The Gamblers

The style was called “Anguish.” It was the latest fashion rage—dress your woman in haute-couture, bind her in some minor way, and then hurt her …just a little …just enough to draw out her beauty. It looked sophisticated when it was done properly, with a light touch.

This definitely was not the case for the contract-girl across the aisle. Her look simply wasn’t working. She was just a CELT of course, which allowed for a more daring presentation, but even so, one could only get away with so much skin, so much pain. In my opinion, the mark of a real sophisticate was subtlety.

Not that this girl wasn’t beautiful, quite the contrary, she was extraordinary—light brown skin, a face that could launch ships, shoulder-length chestnut hair, a long graceful neck; and tall, maybe five-ten, with an athlete’s perfectly sculpted body, one that came with hard, consistent exercise. Someone had really worked this girl to get such a figure.

It was difficult to nail down exactly what was wrong with her look though. Every part of her presentation was correct if slightly overdone; maybe that was it; maybe it was all just too much.

Pleased with my sudden insight, I studied her more closely over the top of my computer. She was sitting back on her heels, wearing a white sundress. This was his first mistake—a sexy sundress wasn’t appropriate for an airport waiting lounge. It just barely contained her full breasts and revealed more of her well-rounded ass than it hid. That dress would have worked fine in one of the island’s beach bars, but not here, not in the semi-formal stiffness of the first-class lounge.

And those shoes! She had worn expensive fuck-me heels that had been removed and were now at her side. I imagined her long legs mounted on those platforms, yum. This was definitely a rich man’s sex-toy…but why advertise it, I thought. Why, for instance, did he need to spread her knees? A demure knees-together position would have been much more effective—a modest counterpoint to her natural sexuality.

I could see a black thong between her legs. It barely covered the mound between her legs. I did have to admit thought that this was sexy, especially the way it slipped into her crack, creating a pair of, well …lips. I looked at her mouth then back to her cunt then back again to her mouth and smiled. Both set of lips were exceptionally round and full. Just right for warming somebody’s cock at both ends, I thought rudely.

Maybe someday I’ll buy my own CELT. I wonder what that would be like to own someone? This was a just a dream of course—people like me didn’t traffic in women; we didn’t have anything to do with the CELT business. Not only that, I didn’t have the personality for it. As much as I denied it, even to myself, I wasn’t comfortable around girls. That’s just the way it was, I thought sadly.

But I could still dream… I could feel myself getting hard as I studied her long, almost prehensile toes. People said that this was the problem with CELTs, they brought out the worst in men.

Not that this aspect of contract-girls bothered many people anymore. Consensual bondage was practically an institution now and CELT contracts were common. Didn’t I just read that 5% of the women in the U.S. under thirty were CELTs? Legalization made sense, I thought, with today’s overpopulation. People needed a way out of their poverty. After a few years a CELT, which stood for Contracted Escort-Long Term, could earn enough money to make a new life for themselves and often for their entire family. This made sense to a lot of people, despite the moral issues.

Of course, only a tiny fraction of the world’s billions, just the most beautiful, the healthiest, the smartest made it out this way. Natural selection, I thought. Maybe this was why there was so much prejudice against CELTSs?

But still…even with a CELT good taste was important. Just sitting there, his girl was giving half the room a hard-on. That wasn’t right. Most sensible people tried to avoid trouble by downplaying the sexual aspect of CELT ownership. This girl’s attire and her bondage were much too risqué for the lounge—more appropriate for a private men’s club or a bondage bar, I thought prissily.

Nowadays, it wasn’t that unusual to see CELTs bound, even hard-bound in public. (Although it was still shocking to some, it was fairly common in Manhattan for example to see a girl being walked on a leash with her arms bound. It was chic, fashionable…)

This girl’s owner seemed to be trying for that look. He had tied her wrists and elbows together behind her back with narrow strips of soft white leather. Another strap had been wrapped twice around her neck, almost like a fashionable choker. The leather was so supple that the ends were simply tucked in, giving her that perfect no-knot look. I wondered if this leather tightened when it dried, like rawhide; that would be something to watch on this one, I thought evilly.

Despite the appropriateness of it all, I grudgingly acknowledged that she looked incredible in her bondage—every man’s fantasy slave-girl. As I said, it was just…too much. Her sexy bindings were supposed to create an illusion, I thought. The “chocker” for example was making her pant like a dog and the elbow tie was pulling her shoulders back much too far. This wasn’t pain for fashion’s sake, it was torture.

Was I being too critical? The girl did look valuable—something you would see in a French fashion magazine. She also looked a little dangerous with that sleek, muscled body. Maybe the unusually harsh bondage and all that bare skin were intended to create an altogether different look—punishment for her haughtiness? Whatever, she was certainly stimulating a lot of fantasies.

Unconsciously, my mind started to drift. I imagined her with me in my shower. She was on her knees, wrists tied behind, looking up at me with frightened glances as I deep-fucked her soft mouth. Her luscious full lips gripped my cock hard and I could feel her throat muscles moving rhythmically, swallowing to take me more fully inside. In my dream, I reached down and pushed her away. She moaned in protest.

I shifted in my seat and surreptitiously repositioned my cock.

Back in the shower, the girl looked up at me confused, her mouth and tongue still moving, memory-fucking my cock. Fighting the urge to reinsert myself, I reached behind her and lifted her bound wrists. She scrambled to her feet, bending forward at the waist. I hooked a chain hanging down from the shower’s ceiling to her wrists and then expertly tied her forearms together.

I ran my hands along her back and flanks as I moved to her rear.. She was up on her long toes, the ridges of her leg muscles sharply outlined. I watched her struggle. The oversized mound between her legs darkened as it filled with aroused blood.

I moved in from behind, pushing my cock lengthwise between her pussy lips. I didn’t want to enter her just yet. By instinct she inched forward on her long toes until she was over my cock and then she pushed herself down. I heard her moan from the new pain in her arms. Cruelly, I laughed and started to pull out. Her cunt tightened. It was a delicious sensation, but I had another hole in mind this morning.

Squirting shampoo into her ass, I pointed my cock and pushed. She cried out, squirming. But the pressure was unrelenting and slowly I worked my way inside. In a few seconds she was fully impaled. Laughing again, I grabbed a leather paddle hanging nearby and paddled her wet flanks. Immediately, her squirming settled into a steady rocking motion—a gait. I enjoyed this for a time and then gave her a single sharp whack. She responded immediately, increasing her fucking speed to a slow trot. I waited a bit and then did it again and again. Each time she went a little faster. When she reached a full gallop, I exploded inside, triggering her orgasm. Quickly, I shifted my hands to her stomach to enjoy the contractions of her rock-hard abs.

Glancing around the lounge, I shook off the daydream. Even though no one had seen it, I was embarrassed. My cock was like a piece of wood and I thought about going to the men’s room to jerk-off. No, I thought, someone might walk in on me, but there was no going back to my computer now.

Instead, I resumed my furtive examination, focusing on the outline of her bullet-like nipples pushing through the dress. How did she get such large, hard points, I wondered? I didn’t think they were artificial, she just looked too young and fresh. But was anyone really born with such perfect nipples? What would it be like to grind them a little between my teeth? …stop it, not again!

This was all just too much, I thought. No wonder I’m sitting here getting off. This outrageous display was pushing me beyond my limits. I could tell from their shifting eyes that the others in the lounge, mostly vacationers and a few businessmen, had the same feelings.

In fact, the only person looking directly at the CELT was a plain-looking newlywed a few seats away, and her gaze was pure hate. Apparently, her new husband, a mousey man who was now studying his golfing magazine with way too much intensity, had been caught looking. I wondered what his married life was going to be like.

I shrunk down a little lower behind my laptop. Where did such a perverse dream come from? There should be limits, I thought, even for a fantasy. It wasn’t exactly my fault, though. The man who owned this girl was the culprit! In another airport in another country, someone in authority would have already spoken to him about their decency rules and about public punishment of CELTs. But this was the Caribbean. Things were done differently around here. Most of the time officials acted only when someone complained.

Maybe the plain girl will say something, I thought. Then again, why would she? She was probably enjoying the girl’s suffering, which now appeared to be quite intense. Her neck strap was way too tight.

Yes, she was definitely in trouble. I glanced around. Maybe some bystander will intervene? Unlikely I thought the CELT’s owner was an aggressive lout. This was obvious from the heated argument he was having at the counter with a petite, but determined ticket agent, something about a seat. Getting involved would probably result in an ugly confrontation and for what? Technically, the man wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was just a CELT.

Not only that, this was a public place. If she was in real trouble, all she needed to do was to ask for help, just give us a sign. Someone would help her. But uninvited, no; people in crowds just didn’t act that way. No one wanted to interfere, to look foolish. Certainly not me; I’d spent my entire life hanging back to avoid public mistakes.

This was really unusual though, I thought again. Despite her distress, she wasn’t making a sound. Normally, a contract-girl would be whimpering like a puppy by now. One of the people nearby would then warn the man in the same way someone would tell him that something was leaking from his luggage. Not a criticism, just one traveler helping out another.

As I watched, I could see that she was actively resisting this. She just wasn’t going to as for help. Strange…typically the last thing a CELT wanted was to attract negative attention especially from strangers. They prized their lucrative contracts and went to great lengths to avoid even the hint of a serious problem. Problems might lead to a formal complain, maybe even a legal action, maybe even contract nullification. This was extreme rare of course, but the threat was real. I was glad I had decided to stay out of it.

I’m a respectable banker for heaven’s sake, I told myself, here on business. How would it look if I actually got mixed up in something like this? I hadn’t even gone to the beach on this trip although I had secretly watched the woman and the hard-bound, half-naked CELTs from my balcony.

Maybe one day I could afford a discretely hidden-away contract-girl of my…

The man returned from the counter and sat down on the lounge chair next to the girl. He was angry, shoving his ticket roughly into a paper folder. I could see from the color of the folder that he was in first class, same as me.

“Fucking airline,” he muttered to no one in particular. I could tell that he was fuming. Then he looked at the girl and a smile seemed to cross his face. Without a word, he sat forward on the edge of his chair and moved his leg to hide the girl’s body. Reaching into his jacket pocked, he extracted two round metal objects that looked like thick metal washers. Careful not to let him see me looking, I studied them; they had sharp triangular points on the inside rim and push-tabs on the outer edges. Discretely, he pulled down the girl’s dress, squeezed the tabs, and pushed one over her bare nipple.

I was horrified. Her entire body stiffened and her bare feet curled into claws. The first shock of pain lasted only a few seconds, but to me it seemed to go on forever. Amazingly, she still didn’t make a sound. Then he did the same to the other nipple with much the same effect.

Numb, I thought about what I had seen. Those “washers” were actually circular nipple clamps, bondage toys. The pain must be excruciating.

The man settled back in his chair, pleased with himself. It was as if the girl’s pain had absorbed his anger. He seemed unconcerned that his vicious act of pique would be noticed by anyone.

I watched her out of the corner of my eye, still pretending to be focused on my spreadsheet. Sheens of sweat now covered her body and two trails of wet ran down the side of each tightly closed eye. Appalled and still feeling ashamed, I hid my face behind my screen.

“Hey Pal,” he called to me casually across the aisle. “Would you mind watching my stuff while I go to the John?” He pointed with his thumb to his bags and the girl.

I looked up, trying to look innocent. “Sure, sure no problem,” I said much too quickly.

“Thanks,” he said smiling. “Want me to grab you a cup of coffee on my way back?”

“No thank you,” I said with the barest hint of a judgmental tone. He looked me over as he stood up. Then, with a bit of irritation, “don’t let anyone touch the girl, OK?” His meaning was clear. …and keep your fucking hands off her as well. Then he seemed to think for a moment and turned back to her to remove her neck strap.

Glancing down to my lap as he passed, he smiled and gave a friendly knowing nod. Embarrassed, I realized that the computer had slipped down and the bulge in my pants was showing. I readjusted the computer and once again starred at the keyboard as if searching for a missing letter.

I should have said something to him, I thought, as he walked away, but who was I to criticize this stranger? She was his legal property. It might not be very polite or appropriate to hurt her in an airport lounge, but he certainly had the right… nothing to get very upset about. Was I trying to provoke a confrontation? Again I had the sickening thought of trying to explain my involvement to the people at work.

When I finally looked up, the girl was staring at me again. The two wet streams drying on her face.  “Don’t let him rattle you,” she said softly. “That’s what he does for a living—shakes people up enough so that they make mistakes. I’m sorry I bothered you before. Please don’t tell him.” She seemed frightened; apparently he was capable of a lot worse.

“No problem,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Do they hurt?” Idiot! I thought immediately. “Do they hurt?” What a stupid question.

She nodded. “He uses them a lot…” she paused as another wave of pain passed over her face. This explains the shape of the girl’s nipples, I thought insensitively. Frequent use of the clamps had trained them into hard-points.

I was totally unnerved and before I could stop myself, another stupid question had passed through my lips. “Why are you with him?” I was appalled; it was a totally absurd and inappropriate thing to ask. Her face froze and she was silent. Why was I being so incredibly dumb? In the back of my mind I realized that I was trying to defend myself in her eyes. This was stupid, I thought. She’s just a CELT; who cares what she thinks?

She remained silent and despite my rationalization, I felt terrible. One didn’t apologize to a CELT, but maybe in this case… Fortunately, she raised her eyes and started to speak very softly before I could put my foot back into my mouth.

“I didn’t contract directly with him, Sir. My obligation was transferred.” Then she looked up defensively, “My family needed the extra money; my brother was sick.”

I was surprised; not at her sob story, everyone had one of those, but that she had a “transferable” contract. Almost all CELT contracts were non-transferable. A transferable contract meant that you might end up with a very nasty stranger, like this one. Three years of legal bondage, the typical contract period, could feel like thirty in the wrong hands. Not only that, but transferable contracts were much more difficult to reverse. The courts had ruled a number of times that the consenting adults signing such contracts generally accepted greater risks, and that bad treatment by itself did not constitute grounds for reversal. (I had been interested in this subject and studied the Consensual Bondage Laws of the 2120’s quite extensively while in business school.)

Still acting the idiot and probably still trying to salvage my pride, I pursed my lips and shook my head. Then, with a critical air, my eyes shifted to the outline of the nipple clamps visible through her dress. The meaning was clear—this is what happens to silly girls who engage in such foolish behavior.

She looked at me for a moment and then bent her head in silence. We had both said too much. In a few moments, the man returned.

After a time, the first boarding call was announced. The man reached over, and removed her bindings. He left the nipple clamps on under her dress and she made no attempt to touch them. She was well trained, I thought. “Let’s go,” he said. Painfully, she got to her feet and slipped on her sexy heels. Her legs were as magnificent as I had imagined. Then bending down as modestly as she could, she picked up a leather bag and followed him to the ramp, never looking in my direction.

I was the last person in the lounge to board the plane—too embarrassed and ashamed of myself to take the chance of accidentally bumping into either of them again.

Shit! What miserable fucking luck—the man was in the seat next to mine. I checked my ticket again, 6E (fuck). I tried to slip into my seat without being noticed.

“How you doing, partner?” he said in a friendly way. The girl was on the floor at his feet. She was hugging her legs, her wrists tied to her ankles.

“Sorry ‘bout this, he said, pointing at her with his thumb. “I tried to buy her a seat, but the plane is full. He glanced around the full first-class cabin to illustrate the point. We’ll be a little tight, but I’ll keep her on my side.”

“No problem,” I replied. “There’s plenty of room in these seats. I’ll probably just work. You can let her move around a little if you want.”

He smiled, “Thanks, Later.” Then he went back to his magazine.

In a few minutes, the stewardess walked by and stopped at our row. “Can I get either of you something to drink,” she asked.

“Nothing for me,” I said.

“I’ll have some Champaign, little lady,” the man said.

“Certainly,” she said. Then she noticed the CELT. “I’m sorry, Sir. She’s going to need to be checked. We have some very nice cages in the hold specifically designed for contract-girls. I can gate-check her right here for you.” She started to reach into her apron pocket for a check slip.

“Hold on, little lady,” he answered. “This here’s a pretty valuable piece of property. I’d rather just keep her with me.”

“Sir,” now she was annoyed. “It’s regulations. You can’t keep anything in the aisle. Everything, including this… this woman must fit in the overhead or go under your seat. Otherwise it’s got to be checked. This one is much too tall to go under the seat.” (Airlines now allowed their first-class passengers to transport their CELTs in first class, but this accommodation was really only for petite young girls. Some men liked their CELTs small and tight, believing they were easier to handle and that the sex was better.)

“She’ll fit,” he said, showing his own annoyance now. “Maybe you can get me one of those CELT-belts.”

“I’ll get you a belt, Sir, but if she doesn’t fit fully under the seat, I’ll need to insist that she be checked.” She wanted to get the last word. In a few seconds, she returned with a long, wide belt and handed it to him along with his drink. No words were exchanged.

“Frigid bitch,” he mumbled. “Would you mind holding this, Partner?” He handed me his drink then he positioned the girl between his legs and wrapped the belt around her legs and back and pulled hard. The air went out of her lungs. Then he tightened the belt a little more and buckled it. I could see it digging into her skin.

He reached into his seatback pocket, breathing a little heavily from the exertion. “This bitch is one fucking pain in the ass,” he said as he unfolded a leather hood and placed it over her head, tightening its built-in collar around her neck. Then he laid the girl down on her knees and pushed her head-first under the seat in front with his feet. Her short dress rode up her back, but he didn’t bother to pull it down.

“Nice, huh?” he said, pointing at her ass with his toe.

“Can she breathe in that thing,” I asked, forcing myself to speak casually.

“No, she’s just gonna have to hold her breath for a while,” he said laughing. Then he fluffed up his pillow and turned away.

I watched her long toes curl and uncurl as she settled into her confinement. It was clear that she could breathe through the hood’s stitching, but it wouldn’t be pleasant or easy. It must also be getting really hot in there, I thought. After a while, I looked away and sat back in my seat for the takeoff. This was none of my business, I thought again. Stay out of it. She’s just a CELT …a CELT with a transferable contract. That basically makes her a prostitute, a whore.

The stewardess stopped by once to check. It was obvious from her frown that the girl wasn’t really fully out of the aisle, but the woman chose to ignore the infraction rather than start another argument. I smiled at her for this small mercy.

The plane took off without further incident.

I spent the next hour staring at the girl’s feet, wondering what it was like for her. The planes’ interior had been darkened and most of the passengers were sleeping when the man finally stirred. Stretching, he turned on his overhead light, unfastened his seatbelt, and pulled the girl out. After pausing for breath, he sat her upright on the floor and removed her hood. Her face and hair were covered with sweat. Carelessly, he wiped her off with a couple of drink napkins and then set her back against the side of the plane still bound hand-to-foot.

“’Scuze me, Partner,” he said. “…need to visit the boy’s room.” I smiled and politely moved my legs aside to let him pass.

When he was gone, I looked over at the girl. She was still trying to recover from the hood.

“He’s a character,” I said, trying to be casually friendly.

She looked at me and smiled politely, but said nothing.

“He seems to know all the tricks.” I persisted, not willing to be put off. She was silent. “He seems to know all the tricks, right?” I repeated, annoyed.

“He’s a sadistic pig,” she answered. It was obvious that this had just slipped out. Immediately she looked up, shocked at her loss of control.

For a moment neither of us said anything. Then she started talking fast, much too fast. “Not that he’s done anything wrong, Sir. Our contract, of course, gives him the right to treat me just about any way he wants. He’s maybe a little too harsh. We just need more time to get used to each other.”

She thought for a moment and then restarted her rapid-fire monologue. “Please Sir, please, if you have one ounce of mercy in you, please don’t tell him what I said.” It was obvious that she was afraid, but it also appeared that beneath the surface, she resented the need to beg for my help.

I thought about this for a minute. Truthfully, the responsible thing to do was to tell the man everything. If, God forbid, something bad happened in the future and it was discovered that I could have prevented it by warning him, I could be sued. An angry CELT is not a good thing to have sleeping in your bed or even at the foot of it.

Still, was that necessary? It would get me further entangled with these two. Shit, why couldn’t I have just kept my mouth shut? I thought for a moment and then I had what seemed to be a good idea. “Maybe you should speak to him. Your contract gives you the right to protest, to contact your attorney. Why don’t you try that?” I suggested. My tone was reasonable.

She looked at me as if I were an idiot. “Why should he talk to me? My contract has only a year to run. He knows I can’t end it now. It would mean the loss of all further compensation,” then her eyes filled, “and that would mean the end of my family, the death of my brother.” She was getting worked up again, emotional; exactly what I was trying to avoid.

“Yes, I guess that is a problem.” I said dismissively.

I didn’t have an answer for her and, more importantly, I didn’t want to get into a heavy discussion with a CELT whore. She was nothing to me. Why was I even bothering to talk to her; it was stupid. She had created her own problem; complaining about it afterward made her what, a cheat? I stopped talking.

She glared at me and suddenly I was glad she was tied. In a low voice, she started talking again. “Yes, it’s a problem…” She wasn’t hiding her anger now, and most of it was directed at me. How did I get into this mess!

“Let me tell you what he did to me last night.” She was whispering, but every word was sharp. “He made me strip down to a thong that he likes, tied my arms behind, and locked my ankles together with a short hobble-chain. He likes to watch me run.” Her voice dropped even lower. “Then he put his Piranhas on me. That’s what they’re called, Piranhas. I know you saw them tonight. It’s like being eaten alive.”

She paused for a second to regain some composure. “He attached a Y-leash and walked me around the hotel, stopping at every party to check out the action. Can you imagine what its like to be displayed naked on a leash… with women watching! At one party, he put me on my knees then he tied the leash to a coat rack and hooked the hobble-chain to my wrists. I had to balance myself with my nipples. Everyone thought it was hilarious.”

“Maybe you should try that with your cock, Computer-Boy, before you criticize me. They make Piranhas for men, you know.” She stopped and started to cry. They were silent tough-guy tears, but the way she wiped them off on her knees reminded me of a little girl.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said in a whisper. I was doing what all men do when faced with tears—lie. “I didn’t mean to put you down before; it’s just that this is none of my business. It’s also not right for you to talk that way about your contract owner. As you said, he can do whatever he wants with you. In fact, if I don’t tell him about this conversation and something happens, I could be sued.”

She wiped off her tears and looked at me with absolute loathing. “Go ahead, tell him,” she spit it out. “Maybe he’ll punish me right here and the two of you can get off. A cowboy-sadist and a Wall Street-coward, you two could be great friends.” She starred at me defiantly. We both jumped when the man appeared in the aisle.

He was carrying a glass of ice and four small bottles of vodka. “I raided the liquor closet,” he said jovially, ignoring the tension that was hanging between us. “She’s a good looker, no? He glanced at me as he moved sideways back into his chair.

“Yes,” I said red-faced, “very nice.” I started to reach for my computer, trying to avoid any more conversation. This flight was turning into a nightmare.

But now the man was fully awake and talkative. “Won her a few weeks ago in a card game,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper as he poured his first drink. “Fella was drawing to an inside straight. He was so happy to make it that he thought he owned the pot and bet the farm, including her. Bad way to play! I had a full house from the get-go. He never knew what hit him. …been fucking her every night,” he added. “…amazing muscles, good moves …I just needed to teach her some manners. Now she’s okay. Amazing things they got these days to keep these CELT bitches in line.”

I thought about the Piranhas.

“Yup… I got an electric whip in my bag that I used on her a couple of time. It hurts like Hell, but it don’t make any marks. …copper’s woven right into the leather braid. You don’t need to kill yourself, even a light stoke gets her full attention.” Glancing over to be sure I was listening, he continued, “Best thing is to put them up by their wrists and get them on their toes. Then put a good gag on ‘em and you’re in for some real fun. Jesse here is strong and defiant. She’ll kick for half-an-hour—maybe 20 strokes with the electric whip.” He paused and took a sip of his drink. “Can’t go too fast with the power turned up, you know; they’ll pass out on you…got to give ‘em time to rest.”

He lowered his voice and moved a little closer. “You also want her conscious when you’re finished. That’s the best time to fuck ‘em you know…right after, when their brain’s still sparkin’. Give you a real ride.” He laughed and, not knowing what else to do, I smiled and nodded my head in agreement.

The girl looked up at me. I knew what she was thinking. This made me a little angry. No one, not even me, likes to be called a coward, especially by a stranger…a CELT. This bitch was purposely antagonizing me and I impusively, I asked him, “What do you do when she complains about you…to other people?” The girl’s face turned white. Not shooting off your mouth now are you, bitch? I thought.

He glanced at Jesse then said, “Naw…Jesse wouldn’t do that. She knows that I won’t put up with that kind of foolishness. If she did that to me, I’d whip her hard for days. I know exactly how much she can take; I could easily keep her screaming for a week.

He looked at me hard. “She didn’t bother you with any tall tales while I was in the John, did she Partner?” he asked. I knew that he was watching to see if I glanced at the girl.

“No. No, she didn’t say anything to me,” I lied. “I was just wondering.” I never blinked or took my eyes off his.

“That’s good, real good,” he said slowly. His jovial mood returned and he paused to sip his drink. Then he looked over at her again, “Got to keep that whip oiled up, right Jess. Don’t want the leather to stiffen up.” Then he turned back to me, “The best thing for a whip is the oil from a girl’s skin. I know you think I’m shittin’ you, but it’s true. Just keep turnin’ the whip to make sure it covers every part.”

“Probably sell her contract when I get back,” he continued. “She’s too much trouble, too much baggage for my line of work… There are plenty of girls around to rent. No need to carry my own around with me. Am I right?”

“What line of work is that,” I asked, ignoring his question and trying desperately to now sound friendly. (I was thinking about the pain my vicious little remark might cause her.)

“Well, I’m pretty much retired now, but I do some gambling from time to time. Keeps life interesting, you know. You ever play?” It sounded like a question he had asked many times before.

“No, not really,” I said. “Well, sometimes, just for fun.”

“Tell you what,” he leaned over, there was vodka on his breath. “How would you like to play for this here girl? I ‘seen you eying her. She’d make a great bed-warmer. And like I said, she’s strong and tough…takes a lot of pain.”

I looked at him, knowing that he was joking, putting me on. “What’s she worth,” I asked, playing along.

“’bout a hundred grand now, still got another year or so to run on her contract.” He was bragging, showing off.

I nodded my head, smiling, still going along with the joke. Then my mouth opened and I heard myself saying, “OK, I’ll bet you a hundred thousand dollars, against her contract. One cut of the cards.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. What was I doing! In a panic, I realized that a quick laugh would make the statement sound like a joke. I needed to laugh! Laugh, you fool!

But something held me back. It was the only truly brave thing I had ever done.

The girl looked at me, openly curious. The man’s eye’s narrowed and he put his face close to mine. “I was just kidding, Partner.” then he leaned back in his seat and was quiet for a few seconds, sipping his drink.

Slowly, he turned to me and asked, “You got a hundred thousand dollars, Kid?”

“Yes.” I said simply, holding his gaze. Actually, I had $108,000—my life’s savings. WHAT WAS I DOING!

The man looked at me for a long moment. I held my breath, maybe he would laugh the whole thing off. Then he glanced at the girl. Guilt was written all over her face. He knew immediately that we had done more than talk; he also knew that most of that talk had been about him. I could see him turn a little red in anger.

He nodded and looked back at me. Then he smiled. The girl was going to be whipped exactly as he had described. A personal insult was an important thing for him. She realized it at the same time and trembled. She knew difference between casual pain and real punishment.

But now he wanted something from me as well. I had apparently violated some unwritten gambler’s code.

“OK, Pal. You come up with the dough and it’s a bet.” His tone was no longer friendly, it was distinctly hostile.

I hid my fear. Maybe I could just laugh now, roll over and go to sleep. Who cares what this creep thinks or says? So he punishes her…so what. The truth is that she deserves it. Well, maybe she doesn’t deserve being whipped for a week; and maybe I was partially responsible for egging her on, but so what? …just a CELT, remember!

Every logical part of my brain desperately wanted me to laugh it off and forget it, forget about her. But I just couldn’t do it. Without thinking, I reached into my wallet and retrieved my debit card. I swiped it through the seatback reader with a shaking hand. Using a few keystrokes on the seat’s built-in computer, I moved a hundred thousand dollars into an escrow account and assigned it a password, writing it secretly on a paper napkin. He watched all this with a smirk on his face.

“You sure seem to know what you’re doing with that banking stuff,” he said. Then he stood up and pulled his large leather bag out of the overhead locker. Unzipping an outside pocket, he found the girl’s contract. I could see that it already had several transfer endorsements on the back.

“She sure is going to look good at your feet if you win,” he said. “I’m also gonna throw in everything in this bag. You’ll need this stuff to keep her in line.” I could tell that I was being worked now. He smelled my money. I was now his pigeon or whatever gamblers call their prey.

“Thanks,” I said quietly, glancing at the girl. This is lunacy, I thought. I was about to lose my life’s savings for an exotic pet, a whore.

“Well, OK!” he said emphatically, ringing the call button. In a few seconds the same stewardess appeared. “Ma’am, would you mind getting my friend and me a pack of your best playin’ cards?” She nodded stiffly and went for the cards. We waited in silence.

When the cards arrived, he shuffled them on the divider between our seats. His hands moved like a magician’s. I was glad this was a simple cut of the deck.

“You know what,” he said, placing the deck between us. “Let’s bring Jesse into this.” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the Piranhas. Then he retrieved a large ball gag that he had stuffed in the seatback. Moving the girl between his legs, he pushed the gag into her mouth and tightened it behind her neck. Then he quickly pulled down her dress and placed the Piranhas on her nipples. Reaching back into the bag, he found a high leather collar. I knew this was for discipline.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“You can let her out when you win,” he said, positioning the collar on her neck.

“And if I lose?” I asked.

“Then you can watch her for the next three hours,” he replied. He had buckled the collar so tightly that her face had turned red. She wasn’t getting enough air.

“Look, there’s no reason for this,” I said, starting to panic. The girl was barely able to breathe. A blunt point at the top of the collar kept her head high so that she was staring directly at me. I was reminded of the scene at the airport.

He was having sadistic fun with both of us and enjoying himself. He was also continuing to work me, ensuring that I had yet another reason to continue with the bet.

“OK, I’ll tell you what, partner,” he said reasonably. “Once our bet is finished, I’ll let her out.” I knew it was a lie. Once he won, we would both be at his mercy. Jesse would stay in the collar until she passed out, then he would devise some other torture for her. He wanted us to suffer and he knew that punishing her was painful to me as well. The girl looked over at me with her mouth open, breathing hard. She was now working hard to survive.”

I smiled at her reassuringly, but I felt sick.

“Come on, Kid,” he urged. “Don’t lose your balls now. This one’s tough. She can take it, can you? Worry about yourself. It’s your money.”

What a vicious bastard, I thought. I can’t let him whip her for a week because of something I did. 

“OK,” I said, defiantly. “Let’s get this over with.”

He smiled again and turned to the girl. “You got yourself a real champion here, Jess. Man’s willing to put up a hundred thousand dollars to keep your pretty ass from a little punishment.”

He was absolutely gleeful. “My name’s Max, by the way, Max Springer,” he said as he held out his hand. “…and this here is Jesse. I don’t like to gamble with strangers.”

“I’m Howard Lowe,” I said, returning his handshake with a limp wrist. My face was ashen and despite my earlier resolve, I was afraid. 

“Howard,” he repeated, turning the name around scornfully in his mouth. Now, he was really enjoying himself. Then he pulled the Piranhas out of his pocket and held them up for both of us to see. “These little babies are amazing,” he said, pushing on the side tabs and demonstrating the pinching movement of the inside points. “And the name really fits. They can really bite.”

He slipped Jesse’s dress down to her waist. She sat on the floor half naked, bound, and gagged. We both looked down at her from our plush seats. She starred back at us unashamed. Grabbing one of her breasts, Max held it tight as he pushed the Piranha over her nipple and slowly released the tabs. Jesse closed her eyes and absorbed the pain. I could see that it was a lot worse now since her nipples were already sore. Max would have known that.

He watched her anguished face for a moment and then did the same to her other breast. Pulling her dress back up, he muttered, “We’ll leave that up. Don’t want upset that stewardess, now do we?”

He whispered to the girl loudly enough for me to hear, “You’ll be okay, Jesse. Just keep thinking about how much worse it will be when we get home. She held my eyes. I could see fear; this was no idle threat. The man really was a sadistic pig, just as she had said.

“I hate to see her cry,” he said then he smiled.

That was when I lost my nerve. “Let me ask you a question,” I said with a shaky voice. “Suppose I just buy out her contract. You said you were thinking about selling it anyway, this way we both end up with what we want.” This wasn’t true at all, I thought. All I wanted was my hundred thousand dollars safely back in my account and to be free of this mess.

He looked at me like the street fighter that he really was. “That might have been OK before, kid, but then you and Jess here went and made this personal. Personal is no good. This girl is my property. You fucked with her head without my permission. Now she’s goin’ have to pay for her mistake and yours too.”

His arrogance put some steel in my back. I looked him in the eyes and even managed to exhibit a bit of bravado, “Well then, all that’s left to do is cut the cards.” It was all show; I was scared and I knew he was going to win.

Placing the cards down, he gestured with his hand for me to take my cut. I managed to nod in his direction—you first.

Smiling, he reached down and cut the deck—a Jack. He just smiled, leaned down, and showed the girl the card. Her eyes rolled and I thought she had fainted, but then her eyes opened and she looked at me. It was the look of someone condemned; I had sent her to Hell. “I’ll charge up the whip’s batteries as soon as we get home, Jess, so you can start your week right.” He was enjoying every moment of this.

Then he looked over at me, “Your card, How-word.”

I ignored his jibe, but my hand was shaking so badly that I had trouble cutting the deck. I didn’t even look at the card I’d drawn, just faced it towards him. He looked down from my eyes to the cards, smiled broadly, and leaned back in his chair happy. I had lost!

I was devastated. Three year’s savings gone in a second and a week of vindictive torture for a girl who had just asked me for a little help. Surprisingly, the money didn’t seem all that important anymore as I thought about Jesse’s beautiful body writhing at the end of this asshole’s whip.

Oh man, what had I done? I felt sick.

Numb, I checked the card in my hand to see how close I had come. It was the queen of hearts. The queen of… THE QUEEN!

Max looked at me unfazed. “Looks like you won, Kid. Congratulations.” He picked up the contract, wrote in my name as owner and signed it. Then he put it back in the bag and gestured for us to change seats. Once he was settled, he casually rolled over and went back to sleep. Gamblers don’t linger at a losing table.

I was dumbfounded and sat there for some time enjoying the relief that coursed through my body. Then I remembered the girl and moved to her aid. I swore to myself that she would never suffer in my hands.

Reaching down, I removed her gag and then as gently as I could I took off the Piranhas and put them back in the bag. I tried not to touch her breasts, but of course that was unavoidable. She was crying softly. I wiped her face and untied her hands and ankles. Still crying a little she moved in between my feet and rested her head on my lap. I could feel her arm inching forward to find a secure place between legs. I pushed the hair out of her face and then got instantly hard when I saw her mouth so near my cock. She probably noticed, but I didn’t care. We had won!

“May I change my clothes, Master?” she asked.

We were standing outside the arrival gate at JFK. With the sundress exposing her bare shoulders and long legs, she was getting lecherous stares from the male passersby. I was embarrassed. “Look, ah…Jesse, please don’t call me that; my name is Howard. And you don’t need my permission to change your clothes. That life is over for you. I’m a decent person, I don’t treat women badly.”

She looked at me with a strange expression. “Thank you, Ma… Thanks, Howard. There are some jeans and a top in this bag. Maybe I could wear them?”

“That would be fine,” I said. She just stood there holding the bag. I was confused. “Go ahead,” I urged.

She glanced at my shyly and said, “I’m not permitted to open it.” It was ridiculous, but I guess once you’ve been whipped for something, you learn.

“Look, I said, you don’t…” then I stopped, frustrated. This wasn’t the place to have this conversation. Bending down, I opened the bag and handed her a pair of jeans and a top. She walked off to the ladies room. In a few minutes she was back. I held my breath. She looked like a New York fashion model, totally unapproachable. I could see that people were still staring at us… at her. She was movie-star gorgeous.

Quickly, I steered us to a cab line and we jumped in. “Twenty-Eight East 79^th Street,” I said to the driver, then added a “please.” He nodded and drove off. We sat in total silence for the entire trip, both of us overwhelmed by the events of the last few hours.

I live in a Manhattan townhouse. When we arrived, I saw that she was surprised. She had expected an apartment. I turned on some lights and directed her to the library and a wooden chair in front of my desk. I took the seat behind the desk.

“Let me explain a few things to you, Jesse. I was trying to be very businesslike. I’m not rich. This is my Grandfather’s house; it’s owned by a family trust. I have the right to use it, but not to sell or rent it. I also have a small trust that pays me a little allowance each month. That’s all my Grandfather left me. In other word, I’m not rich.” I paused and let her absorb what I’d just said. “Do you understand?” I didn’t want her to think I was…a mark.

She nodded.

“I live here alone, by choice,” I continued. Actually, the choice part wasn’t really true. “I don’t socialize much… too busy at work.” …this was getting too personal. “I just don’t have that many relationships,” I said, stupidly ending my clumsy explanation of why a 25 –year-old, townhouse-owning, reasonably good looking, tall, eligible man was living alone in Manhattan.

She nodded again, while she looked around the room and then asked the obvious question, “Are you gay?”

“No,” I replied, a little hurt for some reason. I hurried on. “You can stay here while we take care of the legal work. There are plenty of extra bedrooms. Tomorrow, I’ll call my lawyer and get him started on your emancipation.”

“Emancipation?” she asked.

“Yes, emancipation. There’s no way that I can hold on to your contract. I work in a bank, a vice president. It wouldn’t look right. Not that I wouldn’t want to be…associated with you, any man would, you’re beautiful. It’s just that in my position, with my family…it would just be, well inappropriate. Even though what happened tonight was all innocent, it would be just too hard to explain. Don’t worry; I’ll make sure that you get paid the full amount agreed to in the contract.”

She was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry about what I said before in the plane, Master …ah, Howard,” she was looking down. “The pain was getting to me. Thank you for your help in working things out with Mr. Springer. I know it’s inappropriate to say such things, but he was an animal. It was a brave and generous thing to do.”

We both knew that this little speech was bullshit—for the most part, I had let her down time after time—but it was easier for us to accept the picture the way she had just painted it. If I had just left it there, things would have worked out much differently, instead my mouth began again.

“I’m not sure how long the legal work will take, but if you’re okay with it, we can just pretend that you’re my live-in girlfriend for a few days. This way, when you leave, I can just say we broke up. As I said, I haven’t had much time for girls, but people will accept this explanation. The last thing I want is for anyone to know that I owned a CELT contract. Even though I didn’t do anything wrong, I don’t want to have to explain this, ever.” I paused again.

“Or, if you’d rather stay at a hotel, I can make a few calls and we can move you in tomorrow. You won’t need to worry about the expenses; I’ll pay for everything.”

“In either case, I’ll treat you with the utmost respect and, of course, there won’t be any physical abuse. I find that reprehensible. Hopefully, Max is the last man who will ever… Anyway, for all practical purpose, we can consider your CELT contract ended right now. You are my guest.”

I smiled in what must have looked like a self-righteous way and sat back in the chair. She looked at me with a strange expression and in a matter-of-fact tone said, “Won’t we need to fuck, Howard, if we’re going to be boyfriend and girlfriend?” Was there a hint of sarcasm in her voice?

Her directness surprised me, and I needed a moment to recover. Don’t forget, I told myself, she’s little more than a street whore even though she looks like a model.

“No, we don’t need to do that, Jesse,” I said slowly, thinking that she may be relating to this kind of decent treatment after what she’d been through. I also had the idea that she might not be that bright. “We’re only going to act like lovers, but in truth we’ll just be employer and employee. You’re an escort, remember? Someone people hire because they don’t want to go places alone.” We both knew that that was also bullshit; CELT escorts were sex-partners, mistresses.

“Do you understand what I’ve told you?” It was almost the tone one would use with a child. Maybe she was stupid?

“Yes I understand, Howard,” she began with equal patience. “It’s just that people always seem to know when a couple is fucking… someone might suspect something. Maybe you should think about it; fucking me might actually be the safest thing, reputation-wise.” She was copying my parent-child tone; she also sounded a little angry. Why?

“And when you say, ‘no physical abuse’ though,” she continued, “you mean, unless I deserve it, right? It wouldn’t make sense for you to allow me to go without any discipline. Didn’t you and Max agree that the best way to handle one of us was to, and I quote, “put them up by their wrists and get them on their toes….shove in a good gag and you’re in for some real fun. This one…will kick and jerk for half-an-hour…” You seemed to be listening very hard. Oh, and I almost forgot his most important suggestion, ‘fuck her while her brain is still sparking.’ Isn’t that what you and he agreed?” She was definitely angry now. This was not going at all the way I expected.

“Look Jesse, I don’t think you understand…” I started again.

“…and by the way, Howard,” she interrupted; “I fast-tracked my way through high-school and college, graduating from NYU at 20 with a bachelor’s degree in psychology. So, don’t keep asking me if I understanding you. I said my family was in trouble, I didn’t say that I’d been poor and dumb all my life.”

“Let’s be honest with each other,” she continued, clearly angry now. “You didn’t have the nerve to help me when I needed you, but now I’m supposed to believe that you’re going to do the right thing for the sake of your reputation …your family; you’re going to throw away a hundred thousand bucks.”

“And what makes you think I want to be emancipated?” she asked. “Don’t you think the next man who buys my contract is going to wonder why I was set free early? Are you going to give him an affidavit attesting to your good will? CELTs are worth a lot, people don’t just give them away without a good reason.”

“You didn’t act out of honor or sympathy, Howard; you were distracted by that bulge in your pants and acted impulsively. It’s that simple. Once you had backed yourself into a corner, you just followed the path of least resistance. It was all an accident that worked out okay for you. Once you have had some time to think it over, you’ll come to your senses about me.” She was calming down.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate what you did, Howard. Some of it truly was brave and Max really was a pig.” She paused and looked at me.

“Take my advice,” she leaned forward as if to emphasize her next words. “Tie me up and hurt me a little over the next few days…just so you can see what its like. I’m sure you’ll like it. If you want, you can fuck me as well or I can suck your cock. Then, when you’ve had your fill, sell my contract. That’s what most men in your position would do. Believe me, I know. You won yourself a contract-girl worth a hundred thousand dollars tonight, Howard, enjoy her. As for the contract itself, I agree that it would be impossible for you to hold on to it, someone of your standing, but don’t give it away.”

She leaned back and smiled at me with a now-doesn’t-this-make-sense expression.

I was hurt. I guess I had started to think of “us” as a team. She was right to set things straight. I would never hurt her, of course, and there was no way that I would force her to do anything sexual, but she was right about the money. Holy shit, in the last few hours I had doubled my net worth. Tripled it really if you adjusted for the taxes I didn’t need to pay. (I knew that Max wasn’t going to claim any of this on his taxes.)

I was also extremely tired. “I’m not exactly sure why I did any of the things I did tonight, Jesse, but I’m not the kind of man who would take advantage of such a situation.” Let me take you to your room,” I said this last with finality. “We’ll straighten all of this out tomorrow.”

I left the house the next morning early, before she was awake. I wrote her a brief note saying that she should make herself at home and that if she wanted, we could go to dinner that evening and talk. I also left her some cash to do some shopping. (She didn’t seem to have many clothes.)

I put the evening’s discussion to the back of my mind. She had been tired and stressed. I should have waited to talk to her. She seemed like a decent person in a bad situation. We would get it all worked out tonight. In the meantime, I’d get things started by talking to my lawyer about her contract. Once she really understood the kind of person I was, it would be easier for us to talk.

The office was in chaos over something or other and I was in meetings for the entire day. It was a blessing in a way to be distracted from the “Jesse problem.” Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to calling my lawyer.

That evening when I got home, she met me at the door dressed in black pants and a white silk top. The pants hugged her behind, highlighting her long legs. The outfit included a short jacket that made her small waist look tiny. She was a classy dream… a Park Avenue debutant… no one would ever guess that she was a CELT.

“Is this okay, Howard?” she asked innocently.

“It’s perfect,” I replied enthusiastically. My relief was enormous. I wanted to kiss her and more, but held back. We hardly knew each other.

She waited and then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you, again,” she said. Then she began to describe her day as we walked to my bedroom. She was effervescent, bubbling over with enthusiasm, talking lightly all the way to my door where she waited modestly while I got dressed.

Being in New York City with time and money was an exciting experience, especially for a stunningly beautiful young girl. I knew that she would have been propositioned at least half-a-dozen times. In fact, a part of me thought that she might be gone when I got home, contract or not.

For the next hour we talked continuously without saying anything important. I forgot that she was a professional escort and despite my clumsiness around women, I felt a real rapport growing between us. She made everything easy and fun and there was no mention of yesterday’s events or the prior evening’s discussion. It was as if we were old friends.

Dinner was even better. We talked about everything and nothing; it was a real date. It turned out that she was 22, three years younger than me. Her family was from California with Russian roots. She had originally come to New York to get the East Coast educational experience. It was fun to talk about the stuff we’d done in college, and to exchange opinions on just about everything.  She was incredibly sharp and smart, much smarter than I had imagined. For the first time in a long time, I was having fun.

Later, over coffee we discussed her “situation.” She was open and unembarrassed. After college, she had been looking for a job when her father had been accused of embezzlement. Between the legal fees and fines, the family, which had been reasonably well off, lost almost everything. He went to prison for eight years. Two month’s later her brother was diagnosed with cancer. The treatments needed to keep him alive were costly. She tried everything, but the only way she could get enough money for him was to become a CELT. Even then, the non-transferable contracts didn’t pay enough, so she needed to agree to the more lucrative transfer clause. Such a contract had come easily with her looks.

The only sad moment in our conversation was when she talked about her mother and brother, who she had not seen for two years. Apparently, both had naturally fought her decision to become a CELT, calling his illness “God’s will.” When she refused to listen, they broke all contact with her. Her money was now funneled to them through a charitable foundation which, on her strict orders, took full credit for the charity. There was no bitterness in the explanation. “Just my bad luck,” she said with a sad smile.

Stupidly, I asked her if she was happy as a CELT. She looked at me almost with pity and then said, “Some parts of it are OK, like now. Others are a nightmare. Most women, for example, look at me as if I were a used condom.” She looked around the room at the other diners.

“It doesn’t help to think about things in terms of ‘happy’ or ‘sad,’ Howard. It doesn’t work that way. I just try to get through each day, one at a time, and deal with what comes along. As I said, some are good, other days I would be very happy to die. Unfortunately that option isn’t available to me—CELT contracts terminate on accidental death or suicide.” There was no self-pit in the explanation. 

“That part of your life is over, really Jess, I mean it,” I reassured her. “It’s unbelievable to me that anyone could mistreat a beautiful and talented girl like you.” She just smiled and nodded. Then she asked me about “my story.”

It was boring by comparison, but she encouraged me to talk. I told her about my family, which was wealthy; my job, which had been arranged through family connections at the bank; and about my Grandfather’s Manhattan townhouse, which he had left for me, his fifth grandson, to use. I explained that even though I was “from money” and might someday inherit something from my parents, I wasn’t rich myself…just an ordinary working guy with a fabulous Manhattan townhouse and a small but regular trust-fund allowance. Encouraged, I talked even about the little things—private school in Boston, summers in Rhode Island, high-school football, tennis (and my small triumph getting to the Northeast College League’s Semi-Finals), and my few love affairs, all of which had ended unhappily.

She related to everything, laughing and sighing at just the right times. It was as if we were best friends, catching up with each other’s lives.

Then it was time for desert.

“I’ll have a piece of blueberry pie a la mode,” she told the waiter.

“And I’ll take the chocolate mousse,” I said.

“Did you take care of the contract today, Howard?” she asked in the same carefree tone she had used all evening.

“No, sorry, I didn’t get around to it. The office was a madhouse today. I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning,” I promised cheerfully. I had romance on my mind and felt sure that we would be lovers tonight.

She smiled. “Thanks for this evening. I’m sorry I was such a bitch last night. You’ve been wonderful.” Then her voice lowered to a whisper. “And thanks as well to that wonderful queen-of-hearts. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be hanging from Max’s rope right now, dancing to his whip.” This was the first time she had directly referred to the B&D part of a CELTs life. I was amazed at how casually she could talk about such a horror.

“Let’s not talk about that stuff, Jess. I hate to even think of you being hurt that way. Anyway, its ancient history, no one is ever going to hurt you again,” I promised.

She nodded and smiled. “You promise?” she said, reaching for my hand. “Not even a little spanking?” She was obviously just teasing me, but the thought of it was stimulating… “Maybe you can tie me up in the shower, Howard, and make me suck your balls. Men seem to like that.”

I was shocked! This was pretty crude talk for two people basically on a first date. I was also disturbed that she had guessed the kind of thing that was on my mind; the shower scene was one of my strongest sexual fantasies.

But I answered with equal nonchalance as if she were joking, “Nope, nothing; as you will see, I’m a perfect gentleman.”

“There are no perfect gentlemen, Howard,” she said carefully, “only those too repressed or too scared to give free rein to their real feelings.” Then her voice lifted and she laughed, “You seem a little repressed yourself, Howard. I’ll bet you a kiss that I could turn you into a Max-like sadist in an hour.”

I laughed with her and replied, “That’s just about the last thing I want to be, but feel free.” I was still joking around, trying to get us back to a normal conversation. “I hope Max has gotten over losing last night. I suspect that you were his walking bankroll for his next game.”

She nodded then our deserts arrived. “Pie-a-la-mode for the lady and chocolate mousse for the gentleman,” the waiter intoned.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Jesse said pleasantly to the waiter. “I ordered the apple pie.”

“No Miss, I’m sure you ordered the blueberry, but I will be happy to bring you apple instead,” he said politely.

“No, I ordered the apple,” she insisted, her voice still pleasant.

“Well, maybe you did,” he said in a placating way, humoring her. “In any case, I’ll be happy to swap it for you.”

I could see that she was getting annoyed. “I’ll tell you what,” she said, “since you want to be right so badly, let’s just say that this fucking pie is your fucking tip.” She was talking loudly enough now so that people in the surrounding tables started turning their heads.

“Jesse,” I said, “Take it easy, it’s not worth getting upset over.”

“Sorry, I just don’t like people who can’t admit a mistake,” she was perfectly cool, but determined. “Like this asshole here.”

That was when the waiter made a fatal mistake. “Look Miss, maybe it will mean my tip, which I can’t afford to lose, but you ordered the blueberry. I’m certain of it.” Now everyone was glancing over.

She looked at him for a moment and then seemed to collect herself. “Yes, I guess it’s possible that I said blueberry without thinking.” I was relieved and the small room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief; finally she was being reasonable. I hated scenes. “Maybe you’re right. I’m really sorry, Sir. I like blueberry too, why don’t you just leave it?”

The waiter gave a little bow and turned around. The next few seconds seemed to move in slow motion. Horrified, I watched as she dumped the pie into her hand, stood up, and smeared it over the back of his white jacket.

For half a second the room froze then it was pandemonium. Everyone was shouting and moving at the same time. After a time, I managed to pull Jesse into the foyer to deal with the manager. It took every ounce of personal charm I had to get out of there without police action. Of course, the two hundred-dollar bills I passed the waiter for his cleaning bill and tip didn’t hurt.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” I asked her angrily in the cab, confused at the sudden turn of events.

“I hate liars,” she replied with amazingly calm.

“And that’s the way you show it—by going crazy in public.” I was incensed.

“That waiter was a liar, just like you!” She looked at me with eyes blazing. I was amazed at the transformation. Twenty minutes ago we were like two kids on a first date.

“You promised me that you would take care of my contract today, but ‘somehow’ you just couldn’t find the time.” Her mouth had shaped itself into an ugly snarl, or at least as ugly as her beautiful face could manage. “Like I told you, Howard, the men I know make lots of promises that they just ‘don’t get around to,’ at least with CELTs. It’s really amazing how many times it’s happened. You are just a younger version of those same pricks.”

Then she paused and continued with real hatred, “No, I take that back, Howard. Most of them have not been as hypocritical... as cowardly!”

“Jess, I want you to be quiet now.” I was steaming and thinking about how this was sounding to the driver. “I told you I would take care of it, and I will,” I said in forced whisper. “And look, I use that restaurant all the time. You embarrassed me in there; not only that, it was totally unnecessary.” I was pissed.

“…and by the way, you did order the blueberry.”

She turned a bright red, turned her face away and stopped talking. I was happy to let things settle down. When we reached the house, she jumped out and ran to the door, opening it with a key that she could only have gotten from my desk. Realizing this, I was furious. She had rifled through my private things!

This had to stop… right now.

I handed the driver a twenty dollar bill and waited for my change, mostly to give myself time to calm down. Then I followed her slowly into the house. The light was on in the library. I was thinking about my opinions: …throw this crazy bitch out in the morning; …take her to a hotel; …call my lawyer; …call the cops. This scene was definitely not my style, and she was definitely too emotional, too erratic, too volatile for my taste. I was a quiet introverted kind of guy; loud, aggressive people turned me off.

It was sad though, I thought. She was someone I could have enjoyed being with. Why did she go nuts all of a sudden?

I was prepared for more craziness, but the scene in front of me when I reached the library door was way beyond crazy. Jesse was squatting on the rug, naked from the waist down, pissing on the Oriental rug in front of my desk. Max’s leather bag was nearby. I was dumbfounded, quick-frozen to the ground. Strangely, my first though was that the bag had been moved.

“This is what I think of your promises, you little coward,” she screamed at me across the room. “You’re just another fucking liar. And don’t ever tell me to be quiet again; I’ll say what I want.” She was in an insane rage, but now so was I. This CELT bitch-whore was pissing on me, on my Grandfather’s rug…

For the first time in my amazingly gentile life, I literally saw red. Enraged, I crossed the space between us in a second (tennis players are incredibly fast over short distances) and pushed her hard to one side. She hit her head on the desk and was momentarily stunned. Seizing the advantage, I sat on her back and pinned her arms in the small of her back. She recovered within seconds and started to scream. Not just scream, to buck, kick, bite—I had a wildcat on my hands.

Desperate to control her, I franticly looked around the room. The only thing within reach was the bag. I pulled it to me. Inside, right on top, were the soft leather binding strips. Hadn’t I pushed them to the bottom when I got her clothes? Whatever…

She was incredibly strong, but fortunately I was stronger. (I had been playing tennis since I was five.) In a minute, I had her wrists tied. Unbelievably, she was still trying to kick me with her bound feet. Grabbing another strap, I tied her ankles, bent her legs at the knees and tied her wrists to her ankles. It wasn’t painful, just restraining.

“Let me out of this you fucking coward!” she screamed. “You’re a weakling and a liar. When I get out of this, I’m going straight to my lawyer. Your fucking family will never forgive you.”

I was shaken. Now I was part of a legal dispute. This was scary stuff. Where was the wonderful girl that I had been with tonight? …the one who had cried on my knee last night in the plane? I needed her to stop talking, right now. Dumping the bag’s contents on the floor, I found a huge ball gag and pushed it against her closed mouth. She refused to open and with a sudden shake of her head, knocked it out of my hand.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Little Coward” she was almost laughing in her rage. “I’ve been tied by real men, men with balls. You think you can compete with them?”

Again I saw red and in an insane moment of my own, I grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. Then I held roughly shoved in the gag into her mouth, dropped her head and tightened the gag’s strap behind her neck. Still in a rage, I spied the leather hood and pulled that over her head as well, fastening its collar around her neck.

Emotionally drained and exhausted, I sat back in a chair to calm myself. Jesse also quieted slowly. What an incredible mess. Did I really need to tie her up this way? …just ‘til she calms down, I told myself. She really could have hurt me, or herself. Maybe she needs psychiatric help. She must be bipolar or something, an hour ago we had been laughing, sharing personal experiences even secrets.

When I was sure she had settled down, I walked over and removed the hood. She looked at me normally, even a little embarrassed. I took out the gag.

“I’m sorry, Jesse, I thought you were going to hurt yourself,” I was embarrassed and started to move to untie her wrists.

“Don’t worry about it, Howard,” she said in an absolutely calm and rationale voice. “People get carried away and abuse their CELTs all the time. We’ll let our lawyers sort this out. I’ll try to keep it out of the newspapers.”

I froze. What’s this? Newspapers… My parents will be devastated. I’ll be fired.

I returned to the chair and sat down, shaken.

“Let me out of this, Howard, or I’ll call the cops tonight. How good do you think its going to look to have flashing lights on your street. Every additional second that I stay in this is another…”

I jumped up and roughly shoved the ball gag back into her mouth and replaced the hood. I couldn’t handle any more graphic detail of exactly how my life was going to be flushed down the toilet.

I returned to my chair and watched her. Was this really as bad as she implied? I would need to explain what had happened, but people would understand. It wasn’t as if I went to a CELT auction and bought myself a contract. My family also had some of the best lawyers in the country.

As I calmed myself, I watched her. She certainly had great legs and a great ass; not only that, but her oversized cunt was now bare and fully visible …

“Fuck this,” I said out loud still angry and retrieved a pair of scissors. I paused for a moment watching her ass then I used the scissors to cut off the rest of her clothing. She struggled violently and tried to say something through the gag.

Do I really care what she has to say? I thought. Not really. I was finished with her now, what difference did it make?

I returned to my chair once again. What a magnificent body! I took my time and examined every inch of it. I also paused to admire my hurried bondage. Without thinking about it, I had crossed her ankles and wrists; splaying her knees and elbows to the sides and preventing her from rolling over. Not a bad job for a novice, I thought. She was completely restrained.

Is that all I wanted—to restrain her? Shouldn’t she pay in some way for her behavior tonight? Isn’t this why CELT contracts allowed physical discipline? I examined my feelings. The small oriental that she had pissed on was probably ruined. It had been worth a lot of money. The scene she had created in the restaurant had embarrassed me in front of a lot of people, some that I knew. Not only that, but her insults and threats were clear challenges to my, albeit temporary, authority. Wasn’t I entitled to the respect due an owner until she was emancipated? Fuck all that, wasn’t I entitled to the respect due someone who had risked everything to help her, a CELT?

The more I thought about it, the more incensed I became. If any CELT ever deserved to be punished, it was her. I really would be a coward if I let all of this go by without responding in a way that was expected with a CELT. Was I really the coward she kept calling me?

I spent a few more minutes thinking then I walked over and hooded her once again. Untying her arms, I brought them over her head to her shoulder blades and bound her wrists once again. I also tied her elbows together behind her head. Surprisingly, the hood made her quite manageable—a lesson learned. Using a long strap from Max’s bag, I looped her wrists and ankles together again. By lifting her legs while pulling on the end of the strap, I was able to arch her back until her body was pulled into a tight bow. I stopped when her knees were fully off the ground and all of her weight was on her chest. Lastly, I tied a strap to the loop at the top of her hood and pulled her head back hard tying it off to her elbow strap.

Her body whipsawed violently during this entire process, but each new tie restrained it a little more until the whipping motion turned into minor jerking. Hesitantly at first, I ran my hands over her breasts. They were incredible. Then for some reason, I pinched her nipples. I could hear her grunting through the hood. I did it again, harder. Her body jerked violently in protest. I did it again, even harder. I could hear her protests turning into a cry of real pain. I enjoyed it.

I stood back to admire my work. Her breasts and ass were rock hard under the strain of the bow; in fact, all of her muscles were straining to relieve the pressure on her back. Her knees were pointed to her sides allowing me an unrestricted view of her cunt which I noticed was dripping wet. What did that mean? I wondered.

I returned to my chair to watch her. There was something mesmerizing in her jerking motions, in the muffled groans coming from inside the hood; it was hypnotic, like watching the flames in a fireplace. In fact, why shouldn’t I have a fire for this? I got up and lit the simulated-wood fire, lowering the lights until the flames cast her bare, glistening skin in a romantic glow.

I was absolutely calm now and surprisingly happy with myself. Her muffled cries had become part of the room’s ambiance, contrasting nicely with its soft leathers and dark wood. I had a vision of Jesse as a party decoration, naked, hooded, and hogtied on the stone table, writhing in the fire’s glow as people stood around talking with their drinks in-hand.

I got up and removed the hood; I wanted to see her eyes.

Without the hood and its built-in loop, though, I needed to tie a strap around her forehead to keep her head up, which I did. She tried to say something while this was going on, but the leather gag made her grunts incomprehensible. No matter, I could tell from the mix of pain and rage in her eyes that she wasn’t happy.

In fact, it was even better for me that she was still acting like a wildcat. I wasn’t totally sure that I could handle it if she were to become normal again, to plead with me. Reaching into the bag, I found the Piranhas and held them in front of her face. For a flickering second, her rage was replaced by fear. Good, she was finally beginning to understand that she had gone too far with me. Pushing her back by the shoulders, I grabbed each breast and slipped the Piranhas on as far as they would go. A high pitched groan came from her throat as they bit into her nipples. Then I slowly lowered her to the floor until her full weight was back on her chest. Now, every time she moved the Piranhas pushed against the hardwood floor and took a new bite. She tried to arch her back higher to take the weight off, but it was impossible. Slowly, she resigned herself to their gnawing pain.

I starred into her eyes. I could see that the pain in her nipples was gradually being overshadowed by that in her arched back and shoulders. I realized that each new pain had its own its own unique time and personality—more useful information.

I watched her suffer like this for almost five minutes. Gradually, the rage in her eyes was replaced by an unmistakable plea for mercy. This was the same look she had given me in the lounge. I ignored her for another full minute. Finally, I reached over and released the strap that held her in the hogtie. Her body went flat and motionless on the floor. She groaned as her over-stressed muscles relaxed; I removed her gag.

She lay exhausted on her stomach. Her wrists and crossed ankles were still bound and the Piranhas were still attached. I examined her hands and feet carefully to be sure that there was no loss of circulation and spoke to her in a voice devoid of all emotion.

“Are you ready to talk to me normally now?” I asked. I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t the voice dripping with venom that said, “Fuck you, Howard the Coward. I’ll bet you enjoyed every minute of that.”

I was surprised and it showed in my face. She took my surprise as a minor victory and smiled. But every victory has its price. Without hesitation, I reinserted the gag and put her back into the arch for another five minutes. Her suffering this second time was even more excruciating.

When I released the gag, she cried hysterically, unable to catch her breath. As before, her wrists and ankles were still tied and the Piranhas were still in place. I wanted her to believe that I was ready to do it again. I watched her with mixed emotions—on one hand she deserved it, in spades; on the other, did anyone have the right to cause this much pain in another human being… for any reason? I didn’t know the answer; all I knew was that I needed to come out of this contest a clear winner, for both our sakes.

When the crying subsided I said, “I can keep this up all night, Jess, how about you?” There was real fear in her eyes now.

“Listen to me. I fully intend to emancipate you as soon as I can. But until that happens, I need you to act like a human being. I can’t have you making scenes, or threatening me with lawyers, or newspapers, or stealing my keys, or pissing on my Grandfather’s oriental rugs. It seems to me that the only way I can prevent those things is to temporarily exert my legal rights over you as your contract owner, and for you to act like the CELT that you are.”

I paused; there was no answer from her. I was frustrated. Did she really want me to do it again? Then I realized my mistake. CELTs speak only when invited, typically in response to a direct question.

“Do you agree to act like my contract-girl until I emancipate you?” I asked.

“Yes, Master,” she said respectfully. This time I didn’t correct her. I really was her master, at least for a while. It would be better if we both remembered that.

Gently, I removed the Piranhas and untied her. Then I lowered her arms and retied them behind her back. I wanted to be sure that she was herself. She didn’t move or make a sound. After a while, I helped her to her knees. Then I sat back down in my chair. She was naked with her hands tied, sitting back on her haunches in the firelight. She was incredibly beautiful. Slowly, she raised her head and looked at me. Her mouth was partly open and I could see her tongue moving between her teeth. She was breathing heavily. Her pointed nipples looked amazing.

“You owe me a kiss, Howard,” she said softly.

It took me a moment to understand. Then I remembered her challenge at dinner to turn me into a Sadist within an hour. Was that only an hour ago?

“Look, Jesse, we need to talk about…” I started to say.

She interrupted me, “No more talk, Howard. My kiss…”

I stood up and walked over to her. Then I reached under her arms and lifted her to her feet. We looked at each other and then kissed eagerly as I ran my hands over her naked, bound body.

At some point, she dropped to her knees and started to nuzzle my crouch. I stepped out of my clothes. She moved to me on her knees and turned her head sideways, gently sucking my balls into her mouth. I could feel her teeth and mouth pressing softly as her throat made a low purring sound. I was ready to come, but I held back, knowing that this was not the right moment.

After a time, she took my cock into her mouth. As I had imagined, she was accomplished and used her lips and tongue to massage and stimulate every part of the organ. She had also been trained to suppress her natural gag reflex, allowing me to push my cock deeply into her throat. It was necessary pull back occasionally to give her time to breathe, but eventually we found the right rhythm and soon it seemed as natural as fucking her pussy.

At exactly the right moment her eyes lifted and I knew that, for the moment at least, she was subjugated. It was an incredible moment of insight. She was fulfilled, helpless, on her knees, sucking my cock. This was not a conscious or voluntary act; it was the result of 50,000 years of human evolution.

I felt an incredible rush of strength and power and grabbed her hair in both hands as I came in her mouth; every muscle in my body was straining. She didn’t choke or struggle to pull away. Just the opposite, her body began undulated as she hungrily swallowed my cum. Then, as a conclusion to our “mating” she sucked me dry.

I kept her hands tied and carried her to her room, laying her gently on the bed. She wasn’t asleep, but she wasn’t fully conscious either. It was a kind of stupor, almost as if she were drugged. That night, I kept her tied and fucked her until my balls turned blue. Then I freed her and went to my room.

The next morning, I left early again, before she was awake. I left her all the cash I had in the house, about $1,500, and a very different kind of note:

Jesse,

I’m not sure exactly what happened last night, but it was incredibly wonderful. I would love to have you as my CELT, whatever the consequences. However, I also want you to stay of your own accord. Consequently, I reaffirm my promise to emancipate you with no financial penalty if you so choose.

We can talk about it when I get home.

The money enclosed is a gift for clothes and other essentials you may need.

Sincerely,

Howard Lowe

July 15, 2115

The library in my grandfather’s house was massive, about 30 feet long and 15 feet wide with an 18-foot-tall peaked ceiling. Crisscrossed beams ran the full length of it ceiling, creating openings which looked like the night sky when the lighting was right. A beautiful dark oak had been used to finish all surfaces and to trim the fireplace, which was made of rough-cut black granite. A large parlor and a dining room further isolated the library from the street. It was totally soundproof as my Grandfather had intended.

Despite its size, the room was surprisingly cozy. This was achieved by creating three distinct zones. At one end there was an oversized cherry-wood desk; at the other was a long reading table made of the same light cherry. In the middle, in front of the fireplace was the most unusual piece in the house—a huge, stone coffee table made of the same rough-hewn black granite as the fireplace. The table’s stone surface seemed to absorb light, creating an inky black hole in the floor. Its enormous weight was supported by a number of steel beams which rose up out of a concrete platform in the basement.

I arrived home that third evening with mixed emotions. What had been inconceivable 24 hours ago was now an undeniable truth—I was capable of sadism. More importantly, as Jesse had predicted, I’d enjoyed it!

This had been on my mind all day.

I knew now that her threat to bring in a lawyer was hollow. It had just been another part of her game, one designed to feed on my insecurity. I was beginning to realize that Jesse was an expert at finding and pushing the right buttons.

She had, in fact, scripted the entire evening, including her punishment. It was amazing how easily I had been manipulated. I was resolved that tonight would be different. I’d be a perfect gentleman and I’d force her to be a perfect lady, assuming of course she had decided to stay. I was sure that we could work out a more normal relationship, something that made sense for both of us. I had even prepared a little speech of apology. I still didn’t want people to know that I now owned a CELT, but I was no longer prepared to give her up just for that reason.

She was waiting for me in the library. After last night’s pissing scene, I was sure that nothing she could do would ever surprise me again. I was wrong.

She was kneeling on the stone table naked except for a hood and a collar. The collar, which was tied to an overhead beams, kept her upper body ramrod straight. A wooden platform of some kind held her feet and legs motionless. The light-absorbing surface of the table made it appear that she was floating.

A mean-looking riding crop and two leather mittens lay neatly on the edge of the table beside her. Three complete dinner outfits had been arranged on the nearby easy chairs. The fourth chair, the one closest to her was empty.

I was struck dumb and walked around the table in a trance. I sat down to think and, I admit, to study her amazing bondage.

The kneeler resting on the table was an antique made of light oak. Surprisingly, it fit quite well with the room’s décor. (Had she gone out and bought this thing, I wondered?) It was 2-inches thick, about three feet long and two feet wide. Her upturned feet lay absolutely flat about 12 inches apart inside two beautifully carved indentations. A second wooden block, with holes in the shape of a woman’s heel, held the back of her feet. This block was hinged to the base like a stock. I could see that the foot indentations in the surface were designed to hold the girl’s feet in place while the block was being closed; this would be important, I thought, if she was struggling. A thin leather strap at the front of each foot completed the binding. It prevented the foot from moving laterally or curling up, but still allowed it to arch beautifully.

At the other end of the base was a thick leather kneeling pad. Straps buckled just behind the knees, forcing them deep into the leather and keeping her legs about 20 inches apart at that point. It was clear that the purpose of spreading her knees this far was to expose the full length of her inner thigh and her cunt to the whip. I imagined that the girl’s terror was greatly increased by having her vagina open and exposed.

This was a working bastinado—a torture device popular for centuries to exert control, especially over mistresses or sexually repressed young wives. After a night of unsatisfactory sex, for example, a gentleman would sometimes have his lady dress properly and then lock her in the bastinado. When he returned in the evening, he would cane the soles of her feet to motivate better performance. During the day, the bound victim could continue to supervise the affairs of the household, and even receive her consoling friends. If a harsh caning left her unable to walk that evening, all the better; her first place was in bed anyway.

Unlike the relatively thick sack-like hood of the other night, tonight Jesse wore a black-leather hood that hugged every curve of her beautiful face. It had two small holes for breathing through the nose, and a large hole for her mouth. The black ball-gag from Max’s bag was strapped deeply inside her mouth; it made her incredible lips appear even larger.

Stretching her thin neck to its limit was a 6-inch leather collar. It had a cruel blunt point at the top which pushed against the underside of her mouth, forcing her head high and back. Six tiny belts in the front were used to tighten the device and there was 4-inch metal D-ring in the back that allowed the collar to be used as a general-purpose attachment point.

The rope that hung from the ceiling beam was no ordinary clothesline. It was a black, non-stretch climber’s rope. (She must have bought this as well.) It had been tied to the top of the neck-collar’s metal D-ring, run over the overhead beam, and then tied off to the D-ring with a non-slip climbers knot. It was obvious from her ramrod straight back that her upper body had been pulled taunt by the rope before it was tied off. Jesse obviously liked her bondage tight.

Each of her wrists was also secured to the collar with a double-sided snap hook. This was done by self-bending each arm back to the shoulder blade and then snapping the hook onto the collar’s D-ring. That must have been an incredibly painful maneuver, I thought.

Obviously, she had put herself in this position. What did it mean? Was this her way of communicating her decision to stay… to reaffirm her status as my CELT?  I thought about this for several minutes. Maybe, but there was something else; she also wanted to test me, make sure that last night was no fluke. I was sure of it; she wanted to see how I would respond when there was no anger or emotion involved. I was instantly glad that my apology remained my secret; this girl had no time for weak men.

But how was I going to respond? Was I strong enough? What if I didn’t measure up? What if I looked like a weakling? For a minute, the insecurity and fear were overwhelming; then I felt another emotion, an even stronger one—anger. Who was she to be testing me!

I retrieved the mittens, stepped onto the table and moved behind her with my legs astride the bastinado, Gently, I closed her hands into fists and strapped on the leather mittens. I could feel her body trembling through her fingers. Did I have the strength to hurt her? My anger disappeared instantly and I felt my resolve eroding. She was incredibly beautiful; could I really whip her…in cold blood?

My hands were shaking as I moved to her front and tightened the six straps on her collar, forcing her head up even higher. This also made her back straighter, putting some slack into the ceiling rope. I tightened the rope until it was like a guitar string. 

Her body now formed a perfect “L”. She could move her hips and flat belly a few inches in either direction, but that was it, otherwise it was as if she was set in cement. She was also absolutely silent. I stepped down from the table and sat back in the chair. Cruelly, I considered adding the Piranhas. No, I thought, I didn’t want her distracted. For the next half-hour or so I wanted her mind totally focused on the crop…and on me.

I retrieved the clothes she had laid out and held each one up to her front. She bristled as the material brushed her bare skin. I selected a white silk shirt with a plunging neckline and a gray skirt. She had included some underwear which I set aside; tonight, I wanted her naked underneath. For shoes, I selected a pair of ultra-sexy ankle-strap heels.

Holding the shirt against her body, I made tiny dots on her skin with a felt-tipped pen. I did the same with the skirt. These marked the areas covered by the clothes I’d selected. I’m sure she knew what was happening. It must feel strange, I thought, to know you were being prepared for pain.  

Taking a deep breath, I retrieved the long crop and made a few test swings. Her cunt turned dark red in anticipation. I had never whipped a woman, but the crop felt natural in my hand as I moved into a comfortable whipping position.

I struck her ass. There was a satisfying “thwack” and her body jerked, but no sound.  I struck her a second time, harder, and then a third until I heard a muffled yelp. This was the right level of force. I started again.

Each stroke produced a red mark which made an ideal guide as I moved down her legs in neat columns. She was glistening with sweat when I finished her back. Without hesitating, I started on her inner thighs. This was serious pain and immediately her almost-playful yelps and jerks changed into short painful screams and mini-convulsions. I watched these closely to gauge the force needed for maximum pain. After a while, the swish of the crop, the satisfying “thwack,” and her muffled screams all blended into a kind of savage rhythm.

When I finished her thighs, I moved to the front and paused. She was moaning pitifully. I thought about removing her gag, but decided to wait. I cropped her underarms then worked my way down her torso, taking care to avoid her breast and pussy and always staying within the tiny black dots. When I was finished I stood back and watched her again. Her body moved in a dance of intense pain, as if it were engulfed in flame.

I removed the gag and stood back. She immediately started panting like a dog in heat, too overwhelmed even to scream. I almost stopped; then I remembered that she was testing me. What would she think if I ended her torment too early? I stood back and viciously cropped her breasts, leaving her nipples to the end. Her head twisted violently and she wailed in agony with each new stroke. I heard her try to say “please” a number of times, but she never quite got the word out. I replaced her gag, amazed at my growing callousness.

Then I whipped her pussy. In the middle of this, I could see her mind starting to go numb in self-defense.

No way, I thought; I wanted her to feel every stroke. I sat down and relaxed, giving her time to recover. When she calmed, I moved in close to her feet and gave the sole of each foot five test strokes. The bastinado worked perfectly to hold her feet absolutely still. I knew somehow that this was the only pain that would now penetrate to her brain. There was no sound anymore and the only real movement was the puckering and un-puckering of her ass cheeks. I used this to gauge the pain and the timing of each stroke, knowing that she would only feel new strokes now when the pain subsided. As I waited, I watched the mittens puff out as her fingers moved in an impossible attempt to reach through the leather to the snap hooks. 

I wanted her to walk tonight and cropped her feet to that limit, which somehow I knew. I dropped my pants, stepped up on the table, and removed her gag. Without waiting, I grabbed the back of her hooded head and pushed my penis into her mouth. Her mind had shut down for sex and there was almost no response.

Reaching over her back, I began to savagely crop her ass and thighs. This new cropping on top of the old shocked her out of her stupor. Almost immediately she understood the relationship between her new pain and the cock in her mouth and she started to franticly suck me off. This was the desperate act of an animal in pain with none of the cocksucking form of the prior evening, but it did the job. I ejaculated within seconds, but she was in such distress that she let my cock fly out, causing several spurts to drop to the polished wooden floor.

I adjusted my pants and returned to my chair. The girl was covered with painful welts that must have felt like the fires of hell. Curious, I watched her twitch for a full ten minutes. Then I walked over and ran my hands over her body. At first she pulled away afraid, but gradually she began to respond, pushing herself against my moving palm. Incredibly, she wanted to be fucked again.

But I had other plans for the evening. Carefully, I released her from all the bondage and laid her down on the black table next to the bastinado. I returned to the chair. After a few more minutes rest, she began to stir. I spoke for the first time.

“Take this outfit, Jesse, and go shower. We’re going to dinner. You have one hour. If you’re not back here by then, we’ll repeat the cropping.” I knew this was the appropriate tone. I waited. In a few seconds, she moved to sit on the table’s edge.

“You also made a terrible mess on the floor,” I said. “Clean it up.” She looked at me and hesitated. I jumped up, pushed her flat on the table, and gave her ten sharp whacks on the ass; she didn’t resist and immediately after slid to the floor and began to clean it with her tongue. In five minutes, she had polished it to its original sheen. “That’s enough,” I said; “go get ready. You now have fifty-five minutes.”

She tried to get to her feet, but it was too painful. She tried again and again, but was unable to put any weight on them. Every muscle in my body wanted to move to her aid, but I remained seated, watching. Finally, she put the clothes and shoes in her mouth and walked out of the room on her hands and knees, her naked body moving like a cat.

Once she was out of the room, a wave of shame washed over me. What had I done? She had wanted it, but did that make it right? Did anything give me the right to treat her this way? Fuck it. This was no time for moral confusion, for weakness. I was convinced that she was testing my mettle, and there was no way I was going to come up short again.

Jesse returned to the library with five minutes to spare, walking painfully but steadily to the door in her high heels. She looked stunningly, with an amazing glow that I had never seen on a woman. Was it the whipping, I wondered?

Her hair had been put up into a single long braid, exposing her long neck. I should have realized that it needed to be washed and dried after wearing the hood. The braid was her way of hiding my error. There were also marks on her throat that she had tried to cover with makeup. Anyone who knew bondage would know immediately that they had been caused by a too-tight collar, but the makeup would fool most others. Anyway, there was nothing to be done about it now. Another lesson learned: don’t make the ties too tight if you want to go out afterwards.

I looked down at her legs which seemed to go on forever in the heels. Thankfully, they showed no marks. Her feet, however, were beat red.

I took a breath and once again promised myself not to weaken. I must talk and act as if I were a real CELT owner, not just a lucky kid. “Walk down this hallway and back,” I ordered. She obeyed immediately. Each step seemed painful, but it she was steady and not in any real danger of falling. Perfect, I thought, just enough pain to remind her that I could be harsh as well as kind.

I took her arm and led her to the front door where I helped with her coat. Then I held out my arm and she took it without hesitation.

“Outside this doorway, you will speak and act like my girlfriend. Inside, you will do nothing without my permission. Is that clear?” She smiled contentedly and nodded her head in understanding. I waited for the proper response, knowing that she was still testing me.

“Yes, Master, I understand,” she replied politely after a few seconds. I nodded and carefully walked us outside to the waiting cab.

After giving instructions to the driver I turned to her and asked, “Where did you get the clothes?”

“Two different shops on Fifth, Mas…,” she stopped and looked at me with a small smile, “Howard.” I smiled in return. I was amazed at her recuperative ability; an hour ago she was incoherent with pain.

“…and the bastinado?” I whispered.

“From a dealer I know in the village,” she replied, surprised that I knew its name.

“That’s an excellent piece,” I said. “You’ll have to give me his name. I may want to buy others from him.”

“I will,” she said. “I’m happy that you were pleased. It’s actually somewhat rare, 18^th Century he said.”

“Yes, the bastinado was popular at that time in Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Did you know that it was primarily used in the home to train sexually repressed young girls?” I was speaking too softly for the driver to hear. She shook her head no and looked at me directly for the first time.

“Sometimes men wanted more from their women. Girls in those days were often too shy to even raise their nightgowns,” I explained. “Proper young ladies of the day, even mistresses, were programmed to resist as long as they could. They were actually a lot more comfortable being forced to submit, especially for “despicable acts.” You could say that the bastinado was making things easier for everyone. Judging from the stains, I’d say the one you bought has been in steady use since it was built.”

“Stains?” she was openly curious.

“Yes, the dark area where the feet are tied; I’m sure that they are blood mixed with sweat. In the old days they used a cane and they weren’t too worried about drawing a little blood. Probably hundreds of girls have bled on that wood.” I could see that she was listening intently.

“It took a long time for women to get some rights,” she said softly.

“Yes it did,” I replied sarcastically, “then as soon the CELT laws went into effect, thousands of them sold those rights off to the highest bidder.” I could see that she wanted to respond, but held it back. I stayed quiet as well. The last thing we needed tonight was a political debate.

“Did you spend all the money?” I asked casually.

She looked at me. I could see that she was trying to think of a “right” answer. Finally, she just said, “Yes,” and looked down guiltily. In a few seconds she added, “…and more. The owner of the shop said I could pay him the rest later.”

I looked at her and nodded, “That’s okay. Let me have his name, I’ll send him a check for what we owe. Please don’t spend my money again until you ask.” She looked at me and nodded, relieved.

In truth, this was not acceptable behavior for a CELT. Most owners would have severely punished such irresponsible buying behavior, but I let it drop. There were things I need to learn before exerting real authority here. There was also a more serious issue in her hesitation.

I looked at her with a hard expression, “Don’t ever think about hiding something like that from me again, OK?”

She nodded again and smiled. Then, impulsively, she grabbed my hand and held it against her silk-clad chest. I could feel her hard breast and nipple on the back of my hand. Clearly, I had passed another test. We didn’t speak for the rest of the short ride.

I had selected a quiet Italian restaurant on the lower east side. I knew they had great food and secluded corner booths for couples…lovers. I asked for one of these. Once seated, I took her through the menu in detail, explaining the special way in which many of the dishes were prepared. I had been here many times, mostly with friends and business colleagues.

“I’m not that hungry, Howard,” she said. “In fact, I’m pretty full.” She looked at me playfully and grinned, licking her lips. I laughed, knowing exactly what she meant. That broke the ice, and we started talking again like friends; it was a repeat of the prior evening. I marveled again at how quickly she had recovered from the cropping.

She steered most of our conversation back to life in the 18^th Century, specifically how men treated their women. I was no expert, but I knew a lot and she seemed happy with the information. I was also happy—she was intellectually curious. That was important to me. I wanted to be with someone smart; stupid girls, even if they were gorgeous, turned me off.

Once the meal was served, I broached the delicate subject of our relationship… “What was that about tonight, Jess?” I asked.

She didn’t try to deflect the question, but her smile faded and she starred at her plate. “You told me to act like a CELT, Howard. That’s what I was doing.” The open friendliness was gone; she was back in role. I had a flashback to the way she had spoken about Max. It was the same tone.

“That’s not good enough, Jess,” I replied. “I’m not interested in having a CELT whore or a B&D freak on my hands; I want us to have a relationship, at least until we get you emancipated, if that’s what you want.” She looked at me with a strange expression and nodded mechanically, but didn’t say anything.

I have to admit that I was hurt by her silence and it showed. “Let me ask you a question,” I said. “Do you feel anything for me?”

“Look, Howard,” she said more warmly, “why can’t we just let it rest. I’m here as your CELT. We both know that that involves sex. I’m not a whore; I’m only with one man at a time. And I’m not sure about emancipation, but until we work that out I’ll abide by the terms of my contract. There’s no rush, is there? I love the time we’ve spent together…on both sides of your doorway. And no, I’m not an insane B&D freak; I hate pain just like any normal person. In fact, I’m terrified of what is in store for me with you, but I’m a CELT and I’ve agreed to this…this arrangement. Can’t we just let things stay as they are for a while?” She reached out for my hand and squeezed it.

Her touch seemed mechanical as if this was the right thing for an escort to do at this moment. For some reason, this enraged me. “No,” I hissed, “I don’t accept your explanation or this situation.” She continued to hold my gaze, but withdrew her hand. “I know part of this has been a game. You’re not the kind of person who throws a fit and smears a waiter with pie.” She lowered her eyes and blushed. “You’re also not the kind of person who pisses on a rug when you’re angry.” Her blush got even redder.

We were both quiet for a minute. Then she leaned back and started talking in a totally different voice, her real voice. “OK, Howard, you want the truth so badly, here it is. Yes, I did manipulate things. That’s what powerless CELTs do—we manipulate things. You helped me with Max and I wanted to repay the favor. I knew that you were too nice a guy to do it on your own so I helped you out a bit to get us started. We both know that you did great. But the hard truth is that it was just part of the game. How could it be anything more? We’ve only known each other for three days.”

She stopped for a minute leaned back in and again took my hand in hers.

“I like you, Howard… a lot, but were not in love,” she continued. “Good men like you fall in love with their CELTs all the time.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “It’s understandable, I’ve sucked your cock for heaven’s sake. You’ve come in my mouth and fucked me ‘til I was sore. Tonight, you whipped me…as hard as I’ve ever been whipped before. Those are intimate acts, Howard, they make people think strange thoughts, but in truth they are just part of our game, and frankly part of our business relationship. We can both get badly hurt by thinking that they are something more.” She paused and looked around to be sure that she was not being overheard.

“This is what most CELT arrangements are like. They are not about real love or subjugation or dominance. They are fantasies. A power-relationship, a real one, is dangerous. There are so many emotions and feelings involved—pain, fear, love, hate, sex, desire, jealousy—that it takes someone with real experience to pull it off, someone with a stone heart.”

Then mercilessly she delivered the coup de grâce, “You still want to emancipate me, dear Howard… how hard is your heart?”

I was devastated. Despite the craziness of the last three days, I thought we actually had developed some kind of closeness for each other. I knew it wasn’t love, but maybe it was… well I don’t know what it was. I only knew that I felt something and I didn’t want it to end. I also didn’t want us to mutate into a man and his beautiful CELT whore.

But what she said about the reality of our situation had the ring of truth, and that hurt. “I need to think about this, Jess” I said honestly. “Let’s go home.”

We rode home in silence then I walked her to her bedroom.

“Maybe we could sleep together tonight, Howard?” she asked in her little girl voice, obviously upset over the night’s turn of events. “That was nice last night and I really don’t want to be alone now.”

“Tomorrow, Jesse,” I answered. Then I kissed her gently on the cheek and walked off to my own room feeling a little like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. She stood in her doorway until my door closed then I heard hers shut softly. It was all too sad.

I didn’t sleep much that night or the next four. Each morning, I left early and returned very late, working hard to avoid any real contact. A number of times she tried to initiate conversation, but it was obvious that I was sulking and after a while she just stayed away. The sixth night I made preparations and on the seventh day I called the bank to say I was sick with the flu.

I was waiting for her when she opened her bedroom door. She was barefooted, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair was wet and she had a wonderful, just-showered smell.

“Howard, I…” she started when she saw me waiting.

“Strip,” I said.

“Howard, I think…” she tried again.

“STRIP,” I said in a voice that would have made a marine drill instructor proud.

She looked at me for a second and pressed her lips together hard, then she obediently pealed off her sweater and stepped out of her jeans. She was wearing the black leather thong that she had worn in the airport. “Leave that,” I said as she started to remove it. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.” I was surprised at how steady my voice was.

She turned around and placed her hands in the small of her back. I quickly cuffed her wrists with leather shackles and pulled the loose leather hood over her head. I buckled the hood behind her neck as I had seen Max do. She stood there naked and tall—an obedient CELT—no sound, no movement, no false modesty. I took her arm and led her down the steps, past the library, and down more steps to the cellar. There was a faint hesitation in her body when we started down the rough cellar steps, but no resistance.

In front of us was the house’s safe-room—a concrete chamber about twelve feet square. It had been used during the food riots of the 2080s. Except to make this morning’s modifications, no one had been in this room for years. I led her through the doorway and stood her in the room’s exact center. There was total and absolute silence. It was a tomb and even the invisible sounds of everyday life didn’t penetrate these walls.

Leaving her hood in place, I moved her wrists to her front and tied them to the climber’s rope that was hanging from the ceiling. It ran through the eye hook that I had installed last night. I pulled her arms up until her hands were just above her head. Then I attached leather ankle cuffs to her feet and snapped them on to a short chain which I had bolted to the floor.

I removed her hood and sat down in the corner. She looked around the room, giving her eyes time to adjust to the light. The track-mounted spotlights in the ceiling were all centered on her naked form. I could tell that there was something different in her behavior. For the first time since we’d been together, she was not controlling events; somehow she seemed more relaxed because of it.

“It’s called a safe-room,” I said from the dark corner. “It has one foot of reinforced concrete all around with a 4-inch-thick steel-core door. There’s a small bathroom in the back. It was built during the food riots for protection against home invasion. In case you’re interested, these walls also support the fireplace and the stone table you like in the library.”

She looked around the empty concrete room, but didn’t say anything. “It’s completely soundproof, of course,” I continued, “like the library. I guess my Grandfather really liked his privacy.”

She remained silent, waiting.

“I decided that you were right last night, Jess. Everything that’s happened in the last few days has been basically a game. You played a little; I played a little; we had some fun, but it’s certainly not the basis of a relationship…of any kind.” She was looking in the direction of my voice now, shifting her weight from one foot to another…unconcerned. “It did however give me a taste for the power you mentioned. I’ve decided to explore that a little.”

“Howard, can I say something?” It was the tone of a wise friend about to give advice. It was rather annoying.

“No. You can’t speak right now, Jess, but I’ll give you some time in a few minutes,” I was trying to sound equally reasonable and mature. “In fact, let’s start with the rules for this room. You may not speak in here except in response to a direct question. That applies to the rest of the house as well, but every word you say in this room will cost you one stroke of the whip. Please don’t test me on this; I’d hate to lose a day of my program whipping you for a speaking violation. Second, in this room you may not ask for permission to speak. You will be permitted to do that respectfully in the rest of the house, but not here. Third, just for your information, this room is only for discipline, we will never have sex in here.”

She was looking a little bored, but I suspected this was more CELT psycho-manipulation. I waited a few minutes before continuing. I needed to learn her tricks if I was to really master her.

“I’ve also decided that you were right about my lack of resolve. I knew exactly what I wanted from the moment I laid eyes on you; I just couldn’t admit it even to myself.” She looked even more bored; now I was sure that this was manipulation. It’s rather good, I thought, designed to evoke anger and poor judgment. 

I ignored the subtle provocation and continued, “I want you, Jess. I’m not totally sure what that means right now, but I know that I don’t want to free you. I never really wanted to do that; I just thought it was the right thing, something that I was expected to do. I also have no intention of selling you…your contract that is, and I certainly have no intention of allowing you to run my life.”

I stopped and waited. “But this conversation is for later; right now all you need to know is that I am exercising my legal right under our contract to use corporal punishment to correct your behavior, behavior that I consider unacceptable. As per the contract and the laws governing CELT arrangements, there will be no lasting affects, physical or mental, from this discipline. I’ve written this down and mailed it to my lawyer along with a copy of our contract. You have the right to notify your lawyer independently if you want.”

“Do you understand this right?” I asked. She looked amused and nodded, yes. “Do you want to call your lawyer?” She nodded, no. Despite my new understanding that this was all part of her act, I was getting annoyed with the smartass smirk on her face.

This legal formula was just a formality, but it was necessary before any serious long-term disciplinary action could take place. My lawyer would send a notice to hers, or at least the lawyer identified in her contract, who was supposed to file a watch-notice with the police. It was intended to prevent abuse, but it was never enforced. It just made me feel a little better to be complying with the law.

“Do you want to say anything for the record before we start?” I asked.

“Howard, our contract doesn’t require me to fuck you and it certainly does not require me to love you; we both know that’s what you want.” She was wrong, I thought; last night’s discussion had shown me that love was much too ambiguous. Right now all I wanted was respect.

But all I said was, “Should I write that down?” She shook her head no, still wearing that maddeningly condescending smile.

I was now convinced that she was putting on an act. In fact, it occurred to me that her attitude was getting tougher as she become more frightened. I almost lost my nerve with that realization.

Instead, I tried to explain, “Despite my ineptitude over the last few days, Jess, most of what I did was driven by an honest desire to show you kindness, even friendship. You basically dismissed that as weakness and manipulated me into becoming your partner in a sex-and-bondage game. I admit that I was a willing participant, but I deserved more; I deserved some genuine emotion from you.”

Her smirk disappeared. “Since you place so little value on what I did, I’ve decided to carry out the punishment Max had set for you, which I’m sure you remember.”

Her eyes widened and she for a second I could see that I was right—she was terrified, but disciplined enough to remain silent. I remembered her words from the other night, “…powerless CELTs manipulate things.”

“You may speak now if you want,” I said.

“It won’t work, Howard,” she said calmly in the grown-up voice that I had come to recognize as the real Jesse. The mask was back; she was desperately hiding her fear. “You don’t have it in you, and when you discover the truth of that, you’re going to be scarred for life.” She was using her most convincing and persuasive tone.

“You call it a game,” she said, “but it felt good to me and I know it felt good to you. Let’s just start with that. I don’t care about being emancipated. I never wanted anything from you that I didn’t deserve. I still don’t. Take me upstairs, whip me then fuck my brains out. I know you like it that way; it’s your right. A lot of things can happen in a year.” She stopped; there were no tears in her eyes and no fear in her face, but in the harsh light I could see her breathing hard.

I got up and stood in front of her naked body. “You’re wrong, Jess,” I replied gently. “A whore is just a whore, no matter how beautiful or smart. Believe me I know a lot of them. Most of my friends are married to whores. You’re better than that. I know it and I’m going to prove it.”

She looked at me with pity.

“Anything else,” I asked. Defiantly, she nodded her head no. I knew she wanted to beg me not to hurt her, but was too proud. I admired that. I walked over to the rope and lifted her arms until she was on her toes. Then I stood in front of her again, we were eye to eye.

“I feel sorry for you, Howard,” she said, still hiding her fear. I recognized the sincerity in her comment and wondered again if I could actually pull this off.

“That’s five extra strokes,” I replied. She just looked at me. I stepped back into the shadows.

Max’s electric whip was a single-tail horror with copper wire woven through the braid. That morning I whipped her for half and hour strokes with the setting on #1, the lowest. It was as if she were being shocked with a cattle prod and touched with a red-hot iron at the same time. She screamed and thrashed wildly after each stroke, but I was patient, waiting until she was fully recovered and calm before delivering the next. Near the end, she was fading in and out of consciousness. To be sure that she felt the last few strokes, I wet her down and brushed her skin with the whip. The shock of it revived her enough to allow me to finish. When it was over, I lowered her arms about a foot and gave her some water through a straw.

I waited ten minutes for her to rest then I collared her and attached a four-foot chain which I attached at her feet. The chain forced her to bend at the knee with her arms extended overhead. The only way to give her straining leg muscles some relief was to either bend at the waist, which caused a terrible back pain, or to hang by her wrists. I wanted her to spend the day shifting from one agony to another. I also wanted to strengthen her muscles especially in her legs; she would need them later.

Without a word, I turned off all the lights but one and left, locking the door behind.

That evening, I returned. She was crying softly from the pain of her crucifixion. From the peephole, I knew that her back and legs had given out two hours earlier and that she had been hanging by her arms since then, pushing up periodically with her trembling legs to keep from strangling. (An arms-high crucifixion usually kills by slow strangulation as the victim’s chest muscles weaken to the point where they can no longer take sufficient air into their lungs.)

She looked at me and started to cry in relief; all she could think about now was the pain. I was her salvation. I unhooked the chain from her neck collar and watched as she tried to stand straight. She didn’t have enough strength left in her legs. After a minute, I lowered her to the ground and fed her water, a baloney sandwich, and two protein bars.

She ate slowly, mechanically. I locked her wrists behind her back and hooked her collar to the short chain in the floor. Her face was lying in the wet spot where she had peed during the day. I closed the lights and left.

The next morning I returned at the same time, increased the whip’s setting to #2 and whipped her for another half-an-hour. Afterwards, I shortened the neck chain by one link and put her back in position. I knew that her tolerances would increase and I wanted to be sure that each day’s pain was just about the same.

This went on for five days. I don’t know if Max would have whipped her for seven; I didn’t care. I was now in charge and I had decided that she had had enough.

As far as Jesse was concerned, it didn’t matter either. Her life was now defined by a morning whipping, a day of excruciating pain, and a long uncomfortable sleep in the tomb-like darkness. She didn’t know if this had gone on for five days or fifty.

I moved her to the soft bed upstairs where she slept for 36 hours. When she woke, I shackled her hands and gave her a bath; then I fed her a hot meal and put her back to bed. She was as weak as a kitten and never looked at me directly or said a word. She slept for another 24 hours and I repeated the bath. Again she was silent.

If nothing else, I now had her attention.

 

I was waiting the next morning when she opened her bedroom door just as I had been a week before. Again, she was barefooted, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, with wet hair. She stopped when she saw me waiting. She still looked weak, but surprisingly healthy.

“How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Fine Master,” she answered head down. I looked her over. My arms were crossed and I was leaning against the second-floor railing.

“Strip,” I said quietly.

Moving quickly, she removed her clothes, leaving the thong in place without being told. I was amazed at her instantaneous, unquestioning response. Obviously, there was fear involved—she didn’t want to go back to the safe-room—but there was something more, much more. She had obeyed me without thinking…instinctually. I was beginning to understand what she meant by a “power relationship.”

I circled her in the wide hallway, reaching out to feel the new muscle growth in her arms and legs. I was especially impressed with her flat stomach and abs, which showed just a faint hint of the hardness underneath. I had the distinct impression of velvet-covered metal, yet nothing was bulging. Her torments had been designed to harden existing muscle rather than build ugly bulk. Silently, I congratulated myself. I didn’t think it was possible, but she looked even better than before, even more desirable. I could feel myself getting hard.

“Dress,” I ordered. Immediately she put her clothes back on. “You look even more beautiful,” I said. I could see a faint smile cross her face. I returned to leaning against the hallway railing with my arms crossed. She stood barefooted, very straight with her head down and her hands at her side.

“I’m going away on a business trip for a few days,” I said in a conversational tone. “I’ll be back late on Friday. I’ve left you some money on my desk. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen.”

I waited a minute and then continued. “You can come and go as you like until I get back. You’re free to use anything in the house, including the computer, just don’t touch anything in my desk. I’ve added you as a guest on my system, Jesse…Jesse.”

She remained silent. “On Saturday morning, we’ll be driving upstate. I’ve arranged for you to get some specialized training. You’ll be gone for two weeks.”

She raised her head and looked at me curiously, but just responded with a quiet, “yes, Master.”

I guess I had hoped for a change in attitude, sadly I realized that that was asking too much. She could not act respectfully and with familiarity at the same time. Being a real master was going to be lonely.

“I left you some coffee downstairs if you want it,” I said. Then I turned and went back to my room, closing the door. The first thing I did was jerk off; abstinence around her was going to be hard, I thought. Then I finished packing. When I came out, she was gone. What did I expect, a good-bye kiss? I carried my suitcase downstairs.

She was waiting for me by the front door, naked except for the thong and kneeling, with her head down. She looked incredibly luscious and it took all the willpower I had not to nail her right there on the floor. Instead, I stepped around her kneeling body to get my jacket.

“May I speak, Master?” she asked. This was the first time she had asked to speak since the basement.

“Yes,” I replied.

Then she looked up at me and said simply, “Please fuck me before you go.” It was the genuine sexual hunger of a 22-year old girl, but there was something more. Behind the sex was a barely hidden plea to give her back some of the control she had lost, to restore her ego.

After a week of manhandling her naked body, there was nothing, literally nothing that I wanted more than to fuck her, but I knew that giving in now would be a step back. I was resolved to stick to the plan which meant no sex for a while. Luckily, I had also just jerked off.

“No, not yet,” I said in a matter-of-fact way. Then, without looking at her, I said, “Please be ready to leave at 10 on Saturday;” then I left.

 

The drive upstate took three hours plus an hour for lunch at a little restaurant just off the Taconic Parkway. I had given her permission (ordered her actually) to speak freely and we talked—nothing important or intimate, but it was a start.

She asked me again how I knew so much about the bastinado. (It was clear that she was fascinated with this general subject.) I told her that I had studied a lot of history, both in school and on my own.

“Who were the cruelest people?” she asked innocently, chomping on a carrot.

“The Romans,” I answered without hesitation. “They institutionalized cruelty. Before them it was all about people—good people and bad. After them, it became a government thing. It wasn’t personal anymore and people absolved themselves of responsibility.

“Remember Spartacus and the slave revolt?” I asked. She nodded, but her eyes urged me to continue. The Romans crucified 6,000 slaves and no one batted an eyelash. Do you know how much organization it took to get 6,000 strong men nailed to a cross one at a bloody time? Imagine waiting for your turn; imagine thinking about the horribly painful death that was coming.

“I know how they felt,” she said half joking. I looked at her sharply; I didn’t want her punishments to be taken lightly.

“We can do that again when we get home.” I said seriously. There was real terror in her eyes. “Do you want that?” I asked.

“No Master,” she replied, cowed. I hated to bring that tone to our civilized lunch, but I knew that she needed to respect the pain that I gave her, not diminish it once it was over.

“The Romans were especially cruel to their slaves, especially the girls,” I continued. She looked at me with some interest, still wary about saying the wrong thing. “The most beautiful became a secondary form of money and were traded all the time. It actually resulted in better treatment as marking a female slave reduced her value. They still practiced corporal punishment, but carefully, always looking for new ways to hurt the slave without damaging her. It became a hobby for some.”

She looked at me and then screwed up her courage and spoke. ”It sounds very much like a CELT contract. Men trade the girls and try to find inventive ways to keep them in line without any visible damage.” She was staring at me directly. There was no disrespect, but she stood her ground. Once again I admired her courage.

I was also glad to see that she had not lost her spirit, but I just looked at her evenly and said, “There’s one important difference Jess—a CELT’s bondage is consensual.”

“Yes, you’re right,” she said, “consensual.” Then she stood up and walked to the car. I paid the bill and followed.

 

The sign read Bitter Wells Horse Farm. It was remote, at least 20 miles off the main road. This was horse country and I was sure that by now Jesse had guessed the nature of her training. She didn’t say anything, just continued to stare out the window. What could she say?

We drove up the farm road until we came to a collection of buildings, including a well-kept barn. A small group of men were gathered around something that I couldn’t see. One of them broke away and walked over to the car.

“Mr. Lowe?” the man asked in a friendly way. I nodded and we shook hands. “Jack Warden,” he said. “Welcome to Bitter Wells. I got your check and the paperwork last week. We’re all set for you. He ignored Jess, who had walked over to us from the other side of the car.

“Is this the girl?” he asked nodding in her direction.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you want to turn her over now?” he asked. I nodded yes.

“OK, well you just need to give her the order and we’ll get started,” his friendly attitude was comforting.

I turned to Jesse and said, “I want you to obey this man and his associates.”

Immediately, he stepped over to Jesse, turned her around, and cuffed her wrists behind her back. Without a single wasted motion, he pulled a bridle from his belt and fit it over her head, pushing a hard-rubber bit between her teeth. Quickly he tightened one bridle strap behind her neck, another under her chin, and a third at the side of her head then he clipped two short reins to the metal ring on one side of her mouth bit. Two leather flaps near her eyes prevented any side vision.

Jesse stood motionless as the bridle was strapped on, staring at me. I stared back, betraying nothing of what I was feeling inside. In truth, I was terrified of leaving her. I could sense that she was afraid as well. She had never been to a horse farm; I could see it in the way she responded clumsily to Jack’s manhandling.

Then he unbuttoned the front of her shirt and pulled it down to her waist. “We’ll get her stripped down and prepared later,” he said. “Right now I need to attend to one of our ponies. Want to watch?” I nodded, not really understanding what he meant by “attend to.” He led Jesse away by the reins and I followed. 

When we got closer I could see that the crowd was gathered around a horizontal wooden rail maybe eight feet long, set on two thick posts. A tall Asian girl, completely naked and absolutely gorgeous had been stretched over the rail on her stomach and her wrists and ankles secured by thick leather straps on the sides of the posts. Her head was pulled back by the hair with a rawhide cord that was tied to the top of a silver hook, which had been inserted in her ass.

The straps, which were near the bottom of the posts, pulled her long body taunt and motionless. She glanced over at me, the new arrival in the circle. I could see that she was straining to hold her head up and keep the hook from penetrating farther up her ass, but her eyes were still blazing with fury.

Jack continued walking to another hitching rail and pushed Jesse to her knees, tying her reins around the rail so that she was forced to look at the Asian girl. At least five other girls were tied to the same rail in a similar fashion. All of them were naked. A second rail nearby held anther half a dozen “ponies” tied in the same position.

Jack addressed the small group of men. “Thank you all for stopping bye. Let me introduce Mr. Lowe here,” He pointed at me; I nodded. “…our newest member.” Several of the men glanced over and nodded.

Then he walked over to the punishment rail and rested his hand on Asian girl’s bare ass. “This here’s Ming,” he said, as he unhooked a mean looking whip from his belt and shook it to allow the lashes to untangle. The were made of rawhide.

“Yesterday, she pushed one of our stable boys. We don’t tolerate behavior like that around here. Her punishment is to be whipped for ten minutes. The girl remained perfectly silent and still. She reminded me of Jesse in an obstinate mood.

He directed himself to the two hitching posts.  “I want all you other ponies to watch this and remember it.”

He stepped behind the girl and exercised the whip. For some reason the girl looked at me again, there was terror in her eyes. Jack started slowly, moving the whip from one ass cheek to the other. I could see that each rawhide lash left a small red line in her skin. After a few more strokes, he shifted to her legs, working the tips of the lash into the tender inside of her thigh. Patiently he moved from one leg to the other. The girl screamed and jerked now with each stroke hopelessly trying to free herself from the rail. I glanced at my watch…one minute. At the two minute mark, her ass and back were bright red and she was hysterical with the pain. She screamed for him to stop and surprisingly he did.

“I’ll give her some time to calm down and then start again on her back,” he said. “This break won’t affect her whipping time; around here, ten minutes means ten minutes.”

The girl’s body was shaking violently and tears were flowing down her face in a steady stream. I could see her hands desperately opening and closing and her bare feet arching as she tried to shake off the pain. Her face contorted in agony as another blow landed and realized, surprisingly, that I was rock hard. She was suffering for me; I found that idea pleasing.

In about a minute Jack started again. The girl was moaning and screaming again within a few strokes. I could tell that he was adjusting the force of the whipping so that she was in a fairly constant and intense pain, but not in danger of passing out. Strangely, her screams seemed almost natural out here in the open air with the mountains in the background. Most of the men were looking on with interest; obviously, this was nothing new, but I got the sense that a whipping was something they liked to discuss at the bar.

I looked over at the pony-girls strapped to the other rails. Some had their eyes closed, but some were watching intently and breathing heavily. I realized that they were as turned on as the men by the show, Jesse most of all.

By the end of her ten minutes, Ming was only half conscious. The hook was fully up her ass now and her head drooped a little as a result. Jack coiled his whip and reattached it to his belt then he adjusted the rawhide strap on her hair so it was tight. He turned to the men. “Thank you for coming. It’s good for the girls to see the membership working together. We’ll take her down in a few hours,” he said, pointing to Ming. I like them to think about what they done while the hook is still inside and their backside is still burning.”

The next two weeks were the longest of my life. I realized two things: first, that I wanted her more than anything I had ever wanted before; and second, just how dangerous it was to feel that way. It was a classic case of obsession. Fortunately, I was smart enough to recognize the symptoms; it was even more fortunate was that she was 150 miles away.

The drive back to Bitter Wells was filled with fear and uncertainty. How had she responded to the training? The farm was all about humility; could Jesse learn humility…really learn it in her heart? I didn’t know; what I did know was that the next few days would define our year together, if we had a year together.

After registering at the farm’s guest quarters, I wondered over to the clubhouse. Jack was seated at the bar drinking a cup of coffee.

“How are you, Mr. Lowe,” he said cheerfully, getting up to shake hands, signally me to sit in the stool next to his. “Good trip?”

“Fine,” I said. “How’s my CELT?” I wanted to get down to business.

“A little anxious to get back to your filly, huh?” he laughed. “Don’t blame you none, that’s one incredibly beautiful girl you got there. And she’s strong too, I wouldn’t have believed it, but under that skin she’s got some hard-assed muscles. You better watch yourself around her, especially now that we’ve been running her for a couple of weeks.”

I smiled and nodded. Actually, I was jogging a lot farther than usual and playing tennis every day now. My forearms were like steel. I wasn’t worried about being able to handle her.

“We did have some trouble with her at first; got kind of an independent streak. Most of the time, we encourage that; spirited ponies are much better runners, but she just wouldn’t obey. I had to put her on the rail a couple of times.” I frowned. “Don’t worry, I didn’t make any marks,” he said quickly. “She settled down a little after that, but I really couldn’t tell if she was just going along to avoid the pain.” He took a few sips from his cup. “You want some coffee… breakfast? I indicated no to both.

He continued, “Once we paired her up though, she calmed right down.” I could see that he enjoyed giving this detailed explanation. “Around here, when one member of a pair acts up, they both get whipped. We tie them to the rail, one on top of the other and face-to-face. I guess she didn’t like seeing her partner screamin’ for her badness.”

“They run pretty well together now. Thanks for your check, by the way. Your accounts all paid up… ‘till Tuesday.” He stopped and finished his coffee. “…want to take her out for a run? Ever handled a team before?”

“I’d love to take her out, Jack,” I answered, “and no, I’ve never done this before.”

“No problem, it’s easy,” he replied. “Today you can use the starter rig and just stick to the beginner’s path. Your team can move along pretty well, but they’re gentle for the most part. Give us another three weeks with your girl and we’ll turn her into a fast quarter-miler.” I just smiled and shook my head no. “I don’t blame you,” he said, disappointed, “but maybe you’ll change your mind after you see her sprint tomorrow. There’s money up here in girl racing, but I understand—she’s a real beauty. First things first, let’s just get you started for now.”

He led me outside and we walked into the stable.

Half a dozen girls were standing, lined up on the side of the stable. They were all bridled and chained close to the wall by their mouth bits, so close in fact that their nipples and cunts had to be brushing against the stall’s rough wood. Each wore a ponytail that stuck out from the back of their head. Their wrists were also shackled, pulled up hard behind, and tied tightly with rawhide over the opposite shoulder to some point in their front that I couldn’t see; they all stood ramrod straight. A butt-plug had been inserted into each gorgeous ass and secured with a crotch strap. Horsehair or what looked like horsehair hung down from each ass. They all wore strange, hoof-like shoes strapped to their feet.

Jesse was the third to the right. Standing next to her was the Asian girl who had been whipped the day I dropped Jesse off. Both of them were magnificent standing high and straight in their…

Jack saw me staring at the shoes. “They’re called pony shoes,” he said, noting my interest. “They arch the foot and transfer most of the ground shock to the leg just like a real horse. We also like them because they stretch their legs and raise their asses. What do you think?” He was right of course; they all looked incredibly beautiful, a little like Las Vegas showgirls. I nodded and smiled.

 “This here’s Ming,” Jack said, running his hand down her back and flank as he talked. “And you recognize this beauty of course,” he said, as he gave Jess a playful pat on her hard ass. Ming turned her head and tried to look at the source of the sound. Just like a curious horse, I thought. Jesse continued to stare at the wall.

“Well, I got to say she don’t look all that happy to see you, Mr. Lowe,” Jack was smiling. “That’s good actually; she’s high-strung and naturally miffed that you left her behind. Let’s let her pout for a while.” I nodded. He had spoken in front of her as if she couldn’t understand the meaning of the words. I realized that this was part of the program—don’t do anything to remind the girl that she’s human.

“Let me show you how to hook them up,” he said, walking over to the opposite wall. “This here’s a body harness.” He lifted two leather harnesses off their hooks. They were made like the bridle, but much larger.

He moved back to Jesse and Ming, unhooked the bit chains that held both girls against the wall, and turned them around. I looked into Jesse’s eyes; she refused to meet my gaze. Then I looked down at their breast. The wrist shackles were attached to their nipples, which had been pierced vertically with a tiny gold bar, forcing them to keep their back arched and their arms high. The nipple piercing had been pushed through some kind of slotted washer to which the rawhide cord bar had been tied.

“Yeah, we use bar piercing here at Bitter Wells. Some farms use rings others use clips. The clips hurt like Hell, and come off too easily. If you want, we take the bars out when you leave. …the holes close up naturally in a few days. Personally, I like the way the bars look straight up and down and they’re only fifty bucks for the set.”

He held each girls breast and turned the washer until its slot was in line with the nipple piercing then he removed the washer. Then he clipped the top of the body harness to the strap ring under Mind’s chin and stepped behind her. “You got three straps to tighten,” he said, “at the chest, the waist, and between the legs. The one between the legs splits in two in the back so that we don’t interfere with the tail and buckles to the bottom of the waist strap.” He demonstrated on Ming as he talked. “Once the body straps are tight, you pull in their arms with the same straps by using a second buckle. Nothing to remember, really, the straps fall naturally at the pony’s biceps and at her elbow. Then you just buckle her wrists to the crotch strap so that their hands don’t move around.

He finished up and turned Ming fully around so that I could see. The harness was now part of her body

Jack stepped back and invited me to try it out with Jesse. She moved back when I touched her bare skin, but otherwise there was no reaction as I positioned the thick straps and tightened them around her.

Jack walked back to the rack and retrieved a lightweight metal rod. It had metal loops at the ends. There were two pairs of flat points in the rod where horizontal slots had been cut. “This is called a nipple bar,” Jack explained. “It attaches as so…” He retrieved two small chains from the rack and attached one end to the outside of each girl’s mouth bit then he lifted the rod and attached the chain to the metal loops at each end of the bar. “It also attached to the nipples, like this.” He took a firm hold of Ming’s breasts and turned then a quarter-turn until the vertical nipple piercing was horizontal and in line with the slot in the bar then he pushed it through. When he took his hand away, her breast returned to its normal position, locking the bar in place. “The piercing is impossible to pull out without the use of your hands,” he announced proudly. He stepped back again and gestured for me to do the same to Jesse. I took hold of her breast. I had forgotten how good she felt. Then I turned it as he had done and pushed her nipple piece through the slot. I did the same with the other. There was no expression on her face.

“The bar keeps their bodies straight when they’re running and it allows you to steer,” he explained. Grabbing the bar in the middle, he moved the two girls around the stable until they were standing in front of a small one-man carriage. I could see that both girls were responding immediately and lifting their feet high to his movement of the bar.

“This here is called a drag,” he said. “It’s as light and small as we can make it, but it’s still a drag for the ponies compared to running free. Thus the name… We try to give them equal time running with the drag and without so that they don’t develop any bad habits.” As he talked, he attached the drag’s tongue to their harnesses at the chest and at the waist. A two-point harness gives them the ability to retain their balance and pull with both their upper and lower bodies. Then he attached two thin leather reins to each side of the nipple bar. Finally, he joined the inside rings of their bits with a short chain.

All of this is really simple; when you pull on the rein, the steering bar, their nipples, and both mouth bits get pulled in that direction. I guarantee you that the team will also move in that direction to relieve the pressure. Pull back evenly on both when you want them to stop.”

“Hop up here, Mr. Lowe, and I’ll show you.” I did as he said. He handed me the reins. “Give me a pull to the left.” I pulled on the left rein; both girls immediately turned their bodies to the left in response to the pull on their nipples and their mouths. I pulled to the right and observed the same reaction. I tried both pulls again and they responded in exactly the same way.

Jack reached over and pulled the buggy whip from its holder on the side of the carriage. You shouldn’t need to use this on such an easy run, but if they give you any trouble, just snap this in their ass or on their legs. It hurts like Hell, so use it sparingly. Snapping it over their heads like this,” he demonstrated, “is the signal to move forward and to go faster.” The girls moved forward reflexively as he demonstrated and he had to grab the reins to hold them in place. It was amazing actually, they knew it was just a demonstration, but their training had also made their responses instinctual. Did they really think of themselves now, at least in part, as animals? I wondered.

 “If you want to stop along the road, be sure to tie their reins to a fence or a tree.” Then he leaned in close and whispered, “First time out with a new driver and they always try to test the driver. Keep them on a tight rein and if they really get feisty, unhook them from the carriage and give them a good whippin’. Do them both the same, no matter who’s at fault. You’ll have a better ride tomorrow if you do.”

Then he stood back and said, “Just follow the dirt road to the right. It takes you around the lake and right back to this spot… can’t get lost. Ming’s owner won’t be here until next week, so you can have full use of the team while you’re here,” he looked at his watch. “Have them back by five, okay. We like to feed them on a regular schedule. You’re welcome to use Ming for sex tonight if you like, but I’m sure you’re anxious to get reacquainted with Jesse. …your choice, or take them both if you want.” Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jesse’s head swinging in our direction. Because of the chain holding their heads together, Ming’s head turned at the same time.

“You’re all set. See you in a couple of hours.” Then Jack stepped back.

I looked at the two pony asses in front of me, tightened up on the reins, and snapped the whip over their heads. They stepped out together at a walk, bending at the waist a little to take up the weight of the carriage. It was amazing, their “shod” feet sounded exactly like horse hooves.

I tried a few slow turns as we rode down the path. They responded instantly to pulls on the nipple bar just as Jack had said. I watched the bar as we rode. It seemed to be balanced at the end of their upturned nipples. I felt the reins in my hands; I pulled, they felt pain, and turned in the direction I wanted us to go. It was stimulating to have such control.  It was also an incredible turn-on to watch their asses move and their leg muscles stretch at each step. They were animals, I thought, beautiful creatures trained to work so that I could ride in comfort. It was getting easier and easier to think of them in this way. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that I wanted desperately to fuck them both, their humanity would have totally left my mind.

I wondered what it would be like to push them faster, but caution won out and I kept them at a walking pace until we were clear of the farm then I snapped the whip. They increased their speed to a slow jog. I could see the muscles in their legs and back straining now to take up the increased pull of the drag. I kept it this way for another mile. Sweat dripped off their naked bodied, but they didn’t slacken the pace. I had the sense that they could pull all day at this speed.

Suddenly, I noticed that Jesse had lost her rhythm. This threw Ming off and the carriage started to swing erratically from one side of the path to the other. I gave Jesse a sharp whack on her ass with the whip and then another. She corrected her pace, but within half a mile again lost it again. I knew what was happening.

I pulled sharply on the right strap and the drag moved off the path. I stepped out and moved to the front of the team. Both girls were breathing heavily, but did not appear to be tired. They were in magnificent shape. I unhooked them from the carriage and led them by their reins to a nearby wooden fence. They followed the pull on their nipples obediently. Ming kept giving Jesse confused glances. Jesse starred straight down.

It was a rail fence, but tall, maybe four feet high. “Step up on the bottom rail,” I ordered. Neither girl moved. I threw the reins over the rail and pulled. Both of their nipples came up painfully. I pulled again and the stepped onto the second rail. “Bend over the rail.” Again neither girl moved; I was forced to pull down on the nipple bar to get them to bend. I quickly tied the bar to the bottom rail and then to their inside ankles. Then I took Ming’s right foot and tied it as high as I could to the top rail. Her ass, her legs, and her inner tights were now fully exposed and immobile. I could see Jesse’s left leg moving in anticipation. She expected to be tied in a similar fashion for their punishment.

I found a young sapling, broke off a branch and cleaned it of leaves. Then I moved in behind Ming and whipped Ming viciously. She was screaming through the bit. I waited until she was calm and then did it again, and again, and again. By the time I was finished, she was writhing in pain. Jesse, who could feel every stroke and every reaction, was crying as well even though she had not been struck.

I grabbed Jesse’s bridle and pulled her face to mine, “Shall I do it again?” I asked her.

Jesse couldn’t speak, but she vigorously shook her head no. “If you lose the pace again, I’ll mount her on a fence rail and whip her raw.” Jesse blinked back the tears and nodded. The ride back was easier and faster; Jesse, who was easily the stronger member of the team, never lost the pace.

A stable boy helped me get the girls out of their harnesses and wiped down. I watched him as he washed them down with a gentle hose and dried them off with towels. He treated them exactly as if they were real ponies. The girls responded in the same way, never flinching even when he cleaned inside their vaginas and reamed their asses with a padded and oiled rod. It was obvious that the de-humanizing process was part of their total experience.

I tipped him and left.

Every room had an interesting feature for the use of the guests. It was a man-size figure of a horse running with its legs fully extended; the horse’s head and its ass were missing. There were eye-bolts half-hidden by the false hair along the length on each leg and a steel head brace rose up at the neck. I put Ming on the horse, pulling her body tight over the frame by using the most extreme eye-bolts. Then I removed her bridle and locked her head in the brace.

I stood back; in the firelight she looked amazing like a running horse. I moved in close, fondling her breasts and her swollen cunt for several minutes, enjoying the feel of her taunt body. She responded to my touch and started to push her crotch into the horse’ back. After a while she came with a gentle shudder.

“She loves you,” she said unexpectedly.

I looked at her in surprise and replied, “CELTs who talk without permission are normally whipped.” The light from the room’s fireplace was dancing on her tanned skin.

“She loves you,” she repeated.

I grabbed a cane from the umbrella rack by the door and gave her five hard strokes on each ass cheek. She was sucking breath in through her clenched teeth by the time I finished.

“Got anything else to say?” I asked.

“She lo… loves you,” the girl replied, still in extreme pain.

I moved in front of her to look into her eyes. I was moving the cane threateningly. It was clear that I was ready to do it again. “What do you care?” I asked, angrily.

“She’s my drag partner,” was the only reply. For some strange reason, this actually made sense to me.

I looked at her for a long minute and then said, “Unfortunately, she doesn’t love me as much as I love her.”

She looked up at me and said, “She does now.”

After breakfast, I harnessed the girls to the drag myself. Jesse was silent and docile. Ming was smiling throughout. Jack walked over and examined my work; then he said, “Good job. Want to try some sprints this morning?” I nodded, curious.

“OK, let’s get them out of the drag.” In a minute we had the team un-harnessed and the drag moved away against the wall. Jack went to the back of the stable and retrieved a cart that looked like it was used for harness racing.

“This is a racer,” he said as he moved it into position. It’s smaller and lighter that those used at the track, but still designed for speed. He attached it to their harnesses. Taking the reins in one hand he led the team to the back of the stable.

“This is our track,” he said, pointing to a long grassy path that wound around the meadow for maybe a quarter of a mile. Keep it slow the first few times around until you get the hang of it then you can let them go. Try to use the whip as little as possible so they can concentrate on their rhythm, but don’t let them slack off either.

I nodded and snapped the whip. The girls moved out slowly onto the path. I cracked it again and they picked up speed. After two times around, I snapped the whip hard and they moved out at a fast jog. It was easy to keep them on the track, but I could see how important it was that they worked together as we went faster. We went around once this way, they I snapped it again and they started to race. It was amazing watch their legs pumping in perfect harmony. Jesse, the stronger of the pair, seemed to be holding back to allow Ming to keep up. I used the whip on Ming and she picked up her speed to keep up with Jesse’s faster pace. There is a lot more to racing than holding the reins, I thought. At one point, their ponytail-ed hair was actually flying back from the wind.

I stopped them after the second fast lap. They were both breathing hard and glistening with sweat, but they were not in any kind of distress. I was amazed at their stamina. I would have had a hard time with such fast laps even without the racer attached.

What magnificent creatures, I thought. They were better than humans now, more valuable by far and a breed apart. I was confused by this thinking. Weren’t humans the highest life form; and wasn’t our humanity the thing we prized above all else? …interesting… 

I waited until their breathing slowed and then glanced over at Jack who was leaning back on a fence rail. He nodded and I snapped the whip again. This time, after just a few fast laps they were noticeably more tired and I needed to use the whip on both girls several times to maintain the pace. I could tell that they were finished racing for the day.

I stopped the racer in front of Jack. “Good run,” he said. We’ll water and rest them and you can take them out again this afternoon. As you can see, we’ve done a pretty good job with only two weeks of work.” I nodded in enthusiastic agreement.

I didn’t run the team the next morning, preferring to rest and catch up on a little work. That afternoon, I hitched them up to the drag and ran them at a steady pace for about three miles. Then I stopped to rest by a small pond. I took both girls out of the harness and bridle and allowed them to drink from the pond and cool off in the water while I lay against a tree. After some initial shyness, they started to fool around like kids. I enjoyed watching them play for a while then I stripped off my own clothes and joined them in the water.

They hesitated at first then Ming splashed me a little. I responded by dunking her and the melee was on. We all enjoyed the time and ended up lying together on the grass. Jesse was playful, but reserved. She was obviously still hurt from the rejection of the prior two evenings.

After a while, I rolled Ming to her back and put on her wrist cuffs then I did the same with Jesse. Both girls watched me curiously, but without fear. Then I stood Ming up and positioned her under a horizontal branch belonging to one of the nearby oaks. Attaching the long rein to her wrists, I pulled her arms up until she was on her toes. Jesse sat up on her knees and watched, there was fear in her eyes now, but she didn’t say anything.

I fetched the buggy whip from the drag and tossed it at Jesse’s feet.

“Whip her until I tell you to stop,” I ordered. Jesse looked at me with a confused expression, and then shook her head no. I walked over to Ming and raised her up until she was off the ground.

“You know what this feels like,” I said. “Now do as you’re told or we can just watch her suffer all afternoon.” Ming was beginning to cry out from the pain. She had heard every word.

“Please Jess, Pleaseeeee, my arms…” her breathing was labored even after a few seconds in the air.

Jesse looked at me and said, “Please, Howard, don’t make me do this.”

I ignored her and sat down on the ground in a comfortable position to watch Ming suffer. After a few second, Jesse picked up the whip and took a position behind her friend. Then she started to softly lash the girl.

“She can stay up there all day if that’s what you want. Now lay it into her. I want to see red marks on every inch of her body.” I said in a totally serious voice.

“Please, Jess, just do it,” Ming screamed in a desperate voice. “You’re just making it worse.”

Jesse started to apply the whip with moderate force which didn’t leave much of a mark. She looked over at me and I shook my head, indicating that it wasn’t good enough. She began to whip the girl hard, moving methodically down both sides of her body. I could see that Jesse was shaking after each stroke and each accompanying scream. After a while, Ming grew quiet.

“Stop,” I said. Jesse threw the whip to the ground, collapsed and started to cry hysterically. I let Ming down then took her to the pond and gently rubbed cool water over her body.

“I’m sorry,” I said. She looked at me with sudden understanding and nodded.

The ride back was slow with Ming straining painfully in her harness. Jesse tried to do most of the work, but the drag was designed to be pulled by a team with an even distribution of work. Ming had to do her share. After a while, I stepped out of the drag and walked alongside. The stable boy looked at me with disapproval when he saw Ming’s red-marked body, but he didn’t say anything.

I went off to dinner, which was excellent. Surprisingly, I felt little remorse. I guess this is what they mean by a hard heart, I thought.

That evening, I went to the stable and as usual I approached Ming. The boy had applied some soothing lotion to her welts, but it was obvious that she couldn’t really be touched that evening. I took her off the wall and gently laid her on the stall’s one blanket. She curled up and went immediately to sleep. I untied Jesse, apparently my second choice, and led her off to my room.

Once we were in the room, I strapped Jesse to the horse. She looked magnificent stretched out over the frame. She watched me as I tied her head in place, but I didn’t look her in the eyes. Then I closed the lights and went to bed. The only light was from a low fire that I had left burning. 

We both lay awake in the darkness. I could hear movement and a gentle crying from the horse.

Softly, I heard her whisper something. It was so soft that I had to strain to hear it. It was as if it was coming from inside her. “Please love me, Master.” She was repeating it over and over, like a prayer.

I got up and stood in front of her. I was naked and my penis was at exactly the same level as her mouth. She could lift her head a bit to look up into my face.

“Do you accept me as your Master?” I said in a low voice.

“No,” she replied. “I don’t need to accept you. You are my Master.” It was said simply and it just felt like the truth. I moved my cock closer to her mouth. She stretched her head and was just able to lick the tip. After a few seconds of this, I stepped forward and pushed my cock down her throat. She embraced it as if it were a missing part of her own body. I started to fuck her hard. I could see her moving in rhythm with my thrusts. She came when I came and there were tears in her eyes. I un-strapped her from the horse and we slept in each other’s arms until morning when we make sweet love in the bed. I returned her to the stable and went to breakfast.

That day was an easy one for the team and once again we all enjoyed the pond. Both girls were a little nervous that there would be a repeat of yesterday’s unprovoked punishment, but that was good. I preferred a little tension mixed in with our fun.

The next morning, Jesse said her tearful goodbyes to Ming and we drove home.

Our time at Bitter Wells defined our relationship.

Jesse moved into my bedroom, maintaining hers as “private space” which I respected. She has also gone back to school under the guise of being my live-in girlfriend. Not that I’m concerned anymore about making her status as a CELT public. In fact, I still can’t believe that that was once my highest priority. Jesse’s just more comfortable keeping that part of our lives private.

We have our times of tender love as well as our times of bondage and pain. In between is an easy friendship. It’s not the friendship of friends—that is, equals, sharing common experience; it’s the friendship of lovers—a kind of constant non-sexual intercourse where one of us is naturally subordinate to the other. Jesse seems to thrive in it. I don’t know why exactly; I just know that she does.

Maybe it’s what she said; this kind of relationship is a complex soup of emotions. All I know is that it’s beyond ordinary love, way beyond. If you can imagine!

Her contract ends in six months. I’m saving my money.

The End