commissioned
last year, but I knew it was there: an old-fashioned manacle with a
length of chain running to an iron ball that must have weighed at
least 20 pounds.  I wrapped the bands around Sabrina's ankle, ran a
padlock through the hasp and snapped it shut.  Before she could
complain, I stuffed the rubber gag back into her mouth.

I had to carry it for her when we went to the bathroom, but it was a
small price to pay to keep her thoughts focused on topics besides
escape.

Yes, she definitely needed a primer in politesse, a lesson that
would resonate longer and louder than another crack of the whip.  I
ordered her to lie face down on the floor while I tied her wrists,
and then her elbows, behind her back, followed by her thighs, knees
and ankles.  A single, and very short, piece of rope soon brought her
feet into contact with her fingers.  I snapped a few photos for my
personal hogtie collection, then I left her to squirm while I went
upstairs and found my wallet and car keys.

Among other errands, I was going to visit the hardware store in town
that catered to professional contractors like plumbers and
electricians.  I only needed one item, but I needed a lot of it.

--Sabrina--

When I heard Geoffrey start the car and drive away, I wasted no
time.  Time to take action, if action could be taken.  What would a
James Bond girl do here?  Probably wait for her hero to return at the
last minute.  Unfortunately for me, the only person who'd enter this
dark room was the villain.  Life was not a movie.

The hogtie position was strenuous, but it had one remarkable
benefit; I could touch the ropes and work on them.

It took a long time and three broken nails, but eventually, my
ankles and wrists separated, and my legs fell flatly on the floor. 
One down.  Five to go.  Plus the iron ball.

I checked for sounds outside.  I reckoned he had been gone no more
than half an hour; he could return in ten minutes, or two hours.  I
fretted over his reaction if he found me with even just one rope
loose, but the risk was worth taking.  Anyway, could things really
get worse than they already were?

Once I could sit, I could also move.  Dragging the ball behind me, I
proceeded slowly to the door.  There, I leaned on the wall to work my
way up, then turned around to push on the light switch with my
forehead.  Good.  Now I needed a cutting tool for the other ropes.

I surveyed the room and noticed the tall mirror on the left side of
the stage.  This would do.  I crawled back there and almost joyfully
pushed my reflection down.  The frame resisted the shock, but pieces
of glass spread all around, and my fingers soon held a long shard up
in triumph.

I cut myself several times, once pretty badly, before all the ropes
were loose, but I hardly noticed the pain.  A loud "yes" broke the
silence when I finally took the gag out of my mouth.  Oh, this felt
so good.  And yet I couldn't take the luxury of congratulating myself
yet.  There was still the iron manacle to deal with.

Knowing I lacked the strength to break the chain or the lock, even
if I found a tool to help me, I decided not to waste my precious time
trying.  Instead, if I could find my car keys, I would drive to the
nearest police station where it would become Exhibit A as evidence of
my kidnapping.  Not wanting to arrive naked, I selected a short
leather dress and a matching jacket from the rack of the party
costumes, and headed for the door.  I hadn't heard him turn any key,
and indeed, the door opened easily.  Onto a steep staircase.

I bent down and lifted the ball to knee level, then climbed the
stairs slowly, one step at a time.  I was panting heavily when I
reached the ground floor, but freedom was getting closer.  In the
hallway, I tried to open the large wooden closet where I figured he
had left my jacket and purse, but it was locked with no key in sight.
Cautious man.

I continued my search in the other rooms.  However this time, I
wasn't so lucky.  The kitchen clock said 4:25, much later than I
thought.  I allowed myself a short break to have a glass of water and
two chocolate cookies.  "Need to keep my energy levels up," I
mimicked him in the lowest voice I could manage.

Speak of the devil...just as I felt ready to start Plan B, which was
using the phone, I heard a car driving slowly into the front yard. 
Oh no, please, not now.  Suddenly feeling nauseous, I imposed myself
a long breath to calm down.  There was always Plan C.

With the ball bouncing in my wake, I sat on the sofa in the living
room, ready for a conversation.  The knife in my right hand would
make sure he'd listen.

When Geoffrey appeared in the doorway, anger was so brightly painted
on his face that I almost regretted my attempted escape.  I held the
knife so tightly, my knuckles turned white.

"No, don't say a word," I said as firmly as I could.  "You listen to
me.  It's over.  I want you to unlock the manacle first.  Then give
me my belongings and my car keys.  I can find the police station on
my own."

My heart was thumping so loudly, I could hear it through my chest. 
If he ignored my demands and made a move towards me, I wasn't even
sure I would know what to do with the knife.

--Geoffrey--

We stared at each other in silence for what seemed like hours while
I parsed my options, but it only took me a few seconds to make my
decision.

"You're bleeding."

Sabrina gulped and looked down at her hand holding the knife.  That
was all the opening I needed.  I whipped off my belt, stepped forward
and brought it down hard against her fingers, sending the blade
flying across the room as if it had been shot out of a catapult.

She yelped, then lunged at me, but I stopped her attack by grabbing
her wrist and twisting it hard, forcing her face down on the couch. 
I pushed the end of the belt around her body just above her elbows
and buckled it tight behind her back.

While she thrashed helplessly, her arms flapping like penguin wings,
I retrieved one of the bags I had dropped when I entered the room and
pulled out one of the many rolls of electrical tape I had just
purchased.  Industrial strength.  Two inches wide.

I ignored her screams and pointless threats as I knelt on the couch
behind her and started wrapping her waist, pinning her wrists to her
sides.

"How thoughtful of you to provide me with a knife," I said as I
sliced off the strip.

I turned around, grabbed one of her ankles, and crossed it over the
other before taping them together.

"You'll never get away with this," Sabrina sputtered tearfully. 
"I...I...I'll scream."

"Not for long," I replied as I picked up a pen next to the telephone
and started wrapping layers of tape around it.  When the resulting
wad was an inch thick, I held it in front of her face.

"Open," I barked.  When she refused, I sighed and pinched her nose. 
A minute later, I was plastering tape over her lips and cheeks to
make sure the makeshift gag stayed put.  For a few moments, anyway.

I unbuckled my belt pinning her elbows to her sides, and used up the
rest of the roll to replace it.

Rising to my feet, I doubled over my belt and began slapping it
rhythmically against my open palm.

"My dear Sabrina...we seem to be...in the midst of a drama...that
isn't going to have...a happy ending...for one of us...given the
lack...of suitable alternatives...I'm afraid I must insist on...my
way."

I leaned over, grabbed her on the shoulder, and flipped her onto her
stomach, then pulled the leather skirt up over her hips.

"Don't expect anyone to ride up over the ridge on a rescue mission,
especially your friends at the association," I continued as I
caressed her quivering ass.  "Remember, they're the ones who sent you
here.  They know everything."

I pinched the softest part of her cheek where it curved into the top
of her thigh, debating what else she needed to know.  It was always
dangerous to tell them the whole truth all at once.  Some went
catatonic at the thought of being sold.  Others reacted hysterically,
and sobbed uselessly for days.

The longer I could keep Sabrina guessing, the better for both of us.
I'd rather she hated me for reasons that made no sense than trying to
kill me to save her very life.

Alas, we were well beyond the business of producing an annual
report, although I would have to find another model to finish the
project for real once Sabrina was shipped off.  The price of
perfection is always high, especially when it comes to airtight
alibis.  So I needed a new approach.  Something to justify a thorough
whipping, among other indignities.  Something to keep Sabrina off
balance, in more ways than one.

Maybe even something to keep her, say, tipsy.

"And lest we forget, there's still the Merlot.  Very expensive
Merlot.  But we'll get to that later.  Let's see, how many were we up
to?  Oh yes..."

The belt whistled loudly as it descended and snapped against her ass.

"We'll count backwards...99."

--Sabrina--

"Ninety-three."

It wasn't so much the belt that hurt, although the collateral damage
on my bottom increased with every stroke.  It was more the
realization that I had been set up.  Not only by him, but the IFC,
too.  I had no reason not to believe Geoffrey when he mentioned their
mutual arrangement.  A new rage took over, redirected at my
colleagues and superiors, which helped me get through the first 20
belt strokes.

"Seventy-seven."

My rage began to melt under the burning bites from the leather.  I
tried to avoid the blows, but a hand on my back pinned me firmly to
the coach while the iron ball kept my feet down.  Definitely no
possibility of escape.  Trying to focus on something besides the
pain, I counted how many days I'd already spent in this house.  The
contract specified a two-week session.  I should be out in a week, 10
days maximum.  How many whip strokes can you get in 10 days?

"Sixty-three."

Beads of sweat were running down my face until they were absorbed by
the tape layers across my cheeks.  Soon my eyes became watery. too. 
I held back the tears, unwilling to give in.

"Forty-six."

A sense of total despair replaced my dreams of revenge.  What if he
hadn't told me everything?  What if he planned to keep me here
forever?  Would I ever see the normal world again?

"Thirty-two."

A drenched layer of tape peeled off, and I spit out the gag.  My
screams began to echo each whack of the belt.

"Twenty."

I sank into a dark pit of pain and hopelessness.  I didn't want to
fight anymore.  I tried, and failed.  Now I wanted to let go.  And in
such a terrible moment, it brought the relief I had long awaited.

I didn't hear the final countdown.  I must have fainted just before
he reached the top ten.

--Geoffrey--

Sabrina probably won't appreciate the horizontal piece of wood that
joined the top halves of the giant wooden cross, I thought to myself
as I continued to wrap and padlock her limbs into the leather cuffs
bolted into the arms of the structure.  But soon, she would become a
connoisseur of such apparatuses.

Ankles, thighs, waist, wrists, elbows, plus some additional straps
for her head, thanks to the new design--not too tight while she's
still unconscious--one holding a ball gag in her mouth, and the last
around her forehead.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork.  The new ballet boots were
probably a bit stiff, but they'd break in soon enough, given she
wasn't going to wear anything else on her feet for quite some time. 
Nothing like nine-inch heels to keep a woman dainty in her stride and
poise.  Not that she was going to walk anywhere with iron balls
chained to both ankles now.  Nor would she have much luck picking
them up with her hands encased in leather mittens.

I was definitely in good spirits now that the awkward transition
stage was behind us, and more than a week remained before I had to
start worrying about packaging and transport.  I wasn't about to
share the facts about her fate; experience dictated that it was
preferable to ease them into their new reality rather than hurl them
into the abyss.

So there was little left to do but start the conditioning process,
not to mention fuck her six ways to Sunday and watch the virtual
bidding paddles wave.  Just one more small detail to attend to...

Something banged at the top of the stairs.  A woman's voice followed.

"Geoff-reee?  Where arrrrrrre you?"

"Down here, Brenda," I laughed as I clicked off the light near the
cross, throwing it into deep shadows.  My neighbor certainly knows
about my work, but I didn't want her asking too many questions.

She bounced down the stairs and mock-fainted into my arms.

"Oh, Geoffrey, does this mean you're finally ready to settle down
with me?"

"Not tonight, Miss Moneypenny," I replied in my best Sean Connery
burr.  "I have an important job for you.  But let's make ourselves
comfortable upstairs."

Fifteen minutes later, we returned to the studio with Brenda in a
wig dressed in the clothes Sabrina had been wearing when she
delivered herself to my doorstep.

"Wait here.  I know I've got something suitable in the back."

I left Brenda standing by the stairs while I rummaged through a
storage closet until I found a large hat and sunglasses to obscure
her face.

"So let me get this straight, Mr. Sorenson," Brenda said after
adjusting the accessories on her head.  "You want me to take this car
to the train station, park it in the long-term lot, buy a ticket for
somewhere far away on an express that's leaving very soon, get on the
train, go to the loo, change back into my own clothes, get off the
train, chuck these rags and the wig into the trash, and take a taxi
home?"

"That's the gist of it, dear," I replied.  "Oh, you'll need some
cash for the ticket."

I pulled a wad of notes from my pack pocket and started peeling off
hundreds.

"Will this suffice?"

"More than enough, sir.  Besides, it's my pleasure to get on your
good side."

"Always a wise idea.  Well, off you go then.  Call me when you get
home.  And try not to talk to anyone other than the ticket agent,
okay?"

"Yes, sir!" she yelped before giggling.  "Or should I say, 'yes, puh-
leeeeeeze'?"

"Don't tempt me, Brenda."

"But Geoffrey, love, I live to tempt you."

I thought I heard something stirring in the shadows.  Time to move
along the proceedings.

"Goodbye, Brenda, and thanks a million.  I definitely owe you one."

"To be collected in full, you can be sure."

She kissed my cheek and headed up the stairs.  I waited until I
heard Sabrina's car pull out of the driveway before walking quickly
across the room to the cross.

"Welcome back," I said as I turned on the light.

Sabrina's eyes squinted to avert the glare.

"Wait, allow me to rephrase that...welcome home."

--Sabrina--

The waves came crashing down on the white sand at a regular pace, as
if regulated by an invisible machine.  The foam stopped a few inches
from my feet, but I couldn't feel its refreshing coolness.  I was
paralyzed, unable to move.  Not even my head.  All I could do was
stare at the water in front of me.  In the distance, I noticed a long
shining object carried by the swells.  It disappeared for a few
seconds before it turned up again, closer and bigger.  It was a huge
old-fashioned silver key: the size of a man, coming right at me,
bobbing up and down, but the backwash kept pulling it back.  I knew I
had to have that key at all costs.  And I felt desperate because it
was so close, yet out of reach.  I screamed to get help; my mouth was
wide open, but no sound came out.

All of a sudden, I heard a female voice on my left.  "Yes, sir," it
barked.  When I heard the male voice reply, I snapped back to
consciousness.  The voice was Geoffrey's.  And there was a woman in
the room.

Instinctively, I tried to turn my head to the left.  When I
couldn't, I tried to move my hands, or my feet, or anything, but no
limb would respond.  I was immobilized in a position that made me
cruelly aware of my nakedness.  My temperature rose sharply, but I
managed not to panic.

By the time I was fully awake, the room was quiet again.  Then the
light returned.  So did Geoffrey.

Home?  Did he just say "welcome home" to me?  He must have seen the
puzzlement in my eyes since he bothered to provide clarification. 
Circumstances had changed at the association.  Something about a
change in management.  Until the situation was resolved, I was to
stay here as his "guest."

My body climate escalated from temperate to equatorial.  Stay here? 
What about my life, my family, my friends?  They would look for me. 
Well, not in the near future, as my jailer explained.  Precautions
had been taken.  My presence in the real world had been deemed
temporarily superfluous by my former superiors.

Despite the many reasonable reasons why his harebrained scheme was
impossible, I believed him.  The belt punishment must have broken an
important piece in my cerebral network because I couldn't function
normally anymore.  When he turned away, the only thought that
occurred to me was, "so now what happens?"

Geoffrey returned with a red plastic bucket.

"Too early for bedtime, but too late for an elaborate session. 
Let's see, how can I keep you alert while I get something to eat?"

By the time he had emptied half the bucket of clothespins, pain had
become a subtle melody on my body, played both pianissimo and
fortissimo.  When he estimated my arms, breasts, hips and inner
thighs had their fair share of pins, I felt the shadow of a touch
near my clit.  That was enough to remind me of how stimulated I had
been during the last 24 hours.  The slightest breeze would probably
trigger the explosion.  But he was very careful to avoid pushing the
big red button, and concentrated on the sensitive periphery instead.

"There," he said as he laid down the empty bucket.  "Enjoy.  I'll
take them off after dinner.  Oh, and I'm sorry you're not invited to
join me.  I believe you already had a light snack while I was gone. 
That should last you until tomorrow."

He switched the light off and was gone, leaving me with such
unbearable tension between my legs that I would have given anything
for one more clothespin.  Properly applied.

--Geoffrey--

As I ate my supper, I wondered if Sabrina had believed my rap about
the association abandoning her.  In fact, my conversation with the
director just moments ago had been quite pleasant.

I had explained to him that Sabrina had received a phone call, and
although I didn't wish to eavesdrop, I couldn't help overhearing
something about a friend and an auto accident.  No, I hadn't quite
caught the person's name, or even the city where this friend lived. 
But Sabrina had been quite upset, and had asked for an early
dismissal from the project so she could comfort her.  Or maybe it was
a him.  Not my style to pry.

Given the quality and quantity of the photos already taken, I had
agreed, albeit reluctantly, to let her go to her friend's aid.  No,
she left the house about an hour ago.  Yes, she drove her own car. 
No, not an inconvenience at all.  These things happen.  Otherwise, I
looked forward to meeting with them at the end of the month to review
the contact sheets.

As I rose to put his plate in the sink, I permitted myself a broad
smile.  No time like the distant future to cope with complications
like finding another model for the council's annual report because
(insert embarrassed sigh) something had gone wrong with my camera
while shooting Sabrina.

I only hoped that the machine recording our telephone conversation
on their end didn't suffer from a similar malfunction.

Leaving the mess for later, I returned to the studio and snapped
several shots of Sabrina clothespinned on the cross.  Judging from
recent email, certain webmasters were getting anxious to review my
latest masterpieces.  Too bad.  I still hadn't found a suitable case
of Merlot, so I couldn't give them a final price.

I knew that the rush of blood when I removed the clothespins was
probably going to feel worse than their bite, so I thought she might
appreciate a little distraction.

"The Pocket Rocket--sending more women into orbit daily than NASA
does in a decade," I remembered reading on the side of the box.  I
rotated its base, and the tiny vibrator practically jumped out of my
hand.  Nice.  Buying half a dozen didn't seem like such an
extravagant purchase.

I pressed it against her soft flesh in the space below her navel and
above her sex.  Pleased by her reaction, I tore off a long piece of
black electrical tape and plastered it securely in place.

The first clothespins echoed dully when they hit the bottom of the
plastic bucket.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled the last ones off her nipples, then
stripped off the vibrator.

I wondered if Sabrina had finally managed to come; she had certainly
wriggled and groaned convincingly while I plucked the clamps from her
various body parts.  I considered helping her along with a thorough
fucking once she came off the cross, but Brenda said she would be
stopping by to tell me about the train station.  And my patience was
limitless now that I held all the cards.

I unstrapped Sabrina's legs first, then went to work on her arms and
body.  When she finally slumped free, I helped her down to the floor.

"Don't move," I admonished unnecessarily.  Between the iron balls
still chained to her ankles, the ballet boots, the mittens and the
gag, she wasn't going anywhere soon.  And I was going to make sure
she stayed that way.

I gathered what I needed, then knelt beside her prone body.

"Obviously, I can't trust you anymore," I said.  "So I'm going to
have to take extra precautions tonight to stop you from pulling
something like the mirror stunt again."

I pulled a piece of electrical tape from the roll and pressed it
against her toes, then began wrapping it around the ballet boots and
the metal cuffs still around her ankles, with a separate piece
joining the heels beneath them.

When the first roll ran out in the middle of her thighs, I rolled
her onto her stomach and pushed a fat plug into her ass before
starting with a new roll.  I left her hands in the mittens, but
unlocked the clips so they weren't balled into fists anymore.  This
allowed me to press them flat against her hips with her arms at her
sides.

Up and up the tape continued, covering and compressing every inch of
her body except her nipples, which stuck out like pink stars in a
universe of inky blackness.

I stopped when I got to her neck, but only long enough to insert
airport-grade hearing protectors into her ears and add a few pieces
of tape across her already-gagged mouth.  After pulling a rubber hood
over her head to protect her eyes and hair (from the prying eye of
the camera lens as much as the adhesive), I continued wrapping until
she was completely encased, save the bottom of her nose.

The Japanese clover clamps had a nasty way of tightening whenever
something tugged on them.  Once I had them fixed to her exposed
nipples, I tied their handles to thin ropes dangling down from the
metal bars of the "lighting structure," as she once called it.  If
she tried to roll around, well, once should be enough to teach her to
lie still until I returned tomorrow morning.  The economy of
movement, as it were.

--Sabrina--

Earlier that day, I had surrendered my will to fight, but it felt
like a New Year's resolution.  I could have learned to cope with a
few restraints and the silly sexual games Geoffrey enjoyed while I
was defenseless, but this was way too much.  No sight, no sound.  And
definitely no struggling; I tried to roll over when I was sure he was
out of the room, but the flash of white pain through my breasts
convinced me to stay still.

So I did.  And it was awful.  I felt like I was buried alive.  I
knew it would be worse if I yielded to panic, so I concentrated on
breathing.  In and out.  In and out.  Quiet, girl, keep it quiet. 
You're exhausted; this is the right time to relax.

The theory was alluring, but sleep doesn't come easy in relentless
confinement.  My body was restless and itchy.  I tensed my muscles,
first all at once, then each separately, starting with my toes and
ending with my jaw.  Nothing helped.  Nothing moved.  I became so
hot, I felt like I was jammed in an oven like a foil-covered chicken.
The stupid image reminded me I was hungry, too.  Not to mention
thirsty.  I was so fed up with these gags that kept filling my mouth.

And there was the other tension, which the lack of distraction
forced me to address.  The powerful orgasm that had shaken me while
he was pulling off the clothespins was long forgotten.  I needed
another one, many other ones.  And this unquenchable thirst for
sexual relief was dumbfounding.  It had made the pain and discomfort
more bearable, but it multiplied my mental confusion by ten.  I was
reluctant to derive any pleasure, albeit involuntary, from my own
imprisonment.  And I hated to admit that, although I would have given
anything to see Geoffrey burn in hell, I also wanted him to come
back.  And touch me.  Finally, I detested the realization that I was
becoming obsessed with one question: why the hell didn't he fuck me?

I fell into a light agitated sleep and dreamed X-rated visions all
night.

Day 7--Sabrina

In the morning, I neither heard nor saw Geoffrey come downstairs. 
But when I felt a hand touch my head, I woke up instantly.  I was wet
and sticky, and a dull pain emanated from all my body parts.  An
awful stench came through my nostrils, and I realized I had been
unable to control my bladder during the night.  What a nice way to
wake up.

He began to unwrap the tape, starting with my head, and unpeeled the
rubber hood.  The fresh air on my face felt wonderful.  He took the
earplugs out so I could hear his cheerful "good morning, Sabrina." 
However, he didn't touch the gag, and continued unwrapping me in
silence.  Just as well.  I needed time to recover.  I kept my eyes
closed to avoid the bright light from the ceiling and the darker
light in his eyes.  After what he'd done to me, I found it
increasingly difficult to sustain a stare.  My state of constant
arousal didn't help, either.  I couldn't hide some of the physical
symptoms, but I would rather die then admit my need to him.  And I
mentally erased the perverted imaginings caused by a night in bondage.

When Geoffrey pulled away the last piece of tape holding my heels
together, he helped me up and held my shoulders until I regained my
balance.

"Can you stand?"

I nodded, averting his eyes.  He hadn't made any comment about the
unfortunate urine leak, but I knew he could always react later, when
I least expected it.

Moving behind me, he ordered me to put my hands behind my back, so
he could lock the leather mittens together.  Then he knelt down and
removed the manacles holding the iron balls. 

"First thing you need is some soap," he said as he gestured to the
stairs.

The shower was unlikely to be a moment of private comfort, but at
least it was a better start to the morning than what I had dreaded. 
I preceded him up the stairs, hoping he would remember to pull out
the awful plug that worked itself deeper inside my ass with every
step.

--Geoffrey--

Once in the bathroom, I took off Sabrina's ballet boots and bondage
mittens, only to replace them with the iron collar and its manacle
extensions.  I whisked my prisoner efficiently through her morning
ablutions--enema, shower, shaving--as if she were an animal being
prepared for market.  When I was satisfied with her cleanliness, I
took off the collar, returned the leather gear to her hands and feet,
and added a ring gag that forced her mouth to remain open in a
perfect "O."

"Hands behind your back."

Click.

"Kitchen."

She wobbled unsteadily on her heels as we slowly made our way
downstairs and through the living and dining rooms, but I was in no
hurry.  I sensed a definite change in her demeanor, but I couldn't
really tell if she was simply accommodating me to keep me off my
guard in hopes of mounting another escape attempt, or if she was
starting to drift into new territories where desires overwhelm common
sense.

I would bet on the former, because at worst, it helped hasten the
latter.

Once in the kitchen, I directed her to kneel down and bend forward
until her head was practically touching the ground.

"Stick out your tongue."

When she hesitated, I smacked her hard on her upturned ass, leaving
bright red marks where my palm and fingers made contact.

"Press it against the floor, and leave it there until I tell you
otherwise."

I turned away and busied myself at the stove.  A few moments later,
I stuck a steaming bowl of oatmeal laced with baby food near her face.

"Eat it.  All.  And lick the bowl perfectly clean.  Or else you
won't eat again today."

Smells from my omelet and coffee filled the kitchen as she lapped
her gruel.  When she had finished as instructed, I pushed a plastic
bowl filled with water at her bowed head.

"Drink."

When Sabrina had licked every available drop, I grabbed her hair and
pulled her upright, then began unbuckling my trousers in front of her
face.

"And now, your dessert.  Do a good job, and I'll give you another
drink."

I guided my cock into the metal circle in her mouth, and didn't
withdraw until it was completely limp again.  Without a word, I
picked up the water bowl and filled it at the sink.  Sounds of her
greedy lapping soon meshed with my dishwashing.

After the kitchen was cleaned, I helped her to her feet, only to
push her down into one of the wooden chairs around the breakfast
table.  I pulled off my belt and wrapped it around her waist and the
back of the chair, pinning her still-bound wrists behind her.

"Don't go away."

But I was only gone a moment, just long enough to get some rope and
a few other supplies.  I pulled her feet apart and tied them to the
legs of the chair, leaving her pussy open wide.  I repeated the
process with her thighs, then took off the belt and unlocked her
wrists so I could lash the mittens to the arms of the chair.  Her
waist and breasts were likewise encumbered with cord.

I unbuckled the ring gag and pulled it out, but her mouth's freedom
was short-lived.  The harness was a complicated affair, with leather
straps running around her head, under her chin and across her face,
all to hold a thick metal bit coated with rubber between her teeth. 
The harness also featured large flaps of leather on either side of
her head next to her eyes.

"Must keep your attention focused," I noted as I adjusted the
blinders to eliminate her peripheral vision.

Satisfied with my handiwork, I grabbed a fistful of her hair and
wrapped a piece of rope around it, then tied it to a beam running
across the ceiling.  Gotta love that rustic design, I thought as I
stood on a chair to knot it.

"Don't want you to hurt yourself by accidentally tipping over," I
told her as I stepped down.

For the grand finale, I unveiled a black box with several wires
running out of it, as well as an electrical plug, which I inserted
into a wall socket.  I positioned two of the wires underneath her
crotch and taped them to the bottom of the chair.  I ran the other
two wires up to her tits and wrapped their ends around her nipples. 
With a grin, I twisted a knob on the black box.

"That's running a nice low-voltage stream of electrical current
right now.  Problem is, it needs to make a complete connection, and
these two wires down here aren't quite touching."

I pointed to her crotch and smiled.

"As I'm sure you're aware, one of the best conductors of electricity
is water."

The look on her face told I didn't need to explain her predicament
further.

"But I've always been curious about something; when a girl gets, how
shall we say, excited, does the lubrication she produces have the
same conductive effect on electricity, as, say, pee?"

I placed the black box on the edge of the chair's seat between her
thighs and taped it down, then turned the chair so she was facing a
small television set on the kitchen counter.

"I'd hate to have you get bored while you ponder this scientific
dilemma, so I've arranged a little entertainment for you."

I reached over and pressed "play." A few seconds later, an image of
me strapping her to the cross in the basement burst onto the screen.

"I thought you might like a preview of your debut."

As muffled moans from both her mouth and the video harmonized, I
turned off the lights and pulled down the shades, plunging the room
into near-complete darkness.

"See you in a few."

The door slammed shut like a cannon behind me.

--Sabrina--

I closed my eyes to avoid watching my own crucifixion, but the
mental movie playing behind my eyelids was just as unbearable.  I
couldn't get rid of the humiliation Geoffrey had imprinted on my body
and soul.  Nor could I decide which part had been worse: the bowl
lapping, or the cock sucking.  And to think I had always refused to
swallow, even when the man in front of me was someone I cared for.

And now, this.  If his theory proved right, I would soon experience
a new aspect of electricity.  Actually, I was already so aroused, it
was a wonder the circuit under my crotch wasn't connected yet.

When the moaning sounds coming from the video became too
distracting, I glanced at the screen and saw myself wiggling and
squirming while Geoffrey affixed the clothespins on my breasts.  The
memory of the pain was still so vivid, my nipples hardened without
further stimulation.  I shivered.  The inner folds of my sex
contracted, squeezing out its juice.  I closed my eyes again, just in
time for contact.  In the nanosecond before the sizzling stream of
current hit my breasts and crotch, I wondered, rather incongruously,
how long it would take for me to come.

Not long.  The electrical waves seemed to make a loop inside my
body, entering through my nipples, leaving through my vagina.  Or was
it the other way around?  The direction truly didn't matter,
especially when sweat began to glide down every inch of my skin,
conducting the current to other sensitive places.

Forgetting the rope holding my hair up, I tried to roll down the
chair in an attempt to dislodge the electrical plug from its socket,
but I rolled back when I felt the sudden tug threatening to scalp me.
But I was approaching a state of mind where losing some hair was the
unfortunate consequence of saving my life.  Shaking uncontrollably
and not really caring where the shaking came from--pain, pleasure,
madness, or all three--I rocked the chair in all directions, paying
little attention to the pain in my skull.  I just had to make it stop.

Time was no longer measured in minutes but orgasms.  How many would
it take before--

The current stopped.  After a couple of final convulsions, my body
relaxed.  Keeping my eyes closed, not even caring to check whether I
had actually pulled out the plug or the divine had intervened, I
collapsed in the chair, feeling the heat glow from my bruised body
like embers on a forsaken battlefield.

Well, not completely forsaken, I thought with exasperation when I
heard Geoffrey's footsteps on the kitchen tiles.  How long had he
been there?  Wasn't he going to give me a break?  Though I heard him
walk closer, I didn't bother to look up.  I was certainly not going
to offer him the additional satisfaction of reading fear or distress
in my eyes.  In fact, if it hadn't been for the monstrous gag, I
would have yawned.  Just a little treat to prove to myself that I was
not completely defeated yet.  I had to admit my flesh was yielding,
but it would take a lot more than a little electricity to overcome my
spirits.  How much more was, however, the question I was too afraid
to ask.

--Geoffrey--

"Very good, Sabrina," I said as I stuck my hand under her still-
trembling pussy.  "I was afraid you'd have to spend the rest of the
day in that chair to learn about controlling your bladder.  But since
you've done so well, we can move on to more constructive uses of our
limited time."

I switched off the black box and removed the wires from her nipples
and crotch, then unknotted her hair from the ceiling.

"And as a special reward..."

I unbuckled the harness from her head and pulled the bit out of her
mouth.

"Lunch is served."

After feeding her, I removed the ropes holding her to the chair, and
replaced the mittens and boots with a simple pair of handcuffs.

"Looks like you could use another shower," I said as I led her
upstairs.

"Or perhaps you would prefer a bath?"

Silence.

"That was a question, Sabrina."

"Yes, please," she whispered in a tiny voice.

After washing her hair, I let her soak in various oils and lotions
for almost an hour while I finished my preparations.

"Time's up," he said when I returned.  "Mustn't let you get too
wrinkled."

I toweled her dry, brushed her hair and pointed her down the two
flights of stairs to the studio where I had erected a simple white
backdrop on the stage.  The steel scaffolding was decked out with a
variety of spots and scrims to light the center from all angles.  To
the left was a movable clothes rack packed with leather apparel that
gleamed darkly like a diamond in reverse.  To the right was one of
the larger boxes, the lid open to reveal more of the same.

"Even though the council thinks you've run off to comfort a friend
in some far-off city, we still have work to do."

I pointed toward the stage and motioned her up.

"That's it...now, look up.  Christ, you're going to need some war
paint."

I hopped up with a small makeup kit and deftly applied foundation,
eyeliner, blush and lipstick.

"That will do.  Nobody's really going to be looking at your face
anyway.  Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.  The easy
way means you help me get the clothes on and off.  The hard way means
I do everything myself.  If we do it the hard way..."

I picked up a butt plug big enough to frighten an elephant and waved
it at her.

"Do you want to do it the easy way?"

"Yes...please," she added hurriedly.

"Excellent.  Now, don't fuck with me, Sabrina, or all bets are off. 
Let's see, what to start with?  This looks good."

I reached into the rack and pulled out a long leather tube with
laces running down the middle of its center.

"A hobble skirt, they call it.  Now, for shoes, you should probably
wear something with closed toes.  And maybe a halter top.  Definitely
a matching arm binder."

For the rest of the afternoon, I dressed and undressed her in a
variety of corsets, bodysuits, bodices, bustiers and boots, then
added bondage accessories like cuffs and gags.  I wanted to make the
most of the opportunity while she was still co-operative, so we tried
some fairly awkward positions, including a "flying hogtie," and
another session on the cross.  There's nothing like effective
advertising to increase a consumer's willingness to pay a premium
price.  Heck, I was even tempted to place a bid of my own.

When the rack of clothes was empty, I put down my camera and gave
her a smile.

"Now, wasn't that easier than fighting me all day long?"

"Yes...please," she said with a hint of a sneer.

"By your tone of voice, I'm going to presume you really want to say
something besides 'yes, please.'  Quite understandable, actually."

I walked behind her and admired her naked ass framed by the sides
and straps of the backless leather skirt she had been modeling.  Time
to get remedial, I thought to myself.  A quick lesson before dinner.

First came the return of the ballet boots, then the mittens
padlocked behind her back, plus a set of cuffs for her elbows.

"Open your mouth."

The trainer was dominated by a studded black faceplate, but I
particularly liked the thick plastic penis on the other side.

"Spread your legs."

I removed the dress and began lubricating the butt plug between her
legs, then took my sweet time inserting it one inch at a time.

When nothing remained visible but its base, I found my favorite crop
and began painting her body at random with welts, paying closest
attention to her trim bottom, her heaving chest and especially her
moist pussy when she tried to escape the blows.

Satisfied that she comprehended the lesson, I walked in front of her
and applied a pair of tweezer clamps to her nipples and a third to
her pussy, all connected by a long chain that I used as a leash to
lead her back upstairs.

I took her to the dining room and instructed her to sit on a chair
to which I cuffed her ankles, then left her to prepare our supper.

But first, I needed to do a little work on the computer.

--Sabrina--

Once again, my body hurt like hell.  Despite the cruel lashes from
the crop, my sex was throbbing with unfulfilled desire.  Or maybe
because of them.  Although I couldn't explain it, the combination had
ceased to surprise me.  I was drifting dangerously to a place where
sex was the engine, with pain and pleasure acting as fuel.  It was a
brainwashing drug, and I was being forced into addiction.

I made a conscious effort to regain a sense of reality.  Far back in
my befuddled mind, there was something Geoffrey had let slip right
before the modeling session.  What had he said?  "Run off to comfort
a friend in some far-off city."  Yes, those were his exact words. 
They meant that his line about the association abandoning me had been
a lie, and he had simply, well, kidnapped me!  Appalled to discover
his treachery, I was also relieved.  At least I hadn't lost my job,
and I only had one enemy to fight.  If only I could call someone.

I knew there was a phone in the living room, but it would take me
too long to get there with my ankles cuffed to the chair.  Besides,
the noise would get his attention, and he'd be back in no time.  Not
to mention the fact that I would never be able to make a call with my
hands imprisoned in leather mittens padlocked behind my back.  I
would have to wait for a better opportunity.  Given how meticulous he
was, it could take days.  Or weeks.

Squirming on the chair to accommodate the hideous plug, I tried to
understand the hidden reason behind Geoffrey's behavior.  I supposed
he worked for a pornographic ring, selling pictures at high prices,
but I couldn't believe this was the only reason why he would keep a
woman here against her will.  His pleasure?  To satisfy his sadistic
instincts?  But surely he could find someone who enjoyed those games.
I knew there were such people.

I was still nowhere in my mental wanderings when I heard him walk,
no, run down the stairs.  And whistling, too!  Too bad I couldn't ask
why he was in such a good mood.

He glanced sideways to check, quite unnecessarily, whether I had
moved, and then he went into the kitchen.  I heard him move about and
wondered what he was preparing for dinner.  Then I realized something
was wrong with me.  I was naked, tied up to a chair, gagged, my anus
indecently filled, and I was waiting for dinner to be fed to me, as
if this were a normal way of life.  I desperately needed to get out
of this place.

Geoffrey reappeared with two plates which he left on the table
before going back for a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"A small reward for a job well done," he said as he filled both
glasses.

He removed the gag and let me sip the wine.  My thoughts of escape
were forgotten as I swallowed the precious liquid, already feeling
its warm flow through my veins.  The simplest pleasures--drinking
wine, taking a bath--had gained an uncommon intensity.  When he moved
the glass away from my lips, a very natural "thank you" came out.  I
perceived the slow rising movement in his chest, made my case worse
with awkward apologies and, totally lost, looked up to confront his
stare.  He kept his eyes on mine for an instant, as if he was trying
to find malice or sneer.  But I knew all there was to see was the
fear of yet another punishment.

"I'll pass on this one, Sabrina, but watch out.  I won't be so
amenable next time," he warned.

"Yes, please," I replied as humbly as I could, so relieved to escape
the whip that I would have kissed his shoes if he had asked.

No further incidents happened during dinner.  I ate every single
forkful he fed me, and drank enough wine to feel more than a little
dizzy.  Once he had cleared the table, he untied my ankles and led me
to the living room.  There, he unlocked the mittens and pointed at
the wooden coffee table between the couch and the TV set.

"Lie on the table, face up."

While I was trying to keep my thoughts clear, and not succeeding
very well, he produced various coils of white rope and wrapped my
arms and legs to the four legs of the table.  He used more rope
around my hips, under and above my breasts, and I soon became one
with the table.

I cringed a little when he tightened the three clamps, but no sound
escaped my mouth, surprisingly free of any gag so far.  Finally, he
inserted a small vibrator in my vagina and turned it on to a low
setting.  He left the butt plug safely where it was.

"Now, listen to me well.  I want to spend a quiet evening watching a
movie on TV.  I don't want to hear a single sound from you.  Or else."

I didn't think he expected me to reply, but I almost wished he had
gagged me.  If he meant he'd punish me for a single moan, I'd be in
trouble very quickly.

He pulled the cord on a small lamp in a corner, pulled down the
shades, and inserted a tape in the VCR.  He pushed the remote and I
turned my head to see the credits hit the screen.  I recognized the
purported "classic" immediately, and remembered it as tedious to a
fault, not to mention three hours long.  He didn't expect me to keep
quiet until the end, did he?

With the help of the wine, I abandoned myself to the vibrations
gently buzzing inside me.  I no longer felt the burning welts nor the
discomfort of the ropes around my limbs and body.  I was rocking on a
sea of pleasure and the waves were increasingly higher.  Not high
enough, though.  When the need for relief became more pressing, I
turned my head toward Geoffrey, desire painted on my face like a
rutting animal.  But he kept his eyes on the screen.

I stifled a plaintive moan and looked to the screen at the actors
pretending to swoon over each other.  Like I needed more stimulation.
I bit my lips and wiggle pointlessly on the table.

When the sex scene ended, he stood up and disappeared into the
kitchen.  I couldn't hold myself back any longer and let out a loud,
lustful sigh.  He returned a little too quickly, snacks in hand, and
stopped by the other side of the table, his eyes obviously surveying
my degree of arousal.  I tensed, waiting for his reaction and hoping
it would be the right one.

--Geoffrey--

"Sabrina, Sabrina, Sabrina," I said with mock exasperation.  "When
will you ever learn?"

Actually, I was pleased she had given me an opportunity to gag her
again, as I was almost ready to make my speech, and I wanted my
audience to be captive in every possible way.

It didn't take her long to deduce the nature and function of the
bladder once I waved its dull black rubber in front of her face.  But
a pinch of her nose convinced her that opening her mouth was
inevitable, just like everything else within my walls.  I buckled it
tight behind her neck, and began squeezing the pump until the only
sound coming out of her head was ragged breathing through her nose.

"Much better," I said as I twisted the air valve shut.  "Some day,
you'll learn that obedience is rarely a matter of conscious choice. 
Until then, I'm happy to remind you as often as necessary."

It hadn't taken long to concoct a convincing fake identity; the
Internet is nothing if not hospitable to persons opening new accounts
with seven-digit deposits.  Once I established myself on Iwata's
private server as a man of considerable wealth and discrete taste, it
took only a moment to place my first bid for Sabrina.  If I won, I
would simply pay myself.  If I lost, I'd be amply reimbursed for my
troubles.  Either way, I didn't have to go through the hassle of
canceling Sabrina's auction so I could keep her for myself.

Most of my candles were the elegant tapered kind used for
illumination at dinner parties.  But I remembered that someone had
given me a thick one with a sunken wick surrounded by translucent wax
walls--the light was supposed to glow from within or some such
blather--and I finally dug it out from the back of a cabinet by the
stereo.

The match flared like fireworks in the semi-darkness of the room. 
Once lit, I set the glowing tube down between her legs, then pulled
out the vibrator from her pussy and tossed it onto the couch.

The ice cubes in my drink rattled like metal as I stretched a leg
over the coffee table to straddle it.

"Dominance and submission, pleasure and pain," I began, staring
directly into her ever-widening eyes.  "Funny how they complement
each other so nicely."

I fished an ice cube out of my drink and held it close to her
stomach until a single drop splashed against her flesh.

"Under normal circumstances, that would feel cold.  But tonight, for
some reason, it burns like fire."

I moved my hand up her body so the second drop fell just to the left
of one of her nipples, rolling down the side of her breast like an
errant rock down a hillside.

"Cold becomes heat.  Pain becomes pleasure.  Opposites attract.  And
the truth is a lie.  For example, one might think that it would be a
relief for you to have this clamp removed."

I slipped down the ring holding the tweezer grips and pulled the
metal away from one of her nipples.

"Not quite, eh?  But if I do this..."

I bent over and placed my mouth around the tip of her pinkish bud,
then sucked it hard between my teeth.

"That somehow makes it feel better.  Crazy old world, huh?"

I waited a few moments for her breathing to return to a pace that
somewhat resembled normal.

"That's the way I feel about you, Sabrina.  At first, I figured you
for nothing more than another bimbo who fancied herself as a
'professional' woman on her way up the corporate ladder.  Oh, don't
look so surprised.  I've seen your type before.  You're no better
than the silly models who are so desperate for a shot at fame,
they'll let photographers do anything they like as long as the
shutter keeps clicking.  Only instead of pornography, you call it
public relations."

I picked up the chain connecting the two remaining clamps on her
nipple and clit, and began twisting its links around my fingers.

"Every day, another girl runs away to the big city, and no one hears
from her again.  That's why it's so easy to sell them.  No messy
investigations and all that bother."

I watched with wry amusement as she began thrashing against her
bonds, the table legs practically bouncing off the floor as she
desperately tried to wrest herself free.

"Not a chance, Sabrina.  Your fate is literally in my hands.  Watch."

I took a step back and lay the end of the chain across the top of
the burning candle.

"See?  I could walk away, and there's nothing short of a hurricane
that would stop the inevitable.  Of course, I could always prolong
the process..."

I placed an ice cube between the moist folds of her pussy beneath
the arms of the clamp.

"Fire and ice.  Such a helpful combination in these circumstances."

The links closest to the flame began to blacken with soot as she
calmed down somewhat. 

"That's better.  And yes, you heard right.  When I'm done with you,
you'll be carted off into the back of an unmarked package van en
route to your new owner, who will have paid me a handsome sum for his
new prize.  Maybe you'll go to the Middle East, where western girls
rank somewhere below sheep.  Or maybe some crazed web site that needs
new blood to keep the monthly fees rolling in.  In fact, I should run
and check the bidding now, maybe add a few new pictures to sweeten
the process.  Auction sites are so convenient for managing these
affairs online."

I watched the chain glow faintly in the darkness.

"But you're different, Sabrina.  I noticed right away that you
weren't like the typical girls who are either desperate to please me
in any way possible, or absolutely horrified to the point of tears
with my requests.  You stood up to me, even fought back, but you
still did as I asked.  That's a very rare quality in this business. 
Rare enough to make me do something I've never bothered to do before."

A slight depression formed in the ice cube where it was beginning to
melt.

"I gave up long ago on finding a partner with whom to share my
passions.  Most women I meet are nothing but pain sluts, or stupid
little fucktoys who end up whining the instant they don't get two
cherries on their chocolate sundae.  So I do what I do, and feed my
monster without remorse or second thoughts.  But you have potential,
Sabrina.  Potential that's worth exploring."

The chain began to sink into the sides of the candle, bringing it
even closer to the flame.

"It certainly doesn't hurt that under all that bluster, you seem to
be smart.  And let's not overlook your considerable physical charms. 
But that's never enough."

Wisps of steam began rising from between her legs.

"So here's my proposition.  You'll be with me for another five days,
long enough to find out if opposites really do attract.  Play by my
rules, and I'll set you free with no questions asked, no tricks and
no conditions.  Completely up to you.  I'm willing to gamble that
you'll want to stay here longer, if not forever.  But if you resist
me, or try to escape again, I'll simply keep you locked up in the
cage, then bundle you off to the highest bidder at the end of the
week."

I stared intently into her terror-stricken eyes as I unzipped and
slipped down my pants.

"Not much of a choice, I'll agree.  But there's no turning back now.
The council knows everything.  In fact, it was their idea."

Veins appeared on Sabrina's forehead from the force of her outrage.

"Say yes, and I can promise one thing..."

I lowered myself to poise my engorged cock in front of her sex, then
reached down, pulled off the clamp and pushed away the chain, the ice
cube and the candle with one quick motion before plunging my full
length inside her.

"Fuck" was the only thing I could grunt before the convulsions
obliterated both of our souls like a tidal wave crashing down on a
sand castle.

--Sabrina--

When Geoffrey withdrew and the orgasmic shock was fully absorbed, I
felt soft, warm tears gather up in my eyes and start a slow descent
down my temples and onto the table.  I let them flow freely while he
cleaned up the mess left by the candle and ice cube.  Perhaps he
thought I needed a moment to myself before I could answer his amazing
offer.

I was certainly grateful for the reprieve.  He had taken me on a
monster of a roller coaster ride: first scaring the hell out of me,
both with the candle and the prospect of selling me to the "highest
bidder," and then his surprising alternatives.

Five days.  If I behaved, if I obeyed him, I could flee this evil
place in five days.  This is what prisoners on death row must feel
when they give up all hope, and the phone rings just before they
enter the chamber.

Strangely, I refused to consider his proposition.  The words had
certainly hit home, but their implications--stay with him, forever?--
were too much to absorb.  I dismissed them as illusions created by my
tormented mind, and focused on the only prospect that mattered; in
five days, I'd be free.  Or sold.

It all made sense.  There was no "Economy of Movement," no other
"model," no photo shoot to supervise for the council's annual report.
I realized I'd been sent by the board of directors to be
"disappeared," as the bad Mafia movies put it.  The association would
corroborate Geoffrey's explanations.  Nobody else knew I was ever
here, except maybe the woman I had heard in the basement yesterday.

I shuddered at the horrible visions that clogged my consciousness. 
White slavery was a myth, a brown-paper fantasy dreamed up by horny
losers with no chance of ever winning a woman the normal way.  He was
simply trying to scare me.  And doing one hell of a job.

But what if Geoffrey was telling the truth?  Or worse, what if he
really meant to kill me?  I wouldn't put murder past that bastard
director's nephew.

But that was then.  Now means surviving the next five days in a
state where I have a fighting chance for a shot at salvation. 

Geoffrey returned just as my eyes dried up.  I was more relaxed than
I had been in days.  No matter what "play by my rules" meant, I
resolved to get with his program, since the alternative was
surrounded by steel bars from which the likelihood of freedom would
be dicey at best.

He opened the valve of the gag, letting the air out, and removed the
jaw-breaking instrument.

"So.  Do you accept my proposition?" he asked.

A moment of silence.

Was I selling my soul?  But it's not like I had a choice anyway.  It
was this, or a brothel in Hong Kong.  Theoretically.  Best not to
find out for real.

"Yes, please."

"Good.  Then I expect your total obedience and submission for the
next five days.  Starting now."

"Yes, please," I repeated, feeling a knot of anguish already twist
my stomach.  He had such a way of unnerving me even in the quietest
moments.

He bent down to cut the ropes loose and helped me to my feet.  Then
he reunited the mittens behind my back and urged me toward the hall
and up the stairs.

After a quick shower, Geoffrey found new ornaments for me to wear. 
Simple cuffs replaced the mittens.  He buckled up leather bands of
various widths around my chest, waist, thighs and ankles.  When he
was finished, I expected him to take me back to the studio, but he
led me to my bedroom instead.

"I suppose you could use a good night of sleep," he said as he
lifted the cover from the bed.  "But don't think you'll be able to
toss around in your dreams.  Here, lie down.  Spread your arms and
legs."

When my wrists and ankles were tied to the bed posts, stretching my
four limbs to their limits, he picked up chains hanging down from
each side of the bed and locked them to the thigh, waist and chest
belts.  Next, he pulled a hood over my head, complete with a
blindfold and the inevitable gag.  Filling my mouth was not enough,
so he filled my two nether orifices, too.  A strap locked to the
waist belt held the dildos firmly in place.

"No teasing tonight," he said while he worked on my bondage.  "I
want you to be fully operational tomorrow, so..."

He pulled the cover over my body, up to my chin.

"Sleep well."

And he left.

Despite the bondage, sleep came easily.  I was exhausted of all
strength and emotion.  And I was no longer afraid.  The story might
have a happy ending after all.

Day 8--Geoffrey

Sabrina was still dead to the world when I sneaked into her room the
next morning.  I wondered what she was dreaming about.  Well, there
was an easy way to find out.

I knelt next to her bed and lowered my head to one of her naked
breasts.  I began blowing gentle streams of air against the nipple
until it began to harden.  Then I let my tongue and lips take over. 
When I was sure she was awake, I went to work with my teeth.  As soon
as she arched her back, trying to press the dildos deeper inside her,
I unbuckled the belt around her crotch and removed the plug from her
pussy.

"Nice try, Sabrina," I whispered next to her covered ear.  "But your
pleasure is no longer your concern."

I removed the hood and the gag, then climbed on the bed so I was
facing her feet, my knees on either side of her head.

"On the other hand," I said as I pulled down my pants, "my pleasure
is your top priority."

I put my hands on either side of her waist and lowered my cock until
its tip touched her lips.

"Don't make me get the ring."

She quickly took me into her mouth and started sucking like a
teenager trying to impress her first college date.

"Take your time, Sabrina.  Remember, the longer I last, the less
time I have to pursue other activities."

So much to learn, I thought as she slowed down to a degree that made
me wonder if she had lost consciousness.  I made a mental note to
show her some oral-sex videos that would give her ample opportunity
to study more professional techniques.

When I finally came, I waited a good five minutes before extracting
myself and getting off the bed.

"An excellent start to the day, Sabrina.  Are you still ready to
begin your training?  Or would you prefer to take your chances with
the auction?"

"Yes, please!" she said in a tone that was much too chipper for
someone on the brink of being sold as chattel.  She must think she's
home free.  I'd be very surprised if that was her attitude come
Friday.

After completing our familiar morning rituals in the bathroom, I
cuffed her wrists behind her back, and led her downstairs to the
kitchen table, where she sat with straps around her waist and ankles
while I prepared a large breakfast.  I debated allowing her to feed
herself, and wound up alternating forkfuls of eggs and potatoes
between us.  After cleaning up, I took her to the living room and
began preparing for her first session.

Five days wasn't nearly enough time, so her auction listing
specified "foal."  But if she stayed, she'd have the rest of her life
to get it right.  Either way, it was a marvelous substitute for the
now-unnecessary photo sessions as an eminently pleasant way to spend
the day outdoors.

I started with the collar, a thick, stiff leather affair that
covered her entire neck from shoulders to chin.  Next came her
harness, a collection of straps that I buckled tightly around her
torso, her breasts straining through two metal hoops.  Before
cinching the belt that encircled her crotch, I added a plug for her
ass that had a small ring embedded in its base that I threaded
through a slit in the leather.

Next came the arm binder, which pushed her breasts even more tightly
against the hoops as I laced it tight enough to make her elbows touch.

The bit gag with the blinders soon covered her head and mouth,
followed by cuffs for her thighs.

Finally, I guided her feet into the boots.  Instead of typical
heels, they featured strong arches that forced her to stand on her
tiptoes, but this was mitigated somewhat by the fact that the toes
were built to mimic the hoof of a horse.  Once I finished lacing them
up her calves, I added two short chains to the ring jutting out
between her legs, and clipped them to the thigh cuffs.

"Perfect," I said as I took a step back to admire my handiwork. 
"All you need are some clamps, but those are in the barn."

I picked up a riding crop, and gave her a nasty swat across her ass.

"After you," I said, pointing toward the door.  We made our way into
the bright sunshine and walked down the path toward the barn, her
wobbly progress punctuated by an occasional prod from the lash.  I
enjoyed watching the way the chains jerked the ring of the plug back
and forth as she tried to establish an acceptable rhythm to her gait.

"Good luck," I whispered soundlessly.

When we entered the main door of the barns, my horses began to
whinny excitedly in their stalls.

"Easy there," I said in a soothing voice.  "I'll be with you in a
minute.  But first, I want to show our guest something."

I directed Sabrina to a stall, and opened the door, where we were
greeted by the sight of a saddle suspended in mid-air by four chains.
Sticking up from the seat were two long rubber dildos.

"It was a pity to drill through the leather to install them, but I
had to be sure they would stay put if necessary."

I let her absorb the physics in silence for a moment.

"Needless to say, if you fail this morning's lesson, we're going to
take a little ride this afternoon with your ankles strapped to your
thighs and these..."

I pointed to two heavy metal clamps hanging down from thin chains
wrapped around the horn.

"Well, I think you get the idea."

I unhooked one of the chains holding up the saddle and clipped it to
the front of her collar.

"Now, stay put for a moment while I finish getting things ready
outside."

I thought I heard her say something that sounded suspiciously unlike
"yes, please" as I shut the door firmly behind me.

--Sabrina--

Damn it.  The horses.  In the confusion of the last few days, I had
literally forgotten about them.  But Geoffrey hadn't, to the point of
turning me into one.  Did he expect me to whinny?

Although the wild specimens of man's noble conquest were shut in
their stalls, their noises made me incredibly nervous.  Much more
than the huge dildos and the clamps between the blinders surrounding
my eyes.  The logic of it all...

"What the heck is he doing?" I thought to myself as impatience and
fear grew at the same pace.  One more minute, and my self-control
would be history.  And I would win a free ticket to Asia.  Which I've
always wanted to visit anyway.  Well, as long as I can keep my sense
of humor, I'm doing fine.  Besides, anything was better than dealing
with animals that snort.

When I heard Geoffrey walk back into the stables, I got a grip on
myself.  I couldn't derail my chances because I was afraid of horses.
Whatever the day held in store, I reminded myself, it can't be worse
than spending it suspended in the cage.

I thought Geoffrey would come to me, but he headed straight for the
first stall on my left.  I heard him talk to the horse while he fed
it.  I was amazed to hear such sweet, cajoling words when all I got
was sarcastic comments and cold orders.  I presumed horses ranked
higher than women in his world.

"Well, why doesn't he go fuck them?" I mumbled with inappropriate
anger.

After nourishing his beloved creatures, he went on to brush them, or
at least that's what I figured out from the various sounds coming
from the other stalls.  I became increasingly restless.  I folded and
stretched my legs, rolled my head around to ease the pain in my neck
and shoulders, and twisted my body to get rid of the itching
sensations produced by the harness.  Not once did I realize I was
behaving like my four-legged adversaries.

The world's oldest stable boy suddenly returned.

"Are we nervous?  Easy, I'll be with you in a sec." And he tapped my
ass before walking out one last time.

Oh great, now Geoffrey treats me like another barnyard beast.  I
sighed.  Obedience had never been my strongest trait, but I reminded
myself of the terrible alternative, and decided to be a good girl. 
Or mare, as the case may be.

--Geoffrey--

"We're going to start with the basics today," I said as I unclipped
the chain holding her collar to the ceiling.  "As I'm quite sure you
would prefer to avoid a long trail ride, I'm sure you'll do your very
best."

I grabbed Sabrina's shoulders and turned her roughly to face the
open door.

"Forward!" I barked, punctuated with a crack of the crop on her ass.
She started walking uncertainly out of the stall into the main hall
of the barn.

"Left!"  Another smack accented my command.

We turned toward the double doors leading outside.

"Forward!"  And again with the reinforcement.

Sabrina stumbled into the bright morning sun.

"Right!  Good girl!  Now, forward!"

We headed down a well-trodden dirt path toward a round arena
surrounded by a white slatted fence.

"Stop!"

I walked around to open the gate, then returned to my position
behind her.

"Forward!"

She took a few hesitant steps on the hard sandy surface of the ring.

"Stop!" I yelled.

Startled, she stubbed one of her hooves and almost fell down, and
the resulting strain on the plug connected to her thighs made her
swear loudly and clearly, despite the bit in her mouth.  She then
turned her head to shoot me a glare that split the difference between
anger and anguish.

"Eyes forward!  Damn it!  That will cost you, Sabrina.  Don't expect
me to forgive errors of flagrant disobedience."

I came around to face her, frowning.

"Left...now, legs apart...bend over..."

I smacked her five times, hard.  Then the same for the other cheek.

"Right...no, turn right, goddamn it!  Stand up straight."

I repeated the process on both of her breasts.

"Stay!" I snapped at her, ignoring her copious tears as I strode off
to fetch the training wheel.  It was a simple affair, nothing more
than a metal pole sunk into the center of the ring with two longer
and thinner poles jutting out horizontally like the top of a "T"
which spun around on a large bearing.  I reached up and affixed a
chain to the end of the arm, then brought it around to where she was
standing.

"Because it's your first day, I'm going to give you a chance to
practice before...well, let's see how you do first."

I reached over to her chest and snapped the heavy clamps hanging
from the chain onto her nipples.

"Now, there are four basic gaits which you will master: the walk;
the trot; the canter; and the gallop.  Each one is half again as
quick as the previous, so a trot is 50 percent faster than a walk,
the canter is 50 percent faster than the trot, et cetera.  With the
trot, you will shorten your gait and bring your knees up high.  The
canter is almost like skipping, with one hoof ahead of the other at
all times.  And the gallop is a faster version of the canter.  Ready?
Walk!"

As Sabrina made her way around the perimeter of the ring, I put down
my crop and picked up a long bullwhip hanging coiled on one of the
fence posts, then strolled to the middle of the arena where I took a
few practice strokes against the pole.

"Very good, Sabrina," I said from the middle of the ring as she
completed her first circuit.  "Now, trot!  No, no, knees higher!"

The end of the lash snapped like a rifle shot against her groin.

"That's better!  And stop!  Good, good.  Now, trot!"

We spent the better part of an hour working exclusively on stopping
and starting, as well as alternating between walking and trotting
around the ring until I was satisfied that she could change gears as
smoothly as a rally-tuned sports car.

When I sensed she was on the brink of collapse, I put down the whip
and joined her at the edge of the ring where she stood panting, her
body awash in dirty rivulets of sweat dripping around the leather
straps like floods bursting a dam.

"An excellent beginning, especially for a foal," I said as I
unclamped her nipples and picked up my crop.  "That will do for
today.  Left!"

She turned without hesitation and faced the gate.

"Very, very good.  You've learned the value of instant obedience,
even though it's only to avoid the lash.  I'm sorry you won't be
joining me on my afternoon ride, but I'm sure I can come up with a
suitable diversion."

I unlatched the gate and swung it open wide.

"Forward!"

We marched up the path back toward the house.  When we got to the
back yard, I directed her onto the lawn directly toward the shallow
end of the swimming pool.

"Stop!" I said when her hooved feet grazed the rounded edge where
the water lapped gently against the sides.

I removed the boots, then all her leather accoutrements, replacing
the binder with a pair of handcuffs and the bit with a rubber ball
gag.

"Forward!"

Her hesitation was rewarded with a hard slap on her very red cheeks.
I didn't tell her to stop walking until the water was just below the
bottom of her nose.

"Stay!"

--Sabrina--

When Geoffrey had mentioned training the day before, I thought he
meant more bondage, but now I found that it was just...training. 
Simple and functional.  How to move, how to walk, how to obey.  And I
hated every minute of it.  If he thought I'd ask to stay with him at
the end of the week, he needed to think again.

However I was rather pleased with myself.  I had survived the first
session.  The trick, I discovered after my tenth circuit around the
ring, was to create a complete blank in my mind.  Stop thinking. 
Just walk.  Obey.  And things were a lot easier after that.  Except
when the bite of the whip reminded me of my human flesh and
sensibility.  But if I could avoid the lash, I was relatively safe.

Now the threat was the water, so dangerously close to my nose.  But
the cool sensation on my body was pure bliss, and I thoroughly
enjoyed the first ten minutes in the pool.  A glance behind me
revealed that Geoffrey had entered the house and was probably
preparing lunch.  I knew he could see me through the kitchen window,
so I kept as still as I could, not daring to step back an inch.

After 15 minutes, my swim resulted in another all-too-common effect,
only this one was not so pleasant; I needed to pee.  I tried every
known trick to forget about it, but none worked.  I took a quick
glance behind me.  No Geoffrey in sight.  Even if he returned, the
urine would disappear without a trace.  But I couldn't let go.  I
stupidly upheld my promise of obedience and resisted the need.  I
squeezed my legs together as tight as I could, praying that he would
return quickly.

When he did, I was suffering from such cramps that walking out of
the pool was pure torture, especially when I knew the agony in my
bladder would double once I'd get out of the water.

A few drops probably hit the towel when he vigorously dried me, but
I was able to suppress a major incident at the cost of increasing
pain in my kidneys.

When I was perfectly dry in every little crevice, he led me to the
round table on the side of the pool and cuffed my ankles to the chair
with my hands tied at the back.  The usual.

Being seated made the urge slightly more bearable, but not for long.
He was only halfway through my plate of chicken and rice when I felt
the cramps return, stronger than ever.  I was sick of eating, but I
finished the plate.  Drinking was a nightmare, but I swallowed the
entire contents of the glass he presented me.  I thought I was
running a fever when he started his own meal, taking his time like he
had nothing else to do for the rest of the day.  I couldn't believe
he didn't see it.  There was a limit to what one can endure, even to
avoid punishment.  The whip would probably feel better than this
anyway.

When he put down his fork on the empty plate, he turned to me and
casually asked, "Would you like to use the bathroom?"

I almost let go when I replied "yes, please," but he didn't comment
on my obvious enthusiasm as he unlocked the cuffs and followed me
indoors.  My relief was indescribable.

"I had planned a solo ride for the afternoon," he started as we
headed back outside, "but I think I changed my mind."

I waited, my senses on full alert.

"Since you've done so well this morning, I'll let you accompany me. 
How does that sound?"

I stared at him in silence, not sure of what he meant.  And yet, the
meaning was obvious.

"Yes, p-please," I answered weakly.

"You don't sound very enthusiastic.  You really don't like horses,
do you?"  His rhetorical question needed no answer, so he went on. 
"We'd better do something about it.  I'll give you two options,
Sabrina."

He pointed at a large tree fifty meters away beyond the pool.

"You can spend the afternoon tied up to that tree, head down and
fully accessorized, or you come on a horseback ride with me."

I knew which preference would be obvious to any sane person, but to
me, it was a matter of choosing between two evils.

"Will it be the tree?" he asked.

I kept silent.

"Or the ride?"

No.  Absolutely not.  Could I have a third option, please?

"Yes, please," I finally gave in, my heart beating a frenetic tempo.

"Fine.  I'm sure Akasha will be pleased to see you back.  Let's go."

And we made our way back to the stables.  As I walked past the large
tree he had pointed at, I wondered if hanging down below its foliage
wouldn't have been a better option after all.

--Geoffrey--

I wasn't surprised by Sabrina's surprise when I led Akasha out of
the barn without the saddle; in fact, without a saddle of any kind. 
But I was more than a little curious about her willingness to
accompany me.

Was she trying to please me?  Get on my good side?  That really
wasn't an issue; she was already there as far as I was concerned.

Did she desperately want a thorough fucking from the rubber prods
screwed into the seat?  Possibly.  But I was saving that privilege
for myself.

Or perhaps she simply wanted to be with me, no matter what the
circumstances.  Even if she couldn't admit it.

I unlocked the handcuffs, and cupped my hands next to Akasha's side
to give her a step.

"Up you go."

I climbed in front of her, then took her wrists and cuffed them in
front of my waist, her arms wrapped tight around me.

"Are you ready?"

"Y-yes, please," she replied in a very small voice.

"Don't worry, this will be fun."

I picked up the reins and gave them a hard shake.

"Akasha, forward!"

Despite the slow gait, I could feel her heart pounding like a
jackhammer against my back.  Can't be helped, I decided.  Time to
open her up.

"Canter!"

The horse immediately doubled its speed as we raced along the path
that would lead us to the open fields beyond my property.

"You okay back there?" I yelled.  Her hard squeeze around my waist
was all the affirmation I needed.

"Gallop!"

We only stayed out about half an hour, but I worked Akasha hard, as
I had been neglecting her over the past few days.  When we returned
to the barn, Sabrina was trembling a bit, but I could tell that she
had discovered the secret reason why so many girls adored their
horses.  And my growing erection was becoming equally hard to ignore.

I uncuffed her wrists, helped her off the horse and recuffed her
hands behind her back.  Without a word, I scooped her into my arms
and carried her into the barn to the stall where I stored the hay.

Seconds later, she was lying across the stalks with her legs
sprawled open and our groins pressed hard against each other.

When I was finished, I took her into another stall that was empty
save for a large white bucket on the floor, a long length of chain
and four thick leather cuffs drooping at various levels from the
ceiling.

She soon found herself in the same state, her arms stretched toward
the ceiling and her legs hanging bent at a 45-degree angle behind
her.  I strapped a rubber penis gag around her face.  Then I left her
for a moment to retrieve the clamps from the training wheel, and one
other item from the house.

Upon returning, I took the long length of chain and wrapped one end
around her waist, leading the other end up under her ass, around her
crotch, then over a beam in the ceiling.  Then I clipped the handle
of the bucket to a link so it hung about three feet off the ground.

I set up the clamps so the chain holding them together was also
connected to the chain holding the bucket.  Then I showed her the
butt plug, a three-stage affair with each section larger than the
previous one, culminating in a base close to two inches wide.

I snuggled the tip of the plug into her gaping anus, and positioned
the base above the links between her legs.

Finally, I swung out a long faucet arm from the pipe on the wall so
the spout was directly over the bucket.  I twisted the handle ever so
slightly until a single drop fell into the bucket.

A few seconds later, a second one plopped down behind it.  Then,
eventually, a third and a fourth.

"I have to work out the other horses now.  Be a good girl and hang
around until I'm done, won't you?"

--Sabrina--

From where I, well, hung, it was hard to deduce the physics of the
complicated assemblage.  However, I knew it wouldn't be long until I
found out how the water drops I could hear splashing in a hollow
metallic receptacle, most likely a bucket, would affect my
predicament.

In the meantime, the absence of other activity led me to mental
wanderings.  The surprise of the day had been the horse ride.  After
ten minutes of terror, only made tolerable by Geoffrey's presence in
front of me, I had opened up and enjoyed the experience.  The speed
and the powerful movements of the animal under my naked body had
created unknown sensations of thrill and excitement.  So much so that
I was disappointed when he brought Akasha back to the stables.  On
the other hand, the sexual relief he provided in the aftermath had
been more than welcome.

I wondered if this short ride would be enough to cure me of my
childhood phobia.  I certainly didn't feel ready to take the reins
myself, but I was ready to relive the experience if the opportunity
arose.

Exhilarated by my victory, I had let him tie me up without the
slightest resistance or concern.  In fact, for the first time since
arriving at this accursed farm, I had been able to relax and almost
enjoy the process, trying to guess what he had in mind as he produced
the various toys.  The plug had frightened me a little, though, and I
dearly wished he had chosen a more comfortable size.  Of course, I
had no say in the matter.

Once satisfied with his work, the master of the game had gone to
take care of the horses.  When all had joined Akasha in the bright
outdoors, the stables were silent, except for the dripping.

After a while, the repetitive sound became more muffled, which meant
the bucket was slowly being filled, and I perceived several changes
in my physical sensations.  The tension on my breasts had increased,
the chain was tearing on the tender flesh of my sex, and the plug had
made some progress inside.  The process was excruciatingly slow, yet
undeniable.

When I fully comprehended what fate had in store for me, a wave of
arousal rolled through my body.  I tested my bonds, but my scope of
movement was extremely limited.  So there was nothing to do but wait
for the inevitable to happen, unless Geoffrey chose to stop the chain
reaction.  I had become a living time bomb regulated by water drops. 
A small voice in my mind hoped that the bomb would have time to
explode.

The drops continued to fall, the chain continued to pull, and the
plug was past its first element.  I kept my eyes closed most of the
time, concentrating on the pain and trying to alleviate it by sheer
mental persuasion. Then pleasure made its entrance, and I surprised
myself by contracting my anal muscles to help the progress of the
intruder.

Two-thirds of the plug had disappeared inside me, and my opening was
being torn apart by the last, largest element.  My breasts burned
from the sharp bite of the clamps, while my clit was cruelly scoured
by the metal links.  Those were the last observations I made before I
took another journey to the land where erotic hallucinations
dominated the scenery.

When I woke up some time later, I couldn't remember anything past
that point.  My body told me I had come, but I had no recollection of
it.  All I could feel was the physical burnout left by violent
orgasms.  

I assessed my new position; no longer suspended to the ceiling, I
found myself lying face down on a bale of hay with my wrists and
ankles connected in my back.  The gag was still in place.  I
cautiously opened my eyes, saw that the day was well on its way, and
heard Geoffrey bringing back the horses to their respective stalls. 
I felt strangely comfortable to know he was around.  One more
contradiction in a world of plenty.  

I was almost asleep when he returned.  He unlocked the short chain
holding my wrists to my ankles and got me on my feet.  

"Looks like you need a shower," he remarked correctly.

I tried to convey a "yes, please" with my eyes, and was already
turning towards the main door of the stables when he gripped my arm.

"No, this way," he said, directing me to the opposite side.

He had me enter another large stall where he fixed my cuffed hands
to a ring in the ceiling.  As far as taking a shower was concerned,
things didn't look too good.

When the jet of cold water suddenly hit my belly, the gag proved its
infallible efficiency.  Without it, my screams would have been heard
in the closest town.  

I began to squirm left and right to avoid the ruthless stream, but
he yelled at me to stay still and spread my legs.  I instantly
obeyed, and clenched my fists to resist the urge to move.  I turned
around when he asked me to, and turned again when he decided to
provide special treatment to my breasts and sex.  I cried abundant
tears of frustration which I tried to cover myself with my arms, but
my state of distress remained visible and pathetic.

When he stopped the brutal shower and approached me with a towel, I
was shaking violently from the cold outside, the heat inside, and
something else I could no longer control.  This last humiliation had
knocked down one more barrier inside me.  Total collapse seemed only
one bondage trick away.

--Geoffrey--

I didn't let Sabrina see my smile as I scooped her tremulous body
into my arms and carried her back to the house.  My evening plans
would have to wait for another time; she was obviously in no
condition for anything but an extended period of uninterrupted
solitude.

Coincidentally, I had received an email from a bondage web site
renowned for its graphic depictions of "forniphilia," or human
furniture, requesting exactly the same thing just this morning.  They
had been quite enchanted with my demonstration photos of Sabrina, and
had agreed to my asking price of $3,000 for a complete set; more than
enough to cover the case of Merlot she had smashed, not to mention
the mirror.

But she didn't need to know about that, nor did she seem to care
about anything except lying on the floor of my studio with her eyes
shut tight.  So I cuffed her wrists over her head and went to work.

By the time she woke up, I had already laced the full-body corset up
to her thighs.

It had cost a fortune, but I was glad to have spared no expense. 
Every contour of the leather was an exact match to the shape of her
limbs.

It started with a ballet toe for both her feet, supported by a
single eight-inch heel.  Enhanced with long metal stays that ran all
the way up to her hips, the sleeve for her legs locked them together
as if glued.  The leather's finish was deep, lustrous chocolate brown
polished to a mirror gleam.

She tried to sit up, but I pushed her back brusquely.

"Don't make me do that again."

I resumed lacing the corset up her legs to her crotch, where I had
already strapped a butterfly vibrator against her clit.  I had
considered leaving in the butt plug from the afternoon session, but
opted for a different one that made up in length what it sacrificed
in circumference.

It took me a good half-hour to finish lacing the heavily-boned waist
section, pulling the strings as tight as I could to achieve an
hourglass shape Scarlett O'Hara would have killed for.

I uncuffed her hands and started working them, and the rest of her
arms, into the closed leather tubes extending from either side.  When
I was finished, I continued lacing the corset over her chest and
around her neck to just beneath her chin.

"Time to say goodnight, Sabrina.  I'd wish for pleasant dreams, but
I wouldn't count on them."

I inserted airport-grade plugs into her ears, followed by a large,
soft rubber ball that I squeezed down to half its size before
inserting it between her teeth.  As it expanded to fill her mouth, I
began the final lacings up the front of her face and over the top of
her head.  When I was finished, the only exposed part of her body
were two small air holes under her nose.

I took her arms and wrapped them across her torso like a
straightjacket.  Then I rolled her over, and buckled the straps
descending from her hands tightly behind her back.

I picked up her stiff figure and maneuvered her over to the wall,
where two short lengths of chain hung vertically from hooks, and a
third dangled down from the ceiling.  I padlocked the lower length to
a ring in the back of the corset just above her rump.  The upper
length was maybe half a meter longer, and it was soon attached to
another ring just below her shoulders.  The links from the ceiling
were mated with a metal hoop on top of her head.

"Ready to fly?"

I slowly lowered her body until it came to rest at a 45-degree angle
leaning forward from the wall.

I had to get an extension cord to plug in the butterfly vibrator.  I
couldn't remember if I'd dialed up its lowest setting, but its quiet
humming suggested I had.

No matter, I decided.  The result would be the same 12 hours from now.

I picked up the Polaroid and started taking test shots.

--Sabrina--

There was something awfully wrong with me.  Instead of feeling angry
or terrified, which would have been normal reactions under such
circumstances, I experienced an uncanny sense of peace.  I was
floating, with no attachment to the outside world whatsoever.  If it
hadn't been for a tiny detail, I could have surrendered to the
hypnosis and forgotten I was alive.

I didn't even want to think anymore.  While Geoffrey was turning me
into a leather statue, I tried to focus on the four days I would have
to endure until I would regain my freedom, but even that wasn't
enough to maintain a grip on reality.  My life had been cornered in a
dead end, and I lacked the energy to climb over the wall.

However the tiny detail--the constant friction on my clitoris--
gained the upper hand over my moment of desperate peace, and my new
constant companion, lust, returned with a vengeance.

I was happy to realize that the only muscles I could move were those
I needed most right then.  I contracted my vagina and felt sorry it
was empty.  Fortunately, the anal plug was pressing on its walls, and
that pressure, combined with the clit stimulation, triggered the
first of many orgasms.  Once they started, they seemed unstoppable. 
La petite mort, they say in French.  And while I was losing the last
shreds of sanity I had left, I thought it would indeed be a very nice
way to die.  

Day 9--Geoffrey

Sabrina seemed so ravenous, I allowed her a second helping of
breakfast before harnessing her for the morning's workout in the
ring.  After an hour of perfecting her canter on the wheel, I traced
a variety of circles and figure-eights in the dirt with my toe, then
directed her with the crop to follow them exactly.  When the sun was
high over our heads, I led her back into the pool, then fed her lunch
on the veranda.

Consistency, I kept reminding myself, is the foundation of good
breeding.

After tidying up, I led her down the stairs to the studio.  In the
center of the room stood a large wooden pillory made of dark mahogany
that looked like it had been teleported directly from the Spanish
Inquisition.

"No wilderness rides today, I'm afraid.  I have to go to town for a
few hours, but I promise I'll make it up to you."

Sabrina gave me a dubious look as I placed her feet in the
appropriate holes in the bottom panel, then locked the wooden beam
around them.  Before I could say anything, she bent over and placed
her neck and wrists in the openings of the upper frame.

"I must say, your attitude is much improved, Sabrina.  I do hope
you'll make this condition a permanent one."

I lowered and locked the top of the stocks, leaving her imprisoned
at a 90-degree angle with her legs spread wide and her ass all tense,
supple and much too available.

"Sorry, love, can't resist..."

I entered her quickly from behind and climaxed even faster.

"I'm afraid I don't have time to do you properly.  Like I said,
we'll try again later.  In the meantime, I'll give you something to
remember me by."

After I replaced the rubber ball in her mouth with the penis-gag
harness, I attached the set of three tweezer clamps lightly to her
nipples and clit, then inserted an inflatable plug into her anus.

"Just a breath to get you started," I said as I squeezed a few pumps
of air to make it slightly firm.

"There.  A reward for your impeccable behavior this morning.  Keep
up the good work, and I'm sure we will arrive at a mutually-
beneficial conclusion to our odyssey."

I turned and started heading up the stairs.

"Oh, by the way...the bidding for you has gone into six figures."

--Sabrina--

The door clicked shut.  Moments later, Geoffrey's car pulled out of
the driveway.  Not long thereafter, I heard the sound of gravel
crunching beneath tires filled the compound.  The front door opened,
then slammed, followed by footsteps clicking rapidly in the front
hallway.  Could he be back so soon?

"Yooo hooo, Geofffffrey.  Are you home, sweets?  I just wanted to
take a quick dip in your luscious pool.  Come out, come out, wherever
you are.  Oh, you're probably playing with your stupid cameras in the
basement."

The door to the studio flew open, and Brenda started bouncing down
the stairs wearing nothing but high heels, a towel around her
shoulders, and a string thong that just barely covered the sculptured
strip of fuzz over her pussy.

"Oh, my.  What have we here?"

Brenda came around to face me, and picked up my chin in her hand.

"Hello, you must be a friend--a very special friend--of Geoffrey's. 
You're awfully cute.  Typical.  Nice bod, too."

Brenda walked around the pillory to continue her inspection.

"Um hmmm.  Good tits, great ass, shaved twat, plugged, clamped,
gagged--yep, that's my Geoffrey.  Hey, wait a sec.  Are you the girl
I was supposed to be when I did that weird thing on the train last
week?  You are!  Oooh, you must be his prisoner or something.  Here
against your will, my darling?  You lucky little thing."

Brenda began stroking my backside with her long fingernails.

"That nasty old Geoffrey never plays with me like this, even though
I've practically tied myself to his bed.  Wanna know why?"

She grabbed a handful of my flesh and squeezed hard.

"Because I like to switch.  Top and bottom.  Dom and sub.  And
Geoffrey's petrified that I'll get him in cuffs some day.  You'd like
that, wouldn't you?"

Brenda let go and gave me a hard swat.

"Answer me, cunt!"

I nodded my head as much as I could inside the stocks.  What the
hell was this woman doing here?  Couldn't Geoffrey keep the goddamn
door locked?  The small flame smoldering inside of me ignited into a
real fire, sending a surge of adrenaline through my veins.  The old
Sabrina Taylor--a.k.a. the bitch--was back.

"That's right, a little 'yes, please' goes a long way around here,
as I'm sure you've learned.  But Geoffrey always says no.  Such a
pity.  I'd love to let him...well, I'm sure you could regale me with
stories for hours."

She walked around to face me, then reached down and grabbed the
chain connecting the clamps, causing one of them to pop off my
nipples.

"Whoops...that's awfully loose for someone who doesn't use
safewords.  Here, let me adjust them properly..."

Brenda slid the small rings up the arms of all three clamps as far
as she could.

"Much better.  Now, how are we going to amuse ourselves until the
elusive Mr.  Sorenson returns from his travels?"

While little miss look-at-me-I'm-so-beautiful-I'm-only-wearing-a-
string searched the room for toys, I tested my bonds as vigorously as
I could, but Geoffrey had done his usual thorough job.  I felt a new
rush of anger toward him.  Why did he have to leave anyway?  Did he
ever think about what might happen if the house caught on fire, or
lightning struck, or if a cunt from hell decided to whip me to death?

The last thought made me shiver.  I knew Geoffrey would never truly
hurt me, at least not until Friday, as I was his valuable six-figure
prize.  This woman, on the other hand, had nothing to lose, except a
potential rival for Geoffrey's affections.

Her clickety walk around the studio was driving me mad, not to
mention her constant babbling which reminded me of my 60-year-old
neighbor.  Only she wasn't discussing the weather or the latest soap
opera.

"Everything's locked," Brenda sighed loudly once she completed her
tour.  "Too bad.  There's gotta be something I can use in this house."

She dropped the towel to the floor and went up the stairs.

"Don't worry, sweetie, I'll be with you in a moment," she yelled
when she was on the ground floor.

Yeah, well, here's hoping you stumble and break your neck, I
grumbled in my head.  

Unsurprisingly, my wish wasn't granted, and she returned five
minutes later, a little too cheerful for my liking.

"Now, this will be perfect.  Let's see how your ass turns a lovely
shade of pink.  Or red."

Thwack.  I choked under the pain as a hundred of needles assaulted
my tender flesh.  Brenda was using a brush of some kind.  I bit as
hard as I could on the gag and fought back the tears gathering in my
eyes.  It wasn't just the pain, but the degradation of receiving it
from a woman who thought with her genitals.

Despite my internal opposition, I didn't take long before I began to
sob, then cry.  The blows moved from my ass to my thighs, then my
shoulders, and back to my ass again.  The plug was pushing deeper,
too, and I knew my sex was dripping, even though I mentally refused
to be aroused by a female.  But my body worked in mysterious ways.

Suddenly, the blows stopped, and I heard her move around the pillory.

"Aren't we having fun, dear?" Brenda asked stupidly when she stood
in front of me, now completely naked.  "And there's much more coming.
Gotta see if Geoffrey taught you the good manners.  Here, let me
untie this."

She unbuckled the harness, and I spat the gag out of my mouth, which
earned me a sharp slap on the face.

"Don't you dare, girl," Brenda threatened, picking my chin up and
staring into my eyes.  "Now hear me well.  You'd better do a fine job
with your tongue, or you won't be able to sit for a week."

Brenda positioned her pussy in front of my mouth and pressed my head
hard against it.

"Get to work, slut," she ordered.

But I couldn't.  I was paralyzed, unable to open my mouth.  Her
scent was suffocating, and I tried to jerk my head away.

"Lick, or get licks."

Thwack.  The brush landed on my shoulder with a fury that Geoffrey
had never shown, even in his worst moments.  

Fear and pain are excellent means of persuasion, and I began to
ravish her orally.  Soon, her juices covered my face while her moans
filled the room.  And I licked.  And sucked.  And invaded her with my
tongue.  I knew I was getting excited; as much as I hated it, I
continued lapping her fluids while mine flowed in abundance, too.

Brenda was on the verge of coming, her sighs of lust turning into
screams of passion, when we both heard a car driving into the front
yard.  

I immediately stopped.  She immediately got mad.

"Keep going," she yelled, pulling on my hair and pushing my face
towards her.

"Go to hell, you bitch," I growled.

I waited for the brush to strike, but Geoffrey was already running
down the stairs.

--Geoffrey--

"What the fuck is going on here?"

I practically jumped down the entire flight of stairs in a single
step and ran across the studio.

"I...uh...uh...don't stop now, you little cunt," Brenda moaned as
she pressed Sabrina's face deeper into her crotch.

"Like hell," I snarled as I whipped off my belt and threw it around
Brenda's torso, then pulled her body away from the pillory.

"Hey!  Christ, Geoffrey, just another second and I woulda been
finished.  Whatsamatter, it's not like you haven't done way worse to
her.  Whoa, easy there."

While Brenda complained, I kept dragging her backwards until we
reached a support pole.  I stepped around it and buckled the belt
behind her so her arms and body were pinned against the metal.

"Oh, so now Mr. Sorenson finally wants to play with me?  Doesn't
like it when I mess with his toys, huh?  Oooooh, yes, pleeeeease,
with sugar on the top."

I scooped up the gag from the floor and held it in front of Brenda's
face.

"I hardly think 'play' is the word I would use, Brenda.  And that
'sugar on top' comment is going to cost you your voice.  Open."

She turned her head away and giggled.

"Make me," she cooed.

"My pleasure," I replied as I reached up and pinched her nose shut,
then pressed the tip of the rubber penis against her firmly sealed
mouth.  A minute later, her lips burst open in a blast of carbon
monoxide, only to find themselves stretched around the wide base of
the gag as I buckled the straps around her head.

"I'll be with you in a minute, Sabrina," I said as I unlocked one of
the boxes and pulled out a pair of cuffs for Brenda's wrists, which I
padlocked behind her back.

"Fuck, I swear, if she hurt you," I muttered as I inspected
Sabrina's back, legs and ass while Brenda kicked uselessly at the air.

"Well, other than a little redness, you look like you'll survive," I
said.  "My deepest apologies, Sabrina.  Shame on me for leaving the
front door unlocked.  But Brenda does have, or rather did have, a
standing invitation to use the pool.  Obviously, we'll have to make
some severe modifications in her social skills before extending such
generosity in the future."

Sabrina looked up at me.  Was that a smile?  Despite all the
excitement and her current gag-free state, she hasn't said a single
word.  I was suddenly feeling much better about the current
situation.  In fact, it might provide the perfect opportunity to...

"Sabrina, I'm going to take back what I said earlier this afternoon
about a horseback ride.  Would you care to accompany me and our
friend on a nice, long jaunt?  Of course, you'll have to ride with
me, but I'm sure we can find a suitable mount for Brenda.  And
luckily, I seem to have an extra saddle hanging in one of the stalls."

Sabrina practically yelled "yes, please!" as she obviously tried
hard not to laugh out loud.

I removed the clamps and the plug, then unlocked Sabrina from the
stocks.

"Much as I want to trust you, better safe than sorry," I said as I
cuffed her wrists in front of her.  "No gag unless you make a
mistake.  Got it?"

"Yes, please."

"Excellent.  Now, Brenda, let's all take a little walk to the barn. 
I don't believe you've met my favorite stallion, Thunder."

I strapped a collar with a long leash around Brenda's neck,
unbuckled her from the pole, and gave the lead a hard tug.

"After you, Sabrina," I said, pointing to the stairs.

--Sabrina--

Knowing all too well where we were heading, I led our trio on the
dirt path to the stables.  As we passed by the pool, I secretly hoped
that was where our feather-brained visitor would end the day, with
water up to her nostrils.  Or maybe higher, I grinned maliciously.

Ten steps further, my grin turned to a huge smile as I played back
Geoffrey's intervention in my mind.  I hadn't really expected him to
take my side.  After all, Brenda was his friend, while I was merely a
temporary toy; I presumed his only concern would be the depreciation
in my market value.  But he had offered unexpected apologies, and
they even sounded sincere.  Then I remembered the words he had spoken
that night of the candle, and wondered what it would be like to be
his partner.  I quickly dismissed the thought; I'd be gone in less
than four days, I reminded myself.  Let's not forget it.

While we walked in line, I could hear the occasional crack of the
crop, which Geoffrey deftly applied to Brenda's ass every time she
strayed from the path.  At first, the sound made me cringe as I
recalled the painful sensations, but then I enjoyed it, knowing that
the crop wasn't aimed at me this time.

When we reached the first trees, Geoffrey asked me to stop and come
near him.

"Maybe you would like to try this," he said as he handed me the
crop.  "After what she did to you, it's only fair."

Staggered by his proposal, I gave the crop a bewildered look and
realized I wanted to use it.  I held it with my cuffed hands and
swung it a couple of times through the air.  Then I looked up at him,
silently asking permission to strike.

"Go ahead." he replied.

I aimed and swept the crop right onto Brenda's ass.  But the
ridiculous sound it created was disappointing.  Brenda hadn't even
moved, and I could almost hear her sneer through the gag.  

Geoffrey moved behind me and held my hands to help me maneuver the
crop.

"Let me show you.  Here, bring it up.  Not too high.  Now, you don't
need to be quick, but firm.  Like this!"

A muffled scream came out of Brenda's mouth, indicating that the
crop had landed properly.

"Now, try again," my instructor told me, letting my hands go.

I hit her again.  Thwack.  A perfect sound.

"Excellent.  Now let's move on.  And don't spoil our mischievous
child by sparing the rod."

Geoffrey adjusted his voice to command volume.  "Brenda, forward!"

We continued our parade through the woods.  At first, my efforts
with the lash were uncertain and irregular, but by the time we
reached the stables, I was able to whip exactly where I wanted, and
with the appropriate strength.  And I was having the time of my life.

Before entering the barn, Geoffrey tied Brenda's leash to a ring
high up on the wall.  Then he turned to me.

"Keep an eye on her while I prepare the horses, will you?"

While he disappeared inside, I noticed he hadn't tied me.  Had he
forgotten?  Unlikely.  Was it a test?  Or did he trust me?  I decided
to go with option three.  Although it would have been fairly easy to
escape, I was finally enjoying myself.  I would probably regret it
tomorrow morning, but all I wanted now was to go for a ride and see
Brenda punished.  So I stood where he had left me, the crop in my
hands and my eyes kept firmly on "my" prisoner.

Our host came out five minutes later with Akasha fully saddled.  He
left the horse grazing next to us and went back to take care of
Thunder.

I watched Akasha and welcomed the fact that I was too excited to
experience any kind of fear.  

Brenda gestured nervously, trying to get my attention; when she had
it, she began to moan and grimace as if she wanted to tell me
something.  Her eyes went to the stables, then to me.  Then she
lowered them onto herself.  And looked back at me again.  

I knew what she wanted to say.  If I freed her, she would help me
get out of here.  We could even have some fun with Geoffrey before we
left.  Even though escaping wasn't on my agenda, the thought of
Geoffrey defenseless had undeniable charm.  However, I wouldn't share
that fantasy with Brenda, or with anyone else, for that matter.  If
the opportunity should occur, it would be between him and me.  

I lifted the crop and smacked Brenda's thighs.

"Keep quiet," I ordered calmly.  

Brenda was undoubtedly taken aback by my reaction.  She stared at
me, then turned her gaze to the clearing as she sighed behind her gag.

At that moment, Geoffrey stepped out of the stables, pulling Thunder
by his leash.  When Brenda saw the saddle, she let out a cry.

And I realized how thrilling power could be.

--Geoffrey--

"Easy, Thunder.  Mustn't give the wrong impression to our guests
here."

The horse snorted and shook his head in hopes of dislodging the
bridle from his mouth.

"There, there.  You know better than that.  Hand me the crop,
Sabrina."

I took the lash and gave Thunder a quick swat on his haunches to
quiet him down.  Then I turned my attention to Brenda, who had edged
away from the horse as far as her leash would allow her.

"Stand--right--under--here," I directed her, accentuating each word
with a slap of the crop.

Slung over the dildo-enhanced saddle were a variety of leather
straps and cuffs, which I wrapped around Brenda's ankles and upper
thighs, saving the longest for around her elbows.  I grabbed one end
of a chain hanging down from a pulley in the ceiling, passed it under
her arms and across her chest, and clipped it behind her back.

"Going up," I said as I pulled the other end of the chain, slowly
raising her off the ground.  When her feet were maybe a meter high, I
secured the chain to the wall.

"Care to give me a hand, Sabrina?"

"Yes, please!" she replied brightly.

"Good."  I reached into my pocket and tossed her a padlock, then a
second.  "Be a sweet girl and lock her ankles to her thighs.  If she
tries to kick you, I'll convince her of the error of her ways."

I grabbed one of Brenda's ankles, bent her knee, and cracked the
crop squarely against the sole of her foot.

Sabrina came over to my side and positioned the hasp of the padlock
between the rings of the thigh and ankle cuffs, then clicked it
closed.  Wary of flying feet, she walked around the front of Brenda's
suspended body and repeated the process on her other leg while I
remained ready to strike.

"Perfect.  Now, let's fly a little closer to the sun."

I tugged the chain until Brenda was another meter higher before
securing it to the wall again.

"I'm going to move Thunder into position, then lower Brenda onto the
saddle.  While I hold the chain, I want you to guide her friends into
the appropriate openings.  When she's ready, say 'yes, please,' but
not a word before.  Understood?"

Sabrina nodded her head affirmative.  Luckily, Thunder decided to co-
operate, not caring for the lash either; a moment later, Brenda's
crotch and ass were pressed firmly against the saddle leather.

"We'd better make sure she doesn't fall off, eh?" I said.  I knotted
a piece of rope around Brenda's waist, and then the saddle horn,
before attaching the clamps hanging from the knob to her nipples.

"Are you ready for our ride, Sabrina?"

"Yes, please!"

"And how about you, Brenda?"

The non-consensual cowgirl replied with an angry, muffled scream.

"I'd watch my language there, Brenda.  Thunder tends to get
skittish, and I'd hate for him to run off at a full gallop, heading
for who knows where."

I helped Sabrina onto Akasha, then climbed on behind her, holding
Thunder's reins in the same hand as Akasha's.

"Walk!"

We headed out of the barn and past the ring toward the meadow
leading to the forest.

Although we never went any faster than a trot, our ride lasted for
more than an hour as I pointed out various varieties of trees and
other wildlife to Sabrina while my free hand rested between her legs,
my fingers pressed hard against, then deep inside, her pussy.  As
soon as I felt like she was close to release, I moved my hand up to
her breasts, caressing and pinching until I could practically hear
her heart beating in time with Akasha's hooves.

"We'd better get her home before she keels over from all this fun,"
I said toward the end.  Sabrina just nodded her head, probably
thinking I meant her and not Brenda, who continued to moan like
someone who had survived a head-on collision, and wished she hadn't.

When we got back to the barn, I left Sabrina with the crop to guard
Brenda while I cooled down the horses and put away their saddles and
tack.  I knew I was taking a big chance with Sabrina alone like that,
but I was more worried that she would take the opportunity to
pleasure herself rather than run away.  Tonight, I would make it
abundantly clear that her orgasms now belonged exclusively to me, and
me alone.  But first, I had one more lesson to teach Brenda.

When we arrived in the back yard, Sabrina walked into the pool
without being prompted, and ducked her head under the water.  When
she popped back up smiling, I asked if she would like to take a
proper swim without the handcuffs.

"Yes...please," Sabrina said, hesitatingly.  Did it make her nervous
to be in my presence without bonds?  I repressed a triumphant grin. 
If I trusted her, she should certainly trust herself.

I unlocked the cuffs and tossed them onto the lawn, then turned my
attention to the obviously defeated Brenda.

"You look bushed, darling, especially your bush.  I think a dip
would do wonders for your spirits, if not your bruises."

Sabrina sat on the steps in the shallow end as I brought out a big
coil of rope.  After I tied Brenda's ankles and wrists with long
leads trailing behind them, I picked her up and carried her to the
diving board.

I lay Brenda down lengthwise on the board and knotted the end of the
lines from her hands and feet to the underside of the fiberglass
plank.

Flashing an evil grin at Sabrina, I pushed Brenda sideways until she
fell off the side of the board.  Her belly brushed the surface as she
hung helplessly over the clear blue water.

I could feel the murder in Brenda's eyes as I walked around the pool
to admire my creation.

"Did I ever show you my world-class diving abilities?" I asked
Sabrina when I came to the shallow end.  "Well, I don't think the
Chinese women's team has anything to fear, but I do fancy myself to
be pretty good.  Here, let me show you."

I stripped off all my clothes, walked back to the deep end and
climbed up the short ladder into the board.  With a wink, I took
three long steps and pushed myself up and off the end, only to come
down twice as hard before launching myself into the air where I
executed a rather sloppy jackknife.

Despite the gag, Brenda yelled like a banshee when her head re-
emerged from the water.

"Oh, that was terrible, just terrible," I said as I climbed out of
the pool.  "Better try it again."

After maybe 10 dives, I motioned a very giggly Sabrina over to the
board.

"You think I'm funny, do you?  Let's see you give it a try, then."

We spent the next hour alternating a variety of dives, including a
few variations on the cannonball that caused gallons of water to
spray in every direction, including under the board.

"Well, I think she's learned her lesson, don't you?" I finally said
as we rested on the lawn next to the pool.

"Yes, please," Sabrina replied, still giggling a bit.

"Me too."  I turned and yelled over at the still-thrashing form
under the board.  "What do you say, Brenda?  Had enough Geoffrey for
one day?  What was that?  I couldn't quite make it out.  Sounds like-
-"

"Yes, please!" Sabrina said, cracking herself up.

"Why, I do believe you're correct, my dear.  All right then;
Sabrina, fetch me your handcuffs over there.  You can watch the
sunset while I take the divine Miss Brenda home."

I led Sabrina to a chair and wrapped the short chain around one of
the arms, then clicked the bracelets around her wrists.

"I'm sure we can keep today's adventures a secret between friends,
right, Brenda?" I said before jumping into the pool to untie her from
the board.  "After all, I'm sure you wouldn't want your ex-husband to
know about your pervy tendencies, especially given all that alimony
you wrangled out of him."

Despite its garbled syntax, I allowed Brenda's stream of curses to
suffice for "yes, please."

--Sabrina--

Once the roaring sound of the car died away in the distance, I
allowed myself to slump into the chair and relax.  What a day!  I
couldn't remember having so much fun.

I closed my eyes, enjoying the warm rays of the setting sun on my
face, and began to hum a song somehow inspired by my latest
adventures in the studio.  

"These boots were made..."  It was nice to hear my voice again.  It
had been days since I had said anything except  "yes, please."  In my
gag-free condition, I had a hard time controlling the comments that
spontaneously came to mind.

"For walking..."  What would my life be like when my time with
Geoffrey was finished?  I didn't really think he was going to sell
me, much less kill me.  And I certainly had no plans to hang around
here, figuratively or literally.  But I was no longer the woman I
used to be, and I couldn't deny the simple truth: I was beginning to
enjoy the game.  

"And that's just what they'll do..."  Well, part of the game,
anyway.  I hated the pony training.  So degrading.

"And so exciting, too," said a tiny voice at the back of my mind. 
Shut up, I yelled at myself.  There's nothing exciting about wearing
a harness and being whipped.  Or is there?

"One of these days..."  I had a strange feeling about what I'd do as
soon as I was free.  First, I would do some research on advanced
sexual activities.  The Internet was a wonderful tool in that
respect.  What search term would I start with?  "Bondage"?  "Whip"? 
"Slave"?  

"These boots..."  Then I might start looking for someone to play
with once in a while.  Partners who would respect me and my pleasure,
instead of making me canter around in a dirt ring, or leaving me tied
up all night, another ordeal I dreaded.  Partners I could still
control.

"But is that really what you want?" squeaked the little voice.  Oh,
gimme a break, I scorned.  I'm not insane.  I'm not spending the rest
of my life with my wrists permanently cuffed and only two words at my
disposal.  And that's when I'm a good girl.

"Are gonna walk..."  I visualized my last thought, and felt a
stirring in my loins.  Why did my body react this way?  The flush of
arousal reminded me of the horseback ride, and how Geoffrey had
brought me so close to release.  And then...I sighed and squirmed in
my chair, instinctively directing my fingers down to my sex, but the
chain holding my hands to the arm of the chair was too short to allow
me to touch myself.

So I moved, turned and brought my legs up and over the chair on
either side of my arms.  And my fingers went to work, first very
slowly as I recalled the sensations of the horse's powerful moves and
Geoffrey's fingers probing inside me, then pressing harder as the
need for release came extremely rapidly.

"All over you."  Oh God, it felt good, I almost said out loud as I
let my head fall over the opposite arm of the chair, savoring this
blissful moment where I was so perfectly in control of myself.  

I was still resting peacefully in a position that left no doubt as
to my activities when Geoffrey's car engine signaled his return.  

Only then did I realize that I was probably not supposed to
masturbate, although he had never explicitly forbidden it.  I
adjusted my body to a more suitable sitting position, swearing as the
chain got in the way of my legs, and quickly licked my fingers to
erase any revealing traces.  When I was almost certain he would not
discover my little treat, I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.

--Geoffrey--

"Sabrina?  Time to wake up, my dear."

I shook her shoulder gently, but when that didn't seem to work, I
reached down and began squeezing one of her delectable nipples until
her eyes popped open.

"You must be famished," I said as I unlocked the handcuffs, only to
reconnect them behind her back.  "Come inside and keep me company
while I cook."

I led her through the house into the kitchen, and pointed at a
chair.  While I prepared our dinner, I regaled her with stories about
what had happened with Brenda, including her threats to call the
police.

"I asked her what exactly she planned to tell them; she came over to
my house and began assaulting my girlfriend?  That on many occasions
she had literally begged me to do exactly what I did to her this
afternoon?  I started pointing out various products and accessories
in her living room, and asked if the police would even know what
these things were for, much less why they were in her house. 
Finally, I told her I was definitely looking forward to reading the
crime report in the local newspaper.  As you can imagine, all this
did not go over terribly well, but she'll get over
it...unfortunately.  Besides, I think she liked it a lot more than
she let on.  And I can only presume I am a distinct improvement over
her usual play partners, given that 'good pervert' is a bit of an
oxymoron."

I could tell Sabrina was trying hard not to laugh, much less comment
on my stories.  Even better, it felt like her usual fear and loathing
had largely dissipated.  She seemed much more relaxed.  Too relaxed,
perhaps.

After feeding her a second helping of seared tuna and pasta, we sat
together on the sofa in the living room.  I put one arm around her
shoulders, my fingers glancing off her breast, and used the other
hand to click on the VCR.

"I'm curious to see how soon you fell asleep after I left this
afternoon."

An image of Sabrina sitting in the chair by the pool flickered onto
the screen, followed by the sound of her voice singing Nancy Sinatra.
I felt her heart beating faster as we watched her swing her legs over
the arm of the chair and begin pleasuring herself.

"Video surveillance," I said when the tape finally ended.  "Don't
leave home without it."

Sabrina looked like she had swallowed a live round of ammunition as
I stood up and began to hum a familiar song that she soon recognized
as the genetic predecessor of her earlier performance.

"Regrets, I've had a few," I sang as I went into the kitchen to
freshen my drink, thinking how Dean Martin would undoubtedly
encourage his pal Frankie to make it a double.

"I certainly hope you enjoyed yourself, Sabrina, because it's the
last time you'll ever touch yourself like that again," I said when I
returned with something circular in my hand that reflected the room's
lights.

"Stand up and spread your legs."

I wrapped the apparatus around her waist, then reached between her
legs and pulled another piece around her crotch.  The combination
lock clicked loudly as I threaded the hasp into the slot just below
her navel.

"They haven't really done much to improve these things since the
days of King Arthur," I said as I gave the tumblers a thorough spin.

"Your pleasure, along with the rest of your body, now belongs
exclusively to me," I said, my fingers tapping the wire mesh in the
front of the chastity belt that covered her sex.  "Now, let's get you
changed into something less comfortable for the remainder of the
evening."

I headed toward the door leading to the hallway, knowing she had no
choice but to follow me.

--Sabrina--

A video camera.  Damn it, I should have suspected as much, I scolded
myself while I followed Geoffrey down the stairs to the studio. 
Well, at least he hadn't seemed too angry about it.  Oh well, if the
price to pay was wearing a chastity belt from the Middle Ages around
my crotch for the remainder of my stay, I'd survive.

I watched him unlock one of the closets and wondered what kind of
sexy apparel he would choose for the evening.  When he returned with
a long leather piece I had seen during previous sessions, the
familiar butterflies returned to my stomach.  It looked like I
wouldn't be using my hands for a while.

He unlocked my handcuffs, then looped and adjusted two straps around
my shoulders, and inserted my hands into a single leather sleeve,
which he laced tightly.  He zipped the long arm binder all the way up
to the top, and buckled the five belts tight enough to make my elbows
touch.

Geoffrey let me sit on the stool by the stage while he retrieved
suitable footwear.

"Since you like boots so much," he muttered as he began to work on
the laces.

While he was busy sheathing my ankles, calves and thighs in black
leather, I observed the empty space where the tall mirror used to
stand and smiled as I recalled my attempted escape.  He could have
got rid of me then, but he hadn't.  I suddenly felt grateful for his
patience, and almost regretted that it wouldn't be rewarded the way
he expected.

Of course, presuming I could hold out until he sold me, or worse. 
But my brain simply wouldn't accept any ending to the story but a
happy one.

Once the boots were perfectly laced, Geoffrey finished his
decorative work with a pair of nipple clamps.  I winced a little when
he screwed them tighter than necessary, and again when he pulled on
the leash connected to their chain.

"Let's go back to the living room," he said.  "Time for your first
lesson as a sex toy."

Puzzled by his enigmatic words, I walked back up the stairs, doing
my best to keep my balance on the too-high heels.  On our way up, I
held back the sarcastic question on the tip of my tongue.  And where
is my gag, please?

Back in the living room, I waited for Geoffrey to put a new tape in
the VCR, take the remote on the coffee table and install himself
comfortably in the armchair.  Then he gestured to me to come and
kneel between his legs.

When an obscene close-up of an engorged penis swallowed by a pair of
cherry-red lips hit the screen, I heard him say "watch and learn,
Sabrina."

"Do you mean to say 'I suck'?" I silently sneered, smirking at my
easy pun.

Guessing that I would have to put theory into practice, I watched
the series of blowjobs carefully.  However, my attention was often
distracted by his tugs on the leash, which hurt and teased my nipples
at the same time.  The natural connection between my breasts and my
crotch was perfectly working, too, and the chastity belt soon became
intolerable.

When Geoffrey decided I had seen enough examples, he ordered me to
turn around and show him what I had learned.  It took me a good ten
minutes to unbuckle his belt with my teeth and free his stiff cock
from his pants.  I made it a point of honor to show him I was a good
student.  After using my tongue, lips and entire mouth, he was
getting close to release, judging by the sound of his ragged
breathing.  I began to scrape him with my teeth while my tongue kept
teasing his tip at the back of my mouth.  He buried his fingers into
my shoulders and pushed me further down.

"Take it all," he said, his voice raspy.

I swallowed him whole, and soon felt the first spasms of climax
shake him.  When he filled my throat, I panicked from the lack of
air, but he held me down until the last drop dribbled out.  He
withdrew a little, just enough to allow me to breathe, and waited
another five minutes to withdraw completely.

I sagged on my knees, panting and shaking a little.  But a light tug
on the leash reminded me that my job wasn't completed yet.  So I
started to lick him clean, only stopping when I felt another prompt
on my leash.

Feeling the fire inside me, I hoped he would return the favor.

--Geoffrey--

"That was a good first try, Sabrina.  Again."

She looked at me dubiously, but mindful of the chain in my hand, she
quickly took my cock back into her mouth.  Twenty minutes later, I
finally stood up and zipped my pants.

"Excellent.  Now, let's work some more on your technique."

I reached behind the couch and pulled up a leather bag, from which I
produced a long rubber penis with a base that looked like a pair of
testicles.  Holding it in front of her lips, I turned on the VCR and
began giving her instructions while we watched the action on the
screen.

When the tape finally ended, I put the dildo back in the bag and
retrieved a thick butt plug connected to a variable-speed control.  I
bade her to stand up, then squat on her haunches in front of me.

When she was in position, I reached down and unlocked the chastity
belt.  I positioned the base of the plug on the floor between her
feet, and nestled the tip toward the back of her very wet folds. 
Sitting back down on the couch, I spun the wheel on the control box
to its lowest setting.

"Now, the last thing you want to do," I said in a low voice as the
device started humming softly, "is have an orgasm without permission.
If you feel a climax coming, I want you to stand up before an
accident occurs."

I nudged the vibrator up a notch.

"Of course, this turn of events will mean the plug will be placed in
its proper orifice, and we'll try again with a different dildo.  Oh,
and before I forget..."

I rummaged through the bag until I found a ball gag mounted in a web
of leather straps which were soon buckled securely under her chin and
behind her head.

Thirty minutes was my goal, but I was certainly pleased when she
pushed herself up after twenty-three, her eyes squished tight in
concentration and her body awash in perspiration.

"I think you can beat that time," I said as I slowly pushed the plug
all the way inside her anus.

The next vibrator looked like a missile ready to be launched after I
balanced it straight up on the floor.

"Resume the position," I commanded.  She bent her knees and lowered
herself until the tip barely grazed her sex, and grimaced when I
twisted the control to its fastest setting.

Damn.  Only 17 minutes this time.  Obviously, Sabrina needed some
help with her focus.  I reached between her legs and slid the curved
metal up and over her crotch until the combination lock clicked home.
Then I took out a roll of tape from the bag and secured the second
vibrator lengthwise to the chain between the nipple clamps.  I
marched her to an empty corner of the room and instructed her to
place her nose against the seam where the two walls met.  Dialing
down the speed of both devices to practically zero, I pushed her legs
together and stuck the plastic boxes between them.

"Don't let them fall," I warned her.

After two blowjobs, I definitely needed a splash of liquid
fortification.  The night was young, and her pussy had so much to
learn.

I sat down on the couch with my drink and began laying out the rest
of the evening's implements on the coffee table.

--Sabrina--

While striving to keep my legs still, I decided to try a new
endurance method, seeing as how I had failed the first two tests so
miserably.  I thought that by emptying my mind, the lack of erotic
sensations would slow down the arousal process.  Sex is in the mind,
I've often heard.

Rewind and cue mother loop: "never trust what you hear, dear."

A mental void proved to be the perfect receptacle for waves of
pleasure traversing across my body from my crotch.  And with no other
thoughts to distract me, I soon lost myself to pure sexual abandon. 
A big no-no.  

The vibrations were low, but they emanated from two different
locations, and seemed to join in that very sensitive middle portion,
making them rather impossible to dismiss.  What started as a long,
pleasant warm-up, the kind every woman dreams about, soon turned into
painful frustration.  

When I felt I wouldn't last half the time he expected me to, I
focused on thoughts where the letters "s," "e," and "x" were banned. 
Anything from the last movie I saw to reciting the capitals of
godforsaken African countries would do.  

Except it wouldn't, nor didn't.

My whole body was vibrating in unison with the dildos, and I was
desperate to let go.  I flexed my inner muscles, but it made me all
the more aware of the anal plug.  So I relaxed them, but it was
worse.  At a loss over what to do, I bent forward and pressed my
forehead so hard against the wall, I could practically hear blood
pounding through my brain.

I wasn't going to make it.  How the hell could I?  Didn't Geoffrey
know it was more difficult each time?  And, besides, what was I
supposed to do if I felt a climax coming, which would happen any
moment now?  He hadn't given me any instructions.  I definitely
couldn't spread my legs, even less turn around.  Oh, bloody hell,
tell me what to do, Geoffr--

When the first spasms started, I fell to my knees, my nose scraping
the wall on its way down.  The two white boxes were still in place
between my shaky legs, and the toys kept vibrating.  If he didn't
come and turn them off, I was done for.

--Geoffrey--

The commotion in the corner compelled me to look up from my book.

I was amazed that Sabrina was so resolved to follow my directions so
explicitly.  After all, I hadn't threatened any specific punishment
if she had an orgasm, although by this point in her vacation, she
probably had a pretty good idea of what might happen.

I was also impressed by her control, not to mention her sensitivity;
many women required direct stimulation on their clitoris, and she was
about to burst from a mild buzzing in her butt.  Encouraging.

Oh yes, and the vibrating nipple clamps, I thought as I commanded
her to stand up and turn around so I could fish out the controls
between her legs and turn them off.

"Nice job, Sabrina.  Better cool you off."

I reached over to my drink and dug out a half-melted ice cube, which
I worked under the chastity belt until I felt it disappear into her
sex.  When water started immediately dripping down her thighs, I
figured she must be boiling over, so I decided to insert the rest of
the cubes, just to be safe.

As she shuddered and groaned, I looked over at the devices I had
pulled from my bag that I planned to use on her pussy.  She's too
close to losing it to risk any kind of contact down there, I decided.

But her nipples might be a different story.  Could breast
stimulation alone make her come?  A good thing to know, and a good
test under these circumstances.

I ordered her to kneel in front of me.  I considered a blindfold,
but decided it would be easier for her to remain in control without
having the element of surprise as a wildcard.  I also decided to
leave in the butt plug, albeit without electricity.

A little lubricant on the arms of the nipple clamps made it much
easier to slide them open a millimeter at a time.  When they were
finally off, I decided to add a final ice cube under the crotch piece
for insurance.

After it devolved to its original state, I began to tease her
nipples with a variety of different feathers, including the fluffy
kind and the stiffer ones that came from a bird's wings.  When that
didn't seem to faze her, I started with the paintbrushes, then
escalated to a hair brush and a pet brush with metal tines.

Next came the special clothespins, tiny ones made of steel, a dozen
of which I applied to each breast.

When those didn't work, I pulled out the pussy whip, a single thin
strand of leather attached to a short wooden stick.  With a little
practice, I was soon snapping the tip of the strap directly on her
nipples.

"Interesting," I said out loud, but not necessarily to her.  "Maybe
if we tried it in reverse..."

I proceeded to work my way back through the litany of devices, from
the clothespins to the various brushes to the feathers.  I guessed we
had been at it for at least an hour, but it could have easily been
longer.  Planetary time was rarely critical in these matters.

"That's enough for tonight," I said as I began putting everything
back into the bag.  "You did very well.  But it's time for a much-
deserved rest.  Stand up so I can unlace you."

Naked save the chastity belt, I allowed her to pee, then I led her
up the stairs to her bedroom, where the four leather cuffs lay open
at the corners of her bed.

"Can I trust you without a gag tonight?" I whispered after her
wrists and ankles were suitably spread.

"Yes, please," she whispered back, rather more hoarsely.

"Good girl.  See you in the morning then."

I clicked off the light by the bed, then gave her forehead a quick
kiss before slipping out of the room.

--Sabrina--

I was exhausted, but I couldn't sleep.  I must have laid on the bed
for hours before entering dreamland.  I was too restless, too
troubled, too horny.  An overdose of feelings, yet I hadn't had
enough.  I had hoped my compliance would earn me a deserved release,
but no, I was sent to bed like a kid who doesn't get a nice dessert
after eating liver.  And I was pouting at the injustice of it all.

I was also amazed at how quickly I was aroused these days.  Sure, I
received stimulation galore, but could that explain why my body was
ready to burst with the most indirect touches?  My, even that sweet
and sour torture Geoffrey inflicted on my nipples caused a heat I had
never experienced in the past.  Never so easily.  Never so
desperately.  

In this state of hypersensitivity, I wondered how I would react if
he touched one of those sensory islands that few men tried to conquer
in their impatience to reach the mainland.  My ear lobe, my navel, a
breath of air, a flick of the finger, a kiss would be enough to
trigger an electric shock that would spark directly down to my crotch.

Thinking of kisses, why the kiss on my forehead?  Even though it had
been quick and light, I could still feel its mark, burning like a
branding; I hated the way it troubled me.  I couldn't let Geoffrey
mess with my feelings, too.  I was enough of a wreck already, and if
he was using tenderness as yet another trick to convince me to stay
here, that wasn't fair.  Not fair at all.

I suddenly felt an urge to call him.  Ask him what he wanted.  Get
answers to the hundreds of questions I had been storing up in my mind
ever since my arrival here.

I opened my mouth, ready to call out his name, but closed it as
quickly.  What was the point?  First, he wouldn't answer.  Second, he
would punish me for breaking the rule of silence.  My loss, his gain.
As always.

And yet, when my heavy eyelids shut down for good and my thoughts
melted in a colorful kaleidoscope, I fell asleep, not feeling like a
loser, but like a lonely runner competing for a special prize.  And
there were three more laps to run.

Day 10--Sabrina

My third day of training started with the same familiar pattern. 
After a shower and a full breakfast, we headed to the training ring;
me fully harnessed, and Geoffrey following me with the crop, although
my perfect obedience didn't give him much opportunity to use it. 

I must have walked, cantered and trotted for about two hours; a long
time for someone who had never been an exercise fanatic.  My muscles
were crying for mercy when he finally ordered me to stop.  While I
drank water from the bottle he held to my lips, I realized my spirits
were high, and I was oddly satisfied, especially when I saw he was
pleased, too.  

And there was something else: the comfortable assurance that
everything was in its place, as it should be.  After the training in
the ring would come the pool, followed by lunch, and then whatever
Geoffrey planned to do.  My day--my life--was under his control, and
I trusted him to lead me in the right direction.  All I had to do was
follow.

Or precede, as it were, when we walked back to the house.  Once he
had unbuckled my harness, leaving only the gag and simple cuffs for
my hands behind my back, I entered the pool and he continued his way
to the kitchen.  Exactly as it should be.  Could life be really so
easy?  

--Geoffrey--

"I really don't feel much like cooking," I announced when I came
back outside a few minutes later.  "Why don't we head into town and
grab a quick bite at the bistro?"

I loved watching Sabrina's reactions, and trying to guess what she
was thinking.  "Are you nuts?" was probably at the top of the list,
with "are you going to bind and gag me?" a close second.

"Let's go downstairs and find you something appropriate to wear."

"Appropriate" was definitely in the eye of the beholder, and I
certainly enjoyed beholding her, especially when she was decked out
in a leather micro-skirt that just barely concealed the chastity
belt.  For a top, I selected a long-sleeved, scoop-necked blouse made
out of a tight-fitting black mesh that hugged her curves and revealed
every detail of her breasts.  I accessorized her very high heels with
special straps that wrapped around the soles and her ankles, locking
them firmly to her feet in case she got any silly ideas about making
a run for it.  I topped off the outfit with a thin silver chain
around her neck.

"Very rock and roll," I said as I admired her.  "Obviously, the gag
has to go."

I unstrapped the rubber ball from her mouth and stuck it in my
pocket for insurance.

"And so do we.  Forward."

I directed Sabrina out the front door and into the passenger seat of
my car.  It was a short drive into town, maybe ten minutes.  I
couldn't tell if she was being quiet out of obedience, or shock over
my gesture.

I was grateful the small restaurant was pretty much empty after the
lunch-hour rush.  Once parked outside the entrance, I walked around
the car and opened the door for her, secretly enjoying her struggle
to get out of the car without showing the entire world her chrome-
plated underwear.

When we walked through the door, I was immediately hailed by the
maitre d'.

"A table in the back, s'il vous plait."

"Oui, but of course, Monsieur Sorenson.  Apres vous, madame."

The maitre d' pulled out the chair facing the wall for her, leaving
the one looking into the restaurant for me.  After ordering two
glasses of wine, I leaned forward and motioned her to do the same.

"Don't even think about dashing out of here, Sabrina.  Even if you
make it to the police station and send someone out to interrogate me,
I'll simply show them copies of our correspondence, and maybe a few
of the pictures we've already taken.  Don't forget, no one's called
in a missing-person report, much less a ransom demand, so you really
haven't been kidnapped.  As to why your car's parked at the train
station, I really couldn't say, as you arrived at my house in a taxi.
Don't think Brenda will back up your story; if anything, she'll be on
my side, given the way you whipped her, not to mention her seething
jealousy of any women I fancy besides her.  Or maybe I'll just say
that you're my nymphomaniac girlfriend who needs to be kept under
lock and key.  And speaking of keys, you're going to have one hell of
a time getting that chastity belt off without one."

I sat back and took a sip of my wine.

"Remember, being kinky isn't a crime, and I'm quite respected in
town, given my ongoing generosity to the re-election efforts of
various public officials.  Now, you can stare at me like a goggle-
eyed lunatic for the rest of our meal, or you can try this delicious
wine and let me recommend something from the private menu for our
lunch.  Agreed?"

"Yes, please," she said coldly.

"Don't be so irritable, Sabrina.  It doesn't become you in the
slightest."

I picked up my glass again, and gestured for her to do likewise.

"What do you say we drop the restrictions on your vocabulary for the
rest of the meal?"

I reached across the table and clinked our glasses together.

"To beauty, especially yours.  And to truth."

--Sabrina--

"To truth," I echoed hesitantly when our glasses clinked.  

While he perused the menu, I realized this was my big chance to
question Geoffrey.  I could start with why he had to humiliate me in
public, too, but I supposed that could wait.  At least he let me sit
with my back to the room, which, after the short walk through the
restaurant, was a huge relief.  Dressed in clothes that made me look
and feel like a prostitute, I had the terrible impression that a
hundred eyes were staring at me.  However, failing to hear the sounds
of cutlery clicking on plates and the muffled cacophony of various
conversations, I realized the place was practically empty, and my
discomfort was caused exclusively by my vivid imagination.

So I did my best to calm down.  He was right.  Let's enjoy the
break.  And the wine.  After sipping some, I began to inventory the
questions and doubts I had pointlessly raised to myself the night
before.  I wasn't sure of what I would tell him first.  Besides the
fact that I had no intention of going to the police, now or later. 
Better for me if he believed the potential threat.  

"Well, is there anything you want to tell me?" Geoffrey asked when
the waiter left our table with the order scribbled on his notepad.

"Yes, please...I mean, yes," I repeated with a semblance of
assurance in my voice.  Well, talking to him freely wasn't going to
be so easy.  

Searching for the best approach, I kicked off with a first question.

"Why...why are you doing this?" I vaguely asked, immediately
regretting the absurdity of the question.

"For the same reason as you are," he retorted quietly, obviously
enjoying my startled look.

"I...I'm not doing anything.  You force me to."

"You've always had a choice, Sabrina.  You could leave if you really
wanted to."

"But I tried to escape.  Remember?"

"Sure.  But a real kidnap victim would have immediately picked up
the phone in the living room and dialed 911.  You went to the kitchen
to eat cookies.  Why?"

I blushed at the recollection.  This wasn't good.  I was making a
fool of myself.  Deciding it was best not to answer his question--I
really didn't have an answer anyway--I tried to push him further.

"What about my car?  Why is it at the train station?"

"I needed an alibi for your association.  You haven't called them
for several days.  Don't you think they'd be worried?  But you don't
seem to give a toss, do you?"

No, I hadn't given the geriatric fuckwits at the International
Fashion Council much thought at all, save their betrayal.  Otherwise,
my issues with the board and the chairman's idiot nephew had vanished
from my mind.

I began to feel uneasy.  This wasn't the conversation I expected. 
Geoffrey was supposed to feel guilty, to apologize.  Or at least give
me clarification.  Instead, he was leading me towards a confession I
wasn't ready to make.  Not to him.  Not yet.

He was still waiting for me to answer, or move on to the next
question, but I had lost my train of thought and no longer knew what
to ask him.

Fortunately, the waiter arrived.  For the next ten minutes, we ate
our appetizers in silence, save a few gratuitous comments about the
food, which was lovely.

When we were finished and our dishes had been cleared away, Geoffrey
leaned forward.

"Anything else, Sabrina?" he whispered mockingly.

"Well, yes," I started slowly, buying time.  Then I remembered one
of the questions I had meant to ask him.  I doubted he would answer
it, but it was worth trying.  "This threat of selling me to the
highest bidder...is it real?  Would you really sell me?"

--Geoffrey--

"It's weird, isn't it?  The first time you realize you like it?"

Sabrina stared at me mutely, her darkest secret exposed.

"You do, you know.  Maybe not every minute, maybe not when you're
mad at me.  But more than enough.  Now, to answer your question, let
me phrase it another way."

I waved away the waiter approaching the table with our main courses.

"If you choose to leave, I don't particularly care what happens to
you."

--Sabrina--

Like a bomb, Geoffrey's last words exploded in my deepest core,
leaving me stunned with the realization that he would indeed sell me.
I was no more than a toy, an investment.  And he had the nerve to ask
me to stay with him?  

I kept silent in case I blurted out something outrageous.  The
waiter finally brought our dishes, and I ate like a starving dog. 
Didn't even taste the food.  Nor the wine, which I gulped down like
water. 

When our plates were empty, the demon asked the waiter to bring us
coffee.  I needed a moment to myself, so I could stop the madness in
my mind and the twist in my stomach.

"Can I go to the bathroom, please?" I asked him as politely as I
could.

Geoffrey hesitated, then probably remembered the bathroom had no
exit access, and allowed me to go.

I stood up.

"Hold on.  Come here," he said, motioning me to his side.  "Put
these on.  Tight."

I hid the clamps in my hand and walked away, feeling increasingly
sick.

Before entering a stall, I splashed water on my face a couple of
times to chase away the nausea.  I shouldn't have eaten, let alone
drunk wine.  I swallowed cold water directly from the tap, then
entered a stall with the intention of staying there forever.  Did I
really have to get out of here?

Peeing through the mesh in the chastity belt was not a pleasant
experience, but it was better than holding it.  After wiping it, I
tapped the shiny device in various places and tested the lock.  I
would indeed have a hell of a time getting it off without a key.

When I couldn't learn anything new about the belt, I studied the
nipple clamps.  Despite their dubious purpose, I had to admit they
were both elegant and beautiful.

Mesmerized by the idea that they were jewelry, I rolled up my blouse
and began to twist my nipples until they were stiff enough for the
pincers to get a proper grip on their sides.  The clamps were set as
loose as I could manage, and I considered leaving them in this
comfortable position.  But he had said "tight," and I knew I better
stick to my involuntary vows of obedience if I didn't want to wind up
in a big box stamped "Contents Under Pressure."  So I pushed the tiny
rings up until they almost touched the imprisoned nipples.  The pain
was building.  So was the heat in my crotch.  I closed my eyes and
sighed.  Yes, I liked it.

But Geoffrey doesn't need to know that, I decided when I left the
stall after tugging the blouse back into the leather belt that
qualified as a skirt.  I took a look at the mirror and saw my nipple
jewelry glitter through the black mesh.  It was hardly perceptible,
but it was undoubtedly there for someone who knew to look for it. 
The blush on my cheeks was revealing, too.

I strolled back into the restaurant with as much self-control as I
could muster under the circumstances.  Reaching our table, I sat down
and began turning the spoon idly in my cup of coffee.

Geoffrey grinned.

How dare he laugh at me?  Is there no way to please this guy, if not
get on his good side.  Fuck him.

--Geoffrey--

I could hardly restrain a smile when Sabrina returned, adorned as
requested, her clamped nipples straining at the mesh like small
volcanoes.  All her anger was simply a mask to hide her fear of the
truth.  Well, if she wanted to put up a fight before surrendering, I
was certainly willing to make it a battle royale.

"Let's go," I said brusquely.

She let her spoon drop listlessly into her coffee.

"Okay, whatever," she replied, not bothering to look up.

"What was that?"

"Fuck you."

"Come again?"

She pushed back from the table and glared at me.

"Yes, pleeeeeeeeassssssse," she hissed before raising her hand to
flip me off.

"That's what I thought you said.  Turn around with you hands behind
your back.  Now."

Somewhat amazed when she complied, I unbuckled my belt, pulled it
off, and wrapped it tightly around her wrists.

"Good thing I remembered this," I said as I reached into my pocket. 
"Open your mouth."

I forced the ball deep into her mouth, secured the strap, then
pushed her toward the rear of the restaurant.

"Garcon!  S'il vous plait."

I whispered to the waiter and handed him the keys to the car.

"This way," I said as I pushed Sabrina through the door into the
kitchen and past the cooking staff, who averted their eyes toward
their dishes and pans.  When we reached the back door, I hesitated
until I heard the sound of my car parked on the other side.

"Forward.  Quickly.  Now!"

I opened the exit to reveal the rear of my car facing the
restaurant, the lid to the trunk gaping open like the entrance to a
cave.

"Get in."

When Sabrina hesitated, I scooped her up in my arms and lay her on
the floor of the trunk.  Reaching underneath her, I found the bungee
cord I used to hold down the lid when carrying oversized loads, and
snaked it around her ankles and through the hinge so she couldn't
kick.

"You're in enough trouble, so don't make it worse," I snarled before
slamming the lid.

I wasted no time in getting home, but as soon as I carried her
through the front door, I threw her down face-first onto the floor,
lashed her ankles to her wrists with the bungee cord, and left her
hogtied and squirming for more than an hour while I made preparations
in the studio.

I stripped Sabrina of everything save the clamps before taking her
downstairs, where she was greeted by the sight of a sawhorse in the
middle of the room, a variety of cuffs, straps and whips laid out on
a table next to it.

I led her to the wooden structure and pushed the top of her body
lengthwise against the crossbeam, then pulled her feet apart so I
could attach her ankles to the support legs.  I unbelted her wrists,
only to cuff them in front of her and stretch them to the opposite
end of the sawhorse, followed by a long belt around her arms and the
beam, plus another one around her torso.

Her ass stuck out so enticingly, I was tempted to take her right
then and there.  Instead, I found a short plug, nothing more than a
wooden golf ball on a base, and forced it into her resistant hole.

"I've forgotten what number we're up to, but I'm sure it's more than
you're going to get now, so we'd best compensate quantity with
quality."

I picked up a thin wooden cane from the table and brought it down
hard against one of her thighs.

"I expect you to keep separate count of each different lash," I said
after a dozen strokes.  Nine later, I picked up the crop, then the
paddle, the cane again, the flogger, my hand, the paddle, the crop,
the hairbrush, then the flogger, until I finally lost track.

When I could restrain myself no longer, I pulled out the plug in her
anus and replaced it with the erection I had been nurturing since
driving home from the restaurant, slapping her cheeks with every
thrust until I collapsed against her welt-covered back in a
shuddering heap.

Exhausted, I pulled out and plopped into a nearby chair to
contemplate her fate for the remainder of the afternoon.

--Sabrina--

Why on earth did I provoke Geoffrey the way I did?  Why, when I knew
so well what his reaction would be?  The cane hit me before I could
come up with a plausible reason.  Then, the strokes came down in such
quick succession that all I could do was focus on the pain and how to
deal with it.  

But you don't deal with pain.  You just take it.  Until you can't. 
First you scream and try to hold on.  Then you surrender, lose the
ability to utter more than a heartbreaking moan, and wish to die. 
The portion of time between them hardly matters, because time becomes
an irrelevant notion.  The only reality your mind can focus on is how
much more it will take until the rush of adrenaline protects you from
further suffering.  

At first, I held on by counting the hits, but once I felt the cruel
bite of leather, then wood, then flesh, then leather again, red
lights began to flash in my mind, signaling a dangerous overload. 
Time to shut down the circuitry.

When I returned to consciousness, I didn't even open my eyes, lest
they should burn like the rest of my body.  I was broken in a
thousand pieces, and a single move might be enough to shatter the
puzzle.  

And yet, terrible as it was, the physical pain was not the worst
part.  The worst part was to face the truth.  I had provoked him
because I knew he would punish me if I did.  And I wanted him to.  I
needed it so I could come face to face with myself.  Rip me open so
that I can see who I really am.  

I felt like a newborn baby who's just taken a long and painful
voyage to flee the darkness and enter a world of bright lights.  I
let out an anguished wail and began to cry like I was breathing air
for the first time.  The life ahead of me looked terrifying, but I
was eager to explore it.  Only I hoped I'd find a helping hand along
the way.  Would Geoffrey, in his uncompromising pursuit of
perfection, lend me his?  Or would he tire of me and find a more
compliant candidate for partnership down the road?

When I heard him move behind me, I tried to guess what he would do
next, and how I should respond.  And fear took a new face, too.  The
fear of not being up to it.  Of not deserving the prize I was running
for.

--Geoffrey--

Listening to her sob, I almost felt sorry for Sabrina; as much for
her confusion as her pain.  For if she had really despised all the
afflictions I had visited upon her, she would have screamed bloody
murder at the restaurant this afternoon.  Instead, she not only
remained quiet, she willingly clamped her nipples in the bathroom. 
Remarkable.  Perhaps even a keeper.

It was never easy to come to grips with the hunger.  The disease was
the same as the cure.  Only the symptoms never went away.

It was time to test her, to find out if she really understood the
changes that had been branded on her soul; the difference between
getting and wanting, having and needing.

"Up you go," I said as he unlocked the last cuff.  She pulled
herself off the sawhorse and stood shakily.

"Over here."  I pointed to the center of the studio.  "On your
knees.  Spine straight.  Head down.  Hands behind your back.  Now."

While she quivered on the floor, I opened one of the trunks and got
out several thick hanks of rope, then pushed the box next to her.

"Up on top of it.  Same position."

I started with her wrists, then kept going up her arms to her
elbows.  Next came her breasts, squeezing them flat, then rounding
them into tiny melons with knots along the sides.

I saved the longest lengths for her legs, lashing each ankle to its
respective thigh, the rope pressing deeper into her flesh with every
coil, knotting it off with three meters to spare.

I climbed up and stood next to her, threading the ends of the thigh
ropes over the top of the scaffold, then jumped down and tied
whatever was left to the strands behind her back binding her breasts
and elbows.

With a grin, I reached around Sabrina's waist, pushed the box aside
with my leg, and let go.  The ropes running up to the ceiling went
taut, spreading her legs out wide.  She moaned loudly into her gag as
she hung suspended in midair, her breasts and still-clamped nipples
straining mightily with every futile twist of her torso.

"Struggling only makes..." I started to say before realizing she
would figure out the physics soon enough.

I reached around her head and removed her gag.

"How many?" I asked, picking up the wooden cane.

After a few seconds, I knew she didn't know.

"I asked you a question, Sabrina."

Several more seconds passed before she finally opened her mouth.

"Yes...please."

I brought the switch down hard on her inner thigh.

"How many?" I repeated, this time holding the flogger.

Her response was the same, as was mine, only this time, I snapped
the leather strips against her pussy.

After we worked our way through every whip used earlier, I picked up
a new one, a single strand of the thinnest cowhide mounted on a long
wooden handle.  I held it in front of her eyes, then smacked the lash
like a firecracker against my open palm.

"How many?  And this time, I want a number."

--Sabrina--

A number...did Geoffrey really want me to give him a number?  It
sure sounded like he did.

I took a look at the thin whip.  That one would hurt.  Bad.  And I
was supposed to tell him how many times he'd have to hit me?  Well,
once would be more than enough, thank you very much.  And yet, I knew
the signs now.  My sex getting wet at the thought of what was to
come.  My heart pulsing madly in anticipation.  I would take as many
hits as I needed to come.  I felt like telling him that, but I was
not totally sure of what he expected from me, so I opted for a more
reasonable, yet foolish enough, answer.

"Ttt...twenty, please," I stammered, hoping I was close enough to
his expectation.

"Twenty it is," he said as he moved behind me.  "Count the strokes
for me."

"One."  I silently cursed at my own stupidity.  After the thorough
whipping he had already administered me, one more welt would tear me
apart, and that was precisely how this one felt.  And twenty?  

However, things progressed differently this time, and by the time I
counted "fifteen," pleasure had come alongside the pain.  I was no
longer thrashing to avoid the stroke--which in any case made my
predicament worse by adding breast torture to it--instead raising my
ass to meet the whip and opening myself to welcome its burning caress.

As soon as "twenty" came out, I heard Geoffrey pick up a new tool
and repeat his question.

"How many?"

"Twenty, please," came my immediate, breathless reply.  Oh please
don't stop, I wanted to add.  Don't stop.

The next strokes felt different.  The strands didn't cut so deep,
but they covered a wider area of flesh, dissipating the heat, making
it last forever.  Pleasure mounted.

I must have pleaded for another series before he even asked for it,
because he hardly paused between the flogger and the paddle.  By that
time, I was in my own world, oblivious to anything beyond the
sensations on my flesh and body.  And I still wanted more.  The pain
was pure pleasure now, and I knew it would bring me to ecstasy if it
kept on going for a while longer.  Don't stop.

After the paddle, I heard a voice I didn't recognize as mine ask for
twenty more.  I was addicted, running high on pain, adrenaline and
whatever hormone made my sex so hungry.  And as I heard "sixteen"
weakly whispered in the outside world, I knew something was about to
happen.  Something I hadn't experienced yet.  Oh, yes, please keep
them coming.  I'm almost there.

And then nothing.  No more strokes.  I arched my back, clamoring for
attention, but nothing came to satiate me.  I opened my eyes,
wondering what had gone wrong.  Had someone interrupted us?  Had
Geoffrey hurt himself?  However, when I saw him in front of me,
panting a little, but with no mark of concern on his face, I realized
I must have missed his question.

"Twenty, please" I said raucously, yet eagerly.

"Really?"

Oh, maybe that was the wrong answer, I thought as he kept his eyes
on mine.  I hesitated half a second but, not knowing any better and
desperately wanting to return to the beautiful world his interruption
had pulled me back from, I tried again.

"Thirty...please."

The extremities of his mouth slightly curved upward, and I froze
when I imagined the burst of anger that would follow.  

But he smiled instead.

"Thirty?  You are tougher with yourself than I am, dear.  I think
you've been sufficiently punished.  Besides, I--"

I never heard the end of his sentence.  My mind refused to register
anything else beyond "punished."  Punished?  I was being punished?  I
couldn't believe it.  How could he think he was punishing me when I
took so much pleasure in...oh, God.  

I rose up my eyes to meet his again, but he was already climbing on
the box to untie me.  Noooo...my flesh, my sex, my soul, my heart,
everything that was me wanted to go on.  I had been so close to...I
was about to tell him, beg him to whip me again, when he seemed to
change his mind and jumped back onto the floor.

"Unless"--he watched me intensely as he spoke--"you need me to go on?"

I sighed, my hopes rocketing high again.  I took a deep breath and
surrendered the last thing I had yet to give him.

"Yes, please."

--Geoffrey--

"Since you're showing such resilience, maybe we should change
targets."

I put down the paddle and picked up the thin leather whip again.

"Officially, this is called a cock whip, but I think it will be
equally effective on its female counterpart.  What was that number
again?  Oh yes.  Thirty."

I raised my hand and took aim at the front of her crotch, then
reconsidered.

"For once, I think I can forgive a few extraneous words," I said as
I placed the whip back down on the box.  "But a ball gag simply won't
do."

I disappeared into the shadows of the studio, only to return
brandishing the harness with the rubber penis jutting out from its
faceplate.

"Always good to stay in practice," I said as I pushed the rubber
plug between her teeth, then buckled the half-dozen straps across her
cheeks, under her chin and around her head.

"Now, where were we?"

The leather strip disappeared in a blur of motion that stopped
suddenly against her open sex.  I waited a good minute before
administering the second blow, but the third came almost immediately
thereafter.  By the tenth, I was getting good at snapping the lash in
the vicinity of her clitoris.  By the twentieth, I was scoring a
bulls-eye every time.

Judging by her eyes, she was deep into her third or fourth climax
when I finally stopped somewhere in the thirties.  Close enough for
horseshoes, hand grenades and "dirty" weapons of mass destruction.

"You like that?" I asked unnecessarily, "yes, please," being the
more than obvious, yet silent, response.

So I decided to make it exponential.  I put down the whip,
repositioned the box, lowered her, and retied the ropes so she was
lying on her back, the two long ends from her doubled-over legs
stretched wide to opposite ends of the scaffolding, her arms pinned
painfully and permanently behind her back.

I wanted to tell her how being allowed to come was a great
privilege, a rare treat, something to be savored.  But I knew my
words wouldn't carry nearly the weight of my actions.

So I left her lying on the box, her body ravaged from my beatings,
and dug through the other containers until I found the perfect
device: a dual vibrator that filled her pussy and pressed a second
nubbin against her clit.  I thrust it deep into her hole, then
secured it inside her with short pieces of tape criss-crossed against
her shaved crotch.  A twist of the base, and the mechanics began to
sing their toneless drone.  It wouldn't be long.

Until what?  Until I recreated the absolute frenzy of the second
round of whipping?  After all, she had begged me to continue.  And
the last thing I wanted to do was...

Give her what she wanted?  Could I?  Really?  Despite all my efforts
over the years, finding a girl like her had been pretty much a Don
Quixote drill: the impossible dream.

But not tonight.  Not this time.

"Don't fuck it up, Geoffrey," I yelled at myself.  After all, she
could walk out of here tomorrow, or right now, if she had an ounce of
sense.

I smiled.  No time like the present to make life clean like tomorrow.

The candle was long and narrow.  I taped it against the base of the
dual dildo in her crotch so it stuck out from her crotch at a 45-
degree angle, the wick somewhere above immediately south of her navel.

Five...six...the vibrator was nothing if not relentless.

I found a pack of matches and lit the black thread.  Within seconds,
droplets of wax splattered against her groin.  As it burned, the
residue would drip, drip, drip, down to her...

And the closer it got, the hotter the wax would get.

I thought about leaving her to her fate, but I couldn't bear to miss
it.  So I found a second candle, sat down on the side of the box,
fired it, and held the end over one of her nipples.

And when they burned off, I promised myself, I could remove the wax
with the cock whip.

It would take forever.

Which wasn't nearly enough time for me.

--Sabrina--

How could I begin to describe what happened to me that night?  How
could words reproduce the feelings I surrendered to?  "Arousal?" 
Hardly enough.  "Ecstasy?"  Not even there.  "Blissful torture?"  A
contradictory, yet appropriate concept.  Again, not quite what it
really was.  By the time I was able to think, my mind had little
recollection of the whole sequence.  My flesh remembered heat and
pain and spasms of pleasure.  A never-ending cycle, feeding itself
continuously.  And my soul was branded with a dark, yet shiny mark
that would alter my life forever.  

I couldn't remember when the wax, hotter by the minute, reached my
pubis and continued to drip closer to my clit, the little bud so
stimulated by the mechanical vibrator that it seemed to shake of its
own accord.  Or when my breasts appeared as glittering red rocks, a
lunatic vision I could scarcely believe.

Nor could I say how many whip strokes were needed to scrap the wax
off my body, nor how much time it took, whether they landed in a
continuous flow, or whether pauses allowed me to breathe again.  

I could only recall a few snapshots.  A flame fiercely glowing
against the dark background.  A drop of red wax suspended in mid-air.
A hand holding up the wooden handle.  Flashes of white and holes of
black.  I must have fainted a dozen times, or maybe I only shut down
my mental capacities: so cumbersome, so heavy, so useless.

However, I remembered one instant vividly.  Before embarking on this
dangerous journey into the badlands of sexual depravity, I needed to
believe someone would see to my safety and bring me back.  And that
someone could only be the one holding the candle.  So I gave Geoffrey
the last shreds of control I had, and trusted him with my life.  When
I did--despite the fact that it was all happening in my mind--I felt
light as the air, empty and free.

--Geoffrey--

I left Sabrina lying on the box for maybe an hour while I caught my
breath.  Such strength.  Such endurance.  Such willingness.  Not only
was she a keeper, but I was quite sure we'd only just begun.  The
challenge now was, how to keep her without her having to concede that
she was being kept?  I pondered this question in the shower, then
over a glass of cognac as I decided what to cook for dinner.

Was she unconscious, or just sleeping?  I decided the difference
wasn't worth debating as I untied her, then carried her up to her
room, where I lay her bruised body on the bed and tied her to a post
with nothing more than a chain trailing to a thick leather collar.

Let her rest, I said silently.  There was plenty of time to have my
way with her.  In fact, if events continued on their current
trajectory, she wouldn't have to worry about anything beyond our
mutual pleasure.

But that, I conceded, was ultimately up to her.  All I could do was
fulfill.  Not decide.

I pondered the term "submissive" for a moment.  Some thought it
meant a person who put aside his or her own desires for someone
else's.  But I knew better.  In this case, it meant both of us
getting what we wanted.  She was "submissive" the same way I was
"perverted," but those were loaded words, fraught with misguided
interpretations.

For the true submissive got what she wanted, even though someone
like me was calling the literal shots.  It might look like slavery,
or even torture, but not when it was willingly sought and accepted. 
And she had certainly been a positive partner tonight.

Tonight, I scoffed.  It was only seven o'clock.  I wondered if she'd
sleep the rest of the evening away.  I stared at her body,
unencumbered for the first time in days without any bindings beyond
the collar.  My primal self said now was the time to take her, to
make love, to fuck her silly.  But I was no fan of necrophilia.  She
would have to wake up first.  Better yet, she would have to ask me to
do her.

Maybe even beg.

But that might not happen tonight, I reminded myself.  No matter. 
Tomorrow was an endless vista of opportunity.  And we would start, as
always, in the ring.  I smiled when I thought of the caviletti.  The
ultimate test of a show horse's skills.

"Yes, please," I whispered into her ear as I pulled the blanket over
her.

--Sabrina--

I woke up feeling wonderful and terrible at the same time. 
Wonderful because I felt satiated and at peace.  For the first time
since I arrived here, I had known what I wanted, and received it,
too.  Getting what you need is the ultimate happiness, I decided with
a huge smile on my face.

With the exception of a thick collar around my neck, I was free of
any bondage.  After hours in confinement, the basic freedom of moving
my hands or bending my knees was an indulgence I savored.  

The chain holding the collar to one of the bed posts was too short
for me to leave the bed, but once my eyes got accustomed to the
darkness, I was able to sit, which I did.  And that's when I realized
I was feeling terrible, for my body was a surrealist painting of red
welts and bruises.  Now that my sexual hunger had been more than
thoroughly quenched, pain was just pain.  

I winced as I extended my arms as wide as I could.  They had been
restrained behind my back for so long, my sore muscles launched a
signal that enough was enough.  So I spent the next half hour working
the atrophy out of them, starting with my arms, then my legs--which
felt even worse--then trying to massage my other body muscles softly
without touching the wounds.  But the welts were everywhere, and the
only thing that would bring me some relief was a long warm bath and
lots of cooling potions.  However, that particular option was sadly
unavailable right now.

Out of curiosity, I checked both extremities of the chain.  Securely
locked.  No surprise there.

As I carefully sat back on the pillow, I thought of calling
Geoffrey, but instinctively knew that was the wrong move.  Restless,
I strained to hear sounds outside the room, and perceived familiar
movements in the kitchen.  At the same time, as if my nose had been
waiting for my attention to get to work, a wonderful smell reminded
me that I was hungry.  Starving, actually.  

I wondered if I should try to get Geoffrey's attention.  He might
think I was still asleep and leave me alone until tomorrow.  Tired as
I might be, I couldn't go back to sleep before eating something.  And
drinking.  And washing.  And going to the bathroom.  Funny how basic
necessities always returned to remind me of real life.

Well, let's hope he doesn't forget that, either, I thought,
nervously tapping my fingers on the bed.

After what seemed like forever--or at least long enough to prepare
dinner, eat it and digest it--I gave up all hope of dining that
night, and tried to force myself to sleep, dismissing the groans from
my stomach and the welts on my skin.  Just as I started to count
sheep, I heard footsteps climb up the stairs, move swiftly in the
corridor, and stop at my door.

Worried that Geoffrey would pass without coming in, I squirmed in my
bed, hoping the faint squeaky sounds would draw his attention.  They
did.  The door opened.

I didn't move, but kept my eyes wide open and watched his shadow
move forwards.  One cautious step, two, then he turned around and
walked back to switch the light on.

I blinked while he strolled across the room and came to sit on the
bed.  Before he was able to ask any questions, my belly produced such
a roaring sound that he knew he didn't need to say anything.  Without
a word, he left the room, only to return five minutes later with a
tray which he placed on the bedside table.

Cold turkey, salad, bread, water, cuffs, leather straps.  Oh well, I
thought while he was locking my hands in my back, then my ankles to
opposite bedposts, as long as I get to eat, I don't care how the food
travels into my mouth.

Wrong.  First, all I could think of was to chew and swallow and
bring my energy level back to an operational limit, but when I was
able to slow down the pace, I became acutely aware of the powerful
meaning of the scene.  I had been through this humiliating feeding
process before, but there had always been anger or fear to keep my
thoughts busy.  Tonight was different.  I had surrendered myself to
him and enjoyed it.  And he knew that.

Geoffrey won, I admitted while taking in another forkful.  Yet, he
didn't look like he had, nor like the game was over.  Was there more?
What did he want from me that he didn't have already?

--Geoffrey--

When Sabrina was finished eating, I unlocked the ankle cuffs from
the bedposts and attached a long lead to her collar.

"Follow me," I said with a tug.

We walked down the hallway to a set of double doors that led to the
master bedroom suite.  A place rarely visited by anyone but the maid.

I pushed a key into the hole beneath the massive brass doorknob and
twisted it open with a barely audible click.  The doors whooshed open
like something from a science fiction movie.

"Makes your typical safe look like a child's piggybank," I said
nonchalantly as I led her into what appeared to be another hallway
shrouded in darkness.  At the second door, I stopped and turned to
address her.

"These are my private chambers.  I expect them to be treated with
the utmost respect.  Otherwise, I'm sure I can arrange alternative
accommodations for you, starting with the cage downstairs."

I pushed open the door and turned on the light to reveal what looked
like a miniature swimming pool surrounded by a wooden deck.

"Sit on the edge."

I took the cuffs off her wrists, then removed the collar, only to
replace it with one made of metal.  Reaching into the water, I fished
around until I found a long chain, which I padlocked to a ring in
front of the band around her neck.

"Get in."

Sabrina slipped into the pool, and discovered it was maybe a meter
deep.

"There are seats along the side if you'd prefer," I said, pointing
to the opposite side of the pool.

"Here are the controls," I continued, pointing to a large knob. 
"You can adjust the jets from here."

After I touched it, the water in the pool began to churn and boil.

"Some visitors have become very intimate with the nozzles, but I'll
leave that up to you...this time."

I left her alone with the recuperative powers of the Jacuzzi for
maybe half an hour.  When I returned, I found her sitting on the
bench half asleep, her head lolling back against the side of the pool.

"Hate to wake you, Sleeping Beauty, but...well, this is going to
sound redundant, but it's time for bed."

She climbed out of the pool groggily, and could scarcely stand as I
removed the metal collar.  Sensing she was about to collapse, I
picked her up in my arms and carried her to my bedroom.

She was sound asleep before her head hit the pillow.

I sighed.  I had planned to spend the rest of the evening discerning
her most erogenous zones; the ones that made her crazy at the
slightest touch.  For some women, it was their ears.  For others, the
nape of their necks.  Some went nuts when their toes were suckled. 
Others lost it when their knees were caressed.

It often took a lot of trial and error to find the very best spot. 
But once successful, I could practically induce madness with my
fingers, and especially my tongue.  And such a fun voyage, too.  But
that pursuit could wait for the morning, I decided as I cuffed her
wrists and bound them over her head to one of the massive posts
holding up the canopy over my oversized bed.

I knew I was close.  But I had to be sure.  More importantly, so did
Sabrina.  If she harbored the slightest doubt, I wanted to know
before I shared my secrets, and my trust.  But tomorrow would tell
all.

In more ways than one.

Day 11--Sabrina

In the middle of the night, something soft tickled my left big toe. 
From deep inside my sleep, I arched the tip of my foot up to get rid
of it.  When it returned a few seconds later, my foggy brain cells
ordered my leg to bend and kick, but the leg didn't move.  Nor did
the other, stretched tightly in the opposite direction.  Reality
check.  Time to wake up.

I opened my eyes, surprised to see my naked body pinned to the bed
by various leather straps and bathing in early morning sunlight. 
Oddly, I was more surprised by the light than the bondage.  So late
already?  I yawned uncontrollably, then snapped my mouth shut when I
saw Geoffrey's head and chest behind the bed, a dark silhouette on
the bright window background.  He was kneeling right between my
opened legs, one hand on the bed, the other on my left foot.

A shiver ran down my spine when he traced my sole up with his thumb.
Oh no, please, not that.  No tickling.  I held my breath as I watched
him move closer to my foot, lower his head and start licking my toes,
one at a time.  

The sensation was new to me.  I had never let anyone get near my
feet.  I'm so ticklish, I was always afraid I'd kick the
administrator in the face.  Of course, this time I had no choice.

I tried to relax.  His tongue was teasing, and it sent ripples up my
leg to my crotch.  Geoffrey took my foot in his mouth and began to
suck, slowly, deeply, while my sex responded with mild contractions
following his rhythm.

But then, one of his fingers brushed against the edge of my sole,
and I instinctively tensed and pulled on the chain.  He went on
sucking for a few seconds more, then released my foot.  Lithe as a
feline, he came onto the bed with his hands leaning on my calves,
then moving up my inner thighs.  Another shiver, much stronger, as I
made a futile and useless move to close my legs.  

But I was forced to take all the pleasure-building caresses Geoffrey
so generously gave.  His hands continued to explore my legs, stopping
around my knees, finding a sensitive spot behind them, stroking it,
then letting go, only to be replaced by his tongue while his fingers
pursued their journey up to my immobilized hips.  

Breathing faster, I tossed my head from one side to the other,
trying to release some of the tension accumulating inside.  His hands
moved from my hips to my breasts, playing with them while his tongue
trailed along my thigh.  I felt him by my side, his hand on my
forehead, his fingers probing my hair while holding me still.  And
then his tongue invaded my ear, inspecting every crevice and turn,
then stopping on my lobe.  Flicking, sucking, biting.  

I moaned as waves of pleasure diffused through my body.  My mind
went blind.  My sex went mad.  It begged for attention, throbbing,
contracting under the increasing frustration created by the void
inside.  Oh, to be filled to the rim, that was all I wanted.

But the only part of me that was being filled was my ear, or rather
the other one, as he gently but firmly turned my head over and gave
me the same maddening treatment on the right side.  

I was losing my senses and moaned louder.  Still, I was too well
trained by then to speak, or even utter one single word.  Instead, I
tried to raise my ass up, letting my body do the talking, pleading
for what I could not ask.

When Geoffrey straightened up and let go off my head, I gave him a
look that telegraphed all my hopes and desires.  He moved back on the
bed, getting closer to my crotch, which beckoned him to come forward
with an almost imperceptible rise.  Then, like a prowling bird that
found its long-awaited prey, he dived headfirst into his target.  My
navel.

No shiver here, but a powerful electric shock that left me gasping
for air.  My navel, this clumsy sweet little birth memory which, for
reasons I've never understood, is tightly connected to my clit and
vagina.  Even when my own fingers barely touch its edge, a star
explodes in my belly.  And now his tongue was not just touching it,
but licking it, deep down, threatening to drill a hole and fuck me
from inside.

So many supernovas blew up inside me that the heat I produced should
have been enough to meet the world's global energy consumption for
the next decade.  

I began to let out incomprehensible sounds.  While his tongue was
tormenting what felt like the core of my body, his hands were
brushing my thighs, coming very close to my wide open sex,
undoubtedly feeling how ready and wet it was, but never giving me the
direct touch I was desperately waiting for.

Fuck me.  For heaven's sake, fuck me.

The words repeated themselves in an endless loop in my mind, but I
knew it wouldn't be long until I lost all control and spoke them out
loud.

--Geoffrey--

I smiled as I watched Sabrina thrash.  Her navel, eh?  Interesting. 
This had real potential.  So rare that something so sensitive was
also so easily pierced.  A ring might make an interesting complement
to the ones I planned for her nipples.

But I was getting ahead of myself, and there was much to be done
this morning.  No time to dally, even though her flush cheeks and
rapid breathing gave her away her agitated state of advanced
horniness.

Good.  Although it would take considerably more time to teach her to
come at my command, I was impressed by her success in keeping a lid
on her obvious desires.

But I knew just the thing for dealing with a coltish spirit.

After bathing, breakfast and bridling, I led her into the riding
ring and commanded her to run laps around the perimeter while I set
up the caviletti course.  Six thin metal bars a few centimeters off
the ground, spaced evenly over the course of a meter, with flags
sticking up from the support bars.  Her task would be to trot through
the course at various speeds without knocking any of the bars off
their supports.  Focus, discipline and a good aim were the secrets. 
But she would have to learn that for herself.

The sun rose higher in the morning sky as I explained the exercise
while I rhythmically slapped the lash of the crop into my hand.  At
first, I let her take the course slowly, get her bearings, and figure
out where to plant her hooves to perfect the timing pattern needed to
get through the course.  With each successful pass, I had her speed
up her pace.  Pretty soon, Sabrina was galloping through the bars at
top speed without knocking over a single one.

I was impressed.  No, I was pleased.  Very pleased.  So pleased that
I let her walk back to the house unimpeded by any bonds and dive into
the swimming pool under her own power.

As she dipped under the surface of the water, I went inside the
house to prepare lunch.  Fifteen minutes later, I brought the tray
outside, set in on the table, and called for her to join me.

She sat down, naked and glistening and smiling broadly.  Careful,
Geoffrey, I admonished myself.  Moment of truth straight ahead.

"Just one day left," I started.  "Then you'll be leaving me, I
suppose."

Her smile turned south, and a nervous look creased her brow.

"Oh, you're still worried that I'm going to sell you, that I'm some
sort of demonic white slaver?  You've been downloading too many
fantasies from the Internet, my dear.  Maybe somebody somewhere
indulges in such activities, but I only traffic in misdemeanors
punishable by fines and probation at worse."

I could almost taste and touch her sense of relief.

"And as you can see, you are free to go now, if you so choose.  You
were free to go at the restaurant.  Actually, you've been free to go
practically the whole time you've been here.  All you had to do was
pretend to be sick, or refuse to eat."

I took a bite of salad and sipped my wine thoughtfully.

"By the way, the pictures have come out splendidly.  And the new
case of Merlot should be delivered in a day or two.  So it seems our
time together will come to an end.  Pity--"

I let the silence hang in the air like a guillotine blade.

--Sabrina--

A chilly breeze blowing from the nearby wood suddenly made me
shiver.  At the same time, my head felt hot and dizzy while I was
trying to decipher the meaning of Geoffrey's words.  I was free to go
now.  Why would he say that?  Why now?  What about the last day?  

"At least I hope you've learned something from your stay here," I
heard him ask quietly.

"Um, you may speak, Sabrina."

I hesitated, unsure of what to say.  

"Yes, well...sure I have, but...you say I'm free to go...but there's
still one more day, right?" 

"If you choose to leave, it doesn't matter whether it's now or
tomorrow.  Might as well be now."

Then the truth hit me like a slap in the face.  Geoffrey wanted me
to leave.  He had enough of me, needed fresh blood, a new innocent
girl playing victim to his tricks.  What fun could I bring him now
that I was tamed?

My mind was boiling while my body turned as cold as a cadaver.  I
felt betrayed.  Abandoned.  An old puppet, broken and thrown away.

"I'll need my clothes back," I said dryly, not daring to think of
where this was leading to.  I was so nervous, I couldn't stop tapping
the floor with my toes.  In front of me, Geoffrey was an iceberg.

"They're in your room.  In the closet."

I got up so quickly I had to hold the table for a second until I
could see clearly again.  Then I walked to the house, slowly, hoping
he would call me back and stop me from doing what I didn't want to
do.  But he didn't, and I ran up the stairs to find shelter in the
guest room.

Seeing my clothes hanging clean in the closet made me realize how
much I had changed since I had last worn them.  I had always assumed
I had a cool, yet somewhat sexy look, but the short white shirt and
black trousers looked tedious and heavy.  Not to mention the white
cotton underwear.  Girlish.  Boring.  I wanted my chastity belt back.

Yet I took the clothes and got dressed, all the while rewinding the
film of my stay here, from the moment I had stripped to the pony show
I had been stupid enough to perform that morning.  I remembered the
first time he had tied me to a chair, then the Indian pole...the
first whipping, so cruel, yet so useful in retrospect.  The cage, the
cross, the candle...suddenly, the idea of returning to the normal
world and finding compliant partners was not so enticing.  Who would
understand my needs as well as he did?

Stop dreaming, girl, I admonished myself, he wants you out.  Get
this over with.

Geoffrey was no longer outside when I returned downstairs.  Neither
was he in the kitchen nor the living room.  Looking around, I noticed
the door to the studio was opened and slowly walked down the stairs,
feeling strangely uncomfortable in my flat shoes.

He turned to me when I entered the room.

"Here, these are yours.  You've earned them."

The boots.  I was about to take them from his hands when my eyes
fell upon the wooden cross in the darker half of the studio.  Leaving
him with the boots, I went to the cross and touched it with my
fingertips.  As if by magic, I forgot my sorrow, my rage, my
confusion, and let my instincts take over.

My voice was a low whisper, but I knew he could hear it.

"Would you... one more time?"

--Geoffrey--

It was almost impossible to resist throwing my fists in the air as
if I'd just kicked the winning goal in the World Cup.

"What did you say, Sabrina?"

"Um...shit, don't make me...oh..."

I frowned ever so slightly, more from the effort at suppressing a
grin than any anger I felt toward her.

"Yes, please," she said, bowing her head.

"Much better.  And you seem to be wearing clothes not of my
choosing.  If I were you, I would lose them pretty fucking quickly,
unless of course you'd prefer to spend the night up there."

She sent her shoes flying, then peeled off her shirt, slacks and
underwear in practically a single motion.

"A definite improvement.  Arms up, please."

I took my time securing each of the cuffs that were bolted to
various sections of the cross, starting with her wrists, working my
way down to her elbows, her neck, her waist, then her thighs and
ankles.

The pump, I decided after only a moment's reflection.  After that,
weights for her nipples, heavy enough to make her eyes water.

Choosing a striking device proved to be more difficult.  I wasn't as
concerned about marking her now.  But I didn't want to spoil what
might be a lifetime of choices by going too far, too fast.

Then again, this was her decision.  Her need.  Her dream come true. 
I had been transformed from kidnapper to rescuer.  An eminently
enjoyable position.

Oh, I knew she would never be mine entirely, because I would never
keep her against her will.  But that's the way it works today. 
Relationships aren't worth anything more than the mutual benefits the
players derive from being together.  Take that away, and the bottom
falls out.  Duty, money, social status; all the old marital bondage
had been flushed away decades ago.  To be replaced by this kind of
bondage?  Perhaps.  But now wasn't the time to get philosophical.  I
had always known I needed someone like her versus someone like
Brenda, someone who looked at all these trappings as a kinky
diversion, as the next stop on the va-va-voom tour of decadence, as a
fun game to play when the hot tub ran cold.  I didn't much care for
the public scene, which reminded me more of ballroom dancing than
sexual dysfunction.  I wanted someone who wanted it as badly as I
wanted to give it.

As I stared at my collection of whips, crops and straps, I heard a
loud knock on the front door upstairs.

"Excuse me; this won't take but a moment," I said to Sabrina as I
ran upstairs two steps at a time.

I pulled open the door and started to tell the visitor where to go
fuck themselves.  But my mouth snapped shut when I saw two bald men
dressed head to toe in dark leather, surrounding a short Oriental
gentleman in a Versace suit.

"Mr. Sorenson?  Hello, my name is Chin Long Kwa.  Pardon the
unannounced intrusion.  But I understand you are hosting an auction?"

I stared at the guy for several seconds.  How had he possibly traced
me from Iwata's server in Hong Kong?  Did Dav tell him personally? 
Not bloody likely.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do, Mr. Sorenson.  I have it on the highest authority
that you are auctioning the lifetime services of a young lady via the
Internet.  I would like to inspect her before I make my final offer. 
I don't think that's unreasonable, given the amount I intend to bid."

"Look, mister, you've got the wrong guy."

"I sincerely doubt that, Mr. Sorenson.  Your work, to say nothing of
your reputation, precedes you.  May we come in, please?"

"Piss off," I snarled as I started to shut the door.  One of the
leather boys wrapped a very large paw around the edge and pushed it
back open.  In his other hand was a very large pistol, most likely a
.45 Magnum.  A most serious negotiating tool in any business setting.

"I'll ask again, then I'll tell Bruno to shoot off your foot.  May
we come in, please?"

--Sabrina--

Footsteps coming down the stairs.  Not one pair, but three.  Or
four.  A crowd.  What the hell?

When Geoffrey entered the room, I knew something was wrong, and my
hunch was quickly confirmed when I saw the two bald gorillas, the
short slant-eyed man and the gun.  What was going on here?  Was it
one of his games?  A set-up?  

When the evil-looking Asian monkey walked over to me, I felt my
stomach turn upside down.  It was bad enough to be exposed in such a
humiliating fashion, but when his hand touched me, I felt like
throwing up.  And I probably would have, if it hadn't been for the
huge gag in my mouth.  

The man first touched the weights dangling from my nipples and
grinned when he saw me wince.  Then he examined me like a piece of
meat at a butcher's stall.  My arms, my legs, my breasts, my hips. 
Then two fingers inside me.  Brutally, unexpectedly.

Panicked, I looked sideways to Geoffrey, begging him with my eyes to
say something, tell me it was just another scene, that I could trust
him, that he would take control in a minute.  But his face bore a
mask blocking out his thoughts and feelings.  A lump formed in my
throat.  He couldn't do this to me, could he?

"Let me see how she reacts to a good lashing.  Would you be so kind,
Mr. Sorenson?" 

Functioning as if he were a robot controlled by Dr. Abominable,
Geoffrey took one of his whips on the table and got to work.

I tried to resist at first.  Maybe they would lose interest if I was
tough enough.  But after twenty lashes between my breasts and knees,
I couldn't control the sobbing, thrashing and moaning.

After a nod from the Asian guy, he stopped.

"Good, Mr. Sorenson.  This was very convincing."

Then a minute of silence, and a number.  I thought it was a code or
something; then, seeing Geoffrey lift his eyebrows, I realized it was
a price.  My price.  Big enough to allow Geoffrey to enjoy a lifetime
by the pool living on the interest alone.

Two minutes later, they had all left the room, leaving me alone with
my fears.  Was Geoffrey going to sell me?  He said he wouldn't.  Then
again, he once said he would.  When had he lied to me?

My indecision didn't last long.  Soon, the two goons returned and
untied me from the cross, leaving the pump gag as the only restraint.
But the way they led me, or rather carried me, up the stairs impeded
any escape attempt.

They brought me in the living room where the answer to my question
was lying on the floor.  A box, big enough to fit a man, or a woman. 
Next to it lay an impressive pile of light brown bandage rolls, about
five centimeters wide.

And no Geoffrey in sight.  He and his newfound friend had disappeared.

One of the thugs held me standing upright, squeezing his fingers
around my arms and pinning them against my thighs, while the other
picked up a roll and began to bandage my ankles tightly together.  A
mummy.  They were going to turn me into a mummy and--my eyes went
back to the box on the floor--put me in that sarcophagus.  Sent to a
hellhole in darkest Asia.  Geoffrey had sold me.

Refusing to take part in my own capture, I jerked wildly, trying to
kick anything within range.  But a violent slap on the face, then
another one on my breasts, knocked me out for a moment, long enough
for them to wrap my legs up to my crotch, binding my hands to my
thighs on their way up.  Then, horrified, I watched them proceed all
the way to my neck, crisscrossing the bandage on my chest.  When I
thought they were finished, they started again, with a second layer. 
Then a third one.  Each making the bondage tighter.  Unavoidable. 
Inexorable.  Eternal.

And when I was nothing but a wrapped-up doll, they placed me in the
box where the shape of a body was cut in Styrofoam.  

And then the lid.  And darkness.

With nothing to hang on to, I wished to die.

Geoffrey hadn't even said goodbye.

--Geoffrey--

I felt terrible leaving Sabrina in the hands of Chin's gorillas, but
I didn't want to tip my hand by complaining about her treatment now.

The crumpled bills felt oily and decayed in my hand.  But there sure
were a lot of them.  Were they real?  No time to worry about that now.

"Thank you for your kind courtesies, Mr. Sorenson," Chin said as his
men carted off the box carrying Sabrina.  "I'm glad we were able to
come to such an amenable agreement regarding an early end to the
auction.  However, you will forgive me if I take a small precaution
before departing your lovely home."

Chin moved to the front door, opened it, and called out to the men. 
Extending his thumb and forefinger, Chin made the universal hand sign
for a gun, then pointed it at my car in the driveway.  Four shots
later, the tires were flattened.

"Goodbye, Mr. Sorenson," Chin called as he climbed into the old van.
"Sorry about your tires.  I'm sure you can afford some new ones.  I
recommend Pirelli."

As soon as the van pulled out of the driveway, I ran through the
house to the back door, then sprinted all the way down to the barn. 
If my hunch was correct, they were going to take a scenic route to
their final destination.  But even if they drove direct, it was still
far faster to get there on horseback.

I pushed open the barn doors and headed directly to the gun cabinet,
where I pulled out my biggest shotgun, a pistol and a handful of ammo.

"Let's rumble, Thunder," I said as I wrenched open my favorite
horse's stall.  Moments later, we burst through the barn doors and
turned west.

I resisted the urge to pray, confident in my heart and my head that
I had solved the mystery.

Within minutes, I eased Thunder to a gentle walk and slowly came up
behind Brenda's house.

--Sabrina--

You have to hand it to the human soul.  No matter how far we fall
into that dark pit called despair, we can count on our survival
instincts to kick us out of the abyss.

While I was being transported as merchandise to an unknown
destination, I decided that I had nothing to win by giving up the
fight.  Right then, I was completely defenseless, but there would
surely come an opportunity for me to escape, or call for help. 
Besides, I had to believe people would look for me.  In the age of
global communication and satellite surveillance, you couldn't
possibly kidnap a woman so easily.

I was still encouraging myself with such brave words when I felt the
vehicle come to a full stop.  A minute later, my box was carried out,
and, after a short walk, presumably laid down on the floor.  I had
little time to wonder why the drive had been so short.  The lid
opened and a familiar, unfriendly face filled my restricted field of
vision.

"Hello again, sweetie."

Brenda?  Now things were making more sense.  But I wasn't sure
whether this was for the better or worse.

"Look at you," she went on sarcastically.  "Isn't that exciting? 
The stuff dreams are made of?"

I groaned behind my gag, wishing I could spit a direct answer to her
question.

"Oh, I see you don't like it.  I suppose you would if that was one
of Geoffrey's games, would you?  But you see, Geoffrey has no
interest in you.  You were just his toy for a while, that's all. 
Whereas me and him, we're a pair, y'know?  Two of a kind.  He may
argue for the sake of it, but deep inside, he knows he belongs with
me.  Or rather, to me," she added, laughing.

"As for you," she purred as she came closer to my face, her
extravagant perfume infecting my lungs.  "Well, he sold you, my dear.
To me!  Lock, stock and barrel!"

Her hysterical laughter was cut short by a loud noise somewhere in
the back of the house.

"Bruno, go check that out." 

When Bruno complied, holding his gun to his chest, ready for action,
Brenda turned back to me.

"Now what are we gonna do with you?" she started.  But she was
interrupted again, this time by a gunshot from behind the house.

My heart jumped and accelerated.  Events were taking a crazy turn. 
It felt like being part of a movie, an incoherent drama somewhere
between Pulp Fiction and The Story of O.  

Brenda got up and shouted for Bruno.  When no answer came, she
ordered the other bald guy, Johnny, to go see "what the fuck is going
on." 

"Chin, a little help here," she barked to the Asian guy.  "We gotta
hide her."

Brenda closed the lid back over my petrified body, and the box was
lifted up, then carried to another part of the house, obviously down
a steep flight of stairs if I could judge from the way my head fell
lower than my legs and pressed against the foam.  Finally, I found
myself prone and level.

Then nothing.  Silence.  Darkness.  And a little hope, faint as it
was, that perhaps, Geoffrey...

--Geoffrey--

Well, that was even easier than expected, I thought as I reloaded
the shotgun and pretended to point it at the fast-disappearing shape
running across the fields away from the house.  I figured it was one
of Brenda's bondage-club buddies she had enlisted to play tough guy,
but he didn't seem too masculine once he got a load of the damage a
firearm like mine could inflict.  The tree would survive, but his ego
was probably destroyed for good.

I dismounted and picked up the guy's gun that he had dropped before
turning into the Roadrunner.  A peashooter compared to my rifle, but
I could always use the extra firepower.  I slipped the pistol into my
back pocket and walked Thunder behind a tree far from the house.

"Wait," I whispered into the horse's ear, praying that all his
training would pay off.

I crept back toward the house and slipped into the shadows between
the shrubbery and the exterior, listening intently to the voices
drifting over from the driveway.  When I heard Brenda calling out to
the first thug, who was probably in the next county by now, I
prepared for a visit from his nose-picking twin.

Sure enough, a minute later, leaden footsteps thumped past the bush
where I was hiding.  I came up out of my crouch, pulled out my
pistol, put the barrel in my fist, and sneaked onto the lawn behind
my prey as quiet as a tarantula.

I didn't want to hurt the guy, I thought as I aimed the butt of the
gun at the shiny target just ahead of me, but I didn't want to mess
with him later.

Damn.  I really didn't mean to hit him quite so hard.  But at least
he went down fast and easy.  I figured I had maybe an hour before he
came to.  Plenty of time.

I made my way to the front yard, but didn't see anyone, or the box
holding Sabrina.  So I backtracked to the rear of the house and
tested the back door.  Unlocked.  Perfect.  I slipped into the
darkness of the kitchen, and listened for Brenda and Chin.  Down in
the basement.  Better and better.

The door leading to the stairs was still open.  Here's hoping
they're not armed...

"Hi, Brenda!" I yelled downstairs.  "I just stopped in for a cup of
sugar.  By the way, you're going to have some visitors in a few
minutes.  I had to call my friends in the local constabulary. 
Mentioned something about my girlfriend being kidnapped at gunpoint
from my house a little while ago.  You wouldn't know anything that,
would you?  They took off in a van that looks a lot like the one
parked in your driveway.  By the way, who's that bald guy lying
unconscious by the side of your house?  Friend of yours?"

--Sabrina--

The silence was extremely unnerving, especially in my mummified
state.  I was getting restless, and would have given anything to
scratch my back, or my butt.  The fact that both were covered with
healing welts, itching like a million fleas, greatly contributed to
my growing discomfort.  

Then, finally, a voice.  Geoffrey's.  Thank all gods in heaven.  

"Chin, behind the door," I heard Brenda whisper.

Geoffrey's ironic comments became louder and clearer as he stepped
down the stairs.  But his last question was followed by a loud thump,
a stifled groan, and Brenda's high-pitched voice.

"Sorry, Geoffrey dear, but I really can't let you take her back. 
Chin, get the cuffs in that drawer, over there."

Sounds of a body being pulled onto the floor.  Metal clicking.  A
lock snapped closed.  And Brenda giggling nervously.

"Wish I could play with you now, sweetheart, but I'll make it up to
you later.  You'll finally get to see what a good dominatrix I am."

In a heartbeat, her honey-sweet voice morphed into to a harsh,
commanding tone.

"Come on, Chin.  The police will arrive any minute now.  We need to
hide the van.  We'll have plenty of time later to deal with our two
guests here."

A heavy door slammed.  A key turned into the lock.  Silence.  Again.

But not for long.  Sounds above me.  Playing with the lid, bumping
into the box panel on my upper right.  Finally, someone kicking the
lid off with a loud crack.  

I thought I would see his face above me, but all I could stare at
was complete darkness.

"Sabrina, are you okay?"

I never thought I'd be so happy to hear Geoffrey's voice.

"I'm stuck on the floor, my hands cuffed in my back and chained to a
ring on the wall.  But I can move my legs.  Now, on the count of
three, I'm going to push on the box and roll it over, okay?

"Hmph!"

"One..."

I felt, more than I saw, his heavy shoes weigh down on the edge of
the box.

"Two...three!"

When the box tipped over, I rolled away from the foam like a stiff
statue and bumped into Geoffrey's legs.  

"Wiggle your way over here so I can unlock your gag," he said, half
whispering.

We both maneuvered so that his hands could touch the back of my
neck, and a few seconds later, my mouth was relieved of the awful
pump.  

I suddenly felt ashamed of my doubts concerning his intentions.  How
could I have thought he would sell me?

"Geoffrey," I started shyly, almost afraid of saying his name,
"thank you." 

"My pleasure, Sabrina." 

I could almost see him grin.

"But, we'll see about that later," he continued.  "We don't have
much time until they return.  Here's what we'll do..."

--Geoffrey--

"Brenda!  Get your skinny ass down here quick!  I think there's
something wrong with Sabrina!"

A few moments passed, so I tried yelling as loud as I could.

"Brenda, you stupid cunt!  Do you want to add murder to your rap
sheet along with two counts of kidnapping?  Get down here!  Right
now!"

I was relieved to hear her heels clattering at the door to the
basement.

"Oh, Geoffrey, I just love it when you're forceful.  Pity I'm going
to have to beat it out of you."

"Get your fucking mind out of the gutter and come down here pronto. 
I think Sabrina's stopped breathing.  Maybe her circulation's cut
off, or the gag's got too much air pumped into it."

"Oh, really?" she said.  "Well, wouldn't that be a shame if your
little girlfriend bit the bullet?  Gee, maybe I could tell the cops
that you did it to her, and I caught you."

"So what's she doing in your basement?  Listen, Brenda, we don't
have time to play Agatha Christie.  This isn't a game any more.  Get
that gag off Sabrina, then unwrap her.  Hurry, before it's too late."

"Oh, do shut up, Geoffrey.  You aren't giving the orders around
here.  In fact, let me make your new role perfectly clear."

Brenda pulled an oversized ball gag off a hook in the wall, jammed
it into my mouth, and buckled it tight.

"There, that should give you something to chew on.  Now, what seems
to be the problem, little Sabrina?  Not cut out for the bondage big
leagues yet?"

She kneeled down next to Sabrina and opened the nozzle to the pump,
then unstrapped it from behind her neck.

"Hmmmm, you do seem to be a little blue.  Come on, give us a breath."

Don't you dare, I thought as loudly as I could, praying that Brenda
wasn't smart enough to pinch Sabrina's nose closed.  I was still
amazed I had managed to get the gag back in her mouth, not to mention
buckled and inflated.

"Well, shit and tarnation.  Maybe those idiots did wrap you a little
too tight.  And it would be such a pity to lose you before Chin lines
up a proper buyer."

Brenda reached down and began to unwrap the first of the three
layers constricting Sabrina's limbs, moving faster to pull off the
second and third as she began to panic a little.

When she finished, Brenda stood up and gave Sabrina's nude body a
nudge with her toe.

Nothing.

"Oh, fuck."

Brenda knelt back down, positioned her face over Sabrina's and gave
her a quizzical look.

"Okay, remember your Red Cross training when you wanted to be a
lifeguard in high school.  Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, what to do
first?  Oh, that's right, pinch the nose closed."

--Sabrina--

The plan was easy enough.  I had to pretend I had passed out. 
Brenda would free me.  Then I would take the small gun Geoffrey had
hidden in his waistband, threaten Brenda, and get her to free him. 
There were a few unknowns in the equation, such as whether Chin, or
maybe one of the big guys, would come downstairs, or whether Brenda
would try to resuscitate me without removing the bandages.

So far, so good.  Brenda was alone, and I was completely free of all
bondage.  The hidden gun was just one meter away, almost within arm's
reach.  The glitch was that Brenda was in the way, right between me
and the weapon.  And now she was going to pinch my nose.

Surprise was my best option, so before Brenda could touch my face, I
used all my strength to push her.  But before I could grab the gun,
she jumped on me and pulled me away.

I had never fought anyone in my life, but I learned quickly.  All
you need is a little motivation, and I had plenty of that.  No time
to bother with niceties; I stuck my fingers in her eyes, yanked her
hair, used my legs to destabilize her.  I managed to wrestle her down
to the floor, but she grabbed my arms and we both went rolling until
we hit the box.  I kicked myself free and got up, but so did she. 
And our catfight went on.

I was getting breathless, my lungs aching from a lack of air, but
something insane had taken control of my brains, and all I could
think of was hit and grab and pull and kick.  However, I knew I had
to come up with a brilliant idea before collapsing.  While fighting,
I tried to look for a tool that would help me, a prop I could use. 
Then I remembered Geoffrey; he was obviously trying to get my
attention.

At that moment, Brenda and I were on the opposite side of the room,
struggling to pin each other against the wall, well furnished with
rings and restraints of all sorts, but I redirected my efforts and
tried to ram her backwards.  When Brenda was within Geoffrey's
limited range of action, he tripped her, giving me time to grab a
coil of rope and a ball gag from the wall display.  Then I rushed
down to straddle her chest, closing my legs tightly on her arms.  

While Geoffrey held her legs down with his, I gagged her, then
wrapped the whole length of rope around her body, moving my way down
to her ankles and hoping my non-professional knots would hold long
enough.

Then I turned to Geoffrey.  First the cuffs, I thought to myself,
trying to be practical, but also secretly enjoying the sight of a gag
in his mouth.  As I took a small chain holding a pair of keys away
from Brenda's neck, Chin called from upstairs.

"Mistress, Johnny's here.  He's all right.  Just a bump on his head.
Bruno's gone, though."

A worried pause.

"Mistress?  Are you down there?"

And they both began walking down the stairs.  

Shit.  My fingers shaking nervously, I tried to unlock the cuffs. 
Damn it.  Wrong key.  The other one.  Click.  

Geoffrey got up in a flash, grabbed his gun and aimed it at the open
door.  He had just enough time to unbuckle the gag with his free hand
and remove it before Johnny came in.

--Geoffrey--

"Gentlemen," I barked in my best imitation of a military officer. 
"In a few moments, the police will be here.  Unless you'd like to be
booked as accessories to a kidnapping, if not attempted murder, I
strongly suggest you turn around, head out the back door, and start
running toward town like your friend did earlier."

Chin and Johnny stopped halfway down the stairs and gaped at
Brenda's bound body with the very naked Sabrina sitting on top of
her, beaming like Sylvester after the cartoon cat finally caught and
devoured Tweety Bird.

"Please don't make me start counting, gentlemen."

Chin started to form a sentence, but then thought better of it, and
turned around.

"Let's go, Johnny.  These people are freakin' nuts."

"A wise choice, gentlemen," I said as the pair headed back up the
stairs.  "Head due north, and you should reach town by midnight. 
While you're walking, I strongly suggest you erase all memories of
this evening's escapades."

"What about the van?" Johnny blurted.  "It's rented in my name."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure it gets abandoned in a safe place
tomorrow morning, and you can say it was stolen.  Now scoot, before
you have to tell your side of the story to the nice men who wear
multiple weapons as a fashion statement."

I waited in silence for several moments until I was sure they were
off the premises.  Then I turned to Sabrina and gave her my biggest
smile.

"Nice going, Lara Croft," I beamed.  "You gave Brenda quite the
tussle.  She's never going to live this down, you know.  By tomorrow,
her little bdsm community will be buzzing with rumors and wild tales
about tonight.  Of course, I shall deny everything and anything, but
most of her bondage buddies are scared to even make eye contact with
me."

A muffled yell rose up from the floor as Brenda thrashed against her
bonds, causing Sabrina to bob up and down as if she were riding a
bucking bronco.

"And nice job on the knots, too.  You learned your lessons well."

I extended my hand to help Sabrina stand up, and then wrapped my
arms around her.

"So you really thought I was going to sell you, eh?  Silly girl."

I leaned down and planted my lips firmly against hers.  When we
finally broke for air, I released her with a squeeze.

"Why don't you rummage around upstairs for something to wear while I
prepare our friend here for the trip home?"

"But what about the police?  Won't they be here any minute?"

"A bluff, m'dear.  But I've got my cell phone in my pocket ready to
speed-dial 911 with the push of a button.  Oh, shit.  I forgot about
Thunder.  When you're dressed, can you please go out back and make
sure he's okay?  Actually, you could do me a huge favor and perhaps
ride him back to the barn?  I'll pack up Brenda into the van and meet
you there in, say, fifteen minutes?  Great."

I leaned over and gave her another kiss.

"Alas for our friend, the night is still young," I said with an
exaggerated wink, causing Brenda to thrash even more wildly against
the basement floor.

--Sabrina--

Searching Brenda's wardrobe for suitable clothes, I was amused by
the numerous extravagant outfits testifying to her bad taste in sexy
apparel.  I finally selected a pair of black leather trousers and a
matching short jacket.  No need for underwear.  But footwear was a
must.  I found her impressive collection in another closet, and opted
for ankle-high boots with relatively short heels that would still
allow me to walk a long distance.  I was certainly willing to do
Geoffrey a favor, but riding Thunder back to the barn meant much more
than that.  Thanks to him, I had conquered part of my fear, but I had
never actually ridden a horse solo.  Nor did I feel ready to give it
a go.

Satisfied with my practical, yet elegant look, and hoping Geoffrey
would approve of it, too, I went back downstairs and out of the
house.  I heard the dying sound of an engine far down the road and
concluded he had already left.  So now it was between me and Thunder.

I found the horse peacefully grazing at the back of the house.  At
the sight of him, my phobia returned; perspiration, heartbeat
accelerating, legs shaking, and nausea threatening to overcome me
with each step.

When I was only two meters away from the fierce stallion, Thunder
lifted his head and looked at me.  I froze.

"Okay, Thunder," I told the horse, as quietly as I could.  "I'm
scared shitless at the thought of you, and I know you can feel it. 
But your master told me to ride you back, and that's what I must do. 
So please, don't make it hard on me, okay?" 

If someone overhears me, I thought, they'll send me to the loony
bin.  Yet, foolish as it sounded, my brave talk seemed to work. 
Thunder was quiet, almost waiting for me to come closer.  I took one
step, then two.  Then I touched him, trying to stop the shaking in my
limbs.

"That's it.  You're a good horse, Thunder.  Now I have to--"

Shit.  No saddle, no bridle, no reins; the horse was literally
naked.  How was I supposed to climb on him?  He was huge!

"All right," I went on, talking both to myself and Thunder.  "I need
something to climb on."

I looked around, but not seeing anything I could use, not even a
stump or a fallen tree, I ran back to the house, telling Thunder to
wait quietly, and returned with a chair.

Amazingly, the stallion let me straddle him, and I gained some
confidence that I was going to make it.  But I had wasted precious
minutes, and my time was probably up by then.

"Hmm...gee up!  Ooh, not so fast!"

I soon found myself leaning down and gripping Thunder's neck to
avoid falling over, praying he knew the way back home.

About ten minutes later, we arrived at the barn; me panting and
shaking like a leaf, Thunder apparently very satisfied with himself.

I let myself down, caressed the horse and thanked him, then left him
unattached, counting on his obviously good training to make him stay
where he was.  And I ran to the house, hoping I was not too late
for...well, for what exactly?

Seeing the pool and the uncleared table where we had had lunch
earlier that day, I remembered I had been getting ready to leave. 
Then hadn't.  Now I knew I wouldn't.  And I knew Geoffrey didn't want
me to, either.  I shivered a little at the thought of the commitment
I was about to make; not only with him, but with myself.  However,
when I walked past the French window into the living room, I was
absolutely certain that this was what I wanted.

--Geoffrey--

"Well, that should keep her out of trouble for tonight anyway," I
said as I came up the stairs from the basement, followed by the
muffled sound of thumps from Brenda as she hurled herself against the
bars of the cage, still wrapped tight in Sabrina's knots.

"As for you..."

I tried to crank back into evil-master mode, but she looked so
adorable in her leather pants and jacket, I couldn't help smiling
like a loon.

"Since when are you allowed to wear clothes in this house?" I
growled with mock solemnity.  "Leave them here, then get that cute
ass of yours upstairs and into the bath.  Scrub, shave, the works. 
Now!"

"Yes, please," Sabrina replied with a grin that matched my own.  She
kicked off the boots, peeled off the jacket and slithered her thighs
out of the pants, then turned and trotted up the stairs, swinging her
naked hips like a skinny Marilyn Monroe trying to seduce all of
Hollywood in one take.

When I heard the door to the bathroom close, I went back down to the
basement to select the evening's implements: wrist, ankle and thigh
cuffs, the penis trainer plus blindfold, two pairs of tweezer clamps,
and the bucket of clothespins.  Leaving them in the living room, I
headed outside and strolled down to the barn to make sure Thunder was
settled properly, as well as retrieve a container of udder and hoof
cream.  Fifteen minutes later, I was clearing the forgotten lunch
plates from the patio table and thinking about dinner.

Sabrina came into the kitchen practically glowing, so much so that I
regretted not putting on her chastity belt.  A mistake I would not
make again.  I pointed to a chair for her to sit on while I fetched
her anodized panties, plus a pair of handcuffs and a collar.

"I apologize for everything that happened to you today," I said as I
locked her wrists behind her back.  "The auction...well, it's a long
story.  Apparently, Brenda stumbled onto it while fucking around on
the web, and recognized you.  By the way, I know one of the goons,
although I think he used to have hair.  Brenda probably sweet-talked
them into shaving their heads; some guys will do anything for a
spanking."

I attended to the pots and pans while Sabrina sat quietly, and most
likely happily, judging from her smile.  I had long ago decided it
wasn't worth the effort to figure out a woman's motives.  Go with
your gut was my approach.  If a girl didn't approve, she would let
you know by what she did, not by what she said.  "Thou doth protest
too much" was quite possibly Shakespeare's greatest line, or at least
my personal favorite.

Then again, too much protesting was a main reason I owned so many
gags, I thought as I finished strapping the trainer around Sabrina's
head after we finished eating.

I led her to the living room where the straps lay across the couch
like zebra stripes.  I connected each ankle to its respective wrist
so she was kneeling on the cushions with her ass high in the air.

"All mine," I whispered, "to do with as I please."

I reached under her torso and clipped clothespins to each nipple.

The udder cream felt cold and clammy in my hand, but it warmed
quickly as I spread it generously over her flanks, thighs and back. 
It would take quite some time to work it into her flesh.  But I was
in no hurry.  In fact, touching girls was one of my favorite things
to do.  I could spend hours caressing their feet, their legs, their
arms, their breasts--oh, especially their breasts--but some women,
well, they just hated it.  Like I was torturing them by being tender.

I felt my cock harden as my fingers dipped in and out and whirled
around the puckered brown entrance to her anus.  All yours, I
repeated as I unzipped my pants.  She would soon get used to being
poked wherever, not to mention whenever, I felt like it.  And when I
was around Sabrina, that meant pretty much constantly.

I slapped her ass, hard, when she tried to squirm away.  But I liked
the clenching so much, I continued to pepper her cheeks with random
swats.

I came quickly, something I would have to work on.  It wasn't like I
wasn't going to get a lot of opportunities to practice.

Satisfied with the smoothness of her backside, I flipped her over
and cuffed her thighs, then padlocked her wrists and ankles to them,
leaving her crotch spread wide.

Next, I clamped her labia with the tweezers, two to each side, and
pulled them apart so her pussy was a defenseless hole, the chains
tied taut to rings on the thigh cuffs.

I scooped out more cream, and went to work on her feet, then her
calves, then her thighs.  I guessed I spent somewhere around an hour
on her breasts, both with and without the clothespins.

When I was finished, I turned her around so her head rested in my
lap, and slipped a greasy finger between her legs until I found her
clitoris.  She came almost instantly, then again less than a minute
later.

This gave me an idea.  I could use a benchmark; something to measure
her progress.

I gave her clit a pinch and began rubbing it as if there were a
genie inside.

Three...

She convulsed and twisted her groin away from my insistent fingers.

"Ah ah ah," I said as I added a clothespin to one of her breasts. 
"Every time you squirm, you get another one."

Four...

I reached over and clicked on the television, the noisy cheers of a
baseball game in progress preceding the visuals.  Good.  Only the
second inning.  At least two hours left to play.

Five...

--Sabrina--

Watch out, girl, I grinned to myself while Geoffrey was massaging my
whole body with the strange cream, you're about to be dangerously
happy.  This will turn you into one of those dependent females you've
always scorned.  So what?  Screw my independence.  This was good. 
No.  This was blissful.  I had never been caressed so thoroughly. 
Each millimeter of my skin was warmed up by his never-tiring hands,
first rubbing the soreness and fatigue off my body, then making it
ready, eager for pleasure.  

The bondage was tight but comfortable, and although I could already
feel the strain in my ankles, I could have stayed like that for
hours.  Actually, I did stay like that for hours, constantly amazed
at his skill and patience, and with no other option but to be the
receiving end.  And enjoy it.  For an incredibly long time.

The first touch on my clit had me going in an instant.  I was that
ready.  But it would take a long time before all the accumulated
tension would find release.

When I convulsed for the tenth time, I no longer knew whether I came
because of the pain brought by each clothespin, or whether the cruel
bite was a direct result of my pleasure.  I tried to resist longer,
but all I gained were a few minutes at best.  Again my body arched up
and my head lifted before falling back down on his legs.  The wave
had barely gone when another one, born on my sensitive hip, made me
moan in agony.  Until the pain subsided and went fueling my desires.

Yet the bondage, his fingers on my clit, the erotic pain of the
pins, all powerful as they were, were not the biggest turn-on.  What
truly had me going was the fact that I could lie defenseless in a
man's lap and trust him.  That I was Geoffrey's "to do as I please,"
and accept it, revel in it.  Among the many feelings invading me at
that moment, the sense of belonging was the strongest.

When I was busy in the bathroom earlier, enjoying the invigorating
sensations of warm water after my kidnapping, the fight with Brenda
and last, but certainly not least, my brave--no, make that heroic--
ride back home, I had mused about how odd it was that I could feel so
comfortable with someone I knew so little about.  How even odder that
I didn't feel the need to know more about him.  Geoffrey's mystery
was part of his charm.  And rather than finding out where he came
from, I was more eager to know where he would take me.

Well, the pleasureland I had now reached, in the middle of yet
another spasm, was more than I bargained for.  

Gradually, the activities of the day began to take their toll.  I
came less frequently, savoring long moments of pleasure that his
fingers, now rubbing more gently, still gave me.  There were no
clothespin left, but he had started to take them off, one by one,
while stopping at the same stations of pain and pleasure.  It was a
slower process, but time didn't matter.

Eventually the last pin snapped off.  I felt blood rush back and
winced one last time.  Then, exhausted, I drifted off, turning my
head over to Geoffrey's lap, finding comfort in his warmth and
masculine smell.  I remained conscious of his hands, one leaning on
my thigh, the other below my breast, his thumb gently caressing its
side.  If it hadn't been for the gag, I would have smiled.  Instead I
purred, happy.

 Day 12--Geoffrey

Despite the pouring rain, I could scarcely contain my good humor. 
Brenda had been most cooperative this morning, allowing herself to be
bathed, fed and dressed with nary a flinch nor a whimper of protest,
even though I had awoken her long before the sun puttered into the
sky behind the thick gray clouds.  

I closed the door to the studio where Brenda stood in the middle of
the room on one foot, with her other leg bent over, its ankle cuffed
to its matching wrist.  Her opposite hand stretched toward the
ceiling, suspended in a cuff by a quivering chain.  Not the least
comfortable position in the world.  But I was feeling quite
charitable.  So far, anyway.  

Sabrina was still sound asleep on my bed, so I laid out her clothes
for the morning, unlocked her chastity belt, and went downstairs to
cook myself breakfast.  Fifteen minutes later, I was quite pleased to
hear my shower running.  When it stopped, I put our plates into the
oven and met her coming out of the bathroom, her hair still
dripping.  

"I think you're going to need some help getting dressed this
morning," I said jauntily as I held up the hourglass corset.  "But
let's eat breakfast first.  Turn around, please."

Click, click, sang the handcuffs, with an encore from the lock
around her waist.  

After I finished feeding her, we returned to my bedroom, where I
spent the next hour lacing her into the corset, as well as the thigh-
high boots and a matching pair of shoulder-length gloves.  I was
thrilled with the way her waist narrowed to the point where I could
almost touch my fingers when I reached around it.  She, however,
didn't seem too enchanted by the constriction.

Sabrina would make quite the domme, I thought to myself as I watched
her check herself out in the full-view mirror.

And now she gets the chance to prove it.

I led her to the door to the studio and clicked on the light at the
top of the stairs.

"Hi, Brenda.  Ready to go to work?"

I had to admit my neighbor did look great in rubber.  Tottering on a
single ballerina heel laced to her foot in an old-fashioned button
boot, her body shimmied and swayed as the light reflected off the
polished latex that covered every part of her from calves to skull,
with the exception of her eyes, her groin area, which was striped
with rubber garters holding up the stockings, and her breasts, which
poked through holes in the breastplate of her outfit.  An Elizabethan
collar rose from her neck like an inverted lampshade, making it
impossible for her to see what was happening to her body below.

The only visible color besides her pink flesh was the white of the
lace headpiece and apron, and the bristle end of the toilet brush
sticking out of her mouth.

I strolled over to Brenda's extended frame and let down her ankle,
then her wrist overhead, quickly snapping her gloved hands into cuffs
dangling from a cincher belt buckled tight around her waist.

"Brenda and I had a very productive discussion about her situation
this morning," I lied to Sabrina, having said nothing to our guest
beyond single-word commands since throwing her in the cage the night
before.

"Obviously, she understands her complicity in your unexpected visit
to her house yesterday afternoon, and desperately wants to make
suitable amends that don't involve my friends in those snazzy blue
uniforms," I continued.

"However, it seems Brenda has developed a rather severe cash flow
problem."

I pulled out the wad of bills Chin had given me yesterday.

"I haven't bothered to count this yet, but I'm sure it represents a
great deal of her total net value.  Maybe she even borrowed some from
her friends in the van.  No matter.  It's mine now."

I passed the roll in front of Brenda's wide eyes before stuffing it
back into my pocket.

"I like to think of myself as a reasonable man, within reason.  In
this case, I should simply pocket the proceeds and have you arrested
for kidnapping, perhaps rape, maybe attempted murder.  But I imagine
the legal process would be ridiculously long, complicated and
tiresome.  So I'm going to propose a different plan."

I walked over and stood next to Sabrina.

"From what I've been told, the best hookers can make $1,000 an hour,
but for that kind of money, limits are pretty much out the window. 
However, I'm going to pay you exactly that amount for services
rendered from now until you work off your entire debt to me and
Sabrina."

I turned to address Sabrina.

"Darling, the house is a mess, and unfortunately, it's now your job
to maintain it.  However, you can call on Brenda any time you need
some special assistance, and she'll drop everything to serve you. 
Isn't that right, Brenda?"

Despite the brush handle in her mouth, the words "fuck you" were
clearly audible.

"Ah, that's exactly the spirit."

I walked over to one of the boxes and pulled out a strap-on dildo,
which I buckled around Sabrina's crotch.

"I want you to start with the toilet in your bathroom.  There are
more cleaning supplies under the sink.  Please feel free to use
anything of mine in these boxes that you may require for proper
motivation."

I turned to start up the stairs.

"Oh, there's one more thing, Sabrina," I said.  "I must warn you
that you are ultimately responsible for Brenda's competence.  If her
work does not meet my expectations, you are the one who will be
punished.  I will be in the barn.  See you in an hour or so."

--Sabrina--

 

Once in the guest bathroom, I ordered Brenda to kneel down and start
scrubbing the floor behind the toilet.  When she refused to comply, I
stressed my point.

"Listen, you bitch.  Instead of having fun with Geoffrey, I'm stuck
with you in this fucking bathroom.  This truly pisses me off, so get
to work or--"

I lifted the whip I had selected and applied it to her bare ass with
a violence that neither of us expected.  Brenda let out a muffled cry
and looked at me with fear in her eyes.  Good.  She knew I wasn't
kidding.

Brenda got down on her knees and began scrubbing hard, her breasts
sagging below her and moving in rhythm with her head.

Should have brought nipple clamps, I thought with regret, but I had
been so surprised with the turn of events that I had thought of
little else beyond the whip.

When I was satisfied with the bright shine of the tiles, I smacked
her buttocks, less hard this time, and ordered her to clean the
toilet bowl.  Once again, she balked and, squatting negligently in
front of me, challenged me with her disobedience.  I sighed too
loudly.  

"You don't get it, do you, Brenda?"

Thwack.  On her breasts.  Again.  Harder.  The third stroke missed
her breasts, but came very near her chin.  She started, hitting her
head on the wall behind her.

"You see, I'm not very good at this.  No practice, you know.  So I'm
gonna use this whip on you until you get your face down the toilet
and I hear the sound of the brush on the ceramic.  And if that
doesn't work, I'll use this," I said, pointing at the dildo strapped
around my crotch.

"And not necessarily in the right hole."

She winced as the leather strap bit into her right nipple, but got
up on her knees and stuck her head into the bowl.

I was glad she took my threats seriously.  Looking down on the
unnatural apparatus he had fixed on me, I grimaced at the obscene
image of me using it on Brenda.

This wasn't the partnership I had hoped for, I reflected while my
unwilling maid was hard at work.  I could have enjoyed this kind of
game with a young woman, or better yet, a young man who would take
pleasure in submitting to me.  But not with a dominatrix who had
tried to get rid of me and claim Geoffrey for herself.  Brenda was
nothing but a threat, and I strongly resented her presence here.

Instead of the sexual pleasure that such a scene should have
inspired, the room was filled with anger, spite and disappointment. 
How long would I have to put up with this?  I knew the price Chin had
offered, and that meant Brenda would stay with us for days until she
bought her freedom back.

This was never going to work.

"Brenda, stop," I said, using my normal, quiet voice.

Her red and sweaty face came out of the toilet, and she looked at
me, puzzled.

"I don't like this."

Then, seeing she didn't understand the meaning of my words, I went
straight to the point.

"I don't want you in this house, Brenda.  In fact, I never want to
see your face again."

The way she straightened up showed me she knew where this
conversation was heading.  Her expression shifted from concern to
curiosity.  The self-assured Brenda was resurfacing.

"I'm going to help you out of here," I went on, walking towards her.
"But let me warn you..."

I took her chin in my gloved hand and pulled her head up, forcing
her to look at me.  

"If you ever talk about this to anyone, I'll bust you for kidnapping
and attempted murder.  Is that clear?"

Brenda's vigorous nod was all I needed.  I let her stand up and we
both went two floors down, back to the studio.

I had never seen Geoffrey use more than one or two keys on my
restraints, and I suspected most of the locks were identical.  My
guess was right; once I had found a set of spare keys in a drawer, it
only took me a couple of minutes to free Brenda of her bondage.

"Pick up some clothes over there," I told her, waving to the rack.  

While she removed her rubber costume and searched for a new outfit
to wear, I sat on the edge of the stage, oblivious to her presence in
the room.  I wasn't happy about countermanding Geoffrey's orders, but
this was sadly necessary.  I hadn't come to term with my own
feelings, let alone my relationship with him, and I didn't want to
confront an interloper like Brenda at this early stage.  I had enough
to worry about: leaving my apartment, quitting my job, and not being
able to tell a soul of my new lifestyle.  

But Brenda interrupted my musing.

"He's going to punish you for this, you know," she said.

I raised my eyes to meet hers.

"I know."

Then, as we stared at each other, we followed the same thoughts, and
suddenly all the tension dissipated as we broke into laughter.

"Well, Sabrina," she said, "you do deserve him!"

I smiled and got up.

"I don't know if I deserve him, but I'm going to find out.  What
about you?  Are you going to stick around?"

"No, I don't think so.  You've kinda ruined my reputation." Brenda
winked before continuing.  "I think it's time to move my dungeon to a
new location.  Maybe somewhere sunny."

I nodded, relieved to know she was getting out of my way for good. 
Remembering the ticking clock, I ushered her out.

"Take the front door and walk to the main road.  I'm sure you won't
have trouble getting a lift dressed like that."

She had put on a leather micro with enough cleavage to attract the
first male driver passing by.  And her stiletto heels would do
wonders, too.

After a short but sincere goodbye hug, I watched Brenda disappear
down the driveway, and went searching for the few accessories I
needed.  Negligence was better than sheer disobedience, I thought to
myself while I buckled the penis gag around my head.

I entered the cage that lay in the middle of the stage, shut the
door and finally cuffed my hands to a bar in my back.  I didn't think
I'd have to wait too long until Geoffrey found me.

--Geoffrey--

 

"Sabriiiina, I'm home," I said in my best Ricky Ricardo imitation as
I shook off the rain from my slicker.

No response.  Strange.  I hung up my coat and went upstairs, only to
find an empty, yet clean bathroom.

"Sabrina, Brenda, where are you?" I called out, trying to mask my
sudden nervousness.  Had something terrible happened?  I had been
careful to lock up Brenda securely.  Had she somehow gained the upper
hand?

In this case, no news is definitely bad news, I thought as I made a
quick check of the bedrooms, then the first floor.  Finally, I
hurried down the stairs to the studio.

"What the fuck?" I blurted when I saw Sabrina gagged and cuffed
inside the cage that had held Brenda only hours earlier.

Before I realized what I was doing, I had wheeled around and stormed
back upstairs.  Yanking my slicker off the hook, I kicked open the
back door and stepped off the porch into a driving downpour.

Great, and the car's tires are flat.  Going to have to ride one of
the horses to Brenda's house.  I ducked my head low and headed down
the path toward the barn.

That fucking bitch.  Lord, I would make Brenda pay this time.  None
of this nice-guy stuff like this morning.  I'd even scare myself with
the tortures I'd inflict on her.

As water streamed down my forehead into my eyes, I started to build
my case.  Brenda must have somehow overpowered Sabrina.  But how
could she have gotten free?  Had she forced Sabrina to unlock the
cuffs?  Not very likely.

Meaning what?  Sabrina set Brenda free intentionally?  Then why was
Sabrina locked in the cage?

My foot slipped sideways in the mudslide that had replaced the dirt
path to the barn.  Shit, what was going on here?  There was no
practical way Brenda could have escaped without Sabrina's help.  Did
Sabrina let her go, then allow herself to be locked in the cage?  If
that was the case, why?  Okay, so maybe Sabrina didn't fancy herself
much of a top, although she sure looked like a pro that afternoon
when she whipped Brenda all the way to the barn.

I stopped and stared back at the house, now barely visible through
the mist.  Or maybe Sabrina didn't want anything to do with Brenda,
and this was her way of putting things back the way they were 24
hours ago.

But even that was a puzzle, because as I recalled, she had been on
the verge of leaving me, then she asked to be strapped to the cross,
then all hell broke loose.  But it seemed to me that things had been
quite thoroughly helter skelter long before Brenda and her droogies
arrived.

I desperately wished I could go for a ride, but I didn't dare risk
one of the horses taking a fall on the slick turf.  Instead, I turned
around and headed back for the house, quite unsure of what I was
going to say, much less do, to Sabrina.

I lowered my head and jammed my hands into my pocket, my fingers
bumping into the roll of Brenda's cash.  I wondered if she was really
gone for good.  If so, this wad would cover a lot of corsets.

I reached the house and peeled off all my soaking clothes on the
porch.  After a shower, I changed into a simple shirt and leather
pants, then went downstairs to my studio to start the rest of our
lives.

--Sabrina--

 

Shit.  What was Geoffrey doing?  My stomach was so cramped that I
was afraid of throwing up the minute he took off the gag.  He had
come and gone like a fury.  And he had looked so angry, I instantly
lost the quiet resignation I had built up while waiting.  Oh, he
wasn't angry at me.  But he would be.  Once he found out.  Because I
was certain he would know what really happened; either he'd have
enough clues to guess, or I would simply tell him.  Presuming Brenda
didn't beat me to it.

I had made up a plausible story, though.  Brenda had suddenly looked
very uncomfortable, like she got hit by a terrible pain.  When I
ungagged her, she told me something inside the rubber costume was
biting through her skin.  She thought she was bleeding.  A bit of
nonsense, I admit, but she looked really bad and, well, I'm afraid I
believed her.  So I took her down to the studio to take off her
bondage.  And, well, she somehow managed to take control of the
situation.  Oh, sure, I should have called him instead, but I didn't
want to bother him, and I thought I could handle this all by myself. 
I was sorry.  Really.

I wasn't sure Geoffrey would buy it, but he had no evidence to the
contrary, so he'd have to believe me.

But I hadn't thought he would take the matter so seriously.  He
looked really mad.  Now I wasn't so sure about my story.  I was such
a bad liar, too.

That's when the cramps appeared.  I had thought all I would have to
go through was a good whipping for my negligence, and I knew I could
handle that.  But it suddenly became obvious that a whip would be
much too amenable a tool for such a terrible act of disobedience. 
What else could he do?

By the time Geoffrey returned, I had imagined so many horrid
tortures, he hardly needed to punish me anymore.  I was already
burning in hell, with guilt and remorse as my companions.  And my
worst fear was that he would send me away.

He remained silent until I was out of the cage.  Then he unbuckled
the gag and, letting me sit on the nearby stool, he finally spoke.

"What happened?"

I swallowed and wished I could ask the Starship Enterprise to beam
me up.  Danger ahead.

"I...Brenda...she..."

Oh lord, I looked up and saw he was calmly waiting for an answer. 
But his piercing eyes belied his cool attitude.

"I...I...let her go."

I closed my eyes, waiting for the lightning to strike.

"Why?"

He was so calm, my fears doubled in intensity.

"I...I..."

He sighed.

"Don't test my patience, Sabrina."

"I didn't want...I was afraid you'd..."

Then I cracked up and a flow of words came out as if a dam had been
broken.

"I know what I did was terribly wrong, but I'm losing my senses
here.  I can't think straight anymore.  You've had me on a bloody
Tilt-o-whirl for almost two weeks, and I don't even know who I am
anymore.  And then yesterday, I was kidnapped.  Now, this probably
looked like another fun game to you, but not to me.  Those guys were
awful, and I panicked at the thought of being sold to some fucking
Asian whorehouse.  Then I had to fight Brenda, and you know, I've
never fought anyone or anything beyond the flu.  Then I rode a horse,
for crying out loud, and in case I haven't told you, horses scare the
shit out of me!  And then there's you.  One minute, you kiss me, the
next you bring this...this woman to your house."

I was crying, but nothing, not the tears, not Geoffrey's bewildered
look, not even the fact that I knew I looked stupid and probably made
my case worse, could have stopped me from talking my heart out.

"And, and you never tell me anything, and I never know what you want
or feel.  Hell, I don't even know what's happening to me.  Why do I
want to stay here with a man I hardly know, who has me gallop in a
dirt ring, or won't let me say more than two words?  This is a little
bit too much.  Just a little bit too much.  But I do, you know.  I do
want to stay."

I felt pathetic, but at least I'd gotten it out of my system, and a
weight had been lifted off my chest.  I realized this outburst would
probably earn me the door, but maybe Brenda was wrong.  Maybe I
didn't deserve him.

--Geoffrey--

 

I stared at Sabrina silently for several heartbeats, focusing on the
imperatives of the situation.

Upon reflection, I was quite pleased about the way events had
transpired, as the last thing I needed was a full-time girlfriend
with dominatrix designs on me;   one of Brenda's many fatal flaws. 
But this one couldn't even pretend to be a top.  Instead, Brenda had
been given the bum's rush, and Sabrina had jailed herself. 
Encouraging.

And so were her last words...soon to be famous.

"So you want to stay," I said slowly.

"Yes...please," she finally added.

"You realize that means you will be treated in a manner many people
would classify as cruel."

"Yesss...please."

"No better than chattel not fit for the harem."

"Yes, please."

"My fucktoy."

"Yes, please."

"My painslut."

"Yes, please."

"A fetish doll."

"Yes, please."

"A leather slave."

"Yes, please."

"A rubber maid."

"Yes...yes, please."

"A masturbation aid."

"Yes, please!"

"An animal."

"Yes...please."

"Furniture."

"Yes.  Just plain yes, damn it!"

"That didn't sound like 'yes, please.' Open your mouth."

I picked up the penis gag off the floor and installed it.

"Hands behind your back."

Properly attired with the cuffs behind her back, I beckoned her to
follow me upstairs.

"Come."

--Sabrina--

 

And here we go again, I thought to myself while Geoffrey was leading
me upstairs.  He hadn't helped me clear my state of confusion in the
slightest, but I felt better, safe in the knowledge that he was back
in command.  I followed him like a faithful dog.  I had no tail to
wag, but physical reactions appropriate for a human female proved
that I was pleased.

He opened the doors to his master's suite and, once inside, ordered
me to stand still.  He first unlaced the corset, bringing an
involuntary sigh of relief to my mouth as my torso suddenly recovered
the few centimeters it needed to breathe fully.  Next, he removed the
boots, leaving me with nothing but the shoulder-length gloves and the
chastity belt.  

Geoffrey turned his back to me to rummage in the upper drawer of a
massive oak chest.  He took a moment to look out of the window on his
left side and seemed happy to notice the rain had stopped.  With the
shadow of a smile on his face, he came back to me, holding two black
dildos, one too long, the other too wide, which soon filled me as he
locked them under the belt.  

Finally, he walked to the huge wardrobe on the other side of the bed
and opened a side door where neat piles of T-shirts and sweaters
covered all the shelves.

Except for the bottom one, I noticed as I moved closer, following
his order.  The last compartment, high enough to store a big travel
bag, was completely empty.  Well, no, not completely.  There were
leather straps hanging from the sides, and two iron bolts strangely
drilled at equal distance in the middle of the wooden base.

"Get in." 

I gave him my best "are you crazy?" look, but seeing he meant it, I
knelt down and crawled inside the closet.  When my cuffed hands
touched the back frame, I folded my legs against my chest and
realized I fit into the case perfectly.  My head was barely scraping
the upper shelf.  

Geoffrey knelt down to tie a large strap around my waist, pinning me
to the frame without the slightest slack, and then fixed my ankles to
each side of the compartment.  With my crotch exposed, he had no
problem padlocking the chastity belt to the bolts.  There's a purpose
to every single fucking screw in this house, I wanted to tell him
sarcastically.  

When I thought he was finished, he inserted one finger between my
vagina and its chromium protection, and twisted the bottom of the
occupying force to a very low setting.

And he closed the door.

For the first few minutes, I let my thoughts wander back and forth
between the past events and my unknown future.  I had felt so good
last night, when I had fallen asleep in his lap, I thought my doubts
had dissipated completely.  But knowing what I wanted didn't put my
inquisitive mind to rest so easily.  My body had been tamed, but my
spirits had a hard time waving the white flag.  I wondered how long
it would take to appease that part of me, the part that was always
trying to be in control, on top of things.  The part that needed to
understand, to give a rational reason to everything I did or feel. 
Could it be tamed, too?  

I trusted Geoffrey to do what was right.  My problem was, I couldn't
trust myself to do as much.

Soon, the vibrations, low as they were, became too distracting and,
before I realized it, they took control over my rebellious thoughts. 
My body was aroused while my mind was put at peace.  

This is why I'm in here, I mused while I slowly surrendered to the
physical sensations in my vagina.  I don't know how he does it, but
he knows me better than I know myself.  Here I am, not a slave, not
an animal, not even a piece of furniture.  Just a household object he
has put away until he needs it.  And this oddly erotic image doubled
the effects of the vibrator.  

When a sudden ray of light blinded my eyes, accustomed as they were
to complete darkness, I was enthralled by the growing pleasure
buzzing inside me.  A heavy blend of sweat and horse smell reached my
nostrils, and I inhaled more deeply.  Responding to this strong male
intrusion, my sex clenched the dildo a little tighter, too.  

"Since you're enjoying this," I heard Geoffrey say without seeing
his face, "I'll take a shower and let you enjoy it a while longer."

Oh, no.  Now I was truly needy.  And knowing he was so close, naked,
taking a shower, turned me into a horny beast.  While I heard the
faint sounds of water running in the bathroom, I imagined his hands
on my body, caressing, rubbing, pinching.  The vibrations of the
dildo became his own pulses inside me.  He was fucking me, but, Lord,
not hard enough.  Losing my sense of reality, I tried to move my hips
to accelerate the rhythm, but both my back and crotch were firmly
immobilized, and I moaned desperately.  

His shower must have been the longest he ever took in his life.

--Geoffrey--

 

Sabrina must be insane, I told myself while toweling off.  Most
girls inevitably gave up the game and return to their boring lives
and loves.  Just like that Hole song; they get what they want, and
they never want it again.

But Sabrina was turning into the Energizer bunny of bondage.  She
keeps going and going, no matter how horrible her fate.

I began to feel bad that I had kept her in such a state of agitated
confusion for so long.  But better to get these things out in the
open early rather than have the "honey, we need to talk" conversation
six months later.  Because I really didn't want this relationship to
rust like most of the others had; victims of excess and guilt and
boredom and whatever else turned the wine of passion into the vinegar
of partnership.

I didn't even bother to get dressed.

"Sabrina," I said after I had taken her out of the closet, removed
all her encumbrances, and sat her naked on the side of my bed. 
"Here's the straight story.  I like you very, very much, and I would
very much like you to move in with me as my official and exclusive
girlfriend."

I shut up for a moment to let her absorb what I had said.

"If that works for you, that is."

After several heartbeats passed, I felt a surge of panic, thinking
she was going to finally say no.  Then she looked at me unblinkingly,
took my hands into hers, and clenched them tight.

"On one condition," she said with the barest hint of venom.  "No
other women.  Ever."

"Agreed," I said without hesitating.

"Then yes, please, and thank you," she replied, smiling broadly.

I pulled her close to me, our bare chests pressing against each
other, and gave her a kiss that I hoped would make her  see stars.

"You must be starving," I finally said when we disentangled several
minutes later.  "Why don't you go downstairs to the kitchen and
rustle yourself something to eat while I get dressed.  Oh, and
Sabrina..."

I picked up her chastity belt off the floor and held it out to her.  

--Sabrina--

 

Still fazed, but happily so, by Geoffrey's offer and his quick
acceptance of my exclusivity demand, I took the belt in my hand. 
Contrasting with my body temperature, its metallic touch felt icy
cold and definitely unwelcome.  After his passionate kiss, I refused
to believe he really wanted me to put it on.  I was starving, but not
for a plate of salad.

If there was ever a right time to ask him a special favor, it was
there and then.  I decided to take my chances and slowly lay down the
belt on the side of the bed.

"Would you please...make love...to me?"

One second of silence.

"Say that again."

"Would you...fuck me...please?" I repeated while I mentally added
"and if you refuse, you're obviously not doing yourself a favor
either."

"On one condition," he said with the barest hint of irony.  "You
don't come until I say so.  In fact, from now on, this will be a
permanent rule."

I so desperately needed to be fucked that I would have agreed to
anything.  In truth, I had no idea of how I would refrain myself from
coming if he teased me the way he usually did.  But I dismissed the
thought as a technical detail I would deal with later on.

"Agreed."

Stepping closer, he took me under the arms and pushed me further on
the bed.  I lay down, unsure of what to do with my free hands.  I
wanted to grab him, bring him closer, dig my nails in his back, but I
was too conditioned, too well "trained," I guess, and I simply raised
my arms above my head in a gesture of submission.

Reading my body language perfectly, he put an end to my hesitations.

"Grab the bed frame and don't you dare let it go."

While I was restraining myself, he got to work, exploring my body as
if he discovered it for the first time, but slowing down in those
places that had a direct line to my sex.  I wished I could tell him
to skip those preliminaries, since I was more than ready for the
final act, but I had to take what he gave, even if it made me growl
like a wolf.

Feeling his crotch so close to mine, I straddled his back with my
legs and pushed him down.

"Legs down and spread out," he ordered, half serious, half amused.

I resumed the position and tried not to lose it again, Geoffrey's
will becoming mine, his command becoming my aim to please him.  My
hands clenched the wooden frame harder as I strained to lie still.

When his fingers brushed against my clit, on their way down to my
sex, I felt a small quake in its surrounding area.  I remembered my
promise and wondered how I was going to keep it.

--Geoffrey--

 

After teasing Sabrina for a few moments, I finally entered her with
an erection that felt like it was made out of metal.

I could instantly tell she was struggling mightily to restrain
herself from letting go, and truth be told, I was thinking an awful
lot about the Yankees, the grocery list, and that time I saw my
grandmother naked when I was five.  I had waited much too long for
this moment, and now I had to deal with my bravado about her only
being allowed to come on my command.

No way was I going to come first.  I tried to slow down my rhythm,
but that almost made things worst.

I sneaked a peak at Sabrina's face.  Almost smirking.  I considered
pulling out, but then I was either going to lose it on the bed, or
I'd have to sneak off to the bathroom.

Maybe a grand finale in her mouth; no, that wasn't really fair.  To
either of us.  Besides, I was really enjoying this battle of wills,
not to mention the liquid silk between her legs.  But I had a weapon
I had forbidden from her arsenal; my fingers.

I reached down and brushed a nail against her clitoris.  Maybe three
seconds later, she was bucking like a bronco after being branded.  On
my next thrust, my cock responded in kind.

"That's...going...to...oh, forget it," I laughed as I held her in my
arms, enjoying her convulsions almost as much as my own.

"You can...let go...of the sides...of...the bed...if you want," I
added, trying my very best not to pant.

Apparently, she did, as she hugged me hard enough to make breathing
difficult.

I rested until my heartbeat returned to human levels, then
maneuvered my face in front of hers.

"You really want to stay?"

"Yes, please!" she responded, practically giggling.

"Agreed."

Well, who was I to argue?

I rolled out from under her and off the bed onto my feet.

"I shall forgive your earlier outburst of speech, but coming without
permission will not be tolerated.  Downstairs.  Now."

She popped off the bed, her body glistening with sweat and other
fluids.

"Yes, please," she said, her head bowed to avoid eye contact.

"Look at me when you dare to speak," I growled.  When I saw her face
again, I had to resist the urge to kiss her.

Then I figured, oh, what the hell.  Best to get her used to every
extreme.

She would certainly come to know them all.

I led her into my study and told her to stand by the bookshelf that
covered one wall.  In the center was an empty section that stretched
up to a cabinet maybe a meter wide.  I removed the large pot holding
a rubber tree plant that filled the space, revealing two eyebolts
screwed into the walls just above the floor.

I opened the doors to the cabinet.

"Stand here," I beckoned, removing the shelf, or at least half of it.

She looked at me curiously.

"Feet here," I said, pointing to the eyebolts.  "Facing out."

She stepped up to the bookshelf and spread her legs.

"Hands up.  That's it, over the shelf."

She finally noticed the holes cut into the wood for her wrists and
neck.

"Don't move."

I dashed downstairs to get cuffs for her ankles, mittens for her
hands, a collar, the pump gag, tweezer clamps, weights, padlocks,
plus a new toy.

When everything was in place on her, I pushed in the other section
of the shelf, locking her leather-wrapped wrists and neck firmly
between the boards.  Then I held up the device, a small plastic box
with what looked like a glass eye in the middle.

"It's a motion detector," I explained.  "If it senses something
moving, it triggers a switch that turns on a light, or maybe an
alarm.  They're usually used for outdoor locations like driveways. 
Gotta be careful not to make them too sensitive; otherwise, every
squirrel in the neighborhood would be a menace.  But for our
purposes, we'll dial it down to its lowest setting so the slightest
twitch will trigger it."

I put it down between her cuffed ankles, and picked up the tiny
vibrator equipped with two long wires trailing off it, plus a roll of
electrical tape.

"Nasty little fucker.  Runs like a turbine on rocket fuel."

I encased her shaved crotch in tape, the oversized bullet pressed
firmly against her clitoris.

"Every time you move, it runs for five minutes.  Move while it's
running, and it resets itself back to five minutes."

I reached up and grabbed the edges of the cabinet's doors.

"This will help you learn to only come when you have permission."

I pushed them shut and connected the handles with a padlock.

--Sabrina--

 

Oh, bummer.  Another closet.  This was the perfect house for playing
hide-and-seek.  Except Geoffrey had switched around the rules.  He
was hiding me, not seeking me.

And now was not the time for staying immobile.  My spirits were so
high, all I wanted to do was jump, run, talk, laugh, whatever would
allow me to express my cheerfulness.  Instead, I was alone, forced to
silence and stillness.

Silence was easy.  Stillness wasn't.  For once, I wished my
restraints were much tighter than they were.  I had way too much
slack.  If only I could lean against the frame and just take a rest. 
But no, that would be too easy, wouldn't it, Geoffrey?

Minutes passed.  I wondered how long he would leave me here.  Then,
I remembered a song and began to hum it in my mind.

"In your room.  Where time stands still.  Or moves at your will. 
Will you let the morning come soon?  Or leave me lying here?"

Was Depeche Mode singing about bondage?  "Your favorite slave." So
appropriate indeed.

"Will I always be here?" The words filled my head with new levels of
meaning.  I let the thought of the song flow through me, closing my
eyes to feel its powerful bass line stir deeper in me.

Suddenly, the vibrator jumped to life.  Damn it, I must have moved
my legs.

Remembering his instructions, I ordered my hips to ignore the
friction.  Inside my body, various hidden muscles clenched, in an
effort to alleviate the tension without any external movement.  It
worked.  After what seemed like half an hour, but was probably only
five minutes, the vibrations stopped.  I hadn't come.  Round one,
score 1-0.

Careful not to move again, I slowed down my breathing, made painful
and difficult by the gag.  I wouldn't be able to pull that stunt too
many times.  Don't move, I admonished myself.  Don't sing.  Don't
even think.  Just stand still and wait.

And wait, and wait, and wait.

The game wasn't fun anymore.  I wanted to get out.  I needed to
stretch.  Or bend over.  Any movement would do.  To add to my plight,
I was hungry, too.  And I could definitely use the bathroom.  

I must have moved again.  This time, however, the vibrations didn't
stop after five minutes.  They went on.  I stopped caring about
standing still.  I let go and came almost instantly.  My clit was on
fire and hurt like hell.  And I came again.

In a flash of sanity, I summoned all my energy to put my body to a
rest.  Wincing under the effort, I was able to control myself long
enough to stop the little dynamo.

Again, I tried to calm down, my lungs aching from a terrible lack of
air, but the two minutes of grace I gained was too short.  One of my
legs failed me.  The vibrator didn't.

--Geoffrey--

 

I could stare at Sabrina's body all day, especially when it was
quivering in the throes of yet another forbidden orgasm.  I
particularly liked the way the weights bounced under her breasts as
she struggled to bring her limbs to a complete standstill.

It was so much easier to deal with submissive men; lock their cocks
in a cage, and they'd never come again unless their mistress or
master felt merciful.  Or make them come twice, and they wouldn't get
hard again for hours.  Women's climaxes were like ocean waves rather
than bombs, and much more difficult to control, not to mention train.

But what fun we would have trying.

I waited until the vibrator had run for 15 minutes straight before
shutting down the motion detector, removing the tape and the clamps,
and uncuffing her ankles.  When I finally opened the cabinet holding
her head, I wasn't surprised her eyes were barely open.

I pulled out the piece of the shelf holding her hands and neck, and
led her out of the bookshelf.  After I deflated and removed the
bladder from her mouth, I pointed to an iron X on the floor in front
of the couch, the cuffs attached to the four ends open and ready for
her wrists and thighs.

"On your hands and knees," I commanded.  When she hesitated, I found
myself getting angry, but then she gave me a desperate look and waved
a mittened hand over her groin.

I nodded my head, chuckling out loud when she practically sprinted
to the bathroom.

I made sure I had everything else ready: a large plug for her ass,
the flogger, a spreader bar for her ankles, and the penis gag trainer
for later.  She would spend the rest of the evening as my coffee
table, providing support for my plate, glass and silverware while
eating her own supper from a bowl on the floor.  But first, she would
be punished for her transgressions, which had mounted steadily all
day: speaking out of turn, refusing to follow instructions, and
especially all those forbidden orgasms.

I wondered if she disobeyed so she would taste more of the whip? 
Perhaps she herself didn't really know.  But I did know that my
feelings for her were growing exponentially, placing me in the
classic conundrum of a top; does one show affection to a partner by
increasing her suffering?  Cruel to be kind, thank you, Nick Lowe by
way of William S.  Or does one occasionally break down the artifice
of the power exchange relationship and act "normal"?

I wasn't sure if I would ever figure that one out.  I had seen many
similar relationships founder and sink on these exact shoals.  

But again, what fun we would have trying.

I noticed that more than ten minutes had passed since she ran off to
the bathroom.

"Sabrina?" I called out anxiously, putting down the flogger and
hastening down the hall.  "Are you okay?"

Fortunately, the door to the bathroom was unlocked.  And there sat
Sabrina on the toilet, her head pressed against the towel hanging
from a rack, fast asleep.

I felt a wave of emotion wash over my body.  Poor thing, I thought
as I gently scooped her off the seat into my arms.  Time for you to
join the other angels in the land of nod.

I carried her upstairs to my bedroom, pulled back the covers, and
lay her on the sheet.  I took off her collar, but left the mittens in
place.  A quick trip to the studio produced a long leather leash,
which I used to tie her wrists loosely over her head to a bedpost.

"Goodnight, Sabrina," I said softly as I pulled the comforter over
her elongated form.  "I'll join you in a little while."

After supper, I sat down to respond to some long-neglected
correspondence.  Some kind of bondage convention wanted me to lead a
half-day workshop for budding pornographers, for which they offered
to cover all my expenses in addition to a healthy honorarium.  I
thought for a moment about how Sabrina would look standing next to me
at the podium, arms bindered, waist corseted, legs encased in thigh-
high leather, a bit gag in her mouth, and a leash trailing down from
a posture collar to a cuff around my wrist.  Definitely worth a trip
to Washington, D.C.  We might even stay for all three days of the
conference.  

Bills, bills, catalogs, junk--hmm, an invitation to Brenda's mid-
summer bash.  I crumpled up the embossed paper and threw it into the
fireplace without a second look.  

Finally, I logged onto the Internet to check the progress of
Sabrina's auction.  As expected, my ridiculous offers had scared off
other bidders.  Pity it was my grand finale in this particular
enterprise.  I could hardly wait for the close of business in Hong
Kong early tomorrow.

As I prepared to turn in, I checked the weather report.  Late-night
clouds giving way to sunshine, the virtual meteorologist reported. 
Excellent.  I planned on a double session with Sabrina in the ring to
make up for today's rainout.

But first, I wanted to let her sleep as long as she needed.  Of
course, I might interrupt her dreams occasionally as my desires
demanded.  But I was quite confident she wouldn't mind the
distraction in the slightest.

Starting now, I smiled, peeling off my shirt as I walked up the
stairs.

Day 13--Sabrina

A masturbation aid.  That was my label for the night.  I was sound
asleep when I got the strangest wake-up call in my life.  Geoffrey
just penetrated me from behind and started fucking.  Surprise!  Why
did I feel no pain?  Was I wet even in my dreams?  Two seconds later,
anger took over when I realized he had waken me up just to use me as
a sex toy.  However, I soon found myself responding to his thrusts,
pulling on my restrained wrists, panting in unison.  Then, as
pleasure was growing, he came, slipped out, turned around and fell
asleep.  Just like that.

Why do I put up with this?  I asked myself while his breathing
reached the regular pattern of someone who's started to dream. 
Because it excites me, I had to admit.  So was this what my life
would be about?  Despite the evidence of the last ten days, I
couldn't believe he had nothing better to do than tie me up and fuck
me.  And occasionally rescue me from villains.  Surely a semblance of
normal life would resume.

Or not?  I remembered Brenda's wad of green notes.  He, we, could
live on that money for a while.  Work wasn't really necessary
anymore.  Still, was all his life about bondage?

Oh well, tomorrow would tell, I concluded, yawning.

Tomorrow...if my perception of time was correct, tomorrow was the
end of my official assignment with Geoffrey.  I was supposed to re-
surface in the outside world.  Call my boss.  Contact my friends and
relatives.  Would he think about this, or just let me vanish?  Out of
the blue, into the black.  Once you're gone, you can't come back.

Unable to answer such a simple question, I hid under the covers and
ordered myself to sleep.  Ten minutes later, I was still awake and
restless.  I turned around and lifted my head to take a look at
Geoffrey.  Bathed in the pale moonlight, his face was so serene, it
was hard to see him as a sadist who would whip me when the fancy took
him.  Such a complex character.

Responding to a sudden emotional urge, I bent over.  Although my
wrists were tied to a bedpost, the leash was long enough to let me
move close to him.

I left a soft, almost imperceptible kiss on his forehead and held my
breath for a few seconds.  When I was certain he wouldn't wake up, I
lay back down, thanking all deities that the high-quality bed didn't
betray my movements.

And finally, I slept.

Only to be awoken in the same fashion a few hours later.  Geoffrey's
morning erection lasted forever, but still not long enough to give me
any satisfaction.  He didn't look sorry about it.  Well, I had asked
for this, right?

He used the bathroom first, giving me more time to pout over my
unquenched thirsts, then untied me so that I could take a shower
while he went down to prepare breakfast.

Remembering I hadn't eaten since the previous morning, I washed
quickly and was happy not to waste any time choosing clothes.  All he
had left on the bed was my chastity belt, which I put on and locked
with a slight pinch of regret.  Maybe later?

When I joined him in the kitchen, he was turning over slices of
bacon in a pan.  In a normal life, I would have kissed him good
morning and helped him.  Instead I stood still and waited for him to
tell me what to do.  While I waited, I noticed the table was only set
for one.  Lowering my eyes onto the floor, I saw a red bowl ready
near his chair.  Yuck.  Not my favorite way to start the day.

Favorite or not, this was the way Geoffrey had chosen, and I had no
option but to obey.  I ate the omelet straight from the bowl, with my
hands cuffed behind my back and chained to my ankles, then lapped my
coffee from the same dish, trying not to burn the tip of my nose.

After breakfast--invigorating, if not particularly enjoyable--he
harnessed me in a now-familiar outfit.  A look outside told me the
weather was perfect for a ride.  But he obviously had other plans,
even if they were somehow horse-related.

As I preceded him on the dirt path to the training ring, I once
again reminded myself that, yes, I had asked for this.  And, yes, I
was excited.  And, yes, I was probably insane.

--Geoffrey--

 

After a brief warm-up, I introduced Sabrina to the reins, clipping
them to rings on either side of the bit in her mouth.

Leads in one hand and a cat-o-nine-tails in the other, I stepped
behind her and gave the leather a hard shake.  When she didn't
respond immediately, I cracked the thin ends of the whip smartly
against her ass.

"Hiya!" I yelled as I snapped the reins again.  This time, she began
moving forward somewhere between a walk and a trot.

"Easy," I coached, pulling back on the reins slightly until she
slowed down to the desired speed.  "Walk, trot, canter, gallop. 
We've been working on this for a week.  Don't make me remind you
again."

I tugged on the rein attached to the left side of the bit, and was
extremely pleased when Sabrina turned as directed.  Then I pulled
back on the reins hard, almost dragging her off her feet.  

"Start, stop, left, right!  Again!"

I knew she loathed her training, but her opinions were no longer
valid on this, or any, topic.  Instead of trying to guess what she
really wanted, I would do with her as I pleased.  If she didn't like
it, she could always leave.

It's the only way, I reminded myself as I used the whip on her
again.  If she really wanted romance and cuddling, she wouldn't keep
coming back for more.  Plenty of nice guys in the world.  I wasn't
one of them.

In fact, I was starting to believe that Sabrina wanted me to treat
her even worse.  So be it.  Even if it occasionally killed me inside.
Affection, meet affliction.

After two hours in the ring, I took her back to the barn, stripped
off her equestrian gear, and hosed her off.  No more swimming pool
for the foreseeable future, unless I decided to weight her down and
let her breathe through a tube for a few hours.

I cuffed her wrists, gagged her, and marched her back to the house
and down to the studio, where I dressed her in a one-piece rubber
dress that was just barely long enough to cover both her chest and
her crotch.  Her good high heels had seemingly disappeared, but I
realized Brenda probably wore them home after Sabrina let her go
yesterday.  No matter, I decided, as I found a pair of open-toed
strappy spikes.  I had had my eye on a pair with straps that could be
padlocked; the perfect replacement.

Shit, I hadn't fixed the car tires yet.  Well, we would take a taxi
into town.  Actually, we would go to the train station and retrieve
her car from the parking lot.  Luckily, I had had the foresight to
make an extra set of keys for Brenda to throw in the trash.  I
chuckled as I stuffed them into my pocket; I had never thought I
might actually need them for a situation like this.

After we picked up the car, I drove her to the restaurant we had
visited the week before.  After taking a table in the back, I handed
her a small leather bag filled with coins.

"There's a pay phone by the bathrooms.  Call whomever.  I'll be back
in an hour; we'll eat then."

--Sabrina--

 

Stunned, I stared at the heavy bag in my hand like it was going to
give me a clue.  Geoffrey had treated me so harshly that whole
morning, I wondered whether he was aware I was still a person. 
Actually I had doubts about that, too.  But now, without warning, he
confronted me with the life I knew when I was nothing but a sane,
thoughtful human being.

After rehearsing my lines a couple of times in my head, I called the
association.  The chairman made it easier than expected, although he
seemed a little surprised to hear from me.  I wondered if he knew
that I knew that Geoffrey knew...oh, it wasn't worth the extra
quarters demanded by the mechanical voice in my ear.

Calling my family and friends was much harder.  I couldn't tell them
where I was, not to mention what I was doing, but my cheerful
announcement that I had finally found "the one" and decided to live
with him was enough to soothe their concerns.  Let them imagine some
Hollywood romance, I thought as I hung up for the seventh time,
feeling a huge weight off my shoulders now that the practical
problems appeared to be solved.

I decided to keep my apartment, just in case; a friend agreed to
retrieve my personal belongings and sublet it on my behalf.  My mail
would be redirected to a post office box until further notice, and a
last call to my bank confirmed that I could manage my account through
the Internet.

All the ties to my "normal" life were loose, at least temporarily;
I'd deal with the more delicate problems of birthdays and holidays
later.  I giggled as I imagined spending a blasphemous Christmas with
Geoffrey.  Bound tight in strands of lights, I would make such a
lovely tree by the fireplace.

With a silly smile on my face, I left the phone and went to the
bathroom.  The leather bag was only half empty, but there were no
more calls to make.  I didn't have an extensive social life, and
wouldn't miss much of it.

When I returned to the main dining room, I almost bumped into
Geoffrey.  I handed him the bag and followed him to our table.

I hoped he would lift my speech restrictions for the duration of the
meal, but he didn't, confirming my impression that he was trying to
make up for his moments of tenderness the night before.  I doubted he
would make love to me like that again soon.  It was time he was back
in control, I jested to myself while eating the food he had ordered. 
We weren't about to get emotional here.

I couldn't hold back a faint chuckle, which didn't pass unnoticed
and earned me a frown.  I resumed my serious expression and
concentrated on my food.

When we were finished, we left the restaurant and drove further into
town where Geoffrey parked behind a large building hosting a variety
of shops.  When he came around the car to open my door, I started to
move out, but he stopped me.  Retrieving one pair of cuffs from the
glove compartment, he tied my ankles to a bar under the seat and left
with the key.  My hands were free, but useless, so I decided to take
a nap.

I was awakened abruptly when he returned and closed the trunk with a
loud bang.  Then he drove us back home, parked my car next to his,
unlocked my cuffs, and motioned me to walk by the side of the house,
toward the stables.

I was disappointed when he elected to go for a horseback ride by
himself, while I spent the hour in an empty stall; naked, but
generously adorned.  Hanging from a hook in the ceiling, my limbs
spread out to the four corners.  Waiting for him to return.  Just
another afternoon in paradise.

--Geoffrey--

 

I was a little surprised to find Sabrina waiting for me at the
restaurant, having presumed that some do-gooder family member would
talk her out of staying.  Or worse, I was going to walk into an
ambush: perhaps the police, or maybe some armed friends ready to take
me to task for my treatment of their best friend, or girlfriend, or
sister.

Instead, she had simply handed back what was left of the coins and
joined me at the table without a word.  Exactly as trained.  

I had planned to discuss a safeword with her, a prearranged signal
that would allow her to leave my world with no questions asked.  But
I scarcely saw the point now.  I would give her plenty of
opportunities like this one--an hour here, a day there--no set
schedule, like everything in our lives to be.

I was just about to tell Sabrina how pleased I was with her behavior
when she seemed to choke back a giggle.

Oh, she thinks this is funny, eh?

My first instinct was to command her to bring herself to orgasm
right then and there at the table.  But I'd save that punishment for
another time.  Instead, I hurried through the rest of our meal so we
could finish my errands, including one more stop at a special store;
kind of a patchouli palace, dressed to twirl in tie-dye scarves,
preposterous bongs and assorted Grateful-they-were-finally-Dead
detritus, but it had by far the best selection of candles in town.

Once we got home, I decided I needed to work off some of my anger,
so I took her to the barn, stripped off her dress, and hung her in an
empty stall--soon to be her stall--while I exercised the horses a bit.

When I was finished, I dragged her back to the house and down into
the studio to the wall where I had installed horizontal wooden beams
spaced evenly from floor to ceiling.  I always thought it looked a
bit like the side of an oversized packing crate.  But the slats were
perfect for securing arms, legs and whatnot in a variety of awkward
positions.

I positioned Sabrina on her back with her ass pressed against the
wall and her legs spread in a wide V.  Starting with her ankles, I
wrapped dozens of coils of rope around her calves and thighs,
threading each strand around a slat and knotting it tight to prevent
even the merest hint of movement.

When I was done with her legs, I locked her hands back into the
leather mittens, then tied them at her sides to her thighs.  I used
the rest of the rope around her elbows and breasts, then finished off
her bindings with the pump gag strapped tight around her head,
topping it off with a pair of blinders on the sides of her eyes.

I pushed a pillow underneath her neck and head, then attached
butterfly clamps to her nipples, the kind that increased their
pressure when something pulled on their handles; something like the
thin piece of cord I knotted around them, then ran up to a slat in
the wall, then back down to the leather straps of the trainer that
met between her eyes.

Certain she couldn't move her head without causing considerable
trauma on her nipples, I went to work jamming the long, thick candle
between the slats so that it stuck out horizontally from the wall
just above her lower waist and groin.

When I was satisfied with its stability, I produced a lighter from
my pocket and gave it a flick.  As her eyes grew wide, I moved the
flame under the candle's wick.  After it sputtered to life, I watched
until the first drops of wax fell a few centimeters above her navel
before turning my attention to my afternoon chores, such as moving
the bed out of her room and replacing it with the cage from the
studio.

--Sabrina--

 

After so many bondage adventures, you'd think I'd grow tired or
bored at yet another scene.  But, no.  You don't get bored when hot
wax splashes on your belly.  Nor when your breasts are about to be
torn off when you simply move your head in a reflex to counter the
pain.  You get afraid, you get upset, you get aroused...you never get
bored.

I couldn't take my eyes off the candle.  Literally, I couldn't. 
Thanks to the blinders, it occupied my whole field of vision.  Unless
I wanted to take chances with the clamps and move my head, but the
view was definitely not worth it.  So I kept my eyes on the white
phallic object that threatened to burn me down to my crotch.

When a drop hit my navel, the burning sensation was instantly
followed by a most pleasurable echo a little further south.  I closed
my eyes and waited for the next one to fall, accepting its dual gift,
and soon longing for it.

I was floating in another world when the wax reached my shaved
pubis, sending fireworks with each tiny splash.  The pain felt so
good, it wasn't even pain anymore.  And it wasn't nearly enough to
match the flow of sexual hormones speeding through my veins.  I
decided to help the candle in its slow work and turned my head. 
Left.  Fire in my breasts.  Right.  Tears in my eyes.  Up.  Bright
light flashing inside.

The candle must have been near the end of its life as I felt the
centers of pain and pleasure moving incredibly closer.

But they didn't meet.  More drops fell on the same spot; so close to
the target, yet never reaching it.  And then they stopped.  The
candle had died on the slat, leaving nothing but an small
extinguished nub of white wax.

And me?  I felt like yelling.  What about my own little death?  Mad
with desire, I pulled on the cord, but almost fainted when I felt the
unbearable bites on my nipples.

Then I heard Geoffrey's footsteps hurrying down the stairs, and I
tried to calm down.  No need to show him how well he had scored with
this game.  My glistening body would provide ample testimonial to his
victory.

--Geoffrey--

 

I was a little disappointed that the candle had fizzled out before
the wax reached Sabrina's sex, so I went back upstairs and stole one
from the dining-room table.  After slowly unclamping her nipples, I
tried several practice drips on her breasts, then went to work down
below.  When the nub got too hot to hold, I was impressed with both
the quality and the quantity of molten white that both coated and
filled her.

I had been careful to take my time and not allow her to come. 
Leaving her there for another hour while I finished setting up her
room would give her plenty of time to cool down, at least physically.

The mechanic arrived to fix the tires while I was checking the final
results of Sabrina's auction.  Luckily, my seven-digit bid had
survived a last-minute flurry from someone in Russia.  I wasn't
thrilled about sharing ten percent of the total with Iwata, but it
was a small price to pay to maintain my credibility.

"To live outside the law, you must be honest," as Dylan wrote, but
Jason and the Scorchers sang it better.

I poured three fingers of Veliky Novgorod vodka over chipped ice to
celebrate my victory over the remnants of communism, then returned
downstairs.

I dearly wanted to tell Sabrina what I planned to do with her
tonight, and the next, and the day after that, and in the weeks and
months to follow.  I wasn't sure if knowing what was coming was worse
than the ongoing surprise.  I also wanted to get to know her better,
but not at the expense of the current positive state of our delicate
partnership.  Train first, enjoy later.

Besides, I had waited a long time for this.  No sense in conjuring
the old dysfunctional habits so I could muck up another one.

I untied her legs from the slats, then swiveled her around on the
floor until the top of her head was pressed against the wall.  After
tying the cord still knotted between her eyes to a board overhead,
forcing her to stare at the ceiling, I secured a long piece of rope
around one ankle, then pulled it up and back toward the wall,
repeating the process on its partner, and then her knees.

It didn't take long to remove all the wax once I switched from the
crop to a thinner lash.  But she didn't know that, so I kept going
until I was sure she was ready to melt herself.

After another hour's rest, I freed her from the wall, removing
everything but the mittens.  After giving her some water, I put the
blinders back onto her equestrian trainer and re-gagged her.  She
would have to wait for the bathroom, although I reminded myself that
she wasn't quite ready to have her elimination needs reduced to twice-
daily trips.

I left her lying on the ground as I picked up one of her feet and
slipped it into the ballerina boot with a curved heel a good two
inches longer than the tip of the toe.  I buckled it tightly, then
threaded the tiny padlock between the hasp that connected the straps.

When the other foot was finished, I slipped black elastic pads
around her ankles and pushed them up her legs until they were around
her knees, then encircled her neck in a stiff discipline collar that
kept her nose raised high in the air like a haughty housefrau walking
past a gaggle of goths.  Around that went the Elizabethan collar that
had more recently adorned Brenda's neck.  Designed so animals
couldn't gnaw at wounds on their bodies, it also prohibited the
wearer from seeing anything below the neck.

"Hands and knees," I barked.  After she rolled over and repositioned
herself, I reached under her chin and clipped a leash onto her collar.

I tugged my end and started toward the stairs.  When she hesitated,
I picked up the crop and gave her ass a powerful swat, then spun on
my heel and proceeded to the landing with her crawling tentatively
behind me.

Once upstairs, we passed through the kitchen to the back door, which
I opened and held wide.

"Outside," I said, pointing toward the lawn.

--Sabrina--

 

I was getting nervous.  Badly nervous.  Not the kind of happy
trepidation preceding an entertaining scene, but rather the rumbling
of mounting anger.

Since Geoffrey and I had returned from town, I had spent all my time
in bondage, struggling against the pain, then trying not to get too
excited about it, and waiting for a relief that never came.  The
candles had been fun, thankyousomuch, but after fleshing me alive
with the whip, I would have hoped a little reward was in order. 
Instead, all I got was more pain, more excitement, more waiting, more
frustration.  He had left me ponder over my fate for longer than I
could bear; when he finally came to release me, I dearly expected him
to end the game for the day.

So why was I outside, on all fours, forced to stare at the sun
slowly diving down into the blackening shapes of the trees?  This had
better be worth it, I muttered to myself.  I certainly didn't want to
fail--fail him, fail myself--but we were dangerously close to my
limits here.

Obviously, my limits were of little concern to Geoffrey.  Or perhaps
he placed them much further than I did.

I shivered from the cold.  And from what was to happen.

He led me further on the lawn and stopped in the middle.

"There's a slight breeze blowing," he said, rather redundantly. 
Then, he bent down to remove my gag as he continued.  "Don't want you
to get a bad cold.  So you'd better be moving.  There!"

I saw a red flying object cross my limited field of vision from
right to left.

"Go get it!," he commanded.

I froze.  Which of course cost me a sound thwack on the ass.

Mumbling all sorts of curses in my mind, I crawled towards the spot
where I figured the object had landed.

"Faster, damn it," he yelled.  "Run!"

Oh sure, like I'm a dog?  Well of course, I finally realized as I
tried to run on my hands and knees.  If he could train me like a
pony, he could just as well train me like a dog.  Lord, was there
absolutely no decency left in my upside-down world?

I found the red plastic ball, a typical dog toy, and grab it firmly
between my teeth to bring it back to him.  As soon as he held it, he
threw it again, further.

I sighed and hesitated one second too many--thwack--before running
to it.  I hated this.  I would rather stand the pain of burning wax
than such a degrading show.

By the time I went searching for the ball for the tenth time, I was
crying my rage out.  Why was I doing this?  Why did I let it happen? 
I could just stand up, stop the game, and leave.  But I wouldn't.  He
wanted me to do this, and that was all the reason I needed to keep
going.  Obey and submit, not only my body, which was fairly easy, but
also my mind.

Soon, all I could focus on was running, finding the red target,
bringing it back, and running again.  My legs were tired, my knees
were sore despite their protection, and my breath was turning into a
low whistle.  But I had to get that ball.

When I thought I was going to collapse from exhaustion, Geoffrey
placed his hand on my back, just below the collar, and gently pushed
me down.

"Easy.  Take a rest.  You've done very well."

Those were the words I needed to hear, and I welcomed them with more
tears.  My anger had melted, replaced by a contradictory blend of
sorrow and joy, despair and pleasure.  Confused, but comforted by his
presence, I knelt down, placed my mittens on my thighs, and tried to
appease my lungs with long breaths of fresh air.

Night had fallen.  The world was suspiciously quiet.

--Geoffrey--

 

Pleased with Sabrina's performance, I stroked her hair for a moment,
then picked up the ball and stuck it back into my pocket.  

"I'll call when dinner is ready.  In the meantime, I'd strongly
suggest you take care of your needs before coming back inside.  An
indoors accident involving your bladder or bowels would be most
unfortunate."

I left her kneeling in the middle of the lawn and walked back to the
house.

While preparing our meal, I resisted the urge to look outside the
window to see if she was taking this rare opportunity to pleasure
herself.  I would easily find out when she came inside with a simple
sniff of her mittens.

The iron cross with the cuffs for her wrists and thighs was still
sitting in the living room in front of the couch where I had left it
the night before.  Perfect.  I went downstairs to find a few more
implements, including the leather hood and her earplugs.  No matter
what, she would spend the bulk of the evening on her hands and knees,
her ankles splayed wide between a spreader bar.  I fingered the fat
plug I had chosen for her ass, then selected another thick vibrator
for her sex with a little bird figure sticking out of its base that
would press directly against her clit.

Clamps, weights, some extra rope to tie her hair to the ceiling so
her head would be properly positioned to service me orally if I
chose.  I walked back upstairs to the kitchen, spooned our pasta into
a plate for me and a bowl for her, and poured myself a glass of wine.

"Sabrina!  Dinner!" I yelled out the back door, squinting into the
darkness to see if her hand was between her legs.  Not as far as I
could tell, but she couldn't escape her own scent.

Regardless, her fate was sealed.  The only question that remained
was the number of minutes.  Not to mention lashes.

When she crawled up the steps to the door, I opened the door and
spoke to her directly.

"Did you just come without permission?"

--Sabrina--

 

Offended by his lack of trust, I told Geoffrey I didn't.  The only
organ I had cared to relieve was my bladder.  He asked to smell my
mittens and seemed disappointed by their innocuous leather fragrance.
Poor man.  There goes his dream of punishment, I grinned to myself. 
In all honesty, the thought had indeed occurred to me, but I would
have been foolish to pleasure myself with him looking outside the
window.

Leading me to the kitchen, he removed the large collar around my
neck and pointed at the bowl on the floor before sitting at the table
to eat his own pasta.  When we were both finished, he let me sip wine
from his glass, all the while suppressing a smile at the sight of my
tomato-smeared cheeks.  He cleaned them with a wet towel, cleared the
dirty stuff into the sink, and led me to the living room.

Fifteen minutes later, I was all set for the evening.  Still on my
hands and knees, legs spread out and fixed to the ground, and
completely deprived from two of my basic senses: sight and hearing. 
But other senses largely compensated for the loss, such as pain in my
breasts, discomfort in my anus, and buzzing in my sex.  When I
thought he was done, he came in front of me to tie my hair up to a
rope hanging from the ceiling, and gave a finishing touch to my
predicament with a ring gag that kept my mouth open wide.

Working along with the dildo, my ass was slowly circling the air
even though it increased the traction of the weights on my nipples. 
But I instantly stopped when I felt a cold and damp touch on my back.
I guessed he had laid down his glass on what he assumed was his new
coffee table, and I certainly didn't need to be told that one spilled
drop would be very ill-fated.

As I was trying to get used to being perfectly still, another
vibration did its best to distract me, this time right on my clit.  I
clenched my muscles, bit on the gag, and struggled to accommodate the
pleasurable sensation.

Although set on a low setting, the double vibrator took little time
to build on a day's worth of arousal, and sent me straight to lust
land.  Completely isolated from any sight or sound, I drifted off,
opening myself to the most perverse hallucinations.  This was
dangerous, I knew, for I would soon forget my duties and let me body
react freely, but I was beyond caring.

I hardly felt the cold liquid when it splashed on my back.  However
I did feel the first whip lashes when they began to decorate my ass,
thighs and back.  They didn't feel like punishment at all.  He meant
them for pleasure, and I took them as such, each bite sending a
burning wave rolling down to meet the vibrations of the dildo and
merge with them.

When I was on the verge of coming, the whipping ceased.  Two seconds
later, I almost choked when Geoffrey forced his engorged member way
down into my mouth.  Yet I welcomed the chance of transferring some
of my excessive desire onto him, and started to tame my mad impulses
to pleasure him as long as possible.

It didn't seem long enough.  He came, then withdrew, leaving me
panting for a few more rounds.

--Geoffrey--

 

After Sabrina's stellar performance, I removed my member from the
ring in her mouth, replaced it with a rubber dildo, then let the
vibrators rumble for another hour or so, immensely enjoying the way
she twisted and thrashed as her orgasms finally arrived, growing
exponentially both in duration and intensity.  Feast or famine, I
thought to myself as I watched her spine buckle under the strain of
the convulsions.  But the hour was getting late, and I had much to
accomplish in the real world tomorrow.

I removed everything but the mittens and the collar, untied her from
the iron cross, then led her on hands and knees to her room, which I
had redecorated slightly since her last visit.  All the furniture was
gone, replaced by the cage from the studio, which hung from a large
metal pulley in the middle of the ceiling.  I lowered it to the
floor, opened the door, and gestured for her to enter.  Not wanting
to cause too much more stress, I simply padlocked her wrists behind
her back, then attached a short chain from the top bars of the cage
to the collar.

"One peep, and I'll be back with the pump gag," I muttered as I
secured the door and began hoisting the structure a few feet off the
ground.  But my threats fell on deaf ears, as Sabrina appeared to be
asleep before I finished locking down the links holding the cage to
the ceiling.

"Good night," I said softly as I closed the door, resisting the urge
to add "sleep tight." That was a given, I smiled to myself.

Day 14--Geoffrey

The next morning kicked off crisp and clear; hard to miss, actually,
since we were in the ring exercising just as the sun crept over the
horizon.

After a thorough workout, I led Sabrina into the barn, removed most
of her gear save her boots and her headgear, then pulled out a second
pair from the tack box, only these had much longer leather tubes
connected to the horse hooves on the end.

"Hold out your hands," I instructed.

She didn't look too surprised when I slipped the end of one of the
new boots over her arm, and began lacing it up past her elbow almost
to her shoulder.  After the second one was properly fitted, I helped
lower her hands to the ground, then took the reins from either side
of her head and slowly led her off on all fours to a stall at the end
of the row.

She couldn't help but notice the "Sabrina" nameplate I had installed
on the door.

Once inside, I positioned her next to a hitching post, and wrapped
the reins around them.  Next, I crawled under her with two long
pieces of twine in my hand, tying one set of ends around her nipples,
and the other around her ankles.  Then, I removed the bit from her
mouth and replaced it with a feed bag full of breakfast cereal.

I left her for maybe half an hour while I attended to the other
horses.  When I returned, I removed the almost-empty bag and held a
bucket filled with fresh water under her mouth.  Once she seemed
satiated, I replaced the bit in her mouth and gave her a swat on her
rump.

"Be good," I said as I closed the stall door, only to return a
minute later.

"I almost forgot," I said as I moved around to Sabrina's head so I
could show her the thick black plug festooned with what appeared to
be thousands of strands of chestnut brown hair.

"Your new dress tail.  Hmmm, looks like it needs to be brushed."

--Sabrina--

 

Geoffrey took his sweet time brushing the tail, and by the time he
was finished, I hoped the pain in my ass was worth it.  This had to
be the most beautiful equestrian appendage ever.

When he was gone again--I had a hunch he wouldn't be back for a
while--I inventoried my accessories, and found out I could move my
knees forward and squat down.  The reins on either side of my head
forced me to stay near the post, but a few twists of my neck and
shoulders...should allow me...to turn around, and...there.  As I
slumped on my thighs, I remembered the plug and moved my feet a few
centimeters apart to avoid any additional pressure where I didn't
need it.

Kneeling with my head facing the stall entrance, I wondered how I
was going to spend the time.  I looked at my hands, rendered pretty
useless by the hooves.  There was no way I could think of unlacing
the gloves without the use of my teeth.  Sigh.  What had I gotten
myself into?

My thoughts traveled back in time, until early that morning.  What a
shock it had been to wake up in the cage.  I didn't remember entering
it, but the marks left by the bars and the numbness in my muscles
indicated I had spent most of the night in it.  Why hadn't he let me
sleep in his bed?  Had I done something wrong?  I couldn't quite
remember.

And now, what?  How long would I be left in this barn?  If only
there was some music; at this point, even commercials would be
entertaining.

While musing, I started to draw shapes in the dirt with my right
hoof.  First some lines, then weird geometrical forms, then letters. 
I wrote my name.  Then Geoffrey's.  Then erased them.  I decided to
play with numbers.  I wrote two of them.  Made mental calculations. 
Checked the result.  From two-digit numbers, I went on to three
digits, then four, forcing my brain cells to shake off their apathy
and get to work.  When I was tired with numbers, I played letter
games such as anagrams.

For the first time, I realized I would like to put my thoughts on
paper; relate my journey into these dark, weird territories.  Perhaps
he would let me, if I had a chance to ask.  I couldn't let myself
become a stupid sex toy, even if that's what he meant to turn me into.

But did he really want this?  Was it the reason behind the "Sabrina"
nameplate on the door?  Did he expect me to become a brainless pony,
trained to obey his orders blindly, without any personal thought,
without any desire beyond sexual satisfaction?

I decided I wouldn't.  I greatly enjoyed all the challenges, but the
thrill would fade and eventually disappear if I were to lose my
identity.  I was afraid of waking up one day so completely broken
down that the game would no longer excite me.  Even an occasional
fight was not out of the question.  I would have to make sure he
didn't turn me into a sexual robot.  I needed to keep my spirits high.

However, when I heard Geoffrey's heavy shoes shake the earth outside
the stables, any idea for a fight automatically vanished and I
quickly contortioned to return to my initial position, on all fours. 
As he stepped inside, I tried to wipe off any trace of my mental
games on the ground but when the door opened, I could still make out
a couple of letters from his name.  A "F," an "R" and an "E."  Free.

--Geoffrey--

 

Walking back from the barn, I knew I was in too good a mood, which
was often dangerous.  When I arrived back at the house, a large
parcel festooned with overnight-delivery labels was waiting on the
front door.  About time, I thought.  My latest assignment.  I brought
the box down to the studio and decimated the wrappings with a knife. 
Out popped the latest in portable inkjet printers from my friends in
Palo Alto.  My job was to photograph the sucker from every
conceivable angle, including a full 360-degree digital drill so it
could be viewed in 3D by those whose browsers wanted to be a
PlayStation when they grew up.  

Yeah, it wasn't exactly a glamour gig, but technology product
photography gave me a degree of legitimacy and paid the bills, and
they were assignments I could accomplish in the privacy of my home. 
Plus, I usually got to keep what I shot, which kept the local
electrical utility very, very happy.

Besides, my white slavery days were most likely coming to an end. 
Thinking like a proper criminal--i.e., one who doesn't get caught--I
knew it was high time I went legit, before Interpol finally figured
out the intricacies of the Internet.  Fortunately, I had invested my
scurrilous profits for the long term, with plenty of dividends
churning out monthly residuals that would comfortably support a
family of four, if not 40 or 400.

I punched up some CDs on the jukebox and got to work setting up a
plain white backdrop for the test shots.  By the time I calibrated
the lights to the flash, I realized it was almost lunchtime.  Better
try a few Polaroids first, I decided as I hummed along to some of
Frank Zappa's nursery crimes.  After all, Sabrina wasn't going
anywhere.

Or so I hoped.  I realized there was no guarantee that my sudden
good fortune would last any longer than this afternoon.  This was
probably the trickiest relationship I had ever attempted, although
I'd been in some doozies in the past.  But none where the implicit
had been so explicit up front.  Usually, it took forever to get a
partner interested in my particular avocation, and most of those
failed as soon as scenes progressed beyond wrist cuffs.  And the ones
who were honest about their shared affection for my affliction tended
to be like Brenda, or worse: dishrag submissives, topping-from-below
banshees, furry/Gor fantasists, pain sluts, porn starlets in
training, and all manner of gold diggers willing to do anything to
get at my stock-portfolio password.

With Sabrina, I had thrown out the old rules of engagement; usually
I started off being a nice guy, then turned into a fire-breathing
sadist later.  Stunningly, it seemed to be working.  But the Big
Transition loomed large on the horizon.  Did she want me to continue
to be the big bad dom who treated her like a prized pet?  Or did she
want a "normal" relationship (whatever the hell those were) in which
sexual torture was our preferred mode of foreplay?  I would be more
than happy to keep her bound, gagged and physically, if not
psychically, perturbed for many moons to come.  But how long would
she last under such treatment?  It would be something like solitary
confinement, or worse.  Eventually, she would get...bored.  

And most likely, I hated to admit, so would I.

I put down my camera and turned off the strobe.  There has to be a
center solution, I decided.  One where we could maintain our
established structure without turning her into a bondage cliche like
a harem girl, or a maid.

Or a pony, I chuckled, although, damn, Sabrina looked great in
hooves.  Good exercise, too...yeah, right.  Speaking of which, I
headed up the stairs and out the back door toward the barn.

"That's my girl," I said affectionately as I entered her stall,
giving her rump a light swat with his palm.  "Miss me?  Probably not.
Well, anyway, time for lunch.  Let's get you out of your tack and
head back to the house."

I stripped her naked, then gestured toward the door.

"Come on, let's go, I'm starving.  Anything special you want for
lunch?"

"Yes...please," she replied tentatively.

"Permission granted to speak normally," I said, smiling.  "And just
so you know, after we eat lunch, I am going to take you up to my
bedroom and fuck you silly: no gags, no cuffs, no corsets, no nothing
except what's naturally attached to us.  Then, we're going to figure
out how we're going to do this thing together for the long term. 
Over the last day and a half, you've experienced one option. 
Something tells me you may have other ideas.  And now's the time to
tell me."

I extended a hand around her neck, pulled her face closer to mine,
and kissed her long and hard, our tongues squirming like charmed
snakes.

--Sabrina--

 

After such a passionate embrace, lunch was an annoying necessity.  I
asked for sandwiches because they didn't require any preparation, and
I ate them so quickly, I had to wait twice as long for Geoffrey to
finish.

During our meal, I would have gladly shared the ideas he was so keen
to hear, but he turned our conversation to his new photography
assignment.  My heart missed a beat as I imagined another woman in
the house.  However, when he mentioned the printer, I silently
admonished myself for being so stupidly jealous.

Despite its technical approach, he caught my interest.  Hearing him
talk about his work, or anything personal for that matter, was a rare
indulgence.  I hung on every word, and asked as many questions as I
could come up with.  It was both amazing and reassuring to discover
that he led some kind of a normal life, too.  He still hadn't given
me a proper explanation for all this auction nonsense, but I hoped
what I didn't care to know wouldn't hurt me.

When the table was cleared, Geoffrey led me into the hall.  I had to
fight the urge to run up the stairs like an overexcited child. 
Instead I followed him quietly up and into his room.

There, faithful to his promise, he fucked me silly.

What an appropriate choice of words, I chuckled when, almost an hour
later, I was slowly cooling down from his repeated assaults.  I had
cuddled up close to him after the grand finale and idly caressed his
chest with my fingers.  I felt silly.  And happy.  Happily silly. 
Partly because of the sexual satiation, but also because I felt some
interesting changes approaching.  He had obviously done some thinking
on his own and had reached the same conclusion as I had.  In the long
term, we needed more than bondage to keep us together.

I lifted my head and looked into his eyes, twinkling like two tiny
stars.  Our lips met shortly, and then he asked me to go ahead and
tell him what I'd been dying to tell him ever since we left the barn.

I smiled at his accurate judgment of my inborn impatience and
finally opened up.

"You're right, I do have other ideas.  Not that I don't like what
we're doing, but I need something else, too.  I need to be busy,
useful, active.  Not only in a dirt ring."

I waited to see if I didn't exceed my newly-recovered right to
speak, but he nodded for me to continue, and I went on, gaining
composure with each phrase and each nod.

I told him I wished I could help him with his work.  I would do
anything, help with the photo sessions or administrative matters,
whatever he would consider.  I was a fast typist, I knew my way
around computers, and I was good with figures.  At the International
Fashion Council, I had dealt with administrative and financial
procedures, as well as communications.  Perhaps he could put my
experience to good use?

Then, afraid of giving the wrong impression, I added: 

"Just so you know, I certainly don't want a 'normal' relationship
with kinky activities as evening entertainment.  I'd like our very
special association to continue as it is.  I'm afraid I'm going to be
extremely bored if I don't do anything else but wait for you to
return, even with a vibrator as companion, y'know?"

As if Geoffrey had listened long enough, he rolled away from me and
got up from the bed.

"Okay, here's what we'll do," he said.  "Take a quick shower, then
come and join me in my study."

Ten minutes later, fresh, naked and curious, I knocked on his study
door further down the corridor and entered.  He was standing behind
his desk, taking documents out of a drawer and piling them in front
of him, next to the computer.

He beckoned me by his side and ordered me to spread my legs.  When I
did, I watch him insert a thick vibrator in my still vaguely burning
sex and secure it tightly with my chastity belt.

Next, he asked me to sit on the desk chair, a very basic wooden
antiquity, and used several coils of white rope to tie my ankles,
knees and thighs to it.  Leaving my upper body free of any bonds, he
explained what he expected from me.

"A friend of mine used to check my accounts every now and then, but
he left town three months ago and I haven't found anyone to replace
him yet.  Here are all the bills and invoices related to that period.
Can you put some order in that mess?"

"Sure.  At least I can try."

He turned on the computer and opened an accounting program.

"This is what he used.  See if you can make something out of it.  I
have work to do in the studio for the rest of the afternoon, so you
have a few hours to yourself.  However--"

While he spoke, he had pulled a wire under the chastity belt and
connected it to a socket behind the desk, fixing it on the ground
with various straps of heavy tape.

"You're allowed to take a few breaks.  If you don't know when, this
timer will tell you."

He showed me the black box halfway between the chair and the wall,
and I had no problem understanding what he meant.

He bent down to kiss my forehead and left after one last
encouragement.

Eager to get to work, I took the pile of papers on my left and
proceeded to sort them out.  Seeing the names of his clients, I
realized most of his work was highly technical.  Expensive, too.  And
I certainly appreciated the fact that he trusted me to see all this.

It didn't take me more than ten minutes to figure out the home
accounting program his accountant used to work with, and I started to
record the data in the expense or expenditure files.  Then, just as I
was typing yet another five-digit figure in the credits, the vibrator
buzzed to life.  Time for a break.

I leaned on the chair and let my head roll back.  Ooooh, the fucker
was fast and strong.  I gripped the arms of the chair with my hands
and began to moan along the vibrating tune playing inside.  The song
lasted for about ten minutes, then stopped as abruptly as it had
started.  I took a couple of deep, slow breaths and, straightening
up, resumed my work.

Two hours later, all the data of the last three months were neatly
computerized.  In addition, I had created a file for his clients,
another one for his suppliers, and noted that he had a couple of late
invoices to recover, but all his bills were paid.  I also took, or
rather was forced to take, three more breaks.

My excitement had reached new proportions.  There was the sex
thrill, but there was something else, too.  I was convinced we could
make this work for a very long time; why not forever?  Our
relationship had started on an unusual, out-of-this-world level.  Now
we were laying down more solid foundations, rooting our uncommon
desires in reality.  Yes, if our minds functioned as well together as
our bodies did, this could truly work.

When Geoffrey returned, I showed him what I'd done and waited for
him to say whether I had the job.

--Geoffrey--

 

"I'm impressed, Sabrina," I said after studying the screens.  "Very,
very impressed." 

In fact, I was stunned, as my facility at spreadsheets was limited
to launching Excel attachments whenever my tax attorney sent them via
email for my review.  The accounts payable were current.  The
deadbeats were marked for immediate attention.  Hell, even my
expenses looked plausible.  And all without a single question. 
Stunning.  Not to mention scary.  What kind of brain did Sabrina have
churning away in that beautiful head of hers?

And more importantly, why wasn't it in its proper state, i.e. 
wrapped in leather?

I figured it would take somewhere close to eternity to figure out
the answer to the first question.  The second was considerably easier
to address.

"Nice work.  We shall continue working on the computer tomorrow. 
But now, it's time to dress for dinner."

I left her tied to the chair while I went to my studio to select her
outfit and accessories for the evening.

Her favorite thigh-high boots were a given, as was the matching
binder for her arms.  For a corset, I selected one she hadn't worn
before; it would cover her entire torso from the middle of her hips
to a pair of half-moon cups that would shape and lift her breasts
most deliciously.  The thickest discipline collar and a steel bar to
connect the back of her neck to her wrists, the leather hood, plus
the earplugs and a penis gag with a breathing hole.  A pair of clamps-
-no, make that two--plus weights.  I'd choose things to insert inside
her later, after my own needs were satiated.

I returned upstairs, untied her from the chair, and removed the
vibrator just as it was starting up yet again.

"Hold out your left leg."

It took upward of an hour before she was laced, plugged and pinned,
but when I stood up to admire her, the net effect made my legs
tremble.  I quickly pulled together the slack from the chains between
the clamps adorning her nipples and her labia, and clipped the end of
a leash around them.

I led her into the dining room, and pushed her down onto her knees
next to my chair at the table.  I reached into my pocket and pulled
out three padlocks, which I looped through rings molded into her
boots to connect her upper and lower thighs, followed by her ankles. 
Then I wrapped the leash tightly around the leg of the table so she
couldn't move without causing immense stress on her most sensitive
spots.

"Dinner will be served in about an hour, mademoiselle" I said with a
bow, doing my best imitation of an oily, unctuous waiter at a one-
star restaurant getting by on its dessert tray.

Not that she was in any position to critique my performance, I
thought with a smile, although many might think that deaf, dumb and
blind aptly describes most dining-out reviewers.

--Sabrina--

 

Kneeling in perfect silence and darkness, I was wonderfully
peaceful.  Despite his total dominance over me, Geoffrey still
respected me as a person, a person with ideas, a person with
abilities, and that was all I needed to know.  With no doubts and no
questions, my mind was finally at rest;  for a girl like me, always
too quick to think about potential problems, this was unknown bliss.

Relaxed as I was, I still had to make sure I stayed still.  Each
time my body lolled back, attracted by the weight of the armbinder
and the bar that linked it to my neck, flashes of pain summoned me to
refocus on my position.  The strain on my shoulders increased, but
that wasn't a problem.  If it pleased him, it pleased me, too; for
the first time, I realized an important change in me.  I wanted to
give him what he wanted; not to avoid punishment, not to gain praise,
but just to give him satisfaction.  After everything Geoffrey had
done for me, I felt he deserved it.

He brought me out of my reverie when he removed the gag.

Two minutes later, he filled my mouth with food.  With taste and
smell as my only available senses, I tried to guess what I was eating
while I chewed on a thin slice of what might be pasta with a variety
of toppings.  Pizza.  That much was easy.  Determining the
ingredients wasn't.

I had never taken so much pleasure in eating.  The food was lovely,
yet I couldn't tell what it was.  This was fun.  Sensual.  Erotic.

Between mouthfuls, he let me drink, but he alternated the beverages.
First I tasted water.  Then some sparkling soda.  Then an awful
bitter drink that I almost spat out, but swallowed with disgust. 
Beer?

When this entertaining meal was over, he buckled the gag back in
place, untied the leash and my leg restraints, and helped me up.

I shivered a little when he placed his arm around my hips to lead me
to the living room.  My heart was beating in anticipation of yet
another evening with him.  Even watching television would be a very
exciting option.

--Geoffrey--

 

While feeding Sabrina dinner, I finally realized what it was about
her that had me so entranced.

She wanted this--the good, the bad, the worse, the terrible, the
terrifying, the torture, all of it--as much as I wanted to dish it
out.

"Hard to believe, but true," I said out loud, knowing she couldn't
hear me, as I guided her into the living room.

And if I was really lucky, she'd eventually need it as much as I
did, too.

That was the tricky part; when would "enough" be enough for her? 
For me, too much was never enough.  I'd been hardwired for bondage
since my earliest memories, but I had yet to meet a woman who shared
my desires from the opposite perspective.  Could Sabrina be the
exception that proved the rule?

The only way to find out was to push her as far as I dared, then
pull back and make her beg for more.

I led her to the center of the living room and let her stand while I
rolled back a portion of the carpet to reveal the hardwood floor. 
Interspersed between the beams were several round holes.  I pulled
open a drawer in a small table by the couch and removed four silver
eyebolts, then screwed three of them into the floor around her in a
triangle pattern.

I compelled her to kneel by pushing down on her head, then pulled
apart her legs until her ankles were next to the eyebolts.  Reaching
into my pocket, I produced two of the padlocks I had previously used
on her legs, and snapped them around the rings on her boots and two
of the metal circles in the floor.  

I screwed the fourth eyebolt into the breathing hole in her gag,
pushed her head down again until it touched the third eyebolt in the
floor, and locked them together.

"That should keep you out of trouble."  Or get you into a world of
trouble you can't possibly imagine, I thought as I headed downstairs
to choose the evening's whip.

Or perhaps a paddle, I decided after digging down a layer in the
chest where I stored my collection of striking gear.

The bottom of the corset pushed out the cheeks of her ass so they
were almost perfectly round, I noted with pleasure as my fingers
danced across her goosebump-sprinkled flesh.

I struck her once, then moved my fingers to her rectum, which I
pinched, poked and prodded until I heard what sounded most definitely
like a scream emanating from the direction of her head.

"As you wish," I said as the paddle swooshed through the air and
connected with a report that sounded like a backfiring car.

Back to her asshole, only this time, I lubricated my fingers with
clear jelly first, delving deeper and deeper inside her rubbery
canal.  When she groaned audibly, the paddle flew again.

It took at least ten more strikes before she finally learned to keep
quiet while I inserted one, then two, then three fingers inside her.

Finally, I could stand it no longer.  Yanking down my pants, I
entered her from behind and slowly leaned forward until my entire
erection was inside her.

Moan.  Swat.  Oooh, I liked the way she clenched just then.  Let's
do that again.

And again.

And once again.

I began to slowly rock back and forth on my knees behind her,
immensely enjoying the way her muscles grabbed at my cock like a
relay racer gripping the baton.

"I wonder what would happen if I took off your nipple clamps off
right now?"

I reached under her body and tugged the leash still dangling from
the chains connected to her breasts and crotch.

--Sabrina--

 

As much as I aimed to please Geoffrey, it wasn't always easy to
guess what he expected of me.  Even in my current condition, fixed to
the floor, I had a few options.  Squirm, not squirm.  Moan, not moan.
Clench, not clench.  Obviously, my body had reflexes which were
almost impossible to control.  I supposed he had a firm idea about
how an accomplished sex slave should react, and I had to figure it
out as well, the hard way.

No movement and no sound was probably a given, even though it was
easier said than done.  Despite my will to stay quiet and still, my
hips swayed left and right to avoid any painful contact, while my
throat let out involuntary cries of torment.  With the plugs filling
my ears, I could hear their distorted sounds from the inside, and
they were more frightening than silence itself.

When the pain turned into sexual fuel, I stifled any moan I could
feel coming up.  The strikes on my ass instantly stopped.  A sure
sign that I had finally understood an important part of the lesson.

However, when he entered me, I forgot all about it.  He was going to
tear me apart.  In my absolute darkness, I imagined red drops of
blood staining my thighs in long, thin rivers.  Somehow, I knew he
wouldn't hurt me so badly, but I was feeding my pleasure with sordid
images, adding mental distress to the physical torture.  And my
excitement grew tenfold.

At the back of my mind, I was horrified at my own participation in
this crazy game.  Perhaps I should stop it, bring it back to a
reasonable level; is there reason where pleasure reigns as an
absolute master?

If I had had a chance to slow down the frenetic escalade, it
vanished when, without warning, my breasts and sex exploded in new
dimensions of pain.  The world began to spin.  I heard a terrible
howl resonate in my ears and felt I was losing ground.  Angry at
myself for being so weak, I fought the downward spiral that
threatened to take me away from both the pain and the pleasure.  If
only I had something to focus on; but the darkness was so compelling,
so inviting.

My head hit the floor as my body collapsed.  Before passing out, I
silently whispered a plea for absolution.

"Sorry."

--Geoffrey--

 

"Nice move, you fucking idiot," I yelled at myself when Sabrina's
body slumped over sideways.  "Maybe they wouldn't leave you if you
didn't fucking try to kill them."

I quickly unlocked her ankles, then her mouth.  Relieved that she
was still breathing, I lay her on her side and loosened all the
lacings on the hood, binder, corset and boots.

"Come on, Sabrina, come back to me," I pleaded to her ashen, silent
face with no small degree of urgency.

"Don't do this, Sabrina--Earth to Sabrina--"

I debated whether to start CPR or mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.  I
guessed I didn't have any smelling salts.  What else do you do when
someone faints?  No blood, not even back there; I knew I had
stretched her anus more than adequately over the past two weeks to
accommodate me.  Pulse, check.  Heartbeat, check.  Give her air,
check.  Loosen her clothing, check.  How about remove her clothing? 
Can't get much looser than naked.  Who's her next of kin anyway?  I
wonder if she's allergic to anything?  The lube? Eyes still closed,
pupils dilated; is that good or bad?

I was starting to debate whether an ambulance would be faster than
driving her to the hospital myself.  What would Jesus do?  Oh great,
I admonished myself, this is a really dumb time to get religion.

Well, the carpenter's son would probably kiss her.  Hey, it always
worked in fairy tales for frogs, which pretty much summed up my rung
on the evolutionary ladder right about now.

I leaned over and placed my lips gently against hers.

"C'mon, Sabrina, time to wake up.  Please please please.  At the
very least, give us a smile."

Much to my astonishment, she did.  Stranger still, she returned my
kiss with one of her own.  Then she finally opened her eyes.

--Sabrina--

 

Lips on mine.  Soft.  Warm.  Such a nice touch.  I returned
Geoffrey's kiss at the same time as I regained consciousness.  When I
opened my eyes, his face, so close to mine, expressed relief and
surprise, but no anger at all.  But I couldn't help feeling guilty.  

"I'm so sorry," I whispered again.

"Hush, don't be silly," he gently told me, "I'm the one who's sorry."

"No, really, I wanted you to go on.  I don't know what happened. 
I've gone through worst than that before, haven't I?"

"Well, I guess you have.  I don't know.  It's sometimes hard to tell
where someone's limits are.  Or maybe it was an accumulation of
things.  A way for your body to say enough is enough."

I agreed.  Yes, maybe my body didn't follow the insane pace we had
subjected it to.  But then what?  Did it mean I wasn't fit for this?

When I asked him, he laughed.

"Sabrina, you're as fit as can be.  Don't expect me to dismiss you
because you passed out once.  You're not rid of me yet!"

I smiled.  I sure didn't want to get rid of him.  Even if I had to
pass out every once in a while.  At least the wake-up kiss was worth
it.

"So," he went on, "I guess we're gonna call it a day, as we seem to
have exceeded our fun quota.  Can you stand?"

Leaning on Geoffrey's arm and shoulder, I nodded while I tried to
get up.  My legs were still trembling, but if he stayed close, I
would make it to the bedroom.

After turning off the lights on the ground floor, he followed me up
the stairs; when I stopped in front of the door to my room, he
motioned me to continue further, bringing a smile to my face.

Once I was lying on his huge bed, he circled my wrists with two
fleece-lined leather cuffs he retrieved from a drawer.  Next, he tied
them loosely above my head, giving me enough slack to bring my hands
close to my face, just like he had done a couple of nights before.

He always knows what to do, I reflected while he made a quick visit
to the bathroom.  Tying me up to keep me in the right mood, but
allowing me the comfort of a good night's sleep.  Just what I needed.

While he was gone, I wondered what he'd do next.  The night was
still fairly young; despite my physical failure, I wasn't ready to
sleep yet.

--Geoffrey--

 

I went downstairs to pour myself a drink before returning to my
bedroom and Sabrina.  As the VSOP flowed into the crystal snifter, I
reflected on her words and reactions after she regained
consciousness.  No anger.  No recriminations.  Hell, she actually
apologized to me, despite her obvious innocence in the situation. 
Definitely not standard operating procedure.

Armed, if not quite yet fortified, I climbed the stairs and opened
the door to my bedroom, fully expecting Sabrina to be sound asleep. 
Instead, she was practically squirming on the bed, her eyes bright
and mischievous.

"You don't look like you're quite ready for the sandman.  In fact,
if I didn't know better, I'd say you were game for another round. 
Luckily, I have just the solution.  Close your eyes."

I dug in my dresser until I found the ankle cuffs and blindfold that
were part of the set with the fuzzy wrist restraints.  I remembered
suddenly that these were my first bondage purchases so many years
ago.  I had quickly learned that they were a bit useless for anything
beyond implied restraint, but tonight, they were perfect for the job.

I slipped the blindfold over her head, rolled her onto her back,
gently pushed her legs apart, wrapped and locked the leather around
her ankles, and tied the cuffs loosely to the bedposts.

"No gag tonight," I whispered into her ear.  "But no words, either. 
Does that work for you?"

"Yes, please," she whispered back in a voice scarcely louder than
her heartbeat.

"Don't worry," I said soothingly.  "No more pain tonight."

I picked up my glass of cognac and dribbled a few drops directly
into her navel.  When the tiny crease was filled, I bent over and
began lapping it up ever so softly with my tongue.

The glass and its smoky contents eventually progressed to her
breasts, then the insides of her thighs, then her sex.  When it was
empty, I went downstairs to fetch the dusty bottle.

--Sabrina--

 

When I heard Geoffrey return to the room, I was torn between the
desire to feel him continue his agonizingly sweet treatment forever,
and the urge to have him inside me right there, right then.  When
more drops fell between my breasts, their liquid touch gliding down
to my navel, I knew he had enough patience for the both of us, and I
blessed him for that.

As his tongue flickered against my skin, I sighed and moaned in
delight.  No words allowed, but there were many other ways to express
my growing lust.  My whole body was doing the talking;  toes
pointing, knees bending, thighs stretching to lift my ass up.  The
slow wave continued to roll and passed my hips, chest, and shoulders.
Then it rolled down again, this time crashing on my twitchy sex, so
eager to be touched, caressed, filled.

He was now lapping in the tiny crease of my throat.  From there he
moved to my ears.  Then my breasts again.  And down to my thighs. 
Very, very slowly, he was building my pleasure with the care of an
artist.  One touch here, one touch there.  Not rushing at all.

How wrong I had been to consider this dominance/submission thing,
even bondage itself, as macho justification of sexual abuse.  He was
giving so much.  And better still, he was forcing me to receive his
gift without guilt or shame.  By tying me up, he was liberating me
from much uglier bonds, the mental cuffs we attach ourselves.

When Geoffrey pressed his tongue in the folds of my labia, I felt
small puddles of tears cover my eyes, draining the excess emotions I
could no longer contain.  The blindfold concealed them, but not for
long, as the puddles soon overflowed and dribbled down my cheeks.

Oh, Geoffrey, please do come in me, I pleaded in silence while my
vagina was eagerly grabbing at nothing but air.  I want you in.  I
need you in.  Please.

How could he refrain for so long when I had already interrupted his
own pleasure when I fainted?  Surely he needed relief as much as I
did.

Finally, perhaps because the bottle was empty, or because he could
no longer resist, Geoffrey entered my very wet vagina and pressed his
groin against mine.  I clenched around his cock, holding him with all
my strength.  For ten seconds.  Then he pulled out, and pushed back
in.  Again and again.  Bringing me to a state where nothing mattered
but his hard shaft and his pubis rubbing my clit in the same motion.

I knew it wouldn't take long for me to come, but then I remembered
the rule he had imposed.  So I tried to last as long as I could,
hoping he wouldn't tease me too cruelly this time.  

He didn't.  When I thought I would lose it again, he said the words
I longed to hear:

"Come with me."

His spasms triggered mine, and time stopped for the both of us as
wave after wave of pleasure washed over us.

When he lay down next to me, I turned my head to his side.  I
thought I wanted to share my emotions, but even if he gave me
permission to speak, I wouldn't.  Seconds later, I was sleeping
deeply.

Day 15--Geoffrey

I was really starting to enjoy our morning romps in the ring;
Sabrina's long hair flapping rhythmically against her back as she
diligently practiced canters, stops, turns and gallops, her hoofed
feet kicking up thunderclouds of dust, clips jumping with every clop.

While she showered, I assembled the morning's arsenal and brought it
to my study.

"Time for some more bookkeeping," I announced as she cautiously
entered the room, all naked and freshly scrubbed, the stripes and
discolorations from various attacks on her flesh faintly glowing
based on their age and relative force, her eyes downcast in the
shameful gratitude of an errant puppy.

"Come.  Here."

Her eyes followed my hands as I pinched each nipple in turn between
a pair of jet-black chopsticks held together at each end with tightly-
twisted rubber bands.

"Turn around and stick out your arms."

I slid the sleeves of the straightjacket over her wrists and up to
her shoulders, then buckled the heavy black leather around her torso.

"You're going to need a little more practice," I said to the back of
her head as I pushed a short, wide plug into her ass before securing
the crotch belt with a padlock.

"Sit down at the desk."

When Sabrina had comported herself in the heavy wooden chair, I
kneeled to cuff her ankles, then pulled them back with rope to the
leg bracing beneath the seat.  The leather sheaths for her hands
dangled down from her wrists, followed by the straps, which I tied to
either end of the desk, giving her just enough slack for her fingers
to reach the computer's keyboard.

Day gag.  I liked the sound of that.  I yanked and knotted the
lacing under her chin, then tightened the thin belts that webbed the
top part of her head, the bottom obscured in a creamy blackness that
was solely punctuated by the silver teeth of the still-open zipper
across where her mouth should be.

I left her to watch the computer's start-up sequence while I fetched
one of a dozen CDs in a drawer to her left and inserted it into the
burner I had installed myself in my Frankenstein-approved PC. 
"Ambra," it proudly proclaimed on its dingy casing.  I loved how IBM
had named its ill-fated fling with the consumer market after a porno
starlet.

"These files are a mess.  Sort them into categories, and rename them
something useful.  I'll be back in a...well, soon."

--Sabrina--

Pretending to forget the pinching on my nipples and the plug forcing
open my still-sensitive anus, I concentrated on the task at hand. 
First, I had to reach the mouse on my right.  My fingers could move
freely, but there was barely enough slack in the sleeves around my
arms to touch the mouse, not grab it.  Pulling hard on the leather
restraints, I finally managed to pinch the sides between two
fingertips and slowly pull it across its pad to my hand.

Once the screen filled with dozens of tiny icons, I opened the first
one and gasped at the picture that appeared.  Lying on a wooden
floor, a red-haired woman was bound in a severe hog-tie, her face
encased in a trainer gag.  One of the many black straps held her hair
in a ponytail, which was tied to the intersection of her four limbs,
forcing her head up.  Her only clothing was a black corset laced
tightly around her hips, pushing her ample breasts away from her
torso as if they were taunting gravity.

Strangely enough, this was the first bondage picture I had ever
seen, and despite my recent experience in the field, I found it
extremely unsettling, not to mention arousing.  My heart beating a
little faster, I opened the second picture and observed a close-up on
the same woman's gagged face.

So this is how I look like when Geoffrey gags me?  I didn't find it
particularly pretty, but I couldn't deny it was sexually attractive. 
All that leather on the woman's face put an emphasis on her wide-open
eyes where curiosity was mixed with fear.

I knew that feeling well, and squirmed on the chair at the
recollection of so many similar moments.

I opened the next set of pictures, which were shots of the same
scene taken from various angles.  After that, I discovered a new
series with the same woman wrapped up in chains and suspended from an
intricate iron frame.

I recognized the structure; the picture had been taken in Geoffrey's
studio, right on the stage where I had already spent so much time and
spilled so much sweat.  How many women had he tied up in his life? 
How many had been willing?  How many had fought back?  How many had
he fucked?

I returned to the files and counted them.  Fifty pictures in the
first file folder.  And there were about fifty folders on the CD. 
And the drawer was full of disks.  Perhaps not all these pictures
were Geoffrey's, but he sure had a nice collection.

A collection I was supposed to sort and rename, I suddenly remembered.

What exactly did he want me to do?  Just renaming each picture
wouldn't really help him find what he was looking for.  First, I had
to create directories and subdirectories for each session and scene,
but most importantly, what he needed was a small database where each
picture would be categorized according to a series of criteria. 
Leather vs. rubber.  Ropes vs. chains.  Outdoors vs. indoors.  Ambra
vs. Bettie.

I created a spreadsheet and classified the fifty pictures in the
first folder.  I was hoping he would check on me so I could ask if he
liked the idea, but decided to proceed anyway.  If he wanted
something else, he would tell me, and I would try again.  This could
take forever, but linear time wasn't always important in this house.

I continued my work unperturbed, except for my sex, which was
increasingly aroused by this feast of new bondage ideas.  I wanted to
try them all.  But I didn't need to worry about that.  He most
probably would.  And add some more, too.

--Geoffrey--

An hour should be plenty of time for Sabrina, I decided after I
finished setting up the morning's first photo shoot.  I glanced at
the computer monitor that was mirroring her screen activities
upstairs via the house's internal network.  Still messing with
database structures.  She's quite good at this.  A nice surprise.

Speaking of which...I put down my camera and jogged up the stairs to
my study.

As I entered the room, I wondered when she would start accessing the
Internet during these sessions on the PC.  I had set up my account so
she didn't have to enter a password to log on.  I doubted she would
be clever enough to delete the cookies and cached files that would
accumulate from her surfing, but even if she knew all the tricks, I
could still watch her online activities on a remote monitor I had set
up in the studio.

"Hands off," I barked, making her jump a little in her chair.  I
untied the straps holding her wrists to the sides of the desk, then
stuffed her hands into the leather casings, pulled her arms across
her chest, and tied them tight behind her back.

"Hmmmm...not bad," I pretended to scowl.  "The database categories
look good, but you need to be much more detailed in your descriptions
of the photos.  Think keyword search; for example, if there's a gag,
rope and chains, that needs to be in the file name.  Ditto the
location, the position, and any items of clothing.  Like this one
should read something like
'Ambra_black_corset_hogtie_leather_straps_trainer_gag_hair.jpg.' You
have 254 characters for your file names.  Use them all."

I skipped through the rest of Sabrina's work with an occasional nod.

"You can continue this later," I said as I stooped down to untie her
feet.  "There's something else I want you to concentrate on for a
while."

When I was finished, I had retied her legs so they were plastered
together with rope around her ankles, above and below her knees, and
many, many coils encasing her thighs, a multi-speed vibrator pressed
firmly between them whose tip didn't quite touch the leather strap
protecting her sex.

I unzipped her gag, gave her a sip of water, then filled her mouth
with a rubber ball before pulling the metal tab across her mouth.

"Something to inspire you," I said as he slipped a shiny disk into
the second CD drive.  "I've been dying to give this new DVD player a
whirl."

I reached over to the control box next to her legs and turned the
knob to its lowest setting.

"Two thumbs up, I'm sure," I remarked as the opening credits filled
the screen.  "See you at intermission."

--Sabrina--

When I heard the muffled sounds of Geoffrey's steps climbing up the
stairs, I was so restless I was afraid the chair would tumble over
from my squirming.  There would be no surprise this time; I was so
alert, I could hear spiders spinning cobwebs in the corners.  The
porn was predictably stupid, but all those bondage and whipping
scenes, coupled with my own situation, awakened my horny desires, as
evidenced by the sticky dampness between my tightly-bound thighs.

A dampness which Geoffrey was pleased to observe, if I could judge
from his grin when, after untying my legs, he removed the vibrator,
soaked in sweat and my more intimate emissions, produced in such
abundance that they had leaked out of their leather confinement.

His grin turned wicked when he took aim at the chopsticks that had
squeezed all the blood from my nipples a long time ago.  Fascinated
and horrified at the same time, I watched him unknot the rubber bands
around their ends, then closed my eyes to absorb the terrible pain
that followed.  I let out a cry, barely contained by the gag, while
my fingers madly dug in my chest bones through the layer of leather.

The pain subsided, but my sexual hunger increased.  I thought, I
hoped, I prayed Geoffrey would do something about it, but he only
asked me to stand up and follow him downstairs to the kitchen, where
he tied me to yet another chair, using less rope, but losing nothing
in terms of efficiency.

When lunch was ready, he removed the gag to feed me, but let me
enjoy the leather gloves until he decided he needed my hands again,
which would only be much later, when we were back in his study.

During the meal, he told me he wanted to finish his printer photo
shoot and then develop the film so that he could send contact sheets
to his client first thing tomorrow morning.  When the implication of
his words hit my brain, I realized I didn't want to be left alone
again.  Not now.  Not in this state.  Besides, how could I possibly
do intellectual work when I was so distracted by the constant
clenching of my vagina and obsessed with the idea of filling it?

Let me stay with you, I pleaded silently.  Tie me up to the ceiling,
gag me, but please, let me watch you work.  Let me be there.

Unaware of my unspoken plea, he added that, all in all, his work
would take him three or four hours, and I could use that time to work
on his picture database.

Telepathy is a hoax, I decided while, twenty minutes later, he was
tying me up again to the chair behind his study desk.  I felt playful
and mischievous, but the game was not mine to start.  Or finish.  The
decision was his, and his alone.  This was more than a little
annoying.  And highly arousing.

After removing the gloves, he tied my wrists to the desk again, but
left enough slack for me to manipulate the mouse on its pad.  Good,
he was learning too, I grinned behind the zipper he had just closed
across my mouth.

He replaced the chopsticks with tweezer clamps, which he tightened
much further than necessary.  After checking I had everything I
needed to work, he left.

When he closed the door behind him, I sighed at the thought of
spending the whole afternoon with no distraction but the thousands of
hot pictures I had to sort.  On second thought, this was the way many
people escape from their real work.  I certainly had no reason to
complain.

Yet, one hour later, I found I was hardly inspired to continue my
job.  The last scene I had observed, a woman tied to a diving board,
had sent me to fantasyland again, and my fingers froze on the
keyboard.

I stared blindly at the screen, letting my imagination bring me to
the side of that pool, waiting for him to tie me up.  A whole plot
formed in my mind.  I would resist a little, just for fun.  Maybe I
would even try to run away, enjoying his pursuit and how his arms
would finally catch me, hold me still, claim me as his possession.  

I must have daydreamed for nearly half an hour until I put an end to
my own teasing, since it definitely was not the best way to calm
down.  My eyes went wearily back to the screen, as boring as before,
but when they moved down to the start bar and spotted the icon for
Internet Explorer, I sprung back to life.  Now, this could be fun.

The browser opened on Yahoo!  and I typed Geoffrey's name in the
search box.

--Geoffrey--

What was that quote again?  "Idle hands are the devil's playground."
Though I was more than a little surprised that Sabrina had started
her Internet search with my name.  Weren't the photographs enough?

Apparently not.  But right now, I had to finish the photo shoot,
develop the pictures, and get them off to FedEx before 6:00 p.m. And
here it was almost 2:00, and I still had a ton of close-ups to
complete.

I began to realize why most stories about 24/7 slave relationships
are fiction.

While I was adjusting the bright spotlights for the umpteenth time,
I had a sudden inspiration.  Wouldn't it be so much easier if the
goddamned flash simply moved itself whenever I needed to change its
angle?

I bounded up the stairs to my study, catching a glimpse of Sabrina
frantically trying to click the web browser closed.  I wasn't going
to bust her for that one today; I'd let her think she was getting
away with something until I felt like punishing her in a serious
fashion.

Which was every single minute of the day, I admitted to myself. 
Despite our less-than-auspicious first act, I could see the entrance
to the relationship rabbit hole dead ahead.

And right now, I wanted nothing more than to dive headfirst into the
tunnel of love with Sabrina's hand clasped tight in mine.

But deadlines loomed large.  Besides, money came in very handy,
especially when placing $2,000 orders at my favorite custom
leatherworks.

I untied her from the chair, strapped her arms and hands behind her
back, and led her down to the studio, where I replaced her day gag
with a leather hood that had open eyeholes.  With some wire and a
roll of duct tape, I soon had a spotlight attached to the top of her
head.

"Stand over there.  No, move over a few inches to the left.  That's
it, now bend your head down a few degrees.  No, no, no, that's too
far, up a little.  That's it, perfect, now hold it, don't move. 
Okay, bend your knees a little, but hold the angle.  Excellent. 
Closer, closer to the control panel, turn a little to the right, I'm
getting too much glare off the LCD.  That's it, nice, hold it."

And on and on for another hour as I snapped roll after roll of
portraits of the toner cartridge and other less-than-lively
components.

"Some day, they'll make these things in a different color so they
don't look like the underside of a battleship that hasn't seen
daylight since World War II.  Okay, that should do it.  Thank you."

I clicked off the light on top of her head and left her standing
while I unloaded the film from my various cameras and prepared to go
into the darkroom.

"I'm afraid there's not enough room for two of us in there.  Do you
mind hanging around while I get these rolls developed?"

I didn't even bother to watch Sabrina's head nod in agreement as I
started pulling down a chain that was looped through a pulley nestled
high above in the scaffolding.

First, I had to insert and engage the electronic amusements into her
two lower orifices, then lock them in tight behind the crotch strap. 
Next, I ordered her to lie on her stomach on the floor, and wrapped a
long leather binder around her legs with at least a dozen straps
running from thighs to feet.  Finally, I secured the chain to the
buckle across her ankles and pulled until her head was hanging just a
few inches off the floor.

"Oh, I have to get some pictures of this," I said as I put a new
roll of film into one of my cameras.

"Especially your eyes," I continued as I knelt down to point the
lens into her face.  After exactly twenty-four clicks, I removed the
can and rummaged through one of the nearby boxes.

"To each his, or her, own darkness," I remarked as I slipped the
blindfold around the top of her head.

"See you soon, or at least sooner than you'll see me."

--Sabrina--

Hanging upside down and already feeling my feet go numb while my
head was boiling with too much blood pressure, I should have been
angry at Geoffrey, or at least exasperated.

Days ago, he had overpowered me with his strength, both mental and
physical.  Now, he intimidated me, which was quite unprecedented in
my interaction with men.

Who was he, really?

I had asked myself that same question over and over while I was
helping him in the studio.  I couldn't help admiring his patience and
precision, knowing he took the same care when he was dealing with me,
and I greatly enjoyed being a part of his work, even if that meant I
had gone down to the level of an electrical appliance in the large
spectrum of beings and things.

And now I was a bag of wheat hanging from the ceiling.  The
vibrators rapidly brought me to a pre-orgasmic state, but thanks to
the low speed he had turned them on to, they took an incredibly long
time to take me one step further, to find the relief I had been
waiting for since early this morning.  By that time, I felt so dizzy
that I lost consciousness in the middle of the quake and woke up with
a terrible headache.  The vibrators were still buzzing though, and I
prepared myself for another round.

But it wasn't to be.  I hadn't heard Geoffrey return, but my heart
skipped a beat when his stern voice growled:

"Did you just come without permission?"

Oh, man.  Sorry.  Completely forgot.

"Well, good," he continued, "I've been busy in the darkroom for far
too long.  I sure could use some exercise."

He lowered me slowly until my head and shoulders safely hit the
ground, then dropped the rest of me.

Ouch.  That hurt.  But not as much as the sudden surge of blood back
into my paralyzed limbs.

Knowing my legs would hardly respond, he pulled me up and carried me
over his shoulder to the living room where he dropped me face down on
the couch.

"Considering what happened last night," he said, "I'm reluctant to
use the whip.  But a good spanking should teach you never to disobey
my orders".

A spanking?  As much as I was relieved to escape the whip, I was
also disappointed.  Wasn't I way beyond spanking?  And wasn't he? 
This was too easy.  Child's play.  Oh well, at least I was saving my
butt from serious pain.

However, when he took me by the hips and lay me across his knees,
pushing my head down and locking my leather-clad legs between his, my
stomach twisted with fear.  Being so close to him made me feel even
more defenseless.

With increasing apprehension, I felt him unbuckle the crotch strap,
turn the vibrators off, then remove the one from my vagina, but
leaving the other in my ass.

When his hand impacted my bottom with a loud report that made me
lose my breath for a second, I once again regretted his not deploying
the whip.  It might have been easier to deal with.

--Geoffrey--

Nineteen.  And twenty.  My hand stung from the repeated contact with
Sabrina's now-crimson backside, but it was a good kind of pain, one
she undoubtedly shared, judging by the moans leaking from underneath
the hood that still surrounded her head.

I lifted her off my knees and lay her face-up across the length of
the couch.  She looks so good in leather, I half-whispered.  Good
enough to eat.  Or beat, as the case may be.

A few long pieces of rope and the jar of udder cream; it didn't take
long to assemble the tools for my next project.

"So you want to come, do you?" I asked her in what I presumed was an
imitation of de Sade, but probably came off more like Snidely
Whiplash.

Her leather-covered head nodded affirmatively.

"So be it," I said as I doubled one of the lengths of cord around
her waist, then ran the ends over the back of the couch and
triangulated them down to the legs, where I knotted them near the
floor.

I sat down next to her feet and unbuckled the thick strap holding
the bottom of the leg binder to her soles.

"What big toes you have, my dear," I growled, wondering if Red
Riding Hood was still required reading in the modern nursery. 
Actually, hers were small and delicate, but I figured she got the
message when she clenched them tight.

"Oh, I almost forgot.  I did promise, after all."

I took the vibrator that had been in her vagina, turned it onto its
highest setting, and thrust it under the leather between her thighs,
its tip nestled snugly against the general area of her clitoris.

"All that time in those nasty horse hooves; your feet deserve the
princess treatment."

I scooped out a handful of cream and began forcefully massaging her
heels and arches, working my way slowly up to her toes.

"Easy there, Sabrina," I warned as she began thrashing a bit on the
couch.  "Remember, it can always get worse.  In fact..."

I reached under her ass and twisted the base of the dildo still
stuck firmly in her ass.

"Now, where were we?  Drat, I seem to have lost my place.  Best to
start again."

Fifteen minutes later, I buckled the binder strap back around her
newly-softened feet and roped her ankles over the arm and down to the
feet of the couch.

"Having a good time?" I remarked to her still-squirming form as she
shuddered violently in the midst of what I presumed had become a
continuous orgasm.  "But wait, there's more!"

I reached behind her back and unbuckled her hands still wrapped
around her torso, then pulled them over her head and tied them down
to the couch just like her ankles.

"Hmm, a little snug," I said as my hands slipped under the bottom
edge of the straightjacket.  "Better loosen a few straps back here;
there, that's better."

My cream-slicked fingers crept up her waist until they found the
tweezers around her nipples.

"Nice and slow," I said as I began easing the tiny metal ring down
the arms of one of the clamps, slowly releasing her nipple from its
blood-deprived prison.

"And again."

I stood up, tossed the clamps onto the coffee table, and headed
toward the kitchen.

"Dinner will be ready in about half an hour.  Do try to keep
yourself amused until then.

God, I liked doing that to her.

A second later, I shortened my prayer to "I like her." 

--Sabrina--

The vibrator that had shaken, stirred and eventually tortured my oh-
so-sensitive bud finally stopped.  Despite the perturbing presence in
my rear orifice, I was able to catch my breath and calm down.  My
hallucination-drenched mind danced along a bright and colorful
horizon created by an excess of pleasure, and I welcomed the peaceful
darkness offered by the hood.

When the batteries in the second dildo died, I stretched out as much
as my bonds would allow--which wasn't much--and relaxed.  I was
exhausted, and quite convinced that I would not need, much less ask
for, another orgasm until at least one year had passed.  There was no
way to reach a middle ground with Geoffrey.  Too much was never
enough.

I was about to fall asleep when I felt him untie me.  When all ropes
were loose, he freed my legs from their leather casings, and helped
me up on my quivering feet.

The expression on his face when he removed the hood told me I didn't
look my best.  Well, I felt awful.  Flushed, bloated, covered in
sweat, and in urgent need of a bath.

Geoffrey must have followed the same train of thoughts, because he
brought me to the master bathroom as soon as dinner was finished. 
While the large tub was filled with warm water, he stripped me of the
leather jacket and its accessories, and adorned my nakedness with
only a pair of wrist cuffs made of light, shiny metal, each
ornamented with a small ring.

Once in the tub, I quietly waited for him to tie me up while
enjoying the warm sensation of water on my bruised body, although it
was only up to my waist.  When I heard an unexpected ruffling of
clothes, I couldn't help turning my head, and was astonished to see
Geoffrey naked and ready to join me.

Old Archimedes was  right.  As soon as he sat behind me, the water
crested over my breasts.  Yet he let the faucet continue to run. 
Worse, pressing his hand on my chest, he forced me to lie down on
him, locking my legs under his to prevent me from slipping.  The
level of water came dangerously close to my mouth.  

"Put your hands behind me," he finally said before connecting my
cuffs with what I assumed was a short chain.  What I knew for sure
was that once the full weight of his body was pressed against my
hands, I could no longer move.

Nor talk.  He turned the water off, but not until my mouth was fully
immersed.  And the slightest move of my head would now prevent me
from breathing through my nose.  The thought should have been scary,
but his presence was all the assurance I needed.  I closed my eyes
and decided to enjoy the bath.

--Geoffrey--

I let Sabrina relax completely before I began softly soaping her
various body parts, my hand slowly whirling across her arms, chest,
torso, hips and thighs, then between her legs.  She squirmed ever so
slightly, but only enough to cause small ripples in the water.

Very good, I thought to myself.  Her body is learning patience, not
to mention prudence.  I wondered if her mind was following suit.  It
was hard to read Sabrina; when I felt like she was on the verge of
storming out in disgust, I wasn't sure if she was upset because I
didn't go far enough.  I tried to be strict without trending
psychotic, but it was a fine line.  Better to stay on the sane side;
as if sanity could even be mentioned in the same sentence as our
little hobby.

I decided I could get very used to cleansing her like this every
single night for the rest of my life.

I lifted her head out of the water, unclipped the chain connecting
her wrists beneath me, and pushed her into a sitting position.

"Can you stand?" I asked as I did likewise.

She could, and did.  I helped towel her dry, then she followed me to
my bedroom.

"Lie down and spread out.  I'll be right back."

I dashed downstairs to fetch the jar of udder cream.  An hour later,
its entire contents had been firmly massaged into every pore from
neck to ankles.

"Can I trust you without cuffs tonight?" I asked as I pulled back
the covers and prepared to join her in bed.

But Sabrina was already sound asleep.

Day 16--Geoffrey

I hated being woken up by a ringing telephone.

"Yes, yes, I can be there.  Give me an hour.  Okay, forty-five
minutes.  Shit, is the sun even up yet?  Some of us have lives we
prefer over...yeah, yeah, the clock's running now, trust me.  See you
there.  Yes, I know which table."

I slammed down the receiver.  Sabrina rustled under the covers.

"Is everything okay?" she asked sleepily.  I could see a bit of
surprise in her eyes as she realized she wasn't bound.

"Oh, yes, fine, just ducky, I have to go meet a client for breakfast
in town, and he decided to keep it a secret until he was on his way
in from the airport.  And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm already late."

I ducked into the bathroom, plugged in my electric razor and began
grinding away at yesterday's stubble.  Ten minutes later, I emerged
completely dressed.

"You'll have to fend for yourself this morning.  There's plenty of
food in the kitchen.  See you in a few hours.  Oh, and by the way..."

I opened one of the drawers in the bedside table and rummaged around
until I found a pair of handcuffs and a ball gag.

"I'd better find you wearing these when I return."

--Sabrina--

"Where is it?" I said out loud as I was carefully searching the
second drawer of the oak chest.  

Resisting in bed had been bad enough.  The shower, short as it was,
had been another crucial test.  But going through the whole morning
without getting into trouble would be quite impossible if I didn't
find it.  Besides, Geoffrey had shown he trusted me, and I wanted to
be worthy of his trust.  

"But, I've got to find it first," I repeated, this time more
nervously.

Lucky third drawer!  There it was!

As I clicked the chastity belt in place, I felt my confidence
return.  At least there would be no outlet for my forbidden desires
now.

I left the bedroom with the handcuffs and the gag in my hands and
joyfully walked down the stairs to prepare myself breakfast.

Being free was a weird sensation.  Both uncomfortable and thrilling.
Awkward and exhilarating.  I missed his presence, his directions, his
orders.  Yet I enjoyed the moment to myself.  I was conscious there
would be more opportunities like this one.  He had a job to do,
clients to see, and I was no longer the assignment he could take
supervise twenty-four hours a day.  My new challenge was to
accommodate such moments without him, to rely on myself while
respecting his rules.

Somehow, I knew this wouldn't be easy.  Restraints made obedience
compulsory, if not easy.  Without them, I felt prone to succumb to
temptation.

"What are the limits?" I asked myself as while I washed the dishes,
starting with those he had left beside the sink the night before.  He
had never given clear indications; while I figured he didn't expect
me to be a brainless doll, I also doubted he would allow me to act
like the independent woman I used to be.

Could I take a dip in the pool?  Probably.  Could I go to his
darkroom and search for the results of my photo sessions?  Probably
not.  Could I read one of his books?  Maybe.  Could I go for a walk
outside the property?  Unlikely.

This was common sense.  Still, there were many subtleties I had yet
to figure out.

Curiosity is one of my main flaws, one I couldn't lock behind a
belt.  Once the kitchen was clean, I went back to the first floor and
entered his study.  

Such an impressive collection of books--classics in paperback,
current bestsellers, sci-fi novels, culture encyclopedias, manga--I
wouldn't have to worry about spending hours on my own if he let me
read all these.  

As my eyes scanned the shelves, my attention was drawn by a familiar
name.  Anne Rice.  The queen of vampires.  Except this particular
book didn't seem to belong in her gothic opus.  Interesting.

I had a moment of hesitation before leaving the room.  The computer
looked inviting, but I decided reading a book by the pool was an
exceptional treat not to be missed.

Twenty minutes later, I was captivated by the adventures of Sleeping
Beauty.  My body was dry after a short swim thanks to the soft glow
of the morning sun.  But I was more aware of the heat inside me, and
was grateful for the belt that saved me from mischief.  

The story reminded me that I also had my own ornaments to wear. 
When I went to pick them up in the kitchen I glanced at the clock
which told me I had better get ready for his return.  I buckled the
gag around my head and clicked one of the cuffs to my left wrist. 
Holding the book in the other hand, I went to kneel in the hallway,
facing the front door.  The ground was cold and hard.  He would like
it.  And it would make up for my reading.  Hopefully.

At the sound of his car turning the last bend into the yard, I
closed the book, placed it by my side, and locked my wrists behind my
back.

--Geoffrey--

"Put your forehead on the floor."

I walked behind Sabrina, reached down and hooked a finger under the
leather strap between her buttocks.

"I don't recall telling you to put this on."

I couldn't believe Sabrina had been so disobedient.  While I knew
she had nothing but good intentions, it was critical that she
followed my orders to the letter.  Beyond critical, actually; her
life could depend on it, especially when I wasn't home to help her if
anything went wrong.

So much for the day's plans; I unbuckled my belt and pulled it off
from around my waist.  Twenty lashes left her gasping on the floor
while I went downstairs to the studio.

"This kind of experience is necessary for her learning," I sang
silently as I collected what would be required.  

Fifteen minutes later, I had replaced the handcuffs with the arm
binder, the ball gag with the penis trainer, and the chastity belt
with its more sinister twin that sported huge plugs for her ass and
pussy.

She could use the practice, I thought as I worked the ankle boots
with the ballet heels onto her feet and knotted their laces.  

I finished her off with the discipline collar and a pair of tweezer
clamps threaded through the metal ring in the front of her neck, then
a second set accessorized with several cumbersome weights that
dangled near the polished planks of the floor.

Never explain, never complain.

"I have to run a few more errands," I said to her still-kneeling
form as I turned the knob of the front door.  "This time, do try to
keep out of trouble."

--Sabrina--

And you thought reading would displease him, I grumbled to myself
while I tried to settle into my new restraints and implements.  My
good mood had evaporated with the first of Geoffrey's lashes.  Not
because of his anger and the way he had chosen to demonstrate it, but
because I had failed on my first test.  How stupid.

I had assumed he would like the belt as a personal addition to the
cuffs and gag, but now I realized he probably didn't object to the
belt itself, but to my sense of initiative.  He hadn't asked for it,
therefore...

Here was one of the limits I was trying to figure out.  My lesson
for the day.  No more initiative.

Not that I minded the results of my indiscretion.  Leather had
become a second skin, and I needed it.  But I could have done without
the twin monsters and the clamps.  Especially the weights.  Oh, damn
it, yes, especially the weights.

And how long would Geoffrey be gone anyway?  Long enough, I presumed.

My discomfort advanced to a new echelon when thirst and hunger made
their unwanted appearance.  Fortunately, they were followed by his
steps on the porch, and the sound of the door opening.

Let's hope I can make amends and be a good girl, if he gives me the
opportunity to do so, I grinned when I saw him walk straight ahead
without as much as a glance down at me.  Nice to see you too,
Geoffrey.

--Geoffrey--

As I walked past her, I tossed my keys in front of her still-bowed
head on the floor.

"Push them into the kitchen if you want to join me for lunch."

Fifteen minutes later, she crawled her way into the kitchen, her
gagged face furious as she nudged the keys onto the linoleum with her
nose.  Too bad, I smiled to myself as I scooped up the ring off the
floor.

"Look at me," I said, serious as a funeral.  After a long pause with
our eyes locked together as tight as her elbows, I began.

"Judging from the chastity belt, I presume you don't want to come
today.  Well, I'm quite sure we can accommodate that particular
request.  But first, you must be famished."

I set down bowls of pasta and water in the middle of the kitchen
floor, then beckoned for her to crawl on her knees to them.  When she
was positioned, I removed the gag, then tied a piece of rope to the
end of the arm binder, climbed up on a chair, and threaded it through
one of the metal rings embedded in the ceiling.

"Head down," I said.

And arms up, I added by pulling on the rope until her hands were
suspended far above her back, forcing her to strain forward if she
wanted to reach the bowls with her mouth and tongue.

"I want these bowls clean, down to the last morsel and drop."

I sat down at the table with my lunch, opened the newspaper and
began to read.

When she finished, I strapped the trainer back around her head and
decided it was time for her to practice walking in the ballet shoes.

"Up you go.  Steady.  Don't try to walk, just keep your balance. 
That's it, find your equilibrium.  Good.  Don't move."

I left her swaying for a few moments while I prepared things in the
basement.

"Okay, let's try a few steps, nice and easy.  Whoops--"

I put my arm around her shoulders an instant before she toppled over.

"Take tiny steps.  Concentrate.  Pretend you're walking on your tip-
toes.  Well, I suppose you don't really have to pretend, do you?"

We made it all the way to the door to the studio, at which point I
scooped her into my arms and carried her down the stairs.

I removed the belt with the dildos, replaced the arm binder with the
mittens, and added cuffs around her ankles, which I also attached to
the ends of a spreader bar, her hands padlocked together to a ring in
its center.

Next came a heavy chain, also padlocked to the center ring.

A few tugs later, and she was hanging bent over double, her legs
spread wide, her ass and especially her pussy completely unprotected.

"So you don't want to come today?" I repeated as I brandished a
single tweezer clamp in one hand and the heavy flogger in the other.

"Make it so," I grinned as my wrist twitched.

--Sabrina--

The key and the bowls were bad enough, but how was I supposed to
keep my balance on tiptoes with my arms so severely bound in my back?
That was just another way for Geoffrey to show who was in charge and
who wasn't.  Like I didn't know.  

And of course I wanted to come.  But only when he decided.  Only
when he allowed me to.  Didn't he get it?  Here I was, trying to
please him, and all he could think about was bending me over.  

I was still confused when the flogger hit my ass.

Was it still part of the punishment, or was he just playing with me?

His blows were hard and cruel.  Was he angry?  But he was aiming at
a very particular target.  Was he teasing?

Angry or teasing, it soon made no difference to my body.  As usual,
my sex had started to react to the pain.  The straps reached my
labia, burning the flesh, tearing it open.  I jerked in my bonds and
bit the gag so fiercely that my teeth dug into the plastic penis.  If
only it was his, I growled inside.

Occasionally, the leather would flick my unprotected clit and send
waves of shock all around.

I rocked my head back and forth, pulling on my arms and legs, and
let out moans that were partly despair, partly lust.  The heavy chain
above me was creaking in its iron bolt as the bar lulled slowly in
reply to my moves.

Lust increased with every whip blow and despair took another face. 
I had toppled over to the other side where all I was waiting for was
more pain, more pleasure and the ultimate relief.

Now my head was bent as far back as possible, as the extension of my
body, all tense in anticipation of the much-needed climax.  My ass
and sex were so hot, I could imagine smoke swirling off them.  Pre-
orgasmic spasms came in quick succession, and my clit stood ready and
engorged for the big finale.

--Geoffrey--

"That will do.  For now."

I lowered Sabrina to the ground until she was lying on her back, her
arms and legs suspended from the bar hanging overhead, her nipples
still doubly clamped.  I enjoyed listening to her loud panting as she
realized that her rather urgent desires of the moment were going to
remain unrequited.

"Just a friendly word of advice, Sabrina," I said from the other
side of the room after a rather extravagant sigh escaped from under
the leather around her face.

"Be careful what you wish for," I continued, this time much closer
to her still-struggling body.

I knelt down in front of her exposed crotch and began inserting the
floppy rubber of the inflatable plug into her ass.

"Putting on your chastity belt was a serious, serious mistake,
Sabrina.  One, you took initiative.  That's my job, period.  Don't
think, do.  Two, you are never to touch anything I use on you without
my explicit permission.  Three, you assumed my response would be
positive.  Wrong.  Don't ever presume to know me.  Four, and most
concerning to me, you don't even trust yourself, even when I
obviously do.  That makes me think maybe I shouldn't trust you in the
future."

I squeezed the bladder several times, just enough to give the plug
some shape inside her.

"Finally, never try self-bondage, especially when I'm not around to
help you if something goes wrong.  Christ, Sabrina, if anything ever
happened to you..."

I stared at her silently for several seconds until my heartbeat
slowed down.  Suddenly, I couldn't imagine life without her.

"I've got some thinking to do.  And so do you.  In the meantime, you
will not come for the rest of the day, until midnight tonight.  By my
watch, that's about nine hours away."

I took the single tweezer clamp and positioned its padded tips on
either side of her clitoris.

"Of course, it may seem longer to you," I said as I slid the tiny
metal ring up the silver arms.

--Sabrina--

As the pinch on my clitoris cruelly increased in intensity, tears
sprang to my eyes.  The pain became extreme, and yet it wasn't even
bad enough to conceal my shame.  I hated myself so much; if the
clamp's adjustment ring had been within reach, I would have pushed it
all the way up without further concern.  

Geoffrey's words echoed in my mind.  The realization that I had
failed him in so many ways, that I might have lost his trust, hurt
more than the ferocious bite.

I cried for a long time after he left the room.  And while my eyes
were swollen by the endless streams of salty drops, the rest of my
body turned cold and dry.  The pain on my clit turned into a dull
ache that I could hardly perceive in my state of distress.  The plug
inside me was uncomfortable, and so was my position: still bent over
with my muscles threatening to turn fatally numb.  But the discomfort
led to nothing else.  No arousal, no horniness, not even anger or
impatience.

My eyes eventually dried up, too, and time passed quietly. 
Replaying his speech again and again, I found some hope in his last
threat.  Thinking was far superior to packing.

When he joined me much later, I realized that all I wanted was to
become worthy of his trust again.  I wanted his eyes to beam with joy
and pride when he looked at me.

However when his hand casually touched my sex and found a desert
where a spring used to flow in abundance, his eyes expressed concern.

Shyly, I looked back at him and tried to convey my most humble
apologies as well as my deepest wish to submit to him.  I was so
afraid he would misread my intentions and feelings.  There's no
rebellion or anger here, Geoffrey, just sorrow.  I want to work this
out. A word from you will make me feel happy again, and a touch of
your fingers can make me hot and burning again, too.

--Geoffrey--

Sarbina's sobs tugged at my heart in ways that made me as
uncomfortable as she looked right now.  This was always the biggest
challenge for someone in my enviable position; how to balance
feelings of affection with a perpetual state of torment.

But now was not the time to show compassion, as much as I wanted to
untie her, take her limp, exhausted body into my arms, carry her to
my bed, and ravish her until one or both of us wound up in a coma. 
Love hurts: the eternal conundrum of a dom.

Still, I did my best to keep the pain to a minimum as I began the
unbinding process, but her thrashings and moans indicated I wasn't
altogether successful.

"Poor little pussy," I said when she finally calmed down.  "I think
a little TLC is in order here."

I got down on my knees, leaned over, and gave her shaved labia a
kiss.  Then a French one.

"You like that?" I said from between her outstretched thighs.

I licked.  I nipped.  I sucked.  I stopped.  Frequently.  I resumed,
sometimes slow and tentative, sometimes full frontal.  And every so
often, I squeezed the valve, pushing another breath into her other
crevice.  I never exhaled, as permanent hippies were wont to say.

I felt my own needs baying below like a pack of wild dogs.  But I
pushed aside the urgency in my groin and continued exploring
Sabrina's silken folds until my mouth turned as dry as her sex had
been almost an hour before.

"That will do," I said, standing up brusquely.  "Time to start
thinking about dinner."

I finished untying her; after a quick respite in the bathroom, I
left her on a heavy wooden chair, naked and unencumbered save for the
ropes I wrapped tight and neat around her limbs, her arms to its
arms, legs to legs, back to back, crotch still open wide.

The matches were the thick kitchen kind, but they would work fine. 
I pulled one out, balanced the tip on the floor, and leaned it
against the leg of the chair.

"Pretty precarious down there, Sabrina.  Wouldn't want it to
inadvertently fall over."

I walked behind her to the boxes.  An old favorite, I mused as I
opened the one that housed my gags and rooted through the melange of
leather, rubber and metal.

"No distractions, Sabrina," I said as I approached her head with the
leather hood in one hand and the earplugs in another.

I tied a slim cord to a metal ring on top of the helmet, and knotted
the other end to a hook in the ceiling.

It took me a few tries before I got the thumbtack perfectly
positioned so the end of the length of twine dropped down from the
ceiling until it just barely grazed her clitoris.

I hoped she was comfortable, because I had a lot of calls to make
before I could even think about dinner.  And better get to those
email in-boxes before they overflowed the server.

As I headed for the stairs, I weakened.  Maybe just some clothespins
on her nipples...

"No," I said out loud, scaring myself a little.  The day hadn't even
turned to night.  And there was something to be said for letting her
own imagination get the better of her.  Patience now would result in
something truly exceptional for both of us at 12:01 tonight, seven
long hours away.

My cock reminded me that it was ready to explode if matters weren't
addressed posthaste, thank you very much.  A fast blowjob?

I sprinted up the stairs two steps at a time before I could
reconsider.

--Sabrina--

The calm after the storm.  Everything was so quiet now.  The
darkness, the silence, the comfort of minimum restraints, they all
contributed to restore peace in my mind and heart.  

However not in my body, still claiming its due after Geoffrey's
long, sweet, teasing treatment.

As much as I wanted to escape the annoying itch on my tormented
clitoris, I knew the match leaning against the chair would betray the
slightest motion.  So I stayed very still and tried to forget about
whatever it was that danced so maddeningly down there.

In any case, I was feeling much better.  His last words had been
softer, and his actions seem to prove he had forgiven me.  Of course,
that didn't mean he would forget.

His armor was so thick, it was hard for me to read him.  He wanted
me to be his girlfriend, which led me to believe he loved me.  But
did he?  He had been so cold all day long.  And I had been so sad. 
He had taken all worries off me, except one.  I needed to know he was
pleased with me.  I needed to know he returned my love.

My heartbeat accelerated--though my trained body remained perfectly
still--as I finally admitted my own feelings for him.  He had
certainly awakened my submissive nature, made me accept it, even
revel in it.  But none of this would have been possible if I hadn't
fallen for him as a man, too.

And the truth was, Geoffrey was the man I'd been waiting to meet all
my life.  Despite his secretive and distant nature, I could sometimes
feel the waves of passion rolling under his quiet surface.  All he
needed was a safe outlet to let them flow in the open.  And I wanted
to be that outlet.  If only he would let me.

It took him an incredibly long time to come back.  By that time, I
felt feverish with desire for him.  The itching in my pussy had been
replaced by other images.  A feather.  A finger.  A tongue.  The
touch, so light, yet so real, had become unbearable.

When he removed the leather hood, I looked down and saw the match
hadn't moved.  I was really pleased with myself.  And I believe he
was equally pleased when he picked it up and slid it in his pocket. 
A shadow of a smile lightened his face; that alone made all my
efforts worthwhile.

He freed me, gathered up the ropes, and used them to tie me in the
same fashion to a chair in the kitchen.  Such patience.

"I bet you're hungry," he asked without expecting an answer.  "Well,
so am I."

Then he mysteriously added: "And we need all our energy for what's
to come."

Oh?  What was his plan?  I looked at the clock on the wall, and saw
it was already 8.15. Make that only 8.15. Almost four more hours to
wait before...what, exactly?  He had said I would be allowed to come
after midnight, but was there something more?

--Geoffrey--

After I finished feeding her dinner, I left her bound in the chair
while I went downstairs to gather what I needed for the rest of the
evening.  It took two trips.

I replaced her ropes with a pair of handcuffs before leading her
into the living room.

"On your knees," I barked at her as I plopped down on the couch and
began unzipping my pants.

She trembled as she did as instructed, her eyes cast downward in
what seemed to be a combination of supplication and outright terror.

"Now, take my cock in your mouth and listen."

She moved her head between my legs and quickly complied.

"It's rather obvious that your training to date has been a complete
and utter failure.  It's my own damned fault for letting my feelings
for you get in the way.  And those feelings are strong, Sabrina,
stronger than I've felt in a very long time."

I paused and took a deep breath as my erection began to grow rapidly.

"This is always the trouble with this kind of relationship.  Part of
me wants to take you in my arms and love you the way normal people
do.  But another part wants to beat you with a bullwhip and leave you
suspended in the barn all night."

She began to suck harder, and I tried hard not to break into a silly
smile.

"And that's just what I'm going to do, Sabrina."

Harder still.  And was that her heartbeat I felt near my leg?

"You're not being very nice," I heard an angel whisper.

But the boss with the pitchfork and tail said, "go for it a little
longer."

Nah.  Time to be real.

"In my experience, there are two kinds of girls: ones you love, and
ones you whip.  Mutually exclusive."

She slowed down perceptibly.

"But I want both.  I need both.  I'm sorry.  It's just who I am."

I took a deep breath and realized I'd better hurry if I wanted to
finish my speech before she finished me.

"Sabrina, I think you're the real deal.  The one-in-a-million
ticket.  But answer me straight."

I closed my eyes and let myself enjoy her for a count of three.

"Do you?  Do you want it, too?  Or do you want to stop?  If you want
to stop--and I mean all of this, not just your present predicament--
this is the time to do it."

I felt myself coming closer to coming.

"Sabrina," I rasped.  "I mean it.  Now or never."

--Sabrina--

The prospect of a drastic change in my training scared me.  If
Geoffrey meant to leave me hanging in the barn all day, every day, I
wouldn't make it.  If he meant treating me like a fucktoy, I would
break easily.  I didn't believe I had the strength to take things
even one step further.

"Now or never."

I couldn't leave.  I was afraid to stay.  I needed him.  I was
desperate.

But after swallowing his load and licking him clean, I saw a pale
light in the darkness of my soul.  Trust.  Trust was all it would
take.  And I honestly, deeply trusted him.

Seconds ticked away.  I remained silent, still kneeling between his
legs, eyes down, and shaking like a leaf.

"You made your choice, Sabrina," he said.  

I had.  And that had been the easy part.  Now I'd have to live with
it.

--Geoffrey--

"Very good, Sabrina.  Stand up."

She rose shakily to her feet.

"Spread your feet apart.  Further."

I began walking around her body, my fingers glancing against her
ass, her hips, her vulva, her breasts.

"As I said, I am going to completely revise your training.  Starting
now, I will focus exclusively on your body."

I put my hands around her waist, stretching my fingers in a futile
attempt to make them touch.

"Pity.  But we can take care of that."

I picked up a large piece of leather from the pile I had brought up
from the studio.  While the other corsets in my collection were
mostly for looks, this one had severe stays that formed a curvy
hourglass shape even when unlaced.  Up to her breasts, down to her
hips.  More armor than undergarment.

"Get on your hands and knees.  Good.  Now, exhale."

I wrapped the heavy material around her waist and began threading
the laces.

--Sabrina--

With all that pressure around my gut, I found I could only inhale by
taking very short breaths.  But not too quickly.  The simple act of
breathing became difficult, and I had to focus on it exclusively
while Geoffrey completed my outfit.  

After the corset came a matching armbinder ending in a single
mitten; heavy and thick, not built to be worn for pleasure.  

Next, he asked me to straighten up and rest on my knees; while I
worked on breathing, he placed a posture collar around my neck and
adjusted an awful trainer gag with enough straps to cover my entire
face with the exception of my eyes.  But he would certainly see to
that later.

He had to help me stand up so he could outfit my legs with more
heavy leather.  Soon, my toes were crushed inside the ballet shoes
that ended the boots.

I felt new tears form in the corners of my eyes, but tried to remain
as calm as possible.  I needed to fully concentrate on keeping my
balance; with half my brain monitoring my lungs and the other half
controlling my feet, I forget there was more to life than breathing
and standing.

Somehow, I felt two wide plugs fill my vagina and anus; a loud click
between my navel and pubis, right where the lower edge of the corset
dug into my skin, put an end to his preparations.  

Then, nothing.  Silence.  I was facing the couch, and behind it, the
window concealed by a shutter for the night.  I didn't know whether
he had left the room, or was standing behind me.

I waited.  I had found a suitable breathing pattern, but its slow
rhythm forced me to stay very still and quiet.  My biggest source of
concern was how not to collapse on the floor.  My toes hurt so much,
they were probably bleeding, and all the muscles in my legs strained
to help me keep my balance.  I was afraid the slightest breeze would
blow me over.

--Geoffrey--

I sat down on the couch and let myself admire her, even adore her. 
She couldn't possibly know how exquisite she looked right now.  But I
knew how to take care of that.

I stood up and checked my watch: 10:30.  Plenty of time.  

Downstairs, again.  The new camera.  No need for lights, or even
extra lenses.  Capture the moment.

I blew through three rolls in minutes.  Okay, maybe something to
fill the shadows.  Back downstairs.

Click, click, click.  Such a favorite sound.  A screen arrow selects
"submit." A light turns off.  A door closes.  A padlock snaps shut. 
A vibrator turns on.  A lighter flares beneath a candle wick.

Before I knew it, an hour had almost passed.  Time to call it a day.
Time to make good on my promise.

I bade Sabrina to join me on the couch, where I added wide cuffs and
a spreader bar to pull apart her upper thighs so her sex was
completely exposed.

"Sabrina, I've been thinking."

Her breathing began to increase in rapidity.  Shit, she thinks I'm
going to dump her, I yelled at myself.  Change course.

"Since you've decided to stay with me on a permanent basis..."

Immediate improvement in the air-intake department.

"And there's nothing in the world I want more than that..."

I reached out and began to stroke her cheek.

"The time has come," I continued, speaking slowly and deliberately. 
"For you.  To show your commitment.  To me.  On your body."

I stepped back and began to arrange the supplies on the kitchen
table.  Forceps.  Sterilizing solution.  Needles.  And two gold rings.

"At first, I thought, of course, your nipples.  But piercings there
can be a problem.  They're too obvious in public, and there are so
many interesting clamps we have yet to try."

Her breathing went into overdrive again at the mention of the word
"piercing," but I wasn't going to worry about that now.

"Next, I considered a ring through the end of your nose.  Nothing
says 'slave' quite like something ordinarily found on a barnyard
animal.  Also quite useful as a place to attach a leash."

He began to sterilize the forceps.

"But again, too public.  So then I debated something in your tongue,
like a round silver ball; a fabulous enhancement for oral sex.  Your
navel was a possibility, too.  I know how sensitive you are down
there, and I thought it would be a good way to permanently remind you
of my presence in your life."

Next, the needles.

"In the end, though, the choice was clear."

I opened the package of sterilizing swabs, pulled one out, and began
cleaning the area surrounding her sex.

"A small ring on each side.  With a padlock connecting them until I
choose otherwise."

I chose a spot on her outer left labia, then picked up the forceps
and clamped them down tight around it.

"This may sting a bit."

I took a deep breath, aimed the needle, and pushed it into her soft
pink flesh.

"I love you."

--Sabrina--

I bit on my lips to avoid screaming, but I couldn't repress a loud
growl as the needle pierced through my flesh.  My whole body tensed
under the shock, and the world started to spin.  I had blood on my
tongue, tears in my eyes, and an awful knot in my stomach as I got
ready for the second round.

It felt worse.  I moaned and cried at the unbearable pain, wishing I
could faint to escape it.

But I was too happy and proud to faint.  Geoffrey said he loved me! 
Despite my blatant imperfections and insubordinations, he wanted me
to stay!  Those two rings would be a permanent reminder of his power
over me, and their location was a meaningful symbol, too.  His, only
his.

When he locked the rings together, he admired his work for a second,
then turned his face close to mine.

I was able to smile through my tears.  I wanted to tell him how
wonderful I felt, to thank him for his patience and care, to promise
him I would do my best to please him and be worthy of him, and to
show him how deep my feelings for him had grown.  But all I could--
and needed--to say was:

"Yes, please."

--Finis--

***
About the Authors

Adrian Hunter is the author of Ace of Slaves, Chain Reaction, Come
True, Crash Your Party Dress and Something Just Clicked, and the co-
author of Association and Once Bitten with Chelsea Shepard.  He began
posting his fiction on the Internet in 1993.  Four years later, he
published his stories on a web site, AdrianHunter.com, which has
attracted more than two million visitors.  In 2000, he was the
recipient of the "Best Bondage Writer" award from SIGNY.  His smooth
and kinky short stories, novellas, essays and poetry have appeared in
dozens of erotica compilations, publications and webzines, including
Clean Sheets, Darker Pleasures, MASTER/slave, Prometheus, Touch Words
and Sex Writer.

Chelsea Shepard has written two bdsm novels, Once Bitten and
Association, with Adrian Hunter, as well as short stories which ap-
pear in his compilations, Come True, Crash Your Party Dress and
Something Just Clicked.  Her new novel, Two Moons: Worthy of a Mas-
ter, will be published in 2003.

Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard's books can be purchased online
through their respective web sites:

http://www.adrianhunter.com
http://www.chelseashepard.com

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