“So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

Thomas looked up from his work, glancing in the direction of the woman’s voice.  He knew who it was before he even saw her standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame as the setting sun cast its beam through the fabric of her dress, the shadowy silhouette of her body’s curves moving as she shifted against the stable’s wall.  The now-grown daughter of a neighbor, she’d been a playmate when they were growing up, and now she was a constant nuisance to him since her return from college. But, it was a nuisance he enjoyed.

“Hello, Sarah,” he replied.

“I come to visit you for dinner and you’re hiding in the barn with the animals,” she said, entering the stall where he had laid out a series of bridles, collars, and chain, “and just what is so important that you can’t spend a little time with me this evening, might I ask?”

“Just cleaning up some tackle, Sarah,” he said flatly,

The woman approached the man, her gown swishing softly as her heels made a light sound against the rough concrete floor.  Her fingers played absently-mindedly with the small, slender buttons that held the bodice of her dress against her chest.  He continued polishing the gleaming metal bridle he held in his hands as she neared, stopping only when she wrapped her slender arms around his neck.

“And tell me, kind sir, what is so important about this tackle that you can’t take some time away to play with me?”

“You know as well as I do that there’s a new group of assignees arriving in the morning.  Your father is probably just as busy as I am getting ready.  And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t refer to them as animals. They’re human beings that just happened to have made some bad choices in life. Just because they chose to spend their sentences working on farms doesn’t mean they have to be dehumanized. After all, they volunteered to come here.”

“You always were a sentimental type, Mister Thomas Leighton,” she responded, sighing with mock melancholy, “I suppose that’s why I find you so endearing.”

“Is that why?  I always thought it was because you enjoyed my money and my estate.”

“Well, there’s that, too.  A girl of my station has to have standards,” she replied with a grin, pressing herself against his chest.

Thomas set the bridle on the work bench, carefully grasped the woman’s arms, and separated her body from his torso. “Please, Sarah…”

The woman pouted and backed away.  She turned and casually strode towards a raised wooden platform in the center of the room.  A series of heavy pipes in the shape of an X rose from the dark wooden planks comprising the floor of the crude stage.

“Is that where you punish them for misbehaving?” she asked, knowing full well the answer before she even asked him the question.

“Yes, that’s where they go for inspection and correction,” he replied. “I’m sure you’ve seen the process before.”

“I have, on my father’s farm,” she replied, a devilish grin pulling at the sides of her mouth, “but only after I snuck into the attic where he couldn’t see me.  He wouldn’t let me watch otherwise. When I asked about it, he said it was too brutal.  I suppose he was right.   I don’t believe you could punish one of your charges like he does his. Have you ever done it?  Or do you delegate that to your foreman?”

“I do it myself.”

“Hmmph,” she said with contempt, “I don’t believe you. You don’t have it in you to punish somebody; not like my father anyway.”

The man studied the woman who now ran her hands along the length of cold metal piping. He knew her games; he knew what she wanted him to do. She was deliberately challenging him. “There are a lot of things I do differently than your father,” he replied.

She smiled and looked at him.  “Do you suppose you could show me how you treat your slaves when they’re bad? Bring one out and let me see.”

“I don’t whip my workers for entertainment.”

“Oh,” she said, unconcerned by his response.  She began to loosen the buttons on her corseted bodice, starting at the neckline and working her way down. “Perhaps you should punish me, then, for exposing myself to a strange man.”

“That’s not a crime, and even if it were, I’m not exactly a stranger,” he said as she continued to loosen the buttons of her dress.

“Oh,” she said coyly, slipping each button through its hole, “then I guess you’ll have to show me what you would do to me if it were.”

She stepped back from the tubular sculpture in the center of the stall, cocked her hips to the side, and let the dress fall from her shoulders, the material cascading in a heap on the wooden planking.  She now stood before the man, clad in only her strapless bra and tiny thong panties.

She held her hands behind her back and cast her face down in subservience.  “I supposed you’d have to cuff me.”

“Yes, I would, but only for transport.  You would arrive here already handcuffed and chained with belly shackles.”

“Belly shackles?” she said, feigning surprise, “do I look dangerous to you, Mister Leighton?”

“You’re always dangerous.”

She laughed.  “And then what would you do?”

“I’d move you to the correction stand.”

“You mean like this?” she said with a false innocence as she positioned herself in front of the framework of metal tubes, centering her hips between the armatures and elegantly raising her  slender wrists towards the outer lengths of pipework.

“Yes, that’s exactly right.”

“And then what, Mister Thomas Leighton?  What would you do to a naughty girl?”

“I suppose I would need to correct you.”

“I suppose you would,” she replied, holding her hands far out along the stand of dark metal tubing, “and I suppose you would want to do it promptly, like any responsible overseer would.”

“Yes, it would be irresponsible of me if I didn’t,” he replied as she held her position against the frame.

The man picked up two short lengths of pipe from the bench and strode towards the almost-nude woman.  He lifted one of the short lengths of pipe and fitted it over two small studs projecting from either side of her right wrist.  He pressed the pipe down snugly against her hand and tightened two screws, pinning her arm in place.  He then drew her other arm out as far as she could reach and repeated the process, binding her along the upper length of cold metal piping.

She tugged slightly against the frame, feeling the resistance of the metal restraints against her wrists, testing their hold on her body as the man turned away from her.

He walked over to the bench and selected another, slightly longer, piece of pipe and two more lengths of shorter pipe.  He returned to the nearly-naked woman strapped against the evil framework and set the two short lengths of tubing on the floor near her feet; her well-manicured toenails resting comfortably against the wooden platform. Her eyes followed his movements with a mix of curiosity, fear, and playful indulgence as he lifted the metal bar and set it horizontally across the rim of her belly, just above the narrow band of her panties, the metal cylinder pressing against her pelvic bone as he tightened the screws, pinning her hips against the heavy frame.

He then knelt down and grabbed her right ankle and tugged it quickly towards two studded bars just above the floor, causing her to briefly lose her balance as he attached the short, stout length of heavy tubing to the frame, the metal pressing against her ankle.  He then shifted to her other leg and tugged it forcefully towards the outer length of pipes on that side, forcing her to spread her legs wide as her ankles were bound to the menacing apparatus.

He stepped back to view his handiwork as the scantily-clad young woman tugged at the restraints around her wrists, hips, and ankles.  She was stretched out, spread-eagled, her limbs drawn wide apart, with only a skimpy bra and delicate thong panties covering her modesty. He could feel his cock begin to fill and rise as her muscles twisted with her efforts to free herself from her bondage. His scrotum tightened with the first tingling of arousal.

“Now that you have me, Mister Leighton,” the woman taunted, smiling at the man, “what will you do with me?”

“State law dictates that all workers subject to corporal punishment must be stripped before the punishment is inflicted, to ensure that all wounds are visible and accessible for medical treatment, if necessary.”

“You wouldn’t strip me, would you, Mister Leighton? I’ve committed no crimes. I’m an innocent girl,” the woman said playfully.

“You’re anything but innocent.”

The woman smiled as the man reached out and gently placed his hands against her fabric-covered breasts, his fingers spread wide, gently pressing against her bosom, judging their heft with his palms as his thumbs rested lightly on the clip centered between her young mounds.  She pulled nervously at the frame, gasping slightly as the plastic clasp clicked open under the man’s machinations.  Her breasts, pulled taut against her body by the tension on her arms, fell only slightly as the pressure of her bra was released. He held the two cups in his hands, looking deeply into her eyes before letting the garment fall away from her torso. 

Two perfect areolas dotted the soft, pale skin of her mounds, each dark circle capped by a firm brown nub standing proud and erect in the cooling air of the stables.  She stared intently at the man, the bulge in his pants indicating his pleasure at her appearance as she stood outstretched against the cruel metal frame, her breasts swaying gently as she pulled at the bindings around her wrists.

The man turned and reached for something on the bench, fumbled with some loose tooling there, then lifted a set of chrome shears.  He presented them to the bound woman and said, “Correctional laborers’ garments are designed to allow full access in any position, at any time.  Unfortunately, your garments are not, so I’ll have to make some modifications.”

She nodded her acquiescence as he pressed the gleaming metal shears against her right thigh, the thin string of her panties’ waistband trapped between the large razor-sharp blades.  With a snip, the material parted and snapped loosely against her other leg, revealing the bare skin of her clean-shaven snatch.  The man then quickly cut the string of elastic around her other thigh and pulled the ruined fabric from her captive body, leaving her completely naked and helplessly bound to the heavy metal frame.

It had been four years since he had last seen her naked.  He remembered the first time, when they were both just 15 and playing games in the woods of his family’s back acreage.  She had challenged him to a game of Truth or Dare, but her rules favored the Dare, and eventually her game had led to them getting naked and swimming in the clear waters of the spring-fed creek that snaked through the property like a tiny slice of Eden.  The sight of her blossoming body displayed openly along the sandy bank had given him an erection that could only be tamed by the chilling waters of the creek. In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he had stood in those waters trying to control “it” while she sat on the bank giggling at his situation.  Finally, after cajoling him and promising to be kind, she had convinced him to come out so that she could see “it” fully erect.  But seeing hadn’t been enough for her.  She wanted to touch it, to play with it, and the electricity of her fingertips tenderly brushing against his shaft had brought him to his first orgasm with a real girl.

After that, her games had progressed as she explored her fantasies. Sometimes she would tell him to tie her to a sturdy tree, her body stripped and her delicate hands bound tightly overhead as he tickled her, trying to get her to reveal an imaginary secret. Other times she would be staked out naked on the ground under the hot sun while he poured cold water on her warm skin, or stretched over a log with the insects following a trail of jelly across her breasts. It was always her idea to let him torture her, acting out a scene in a movie she said she had once watched, but couldn’t remember the title of.  Each time he knew she was lying, but he had gone along with it to see her naked, and the promise of her bringing him to one of many explosive orgasms afterwards. She always fulfilled his wish, so long as he played her games first.

Then she left for college and things changed for both of them. His father died suddenly and he inherited the farm, ending his plans for attending the university with her.  Her father, strapped for money to pay her tuition, had applied as a sponsor recipient for the Correctional Labor Program, whereby convicted men and women were assigned to farms as field labor.  The farm would then receive payments from the State, as well as own entitlements to any profits generated from the labor, as long as the farms provided food, clothing, shelter, and security control over the workers.  The convicts would receive reduced sentences in exchange for volunteering for the program.  The jails would benefit by releasing inmates to the farms’ custodial care, freeing up space needed for more violent offenders.  It sounded like a good idea and it paid the farmers well, so Thomas had signed up as a sponsor recipient also, accepting low-risk prisoners on short-term assignments. It was a lucrative business when managed properly.

Four years later the Leighton farm had expanded three-fold, making it a plantation in every sense of the word.  Her father had tried to keep pace by accepting maximum-security prisoners in exchange for greater payments from the program, a high-risk practice which could generate large payments from the State but required an equally large outlay of manpower to maintain.  Her father had turned their pleasant little farm into a maximum-security work camp, while the Leighton plantation still exuded the quaintness of a small farm. 

And then Sara had come home as a graduate of the university.  Faced with living at a penitentiary labor camp surrounded by hardened criminals, it was little wonder that she spent a majority of her first week back from school on the Leighton plantation, pretending to be the lady of the house while socializing with her friends in his rooms, even when he wasn’t there.  He didn’t mind. Four years had been very good to her, giving her the curves of a woman, and he was glad to have her around to keep things exciting. 

Now she was stretched out, nude, and helplessly bound to a discipline station in his stables.

Four years had been very good to her indeed.

Young, firm legs curved with soft muscles tapered upwards towards the globes of her bare ass, the petals of her sex beginning to blossom between her wide-forked thighs as she stood spread-eagled on the wooden planking, her toes pressing against the dusty wood for support to relieve the strain on her shoulders as her arms bore a majority of her own bodyweight.  Her lean, flat tummy, braced by the cold metal bar across her hips, stretched upwards across her naked torso, her two soft mounds pulled against her chest by the strain on her muscles, her arms extending outwards towards the bars across her wrists, her body stretched between the lengths of cold metal piping.

She smiled seductively at him as he judged the attributes of her nude body, every inch of her most sensitive areas open and available to his touch, exposed to whatever torments he had in mind for her.

“Now what, Mister Leighton?” she asked duskily.

“By law, I would tell you the nature of your infraction and the corrective action I would take, as well as any corrective action I would take for any further infractions you may commit.”

“But, sir, I haven’t committed any crime,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “I have done nothing to warrant any punishment.”

The man smiled. He saw her game. “Then I suppose I will have to give you a pre-emptive punishment session, as a warning on how we treat misbehavers on this farm.”

She giggled and tossed her hair, then tugged at the restraints holding her captive body to the metal apparatus.

The man stepped over to the workbench and turned his back to the woman, blocking her view of what he was doing.  She heard the sound of rubber being stretched and knew he was putting on a pair of surgical gloves.

She was going to be inspected.

She smiled in anticipation.

But the man reached for something more.  She tried to see what it was but he was deliberately blocking her view. All she could see was a black electrical plug being inserted into the outlet.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

The man ignored her question and simply turned around. In his gloved hands was an electric trimmer.  He flicked it on and a loud buzz filled the stall. Her eyes filled with terror at the realization of what he intended to do.

New arrivals were always shaved. Growing their hair back was a privilege they had to earn through hard work and obedience.

“No! Not my hair!” she shouted above the din of the buzzing razor, “Please! Seriously, I’m not kidding!”

The man continued to approach her, the electric trimmer drawing closer to her body, the cord stretching like a long black tail over the rough-hewn bench and across the dusty floor.  She pulled at the metal brackets around her wrists and ankles but her struggles were useless. She was securely bound to the metal frame, allowing her only limited movement. 

“Please! No! Not my hair! Ok? Please?!” She was begging now, pleading with him.

The man took a step towards her.

“Please! No! No, no, no… I’ll do anything; anything you want. Just not my hair. Don’t cut my hair.  I’m serious, ok?”  She wasn’t pretending. She was frightened he might actually do it.

The man replied, “It will grow back” as he continued to approach her.

The woman let out a frightened whimper and pulled against her bonds. “Please! Please, please, please!  I promise; I’ll do anything you want. Anything! I swear! I’ll do whatever you want. Ok? Please! Just don’t shave me! Please, please, please…” She let out a fearful cry and turned her face to look away, tilting her head back to avoid the buzzing silver blades of the electric trimmer as he raised it towards her head.

The man stopped. An evil grin slid across his face as the woman hung from the frame naked and helpless.  She had given him the opening he wanted.  “I’m going to hold you to that promise.”

She realized what she had said; she had made an offer he couldn’t refuse. Now she had to wait to see what his fiendish mind might be contemplating.  She tugged at the restraints around her wrists, feebly testing their hold on her body as she hung against the frame.

The man switched off the trimmer, set it back on the bench, and unplugged it.  He was going to enjoy this very much.

He approached her spread-eagled body, this time empty-handed.

“What are you going to do?” she asked in a tiny voice, concerned about what he might be thinking.

“All prisoners are inspected upon arrival.  You know that.”

She flashed a nervous smile.  The game was back on, but the rules had changed. He wasn’t going to tell her what he had planned for her. He was in control now. She just had to trust him. It was the first time she truly felt helpless, and it thrilled her.

The man stepped behind his imprisoned captive and began to run his fingers through her thick, luscious hair; the dark brown strands glistening in the light of the stall, her subtle highlights sparkling as he brushed her locks out with his hands as if searching for contraband. She smiled as he pushed her head forward, then back, turning her left and right as his fingertips massaged her scalp.  She giggled slightly as his fingers slipped behind her ears, tickling her a bit as she stood naked on the discipline station.

His inspection of her hair complete, he swiftly ran his hands down her back and across her ribs.  She tensed up, laughing and giggling as he tickled her torso, the captive girl twisting as his hands ran along the sides of her chest, across the undersides of her breasts, then upwards along her arms, her wrists helplessly pinned outwards away from her body.

She twitched and giggled and writhed on the frame, her breath thrown from her lungs by her reaction to his stimulation of her nerves.  She fought to control herself, trying to resist as he continued to excite her body, leaving her squirming and breathless against the bars. She laughed and tugged at the restraints holding her fast as he continued to torture her with his fingers, the muscles of her chest and tummy tightening until she thought she was going to suffocate and pass out.

He let his hands fall back along her bare skin, softly brushing the torso of the squirming woman before bringing them around to the front of her chest. Each hand cupped and squeezed her young breasts, gently massaging her soft mounds, judging the firmness of her mammaries as she hung panting from the shackles around her wrists. He teased each hardened nipple with his rubber-covered fingers, tugging at them as if to milk her, feeling her squirm as he manipulated her teats, pressing and squeezing her as he pulled at the dark areolas capped by her tight brown nubs.

She moaned and smiled and turned her face towards her lover, the smell of his aftershave mixed with the aroma of leather, polish, and sweat as he dabbed at her nipples.  She winced when he deliberately twisted and squeezed her tiny nubs hard, pinching them cruelly, testing her sensitivity. She pulled at the bonds around her wrists as he gave her a final tug and moved on with his inspection.

His hands drifted downwards across her lean tummy, feeling her cords of muscle dancing with excitement under his fingertips as he brought his hands back along her flanks, teasing the erogenous zones of her bare hips, avoiding the metal bar holding her to the frame.  He playfully spanked the twin globes of her ass, each one bouncing and trembling from the impact of his gloved palms against her mounds of muscle, eliciting a yelp of surprise from the girl as she squirmed on the punishment frame.

Then he grasped each reddening globe and painfully spread them wide, opening up her posterior cleft for his inspection.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tube, uncapped it, and dabbed some gel onto his finger.

She jumped and gasped with surprise as his fingertip nudged at the opening to her anal cavity, smearing the cold gel of lubricant around the puckered hole in preparation for her examination. “Just relax,” he warned her, “and it will be less painful that way.”

She nodded and took a deep breath as he pressed his middle finger against her dark hole and slowly inserted his digit into her orifice, eliciting a squeal of pain from her in response to his intrusion.  She could feel his finger probing around, just inside the opening to her cavity, searching blindly like a worm.  After what seemed like an eternity, she felt him begin to pull out, and she started to exhale, thinking that he was done with his search.

Suddenly he pushed harder against the resistance of her anal muscle, plunging his finger deeper into her body as she fought to control a scream building in her throat. She remembered what he had told her and tried to relax, but the shock of his intrusion was too much and a yelp of pain escaped from her mouth.  She pulled, hard, against the frame holding her in position, and could feel his finger pressing deeper against the walls of her bowel.  A feeling of fullness emanated from her lower regions, and she felt like she was going to cramp.

Then, just as sudden as he had started, he was finished, leaving the girl gasping and squirming as he pulled his gloved hand from her anus.

He stood up and walked over to the workbench.  Again she heard the sound of rubber being stretched as he pulled off the gloves and tossed them in the trash can alongside the doorway. He squirted some hand sanitizer into his palm, and then rubbed his hands together until the anti-infection cream had dissipated.

Then she heard the sound of rubber being stretched once more, and she knew her inspection wasn’t over.

The man stepped over towards the captive woman and raised his hands to her mouth. “Open”, he said.

She started to speak, “What…”.

He slapped her face gently, as a warning, and said sternly, “Open.”

She complied, relaxing her jaw as he inserted a dental bit into her mouth, stretching her jaws as wide as she could go. He then pushed a finger into her mouth, tugging at her cheeks as he examined her teeth. He quickly swiped along each gumline, checking for anything hidden in her oral pockets. Without warning, he slipped three fingers across her tongue and deep into her throat, causing her to choke.  Her abdomen contracted sharply, her diaphragm spasming as he deliberately triggered her gag reflex.  She thought she was going to vomit as a feeling of nausea washed over her. Her abdomen twitched again and an inhuman sound exploded from her gut, but nothing physical came out.

Satisfied that she wasn’t hiding anything in her digestive tract, he withdrew his fingers, removed the dental bit, and said “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She choked and swallowed. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“It’s just part of the process,” he replied, “I do it to all of my charges.”

She swallowed again, and scowled at him.

He saw her displeasure and said, “Don’t be mad. Maybe this will help take your mind off things.”

The man then reached down under her outstretched body and gently patted her vulva, feeling her most private region with his rubber-coated fingers, her labial lips full and inviting. His fingers slipped between her two fleshy guardians, probing the tissue just above her entrance, searching for her little bud nestled in its hiding spot.  Her reaction told him when he found it.

He leaned in closer to her, like two lovers embracing, as he tenderly cupped and fondled her sex. He could smell the aroma of her perfume mixing with her body’s natural chemistry, forming her own unique scent.  It had been four years since he had smelled her like that and he had missed it.

“Let me know when you’re ready to continue with your processing,” he whispered gently in her ear as his fingers toyed with her clit and massaged the swollen petals on either side, her breath shallow against his cheek.

She gasped, swallowed, and gave a quick nod.

“You should know,” he said as he stepped back, “that I don’t normally give my charges the opportunity to compose themselves during their inspection.  It might make them think they can get away with something later.”

She looked at him, exhaled, and said “Thank you.”

He nodded and turned back towards the workbench.

She watched as he reached for a gleaming silver tool resting on a sterilization tray inside a clear acrylic box.  She recognized it instantly and knew what was going to happen next.  She tugged at the bonds holding her to the frame and steadied herself, the waves of nausea beginning to build again as she trembled in anticipation of her next examination.  He turned to her and approached her outstretched body, his hands cradling the vaginal speculum, its duck-billed blades innocently closed.

She shivered nervously as he knelt in front of her and positioned the cold, flat beak of the instrument against her slit, letting the tension build as she waited for it to be inserted into her. The blades looked enormous, centered between her hips.

“Aren’t you going to warm those up first?” she asked.

“There’s no need.  The coldness helps prevent the spread of disease.”

She braced herself for the impending inspection, a look of concern on her face.

Slowly, he inserted the oversized instrument into her body, the two metal blades piercing her mound, sliding silently into her tunnel.  She squealed at the pressure, the chilled metal uncomfortably cold against her vaginal lining as he pressed the device deeper into her cleft.  She squirmed with shock, surprised at just how cold the instrument really was. She threw her head back and exhaled deeply, her hands making fists as she silently absorbed the intruding object, the chill of the metal magnified by the warmth of her blood-infused tissue.

“Don’t fight it,” he warned, “you’ll just make it more unpleasant for yourself.”

She tried to relax as the metal blades slipped deeper into her.

Satisfied that he had pushed the silver tool as far as it would go, he slowly squeezed the handle of the speculum, opening up her vaginal cavity for inspection, causing her to squeal with discomfort.  Taking a small penlight from his pocket, he flashed the beam around inside her tunnel, the illuminated tissue glistening and pink with health.  He could see the puckered hole of her cervix buried deep inside her snatch; a little bulls-eye hidden within her body.

He inserted his hand into her spread tunnel, his gloved finger nuzzling against the mucus-coated opening to her uterus, softly stimulating the sensitive tissue there.

She jumped at the sensation.

He recognized the signs. Years of animal husbandry had taught him well. She was at her most fertile, and her most horny.

Having completed his inspection of her body, he snapped the jaws of the speculum closed and slowly pulled it from her cleft, the engorged lips of her labia curling back away from her opening as the gleaming silver blades were withdrawn.  He turned towards the workbench and set the instrument back in its box, closing the lid securely before pressing a button on the case.  Almost instantly a foggy vapor filled the little plastic container and a tiny red light began to blink, indicating the sterilization process was engaged.

Next he reached above the bench towards a row of hooks set into the wall.  Hanging from those hooks was an array of whips, crops, and floggers.

Her pulse quickened when he selected a familiar short, multi-tailed flogger and turned towards her.

He spoke with a commanding tone. “You are now a resident of Leighton Acres, a restricted security facility authorized by the State to manage your behavior during your term of incarceration. I am Mr. Thomas Leighton, but you will address me only as Mr. Leighton and nothing else.  You will answer every question asked of you with either a simple ‘Yes, Mr. Leighton’ or ‘No, Mr. Leighton.’  Do you understand?”

She smiled. She’d never seen him this way; so strong, so forceful. He was playing the game to the hilt.

“Do you understand?” he asked again.

“Yes, Mr. Leighton,” she responded.

“State laws do not apply here. I and I alone have the final say in everything that happens to you. You do not have any rights here, only privileges, and you will earn those privileges based on how hard you work and how quickly you learn. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”

“You will be provided clothing. You will not intentionally damage this clothing in any way, and you will not allow this clothing to be damaged by others, nor will you allow others to damage the clothing provided to them. This clothing is the property of this farm as you are the property of this farm. This clothing is a privilege and may be taken from you by me at any time and for any reason.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”

“You will be provided sleeping quarters. You will keep your sleeping quarters in a tidy manner at all times, and you will assist others in keeping their quarters tidy. Your assigned quarters are a privilege and may be taken from you at any time, for any reason, by me and only me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”

“You will be provided food for your personal consumption. You will eat only the food provided to you by myself or the guards. You will not eat food provided to others for their consumption, nor food provided by others to you for your consumption. You will not allow your food to go to waste, and you will not allow others to waste their food. You will not consume food from the fields of this farm. Everything grown on this farm is the property of this farm, as you are the property of this farm. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”

“You will be watched by guards. Those guards are here for your protection and the protection of others from you. You will treat the guards with respect and obey their instructions because they are giving you instructions that I have given to them. You will obey them as you would obey me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”

“You will conduct yourself in a manner that preserves and provides for the safe operation of this farm.  You will do your tasks diligently and to the best of your ability at all times. Any deviation from this practice, whether real or imagined, will result in your being disciplined as I see fit.  I and I alone will have the right to discipline you. You will not question the manner in which you are disciplined; fair or unfair, it does not matter. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”

“Do you consider these rules fair?”

“Yes, Mr. Leighton.”

“This evening you were observed allowing your clothing to be damaged in violation of the rules I have given you. You will therefore be punished for incorrect behavior.  Do you agree?”

“But, Mister Leighton, it was my own…”

The flogger whistled through the air and smacked against her chest, the strands of leather lashing her breasts, stinging her nipples as her soft flesh quivered from the impact. A gasp of shock escaped from her mouth, her lips curling into a smile from the sensation in her tits.

“You have violated another rule by failing to answer properly. You have compounded your punishment and will be disciplined accordingly.”

She squealed as the flogger whistled through the air three more times, each blow falling against her chest, lashing the soft mounds of her breasts, the pale skin beginning to redden from the impact.  She pulled at the bonds around her wrists, her hands clutching at the air as the man whipped her exposed nipples.

It had been four years since she had last asked him to whip her, but he could still remember it clearly.  The first time he did it, they had been young and inexperienced, still exploring each other’s bodies.  It was her idea to try it. She was bound naked; wrists tugged high by a length of rope knotted around a tree branch at their secret spot. He had tickled her until she was out of breath, something they had done before.  Then she had asked him to make a switch and use it on her.

He had been cautious, afraid of hurting her, scared that he might do something wrong. She had understood his trepidation and gently talked him into hitting her harder, teaching him how to build up the intensity at just the right pace to keep up with her endorphin rush.  The green switch was too intense, they both soon learned, and after a series of trial and error with belts, ropes, and even a stocking tied to a stick it was replaced by a flogger he had made himself from leather straps cut from a still-born calf, the braids wide for maximum effect without breaking her skin, each strip tanned in his barn and wrapped around a hickory handle carved from a tree behind the stables.  It became her favorite torment.  He used it on her many times before she left, the last time being at their secret spot as a going-away celebration of sorts.  As always, it had been her idea, and the leather still carried the unique aroma of her chemistry.  He had kept it to remind him of her, even though he knew it wasn’t necessary. He could never forget her.

And now it was being used on her again.

The flogger landed against her chest, the skin becoming an angry red as the braids wrapped around the curves of her tender bosom, licking at the sensitive brown nubs standing erect in the centers of her twin ovals. She turned her head away as the draft from the swinging flogger brushed against her face. She squealed, her mouth open as she tried to catch her breath, the wind knocked out of her lungs by the blows of the whip.

She tugged at the metal brackets surrounding her wrists. And smiled.

He paused, absorbing the image of her, naked and panting, hanging from the network of heavy pipes, her nerves responding to the blows against her body as the endorphins began to answer their call to duty. The whip dangled from his hand as he watched her gasp and squirm, the braids of the flogger gently swaying as he limply swung the flogger in front of her, waiting, impatiently, for her to settle a bit before continuing her punishment.

A pleasured moan indicated her readiness for more.

He gently swung the flogger upwards between her legs, letting the braids swish between her wide-forked thighs, the petals of her vulva swollen with arousal as the strands reached out and kissed her tender flesh.

She jumped at the sensation.  The flogger could be cruel, but it could also be tender as it caressed her skin, gently brushing her labia, massaging the warm, pink tissue surrounding the entrance to her pussy.

He brought the flogger up between her thighs again, the braids wrapping in a cluster around her Mound of Venus, snaking between the crevice of her snatch. The muscles of her tummy tightened in response, causing her to lean forward, the curves of her breasts growing larger as her body shifted on the frame. 

Again and again he brought the flogger up between her thighs, and each time she jumped in response to the stimulation of the leather against her pussy. He increased the tempo of her whipping with each strike, letting the pain build slowly in her sex, letting the impact of the blows reach deeper into her body, knowing that with each strike of the flogger  her clit, swollen and hiding under its fleshy hood, was growing angrier and more alert.

He brought the whip up harder now, the tail whistling through the air as it sped towards her captive body, impacting against her mound, the skin pink and tender from its abuse.  She leaned her head back and grunted with each blow, fighting the tension on her body, shuddering with pain and pleasure as tears began to form in her eyes.  She didn’t see him loosening the buttons of his jeans, or his erection as it sprung free from its blue denim prison.

Suddenly he was on her, pressing his organ against her opening as she hung, naked and sweating, on the metal apparatus.  She gasped and moaned as he pushed himself into her, feeling her vaginal wall parting as he plunged into her warm tunnel.  Slowly he began to pump, his hips grinding against hers, the metal bar across her belly the only thing separating the two of them as he took her passionately.

He could feel her breath on his cheek, ragged and wet as she accepted him into her body, the muscles of her vagina grasping his cock, stroking it as he pumped his seed into her belly. Her toes struggled to maintain their grip on the floor as she gave herself to him, each thrust of his hips pushing her against the metal pipes as she hung exposed in the cool night air of the punishment stall.

Her breathing became long and labored; her body tightening as she worked towards her sexual release.  She grunted and tried to rock her hips as much as the metal bars would allow.  The man pressed against her, each thrust driving his swollen cock deeper into her, the purple head straining towards the puckered hole at the end of her tunnel,

She gasped and a small squeal slipped from her parted mouth as she began to reach her climax.  He could feel her muscles spasming and he quickened his pace, pushing her higher and deeper into her dreamstate of love.   He reached behind her and spanked her ass, stimulating her more, bringing her farther onto his cock as he pushed towards her little bull’s-eye.  She shuddered, squealed again, and then tensed up as every muscle in her body contracted simultaneously in orgasmic reflex.  She inhaled deeply, her mouth open as she held onto the tempest, riding the waves of pleasure as long as she could.  She was suspended in mid-air, balanced on the end of the man’s shaft.

Then, it was over, the waves receding back to their place deep within her.  She closed her mouth as a pleasured moan emanated from her throat, her breath whistling through her teeth as she collapsed onto him, her body held tenderly in his arms.  She leaned forward, letting her cheek nuzzle against his as he made two final thrusts before withdrawing from her slit.

He kissed her face softly and she turned her head towards him, sharing a kiss as she hung weakly from the shackles around her wrists, her body spread between the metal posts in her post-coital glow.  She whispered her love for him, the words barely audible above her heaving, gasping breath.

He reached down and tucked his cock back into its home under his clothing, the flesh softening as her smell wafted upwards from his organ.

It had been too long.  For both of them.

“Sarah,” he said, “you said you’d do anything if I didn’t shave your head.”

She gasped. “I remember.”

“I want you to marry me.”

She looked at him, her mouth open but no words coming out. She wanted to shout ‘Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!’, but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. She choked, and swallowed, and tried to speak as tears formed in her eyes.  She wanted to wrench herself from the metal frame and hug him and scream and jump and dance and shout how much she loved him. She blinked and coughed, but still the words wouldn’t come.

He saw her struggling to talk and smiled.

“Before you say anything, there’s something I want you to know first,” he said.

She forced herself to calm down, fighting to control the tears in her eyes, swallowing as she cleared her throat.

“When my father died, and you left for college, I… I saw my future slipping away. I was afraid you’d go off and I’d never see you again because I was trapped here. I knew you’d meet other guys with more education than me, guys from nice, well-pedigreed families that could offer you a better future than a simple dirt farmer like me. So I changed myself, and how I viewed this farm. This place wasn’t my coffin; it was my future, and I wanted it to be your future, too. I studied courses on my own. I took business management and military leadership classes. I learned how to manage a company, how to change and adapt to business opportunities, and how to manage people.  I did that all for one reason.  You.”

She stared at him, awestruck.

“Everything you see here,” he continued, “the land, the house, the groves… everything… I did it all for you, because I wanted to build a place that you would love as much as I love you.”

She began to cry. “Oh, Thomas…” she croaked, her throat tight with emotion.

“If you say yes, you will become the mistress of this plantation.   And it is a working plantation; I want you to remember that. Our marriage will give you equal power over how the business is operated, and how the assignees are managed.  It took me four years and a lot of mistakes to learn how to make this place run smoothly.  I wish you could have the luxury of time to learn it all, but I don’t want to wait; I can’t wait. I’ve waited for four years and I can’t wait any longer.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts.

“This is not an easy business.  It’s not the type of work that has regular hours. There may be times where we have to miss vacations and holidays and appointments with friends. You may not have the luxury of going on glamorous excursions or holding fancy cocktail parties when there’s a situation that needs our attention. That is the reality behind the picket fences and pretty orchards.  It takes a lot of work, and a lot of love.”

She swallowed, hard, and blinked as tears began to roll down her face.

“I love you, Sarah. I want us to get married as soon as you are ready.  But you won’t be ready until you’ve learned, and understand, what we do here.  You’re going to have to learn this operation from the inside out. That’s why I gave you the same examination that I give to all assignees, and gave you the same speech about the rules, so you could see what they go through when they first arrive here.  The stripping, the probing, the vomiting… it’s all very much real. We have to do that for their own safety, even if they don’t like it. You called them animals, and that nearly broke my heart. You can’t look at them that way. They’re the reason this place exists. They are our students and I want you to see them as human beings that just need to be trained, trained by someone who cares about them and can give them the structure and guidance they want, even when they resist.   Your university would fail you in a class and it wouldn’t care. It would keep going and run right over you. But here, if an assignee fails, I care.  They don’t move on until they learn, even if they don’t want to learn. That’s why we have to have discipline as part of their training, so that they can learn to discipline themselves.  I want you to see their training first-hand, as one of them, so you can understand. So, starting right now, if you accept my proposal for marriage, you will become one of them. You will become an assignee of Leighton Acres, and will be held to the same standards as all the other assignees. You will live by the same rules, and be punished for the same infractions, as they are.  You will live with them, eat with them, bathe with them, and work with them in the fields; every day, for a week, with no special treatment. Not even the guards will know who you really are. If you obey the rules, you’ll be ok. But if you disobey, you will be punished. It can be as easy or as difficult as you make it.” 

Her jaw dropped. If she hadn’t been restrained she would’ve collapsed on the floor. Live with them…. She couldn’t fathom it. She had a college degree. Her father was the second-wealthiest man in the community. She had been a prom queen in school. Live with them? No. They were criminals.  She was not.  She had other options. She could leave.  She could go back to her father’s or move away someplace else entirely.  She wanted to cry out, to refuse; but she loved him. She loved him with all of her heart.  That’s why she had come back.  And she could see the truth in what he was telling her.  His rules were simple and fair. Could she do it?  It was only a week. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad… at least not as bad as her father’s place.  And she knew him, probably better than he knew himself. She knew the love he carried for her in his heart was forever strong. The evidence was all around her, and had been for all of her life. He was ready to fulfill her lifelong dream and make her the happiest woman in the world.  Everything she wanted was right there for her if she dared to accept it.  It was Truth or Dare again in their little slice of Eden and it was the biggest Dare she could ever make. It was a Dare she was making to herself.  I dare me.

She nodded her consent.

He turned and reached for a set of belly shackles.

***

Lexibelle knelt on the rough wooden box, her naked body bound to the stocks by her neck and wrists.  She was pinned to the vertical post that neatly divided her fair-skinned breasts, forcing her tender tits to rub against the rough wood every time she moved.

She could only wait, and think about the events that had brought her to the discipline stall to be punished as leather strips were tied to her toes.

After the completion of her inspection, she had been gathered with the other assignees and marched, naked, into the fields to work. There, they had rolled hay until sunset, each team rolling and bundling the stacks of cut reeds.  It was back-breaking work pushing the large masses of straw, and everyone had quickly gotten winded, the sweat coating their bodies as they labored in the fields.  The stumps of dry reeds had cut and punctured their bare feet, adding to their misery.

The dry grass stuck to her glistening skin as the chaff wafted through the air, the cut stalks jabbing into her bare flesh every time she moved. All of the girls were in pain and exhausted but they had dutifully kept pushing the yellow-brown stacks.  A few of the girls had been enthusiastic about the work. Sarah, a dancer, had worked impressively hard.  But Lexibelle had spent too much time scratching at the stalks that dug into her fair skin, rubbing her bare feet, and she had been the last to finish tying off her bundles.

She had cried when they told her she would be punished for failing to work diligently.

The guards had dragged her back to the stables while the other assignees had marched to the showers.  She had pulled against the shackles around her wrists the entire way. Strong arms and the kiss of a guard’s baton had gotten her into the discipline stall.

After the door had closed, Lexibelle had accepted her fate.

And now she was in the punishment stall, bound in the kneeling position to the stocks, her warm breasts pressed against the dry wood, her nipples soft and inviting. Her young legs were bound together by the short leather strap cinched around her ankles. The length of leather string wrapped around her toes had been passed outside her thighs and tied off to the post, pressing her knees together, allowing her very little movement.

And then she had heard the door open, with the promise that Mr. Leighton would return soon.

Time seemed to be standing still for her as she knelt, waiting for him; waiting for her punishment session to begin.

She felt the pain creep into her knees, her legs pressing her body weight against the small contact points against the wood.  The longer she was forced to kneel, the more it hurt. She shifted slightly, the leather around her neck tightening, threatening to choke her against the top of the yoke.  Her hands were lashed to the ends of the pillory, and she could see that they were beginning to turn purple from the bonds wound tightly around her wrists.

She began to cry.

She heard the door open, then someone moving around behind her; shoes shuffling on the floor as her tormentor prepared for her session.

She knew it was time to begin.

She felt something hard tap against her aching foot, letting her know how vulnerable she was, her pale soles presented openly to her unknown assailant.  She shifted slightly. Another tap; another blow to her feet.  She wiggled her toes, trying to escape the annoying sting.  Another tap.  She wiggled again, trying to get away.

Another tap, and another, repeating in the same spot, tiny flames shooting across the bottoms of her feet.

She squirmed against the pillory, her young body twisting in response to the taps. Her toes were bound so that she couldn’t avoid the tapping that struck the tender parts of her sore insoles over and over again.  Each blow seemed to reverberate along the full length of her legs and directly into her cunt.

She tried to turn her head, straining to see who was beating her, but the noose around her neck held her tight against the post.  Her feet twitched, trying to avoid the incessant tapping, her toes wiggling in frustration as she twisted on the platform, her hands and neck bound to the stocks.

Tap, tap, tap.  So simple, yet so painful.

She squirmed, the pale flesh of her breasts pressing against the post, her soft pink nipples threatening to rub against the rough wood as she twisted her body, trying to avoid the blows.

The tapping was harder now, smacking audibly against her tender feet, causing her to rise up, to press her breasts against the platform, the leather around her wrists and neck holding her fast to the stocks. Her mouth opened to shout her protest, but she knew it would be useless to cry out. She settled back onto the platform and tried to absorb the pain as much as she could. 

The blows kept coming, incessantly beating against her feet. Moisture pooled in her eyes, and still the tapping continued, striking firmly against the bottoms of her toes and instep as she writhed on the pillory.

She wondered if her feet were being marked with long thin lines spotted with purple. She imagined the bruises forming along the bottom of her arches. She wondered if she would be able to walk afterwards.

Tap.  Tap. Tap.

Her feet were throbbing. Her toes were dancing in the air with pain. It hurt so much.

And then it stopped.

Her heart thumped strongly in her chest, pushing her blood through her body, her breasts quivering with each gasp she took.  She was blinded by the moisture in her eyes. A tear fell along her nose.  She tasted its salinity against her parted lips as she blinked, trying to clear the blurring fluid from her vision.

She felt warm from the stress placed on her body, a glow covering her skin as she twisted on the pillory.

She felt a tingling in her pussy. She knew she was beginning to grow moist; that her little bud was trying to peek through the folds of her cleft as the petals her labia began to blossom.

She pressed her knees a little tighter together.  She didn’t want her tormentor to see her arousal.

She heard more shuffling.  Whoever was in the room with her was reaching for something else; something new to use on her.

Then she felt something smack against her outstretched bottom, her breasts trembling from the impact that coursed through her, the twin curves of her ass prominently displayed to whoever was torturing her. It startled her, and it hurt, but at least not as much as the beating on the bottoms of her feet.

She heard a slight whoosh, followed by the smack against her upturned rump.  She yelped from the sudden pain. This was meant to hurt.  She’d been spanked playfully on her birthdays, but this was different.  There was no laughing here; no cake and ice cream afterwards.  She was naked and bound to the post, her ass on display to an unseen figure who took his time planning where to strike her. 

She arched her back, trying to pull her young breasts away from the rough wood that divided them, anticipating the next painful blow.

Another whoosh.  Another a smack. Another yelp as her body twisted on the pillory. She knew that’s what he wanted, to hear her cry out in pain, to let him know that he was breaking her.

Another whoosh, another smack.  The curves of her pale mounds bobbed just below her outstretched arms, the soft mass shuddering from the blow, her pale nipples peeking around the post as they trembled in the air. This time she didn’t cry out.  She was fighting it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

Another whoosh, another smack; the paddle finding fresh skin just below the nape of her ass.  A grunt of pain escaped from her throat. This one was harder and pushed her chest against the post, the soft skin of her breasts curling around the hard edges of the wood.

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smack. A quick succession of swats now, each one covering a different spot on her prominent ass, turning the pale skin pink with anger. 

She twisted and pulled at the bonds around her neck and wrists, trying to move away from the irritating smacks that fell against her ass.  She winced and gasped and flinched but did not cry out.  Her young body writhed against the post as she absorbed the blows inflicted on her. Tears fell against the yoke just below her chin, staining the dry wood with tiny dark drops of moisture.

A louder whoosh.  She jumped, expecting a painful swat that didn’t come. She whimpered with fright. Her reaction had told him what he wanted to know; that she had learned to fear the discipline stall.

Then she felt a hand cupping her sex, feeling her heat between her legs.  Knowing fingers massaged the engorged tissue guarding the entrance to her pussy.  She pressed her legs together, trying to protect her sex from the unseen intruder. She jumped against the post as a stranger’s finger found her clit, rubbing it, teasing it, the inflamed nub coming out of its hiding place and demanding attention.

She twisted and tried to move her hips away from the strange hand probing between her legs, but the tickling fingers followed her limited movements.  She could only squirm as her tormentor continued to play with her genitals, watching her writhe deliciously at the sensations beneath the curves of her hips.

Something spanked her hard on her ass, even as her tormentor fondled her sex.  She squealed and squirmed from the pain of the paddling and the pleasure of her fondling.  Her breathing was coming in quick gasps now, from the pain of her torment and the pleasure of the stranger’s touch. Her body glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. She relaxed and surrendered her body to her tormentor.

Curious fingers continued to probe her nether regions, stroking the warm soft tissue, soothing the nerve-rich folds tucked within her slit.

Another swat. She moaned but didn’t flinch.  She was distracted by the feeling between her legs, the unseen hand pressing against her clit.  She began to move her hips differently now, no longer trying to avoid the paddling, but rather trying to draw the stranger’s touch deeper into her.

Another swat. She gasped sharply; her arousal heightening her sensitivity as she rode the waves of pleasure building within her body.  The muscles of her legs twitched as she struggled to rub her sex against the stranger’s hand, her breasts bouncing as she tugged at the restraints around her wrists and neck, her body flexing against the rough wood of the pillory. The hand felt so good; finding her special spots; knowing exactly where to go.

Her breathing came in quicker gasps now. She closed her eyes, feeling the waves beginning to build in her body, her hips flexing as she tried to hump the pleasure-giving hand between her legs.

And then it was gone.

She squirmed against the air, trying to find the wonderful hand, searching for the touch that would push her over the edge.  She whimpered, begging for him.

Between her gasps, she heard the shuffling footsteps move away.  Then the door opened and her tormentor, her unknown lover, was gone, leaving her lashed to the pillory in a state of extreme arousal. 

She moaned in frustration as the door closed, leaving her alone in the room.

Sarah was naked, lying on the sandy bank of the spring-fed creek that had comprised the original boundary of the Leighton farm, her legs resting comfortably in the cool water, soothing her sore muscles from her jog across the open country.  A bra and a simple loincloth with the farm’s crest embroidered on the hem were draped across an old log nearby, drying in the sun. Her shoes were set neatly on the sand next to her clothes. Her sleeveless orange tunic was under her head serving as a make-shift pillow for her sun-kissed brown hair.  She appeared to be asleep.

To Thomas she was the perfect image of Eve in the Garden of Eden; so tranquil; so at peace with everything around her.

“What’s so important that you had to drag me all the way out here?” Thomas called out to her, the hooves of his black horse plodding slowly through the high grass as he descended into their little valley.

“It took you long enough,” she replied, not bothering to open her eyes, “I’ve already had a swim and a nap.”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve chased you on a cross country run.  It’s not easy without Screamer to help.”

Sarah laughed. She remembered the time she had challenged him to hunt her instead of rabbits.  She’d had a good start, but eventually she had grown tired and worn down by the underbrush.  Screamer, his favorite hunting dog, had managed to find her - her flimsy jogging outfit ripped to shreds, scratches on her arms and legs, bits of leaves and twigs in her hair - and when the happy beagle found her she gave him a good head-scratching and his favorite treat as his reward.  In return, she got a good training session from her run, along with a good flogging and fantastic sex from Thomas.

She opened one eye and peered at him. “Well, then I’m glad I kept it simple for you.  You always were a bit of a simpleton.”  She smiled at him as her feet languidly kicked at the water. “Now that you’ve found me, Mister Leighton, you’ll have to interrogate me to learn my secret.”

“Sarah…” he started, the tone of his voice indicating his annoyance.

“Don’t ‘Sarah’ me, Mister Thomas Leighton.” She pulled herself up to lean on her elbows, her breasts shifting as her legs twisted in the cool, clear water of the creek, “this whole thing was your idea.”

He thought for a moment. He didn’t have time for her shenanigans, but if he pressed too hard she’d clam up and pout. And then they’d both be miserable.

“How about if you give me the information first, and then I decide if it’s worth beating it out of you?”

She smiled. He was trying to be funny. “You really are a simpleton,” she said wryly, “but at least you’re my simpleton.”

She leaned back and growled as she stretched the sleep from her body, her muscles quivering as she pointed her toes and made fists with her hands, her tummy rippling with exertion.  She pulled her elbows back to stretch her shoulders and growled again, then sat up and washed the sand off her arms and hips, the granules swirling around her bare pubis as she splashed the cool water against her sun-warmed skin. 

She then stood up and faced him, the crystal-clear drops trickling down the curves of her body, racing between the furrow of her bare breasts and collecting in the smooth cleft dividing her mound of Venus, dripping from her bare ass as she shifted her body to face the man on horseback. “One of your assignees is pregnant,” she said.

“Angelica? I know. It was in her report from the Department of Corrections.  I approved her for transport and inspected her myself.  She has good hips and everything looks perfect inside. The body doesn’t lie.”

“So you’re a gynecologist now?”

“Sows, cows, mares, women… they’re all about the same.  The only difference is how much trouble they make for their mates.”

She laughed. “Thomas, if you knew she was pregnant, why did you accept her for this?”

“Because I think this is the best thing for her. She can get out well before she gets to mid-term, with plenty of time to get on her feet and get something started. This isn’t a prison, Sarah.  This is a second chance.”

Sarah looked down at the water as her toes became buried in the sand, the tiny waves lapping at her ankles. His system was a far cry from the brutality her father did to his charges.  “Do you think she can make it? Do you believe she handle the workload? And be honest, Thomas. I’ve seen what the prisoners go through at my father’s ranch,” she said.

Thomas looked at the slender naked beauty standing in the sparkling waters of the creek, her young body toned and vibrant, her damp hair slung behind her and clinging to her neck. His scrotum tightened with arousal. 

“If I didn’t believe she could do it, I wouldn’t have accepted her,” he replied, “The work won’t affect her pregnancy.  She’s already gotten through the first two days of the worst part without any problems.”

Sarah knew the first two days of the program very well. She’d been forced to live them.  He’d warned her that the first week at Leighton Acres was informally known as Hell Week. It was the worst part of the experience for the assignees, intended to see if they could handle the program before they got too far along.

After each one of them had been stripped naked, they were bolted to an inspection stand, given involuntary anal and vaginal exams, and forced to vomit to clear their upper digestive tracks of any contraband. That was just the beginning of the fun. 

Everyone in the group had been de-loused and marched to the fields, still wet and naked, to roll bales of hay as the midday sun glistened off their moisture-slicked bodies.  The stalks of raw grass cut their feet and itched their bare skin terribly, but they had worked until the job was complete. Sarah had been the first one to finish, wanting to show Thomas that she could handle the work asked of her. Afterwards, most of them had earned the right to shower and be issued clothing. The only one not issued clothing was the last one to finish rolling the hay. She was sent back to the discipline stall, to be given a reminder that work will be done diligently on Leighton Acres.

Sarah had only one cellmate, Angelica, a former social worker who had lied on a progress report in order to make quota.  The children she was supervising were later found dead by the hand of their father, who died in a dramatic battle with police, and the news had shocked the community.   The district attorney had political ambitions and saw an opportunity to advance his career by prosecuting someone he could blame for the tragedy.  That person now occupied the lower bunk of Sarah’s cell.

Thomas noticed her silence. “Is there something else I should know?”

Sarah nodded. “Thomas, she’s afraid. Last night she was crying at bed-check, so I asked her what was wrong.  She’s afraid she’ll get sent back to prison on a medical transfer and she doesn’t want her baby to be born that way. She knows that the State will take her child away and give it to someone else to raise.  She did it plenty of times herself when she worked for them.  And Thomas, I don’t think she deserves to be in any of this.  She didn’t know that what she did would result in the deaths of those children.  She’s really troubled by it all.  She’s a good person and the guilt is punishing her more than you can ever imagine.  She’s just… just … be gentle with her, Ok?  She’s a bit fragile.  And please don’t say or do anything odd. It’s supposed to be a secret between her and me. I don’t want her to think I told you.”

Thomas looked at her. She was the Sarah he loved; compassionate, caring. Not bloodthirsty like her father. “You’re not telling me a secret if I already know it.  But, I’ll be easy on her, as much as I can, just for you.”

Sarah smiled. “Thank you.”  She then tilted her head, a playful look on her face. “I have another secret,” she said.

“Now what? The last secret you told me wasn’t worth the effort to drag it out of you.”

“One of your assignees is in love with you.”

“She is? Where?” he said, looking quickly to his left and right.

Sarah trudged daintily up the bank towards the man, placed her left hand on his saddle, stood on her tiptoes and craned her head up towards him, closing her eyes and humming a pleasured moan. “C’mere, Mister Leighton.”

Thomas swung his leg over the saddle and dismounted, wrapped his left arm around her, and kissed her.  He could taste the balm on her lips. She smelled of fresh water and grapes.  He wanted to stay there and kiss her all day, but he had responsibilities to address. Their lips parted with a loud smack.

“I always was fond of a naked woman,” he said, leaning in and giving her another healthy smooch.

She moaned playfully, then said, “Now how about that beating I so richly deserve?”

The man looked at the damp, young lady he held in his arms.  “Sarah…” he started.

“Yes?”

“You took a big risk running away.  If one of the guards had gotten to you first, we would not be having this conversation. You would probably be dead.”

“I know. But they couldn’t catch me any more than you could; not without Screamer.  And, it was the only way I could talk to you without blowing my cover. I hope I didn’t cause too much trouble for you.”

“Not as much as you did for yourself. I’ll have to punish you officially and it won’t be pleasant. I’ll have to leave marks so the guards can see.” He quickly added “Unless you want to end your charade right now.”

“No!” she exclaimed, her facing growing dark and angry. “We had a deal, Mister Thomas Chaser Leighton. Don’t try to weasel out of it now by trying to get me to quit!”

He grinned. He must’ve struck a chord if she was angry enough to use his full name. “Then I suppose I’ll have to whip you for attempting to escape.”

Sarah smiled. “Our tree is right over there,” she said, nodding towards a heavy oak as she held her arms straight out in front of her, wrists bent to accept imaginary shackles.

“No cuffs this time,” he said.

The man lifted her loincloth from the old log and wrapped it around her wrists. “If I’d brought shackles, the stable hands would’ve known something was wrong. I didn’t want the stable assignees to be suspicious or they might get some ideas of their own.  I’ll have to use cattle rope. Your uniform material will protect your wrists from the chafing,” he said, tying the hem off between her hands.  He then reached for a length of rope hanging from the saddle’s horn and began to wrap it several times around her arms, keeping each coil on top of the protective cloth.  After making several revolutions, he tied it off with a hearty jerk so that she couldn’t wiggle free.

Tugging on the rope, he pulled her over towards the stout tree and tossed the end over a strong limb which still bore marks where the bark had been worn away by their previous exercises four years ago.  He then took in the slack, lifting her up, stretching her out until her toes just barely made contact with the ground, her lean tummy drawn tight across the latticework of her ribs as her breasts were pulled up into two perfect teardrops against her chest, the mounds capped by dark brown ovals, the sensitive dots beginning to harden and contract. Her toes, pointed towards the ground, brushed softly against the grassy bank as she swung gently in the air.

The man walked over to a stand of small saplings growing near the creek’s bank as the woman hung helplessly from the tree. Stopping in front of a promising growth, he reached into his boot and pulled out a large knife.  Using the serrated edge of the knife, he cut a small rod from the growth, stripped off the smaller branches and leaves, and then slipped the knife back in his boot as he held the makeshift whip in his hand. 

The green switch made an evil hiss as he swung it menacingly in the air, testing the amount of flex in the bow.  The woman flinched each time he swung it, remembering what it could do to her skin, and the amount of pain it would inflict on her body.

He had used a switch on her before, twice, and they had decided to try something different after they saw the effects.  The first time had been cautious as they both explored the simple instrument, amazed by the viciousness of the results.  The second time had been brutal as she tested her limits. 

When the switch had fist sung its grisly warning to her, he had limited himself to just her ass, gently tapping her pale skin, tentatively judging her reaction.  Then he had swung harder, the small reed leaving a very noticeable crisscross of red welts across her quivering globes of muscle.  She had jumped each time the whip had contacted her, and the welts had come quickly. The marks had frightened him and he had stopped, choosing instead to slap and spank her soft, wet skin with his palms, letting the impact of his hand drive the pain deeper into the angry welts that had formed on the surface of her sensitive tissue.  At dinner she had told her father she was just saddle-sore to explain how tenderly she sat at the table.

The second time, she had to goad him to use the switch on her, convincing him to push her hard until she couldn’t take it anymore, hoping to lengthen the duration of their game. He started the same as before, a few soft taps as a warning, giving her a chance to build up some resistance, and then gradually increased the force of his blows.

As the welts began to form a vibrant, angry red, he had become concerned that the damage might leave scars, and so he re-focused on her breasts just to keep the session going, giving a few cautious taps to see how she would respond, and then striking her across her nipples with less force than he had on her ass, the impact still leaving long, fierce stripes across her skin as evidence of her beating.  After just ten minutes, she had been reduced to tears, begging him to stop as she dangled from the tree limb, her naked body marked front and back by the narrow rod.

Now she was about to face the switch again, and this time there would be no hiding its effects from the curiosity of others.

She braced herself as he approached her, watching him gauge the weight of the stick in his hands, finding the optimum spot to hold the evil reed between his fingers as he prepared to use it against her soft, naked body.  She closed her eyes.  She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears; she could feel the throbbing in her wrists as her heart fought to push her blood past the bonds around her wrists.  She could feel the soft breeze blowing gently against her skin. She could feel the familiar tingling in her pussy.

Then she felt the gentle tapping of the reed against the soft skin of her ass, like a maestro summoning his orchestra, the twin globes prominently displayed to the man who was going to whip her.  She inhaled deeply and waited.

She heard the whoosh and felt the impact, followed a split second later by white-hot shock against her ass. She gasped and jumped with surprise, a small shriek escaping from her open mouth.

Another whoosh; another strike across her ass.  She jumped. An intense, angry, burning sensation arced across her nerves and into her brain. This time she managed to muffle her shriek, burying it deep in her throat before it could travel out of her mouth.

Another whoosh; another strike; another muffled shriek as she jumped to the sting of the whip. She wondered if the first impact had started to show its path across her sensitive skin. Her heart beat strong between her trembling breasts. Her toes danced across the damp grass. The cool breeze brushed against her body as she hung from the tree. 

Three quick strikes.  She jumped at each one.  She hadn’t heard the whip’s howl over the pulsing in her ears and the impact had taken her by surprise. She could feel the perspiration beginning to form in the hollows of her arms and under her breasts. Her skin felt hot, warmed by the stinging bites where the reed had struck her body. She threw her head back and inhaled deeply from the pain, trying to absorb it, trying to keep herself under control. The tingling in her pussy demanded attention.

More howls from the reed. Four strikes in a row, climbing up her back, each one screaming its warning as it neared the sound barrier before colliding with her bare skin.  She tensed, jumped, and pulled at the bonds around her hands, her arms tugged up high above her head, stretching out the skin of her back as the green switch attacked her helpless body.  She kicked at the ground, her toes carving little valleys in the dirt, her body beginning to sway from the blows as she struggled to keep her composure.

Three more strikes across her shoulders, each one stronger than the last. The whip’s bite against her flesh was harsh and strong and felt like it had kissed blood.  She could feel the tears in her eyes as the salty moisture pooled and trickled down her face, landing on her breasts, the pale skin drawn tightly against her chest by the strain on her arms.  She wondered if her hands had begun to turn purple.  She wondered if the stripes on her ass were deep enough to satisfy him.

Two more across her back, dividing the welts that glowed red against her skin. She fought to control the urge to cry out, to beg for him to stop. She was in pain, more, it seemed, than the last time he had used the switch on her.  As bad as it was, she knew the damage to her body was worse; the endorphins had begun to mask her nerve endings to keep her brain functioning , keeping her aware of what was being done to her.  She hoped that the natural pain-killer was enough to sustain her during her punishment.

Another whoosh. Another strike. Again she jumped. More pain across her back, a fierce burning pain.  A shriek tore from her throat. She was reaching her limit. 

She hung, choking and crying, from the tree limb. Her arms ached from the strain on her muscles. Sweat matted her hair and trickled down her body in tiny rivers, the drops mixing with the juices between her legs. Her back screamed in pain. Her ribs felt like they were going to explode through her skin.

Whoosh. Smack. She jumped again.  Pain. Intense, angry, violent pain. She jumped and tugged and wailed and cried.  Her heart was pounding in her chest.  Her wrists were throbbing. Her toes were black and dirty from being dragged across the ground by her swaying body, the filth hiding the well-manicured nails as her body swung in the air.

She imagined what she must look like, strung up from a sturdy tree, arms high overhead, her body glistening as angry red welts burned against her body.  She felt the familiar warmth deep in her belly; the demands of arousal in her pussy as she hung, helpless.

Then she felt him against her, something firm pressing against her mound.  Something rubbing against her clit. He wanted in.

She shook her head. Not yet.

Another whoosh; another smack against her outstretched back.  She jumped, her arms absorbing the full weight of her body, the muscles aching from the strain. Sweat poured from her now, dripping from the brown nubs of her tits, running freely across her taut tummy and collecting in the folds of her pussy. 

Another whoosh; another smack.  She jumped again. She coughed and choked and gasped as she hung, panting, from her wrists, her body streaked with sweat. 

Whoosh. Smack. She was crying now, begging him to stop. Her arms, tugged up high above her head, were tingling with numbness and she knew her hands were discolored from the lack of circulation. She no longer controlled her body. The pain across her back controlled her now. She knew he would keep whipping her until she surrendered; until she broke and gave her body to him. She had reached her limit. Tears fell against her breasts as she lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, straddling him as he prepared to enter her.

She felt him pressing against her entrance, then he was in, the purple head of his cock sliding silently into her as she relaxed and took his girth.  She choked and swallowed and gasped as she squeezed against him, her hips grinding as she stroked the blood-infused shaft, drawing him deeper and bringing him closer to her. 

She moaned a song of pain and pleasure as sweat trickled down her chest, her nipples hard and proud as they rubbed against the rough material of his shirt.  She could smell his scent; a mix of sweat, dirt, and leather as he hugged her captive body, his arms around the small of her back to hold her as he thrust against her sex.

Then his hands slipped lower on her body, grabbing each soft cheek of her ass, holding her in position as she rode him, her muscles clenching against his organ as she hung from the rope.  She moaned and growled and smiled and squealed as the tempest built within her, each thrust of his hips bringing her closer to her own personal supernova.  He lifted her up, bracing her on top of him, the rope around her wrists going slack, her full weight now resting on him as he pushed himself deeper into her. 

The muscles of her tummy flexed and quivered as they tightened with each curl of her hips, her breasts swaying softly against him as she struggled upwards towards her zenith.  Her damp legs locked themselves tighter around his waist, threatening to squeeze the wind out of him as she bore down on his cock.

She thrust her hips against his legs, squealing and growling as she tugged at the rope around her hands, lifting herself up as the storm within her body increased its intensity, a hurricane of raw emotion, waves of desire crashing within her trembling body. Her breath against his face came in wet, ragged gasps as she shook with pain and pleasure.  He thrust his cock upwards, pushing it higher and deeper into her as sweat streamed from her body.

Then, a long shriek of sexual release.  She shuddered as her orgasm exploded intensely, the concussion rippling across her glistening skin, every muscle tight as she clenched herself around him.

Soon the waves began to come slower, her breathing becoming deeper as a sigh flowed from her throat.  She smiled and whispered to him, her words of love barely audible over her breathless gasps.

Slowly he withdrew, unwinding her legs from his body, her feet once again tiptoeing on the ground.  He tucked his softening cock back in his clothing, her aroma mixing with the smell of his sweat as he pulled away from her.

She felt her body settle gently as he untied the rope and let it slide over the tree branch, her knees buckling as he held the rope in his hands.  Then he was with her, holding her as he let the rest of the rope slip from his grasp.  Her arms fell down around him, encircling his neck, her wrists still bound by the thick rope that now snaked across his shoulders.

He picked her up and carried her down the bank towards the small creek, her arms around his neck as he cradled her body. Her eyes had a dreamy far-off look and she was smiling. He kissed her cheek and nuzzled against her face, bowing his head as she brought her arms over him to cover her breasts.

Gently, he set her on the sandy shore and scooped some water from the creek with his hand as her breath came in deep, choking sobs. She gasped and shivered as the clear drops fell across her back.  This close to shore the soothing liquid wasn’t as cold as farther out, but it would still be cold enough to provide some relief to the burning welts across her skin.  He cupped some more water and splashed it on her, causing her to moan as it soothed her injuries, the chill of the water reacting with the burning wounds of her body as her tears fell into the creek.

He cupped some more water in his hands and gently wiped it across her forehead, bathing her face like a child as she settled in his arms.  She leaned against his chest, her legs folded in front of her as the water fell against her soft skin, the sunlight sparkling in the drops of water and sweat that coated her body.

She curled and rolled deeper into his chest as he gently dripped more water across her back, the curves of her ribs crossed by angry red welts that darkened as the crystalline drops cascaded across her skin.  She moaned and relaxed as she began to adjust to the chill of the creek’s soothing gift.

She could feel the sun warming her shoulders as she sat on the shore, her face buried in the curl of the man’s arms, smelling the sweat and dust that coated his shirt.  She shuddered and sniffled, her tears beginning to subside as he held her, comforting her, in their little slice of Eden.

He was whispering to her now, telling her how strong she was to take such a beating, telling her how proud he was of her for sacrificing herself for the sake of someone she knew so little about.  She smiled.  He began to loosen the knot around her wrists. He asked her if she was strong enough to stand up. She nodded and unfolded herself from his embrace.

The rope fell away as he unraveled it from her arms, the coils gathering around him as he worked the knots apart. Next he loosened the material from around her hands, the length of the loincloth unwrapping to reveal the indentations in her skin.  He presented the skimpy piece of uniform to her as she flexed her fingers in exaggerated fists, the discoloration fading as the blood returned to the flesh.  Standing now, she accepted the soft material from him and began to dress it around her hips, keeping it low and tight before tucking the end so that the embroidery dangled across the front of her pubis, the way she had been taught on the first day of her imprisonment.

She winced as she struggled to lift her arms to slip the bra over her head.  He told her that wearing it was optional, that she could press it inside her tunic and the ties would keep it from falling out.  To show her, he draped the orange rectangular top over her gently, then tucked the elastic fabric of her bra inside the front so that it covered her breasts, and tied the string, the fit of the garment holding the small article of underwear securely against her lean body.  She commented on the cleverness of the design as she slipped her damp feet into her shoes, the fronts scuffed and dirty from her run through the fields. 

He told her to mount his horse backwards so that she faced him.  She tucked her foot into the stirrup and swung her other leg over the horse’s neck, settling into the saddle so that her back was to the horn. Sitting this way felt odd to her. 

When she was balanced on the leather seat, he pulled her wrists behind her and re-tied the rope, loosely, around her hands, then tied it to the horn.  From a distance it would look like she was his prisoner being brought back to the farm. He told her she could easily slip the nooses off if she wanted some comfort, and then slip them back on to preserve their charade, so long as they were out of eyesight of the ever-watchful guards. 

Then he mounted the horse, facing her as he tossed the reigns and commanded Shadow back up the ridge of their little valley, his free arm wrapped around her shoulders, cradling her against his chest.  She took comfort in his embrace as her cheek pressed against his shirt. She sighed pleasantly.

Five more days to go.