1. A Day at the Races

By

A. E.  Applebaum

Looking back toward the house and barns from the grassy infield it seemed as though the numbers had been arranged incorrectly.  The numbers ran backward, starting from 1 on the right, to 12 on the far left.  The brown, crudely painted, wooden plaques bearing yellow numerals hung on a curved wooden fence that swept a broad convex line, bowed around a flagstone terrace.  At a glance the arrangement appeared all wrong, jumbled and disconnected.  It was a strange, unsettling sight.

From the other side of the fence, however, the matching set of placards, now facing inward, looked just right, arranged from left to right as they were supposed to be.  For anyone standing within the concave terrace there was an easy view of all the positions.  Even from the raised portion of the terrace, nearer the house, it was all easily accessible to the eye.  And that was also as it was supposed to be, a feast for the eyes.  The spectacle was carefully arranged not only for the enjoyment of the riders, although that was crucial, though equally for the gratification of the spectators.

At this early hour there were neither spectators nor participants at the fence or out on the terrace.  The few onlookers lounged at the side of the house across from the barns, close to the small corrals, awaiting the initial preparations.  Most stood together easy and relaxed, drinking coffee from cardboard cups and eating donuts.  Two riders, awaiting their rented mounts, paced nervously.

***

# 3--Alicia— A high school mathematics teacher --

The door to the barn swung open and the first one was led out, a lovely, tall, long-legged woman in her mid-twenties, her thick reddish blond hair done up in a long ponytail.  She walked, head lowered, several feet behind the scruffy young man holding the lead rope.  Her hands were bound behind her back and, except for a pair of large, dangling, silver earrings she was barefoot and naked, wearing nothing at all.  The handsome woman looked straight ahead, as though she were not there, pretending to be unaware of the dozen or so men scrutinizing her naked body.  Without exception they were fascinated by the woman’s full breasts and by the long, dark brown nipples contrasting sharply against her otherwise pale skin.  “That’s a good start,” one of the men whispered to his friend.  “She’s a real honey,” the friend murmured in reply.

The man leading that honey pulled open the gate to one of the small enclosures.  “This here’s Alicia.  Who gets her?”  A short, balding man with dull reddish hair and a thin mustache stepped toward the open gate.  He ran a hand nervously across his forehead and  in an effort to steady his nerves, stroked his little mustache.  “Here,” he managed.  “Me.”  He combed his mustache several times with the back of his index finger, a long-standing habit he had developed to calm his nerves.

“Name?”  The handler shortened his grip on the woman’s line.  The small man didn’t answer.  “What’s your name?”  The handler said again, this time louder.

“Arthur.”

“Okay, Arthur.  I’ll help you get her rigged out. Alright?”

“Sure,” Arthur answered, a bit uncertainly.

“Close the gate.”  That simple act was more difficult than it should have been because Arthur kept turning his head to keep the naked woman in his sights, as though she would disappear and the whole scene evaporate if he looked away.  When, at last, the gate was closed, the handler told Arthur to retrieve the belt.  “It’s hanging right there, next to the gate.”  Tightening his hold on the rope circling the woman’s long neck, the handler moved close behind her.  The brown leather belt was blotchy and discolored from long use.  The blond woman tried to shy back as Arthur slid the belt around her waist.  The handler, accustomed to such behavior, pushed his knee into the back of her leg, which immediately buckled.  He swung the free end of the rope and it slapped against her soft belly.  “You behave,” he hissed at the woman.  “Just take it easy,” he said in her ear.  “It all goes so much easier if you’re a good girl.”

“Really tight,” the handler said to Arthur.  “Really tight.  Everything else hooks on to that belt, so it’s got to be firmly in place.  Come on.  Pull it.  Don’t be afraid.  She won’t break.”  The belt must have been almost six inches wide and stretched from the top of her hips to just below her ribs.  “Take it in one more notch.”  She exhaled with a grunt when Arthur tugged the belt that little bit further.   Next the handler had Arthur attach the bungee cords that stretched from opposing sides of the corral to rings on her belt, effectively keeping her fixed and still in the center of the small enclosure.  “One more thing before we start.  See the small straps there.  Fasten one to each wrist and as I untie her hands you attach the other end to the lowest ring on the belt.” 

Alicia glanced down at the leather cuffs.  In a moment one of them closed around her right wrist.  A moment later the other was fastened.  Arthur snapped the leads holding the cuffs to the belt.  Then it was done.  Though Alicia’s hands were no longer fastened behind her back, she couldn’t move them more than a few inches back and forth.  “Beside the obvious, they’re for balance, when she’s moving,” the handler explained, slipping the rope from Alicia’s neck.  Relieved, she twisted her neck back and forth.  “That’s better, isn’t it darlin?”  He threw the rope to the ground and patted her rump.

Arthur, mesmerized at what was just in front of him, didn’t hear the man.  “Arthur,” he repeated.  “Take that tube from the box.  Sunscreen,” he said, when Arthur held it up.  “We don’t want her to get sun burnt, do we?”

With exquisite care, Arthur squeezed a small amount of the lotion on his finger.  He began by spreading the thick, silver white gel on one brown nipple.  Moving outward, he worked his fingers slowly around Alicia’s firm breast.  After covering her other breast, Arthur rubbed her neck, her face, her stomach, finally ducking under the cords he started on her back, to spend a long time on her buttocks before leaning down to rub the backs of Alicia’s legs.  At last he was finished and Alicia’s skin glistened under the lotion.

“Put the shoes on.  You can use the stool.”  Arthur preferred to kneel as he strapped up the canvas topped, baby blue canvas sneakers, wedged to raise the heel.  The design made it possible for her to run over the rough ground.  More importantly, like high-heeled shoes, they enhanced the shape of her legs, stretching the calf muscles so they made a more elegant line.  As he wound the straps above her ankle, Arthur pressed his face into her pubic hairs, kissing her pudenda.

“Now, the halter, the thing that looks like suspenders.  That’s right.  Fit those straps through the brass colored rings at the back.  See there, the rings are all either brass or silver.  The brass ones fit other parts of the apparatus.  The silver ones are for reins or traces.  Got it?”

Alicia stood unmoving as he slowly tightened each of the straps at her back.  If she could have, she would have tried at least to make it more difficult for him, only her flashing eyes and wiggling fingers showed her displeasure at what was happening and neither of the men were paying the slightest attention to her eyes or fingers.  “Pull the halter over her shoulders.  Okay.  Come around to the front.  Watch the cord.  Cross the halter between the tits and fasten the front straps just as you did with the ones in the back, making sure of each one.”

“Alicia,” Arthur whispered as he pulled the straps snug and tight.  “Alicia. I like that name.”  He rubbed his mouth against her breast, taking a nipple between his lips.  She tried to back away, but only the minutest movements were possible. 

“This one is the bridle.  Fasten it to the halter on the back, just at her shoulders.  Right,” he encouraged.  “Now pull it over her head.”  The metal pieces clanked at the sides of her face as Arthur pulled the strap across her forehead.  Like two fighters at the start of a heavyweight bout, they stared into each other’s eyes.  “Put the bit into her mouth.”

At that Alicia decided that she’d had enough.  They might have gone this far with her, she told herself, this was the end, no further.  They had reached the end of the line.  He swiveled the round chrome bar until it pushed up against her lips.  Alicia kept her mouth resolutely shut.  She let them harness her and she would even pull a cart if she was forced to, but she wasn’t having that metal thing shoved inside her mouth.  She was determined.  Frightened yet adamant, she waited for the blows.  Nothing happened.  She looked at the men who seemed neither surprised nor concerned.

“Alright.  Go ahead.  Do what I told you.”  Alicia braced for the blow but none came.

Arthur stroked his mustache and with his thumb and forefinger, clamped on to her nostrils just below the bridge of her nose.  For the first minute or so nothing happened.  At last the burning in her lungs was overwhelming and she could hold out no longer.  Alicia gasped for a breath.  The air tasted sweet and good as she gasped to fill her screaming lungs.  But immediately as she took the saving breath he shoved the silver bar into her open mouth until it rested on top of her teeth.  He jerked it backward so it pulled against her cheeks.  There was a snap and a click and the bit was firmly in place.

She tried to curse, either the men or the gods.  But all she managed were some inarticulate, animal-like sounds.  Frustrated at her inability to speak, she tried even harder, making louder though less coherent noises.  The men watched her without comment.  At last she was silent.  The handler checked the apparatus, made one or two small adjustments, and pronounced himself satisfied.  “Good job.”  Arthur was greatly relieved to have the man’s approval.

Only now, immobile, unable to speak, did she notice Jonathan, the college boy who controlled so much of her life, standing quietly at the side of the barn, scrutinizing her with a fierce intensity.  Alicia Brix was a high school mathematics teacher.  Several years ago, Jonathan had been her student.  It was her first year as a full time teacher.  She found a darling little house, just across from a park, not far from school, on a quiet street, a cul de sac, without close neighbors.  The large bay windows looked out on trees and trails.  Alicia couldn’t have been happier.  It had been a lucky find.  Driving around in search of the school, she had taken a wrong turn and ended up in front of a house with its small For Rent sign.

Alicia was pleased with her new teaching job.  The students, sons and daughters of professors and doctors and engineers, were smart and attentive.  Her colleagues seemed pleasant and helpful. Alicia thought, for the thousandth time, that she should never have been in this situation.   What had she been thinking?  How did they get her to go along?  Was she drunk?  She didn’t think so.  How had they drugged her?  It had to be something like that or else none of it would have happened.  It was several years ago, during that first year of teaching at the high school.  She hadn’t planned on being a high-school mathematics teacher.  She only took the credential to have something to fall back on while she was deciding what she did want to do.  After four years away at college, a year traveling, some time near home seeing her father, helping him around the house and assisting with his church work, seemed like a nice idea.  She had the credential.

Things were going well and smoothly, though she was learning how to teach mathematics and working quite hard.  On a weekend morning in late winter, Alicia was distressed to find that her car had a flat tire.  It was a cold, gray day with a bitter wind and some snowflakes in the air.  She wished that she had one of those services that came out to wherever you were and changed the tire or started up a dead battery.   A young couple passing by stopped and greeted her by name.  The girl, who Alicia recognized from school, was small and thin with long, straight, red hair.  She immediately offered her boyfriend’s services.  Alicia, whose hands were already cold, accepted.  The two females, teacher and student, retreated inside the little house Alicia rented, while the boy set about changing the tire.  After that, things were a bit of a blur in Alicia’s memory.  There was coffee.  She offered the girl, whose name was Lucille, a cup of coffee.  Alicia brought out cream and sugar.  They sat in Alicia’s living room, drank their coffee, and made halting conversation.  Everything seemed to go pink and relaxed.  Lucille asked if there were some liquor in the house, to help against the cold, she said.  Amazingly, Alicia poured the girl a drink and, more amazingly, took one herself. 

The next thing Alicia hazily recalled was Lucille telling her, or maybe just asking her, to stand in the middle of the room.  Lucille nodded her approval and told Miss Brix to put her hands on her hips.  When Alicia complied she was rewarded by a big smile, which, Alicia remembered, she found quite reassuring.  “Very good, Miss Brix,” Lucille said encouragingly.  It seemed so important to have the girl’s approval.  “That’s a good girl,” Lucille said softly.  The girl sat in one of the ladder back chairs regarding the blond schoolteacher, a satisfied smile in the girl’s eyes as they darted up and down.

“What shall I do now?” Alicia asked hesitantly, completely unsure of herself.

“You must speak only when spoken to, Miss Brix.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lucille.”

“If you don’t do everything I tell you, we will have to punish you.  We don’t want that.  Do we, Miss Brix?”  Alicia shook her head.  For what seemed a very long time, Alicia Brix stood almost motionless, her hands on her hips, the subject of Lucille’s intense consideration.  Even when the door opened, and the cold made her shiver, she didn’t move.  At last Lucille said, “turn around, Miss Brix, all the way around.” 

What was the red-haired girl saying?  Why did she want her to turn around?  Alicia squinted at the girl, trying to understand the order, trying to fix on what she was supposed to do.

Lucille jumped from the chair.  Grabbing the teacher’s earlobe, Lucille pulled her around in a full circle.  “Do you understand now?”  The girl’s voice was harsh and grating.  Alicia Brix trembled.  The girl raised her hand and there was a loud, flat sound as her open palm crashed against the teacher’s cheek.  Alicia’s first reaction was to lift up her own hand, to ward off another blow, to rub the painful spot.  “Hands at your sides, Miss Brix,” Lucille hissed.  Alicia obeyed.

“Let us try again.”  Lucille moved back.  “Turn in place, Miss Brix.”  Alicia began a slow, flat-footed pirouette.  “That’s a good girl,” Lucille cooed.  “Very good.”

Puzzled by a sudden burst of activity, Alicia squinted at the two young people in confusion.  “These are the cameras, Miss Brix.  We want to photograph you.  Won’t that be nice?”  When the tripods and cameras were in place, Lucille told Miss Brix to start undressing.  There was something wrong about taking off her clothing in front of two students but Alicia couldn’t figure out what it was.  She hesitated.

“Miss Brix.”  The girl’s voice remained sweet and cajoling.

“What?” she asked.

“You have to do as you are told.”  Lucille rose from her chair and raised her hand as though to strike the teacher.  Alicia cringed.  The lesson had been learned.  Lucille regained her seat.  “Now, please take off your sweater.”

Alicia Brix was rewarded with a bright smile as she pulled the blue, woolen sweater up over her head.

“Now the bra.”

Jonathan looked up from what he was doing, amazed and fascinated by the mathematics teacher’s breasts.  Barbara Larimer, the other teacher he was involved with, had puffy ones, like balloons or melons.  Lucille’s little ones were like a pair of fried eggs, with wide bright yolks in the center.  He glanced over at Lucille but her attention was focused on the teacher.  Miss Brix’s breasts were shaped like torpedoes, not round but elongated, jutting aggressively from high on her chest.   Her nipples were long, thin pipes extending from surrounding aureoles darker than her breasts themselves.  Her nipples were brown.  An odd, interesting contrast, he thought, as pleasurable as it was wholly unexpected. 

“That’s very good.  Very good indeed, Miss Brix.  Isn’t she being good, Jonathan?”

Without waiting for an answer Lucille turned back to the school teacher.   “Remove your shoes.  That’s right,” Lucille said when Alicia Brix obeyed.   “And the slacks.   Okay.  Now the panty hose and the panties.”

Alicia Brix frowned.  Something wasn’t right.  She shouldn’t be doing this.  Alicia shook her head.  “Miss Brix, you have to do what you’re told.  You don’t want me to have to punish you again, do you?”  Lucille moved next to the teacher.  “Miss Brix,” she said sharply, “do as you are told.”  Clamping her thumb and forefinger on to Alicia’s long nipple, Lucille squeezed until the teacher cried out.  Obviously frightened and in pain, Alicia hastily removed her panty hose and her panties.

She stood in the middle of her living room, silently scrutinized by two youngsters who seemed to be lost in contemplation of her naked body.  The girl gently rubbed her bare shoulder.  “That’s good.  You’re doing just fine.”  Lucille stepped back.

“Hands on hips.  That’s right.  Now push those hips forward.   Now round and round.  Slower, Miss Brix.  Slower.  I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of girls performing.  You need to do it like that.”

Alicia Brix frowned, feeling a terrible sense of unease.  She looked to the young man fitting a camera on top of a tripod.  No, she couldn’t let them do this.  It was imperative that she tell them to stop.  “Bump and grind, Miss Brix.  Bump and grind.  You can do it.  That’s right,” the girl said sweetly as Alicia Brix pressed herself back and forth.

Lucille turned to Jonathan, “almost ready?” she asked.

“Those two are recording.  I’ll have this other one up in a minute or two.  You can keep going just with those.”

“Keep those hips moving, Miss Brix.  Round and round.  That’s right.  Just like that.  Round and round.  Now lean forward.  Shake those boobs for us.  Good, Miss Brix.  Very good.  Isn’t she good, Jonathan?  Hold your boobs up for us to see them.  That’s right.  Now altogether.  Hips moving, boobs shaking and a nice pouty mouth.”  When Alicia Brix managed the performance, Lucille clapped her hands in appreciation. 

Alicia Brix glanced about, trying to make sense of her surroundings, to understand what these young people were saying, and why she was naked and acting this way.  “Alright,” the young man announced, “all three cameras up and going.”

Alicia Brix froze, dreadfully aware of her peril.  She felt herself right at the edge of a precipice, dangerously close to something horrible.  Once, in high school, she had been in an accident.  She was in the passenger seat when the car she was riding in skidded out of control, careened across the grass and slammed into a tree.  She was bruised but not seriously hurt.  But that feeling had been indelibly etched in her mind.  Here was something terrible and she was clear headed enough to see it coming but unable to change the course of events.  Alicia Brix stood absolutely still.  She had to retrieve her clothing and dispatch these two youngsters. 

‘Miss Brix!” the voice was sharp and angry.  Alicia felt her heart race, her scalp tingled.  There was the recollection of fear and pain.  “Miss Brix,” Lucille repeated, “look over here.”  Alicia’s eyes found the girl with the long red hair and bright green eyes whose approval seemed so important.  Alicia felt much calmer, reassured.  There came the moment when the car stopped moving.  She looked over at the boy who was driving.  “Are you okay?”  He shook his head.  Alicia felt a great relief.   “Put your hands back on your hips.”  Alicia did as she was told.  “Open your mouth just a little and lick your lips.  That’s perfect, Miss Brix.  Just right.”  Alicia received the praise gratefully.  “Thrust your pelvis forward.  Shove it out there.  Splendid.  Splendid.”

“That’s fine, you can stop now.  Lean forward a little.  Just like that.  Stroke your nipples.”  Alicia looked down at her bare breasts and began caressing them gently with the tips of her fingernails.  “Take one hand and stimulate yourself.  Like you meant it, Miss Brix.  Smile.  Look pleased.  You are enjoying this, aren’t you?  Yes.  It feels good.”  Alicia Brix had not masturbated often and when she did it was always with a feeling more of dread than guilt, dread that she would be punished for such behavior.  And yet here she was, her left hand stimulating her nipple, her right stroking between her legs.  She slowed her activity and looked around, feeling uncertain but slightly less lost.  It was impossible.  She couldn’t be doing this.

Concerned that the drug was wearing off, Lucille gave Alicia Brix another drink.  When the teacher became woozy again, they took pictures.  The session lasted for more than two hours, posing her first with one while the other moved the cameras, later they alternated roles.  There were pictures and videotapes of simulated sex and actual sex with Lucille, with Jonathan and sometimes both together; pictures of Alicia on her knees, tongue extended, her face pressed between Lucille’s legs, or taking Jonathan in her mouth.  They attached manacles to her wrists, chained her ankles and made her crawl across the floor.  Stimulated, Lucille played horse and rider, straddling the teacher’s back, using her blond hair for reins with one hand and slapping the woman’s rump with the other.  “Yahoo!” Lucille shouted as she rode Miss Brix from living room to dining room and back again “Ride ‘em cowboy,” she shouted urging Miss Brix to try to buck her off.

“I’m sure,” Jonathan said the next day as he walked unannounced and uninvited into her small office at school, “that those pictures would prove to be an embarrassment at school and, even worse, at your father’s church.  The police, too, would be interested to see how you instruct your students.”   He sat on the edge of the desk in her small office.  “Oh, here.  I made you some copies.”  He handed her two videotapes.  “You might want to watch these at home some time, since you probably don’t remember too much of what went on.”  He glanced around.  “Don’t you think you should close the door?” 

When she turned back from the door, Jonathan was sitting at her desk, leaning well back in her chair, his hands linked behind his head.  “Roofies,” he announced.  She looked at him uncertainly.  “That’s what they’re called, the drugs we gave you.  They’re called roofies.  Real name, Rohypnol.  Causes loss of inhibition, relaxation and amnesia.  Y’know the kid they call `Farmer Ed’?  Always wears a bright plaid shirt.  Got nothing to do with farms or farming.  He’s a walking pharmacy.  So, Farmer Ed.  Get it.”  He leaned toward her to pat her stomach.   “Stand still,” he snapped when Alicia started to back away. 

In college, Alicia heard about date-rape drugs and the warnings to avoid situations in which something might happen to her.  At the time, the possibility seemed so strange and distant that she never thought about it again.

The demands, he made clear, would not be too awful.   After all, it was in their interest to be sure that going along would always be preferable to the alternative.  Discrete visits to her house.  Yes, of course, Lucille would sometimes visit.  They shared the conquest and were going to share the rewards.  Sure, they would sometime be there at the same time.  Alicia would learn to please them both at once.  Not knowing how to refuse, worried about what the publicity would do to her father, Alicia agreed.  The job, even the police, she could deal with but not the pain it would cause her father, the Reverend, to see those pictures and videotapes.

Jonathan looked her up and down, pleased with his new acquisition.  It was still too soon, he decided, but before long he’d take Miss Brix right here in her little office.  Let her get accustomed to her new role and more habituated to submission.  “I’ll be over tonight and we can watch the tapes together.”  She would be amazed, he thought, if she knew half the things that Jonathan had in mind for her. 

For almost three years, they had used her.  Alicia really believed that once Jonathan and Lucille graduated it would be the end of her servitude.  But they had no desire to end the relationship and it continued though Jonathan was now in college.  This morning Jonathan bundled her into the car and they had driven out here, far away from the city.  Brought back to reality with a violent jerk, Alicia watched helplessly as Arthur attached the double sets of reins, on opposite sides of the bit in her mouth and one each at the shoulder blades.  “Walk her out,” the handler said, opening the gate to the corral.  “Walk her out.”  When she didn’t move, Arthur, now standing behind her, flapped the reins.  She still didn’t move, that is, until the whip cracked across her back.  Alicia started forward.  “Trot her over there,” the handler pointed to a spot at the other side of the house.  He slapped a large, round sticker on her hip.  “You’re number 3, okay?”

***

# 11--Ruth – A young married woman --        

They walked along slowly, Arthur trailing several feet behind Alicia, guiding her.  Off to Alicia’s right, a tall, stunning woman with long legs and tight mass of curly, black hair was just emerging from one of the corrals.  The young man walking behind her was stiff with fierce concentration, grasping the reins so tightly that his knuckles showed white.  Alicia didn’t know whether she was comforted or appalled by seeing someone else in the same situation as she was, a naked woman, fitted out with bridle and bit, hands tethered, fully harnessed and controlled by the man just behind her. 

For her part, the other woman looked astonished.  On her face there was only amazement, her round, dark eyes wide with fear and confusion.  The incredible journey that brought her here began only a few days ago as compared to Alicia who by now had more than three years to become accustomed to submission. 

Up to the last moment there had been nothing to indicate the momentousness of what was about to happen.  The woman’s husband, Louis, often went on business trips and she was used to being left alone for a day or two.  Ruth Waterman was sitting quietly at home, watching television, waiting for her husband’s phone call, so they could say “goodnight” to one another and she could go to sleep.  Except for taking off her shoes, she hadn’t bothered to change clothes after work.  When the phone rang, she turned off the TV.  But it wasn’t her husband.  It was the boy next door, a strange young man, seemingly brilliant, but withdrawn and often silent.  From what everyone said, he was great with electronics and computers.  Nevertheless she often felt uncomfortable in his presence.

“Mrs. Waterman,” he began uncertainly.  “Mrs. Waterman.  I think I need your help.”

“What is it Kenneth?”  She was genuinely concerned.

“Please come over right away.”

She found her shoes and, a few moments later, rang the bell to his house.  When no one answered, she pushed through the already half open door.  The netting fell over her with a series of resounding thumps as the weights slammed to the floor.  She spun around in a panic, looking for a way out.  The heavy mesh was closing around her, hindering her movements, weighing her down.  Ruth grabbed at the web, trying to pull it open.  When that failed she reached out to push it from her.  Nothing succeeded.  She felt as though she was drowning, struggling against a powerful wave, a tidal force that was pulling her further and further down into deep water. 

She saw Kenneth standing in the archway between the living room and the dining room.  “Kenneth,” she shouted, “please help me.”  But he rushed past her to shut the front door to the house.  There was a buzzing sound that she couldn’t understand.  It seemed to be connected to the webbing that was pulling her down.  The motor that Kenneth had rigged to the drawstring at the bottom of the net and it was steadily closing the web tighter and tighter.  Her hands were already tight against her side; her legs were being folded back tighter and tighter against her body.  Still the motor whirred on, enclosing her more and more tightly.  When she started to scream, Kenneth stretched a piece of tape over her mouth and Ruth Waterman was immediately silenced.  The netting continued to tighten about her immobilized body until finally she heard the motor grind to a stop.

He bustled around, dismantling the machinery, unhooking the motor, erasing the traces of his evening’s activity.  When everything else was packed into the car, he tipped her up on to the wheeled garden cart.  It was easier than he expected.  It was all easier than he expected. Everything had gone so well.  It was a bit of a struggle to lift her up and into the trunk of the car.  He was not, after all, a very strong boy.  But he managed it and, when he was finished, sat down exhausted.  He was pleased that there hadn’t been time to think, not a moment to reconsider.  Now he was fully committed.  There was no turning back.  With Mrs. Waterman tucked safely into the trunk of his mother’s car, he returned to the house to be sure that there was nothing to show what he had done with her or even that she had been there.  As far as his parents were concerned, Kenneth spent the evening at the movies.   They knew he was taking his mother’s car to visit friends for the weekend and wouldn’t be at all surprised to see him already gone when they awoke the next morning.  All he had to do now was to wait until they returned home and went to bed.  Then he would be off with his prize.  No, he rehearsed his lines, he hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary at the Waterman’s.  No, there didn’t seem to be any problems.  Nothing that he noticed.

It was still dark outside when they arrived at the abandoned cabin.  He found it one afternoon while wandering alone in the deep woods.  It was the discovery of this dilapidated place that solved half of the equation needed to convince Kenneth that he could turn his fantasies into reality.  Throughout the spring he worked on it.  Tapping into a nearby electric line hadn’t been too difficult, although ensuring that the line would be stable needed good planning and even more work.  But at last it was all done.  The place still looked awful from the outside with boarded up windows and broken boards on the porch, but the doors worked and floor was stable enough to walk on.

Getting her out of the trunk and into the cabin was strenuous.  The wheeled cart was of no use out here.  He hauled her, a few feet at a time, across the rough, unpaved ground.  At last, Kenneth managed to get her inside finally dumping the woman on the bare wood floor.

Squinting against the bright morning light, she was desperately confused.  When she began to struggle inside the mesh, Kenneth knelt beside her.  “Just relax.  Stay very calm and relaxed.”  In spite of his high excitement, Kenneth managed to keep his voice soft.  The hundreds of times he rehearsed the scene in his mind, the dozens of times he had mimed these actions alone in his bedroom, were paying off.  Even though it was the real Mrs. Waterman beside him now, it was all similar enough to his fantasies that he managed to keep control of his emotions and, what was more important, to keep control of her.  He began undoing the closure at her feet.  After several minutes he had loosened the drawstrings sufficiently to pull them open just a little.  He checked the bolt that held the chain to the wall, pulled the links on the chain before examining the leg iron at the other end of the chain.  Satisfied, he snapped the shackle around her left ankle.  When it closed the sound was sharp and grating.  They both flinched.  Kenneth took a deep breath.  So far, so good.  It was all just as he had planned, had been planning, ever since he first became aware of Mrs. Waterman as a sexual creature. 

It was only a few years ago, at that party for her younger brother, that she had danced with Kenneth and he had felt the pressure of her breasts against his chest, had looked at her pink lips and wanted desperately to kiss them.  The Watermans were Jewish.  After they moved in Kenneth sometimes played with Mrs. Waterman’s brother, a few years younger than Kenneth, whenever he stayed at his sister’s house.  It was at the boy’s Bar Mitzvah that Ruth danced with him.  She was obviously a little drunk and at one point she stumbled, her cheek rubbing against Kenneth, her breasts squeezing marvelously against his chest.

Now, toward the end of his senior year, she was almost a constant presence in his mind and Kenneth determined that Mrs. Ruth Waterman would be his birthday present to himself.   She was to be his special gift on his eighteenth birthday, the thing he most desired.  Once he had worked out the other part of the puzzle, it became just a matter of time.  Kenneth loosened the mesh netting that held her, finally pulling it free with a flourish.

With a jerky, uncoordinated motion, her arm rose and her fingers explored the iron that enclosed her ankle.  Pushing a finger under the metal ring she tried to pull it away from her skin.  Twisting around, she stroked the chain that attached the shackle wall.  Ruth looked around, and back at Kenneth.  Suddenly realizing her situation, Ruth began to panic. She pulled the tape from her mouth, twisted her body violently and yanked at the chain.  “Be still!” Kenneth said sharply.  “You’re not going anywhere, so just be still.”  But that didn’t stop her trying to free herself.  She continued to jerk on the chain at the same time as she attempted to undo the leg iron.  After a prolonged effort, she gave up.  Her shoulders sagged in resignation.  He had been right, a single shackle on a short chain was all that was needed. 

He searched for a half eaten cookie in his pocket, found it and slowly ate around the edges. Finishing the last bite, he licked the crumbs from his lips.  “Take off your blouse,” he ordered.  When she didn’t respond immediately, Kenneth looked around, found what he was looking for and, without a further word snapped the riding crop across the back of her legs just above the knee.  Ruth tried to scream but only managed a strangled croak.  He hit her again, this time through her skirt, ripping across the fleshy part of her backside. 

“You will do as you are told, when you are told,” he said when she had quieted down.  “Do you understand?  Whatever I say, when I say.  Do you understand?”

“Kenneth, please.” 

The whip struck again, now at her calves.  “Do you understand?”

She gasped for breath.  Her knees buckled, her body sagged.  She pulled herself up.  “Yes, Kenneth.  I understand,” she said at last.  “I understand.”

“Good,” he said, “but under the circumstances, I don’t think you can call me Kenneth any longer.  It’s not fitting.  Don’t you see?  I think you should say,” he paused in thought.  “I think that `Yes, Mister K’ would be more fitting, don’t you think.”  He took a step toward her, wrist bent, the whip poised.

“Yes, Mister K,” she gasped, managing to subdue the stinging pain, fearing a new assault.

“I like the sound of it.  Say it again.” he urged.  Mr. K.  That’s what he called himself when he dreamed himself invincible, Mr. K.

“Yes, Mister K.”

“Now, Ruth, if you recall, I asked you to remove your blouse.  I’m sure you won’t mind if I call you Ruth.”

“Yes.  I mean no.  I don’t mind” she replied, the fear making her voice tremble.  “Call me Ruth.  Please, Kenneth,” she began.

He shook his head.  “What?”  He tapped her chest with the riding crop.

“Please do, Mister K.”

That was just right, he thought, as she began unbuttoning the cream colored blouse.  A sharp demonstration, right at the outset, demonstrating his willingness to use the whip, was the way to start.  Later he would demonstrate the subtlety and power of the wand, but that was for a later time.  “Just drop it on the floor next to you,” he ordered and she let it fall.  He reached out, pointing the riding crop, just touching the end to her chest directly between her breasts.  Their eyes met.  He nodded.  She reached behind to unfasten her bra.  In a moment it opened.  She slipped the nylon straps over her shoulders and let the bra fall at her feet.

“Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about those beauties?”  He put the riding crop in his pocket and started fondling her full breasts with both hands.  “God, yes,” he mumbled, pressing his face between her puffy mounds. She screamed and tried to pull away when he sunk his teeth into the flesh surrounding one of her nipples. 

He had her undress until at last she stood naked before him.  It was a glorious, stimulating sight.  Except for a necklace and earrings, she wore absolutely nothing.  So moved that he was unable to speak, Kenneth was trembling with excitement.  Instead of speaking, he found the wand, a silver and black cattle prod.  “My magic wand,” he said, touching it to her bare stomach and giving her just a little jolt.  She jumped away in terror.  “Do what I tell you and I won’t have to use it.  Okay?”

”Kenneth” she began.  “If you don’t go any further, this can all be forgotten.”

He pressed the wand against the fleshy bottom of her backside and pressed the button.  The noise she made was somewhere between a scream and a gasp.   “First, it’s Mr.K to you,” he said when she quieted.  “And second, I thought I told you that you had to do whatever I said.”

She nodded. 

“In that case, lie down on your back and let’s get started.”  He turned out the lights; the cabin now only illuminated by slats of morning sunlight, undressed, knelt between Ruth Waterman’s legs and slipped himself inside her. 

It was an exhilarating few days of exploration and sexual satisfaction.  Just knowing she was there and available was often enough to stimulate Kenneth.  He tried every position he remembered from the books and pictures and he had studied.  When he was tired he used her mouth.

Getting her to the Pony Races had been easy.  He pretended to believe that she would never say anything if he let her go.  She seemed to believe that he was taking her back home.  Back there in the cabin, having her at his command, taking her at will, Kenneth felt supremely confident.  Having brought her to the races, with all these other people around, the last comfortable moment he had was covering Ruth with sun block.  Putting the gel all over her naked body, he could think to himself that the two of them were alone.   But now his mind was alive with questions.  What if nobody bought her?  What would he do?  What if somebody recognized her?  He hadn’t thought about that.  He guided her just behind the guy driving the blond.  At least Kenneth didn’t have to think about where they were going.  The pair in front stopped.  Kenneth brought Ruth to a halt. 

***

# 1--Chrissie – The Younger sister

# 2--Karen -- Her Older sister

“Over there,” one of the handlers said to Kenneth, pointing.  “You’re number 11.  This here’s number 3 and you’re 11.”  He had simply followed behind the blond woman and the red headed man guiding her.  When he turned Ruth around and headed back to the right spot, he was surprised to find two young girls heading right for them.  Pulling Ruth sharply to the right, he managed to avoid running into either of the girls, driven, surprisingly, by a pair of tough looking dykes.  The girls looked enough alike to be twins, though they were in fact sisters with more than a year’s difference in their ages.  They were both slim, pretty creatures with light brown hair, small delicate features and long necks.  Christina, just eighteen, was a senior in high school, worked part time selling tickets at the multiplex movie theater and quite anxious to be out on her own.  Karen, a little more than a year older, was still living at home even though she had a full-time job as a bank teller.  There had been a terrible row with their parents about what time they had to be back from a dance.  The girls were angry enough that they decided to run away from home, at least for the weekend.  That would show their mother, the sterner of the two.  It was after the dance when they were supposed to be on their way home that they began hitchhiking and, with apparent good fortune, had been picked up by the fourth car that passed them.  The two tough-looking, leather jacketed women in the front seat said very little as they drove along.  After the younger sister, Chrissie, said that they didn’t care where they went, they were looking for an adventure, the pair in front told them they were going to a cabin in the woods.  It wasn’t an invitation, merely a statement of fact.  Karen, the older sister, tried to explain that they were expected somewhere, at a party, but it was too late.  She wasn’t believed.  At the wood frame cottage, whose owners were off on a world cruise, the sisters were ordered inside, shown a pistol, made to strip, told what was expected of them and shown exactly how they were to please their new masters.

The girls were kept in line with the threat that if they disobeyed even one command, or if they tried to escape, they would be sold to a local motorcycle gang.  As things were to turn out, they were going to be sold in any event, but the threat was effective.  After two weeks the sisters were accustomed to being ordered about in monosyllables.  Their captors didn’t bother to distinguish between their two captives, addressing whichever was closer as “You!”  “Hey you!” or “Come!” or “Down!”  They, on the other hand, knew very well the difference between the taller, meaner one with gray streaks in her hair and the shorter one who at least didn’t hit them as much or spank them so often.  They spent their days cleaning the little cottage, or cooking, or down on their knees fulfilling seemingly insatiable desires.  On those evenings when their captors went out, the girls were tied together, wrists bound to the other’s ankles and left on the floor of the cabin, heads resting between the other’ thighs.  When their rulers returned, usually drunk, it amused them to have the sisters simultaneously stimulate each other to orgasm, while they sat, bottles of beer in hand, cheering the performance.  The younger sister twitched and her legs shook when she got there, while her older sister couldn’t keep herself from uttering a muted roar.  One night they were joined by two men whose loud motorcycles announced their arrival from a mile away.  The girls were led to believe that if they put on a good show, they would be let go.  In fact, the two men were there to see what was on offer, whether the merchandise was worth the price being asked, and if possible to have a sample.  In this last they were to be disappointed.

The two dykes, walking comfortably behind their charges looked Ruth up and down, ignoring Kenneth.  Chrissie as the smallest of the day’s ponies would be assigned Number 1 and her sister Karen, Number 2.  They walked past Alicia on their right and came to a stop.  Since everything was prepared it didn’t take as long as it might have to hook them up to their carts.  All the bolts were fastened, the pins attached and the lines straightened.  The rider climbed up into the single seat, was shown where the feet went and how to use the brake.  The handler handed each rider a whip and  started the pony with a sharp slap on her rump.  The blow had a serious purpose.  The ponies had to learn how much effort it took to put the cart with its rider in motion from a complete stop.  Once moving, much less force was needed to keep it going.  The two sisters moved off together, their riders giggling with pleasure at being pulled along by their two naked girls.

                                       ***

When it was Alicia’s turn to be hitched to the cart, Arthur jerked back on the reins to bring her to a full stop.  The reins were pulled over her head and slipped through a ring on a small wooden post.  “These two shafts,” said the sandy haired man who was helping Arthur, “fit through those loops.”  Standing on either side of Alicia, they tipped the front of the vehicle, rolled it forward and slid the wooden shafts through loops at her hips.  “We’ll adjust the height a little more when you’re aboard.  Just now let’s make it fast.”  Together they slid a round black metal bar on to the shafts.  When the bar was hard against her belly they tightened the clamps.  “Keep you and her in sync.  Going in the same direction.  See?”  Arthur said he did.  “And it spreads the force evenly, so they pull with the whole body using both the hips and the back.  Get it?”

All of a sudden, Alicia felt her ears redden and her face get hot.  Even more disturbing than the bit that pulled against the back of her mouth, this bar pressing hard on her belly made it searingly clear that she and the cart were locked together as a single unit and this man was in absolute control.  She had become a part of the apparatus. 

Next they fastened the lines from the vehicle to the brass fittings on her wide belt; jerking each of the connections to be sure they were firmly attached.  When Alicia was fully hooked up, Arthur climbed aboard.  “Couple of things,” the handler began, as he raised the height of the sulky a few inches.  “First, don’t speed her up or slow her down in too fast.  Everything in stages.  Start too fast and she’ll get jerked backward.  Slow down too fast and you’ll run her over.  When you slow her up, use the brake.  And when you go downhill, use the brake.  You gotta be going slower than her.”  Her cart was blue, matching the color of the sneakers she wore.  The number 3 painted on both sides.  He unfastened the reins, handed them over her head to Arthur and finally, attached a round discs, also with the number 3 on both of her hips.  When the handler slapped her backside, Alicia jumped forward before slowing down.

Arthur bounced up and down once or twice behind her in the well-sprung sulky, pulled sharply on the reins, tapped his whip against Alicia’s right shoulder and was gratified when she immediately jogged in the direction he indicated.  Arthur looked around, allowing himself the first bit of relaxation he had felt since arriving at the farm.  He brought her to a stop in order to test the brake and, with a flick of the whip across the backs of her shoulders, started her up again.

The first several steps took a bit of effort but once they were rolling, Alicia was surprised at how simple it was to pull both the cart and the man in it. That was the secret, she thought.  Just concentrate on what was immediately in front of you.  Don’t think about anything else.  Look straight ahead.  She felt the bit pull against her cheek.  In response she angled in the indicated direction to lessen the pressure.  They were learning about each other very quickly.  She was learning what his commands meant and how to react.  He, in turn, was getting used to the ways in which she responded.

Arthur had never been successful with women.  Maybe it was his round face whose smallish features seemed to get lost against his pale skin.  Or maybe it was his hair that began thinning in college.  He was fearful of women, and hesitant around them.  The better looking the woman, the less assured he felt.  But right there in front of him was this blond beauty.  He had harnessed her, oiled her, attached her to the cart, and now she was heeding his every wish, answering all his commands.  He studied her back, her blond hair drifting across her shoulders as she trotted along in front of him, her rounded behind swinging from side to side.  The buggy’s seat was equipped with springs for the rider’s comfort and as a result was very bouncy.  Arthur became acutely aware that the motion of the seat and the excitement of the moment were having an effect between his legs.  Pulling back on the reins, remembering only at the last second to apply the brake, he brought her to a stop.  He jumped to the ground, climbed over the shaft and, standing in front of the little cart, he lowered his pants, reached around to grasp her breasts and pushed into her.  In a moment he emptied himself into the crack of her behind and between her thighs.  He closed his eyes resting his head in her hair, taking in the feel and smell of her, kneading her long, wonderful breasts.  “Alicia,” he whispered, “my dear, sweet Alicia.”

Arthur was good with his whip.  After they showed him the pictures and he had made the down payment, Arthur went to a tack shop and bought a whip.  Every day he practiced in his small apartment, learning to aim and control it.  He lived in a corner apartment and the young couple next door were the only ones disturbed by the snapping sounds.  They were new residents, sublets, and were afraid to complain either to the landlord or to the distinguished looking man from whose apartment the noises came.  There were bright welts on her back and shoulders marking the first few times he used the whip on her.  Now it was enough to touch her with it or merely show the whip beside her head to impose his will.  At the moment he had her trotting after a beautiful dark haired woman who he wanted to see.  “Hah,” he grunted, just touching Alicia’s shoulder with the whip to speed her up.  Arthur could only see her back as they negotiated the grounds.  To compensate, he had her chasing after the other girls, circling so he could get a good look as they approached each other. 

After the first few minutes Alicia found she was pulling his weight without too much effort.  For his part, Arthur stopped jerking on the reins, and began guiding her smoothly from side to side or easing back to slow or stop her.   Other than being alert to her rider’s wishes, Alicia watched the ground for holes and stones but also glanced around at the other naked girls pulling their carts.  The females seemed to have similar reactions, a certain curiosity about the other naked ponies and an aversion to making eye contact with either ponies or riders.  The two dykes remained side by side, the sisters pulling them matching strides and maneuvers.  Arthur turned Alicia toward the dark, curly haired woman now wearing bright yellow shoes and pulling a yellow chariot.  When they were within about 20 feet of each other, he slowed Alicia to a walk and told her strut.  Alicia pulled up her right leg.  “Higher,” he shouted behind her.  The whip bit into the outside of her right thigh.  She brought her left leg up until up until it almost touched her breast.  The girl with the curly hair had large, striking eyes.  A Jewish star bounced between her full round breasts.  Her very pretty face was screwed up with fear.  A little further on a very tall, woman with fair skin and almost white blond hair, appeared to be struggling.

                                       ***

                               # 12--Louise -- A Librarian --

It was the third week in succession that the very tall woman had been brought to the Pony Races.  In spite of so much experience, Louise Larson was still having a difficult time pulling her cart.  Almost six feet tall, her strength was not commensurate with her size and her long legs always seemed to get in her way.  The circumstances that led to her being here began last autumn.  Louise Larson never was a fortunate woman.  Had she been lucky, or had she not been so tall, her life might have been very different and very much easier.  An only child, she was born when her parents were already in their late thirties.  Both her parents were children of Swedish immigrants and both had inherited from their parents an austere coldness that was to forever haunt their daughter.  By the time she entered high school Louise towered over all of the other students in her class.  When the women’s basketball coach saw her in the halls, she tried to recruit Louise for the team.  Louise’s parents, however, would not hear of such a thing.  She joined no clubs in high school, made no friends and, always embarrassed by her height, tended to slouch in public.  She never had a date through her four years of high school except for the senior prom.  A little, dumpy boy, almost a foot shorter than she, asked was and Louise accepted.  With dogged determination, she moved clumsily around the floor with him, conscious of the smirking glances and condescending looks from her classmates.

College too was a trial for Louise.  Embarrassed about her height, she slouched her way around campus, made herself look unattractive and was genuinely upset when any boys paid attention to her.  The few male students who made their way through Louise’s defenses found her to be bright though very shy and, surprisingly easy to take to bed.  The problem was once she was taken to bed; Louise was impossible to shake off.  With no sense of the conventions, she threw herself at the boys she liked and could only be dealt with by getting rid of her entirely.  It was in her third year as a librarian that Louise Larson began sleeping with one of the young men who frequented the stacks.   For three years she found sad, shy boys who came to the librarian with questions.  She invited them to her home for coffee and they remained to share her bed.  In each case Louise remained in charge of the situation, her chosen boys grateful to the point of embarrassment for her attentions.

For Louise Larson it was a blossoming.  For the first time in her life she found herself comfortable with her height and with her looks.  Though she did not suddenly become adept at putting on makeup or doing her hair, it was clear from her manner that something fundamental had changed in the way she carried herself and the way she acted.  Having young lovers redeemed her high school experience, made the memories of that time less of a burden.

there was Matt.  Matt was handsome, smart, and clever, an electrician, part of the crew rewiring the lighting and putting in new lines for the computers.  They had coffee a couple of times before she invited him over to her house.  Matt understood even before she invited him that the woman had a crush on him.  There had been rumors around the library that Miss Larson slept with young male patrons but such rumors often floated around and were usually false.  As he listened and asked around, Matt began to believe that at least some of the rumors were true.

Matt could see that Miss Larson was very nervous, unsure of how to proceed.  He let her stand there for a few moments upset and uncomfortable before he rose and took her hand.  As though he had done it hundreds of times, which he hadn’t, Matt began undoing the teacher’s blouse.  She was at least a head taller than him and, to deal with his own nervousness, which he was determined not to let show, he stared at her throat.

“Matthew,” she said softly.  His mouth dry, his throat constricted, Matt knew that there was no way that he could reply.  He looked up at her, smiled and continued unfastening each of the buttons on her white blouse.  She stood still and quiet when he pushed the blouse back from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor.  He reached behind her back to unfasten the clasp of her bra, to free her large breasts from their case.  Pressing his palms over those breasts, feeling the soft flesh yielding to his touch, the experience, at last, began to seem real.  That really was Miss Larson he was undressing and this was really happening.  When he moved his hands, Miss Larson shrugged her shoulders and the bra fell from her arms. Matt then opened the buttons at the side of her skirt, slid down the zipper and her skirt slipped to the floor beside the blouse and bra.  Looking not at him but down at the floor, Louise Larson remained almost motionless now reduced to a pair of flowered pink nylon panties and flat shoes.  Leaning forward he pressed his lips on the inside of her breasts as he shoved her panties below her hips.  As he hoped she would, Miss Larson pushed off her panties and moving closer began unfastening his belt.  When she took down his pants, Matt realized he wasn’t going to last much longer.  Feigning a confidence that he wasn’t at all sure of Matt put his hands on her shoulders to press the naked woman to her knees.  Fortunately, she acquiesced and in a moment had taken him inside her mouth.  A few seconds later, crying out with pleasure and release, he exploded.

When his shrunken member finally slipped out from between her lips, Louise straightened up and pressed her face into his chest.  Even on her knees, she was tall.  He felt a great swelling of pride and pleasure at having conquered so substantial a woman as Miss Larson.  The feelings were not unlike those that big game hunters must feel at bringing down a rhino or an elephant or a fierce lion, the satisfaction enhanced by the towering size of the subdued beast.  Miss Larson’s size, her long legs and elegantly curved neck served to increase his satisfaction to a degree that Matt never would have anticipated.  He stroked her fine blond hair. 

“My darling Louise,” he whispered down at the top of her head and was immediately rewarded with a hug and her lips pressed against his chest.

Louise had dabbled in oral sex with her previous lovers but nothing like what had just happened.  She had never gone down on her knees, never allowed any of the boys to fill her mouth.  “My darling Louise,” Matt had said.  Louise glowed with pleasure.  This was no simple seduction as it had been with Matt’s predecessors.  Louise Larson had fallen in love, totally, completely and entirely in love.  Had she been more self aware, Louise would likely have rejected as absurd the reasoning that convinced her of her feelings.  But the ideas never reached consciousness, merely floating below her level of awareness.  Had she not been in love, her subconscious told her, she never would have allowed what just happened.  She could not have been so satisfied at giving Matt pleasure, had she not already been in love with him.  Matt took Louise by the hand.  She rose to her full height, towering almost six inches over him, and they moved to her bedroom. 

Because she had no guile, she let Matt know the extent of her devotion.  When he invited her to attend his team’s softball game, she was thrilled.   Matt’s passion was his softball team.  He was the third baseman and the team’s best hitter.  And so it became Louise Larson’s passion also.  She attended every game and was as disturbed as any of the players when they decided that, although they had been invited, there wasn’t enough money to go to the state tournament.  By next year, they vowed, they would raise enough money for the trip.

“Matt, what are you doing?”  He really disliked her whining.  The sounds the emanated from her throat when she whined were unpleasant enough, but the reluctance to do exactly what he wanted of her was even more unpleasant.  Well, he thought, that makes it easier to subject her to what he had in mind.  “What are you doing?” she repeated.  Matt continued to undress the teacher.  During the months that Matt had been Louise’s lover, his confidence with her had reached new heights.  There was very little that he couldn’t cajole from her.

“But I thought you said someone was coming over.”

“Hush, my darling,” he whispered.  “You’ll see soon enough.”

When she was completely naked, Matt had her stand in the middle of the living room.  “Don’t move,” he ordered as he circled slowly, studying the tall woman.  After awhile he was satisfied and he told her to kneel down.  “That’s right,” he said, as she lowered herself.  Dragging a wooden chair from the kitchen, he placed it just behind her, so it was pressing against her back.  Matt knelt just beside Louise and tied a cord on her left ankle.  A moment later he fastened the cord to one of the back legs of the chair.  He moved quickly to the other side, tied another cord to her left ankle and fastened it to the other rear leg. 

“Matthew.  This won’t do.  Let me up immediately.  Listen to me, Matthew.  Untie me and let me up.”  As though suddenly aware of her peril and realizing that no amount of bluster would serve, Louise began to whine.  “Please, Matt.  Please let me up.”

Matt stood directly in front of her, leaned down, took her left nipple between thumb and forefinger, and squeezed very hard. 

“Ooouw,” she cried, “Don’t.  That hurts.

“Just keep your mouth shut, Louise,” he began.  “Under the circumstances, that’s not at all what I meant to say.”  Letting go of the nipple, he started laughing.  “No, not at all.  What I mean is not another word from you.  Not another word.”

“But Matt,” she whined in that particularly grating way that Matt just hated.

Now he grabbed both nipples and squeezed as hard as he could until Louise was wailing in pain.  He let go, stepped back and, much to his surprise, watched her fall forward.

Realizing that he had miscalculated, Matt ran into the kitchen, found some string and returned.  He made a pony tail with a handful of her long, straight, blond hair, fastened the string to her hair, pulled her back up to her knees and, leaving a few inches of slack, so her height was adjustable, and wrapped the string on to the back of the chair.  Now she was in place, no longer able to frustrate his plans by pitching forward.  He glanced at the clock, realized he still had a few minutes and ran upstairs to her bedroom.  After draping the white sheet over her kneeling figure, Matt tried to arrange the edges of the sheet into a graceful circle.

Matt spoke softly into the tense silence.  They had arrived, all but two of the members of the softball team, summoned to this address for something both important and secret.  “You know what a tableau vivant is?”  Matt looked around.  “Richard, you studied French.  Remember about a tableau vivant?”  

“Some kind of table?”  Richard tried.

All eyes remained on the covered display in the middle of the living room.

“No kind of table,” Matt scoffed.  “C’mon, who else had French?”

When no one else ventured a guess, Matt said, “tableau vivant, a living picture.  Someone or something alive, that’s arranged like a picture.  And that’s what we have right here, a tableau vivant.”  Matt took the sheet in both hands and, with a flourish, pulled it away.  “Ta Da!” he sang out, “our own tableau vivant, the lovely Louise Larson.”

The woman’s eyes though wide open were fixed and unseeing, a picture of fear and disbelief.  It was as though, for a few moments, she had managed to convince herself that this wasn’t really happening, at least that it wasn’t happening to her.  People often say that something isn’t really happening, but it’s usually just something they say, without at all convincing themselves or their listeners.  But anyone attending to Louise Larson’s face might well have believed that she had removed inner self to someplace where this wasn’t really happening.

None of the boys, however, were attending closely to the woman’s face beyond taking in the fact that the naked woman kneeling before them was available.  Their wide eyes were fastened on her bare shoulders and breasts, the features of her body and patch of pubic hair.  Though they all had fantasized about naked female bodies, only Matt and two others had ever seen one so blatantly displayed. 

“I told you guys that Louise Larson volunteered to help out the softball team.  I asked what she wanted to do for the team and she said she’d do whatever she could.  Here’s something she can do.  James,” Matt broke off.  “Touch her, she’s real.  You look like you’re seeing a ghost.  But she’s real.”  Matt took the young man’s hand and placed it on Louise’s shoulder.  “See, she’s real.  And so are these,” he said, putting the boy’s palm on her breast.  “Everybody might as well have a feel before we start.  She’s not only a tableau vivant, she’s a tableau piquant.”  Silently and seriously they shuffled in front of the naked woman, stopping to poke or touch or squeeze her.  “Things like this are hard to keep secret but I’m counting on all you guys.  You can’t let anyone else know about this. It has to stay between us.  Don’t mention this to anyone except the other guys on the team and  be very careful about what you say.  Everyone understand?”  There were nods of assent from all the boys. 

When the last of them finished exploring Louise’s naked body Matt announced that it was time for the librarian to earn her letter as the team’s mascot.  “I think it’s only fair that I go first.  We’ll proceed by jersey numbers.  So Joe, who wears the number one, will go next, and then Alan, and Norm.  Okay with everybody?”  Matt loosened his pants and stepped directly in front of the librarian.  “There’s some play in the string so you can adjust her to the right height.”   Placing her hands on his hips, Matt tipped Louise Larson slightly forward.  “Okay my darling,” he whispered to her, “Preliminaries over.  It’s time for you to get to work.”

Each of the boys presented himself in directly front of Louise Larson, remained until she sucked them dry, and moved off.  The procession was mostly silent, almost reverential, as each one waited his turn.  For those who had seen Miss Larson in the library there was a certain extra pleasure.  Two of the boys with high jersey numbers who had waited a long time for their turn, were embarrassed by unloading in their underpants.  They were both rewarded, however, by staying longer in the moist interior of her mouth before finally letting go.

There was a terrible moment, in late November, when Louise saw Matt through the windows of a restaurant chatting with a very pretty young woman.  Louise barged in on them in a desperate state.  Matt was calm and unembarrassed.  He introduced the girl to Louise.  It was, he said, his sister, Belinda.  Belinda was leaving her husband and they were talking about where she would stay.  Matt’s little apartment obviously wasn’t big enough for both of them.  With only a little prodding, Louise offered her spare bedroom, and it was eagerly accepted.

“Will you please stand still?”  It was not a question but merely an expression of annoyance.  The girl shook her head.  “How can I get these to stick, if you keep moving around like that?”  Louise Larson shifted her stance, endeavoring to remain motionless while the young woman went back to what she was doing, pasting gold and green stars on Louise’s Larson’s stomach and chest.  The librarian, wearing nothing but a pair of panties, was already decorated with colored stars on her back, and now Belinda was working on her neck and chest.  At the moment the girl was trying to decide whether to do both nipples the same or with contrasting colors.  At last she took two gold stars and pressed one on to each of the woman’s large nipples.  “Gold stars.  Just right.  Don’t you think?  Turn around, so I can see you.”  Belinda nodded, regarding her own handiwork with approval.

“Hand me that box,” she ordered.  Louise handed her a long flat box.  Unfurling the string of lights, Belinda draped them over Louise’s shoulders, took one turn around the woman’s neck, pulled the wire down between her breasts, wrapped the lights around Louise’s waist and  Scotch taped the free end to Louise Larson’s left leg just above the ankle.  “Step up on that little stand.”  Louise obeyed; the girl put the plug into the wall socket and the string lit up.  “Matt,” she cried, clapping her hands together with glee.  “Matt, come see our new Christmas decoration.  She’s just perfect.”

They stood side by side admiring the woman standing almost naked, gold and green stars reflecting the lights that flickered across her naked body.  “Smile, Louise.  It’s Christmas.  You’re supposed to be a happy Christmas decoration.”  Louise Larson looked as though she would break into tears at any moment.

“Something on top,” Matt said to his sister.  “Don’t you think so?  She needs something on top.  Get that angel and put it on her head.”

“You were right,” Belinda said to her brother when the Christmas angel was installed on Louise Larson’s blond head, “that is better.  Get back on your stand,” the girl barked at the librarian.  Louise remounted the small platform.  “And be careful it doesn’t fall off.”  The youngsters stood side-by-side regarding their tall Christmas decoration.  For her part Louise stared at the wall opposite, avoiding their eyes.

Among the various indignities Louise was forced to suffer during that Christmas holiday, none was more disturbing than the nightly ritual of Belinda’s bath and bedtime.  In the evening, while Matt was out with his friends, Louise bathed the girl.  On one particular evening Louise slipped through the door and into the warm, steamy­ bathroom, closing the door behind her.  There was a rich sweet aroma from the tub where the blue gel had swollen into millions of small white bubbles.  In the heavy and dense air Louise felt surrounded and protected.  For just a moment she felt quite safe. ­Leaning down, she tested the temperature of the bath water, found it satisfactory, stirred the bubbles, and dried her hand.  She shut her eyes against the bright light and imagined herself floating free in a warm cloud.

In the midst of her reverie, the door swung open.  "Is my bath­ ready?"

"Yes, Belinda," Louise answered.

Belinda closed the door behind her.  Louise took the robe from the girl's back and hung it on the back of the door.  Belinda stood in the middle of the small room looking straight ahead, apparently ignoring the woman who was tending her.  Louise bent down, removed Belinda's fluffy pink slippers and placed them against well away from the bathtub.  The previous night, Louise put damp slippers on the girl's feet.  Belinda was furious.  The punishment had been immediate and intense.  She spanked Miss Larson until Louise whimpered in pain.  Such demonstrations of Belinda's willingness to punish Louise severely for even the slightest transgression intensified the bigger woman's acceptance of Belinda's treatment.  Since the slightest deviation from her role brought immediate punishment, Louise Larson constantly strove to satisfy the girl’s desires and to ratify her right to use the librarian in whatever way she chose.

Louise Larson lowered herself to one knee, slipped her hands inside the girl's flowered panties, and gently stretched the elastic waistband.  She rubbed her cheek against Belinda's calf, just below the knee.  The young girl sighed her approval. ­Louise Larson slid the panties down Belinda’s legs, as she kissed the insides of her thighs.  The librarian reached up and touched her mouth to the girl's lower lips.  Still holding the panties in one hand, Louise Larson craned her neck, thrust her tongue between Belinda’s lower lips, and licked the girl's moist interior before finding the small sensitive mound. ­Belinda closed her eyes.  Her head lolled back. The experience was still new enough so Belinda found it as exciting as it was satisfying.

“Down,” Belinda said softly from the depths of her pleasure.  Louise Larson spread herself face down on the floor of the bathroom.  The girl placed a bare foot in the middle of Louise Larson’s back, paused for several seconds before stepping into the warm bubbles.  Kneeling next to the tub, Belinda gently soaped the girl’s skin from her neck to her toes, waited a few moments and then, using a fresh washcloth rinsed her off.  When Belinda emerged from her wonderful bath, the school librarian wrapped the towel around her and patted the girl dry.

Every moment of every day of the Christmas season Louise served the two youngsters, cooking, cleaning, running from room to room to carry out her assigned errands, sometimes acting as chauffeur.  And between her other chores, Louise provided them both unlimited sexual satisfaction.

On this warm day in late spring, Louise Larson struggled along, pulling a chubby, round faced man.  Because she was so big, they invariably assigned the heaviest ones to her cart.  On the other hand, this would be her last visit.  The team’s cut from these rentals would see them to the tournament.  “Hey, you big horse,” her driver, a southerner visiting on business, called in a lazy drawl.  “Let’s see you run.”  His whip cracked across her back and Louise stretched out her long legs, loping forward.  “Mah, mah,” he said laughing.  “Oh, mah goodness.”

               

***

# 9--Susanna – A College Freshman --

# 10--Gloria --Susanna’s Mother

               

When the word went around that soon they would be bringing out a mother and daughter, the spectators began drifting back toward the barn.  By the time the big door creaked open an air of excited anticipation had spread among the onlookers. In a moment it was clear that the whispered account was exactly right.  The tallest of the handlers strode purposefully through the open door, past the spectators, holding two ropes, the two naked women following him forced to scurry along in his wake.  Like all the others, their hands were bound behind their backs, the lead ropes tight around their pretty necks.   The pair did look enough alike to show that they were obviously related.  If you hadn’t known that they were mother and daughter, you might have taken them for sisters.  But to the eye of a careful observer, the older one was actually a few years older than she looked, while the younger one was many years younger than she looked.  The handler stopped between two corrals, waiting for someone to take one of them off his hands.  When that was done, he led the mother off to the left while his partner took the daughter to the right.  Susanna, the daughter, was an eighteen-year-old college freshman, about an inch shorter than her mother.  The girl had a round face and long, thick, dark brown hair that fell below her shoulders.  Her breasts were big, puffy balloons with small pink nipples.  Gloria, Susanna’s mother wore her auburn hair clipped short.  Her long neck set off her breasts admirably.  The mother was taller than her daughter; most of the added height seemed to be in her legs.  A tall, elegant woman with long, slim legs leading up to very well shaped hips, and a slim waist.  Though her breasts were no longer as perky they once had surely been, as was to be expected in a woman her age, their large nipples insured that they were still quite pleasing to look at and touch.  An elegant, expensive pair.  Both the mother and daughter were shown to their respective drivers who nodded in approval and two men began to hook up their halters. Gloria closed her eyes against the dread of what was happening to them both and drifted back to the time when it all began.

Gloria was sitting bolt upright, her back straight, fingers laced together in her lap, knees pressed together, her feet set firmly on the floor.  Carefully and expensively dressed, she had been careful to present herself at her best.  Grey, she had decided, in which she would look prim, proper and, most importantly, completely honest.

“Now, Mrs. Morrison,” he looked up from his note pad, “would you tell me once again what happened on March twenty-seventh?”

Even working as diligently to control her nervousness, Gloria Morrison felt her fingers shaking in her lap.  She hoped that the detective wouldn’t notice, or that if he did, he would put it down to ordinary concern about being questioned by a policeman.    A mass of distinct details flooded back into her mind.  She was fast asleep when the call came.  Her daughter’s voice, screaming, panicky.  The car ride, first to get her daughter and  returning home and the story they put together.

“We have been over this several times already.”  She looked straight ahead, never glancing toward the detective.   “I came home from work, found my daughter in her bedroom.  We talked for a few minutes.  She asked if she could use my car.  What was wrong with her own car, I asked.  She replied that she had lent it to a friend who hadn’t yet returned it.  I lent her my car, thinking nothing more about the matter.  That’s all.”

He cleared his throat.  In the following silence, Gloria Morrison felt herself begin to shake all over.  Her lip quivered as she tried to control her nervousness.  The detective sighed deeply.  “Unfortunately, none of that is true.  On March twenty-seventh, your daughter was drinking heavily.  I have testimony from two bartenders.  On her way from one club to another, she hit a forty-four year old man and killed him.    She called you on her cell phone.  I have the phone records.  You picked her up at the crash scene and drove away with her.  I have a videotape of you at the scene of the accident.  Witnesses recognized the driver of the convertible that hit them, witnesses noted your license plate number, who saw you drive away with your daughter.”

There was a long uncomfortable silence.  “Vehicular Homicide carries a mandatory sentence of fifteen to thirty years in jail.  Leaving the scene of the accident will add five years to her sentence.  That’s what your daughter faces.  As for you, accessory to such a murder and abetting her escape will cost you a sentence of seven to twelve years.”

She shook her head in disbelief, attempting to reject what she had just heard.  “If that’s what you think,” she was struggling desperately to keep herself under control, “ perhaps you should speak to our attorney.  I will call him.”  But she didn’t have the strength to stand.  Her knees would surely buckle, she thought.

“Listen, Mrs. Morrison.  If you make a full confession right now, this minute and every detail of your confession is corroborated by your daughter, I guarantee that neither of you will have any jail time.”   The detective put a hand on her shoulder.  “I absolutely guarantee that neither of you will have to go to court nor will you go to jail.”

What was he saying?  In return for a toss in the hay, he would just forget about the crime?  Was that it?  They looked at each other for a long while.  Well, she was willing to do it.  She would give this man her body once or twice, in return for her daughter’s freedom.  Gloria lowered her eyes before looking up at him and nodding her agreement.

He took a tape recorder from his briefcase.  “Soon I will start recording.  I’ll make a few preliminary remarks.  You read this sheet and describe, in your own words, everything you did and everything your daughter Susanna did.  If you do all that, no trial, no jail for either of you.  Move your chair closer to the table,” he ordered.  She obeyed. 

He pressed the button on the black box, said his name, stated the date, time and place of the interview, that she was entitled to remain silent and have an attorney to represent her.  Finally he announced that the interview was in connection with the death a Mr. Elias of such and such an address, at such and such intersection.  Pushing a typed sheet of paper in front of her, he nodded.

She read the words giving up her right to an attorney, stating that the account she was about to give was entirely voluntary and not in any way coerced.  She was surprised to find how much of a relief it was to rehearse truthfully all the details of that horrible evening.  Susanna had never been an easy child but after her father’s death, the girl became impossible.  Gloria bought Susanna the little convertible in order to affect some control over the girl.  She could, Gloria thought, threaten to make Susanna give up the car if she misbehaved.

Then came the crying, terrified phone call.  Gloria rushing to the scene as quickly as she could.  Without further thought the women sped away, making up the story about lending the car to someone as they drove home.  That’s really all there was to it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said.  “You remain just as you are.”

Once he played the mother’s tape, the daughter caved immediately.  Originally he thought the kid would break before the mother but it hadn’t turned out that way.  The daughter had remained tough and resistant throughout the whole investigation.  Now he had them both on tape, both repeating essentially identical stories.  Of course, had there really been phone logs, or a videotape, or witnesses he never would have needed the confessions.  But he had none of those things.  Fortunately for him the Department was short staffed and he was working the case alone.  At last he was in a position to mete out a suitable punishment.

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“It depends,” he said.  “It all depends on you and your mom.  A crime like yours is good for fifteen to thirty years.  Your mom being an accessory will only get seven to twelve.”  The girl was terrified.  That was just what he wanted.  “You stay here.  I’m going back to talk to your mother.  We’ll see what we can work out.”  With the whole package about to wrap up, the detective rushed back to the mother.

“Okay, Gloria.  You don’t mind if I call you Gloria now?”  He continued without waiting for an answer.  “Both of you have confessed.  It’ll all hold up in court.  Terrible waste, the two of you wasting away like that.  You know what happens to women in those prisons.  You and her will be raped not only by the male guards and the females but also by the dykes who mostly run those places.  Awful,” he intoned, “just awful.”  He waited, letting the shock settle in.  They sat across from each other for several minutes, each one considering, before he began speaking again.  “But there is an alternative.  Your daughter gets to stay in college, you get to stay in this big house and even to retain the income from your husband’s estate.”  He had done his homework.  “You can even keep your Salvadorian maid, and your job at the Museum.”

She looked at him, thoroughly confused.  “Me and my boy need a woman’s,” he paused looking for the word, “a woman’s presence.  Women who can be counted on to respond to every wish, demand and need.  Absolute and complete obedience.  We don’t need somebody full time just, say, from Friday evening until Sunday evening.   It will be for a year.  For one year, you show up at seven AM on Saturday, you get to leave between seven and nine Sunday night.  Between those times you’re property.  Sure as hell beats a long time in prison, doing the same thing and never getting time off in between.”

He was gratified to see that she was considering his offer.  That was good.  She looked up.  “What about Susanna? She asked.  “What happens to my daughter?

“She’s in for exactly the same thing.  That’s the deal.  It’s the combo, mother and daughter that I want.  Both of you.”

“You can have me under those terms but not her,” Gloria was adamant.  “Not my daughter.”

He made no reply.

“And how do I know that it will only be for one year?

“Perfectly fair question,” he replied amicably.  “Perfectly fair.  We’ll put these two tapes and my notes in a safe deposit box in your name.  The key gets deposited somewhere you choose.  To be delivered to you next year at this time.  Fair enough?”

“What about the video tapes and the phone logs and the witnesses depositions?”

“Oh,” he said with a shake of his head.  “They never existed.  Standard procedure to make up some stuff when you’re trying to get a suspect to confess.”  His blue eyes crinkled with pleasure as he watched her digest and deal with the information he had just given her.  Her expression gradually changed from surprise, to shock and eventually to outrage at having been so badly fooled.  Before she had a chance to say anything he continued.  “I’ll meet you Friday at the First National Bank.”  He rose, putting all his papers in his briefcase.  He handed her a card with an address.  “And after that I’ll see you at this address on Friday.  Shall we say seven? You can tell your maid that you’ll be away for the entire weekend.”

By mutual, unspoken agreement, Gloria and Susanna never spoke about their weekends.  In fact, as the weeks went on, they spoke less and less.  Gloria found reasons to stay late at the museum.  When she wasn’t at school, Susanna usually remained in her room studying, or listening to music.  They probably didn’t consciously avoid each other.  But it was a way of not thinking about that other part of their lives, the part that always loomed.  Mother and daughter held hands as the cab drove them across the city.  Gloria and Susanna waited at the door, each holding her small case.  There wasn’t much inside, make-up, perfume, hairbrush, and high heeled shoes.  After ringing the doorbell, Susanna moaned, “Oh, God, Mama.  I can’t stand it.”

Weekend after weekend they presented themselves to be used by the detective and his son.  Last week had been particularly awful.  He was sitting slumped at the side of the bed.  “Long day, lots to do.”  Susanna remained crouching on the floor, her eyes cast down, looking resolutely at the floor.   “Shoes,” he said, and twisting her body, she moved her hands to the tops of his shoes.  “Not easy,” he said looking down at her.  Maybe you better try taking them off just with your mouth.”  Grabbing the nib of a shoelace between her teeth, Susanna pulled and pulled.  After a struggle, the knot came undone.  “Good girl,” he said brightly.  “Now the other one.”  When she had unfastened that lace, he helped by removing the shoes and his socks. Taking hold of her round breasts, he lifted Susanna to her knees.  “Nice,” he told her, “like fresh, ripe, grapefruits.”  He loosened his belt.  As she had done so well with the shoelaces, he suggested that she might also open his fly and take off his pants without using her hands.  At last she managed it.  “Crawl up here next to me,” he ordered as he removed his shirt and rested on his back.  He massaged between her legs for a short time and then had her straddle him in order to slowly lower herself on to his rock hard member.  That’s good,” he cried out, as she obeyed.  “You’re a bright young thing,” he said, holding her in place.

When he was finished, he turned on to his side.  Susanna lay next to him awake and alert while he slept.  He slept deeply and for a long time.  He woke, went to the toilet, peed and when he returned to the bed he took the girl by her hair.  Turning on to his side, he pulled her head between his legs.  She held him between her lips, inside her warm mouth.  Enclosing her head between his thighs, he slowly rocked his hips, feeling the gentle stimulus of her tongue and cheeks.  He could feel her firm breasts pressed against his thighs, the front of her naked body pressed tight against his back.  When he looked down, only her face and hair were visible.  After awhile his movements became quicker and quicker and , with a groan, he lay completely still.  He fell asleep like that, her shoulders still pressed against the insides of his thighs, her face still between his legs.  Afraid to disturb him, she kept holding his now softened member between her lips.

Her mother might have been pleased even with that little bit of respite.  Todd seemed determined to use her to the point of exhaustion.  Gloria was barely allowed even a moment’s rest.  The sexual stamina of a teenage boy can be astounding.  For much of the night there was hardly a moment when there wasn’t something being jammed either between her legs, in her rear or in her mouth.

The next morning there had been a terrible row between father and son.  Gloria and Susanna cowered in fear.  Now it was clear what they had been fighting about.  Todd wanted to drive Gloria at the pony races. His father had absolutely refused.  They needed the income from renting them out.  Todd should be grateful for all the pleasure they had already given him.  Because he was a cop, Tom received two thirds of the rental fees, everybody else got only half.  They finished Gloria, giving her number 10.  Moments later her grunts and groans convinced them that the bit was too tight.  Gloria had a small mouth and the shaft was pulling hard against her cheeks.  It took a few moments to adjust it and  she was driven from the corral.  Across the way Susanna was just having her reins attached on either side of her head.  Gloria moaned sadly at the sight of her daughter in that state.  When her helmet was fixed in place Susanna set out after her mother, trying to find some comfort by shifting the metal shaft with her tongue.  Gloria hardly noticed the reins or the cart being hooked up, so focused was she on Susanna, a few feet away, who was having the same things done to her.  Gloria’s eyes narrowed with fury when Susanna was actually harnessed to the cart and her rider climbed on board the cart and pulled the girl’s reins hard to the left.  She took a few steps toward her daughter although there was nothing she could do to help.  A snap of the whip across her waist, just above her hips drew Gloria’s attention back to her own situation.  Several quick tugs on her reins urged into motion.

                                       ***

   By long standing tradition, the smallest of the girls was put at Number 1.  That was the younger of the two sisters.  Obviously the older sister was next to her at Number 2.  The handlers had decked out the two sisters early.  It seemed like a good idea to get the dykes and their ponies started first.  The biggest, the tall librarian, who they all knew by now, was given number 12.  The rest weren’t arranged by height, but by some arcane decision-making principles that no one understood.  There was immediate agreement that they would do up the two women drivers and the kid with the curly haired woman, number 11, before the other volunteers.   The kid was so uptight that he was making everybody nervous and they decided to get her ready early and get him out of there.  When they had finished all the rentals it was time to rig up the volunteers.

                               # 8--Robin – A waitress --

While the rentals were being taught to obey their drivers, the next group, the volunteers, were being prepared.  Robin’s round sparkling eyes studied the others without any apparent surprise.  Nothing seemed to surprise her or, for that matter, even upset her very much.  Looking at her face it might have seemed as though she thought it an everyday occurrence to be among these other naked women, hitched to the carts that they were pulling across an uneven, grassy field.  Since she left the farm to live in the big city Robin had mastered the ability to seem calm and unruffled, her fear, even terror completely hidden under a seeming calm exterior.  The young man driving her pulled back on the reins, shouted, “Whoa, whoa up,” and pulled on the brake.  The combined forces brought her to a sudden stop.  Pushing with her tongue she tried to shove the metal bit forward in her mouth to ease the pain from the appliance stretching her cheeks.  “Damn it,” the young man said more to himself than to her, “that line is coming loose.”  He hopped down to retie the knot.  “How you doin’ Babe?” he asked when he finished.  “Not bad,” he answered his own question, cupping her large breast in his hand.  “Not bad at all.”

She focused her large brown eyes on the young man, the most recent of her lovers.  The first one, a young man who had seduced her and carried her away from the farm, left her not long after they moved into their ratty little apartment only a block from a noisy freeway.  Robin looked at him in amazement when he told her he was moving out.  She’d gotten a job as a waitress in a Greek restaurant, given him all the money she earned and made herself sexually available whenever and however he wanted her.  How could that not be enough?  He just shrugged and told her that he had found someone else, a woman with a better job and more money.  It was at that time that Robin found she couldn’t live without a man in her life.  A man’s body in the bed next to her was essential to her existence.  To achieve that, she was willing to willing to accept any decent looking man who wanted her.  There was a brief entanglement with one of the waiters, a newly arrived immigrant, who stayed with Robin until his girl friend arrived from Greece.  There was her nice businessman who, Robin found out, only toyed with her while his wife was away.  And now the young man who brought her here.  

***

# 5--Mary Louise – A College Professor --

The handsome, dark-haired woman gazed in astonishment as though she really couldn’t believe what was happening to her.  The boy with the pretty, almost feminine face, whispered to the back of her head in an effort to calm her down.  His attention was quickly diverted as other naked women trotted nearby.  Women fascinated Daniel.  He was very good at what he did, seducing young, insecure women.  It wasn’t a talent that he was born with.  It was something he developed.  As a college freshman he began with the sad, lonely, needy girls that he happened to meet.  Plain ones, homely ones, sometimes even downright ugly ones.  In return for his attention and concern, they slept with him, finding in Daniel their hoped for redemption in a man’s arms.  Waitresses, shop clerks, grocery cashiers all believed that he really had been waiting all his life just for them.  His quick intelligence made getting good grades reasonably easy and not too time consuming.  A native shrewdness revealed the better targets and suggested the most effective strategies.  Of course, his large eyes and pretty, sweet, and almost girlish, face made his successes more likely.   And there was his willingness to listen, or appear to be listening to whatever was said.  Women like to be listened to.

He admitted mistakes when he made them and learned from his failures.  He was amused when male friends nicknamed him king of the pigs.  He put it down to envy.  Sure, none of his partners were beauties, but he had lots of partners and that was compensation enough.  In fact, like most men he found good looking women intimidating.  The more attractive the woman the less approachable he found her.  The pleading and begging, threats of suicide or self-mutilation when he dumped one of his pigs, was some compensation.  Beautiful women were riskier.  Even with all his success, Daniel was less assured in the presence of a really good looking woman. 

The breakthrough came this past year.  He signed up for a late afternoon class in Art History.  That particular course fulfilled one of the college requirements and the description, saying that they would discuss Eros and erotic art, interested him.  When the professor walked in, Daniel was astounded.  Female professors in his experience were doughty, outright unattractive, or if they were at all good looking adopted masculine, aggressive, and unpleasant mannerisms.   But on the first day of his Art History class there was a lovely, feminine woman introducing herself, talking about the texts they would read and explaining the requirements for the course.  She had a pleasant voice, dark hair, large eyes, and an exceptionally good figure.  Her maroon suit, beige blouse and shoes with slightly raised heels, not the flat clunky shoes that most women professors wore, were all feminine and alluring.  She acknowledged the four young men sitting together in the back with a smile and a nod.  A fan club, Daniel thought, she has a fan club.  But of course she would, other guys would have noticed her.  Mary Louise, he said the name over and over to himself, Mary Louise. 

The class met twice a week and, after the first day, Daniel thought of very little else but seeing her again.  His Mary Louise.  He remained in his apartment for entire weekend, turning down earnest invitations from his most ardent admirers and, after awhile, not bothering to answer the phone at all.

On Monday, since the class wasn’t due to meet again until Tuesday afternoon, as a way of connecting to this woman who had become an obsession, Daniel studied the syllabus.  There it was, right under her name:  Office hours.  Of course.  He had a perfectly legitimate reason for approaching her, sitting with her, talking to her.  She did have office hours on Monday.  Daniel, screwed up his courage, steadied his nerves, showered, shaved and rushed to the campus. 

He hadn’t been so nervous since he was fourteen years old, when he bedded his best friend’s mother.  Dottie was a small, rabbity-faced woman, with little eyes and buckteeth.  One night, while he was out walking the dog, he saw Dottie trying to get her drunken husband out of the car and into the house.  Daniel did most of the work carrying the man up to their bedroom and waited in their basement while she made sure the husband was safe in bed.  He could hardly speak when she came down the stairs wearing only a slip.  She wasn’t wearing her thick, wire-frame glasses.  Daniel couldn’t remember ever seeing her without them.  As an attempt to make herself look more attractive, it failed because Dottie was constantly screwing up her face in a squint.

Dottie handed Daniel a beer, took off her slip and immediately began removing his clothing.  It wasn’t his first sexual encounter, but it was his most serious involvement up to that time.  There was something about her combination of buckteeth, tiny tits, together with her overwhelming and obvious neediness, that jarred Daniel’s sensibilities and drove him to treat her with contempt.  The more scorn he heaped on her, the more devoted she became. The more obvious her desire for him, the more powerful Daniel’s need to treat her badly.   For the first time in his young life he consciously reveled in deliberately degrading a woman.  The more he indulged, the more he liked it.  Though he remained friends with her son and visited the house often, he often, though not always, rejected her entreaties, explaining that he was too busy with other women to be bothered with her. “Please, Daniel.  Don’t be so mean to me,” she used to moan in a voice that guaranteed he would find new ways to be cruel to her.  He started to think of her as a leech that, if he was ever once nice to her, would latch on to him and be impossible to dislodge. 

A favorite fantasy was picturing his friend Toby blundering in on them, finding his mother down on her knees, or on her back with her legs up in the air.  “Wouldn’t Toby be surprised, seeing his mama like that?”  He would ask the back of her head.  To this day, he occasionally felt a pang of disappointment that Toby never walked in to discover his mother on the floor at his feet with her mouth full of Daniel. 

One memorable Saturday, Daniel kept Dottie in his bedroom for an entire day.  She came to their house, ostensibly to ask a favor from Daniel’s mother, but when she found no one else at home, raced up to his bedroom.  He woke with her in his bed, took her twice in rapid succession and, when his parents returned from their errands, confiscated her glasses and refused to return her glasses or her clothes, deliberately leaving the bedroom door wide open when he went out, forcing her to hide in the corner, crouching behind his bed, a picture he found so stimulating that he returned often, once right in the middle of the family’s dinner, to close the door and satisfy himself.  He sometimes wondered if the rabbity little woman really would commit suicide when he stopped seeing her.   The last he knew, she was still alive.

Daniel never expected to achieve that sort of success with his professor; he just wanted to see her, to chat with her.  But the meeting went wonderfully.  There was no one else in the office, something he worried about.  She was pleasant and friendly.  He was even more worried about that.  He imagined that his attraction for her showed and that she would respond by rejecting him.  They talked and laughed together and got on perfectly. 

After that Daniel showed up regularly at her office hours, usually twice but at least once a week.  He worked very hard at her course, doing not only all the required work but also reading everything she even mentioned and  reading books referred to in the required readings.  His comments in class were well received while she wrote wonderful comments on his papers, all of which were A’s.

He would not, he decided, even try to advance the relationship until after the semester was over.  There had been so much publicity about student-teacher relationships and the abuse of power, that she might have been reluctant even to have coffee with him while he was in her class.  Toward the end of the semester, Daniel was quite busy finishing papers for his other classes, studying, preparing the end of term, so that he saw her only in class.  Sitting in her Art History class, watching her move about, he wondered how to move their interactions to something more personal, an uncertainty intensified by wondering what she would make of the fact that he hadn’t been to her office hours for the past two weeks.

“Hi, Daniel,” her smile was broad and genuine.  “I’ve missed you.”  She lowered her eyes as she said the words.

“Sorry, Professor, but I’ve been very busy.  You know,” he began to explain.

“Since, I call you Daniel,” she interrupted.  “I think you should call me Mary Louise.”

Their eyes met.  It was an important moment.  Daniel’s spirits began to soar. Excitement bubbled inside him.  His throat constricted.  Fortunately she continued talking as he sat down terrified lest he embarrass himself in front of her.  “I have your last paper.  It was the best yet.  The only A+ I have given this year.  Or even last year.  Congratulations.”

Still unsure of what to say, Daniel tipped his head in acknowledgment.  “Shall I buy you a cup of coffee in celebration?” she asked.

“I would like that very much,” Daniel took a deep breath. 

Over coffee, which she both paid for and carried to the table, he began to feel relaxed and comfortable.  This was familiar territory, a coffee date with a prospective partner.  Daniel knew how to listen, when to put in a word, when to look sad or serious, how to lighten the conversation.  This was all something he had done so many times before.  By the end of the semester, when he went to her office to collect his final exam, Daniel was confident.  If once she set foot in his apartment, she was his.  Unlike the girls he usually dated he couldn’t just invite a college professor over for a drink or a joint or to watch a TV show.  No, it would have to be timed just right.  Mary Louise was a bright woman, married to the Chairman of the Economics Department at the State University.  Though if Daniel had to guess, he didn’t think she was all that sexually experienced.  Casually inviting her over and  getting her into bed just wasn’t going to work.  Sometime she would let him know that she was ready and  he would invite her in.

“I’m working on a book,” she said as they were saying goodbye.  “I’ll be in my office most days this summer, trying to finish it.  You will stop by, won’t you?”

“Sure will,” he said brightly.

But it was three weeks until he finally knocked at the door to her office.  “Daniel,” she gushed.  “I thought you’d forgotten me.”

“Of course I didn’t forget you,” he insisted.  “I tried to get here several times” he lied.  “But it wasn’t ever possible.”  Inwardly, he knew that he’d been right.  It needed some time to make her a little uncertain, to cause her to wonder whether he was only interested in the grade and not in her.  “Can you take some time from your book?  If so, we can go for a walk.”

“Yes,” she said.  “I’d love that,” and she began to tidy up her office.

They chatted as they walked and it was as though no time had passed since the last time they talked together.  Sitting on a bench side by side she turned to him.  “You know,” she said very seriously, “I’m a married woman.”  Mary Louise took his hand in hers.  “I wish it weren’t so, but it is.”

Daniel tilted his head.  There it was, just the sign he had been waiting for.  Mary Louise was ripe, ready for the picking.  He had heard that phrase before, “I’m a married woman,” brandished like a shield.  It was something women said to assuage an already guilty conscience.  Perhaps they told themselves that it was a stop sign but it was just the opposite.  It said, “I’m ready to be taken.”  All that was left was the harvest, undressing her and putting her in his peach basket.  He always liked married women.  In addition to the special pleasure screwing other men’s wives, they left his evenings free.  He could have his Mary Louise in the afternoons and weekends and still have time for the chubby drama major or the supermarket cashier with the long face and small boobs.  It was funny the way they said, “I’m married,” as though that settled the matter.  Did any of them really think so?  Probably not, Daniel decided, although maybe they told themselves that it did.  What Daniel heard in every case was words of surrender.  I am married.  You know that.  The fault of my seduction is, therefore, yours.  “I understand,” Daniel said.  “It’s alright.”

At their next meeting, they walked and talked for hours until, somehow, they were at his apartment.  Without asking he poured her a glass of wine, which she drank quickly.  When Mary Louise finished her wine, Daniel kissed her.  “I’m married,” she said very softly.  “I’m a married woman.”

It was something that he had begun to realize but now it became crystal clear.  Beautiful women, even beautiful and intelligent women Professors with PhDs from Oxford, were not all that much different from the pigs and skags he usually slept with.  Lying there on her back, entirely undressed, her legs spread, looking up at him with a frightened smile, Mary Louise displayed the uncertainty that necessarily comes from being so fully exposed and vulnerable.  All of her fears, hopes, wishes, dreams, desires, her insecurities and even terrors floated toward the surface of her being.  Just like the waitresses and cashiers he so often seduced, neurotic undergraduates and lost little girls, she was giving herself over to him in the hope of redemption.  Daniel stood next to the bed looking down at Mary Louise.  Leaning down, he fondled her breast and rubbed the back of his hand against her cheek. 

“My sweet Mary Louise,” he whispered.

“Yes my darling,” she replied.

Daniel knelt on the bed next to her.  If there were to be redemption, it would have to be earned.  She turned toward him, opened her mouth and touched his erect shaft with her lips.  That would do, he thought, as a first approximation.  He moved between her legs, lifted her knees and slipped himself inside her.  “Oh my darling,” she sighed.  “My darling Daniel, I do love you.”  Daniel didn’t like them to talk.  “You’ll have your chance to prove it,” he thought to himself.

At first she called before she visited him.  As the days went on, she began showing up at his apartment with no prior warning.  Sometimes, when her husband went out, she called in the evening.  The cashier was no problem as she arrived at Daniel’s apartment late and went to work quite early.  The drama major often wanted to visit after her work at the theater and she like to stay in bed all morning.  Neither paid much attention to Daniel’s phone calls but he did worry that Mary Louise would be able to tell from his voice that he had a woman in the apartment.  He sincerely hoped that Mary Louise wasn’t starting to become more trouble than she was worth

Lying in bed together several weeks after they began, Mary Louise took Daniel’s wrist when he started to remove her panties.  “It’s my period,” she said apologetically.  “I understand,” he replied.  When she slid her hand down to stroke him, Daniel made it clear that she was not to use her hand.  She stopped, and  responding to his obvious desires, began kissing his chest.  Slowly, Mary Louise worked her way down until she grasped him between her lips.  Daniel held her head as he raised his hips, forcing himself deep into her mouth.  It was certainly something she had never done with her husband and Mary Louise was surprised by the rich, salty gel that filled her mouth while Daniel groaned his pleasure.

It wasn’t until the following month that Daniel brought up the subject of the pony races.  He had been there twice before, both times driving rented ponies.  Now he was involved with someone good looking enough to take out there.  He wanted to show her off, to have his lovely Professor in harness strutting her paces, pulling him around, racing against other naked women.  None of his others were attractive enough to be shown.  Her first reaction was disbelief and disgust.  Such things weren’t possible and she certainly wasn’t having anything to do with them.  But Daniel was good at pouting.  Passive-aggressive behavior was the way that his Psych major last year described the tactic.  “Look,” Mary Louise said after almost two weeks had passed, “I can’t possible do such a thing.  If it became public, I’d be fired in a minute.  No, it’s absolutely crazy.  I won’t do it.” 

No one ever finds out about these things, Daniel explained.  But if she didn’t want to do it, Daniel understood.  It wasn’t very long until she gave in to his silences and the following week Mary Louise acquiesced. 

On this sunny afternoon Mary Louise found herself in harness, the bit stretching her lips and cheeks, pulling Daniel along behind her.  Suddenly the whip bit into the fleshy part of her behind.  “Faster,” Daniel shouted, “faster.”  Mary Louise tried to increase her speed.

                       

***

# 6--Betty -- An older woman --

It wasn’t unknown to have one older woman but no one could remember a display with two.  There was the kid’s mother and now this one.  You could see that she was flushed with excitement as the skinny, homely, young man hooked her to the cart.  She was well aware of the danger even from the very beginning.  It wasn’t as though she thought it out or reasoned about it, that wasn’t her way.  But the danger was always there and, in fact, was one of the forces that propelled her.  She had always found dangerous situations, and the fear that those situations caused, exciting, sexually stimulating.  She’d never really been raped.  As a young girl she regularly found herself in predicaments that made her fearful of being raped.  Every time she came close, without exception, in a fit of excitement, her juices flowed and she offered herself to be taken and ravished, each time managing to believe that had she not made herself readily available, she would have been attacked and beaten.

Marriage changed all that.  She settled into a staid, regular life, sleeping with a husband who adored her and raising two sons both in college.  It wasn’t too long ago that everything changed.  The danger, though very different, became equally exciting.  She had become involved with a man more than twenty years younger than she, a sturdy young man, full of life and raw energy.  He was rough, uneducated, simple and direct.  In the depths of her soul perhaps she saw in him a chance to regain her youth, her own vitality, to restore her own fading looks and sexuality.  Recently separated, she knew that he might return to his wife and child at any moment.  They were never far from his thoughts and he mentioned them to her quite often.  Meanwhile, she used every sexual trick learned in a lifetime of pleasing men, to hold him close to her, to make herself an essential part of his life.  And, though she knew eventually she was bound to be thrown over, either to go back to his family or in favor of someone younger, she fought off the fear by being the perfect mistress, attempting to respond to all his wants, needs and desires as diligently as she was able, hoping that so long as she was able satisfy him, she could hold on.

She first met Steven at the garage.  He was one of the mechanics at the place she had her car serviced.  They chatted in the friendly but distant way that customers chat with workmen.  Though she was aware of his compact, muscular body, his pleasant face, and air of sexuality, she hadn’t thought much more about him.  That is, until she met him completely by accident at a Wendy’s.  She was returning home from her hairdressers where, in addition to having her copper colored hair styled, she had also had some tinting to deal with the gray hairs she saw in the mirror.  Usually she went straight home after her hair appointment but that day, for some reason, decided that she wanted to stop.  He was staring at his coffee and burger with about as forlorn a look as she had ever seen.  His eyes were red as though he had been crying.  He smiled when he saw her and invited her to sit at his table.  It turned out that his wife had just left him, taking their daughter and going off to her mother’s.  How perfectly cliché, she said to herself.  She stayed and talked to him most of the afternoon, going for a walk toward evening.  Eventually they ended up at his almost empty apartment.  He became angry at his wife, at the world, at women.  She found his anger erotically stimulating. 

Their lovemaking that first night had been languorous, sweet, long lasting and exhausting.  As they lay snuggled together she told him that his wife must have been an awfully silly girl to leave him.

Splitting from her husband had been a wrench, far more difficult than she could have imagined.  But she had done it, taking very little with her.  Three nights after their first encounter, she showed up at Steven’s apartment rolling a small suitcase with the few things she needed or wanted.  At the last moment she worried that someone else would be there when she showed up.  Perhaps his wife, perhaps some other woman.  She stood at the door to his apartment, listening.  There was only the drone of his TV, no voices.  She rang the bell.  Surprised, he stood motionless in the doorway looking at her, at her suitcase, at the wall behind her.  At last he smiled broadly opened the door and invited her inside.  Moments later, with hardly a word passing between them, they were in bed together.

She managed to support herself, barely, finding a job as a hostess in an out of the way, mid-range restaurant.  The slick, expensive restaurants had not been interested in an older woman, they wanted young girls.  The upscale places used men in tuxedos or flashy blond women.  It was the sort of restaurant that no one she knew would ever go to.

“Where ‘ya been, babe?”  Steve asked as she opened the door toward the end of her second week at work.

“I had to stay late.  The other hostess, who was supposed to take over, never showed up and I had to do all the work.”

“Are you tired?” he raised his eyebrows.

“Never too tired for you, my sweet,” she smiled her best smile. 

“That’s my good girl,” he leaned back in his chair.

Shrugging her coat from her shoulders, she swiveled her hips suggestively.  Steve spread his legs.  She’d always been good with her mouth.  Even as a girl she’d instinctively known how to use her lips and her tongue to entice and excite.  She licked her lips and leaned down to press her face between his legs.  He rested a hand on the back of her head as she lowered herself to her knees.  Continuing to nuzzle his crotch, she unfastened his belt and unbuttoned his pants.  Using her shoulders for leverage, he lifted himself a few inches while she struggled to loosen his pants and underpants.  Soon she had them down to his knees and Steve settled back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.  She unlaced his shoes, removed the shoes and socks and then pushed them aside.  Slowly, she worked her way back up caressing his ankle, calf and thigh with her tongue before darting her tongue under him to lick his soft sacs.  As soon as she touched her lips to his swollen, extended member, Steve put a hand into her brown hair, lifted her head until she touched the tip.  He was close to finishing.  When he pushed her down, she was impaled on to his warm, pulsating member.  Her lips closed tight about his shaft, she stroked her head up and down two or three times until he could no longer control himself and he let go, filling her mouth with a warm, white, salty, sweet gel.

A deep, satisfied sigh was her reward as she continued to caress his softening shaft, coaxing his half erect member into its last stages of continued alertness.  Eventually, she swallowed his entire effluence and he shrunk away almost to nothing.

“Got a beer?” he asked, knowing full well that the fridge was stocked with his favorite beer.  She rose.  “Look at this,” he said.  “Here I am half undressed and there you are with all your clothes on.  It don’t seem right.”  She stood a few feet in front of where he sat and began a slow strip tease.  Half turning away, she unbuttoned her blouse, letting it hang open a few seconds before removing it.  Unfastening the zipper at the side of her black slacks, she slid it down slowly, undulating as she worked it to the floor.  She took off her shoes, twirled around, feeling young and sexy then reached back to unsnap her bra.  Before pulling down her panties, she waggled her breasts in his direction.

“Can’t think of nothing’ nicer than being served a beer by a naked lady,” his way of reminding her to get him his beer.  She handed him the beer and  sat on the floor to snuggle against his leg.  Steve patted her head.  “Just like a little puppy dog.  Just as sweet and affectionate as a puppy.  You know I never had a puppy.  Never.   Always wanted one.  Wrote to Santa every Christmas asking for a puppy but never got one.  Not ‘till now, that is.  You my sweet little puppy dog that Santa brought.  Shit, this is better than anything I could of had as a kid.”  He leaned back in his chair, sipping his beer. 

She sat on the floor at his feet, her eyes closed, feeling young and strong and still able to please a man.  “You tired, babe?” he asked.

“No,” she said, instantly alert.

“I see you with your eyes closed, dozing off down there and I think you might have been too long at work.”

“Not at all.  You excite me and keep me alert.”

“That’s good ‘cause I think I could go for a double header.”

In response she pressed her bare breast against his leg and began rubbing her naked body against him.  She didn’t know whether wiggling his toes was a signal but she stretched herself prone to put her tongue between the toes and proceeded to lick the soles of his feet.  When she rose to her knees, Steve spread his legs and raised them, resting the back of his knees on her shoulders, his calves draped down her back.  As she took him into her mouth, he pressed his thighs together, feeling her face and cheeks against his skin.  He

lifted her head so that only the head of his penis was available to her.  She twirled her tongue round and round.  He grunted his approval.  When he let go, she lowered her mouth taking as much of him as would fit in to her warm, moist mouth.  Now it was not merely two or three strokes to bring him out, she had to work a long time, pulling with her lips, pressing with her tongue, moving her head up and down, up and down.  At last he began to gasp for breath, his fingernails clawed against her shoulders.  Low, rumbling animal sounds built up in his chest and burst from his lips as he burst forth into her mouth.  His ejaculate wasn’t as substantial as the first go round, but there was still enough that she had to work to swallow it all.  He had made it clear these last few times that she wasn’t to pull away at the end or let the sperm flow from her mouth.  She was to take it all in.  They remained coupled in that odd position, her head between his legs, his thighs pressed tight against her cheeks for five or ten minutes after he was done.  It had been so satisfying an experience that Steve hated to end it.  Eventually, however, he had to pee.  He thought for a moment, about peeing right in her mouth to see what she would do.  But in the end he rose and went to use her toilet.  I’ll bet she’d let me do it, he thought as he watched his stream flowing into the bowl.  Sometime, when the moment was right, he’d do it.  The thought pleased him.

When he returned she had put on a bathrobe.  He shook his head.  “That ain’t sexy,” his voice made his annoyance clear,  “not at all.” 

“But Steven, I’m cold.”  He pulled off the robe, spanked her behind and told her to put on something better.  She rubbed the sting at her backside and pouted.  “And hop to it.”   Looking at her when she returned in a sheer, pink peignoir and high-heeled slippers, Steven nodded his approval.  “Y’know, I wish my wife minded me like you.  Does what she’s told,” he patted her, “and as affectionate as a puppy dog.”  Steven nodded as though to endorse what he just said.  “There’s a little box over there. I got you a present.”

Her heart fluttered.  It was working.  He was beginning to appreciate her.  He had never brought her anything before.  This was a first.  Her determined efforts to please him must be paying off.  Plush Pup it said on the thin box.  Opening the box she stared at it in disbelief.  “Put it on,” he ordered.  “Put it on.”  She took the bright red, leather dog collar from the box and held it with two fingers as though it were dangerous.  “I told you I always wanted a puppy dog and now that Santa has brought me one, I got to dress her right.” When she didn’t move, Steve took the collar from her hand, placed it around her neck and fastened it.

As her surprise diminished she knew instinctively that this was moving into new, uncharted and frightening territories.  She knew too that it was her own behavior that encouraged Steven to feel superior and masterful enough to fit her with a dog collar.  At first he seemed so loving and warm, thoroughly enjoying her attentions and her willingness to please him.  As they went on, her repeated praise of his prowess, of his manner and of his commanding presence, together with her squirming whines of pleasure, generated and subsequently reinforced in him a sense of dominance and supremacy.  The first few weeks after she moved into his almost empty apartment he was almost pathetically grateful for the fact that she stayed with him, that she slept with him and allowed him to make love to her.  That wasn’t at all what she wanted.  Late one afternoon when Steven was just home from his day at the garage, she popped out of the bathroom wearing just a pair of panties and high-heeled shoes.  Pretending surprise, she covered her breast, twisted around and wriggled suggestively.  A moment later she was rubbing her bare skin against his rough clothing grinding her hips against his.  “God, Steven,” she cried out, “You excite me!”  Pulling open his shirt she pressed her lips against his chest, taking a nipple between her teeth.  Continuing to squirm against him she slowly lowered herself to her knees, unfastening his belt and undoing the buttons of his pants as she moved.  Soon she had him undressed and was kneeling before him.  She rubbed her cheek against his swollen shaft and  took him inside her mouth.  Holding him tight with her lips, she bobbed back and forth several times and  let him explode in her mouth.

Steven was as delighted as he was amazed.  His wife rarely let him use her mouth and  only with the greatest reluctance.  Now here was this woman initiating it and  praising him for being so wonderful.  After the first few times he began to feel as though it was no more than his right and due.  She loved pleasing him and he liked being pleased by her.  Bit by bit the confidence he had lost when his wife left him was being restored by this much older woman.  He found that she expected him to be firm and demanding with her, that she responded physically to his growing confidence.  

In fact he was more than a bit annoyed when she found the hostess job.  It meant that she was no longer waiting for him when he returned from work.  He had very much come to look forward to being greeted with an afternoon blow job.  It had become almost a ritual.  He would walk through the door after a long day of work.  She was there in just her panties and high-heeled shoes.  In just a few moments, she undressed him, fell to her knees and sucked him dry.  Now he had to wait for her to get home from the restaurant before satisfying him.  He wasn’t a reflective young man but he did sense that the collar was in some way a punishment for his disappointment in having to wait until she finished work.

The next morning while she was serving him his coffee he grabbed her wrist.  It had been a few years since she made breakfast.  That chore had ceased when her youngest son went off to college.  Now here she was again making coffee, cooking and serving breakfast.  “You ain’t wearin’ your collar,” he said angrily.  “You think I bought you a present to go in the drawer.  I got it for you to wear.”  His open palm crashed loudly against her backside. 

Most of the night she had lain awake, trying to decide how to handle the situation.  He had made love to her two more times that night.  Thinking about it she was truly amazed at his stamina.  He had already come twice in her mouth and  when she snuggled into the bed next to him, he was immediately excited.  Turning on to her back as he crawled between her legs, she moaned a pleasure that she wasn’t sure she felt.  But he was so tender and sweet and gentle with her, that she thought her pleasure was genuine.  In the middle of the night he returned from the toilet, lay back and, when she sat above him, thrust himself inside her.  It was a dreamy, half-sleeping coupling. Later, neither of them could be sure that it really happened.  After that she lay awake, wondering, thinking.

Removing the collar had been a deliberate act of disobedience.  She had to show him that he had gone too far.  What they already had was enough.  She didn’t want to be his obedient puppy.  She wanted him to accept her as a loving woman who liked him and wanted to please him.  Convincing him to think of himself as dominating and masterful was one thing, but this was too much.  “Get your damn collar,” his voice was sharp.  “And right now!”  He slapped her other cheek.  She whined in pain.  Fear and her natural inclinations were her undoing.  Afraid and excited, she felt a tingling sensation between her legs.  “Please Steven,” she said softly.

“Now,” he said menacingly.  In response she ran to the bedroom, returning a moment later, strapping the red collar around her neck.  Reaching out, he put his index finger through the collar’s ring and pulled her toward him.  “I think my little puppy’s got to be trained, got to be taught manners.  Can’t have a puppy that decides what it wants to do and doesn’t listen to its master.  Puppy’s got to do what it’s told”

“I can’t breathe,” she gasped.

“Do we understand each other?”  Half bent over, unable to back away, frightened and excited, there was nothing she could do.

“Yes,” she managed.  “I understand.”

“That’s better.”  He pulled her down until she fell across his lap.  Holding her in place with one hand, he slid her panties to her thighs and spanked her very hard.  Again and again his hard, calloused palm smacked against her bare behind.  “Bad girl,” he said with each stroke as she whined in pain.  “Bad girl.”  And  he let her go.

Immediately she fell to her knees, burying her head between his legs.  “I’m sorry,” she said, bringing him out.  “I’m sorry.”  From that time on, she donned the collar as soon as she walked in the door of the apartment and only took it off when she left.  Steven realized that he enjoyed spanking her and resolved to look for reasons to do so.   He gave some thought to buying a riding crop but decided that he really liked the burning sensation in his palm at the end of each slap.

It was about a week later that he brought her a second present, also from the Plush Pup.  She arrived at the apartment after a particularly trying day at the restaurant.  She was tired and out of sorts, hoping that Steve would be out with some of his friends and she could be left in peace.  No such luck.  The TV was blaring as she opened the door.  Without looking away from the screen, he said “Clothes off.  Collar on.  Quick. Quick.”  On her arrival back in the living room now naked except for the collar that chafed below her chin, Steven told her to open the box on the table.  It was a little squeaky toy in the shape of a mouse.  “Give it here,” he ordered when she took it from the box.  Throwing the toy across the room, he yelled, “Fetch!” 

“Steven,” she began.

“Fetch!” he repeated in a much sterner tone.

“Not like that,” he said as she turned.  “Crawl after it and bring it back in your mouth.”

She shook her head.  Jumping up, he grabbed her collar and pulled her after him.  He bent her across a chair and attacked her rear end.  Again and again and again his hand tore against her raw and reddening cheeks.  Her tears began flowing as she tried to deal with the increasing pain.  When at last he let her go, she simply sagged to the floor.  “Fetch!” he said loudly, “fetch.”  She raised herself to all fours, made her way across the room, took the mouse in her mouth and returned to where he was standing.  “Good puppy,” he said as he took the mouse from her mouth and tossed it away again.  “This time make it squeak while you bring it back.”  Over and over he threw it, making her crawl after the gray mouse.  She took it between her teeth, bit down to make it squeak as she crawled back to him, waiting on the floor beside him until he decided to take it from her mouth to toss it away again.  At last he tired of the game.  Spreading his legs, Steven slapped his thigh.  “Come!” he ordered and when she was at his feet he told her to beg.  She sat up on her haunches.  “Paws up,” he ordered.  Paws up.”  When she raised her limp wrists to her shoulders, he stroked her hair approvingly.  “Ready for your reward?”  He lifted her chin.  She reached forward.   “Puppies don’t use their paws.  You know that.”  He slapped her hand.  “I’ll help,” he said, opening his belt and unfastening the top button on his pants.  Pressing her mouth tight against him she managed to get the tongue of his zipper between her teeth.  Slowly, gradually, millimeter-by-millimeter she worked the zipper down to the bottom.  When he stood up, his pants fell half way down.  Working her way around him she managed to get his pants all the way down to his ankles.  Stretching herself on the floor she tugged at the cuffs of the pant legs until he stepped out of them.  Raising herself again, she began working on his plaid boxer shorts.  Using her nose, mouth and teeth first at the elastic top and  at the lower hem she eventually dragged his shorts below his knees.  “You better hurry,” he put his hand in her hair.  “I ain’t gonna last very long.” 

Not long after she finished swallowing his second emission, Steve leaned down and kissed the top of her head.  “Let’s try for three in a row,” he whispered.  “A triple header.”  It was a lengthy and arduous undertaking, using her lips and tongue to bring him back to fullness and  an even more strenuous task to get him to come in her mouth.  But at long last she managed it.  Exhausted, she lay naked on the floor at his feet while he watched TV.   “If you want,” he said, wiggling his toes, “you can lick my feet.  He laced his fingers behind his lolling head, beginning to doze, while she lapped his left foot and the TV announcer went on about some miracle new kitchen gadget.  A great, satisfied yawn escaped his open mouth.  Steven raised his right foot so it was resting on her hip.  “That’s my good puppy,” he murmured.

As he became more and more demanding, she began to think seriously about walking out on him.  His increasing demands led her to wonder what sort of a monster she had created when she made him feel so superior.  No, it was beginning to be too much.  When he starting leaving bondage magazines around the apartment for her to look at, she was sure that their relationship was nearing its end.  Pictures of women being chained and caged and whipped were more frightening than exciting.

And then it all changed.  In a moment everything changed.  Steven gave her away.  Gave her to one of his co-workers at the garage.

“Come, Grandma” her new owner said, pushing himself up from his chair, stepping over her.  “Heel,” he said, slapping his thigh.

Immediately she rolled from her side and struggled up to all fours.  The chains on her arms and legs tinkled as she tried to straighten them.  If they were tangled they hindered her ability to move, often causing her to fall.  It took several seconds but at last she managed them.  Taking the handle of the metal leash in her mouth, she started forward.  Crawling as quickly as she could she finally caught up, half way across the room.  As she settled in next to his right leg, he reached down, scratched the back of her neck to indicate his approval and took the leash from her mouth, letting it hang loosely.  That was another good sign.  Calling her Grandma was also positive.  Cunt, Bitch, Asshole, and Fucking Bitch were signs of a blacker mood.  And, when he was in a bad mood, there was never any slack in the leash.  When there was no slack, the silver choker collar was constantly painful, pinching her neck, its prongs stabbing into her throat.  Of course, when there was slack, there was always the chance that he would jerk on the leash, pulling the choker tight and pressing the thin needles deep into her throat.  It all depended on his mood. 

Everything in her life depended on him and his moods.  As a result she had learned to be perfectly sensitive to every nuance of his temperament.  Was he tired? Upset? Unhappy?  Satisfied?  Uncertain?  She had to be aware of his every want, feeling and desire.  Her well being depended entirely on the way he treated her, and the way he treated her depended on the way he felt.  Even the slightest mistake might lead to spanking, caning or whipping.  Causing him any annoyance might mean being locked down on the floor of the toilet for days on end or left in her cage indefinitely.  And always at the back of her mind was his once mentioned branding.  She found the thought terrifying.

At the door to the toilet he dropped her leash, lowered his pants and sat down.  She felt grateful that, at least, he wasn’t going to piss on her.  She moved closer and kissed his hairy calves.  On weekends, when he didn’t have to rush off to work, this was one of his favorites, a blow job while he was shitting.  A fart resounded in the ceramic bowl.  She raised herself to her knees, licked his rapidly enlarging prick and  took the head of his engorged penis into her mouth.  Dropping the leash on to her back, he squeezed out a large turd that slid, just below her chin, into the pool at the bottom at the toilet.  He was becoming more and more excited.  “Oh, oh, oh,” he chanted, when he couldn’t hold it any longer.  “Oh, Jesus,” he cried and  let go.  He thought about making her wipe his ass with her tongue but now, feeling warm and pleasant and mellow, he wiped himself.  “You go too,” he said when he softened.

She crawled to the other side of the bathroom and squatted over the box of kitty litter that she was forced to use as a toilet.  “Atta girl,” he said when she managed two tiny pellets and a dribble of urine.  At least he hadn’t urinated on her.

That thought led, as it so often did, to that evening when she had been urinated on, to a decision that she thought about so often, one that she rued every single day.  She and Steven were finished.  He and his wife were getting back together.  Far from being dismayed, the news came as a relief.  His demands were getting to be too much, no longer fun.  She didn’t want to be treated like a puppy dog any longer.  And when he began bringing home Bondage magazines and leaving them around for her to look at, she knew it was time to split.  Women in chains, women being whipped, driven, humiliated and abused weren’t her idea of sexy reading.  She arranged to stay with one of the waitresses at the restaurant where she was working until she found a place of her own.  She was not going back to her husband, of that she was absolutely certain.

Steven’s wife was moving back into the apartment on Saturday.  Friday was to her last day.  Instead of going to work, she packed her little rolling suitcase and prepared to leave.  She made the fateful decision.  She would wait for Steven to return from work in order to say goodbye. Originally she thought she would just leave him a note.  But it wouldn’t be that long until he was home, she decided, and it was the right thing to do.  So she sat at the kitchen table and waited until he returned.  When the door opened, she stood and extended her hand.  “Goodbye, Steven,” she said softly.  “Good luck.”

His face was bright red; he seemed to be quite agitated.  “Clothes off, collar on!” he ordered.  “Clothes off, collar on.”

“Steven,” she said reasonably, “it’s over.  Let’s just go on our way.”

“Clothes off, collar on,” he repeated, grabbing her arm. 

There came that feeling, that mixture of fear and sexual excitement.  It was better to give in than to fight.  She undressed in front of him, donned the dog collar, and rubbed her naked body against him.  Steven put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her heavily to the floor.  After opening his fly and lowering his pants, she lifted him in her palm and guided him inside her mouth.  It took him much longer than usual but at last he let himself go.

He looked down at her with great, sad eyes.  This was going to be a terrible loss.  He hated giving her up.  Now he was committed, committed on all fronts, and there was nothing else he could do.  She held him between her lips, as she had so often done before, until he was shrunken and soft.  This was the moment, he thought, he would let go, pissing right in her mouth.  But he couldn’t do it.  Not that he didn’t want to do it.  He did, desperately want to make this one final statement.  Nothing happened.  First he pushed, and  he tried relaxing.  Nothing happened.  It wasn’t until he slipped out of her mouth that he released his stream.  It was full and open and powerful.  He soaked her eyes, nose and neck, directing the flow into her bright red hair.

“Steven,” she cried.  “Don’t.”  He aimed for her open mouth and was rewarded with a wordless gurgle.  Almost done, he stepped closer, dribbling himself in the hair on the top of her head.  When she rose, he stepped away not wanting to touch the urine-covered woman.  “Go, clean yourself up.”  He turned away, his anger at her for what he was going to do to her only slightly diminished.  It served Lester right, he thought, to give him a woman that he had just soiled.

She showered for a very long time, the warm water mixing with her freely flowing tears.  Once out of the shower, she found a towel to wrap over her hair and began drying herself.  When the bathroom door burst open, Steve entered followed by a man she recognized but couldn’t, for the moment, place.  “Grab her,” the other man shouted and Steven moved behind her to wrap his powerful arms around her body, pinning her arms to her sides.  She tried to squirm free but Steven only gripped harder.  “Hurry up, Lester,” Steven shouted.  Lester, that was it.  One of the men who worked with Steve at the garage.  Lester.  Lester was fitting manacles, first on one wrist and then the other.  A short chain, no more than six inches, ran from one manacle to the other.  “Okay, got it,” Lester said, when both shackles were clamped shut.

“Steven,” she screamed.  “What are you doing?  Let me go.  Right this instant.  Let me go.”

He didn’t respond.

“Please, Steven.  You can’t do this.  Please let me go.”

Lester turned around, picked up a leather girdle, and fit it around her waist.  Grunting with the effort he pulled the laces tighter and tighter until no further progress could be made.  It was a shiny, black, leather girdle with red hearts stitched into it, scalloped below each breast and cut off just above her hips and belly.  Lester fastened the chain between the manacles to a ring in the center of the girdle.

“’Member Superwoman?” he asked.  “This is like the thing she wore.”

“Stop this immediately,” she shouted at them.  “This is intolerable.”

Lester took a black object from his pocket, a large, smooth, round, black ball, like the ones that racquetball players use.  He stuffed it into her mouth.  Attached to the sides of the black ball were two small screw eyes.  The device held her mouth open and her tongue depressed, all her cries now reduced to soft, wordless grunts.  Lester stretched an elastic band attached to the ball behind her head to hold the gag in place.

“You’re right sweetie, that was becoming intolerable.”

“You want this?” Steven held out the leather collar.

“No, no.  That’s all right.  I’ve got something better.”

Lester took the towel from her hair. Slipped a metal collar over her head and onto her neck.  “I’ll show you,” he said to Steven.  “It closes when you pull it, like that.  And those spikes shoot out and jab her.”  Though she screamed with all her might, the only sound was a sorrowful, high-pitched whine, which couldn’t be heard at any distance.

“Shut up, Bitch,” Lester ordered.  “Stand still and just shut the fuck up.”  Moving close behind her, Lester attached a pair of shackles to her ankles.  These were also connected by a link chain, which he fastened to a ring at the back of the girdle.  “Okay,” he said.  “Okay, you can let go now.”  Steven loosened his grip.  “See, she can only move her hands a few inches.  And she can’t run away.”  He slapped her bare behind making her stumble forward with little, mincing steps.  

Attaching a metal leash to the choker collar, Lester jerked it sharply, said “Come!” and started forward.  She tripped on the chains that bound her ankles and she fell forward.  Unable to use her arms she fell hard to the floor.  “Come on, bitch.”  He yanked the leash, driving the prongs into her neck and throat.  There was nothing to do but obey and she crawled along after him.

All this was as much for Steve’s benefit as it was for hers.  The whole operation could have been accomplished much more simply but Lester wanted Steve to see this demonstration, to feel the pain and jealousy that Lester had felt for so many months.  Ever since Steve confided to him that this woman with the dark red hair had given herself to him, had moved into his apartment and set about pleasing him in any way she could, Lester had been beside himself with envy and resentment.  Oh, Lester knew immediately who Steve was talking about, remembered the woman exactly and his own longings for her.  The guy’s got a gorgeous young wife, Lester thought, she walks out and this older woman walks right in.  It wasn’t fair.  Lester fantasized about lots of the women customers and he remember this one especially, long legs, great face.  Nothing old or decrepit about her tits or her ass either.  Oh, yes, he remembered her and he set about scheming to get her from Steve.

He started by bring up her age.  “How does it feel to be a real motherfucker?  Y’know she really is old enough to be your mother.”  Lester urged Steve to find out her age.  “Forty-four,” he crowed.  “She’s forty-four and you’re twenty five.  Nineteen year’s difference.  That’s a lot.  Does she have grandchildren?  Jesus, you’re getting it off with a grandmother.”  He began referring to her as Grandma.  “What’s up with Grandma?”  It upset Steve, Lester could tell that and he kept it up, talking about her getting to be close to fifty, much too old for him.   Lester suggested the dog collar and, when he found out she let Steve make her wear it, talked about making her fetch a toy.  Convincing Steve that a woman like that had to be mastered and dominated, Lester gave him the bondage magazines to leave around the apartment.  “See how she reacts,” Lester counseled.  “Just watch.”

At last he simply called Lynette, Steve’s wife and tried to effect a reconciliation.  He talked to Lynette about Steve and to Steve about Lynette.  At last it all began to pay off.  “I hate to give her up,” Steve moaned.  “Even to get back to my wife.  I thought about setting her up in an apartment but I can’t afford that.  And, with Lynette, I’d never get away with it.”  

Aware that he was very close to succeeding, Lester made his suggestion.  “Give her to me,” Lester said, “and I’ll share her with you some times.  That’s all there is to it.”

“What do you mean?  Give her to you?  That’s crazy.”

“You let me worry about it.  Okay?”

The two men stood over her.  “See,” Lester whispered to his friend, “it wasn’t all that hard, was it?”

“Son of a bitch.”  Steven’s amazement was obvious in his tone.

“And I don’t think she’ll be too hard to train.  Will you darlin’?”

Lester yanked her chain.  “You respond when you’re asked a question or given an order.  Do you understand?”  She nodded.

“That’s better.  Now you’re going to be right easy to train.  Isn’t that right?”

Again she nodded.

“You speak when you are spoken to.  And you will speak only when you are spoken to.  Got it?”

Once more her head moved up and down.  Exhausted by their exertions, the men shared a beer before packing her into a large, padded steamer trunk and wheeling her outside and into a small rental van.

While he was helping his wife move back into the apartment his daughter found the little gray mouse.  She squeezed it between her thumb and forefinger.  Steven jumped.  He took it from the little girl.  “That’s dirty,” he said sharply.  I’ll get you a better toy.”

“But I want this one,” she cried.

Lying in bed with his wife the next night, Steven was absolutely convinced that he had made a dreadful mistake.  “They are not toys,” Lynette said sharply when he began fondling her breasts.  “God did not put them there for you to play with.”  She would not allow him to knead her fleshy behind nor would she please him with her mouth.  How different the two women were.  He liked being encouraged to play with the woman’s breasts, to suck on the nipples and kiss her cleavage.  He liked squeezing her round cheeks and using any part of her he chose, whenever he chose.

Lester, on the other hand, was amply satisfied with his acquisition.  There were no neighbors close to his refurbished barn.  No one to spy on him, no one to find out about his new pet.  The people who used to farm the land had long ago given up and he had bought the place quite cheaply, doing all the fix up work himself.  It was the perfect place to keep her, lots of room for his devices.  Every morning he availed himself of her body.  While he showered, she fixed his breakfast.  After she put his food on the table, she lowered herself underneath the table, sucking gently while he ate.  Afterward, there was always the same conversation.

“I certainly enjoyed my breakfast,” he would say.  “And how was yours'?”

“You are delicious.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” he would say, scraping his leftovers from his plate to the floor next to her.  Her reward, he told her, for a breakfast blow job.  “Thank you,” she mumbled as she leaned down to eat. 

He was delighted each evening on his return from working at the garage to find her exactly as he had left her, whether it was locked inside the cage, lying chained to the bed, or spread-eagled on the wooden frame he made or up on the wall, like a butterfly.  While tinkering with engines or brakes all day, he knew just what he would find on his arrival at home.  Relieved and grateful for her release, she strove to satisfy the powerful desires that he generated at every return.  Very often it was a round robin, once each in her mouth, her behind and between her legs.

“Are you pleased at my return?” he would ask on entering.

“Yes, Lester,” she would say nervously.  “Very pleased.  Now may I please you.”  Or if she had been left gagged, she would nod vigorously, wriggling whatever parts of her body she could manage to move. 

An insufficient display led to immediate punishment.  “Goddamn it bitch, I don’t think you’re pleased at all.”   Out would come the whip or the riding crop and she would be beaten until she wailed in pain.  “Please master,” she whimpered, “I want nothing more than to please you, to suck you and fuck you and make you happy.”  Eventually he would be mollified and  he would allow her to have him as many times as he could manage.  Like anyone else put in a similar position, she developed strategies to please him, so that she might be spared any additional pain.  The double header, as Steven named it, was often effective, sucking him dry twice without ever letting him slip out from between her lips.  The blow job on the toilet was good too.  And  there was kissing his ass, literally kissing his ass.  Caressing his cheeks with her mouth, forcing her tongue into the crack between the cheeks, worked to calm his soul.  She was as sensitive to his every thought or feeling as a teenage girl is to her first boyfriend.  From his first step in the door after work or returning from some weekend errand, she weighed and judged her responses, desperate to please and delight him.  

She guessed that Lester had held her captive about two months when the man came to install nipple rings.  Although she couldn’t be sure of the length of her captivity, she was sure that it was on a Friday.  As he invariably bound her or locked her in a cage while he was at work, she could count the days from Monday to Friday.  It was a Friday night.  Calling the guy who put the rings in her nipples a man was a bit strong.  He was a boy, no more than eighteen or nineteen with blond spiked hair and rings in his cheeks, lips, nose, ears and even one in his tongue.  He cleaned her bare breasts with a pungent smelling liquid and began filling a small syringe.  “Just a mild anesthetic,” he said.

“You won’t need it,” Lester announced, “she don’t mind a little pain.”

“Can’t take a chance,” the boy said.  “She might squirm around if I don’t do this and  it wouldn’t take.”  Disappointed, Lester agreed.

She closed her eyes tight while the boy worked first on one of her nipples and then on the other.  “Good,” he announced when each of the rings had been inserted through its hole and snapped shut.  “Very good.”

The nipple rings made things so much simpler for Lester.  Now she could be immobilized with almost no effort on his part.  He just had to fit a short chain between the rings and  lock the chain to almost anything handy.   The easiest was just to attach it to the shackles on her legs.  She could barely move, much less stand or walk.  Or the nipple rings could be attached to the leg of a table or a chair, to the bed or even to the toilet seat.  A great addition, Lester thought.  Better than the nose ring he had been considering as that would surely have spoiled her pretty face and Lester didn’t want that lovely face disfigured.  He thought too that a ring in her tongue might prove a distraction when she sucked him off and he wanted no such distractions.  He bought a light, gold colored leash to attach to the chain between her nipples that he could use instead of the choker collar.  A light pressure served to bring her along quite well.  For her the benefit of the nipple rings, once the pain subsided, was that he used he choker collar much less often, preferring the light leash from her breasts to control her. 

It was August 12, her birthday.  Her forty-fifth birthday.  How should he present her, Lester wondered, both to shock Steve and at the same time to exhibit her to best advantage.  It was worth thinking about.  After considering all sorts of fantastic ideas, Lester decided that simplicity was best.  No fantastic costumes or great amounts of chains or ropes.  He’d show off her with as little on as possible.  That was it. 

It was going to be a very delicate situation.  On the one hand she knew that Lester wanted her to be at her best when he showed her off for Steven.  But she also knew that Lester was resentful, jealous of Steven and her previous affair with him.  There was no doubt that she would have to be on her toes and alert every second if she wasn’t to enrage Lester either by being too accommodating to Steven or by not being sufficiently agreeable.  On her toes.  She shook her head ruefully.  Of course, she would be on her toes; Lester’s newest device would certainly keep her on her toes.  It had been so simple.  All he had to do was glue three tacks, points facing upward, into the heels of her shoes.

Whenever she forgot, or simply could no longer remain on her toes, and let her heels down, the tacks jabbed upward into her soft flesh.  The effect was sharp and immediate, and in a moment she was back up, leaning forward, trying to ease the jabbing pain.   She had to walk very gingerly in those shoes, almost on point, as though she were a ballerina.  Aching calves and feet meant that she sometimes had to let herself relax downward and met by an immediate painful impetus driving her back upward.  “Keep you on your toes,” he would say.

She’d known for several weeks that Lester was going to have Steven out for a visit.  Deep in the recesses of her heart she hoped that when he saw what Lester had done to her, Steven would be moved enough to rescue her, to take her away.  It wasn’t a thought that she allowed to surface in the forefront of her mind, that would be to court disappointment, but there was that constant ray of optimism that she allowed to remain hidden in her soul.

In all the months that Lester held her captive, she seen no one else, spoken to no one else.  At least this would be a break in the routine.  Before leaving that day, Lester made her take extra care with her hair and make-up.  He’d given her earrings and a pearl necklace to put on, beside that she wore nothing except the shiny black shoes designed for her discomfort.    All day she waited with her arms were extended above her head, both hands grasping the metal bar that swung over her head.  Holding the bar relieved the pressure on her legs and she would have kept hold even if her wrists weren’t fastened.  Even so it was a constant struggle to maintain her balance, fighting to keep her heels from dropping onto the always-waiting tacks.  Ting, ting, ting, ting, and every movement was accompanied by the sound of the little bells that dangled from her nipple rings.  It seemed to her as though she had been standing there forever when she heard the cars arriving and  the men’s voices as Lester speaking to Steven.  The muscles in her arms and her legs were burning from the effort.

She wasn’t far from the door and Steven stared in amazement when he saw her.  Lester had built a large wooden frame in which she was displayed.  She stood there on tip toes, arms extended, her face flushed with the effort, a dazzling sight, a very different woman from the one Steven remembered, only distantly related to the woman he so often fantasized about. 

“What have you done with her?  I hardly recognized her.”

“Doesn’t she look great,” Lester beamed.

  Lester stepped next to her, tracing around her breasts with his finger.  He unfastened her arms from the bar.  Gratefully she shook her arms at her sides.  In accompaniment, the bells on her breasts rang their chimes.  Lester jiggled her breasts and the sounds continued.  “What do you think of tinkle tits?  Pretty nifty.  Well, aren’t you going to greet our guest?”

“Hello, Steven.  How are you?” she said the words without ever looking at him, keeping her eyes fixed on Lester.  It was Lester’s reaction that was crucial.  Steven wasn’t going to be her savior.  She knew it with an absolute and devastating certainty.  Steven was a weak man without the strength necessary to rescue her.  He would do nothing to get her away from Lester.  She had been foolish even to allow herself to hope.  After all, it was Steven who first let Lester have her.  God, she thought for the thousandth time, what if I had just written Steven that note of goodbye and left the apartment.  Why, oh why did I ever decide to sit and wait.  She pictured herself that afternoon, finishing the note to Steven and getting away.

“Want a drink?” Lester asked.  “Beer, glass of wine, whiskey?”  Steven didn’t answer.  “Bitch,” he snapped, “get Steve a beer.  Okay, Steve?”

She pranced over to the fridge, took out a beer, opened it, and presented it to Steve, her every step accompanied by the tiny tinkling on her chest.  “Whiskey for me, with one ice cube.”

“Why is she walking like that?”

“Isn’t that great,” Lester clapped his hands.  “Something I made.  See, there are pointy tacks inside the heels of her shoes.  So she can’t let her feet all the way down.  She’s always on her toes.”  She jerked as one of her heels came down on the short spikes.  “Or almost always on her toes,” he nodded approvingly.  “And the straps insure that she can’t just take them off.”  Lester sipped his whiskey.  “You want to fuck her, or have her suck you?  Whatever you want,” Lester waved an arm.  “It’s the least I can do for you.  Shit, if it weren’t for you.  Well you know.”  She heard the anger in Lester’s voice.  He was beginning to work himself into a fury and she started shaking.  “Cunt,” he snapped, “see what you can do for our honored guest.”

Instead she fell to the floor at Lester’s feet.  She licked his shoes for several minutes before raising herself to bury her head between his legs.  “Let me please you first, Lester.”  She held on to Lester’s hips, pulling down his fly with her teeth.  It was something that never failed to please him.  Her little bells tinkled constantly as her head bobbed back and forth.  After he finished, Lester sighed with pleasure.  “She’s a great cocksucker, ain’t she, our little grandma.”  Lester was sufficiently contented with her that he allowed her to remove the devilish shoes.  Relieved that her ploy was successful, she felt much more relaxed. 

They sent her shuffling back and forth between them, satisfying them both with her mouth and between her legs.  After she made them sandwiches they used her together, lowering herself onto Steven while Lester used her mouth. 

“Please, Lester,” she asked while the two men were relaxing.  She had put off the moment as long as possible but now she had reached her limit.  “Watch this,” Lester said to Steven.  She crawled across the floor.  In the corner of the bathroom with both men watching, she squatted over the litter box to relieve herself.  When she finished, Lester put his foot in the middle of her back and pushed her to the floor.  Not daring to rise she used her arms to pull along and she inched her way along behind them. 

After all she’d been though, she thought, she could manage this in a breeze, although she dearly wished that at least it would have been the handsome Steve in the cart behind her instead of Lester.

***

# 4 – Jennifer – An executive’s assistant --

A young woman with short, dark brown hair and very large breasts, squirmed uncomfortably in her harness.  Though technically a volunteer, Jennifer was really only there because her boyfriend, her lover, told her to volunteer.  He showed her some pictures, said he wanted to see her like that, completely naked, driven, raced and watched by strangers.  Even as she shook her head in denial and disbelief, Jennifer knew that she would do what he wanted.  She had originally approached him with a simple proposition, “Whatever you ask,” she said when she got up enough nerve, “whatever you ask, the answer will be yes.”  He raised his eyebrows.  “If you tell me what you want, I’ll do it.  If you tell me to go away, I’ll do that too.”  Jennifer had rehearsed and rehearsed the lines, saying them to herself over and over.  They should have been simple to say with so much practice.  But she was so nervous that she stumbled over several of the words.  When he didn’t reply at once, Jennifer assumed it was a rejection.  He was disgusted by what she offered, she thought, offended by this brash American proposal.  Part of her attraction was his crisp speech, his above-it attitude, his Englishness.  She knew that he was married, that his wife was wealthy and maybe even had a title, and that several of the other girls in the office had tried to seduce him, but none had succeeded.

The wait was painful, almost unbearable.  Had she been holding her breath or did it only feel that way.  Jennifer stared down at her hands, quite aware that his attention was totally focused on her.  At last he put his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair, and smiled.  “All right,” he said.  “Take off your jacket and blouse.  I want to see those tits of yours.”

Jennifer was amazed at the request.  She had never imagined such a direct and assaultive request.  “But,” she stammered, “here in the office.  Now?”

“Jennifer,” he began, “is that how you do whatever I ask you to do, by questioning my order?  You said a few moments ago that you were willing to do whatever I asked of you.  Is that right?”

“Well, yes.  But I didn’t expect …”

“If you didn’t mean what you said, let’s just treat it as though nothing was said.  You’ll have to leave the firm.  I’m sure you understand that in the circumstances, after what was said, that is the only solution.”  He paused, leaning toward her.  “If you did mean what you said, you will obey without question.”  They looked at each other for several seconds.  “Stand up!” he ordered.  Jennifer rose.  “Take off your jacket, blouse and bra right now.”

“Smashing,” he said as she removed her bra.  “Absolutely smashing.  You know, I’ve wondered whether they were augmented in any way.”  He grabbed one of her breasts.   “But you do deliver what you promise.  That’s good.”   His manicured nails cut into the underside of her breast.  “Stand easy,” he said when Jennifer winced, “stand easy.” 

Noises from the outer office caught Jennifer’s attention and she looked toward the door.  “You attend only to me,” he said firmly, “only to me.  Do you understand?”  Jennifer nodded.

He stroked her bottom lip with his forefinger.  “Very well, …”

Knowing that she had used her one demurral, she sank to her knees in front of him.   He reached down to fondle her breast as she unfastened his trousers.  She pushed his shorts down below his knees.  Jennifer leaned forward to take him inside her mouth.  He rested a hand on the top of her head as she used her tongue and lips to stimulate his sensitive organ.   

Their affair had been going for more than a year when he directed her to volunteer as a pony girl.  Jennifer convinced herself that he was close to leaving his wife.  She refused him nothing, submitted to his every whim and desire.  To hear him tell it, Jennifer was the most wonderful thing in the world.  Here she was even enduring this public humiliation to please him.  Surely he could ask for no greater devotion.

                                       ***

# 7 -–Andrea—A Society Woman

Leroy wondered if it was a deliberate snub, whether they had left him until last because he was black.  It was the sort of thing that a black man with a lot of pride would think about.  Were they looking at him thinking that this nappy haired nigger had no right to be using this white woman, a beautiful white woman, this way?  Well, no matter what they had in mind, she was here with him and he meant to give her a hell of a ride.  He sat back in his sulky, whip raised, a feeling of pure pleasure rising inside.  “Hey, up!” he shouted and the woman bounded forward.  Running among the other naked ponies, Leroy felt less isolated, less obviously different.  There was another tall blond running along easily.  “Get those knees up,” Arthur shouted.  Alicia had been looking at the muscular black man driving his curly haired blond and she gradually relaxed her stride. 

They were still several feet away from another pony and rider when the driver brought the young, dark-haired, girl to a complete stop.  Reins pulled sharply against her shoulders, the bit jerked suddenly in her mouth, Alicia’s head wrenched backward and she too was still.

“How’re you doing?” a man said casually, looking not at Arthur but letting his eyes range up and down Alicia’s body.

“Great,” Arthur replied, “just great.”

“What’s yours?”

Arthur paused, puzzling at the question.  At last he figured out what the other man wanted to know.  “School teacher,” he said.  “High-school math teacher.  And yours?”

“Oh, she’s a college girl.  A freshman in college.  And that’s her mother.  The one over there.”  He pointed.   He glanced at Arthur before returning to study Alicia’s body.  Extending his whip he jabbed it between Alicia’s breasts.  Arthur felt offended.  That guy had no right to do that.  Alicia was his pony.  Arthur wondered if he should say something.    But he only loosened the brake and prepared to move away.

“When I was in high-school,” the other man said, “there was this art teacher, Miss Wickham or something like that.  Boy, I would love to have seen her here.  Pretty.  Friendly.  Called us all by our nicknames instead of the names only teachers used.”  He laughed.  “Miss Wickham, I think it was.  Haven’t thought about her for a long time.  I used to think of her all the time.  A high-school teacher.  You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Arthur replied testily.

“Been here before?” the man asked.

“No, this is my first time.”

“Thought so.”  He shook the reins, grunted loudly, tapped the girl with his whip and they started up again.  “See you,” he said holding the whip upright in a salute before cracking it across the girl’s back.

Arthur was unnerved by the comment about his being a tyro.  Why did he say that?  “Giddap!” Arthur snapped and Alicia started walking forward.  A sharp, stinging blow on her right side encouraged Alicia into a trot.  Moments later came the seemingly contradictory signals, urging her forward while pulling her head backward.  Alicia resumed her exaggerated strut as the whip struck her thigh.  “Keep your mind on what you’re doing!” he ordered when she stumbled.  Loosening the reins he sent Alicia into a fast walk.  They circled around to the left.  He wanted another look at that girl and the man who picked him out as a newcomer.  Arthur straightened her out, slowed her down and put Alicia back into a strut.  A few moments later, Arthur had her trotting off, this time after the dazzlingly pretty blond and the black man driving her.

Arthur eased back on the reins, slowing Alicia to an easy walk, not for her sake but to make time to appreciate the two young girls with their trim, tight bodies and muscular legs.  Twins, he thought, identical twins.  That’s something.  Catching the large, soft, frightened eyes of one of them wakened a protective instinct.  They looked to Arthur like a pair of foals, separated from their mother, innocent and orphaned.  He longed to rescue them from their leather-clad riders who glanced appraisingly at Alicia while completely ignoring him.  An insistent noise broke into his fantasy of keeping the twins in his small apartment. 

The thickset black man was shouting at the curly haired blond woman with an incredibly pretty face.  “C’mon bitch, keep your ass movin’.”  Technically, Andrea was a volunteer rather than a draftee.  But this was not at all her choice.  It was, she hoped, the last day of her involuntary subjugation.  One more day, she told herself, one more day and it would all be over.  She could manage that much.  She had managed much worse things.  Her wealthy, blue-blood husband used to beat the hell out of her when he got drunk, which was very often.  A serious alcoholic with a distinct predilection for physical abuse, he had made her life hell until she managed to have him arrested.  After his arrest, it came out that he had been stealing from the bank, they prosecuted and he was still in penitentiary.  Then came the divorce, leaving her with a seriously disturbed stepdaughter.  Had this adventure begun only last week?  It seemed so long ago that Hillary had arrived in tears, frantic.  That was right, it was one week ago.  Her stepdaughter, Hillary, had only lasted a couple of months in college before she quit school.  Now she was sharing an apartment with three other girls in a dreadful part of the city.  Heaven knows what she was doing to earn money.  “Please Mom, you’ve got to help me.  Please.”

“What is it baby?  Of course I’ll help you.  Anything.”  Andrea melted at the word mom.  She couldn’t remember Hillary ever calling her mom.

There was a man, a dangerous man.  Hillary owed him more than $10,000.  She couldn’t possibly pay him.  What could she do?

How did she come to owe someone so much money?  Her stepmother wanted to know.

There had been a big party.  Hillary knew a man who dealt drugs.  She agreed to supply the drugs for the party and everyone was to pay her back.  But no one did.  Now she was on the hook for the money.  Her supplier, a man named Leroy, was threatening make her become a whore to pay back what she owed.

“Oh, he can’t do that,” her stepmother said.

“Yes, he can.  He really can.  He told me that unless I came up with what I owe him, he was going to sell me to a pimp who would put me on the street.  One way or another he was going to get his money out of me.”  She began to wail.  “Mama, what am I going to do?”

She took her frightened stepdaughter in her arms.  “I’ll go talk to him.  It’ll be alright.”

“Oh, Mom.  Thank you.  I didn’t know what to do.  Leroy says the pimp will ship me to another city, a city where I don’t know anyone and I won’t ever be able to get away.”

“How do I get to meet this Leroy?”

“You just go to his house.  He doesn’t have any drugs at his house so the cops can’t do anything to him.  And  he has someone else deliver the drugs.  I’ll find out a good time for you to go there?  Alright?”

The taxi driver was surprised when she gave him the address but took her there nevertheless.  Walking up the stairs to the front door, she had the feeling of being watched, but put it out of her mind.  She had never been in a black neighborhood before.  It was an odd, unsettling feeling.

“I’m here to see Leroy,” she said to the young man who opened the door. 

“Wait in here,” he said and moved away.

She stood uncomfortably for at least 10 minutes before a short, thick, powerfully built, black man in his twenties walked slowly down the stairs.  Guessing from his attitude, she decided that she was deliberately made to wait, deliberately made to feel uncomfortable.  As he approached her, he looked her over so blatantly and thoroughly that she began to blush.  He made no attempt to hide his actions, studying her breasts and legs and face without the slightest embarrassment.  “Leroy,” he said smiling and held out his hand.

“Andrea,” she replied.  “Hillary’s step-mother.”

“Juran,” he called out.  “Go about your business.”  The young man who let her in smiled at her as he let himself out.

“Can I get you anything, Andrea?  Coffee, something to drink?”

“Thank you.  No.”

“Right to business.  All right, Andrea.  Let’s get to business.”

“I understand my step-daughter owes you a great deal of money and that you have threatened some,” she paused searching for the word, “unpleasant consequences if she doesn’t pay.”

“That’s more or less right.”

“Very well.  I’m prepared to make good my step-daughter’s debt to you.”

“How you gonna do that?” he snapped.

“Well, I’ll pay you the money she owes.”

“This ain’t about money, no more.”

“I don’t understand.”  Andrea was genuinely confused.

It was odd.  Sometimes he spoke with more of a southern accent, a black accent.  Other times his speech was that of an educated white easterner.  Andrea wondered which was the affectation.

Yes, Hillary owed him between 10 and 15 thousand dollars.  When she couldn’t pay up, she offered him a day of service for each thousand she owed him.  He was due two weeks of Hillary.  When she reneged even on that, he decided to recoup his money another way.  This arrangement was publicly known.  He couldn’t afford people seeing him be taken in by no little white girl.  Sorry, but no.  If Hillary didn’t deliver on her promise, he was going to sell her stepdaughter to a friend of his.  That was all there was to it.  Reputation was important in his business and he couldn’t afford to have his destroyed like this.

They stood facing each other in silence for what seemed like a very long time.  “On the other hand,” he said at last, “on the other hand,” he paused, considering.  “Do you want to make good your daughter’s debt?”

“Certainly, I do,” Andrea replied.  That’s why I’m here.”

“Okay.   If that’s what you want, to make good your stepdaughter’s problem, I’ll take you for a week.  Only one week.  Discount for age and experience.  But one week of absolute obedience.  You mine.  I own you for seven days.  You do everything I say.  After that your step-daughter’s free of me.”

Andrea was shaken.  In other surroundings she might have asked if he was serious.  But she had no doubt that he was serious and that he would be offended if she questioned him about that point.  What could she say?   What could she do?   The only possibility was to reject the arrangement.  “How can I be sure that you’ll stick to the bargain?”

“I told you my reputation is important.  I don’t jive.  But I can see your point.  Okay.  I’ll write a confession to a crime that I committed.  We give it to someone you can trust, say your stepdaughter.  In a week she comes back here, gets a note saying from me saying we’re even and gives me back the confession.  But you got to write a note too.  One I get to keep ‘till next week, sayin’ that you doin’ this on your own, nothin’ forced, no coercion.  You hangin' around for the excitement.  I don’t want to be charged with kidnapping or false imprisonment or white slavery.”  This last was spoken with an ironic smile. “We exchange notes next week when it’s over.  We all go our own way.”

Leroy wrote a long, detailed confession to a murder committed the previous year.  Andrea wrote her note in the form of a letter asking to stay with him for the week and gave it to Leroy.  When they were both signed and dated, they phoned Hillary, explained that she was to pick up an envelope.  If, at the end of the following week, she hadn’t heard from her stepmother, or if anything didn’t seem right, the sealed envelope was to go to the police.  Leroy and Andrea waited on the sidewalk for Hillary, gave her the written confession, Andrea’s letter and went back to the house.  Leroy waited at the front door.  “Open it for me, Bitch,” he snapped.  Andrea held the door and followed him inside.

“Leroy” she said, “before we begin.”  She never got to continue.  Leroy slapped her hard across her face.

“We already begun.  And you ain’t got nothin’ to say about nothin’.  Understand, What you say is `Yes.’”

“Yes, Leroy,” she managed through the tears that she couldn’t contain.

“And I don’t think, under the circumstances that you should call me by my first name.  It ain’t fitting.”

“I don’t know your other name.  Just Leroy.”

“Well, , `Yes, Master’ will be fine.”

She hesitated, unwilling to make the commitment.  He looked angrily at her.  “You hear me, Bitch.”  Frightened of him, of his physical presence and what he promised to do to Hillary, she gave in.  “Yes, Master.”

“That’s better.  You do just what I tell you and this week be just fine.”

She looked down at the floor.  “Yes, Master,” she said quietly.

“Now wanna’ see what I’m getting’ for my money.”

She raised her eyes, looking rather than asking her question.

“Right here, right now.  Strip naked.”

He stood no more than a foot away from her in the hallway near the front door of his house as she removed her jacket.  She looked around for some place to put it.  Finding nothing she dropped it on the floor by her side.  Leroy merely looked at her noncommittally.  Andrea took a deep breath and began unbuttoning her blouse.  Nervously, hands shaking slightly, she struggled with each of the buttons.  After what seemed an inordinately long time she managed to pull it open and take it off.  Her skirt was much easier, just a matter of undoing the clasp at the waist and slipping the zipper at the side.  The plaid skirt fell to the floor at her feet.  She pushed the beige slip on top of the skirt and Andrea stepped to one side.  She looked at Leroy to gauge his reaction but he sent out no signals at all, merely stood watching with interested detachment.   After removing her shoes she slid her pantyhose from her feet.  She leaned against the wall wearing only her bra and panties.  He was cool, she thought.  Most of the men she had known would have already begun to lose their calm by this point giving her a definite edge.  But he appeared quite calm and in control.  His twinkly, intelligent eyes looked her over from head to toe, assessing, judging.  Andrea began to feel less calm.  When he raised his eyebrows, she reached back to unhook her bra.  Only his eyes moved as he studied her full round breasts.  Slipping her hands inside the elastic she pulled down her panties bent over and finally took them off.  Still he said nothing, betrayed no emotion.

“On your back,” he ordered, “and spread your legs.  Let’s see if you as good as you look.”

Straddling her, his legs next to her hips, she thought he looked like a ebony statue of a god, but brought to life and moving, taking off his shirt before unfastening his belt. 

He was pleased and surprised when she suddenly sat up to deal with his zipper.  She removed his pants and underpants.  As he lowered himself on to her, she pursed her lips to be kissed.  Instead Leroy put a hand behind her head and pressed his left nipple into her mouth.  She responded as he had hoped, nibbling and licking that sensitive spot.  When he first discovered the immense pleasure of having his nipples stimulated, Leroy wondered whether it was a sign of effeminacy or possible homosexuality.  He was greatly relieved to find that he liked to have women take his nipple in their mouths and never fantasized about men at all.  He slid forward and slipped inside her without difficulty.  A great start, he thought.  She was going to work out fine.  He held out as long as he could before he let himself go, finally sagging in relief after he exploded inside her.

She lay beneath him feeling his thick, muscular body.  He remained almost still, surprisingly light on top of her.  Andrea continued kissing the wiry hair on his chest and caressing one or the other of his nipples with her tongue and lips.  In a while, he swelled again and found his way back inside her.  The coupling lasted much longer this time yet all the while she sucked on his nipple.  Leroy sighed his pleasure.

“I got to do some business,” he said as he rose.  “You got to get started fixin’ this place up.  By the end of the week, it gonna be spotless.  Right?”

“Okay,” she said dreamily.

He kicked her with his bare foot.  “Yes, Master!”

“Yes, Master,” she echoed.

“Come in the kitchen.  I’ll show you where stuff is.”  He started down the hallway.

Andrea rose to follow him.  “Not like that,” he snapped.  “You heel, Bitch.”  She lowered herself to all fours and began crawling after him.  “What you say?” he called back over his shoulder.

“Yes, Master.”

“Yes, Master,” he repeated, nodding his approval.

When he left, he hadn’t said whether she should put her clothes back on or remain as she was.  So Andrea sat at the kitchen table for ten or fifteen minutes before doing anything.  She found an apron, put on her panties, folded the rest of her clothing and put it in a drawer, then began cleaning.  Most of her day was spent in the kitchen.  Every dish and piece of cutlery was run through the dishwasher.  Cupboards and drawers were washed.  She scrubbed the floor on hands and knees and  used an old bottle of floor polish to make the linoleum shine.  When she was finished in the kitchen Andrea began vacuuming, first the hallway, starting where Leroy had so recently taken her, and finally the front room.  Andrea, who wasn’t at all used to housework, walked from room to room admiring her work and on the whole was quite pleased with the results.  The house was a lot better looking than when she arrived only a few hours ago.

On his return Leroy either didn’t notice the difference, or pretended not to.  “I got to go out again soon.  Upstairs in my bedroom, the one on the left, press me a pair of pants, a clean shirt and shine me a pair of shoes.”  Expecting some acknowledgment of the work already done, Andrea stared at him without moving.  He drew back his arm, spanking her very hard.  “Damn it, Bitch.  You jump when I say jump.  Not after awhile, but right away.”

The pain brought tears to her eyes.  She rubbed her stinging backside.  Andrea looked at the floor.  “Yes, Master,” she whispered.

“Go,” he shouted, and she scampered up the stairs.

“That boy, Juran, only seen you once, but he in love with you already.  Tellin’ me how beautiful you are.”  Leroy was putting on his jacket, getting ready to leave.  “Problem is he got no self confidence.  I think you just the thing to give that boy some confidence.  When he shows up, you gonna make up to him.  Take him upstairs.  By the time you through with him that boy gonna think he’s the greatest lover since Don Juan.  Don Juran.  You understand me?”

“Yes, Master,” she said reluctantly.

“And we be able to see how successful you are in the way that boy carries himself after you done with him.”  Leroy smiled to himself.  You just go along with whatever he wants and make sure he have a good time.” 

A few minutes later when Juran came back to the house, Leroy confided to him that the woman was just saying how handsome he was and how much she wanted him.  Embarrassed, the boy’s dark face became even darker and he looked away. 

Not easy being sexy and seductive wearing just an apron, Andrea thought.  On the other hand, it might be just right.  “Juran,” she asked in a shy, quiet voice.  “Do you really think I’m pretty?”

“Sure do,” he managed at last.  So she spent her week with one of the two young black men, Juran who was gentle and soft or Leroy who was demanding and tough.  Toward the end of the week, Leroy encouraged Juran to be more assertive, more demanding of the white woman they both commanded.  They sometimes used her together, one at her rear and the other in her mouth.

Leroy’s little parties invariably started sometime after midnight.  Andrea answered the door dressed in panties and one of Leroy’s old T-shirts.  “Good evening, Sir.  Good evening, Ma’am,” to the guests, all black.  After that, fetching snacks and beer, her only allowable responses “Yes, Ma’am” and “Yes, Sir.”  The men seemed to look at her approvingly, the women with dislike and suspicion.  Early one evening, Juran invited some of his friends in to show them the white woman who was their new servant.

Then it was the final evening.  The last night.  Tomorrow her week would be up.  Leroy summoned her.  “Come, Bitch.”  When she didn’t appear at once, he shouted.  “When I say `Come ’ I mean now.  On the double.”

She opened the bathroom door.  “Damn it,” he said to her, “I call, you come running.  Understand?”

“Yes,” she inclined her head.  “Yes, Master,” she added quickly before he snapped at her again.

He studied the naked white woman framed in the doorway.  Undoubtedly his ancestors had bowed and scraped and said `Yes, Master’ to her ancestors.  Had some white man made his great-grand stepmother run around naked like this, he wondered, cleaning up after him and answering his every need?  If so, it made what he was doing all the better.  And if not, what the hell, he was still having a great time with her.  Leroy turned slightly on the commode.  “On your knees.”  He spread his legs, pointing to the bathroom floor at his feet.  She opened her mouth to object, thought better of it, and stepped toward him.  “Yes, Master,” her shoulders drooped in surrender. 

A great looking woman, Leroy thought as she knelt before him.  Hard to believe that she’s Hillary’s stepmother.  Hillary’s about eighteen, so the stepmother has to be at least five, ten years older.  The stepdaughter is a good looker but the stepmother is great stuff.   Tall, three or four inches taller than Leroy, long legs, great legs, tawny blond hair and bright blue eyes.  Nice big tits.  He reached down, grasping one in each hand.  Small, tight ass.  He liked that.  Most of his friends preferred their women with wide hips and big asses.  Black guys generally liked black women.  It was what they were used to, what they felt comfortable with.  Big boobs, big hips, big asses.  It was funny that white men so often were afraid that black guys were after their women.  Leroy suspected that it was a way of coming to grips with their own preference for black women.  Of course, most of the guys he knew would take this rare beauty if she were offered to them, as she was offered to him.  But still they would like a plump, round, black, beauty even more.  She looked unblinkingly straight ahead as squeezed. 

“Cha lookin’ at?  Your big, black, friend rising to meet you?”  He eased her forward until her face was a few inches from his fully erect member.  She extended her pink tongue, grazing the head of his penis.  When Leroy was twelve or thirteen, just beginning to feel the powerful sexual urges that were so much a part of his life, he would retreat to the only private place in his crowded house, to sit on the toilet with his girly magazine.  Once he started, he masturbated daily, taking great pleasure when his milky fluid smacked against one of the pictures.  He fantasized equally about the black women in his neighborhood, the mostly black women teachers in his school and the naked white women in the magazine.  Leroy took both of arms and placed her fingers on his nipples.  Dutifully, she twirled them gently between thumb and forefinger.   Not only was the feeling physically pleasurable it was deeply satisfying to have her mouth and both of her hands devoted to his pleasure.

Now her eyes were closed as her tongue swept up and down the length of him.  With a deep sigh of pleasure, Leroy leaned against the back of the toilet.  He rested his hands on her shoulders.  They made a nice contrast, his large powerful dark colored hands against her light pink skin.  He felt a tingling sensation in his loins.  Putting one hand on the back of her head, he guided her down, until most of him was inside her warm, moist mouth.  She clamped her lips tight around him and bobbed her head slowly up and down.  Leroy cried out in release as he filled her mouth with his warm, salty, gel.  Wanting to prolong the sensation, he put one hand on top of her blond head to hold her in place.  Even as he softened and relaxed and he felt the tension ease, she maintained the pressure with her lips and kept up the gentle bobbing motion of her head.

Slapping his thigh, he said “Heel, Bitch” She crawled after him down the long hallway to his bedroom.  “Not going too fast for you, am I?”

She looked up from the floor.  “No, Master.”

“Got something special for you tomorrow.  We goin’ to the races.  Would you like that?”

“Yes, Master.”

This was the last day, Andrea told herself.  After tonight it would all be over.  She would have paid off her stepdaughter’s debt and put this awful experience behind her.  At the pain of the whip on her back, she began to run.  “C’mon bitch,” Leroy shouted.  “Get up there,” and she ran even faster.

  A few clouds moved lazily across the morning sky as the twelve naked women moved about the open field, each pulling a high-wheeled chariot, each under the control of an attentive driver.  The two heavyset women driving two sisters remained close to one another, only rarely concerning themselves with the others. 

“Notice the legs on them?” Clara, the one with gray streaks in her hair, was driving Chrissie, the younger sister.   “Look at them muscles.  Must be runners.  Work out a lot.”  In fact, Karen had been the star of the school’s cross-country team while Chrissie was a sprinter on the track team.

“It’s a good thing for us they never ran away,” her friend Myra laughed.  “We sure wouldn’t have caught them.”

“We should do good today with those legs pulling us.  Don’t you think?”

“They’re a couple of sweeties,” Myra said.  “Do whatever you want them to.  A real pair of sweeties, aren’t they?”

The sisters were indeed adorable with their bangs just peeking out just below the leather straps that circled their foreheads.  Small, round, perfectly shaped breasts, breasts that seemed larger because the girls were so slim, barely moved when they walked.   The metal shafts across their open mouths blurred subtle facial differences and identical leather rigging made the two young bodies seem even more alike.  “Go,” called a voice as the whip met Chrissie’s thigh, just above the knee.  Chrissie began to walk faster and, at the next command, started to trot.  A moment later, Karen feeling the sharp pain of the whip on her back, ran after her sister.  Her sweet, rosy breasts, still with the firmness of youth, jostled compactly.   When they were side by side, their riders eased the girls back to trot.  Once you were moving, it wasn’t much harder than carrying a backpack, something both girls had done throughout high school.  Starting up, the effort needed to get the cart and driver into motion, was harder, but manageable.  Going from a walk to a trot or a trot to a run was easier than having to begin from a complete stop.  Slowing down was scary because you were always concerned that the driver would forget the brake or use too much braking.  If they forgot, you’d get run over.  If they used too much, the girl pulling the cart was snapped violently backward.  Jogging along together, the next few minutes were a peaceful respite for Karen and Chrissie and their drivers.  Certainly it was among the least stressful moments the sisters had known since they decided to run away from home.  No speeding up or slowing down.  No shouts or whips or even a change of pace.  On this sunlit Saturday morning, their pretty young faces equally reddened with exertion, they looked more than ever like twins

The respite ended abruptly when Clara thought it might be fun to teach their ponies to prance in unison.  The girls were reined in, pressure of the bit pulling their cheeks toward back of the mouth, a steady tightening of the harness on back and shoulders.  The pressure increased until both girls stopped completely.  Then came a barrage of orders, often contradictory.  Reins were loosened and they moved forward.  No sooner did they start than they were jerked to a stop.  At last it became clear that they were supposed to march in unison, matching each other step for step.  As they became accustomed to each other's rhythm Karen and Chrissie were able to maintain their synchronized steps with only an occasional voice command.  Sometimes, especially when they were turning, they lost their concentration.  There were shouts again and blows.

Like a real mare concerned about her foal Gloria, was so intent on her daughter’s well being that she barely noticed the first few tugs until the sting of the whip and a sharp jerk sent her staggering off to her right. 

Her driver cracked the whip across her back.  They told him that an older woman would be easy to handle but here she was just poking along in the wake of that other cart, ignoring him.  “Pay attention,” he hissed.  “Keep your mind on what you’re doing.”    Once the visual contact was broken, and the reality struck home that there was really nothing she could do for Susanna, Gloria became much more manageable.   Very soon she was moving easily among the other pony girls, responding to the smallest adjustments of her reins, speeding up and slowing down on command.  He thought that they were starting to understand one another.  He would be sparing with his whip and gentle in the use of the reins so long as she responded promptly to all his commands.  For her part, she was to remain alert, attentive and compliant.  He was becoming sufficiently relaxed that he was able to look at the others.  Certainly a good looking, well built, group of ponies, he thought.  Was it like this every week?  Were these girls a fair representation of what was brought here?  Or was this an above average collection?   He was considering these questions when he noticed with dismay the daughter approaching.  He turned Gloria aside.  But the daughter’s driver swung her around and guided her toward them.  Certainly a good looking girl, he thought, pretty face, slim waist, full round breasts that were larger than her mother’s. 

The girl’s driver pointed at the two Lesbos, as he called them.  Look what they were doing with the twin girls.  He proposed that they should train the mother and daughter at least as well as that.  You couldn’t have those Lesbos showing them all up.  Gloria’s driver didn’t want to go along but found himself unable refuse.  He pulled her in with a sharp jerk of the reins forcing the bit against the back of her mouth.  Gloria grunted as she stopped in her tracks.  Gloria and Susanna stood a few feet from each other.  Five or six times the reins loosened and the pressure in their mouths relaxed.  But each time they started, one or the other driver stopped them.   At last Susanna’s driver thought they needed some voice commands.  "Ho, Hey, Ho, Hey," he sang out, setting the cadence.  "Ho, Hey, Ho, Hey," speeding the pair up and slowing them down with his chant while we moved across the open field. To the insistent "Ho, Hey, Ho, Hey" they matched their steps.  Next they had to be trained to start and stop together.  On command they leaned forward, taking up any slack in the harness and traces.  Timing that first step, always beginning with the same leg, raised to the same height, took lots of practice, dozens of repetitions.  Over and over, the pair halted, waited, started up, increased their speed, slowed down and stopped until, at last, Susanna’s driver pronounced himself satisfied.

No such stopping and starting for Andrea as Leroy kept her constantly trotting off in one direction or another, heedless of anyone in their way.  Very quickly all the other drivers learned to give them a wide berth.  Fortunately for Andrea, or perhaps unfortunately, she was an everyday jogger and easily able to keep up with Leroy’s demands. 

Daniel pretty much let his Professor have her head and go at whatever speed she wanted to as long as she kept moving.  He didn’t want Mary Louise to tire even before they started racing. 

***

A loud, piercing whistle, loud enough to be heard at the most boisterous of sporting events caught everyone’s attention.  The tallest of the handlers was waving them all in, back toward the terrace where the audience, now numbering over a hundred, was waiting.  When the girls were close enough to see how many spectators there were, they all, without exception, shied back, obviously reluctant to be shown displayed in front of so many people.  Even those like Karen or Betty, hoping that someone who recognized them would rescue her, became unsettled.  That nervousness communicated itself very quickly to the other ponies and the riders had to urge, wrestle or prod them forward.  As each girl moved along the fence, she was studied and assessed by a crowd of people containing a surprising number of women.  At the far end of the fence each one stopped and a plume matching her shoes and chariot was inserted into pocket of her headgear.  Turquoise for Karen and Chrissie who led the parade.  A sweet baby blue for Alicia Brix and the large breasted Jennifer to Alicia’s right.  The college professor, Mary Louise and the red haired older woman were adorned with bright red plumes.  Andrea, driven by her proud black man, and Robin driven by an equally pleased youth, had white standards placed above their heads.  Mother and daughter, Gloria and Susanna, were given pink.  Finally Ruth Waterman and Louise Larson had their yellow headdresses installed.  The entire field walked slowly in front of the patio in single file, snaked out into the grass before forming pairs.  Guided back they were told to begin their high-stepping strut. Those, like Alicia, Susanna and Andrea who had, at some time in their lives, studied ballet exaggerated their gait as they passed in review and were particularly attractive.  Others, like Susanna’s mother Gloria and Ruth Waterman, were naturally graceful and moved with an elegant ease.  The rest did the best they could, urged on by their drivers.  There was an appreciative silence as the women passed in review, their naked bodies, adorned with beads of perspiration, standing out against the brightly colored decorations on their heads and feet.  The drivers all sat straight and tall, puffed and proud, as their mounts pulled them along.

After the parade they were driven up to the fence, their reins pulled over their heads, to be wound around the wooden crosspiece.  With the women fixed in place, each standing in front of her number, brightly colored plumes fluttering above their heads, the whips were placed in their holders and the drivers dismounted.  Directly in front of the dozen harnessed ponies, round tables, each covered in white linen, were ranged around the flagstone patio.  At the back on the left, a man and a woman finished setting up the bar and began serving drinks.  Along the right side of the patio two men were beginning to arrange the luncheon buffet.  A gentle breezed stirred the feathered plumes decorating each of the ponies’ heads.  A tall man wearing a cowboy hat spent a long time staring at Alicia, looking her up and down, peering at her breasts and down at her legs.  Moving over to the sisters he found them more to his taste.  Tall women were alright but, all in all, he preferred the petite ones.  There was something quite delicate and sweet about these two little girls with small, round breasts and sad eyes.  He moved back along the fence studying and assessing each of the tethered ponies.

As the drivers’ friends and other interested patrons filled the patio, the atmosphere became a mixture of county fair and art museum.  The drivers and spectators, some having finished their food, some still eating or drinking, moved slowly along the walkway scrutinizing the exhibits, considering, judging, comparing.  The color and shape of Alicia’s breasts occasioned a good bit of interest, but in truth there was so much to look at with a dozen splendid female bodies to consider that they all drew their fair share of attention. The wooden fence, to which all the naked women were tethered, curved gently in a half circle.  An onlooker standing in the apron, in front of the tables, could glance from one end of the line of ponies to the other.  The women on display were necessarily silent, metal shafts holding their mouths slightly open, their faces nevertheless showing a variety of emotions ranging from acceptance to anger, from wariness to fear, and from dull acceptance to complete dismay.

Just to Alicia’s left, a young woman with short, dark brown hair and very large breasts, squirmed uncomfortably in her harness.  Howard, over here.”  The man standing in front of Jennifer waved an arm.  “How are you, old boy?”  They shook hands. 

“John, it’s good to see you again,” Howard smiled.

“That’s her,” John raised an arm in her direction.  “Or rather that is she.  My Jennifer.  Quite something, don’t you think?  Roaming the forest, sporting that set of antlers, and  showed up in my office.  Just like that.  Walked in, offered herself up.  Not exactly a sporting shot but too good a trophy not to take, don’t you think?  Perhaps two good trophies.”  It took a few moments but, at last, Howard smiled at the word play.

“Now you’ve seen her,” John faced his friend.  “Do you want her?  She’s yours if you do.  All yours.  No strings.”  Jennifer sagged inside the leather rigging.  Her eyes became dull and watery, her face a mask of utter disappointment.  “Look, Howard, if you have any reservations, any reservations at all.”  He paused.  “I don’t want you to feel pressured here.”

“No, old man.  No, of course not.  But one question.”

“Certainly.”

“Why are you getting rid of her?”

“The wife.  It’s the wife, you see.  Found out about it.  Very upset.  Get rid of it, she said.  Well, you know my wife, old man.  Once she makes up her mind to a thing, you can’t really get her to change.  Get rid of it, she said, and getting rid of it, I am.”  Both men studied Jennifer’s body, one with happy anticipation and the other with deep sadness.   “Too good for sport.  Can’t simply send her away.  Thought about it and decided you were just the man to make good use of her.”

Both men stood silently contemplating the young woman and her large breasts. 

“Oh,” John said brightly.  “I spoke to them and there won’t be any problem.  You can certainly ride her this afternoon.  They’ll give you some time to practice with her and some hints on how to handle her.”

“Very well,” Howard said.  “Consider it done.”

John stood very close to Jennifer.  “Remember, you promised that you would do anything I asked.”  Tears were running down Jennifer’s cheeks.  “Well, now I am turning you over to my friend.  Understand?”

Her wail of protest, though muted by the metal bar in her mouth, was clearly audible.  Several people looked up from the nearest tables.  Alicia turned her head as far as she could, which was only a few inches, to glance in that direction.  One of the workers unwrapped Jennifer’s reins from the fence and led her away.  John watched wistfully as his friend mounted the girl’s following cart and drove her out into the field.

It was time to feed and water the ponies.  One after another each of the pony girls had the long spout of a green plastic can pushed into her open mouth.  The can tipped forward and a thick white fluid flowed slowly in.  Only Jennifer, exercising with her new master, avoided being fed this way.  For the rest avoidance was impossible.  The metal bit stretching from cheek to cheek kept each girl’s mouth open, the head could not be turned very far and backing up was impossible.  The servers moved slowly down the line, tipping the can, waiting, and tipping it again.  The spectators watched the operation with quiet fascination. 

The ponies having been fed and watered, it was almost time to begin the afternoon’s entertainment.  The air of excitement and anticipation spread among the riders and the watchers, dampening their conversations.  There was less talk and the those who continued did so with voices lowered almost to a whisper.  The girls on display felt the change.  To Alicia’s right, the two sisters shuffled nervously.  Several of the other girls writhed and pulled against their straps.  Alicia tried to contain her own feelings but she too strained uncomfortably against her harness.  When a cloud momentarily covered the sun, Alicia shivered against the sudden cold.

On the other side of the fence there was food, drink and loud chatter with, of course, constant appreciation of the show.  The bartenders and waiters were the only ones with relatively little time to admire the naked ponies.  They were kept busy replenishing the constantly emptying buffet tables and refilling drink glasses.  The sad, helpless looks from the far side of the fence made eating and drinking more exciting and pleasurable.

A little way down the line from Alicia, to her left, a black-haired woman was trying to pull free.  One of the workers, left his table, grabbed a handful of her dark hair, said something in her ear, snapped a fingernail across a nipple and backed away.  She flinched at the pain, twisted uncomfortably, said some incomprehensible words and  was silent.   The obstreperous woman, dark eyes glancing around wildly from a round, lovely face was the college professor.  She wanted to tell Daniel, the boy who had brought her to the Pony races, that she had enough and wanted to go home.  But there was no going back.

Andrea, the society woman, stood, more or less resigned, staring dully at Leroy and the other people finishing their lunches.  Susanna constantly jerked her head toward her mother hoping to find some comfort but, finding none, looked greedily at the food the others were eating.  Two young sorority girls chattering behind raised hands and tittered constantly made all the naked and bound ponies even more uncomfortable than the gawking men.  They seemed particularly amused when large breasted Jennifer was returned to her place and hurriedly fed.  In addition to the women’s breasts and their restraints, the two sorority sisters were intrigued by the difference in pubic hair.  Girls rarely see other girls naked.  Behavior in women’s locker rooms is ordinarily quite demure with robes and wrapped towels.  Black haired Ruth, # 11, and Jennifer, had pubic hair that was almost the same color as that on their heads.  But the rest, surprisingly, were different.  The blonds, # 3 Alicia, # 7 Andrea, and # 12 Louise were darker below they were on top, while # 8 Robin, # 9 Susanna, and # 10 Gloria, all in a row were lighter.  # 6 Betty was brown instead of red.  So light, thin and sparse were # 2 Karen’s and # 1 Chrissie’s triangular patches that they almost looked to have no hair at all.  # 5, the college professor, Mary Louise, by contrast, had hair thicker and darker and more luxuriant than the hair on her head. 

                                       ***

One at a time, reins were loosed from the fence, brakes released, and they were led a few feet away.  A handler held onto the reins while the drivers mounted, retrieved their whips and, in a few minutes, had them all strutting along in matched pairs.  The two sisters, Chrissie and Karen, led the parade wearing turquoise sandals, turquoise feathers waving over their heads and pulling their two captors who sat proudly in their similarly colored carts.  Next Alicia, the mathematics teacher and to her left Jennifer, both arrayed in light baby blue.  Arthur and the Englishman chatted amiably as they drove their ponies.  The third row showed Mary Louise, the dark haired professor, pulling a serious Daniel next to the older woman, Betty, who was pulling a sour faced Lester.  Her bright red raiment did nothing to lighten anyone’s mood.  In the next row, Leroy a picture of fierce concentration kept Andrea in line while never speaking a word to the man driving Robin, the young waitress.  Their white adornments were, everyone agreed, very becoming.  Leroy wondered if the choice of white feathers and shoes were some sort of commentary.  Behind them Gloria and her daughter were displayed in pink.  In the last row, Kenneth slowed Ruth Waterman until she was walking easily beside the tall gangling woman, Louise, the two nicely matched in yellow.

After the parade of naked ponies passed, the spectators finished their drinks and followed them into the field for the first event.  The sprint was held in two heats.  They were lined up by the numbers so the first six raced against one another with the top three to move on to the finals.  Jennifer, number 4, sturdier than any of the others, strained forward at the gun and had the best start.  But after about twenty yards, their riders whipping and urging them forward, Karen and Chrissie surged forward passing the larger girl.  Just behind the two sisters, Arthur had Alicia running at a very good speed.  The older woman, Betty, just didn’t have the strength to keep up while Mary Louise, running as fast as she could, was nowhere near fast enough.  In the end it was Karen crossing the line first, followed by her sister Chrissie and Alicia in third place, with the other three far behind.

In the second heat, the blond woman, Andrea lost her sandal about half way down the course.  Leroy dismounted, and cursing her as though it had been her fault and not his, refastened the shoe.  As he drove her toward the finish line, he continued berating her.  The others had long passed, Robin, the young waitress, and Susanna finishing at almost the same time with Ruth just behind the two leaders.  Gloria was several yards behind and Louise eventually managed to finish the course.  None of this stopped Leroy from driving Andrea at full speed across the finish line.

After a short wait, just enough to let the girls from the second heat to have a short rest, they lined up.  The gun went off to start the final of the sprint.  Chrissie immediately stumbled because her driver, Clara, had not fully opened the brake.  Were it not for her halter, she surely would have fallen and hurt herself.  Her sister Karen, running on young, strong, well rested legs, was away first with Alicia Brix, the mathematics teacher, close behind.  It was clear immediately that the girls from the earlier heat had a definite advantage for being better rested.  Only Susanna, from the later group, ever stood a chance.  Toward the finish she was actually closing on the leaders.  Despite several well-placed blows from Clara’s whip, Chrissie was never really in contention.  In the end Karen with Myra driving crossed the line first, several steps ahead of Alicia, urged on by Arthur.  Just behind her was Susanna, whose driver was managing to get every bit of speed she could manage.  Ruth and Robin finished again almost at the same time and Chrissie was last.  A smiling Myra had Karen trot back along the edge of the audience to accept their cheers and congratulations.  “Wire to wire.  What do you think of that?” she said to her disappointed friend.  Clara only frowned, urged Chrissie into a trot and moved away.

                                       ***

It was time for the slalom.  The handlers laid out a course marked by orange and blue plastic traffic cones.  The space between the cones was sometimes ample and sometimes quite narrow.  The gates marked seven wide sweeping turns, three very sharp corners and a snaking S-curve.  A slow walk through the course allowed drivers and ponies alike to familiarize themselves with the layout, orange cones always on the left, blue cones on the right.  There were time penalties for knocking over cones, disqualification for missing a gate.  One after another, the naked pony girls were forced through the complex course, goaded with shouts and whips.  One after another the exhausted pony girls sagged with exhaustion at the end.  Susanna’s driver, the most experienced, had never won the event before.  Given his familiarity with the event together with the youth and speed of the girl he was driving, he thought he should win easily.  And, for a while, their time was the best.  But  Arthur drove a masterly race, controlling his blond mathematics teacher with masterful precision, slowing her down into the turns and speeding her up even before the turn was completed.  His judicious use of the whip and careful control moved her smoothly through the chicane, while her longs legs stretched out between the turns.  The cart grazed only one of the cones and when they were finished Alicia and Arthur were clearly in first place.  Arthur watched nervously while the last three negotiated the course.  The dark haired college professor was nowhere near fast enough to threaten.  The whip bit into the fleshy part of her behind.  “Faster,” Daniel shouted, “faster.”  Mary Louise tried to respond but she had reached her limit.

The girl’s mother, who seemed to be doing quite well at first, tired toward the end.  When Leroy lifted his hand, cracking the whip across Andrea’s back and sending her off at a prodigious rate, Arthur was concerned.  The very pretty woman ran as though possessed, speeding through the turns, tearing along between the gates.  At the final sharp curve, they were going too fast and the cart tipped wildly to one side.  In order not to be disqualified, they had to come to a complete stop, start again before going back to the gate they missed.  In the end Leroy and Andrea finished third behind Alicia Brix and Susanna.  The second and third place drivers were even more disappointed than any of the other also-rans.  Arthur drove Alicia around the course for their victory lap.  He pulled up sharply on her reins, and Alicia had no choice but to prance her way around, as the spectators smiled and applauded.

While the handlers rearranged the plastic cones, the onlookers milled around, chatting with each other and with the drivers, discussing the naked women as though they weren’t there, comparing breasts, legs, waists, and behinds.  When the course was finished, half the ponies were assigned, arbitrarily to one end of the figure 8, with the other half at the other end.  They would all start at the sound of the whistle.  The first to complete 6 full laps would be the winner.  The real action, of course, was at the open space in the center of the figure 8 where they were forced to come together going in opposite directions.  Overly aggressive maneuvers might crash the chariots or the ponies.  Overly timid driving might equally cause crashes and certainly caused the loss of time.  It was Leroy, furiously whipping Andrea through the danger zone while shouting at the top of his lungs, who hit on the right strategy.  When all the rest of them knew that you would not deviate from your course, that your pony would not shy, they were forced to swerve away.  It was up to them, not Leroy to make the necessary concessions.  Leroy raised his whip in triumph, pumping his arm, as they completed their last lap.  “Way to go, bitch,” he leaned well forward.  “You did good.”

After a leisurely return to the terrace, the girls were again tethered while the onlookers were given coffee and brandy and buffet table was filled with creamy desserts.  There was no longer any hurry, plenty of time for awarding medals and appreciating the women who had provided the day’s entertainment.  A man removed Karen’s turquoise plume, handed Clare the gold medal.  Clare put a peck on Karen’s cheek as she hung the medal around the girl’s neck.  The turquoise feather was replaced and they moved one place to Alicia.  As her decoration fell between her breasts, Arthur fussed with its position all the while fingering her breasts and long, brown nipples.  Leroy’s white teeth shone against his ebony face in a bright, fierce smile as he placed the medal over Andrea’s head.  “All right!” he said, replacing her feathery topping.

Karen’s and Chrissie’s female drivers were speaking earnestly to a pair of large men.  Every few moments one of the four would look up and direct attention toward the sisters.  Their conversation became quite heated and , suddenly, they were all silent.  There was a considerable difference between the price that the men were offering and the price that the women were willing to accept.  The motorcycle club had taken up a collection among its members and decided on a top price.  Each of the five members agreed to put up $250 with the understanding that the sisters were to be shared equally, even among the three who had girl friends.  The asking price was $2000, a thousand each.  They were at an impasse.  The two women were getting annoyed.  They decided that if these guys weren’t willing to meet their price, they’d try to sell the girls elsewhere, or maybe just let them go.  It was time to go back to town and reality.  Now that a final offer had been made and rejected, it only needed someone to pronounce the discussion at an end.

Karen, the brighter and more perceptive of the two sisters, watched wide-eyed, as the proceedings continued.  She thought she recognized the two men as the ones who showed up that night to watch them perform their sex show.  They were making a deal, she thought.  She and Chrissie were being sold to those two guys.  That had to be it.  It was a business transaction.  A mixture of fear and apprehension overtook her.  She turned slightly to look at her sister but Chrissie was staring glassy eyed and noticed nothing.  Karen started to shake and began to cry.  Large drops rolled unevenly down her cheeks.  One of the two men, the one with the large belly, glanced over at her and their eyes met.  That picture of absolute vulnerability, the young girl, hobbled, harnessed and fixed to a waiting cart, her shoulders shaking in fear, her eyes red and moist, was absolutely compelling.  He imagined the feel of those small breasts in his hands and mouth, his palms squeezing her round, smooth rear.  He saw himself using them together, imagined the two girls crawling all over his naked body, their mouths delving into every part of him.  The vision was so physically enthralling that he had to adjust his underpants.  He decided to put up the difference himself. 

There were smiles and handshakes all around.  Karen, seeing the difference in their attitudes, felt reassured.  She could not know that the discussion had turned to the details of the exchange, when and where the girls would be handed over and how the money would be paid.  There was a momentary sticking point concerning a question of business ethics.  One of the women, Clara, suggested that as the original owners they were entitled to a share of any future profits on their merchandise.  That idea was quickly rejected as both unwarranted and unworkable.  The conversation turned to whether Karen’s medal stayed with her or went with the women who, after all, had driven them.

At the other end, a slim, elegantly dressed young man, stood just beyond the fence considering the woman at the end of the line, number 12, Louise Larson.  He had no real interest in the tall gangling, blond.  The woman who had taken his interest was number 11.  He turned to study Ruth Waterman. 

Kenneth noticed immediately and moved next to him.  Something had to be done with her.  He couldn’t just let her go.  Although she swore over and over that she would never say anything about what had happened, Kenneth didn’t for a moment believe her.

“Hi,” Kenneth began, holding out his hand.  When the thin young man didn’t respond, Kenneth went on.  “She’s quite nice, isn’t she?”

“Is she yours?”  His eyes never left Ruth Waterman’s body.

“Sure she is,” Kenneth answered a bit defensively, his gesture of friendliness ignored.  “What do you think?”

“I congratulate you,” he said to Kenneth, “she’s a splendid creature.”

Kenneth was immediately mollified. 

How wonderfully amusing, he thought, his eyes sparkling with pleasure.  He was going to be the owner of this handsome Jewess.  To be sure she was not young, already in her twenties, nor was she a raving beauty, but she had lovely round eyes and an exceptionally pretty face, her dark curly hair setting off broad features and long nose.  The boy had good taste.  There could be no doubt that her ancestors were Semites.  Long legs and a high waist made her seem quite tall, and her large breasts were admirable.  She had run well even though the boy managing her was obviously uncertain and inexperienced.  A middle class, American Jewess to add to his collection, a lovely thought indeed.  She would certainly be badly treated by the others but that was a problem for later.  It wasn’t really his problem at all he decided.  He would simply give orders that the American was not to be maimed or disfigured in any way.  He certainly wouldn’t want her attractiveness diminished.  Other than that she would fend for herself.  He waited for the boy to begin.  It was obvious that he wanted to dispose of her.  The young Prince, experienced in business and with the ways of trading and barter, waited quietly.  The boy should never have left the wedding ring on her finger.  On the other hand, the Prince was greatly pleased by the five-pointed Jewish star than hung between her breasts just at the top of her cleavage.

“She certainly is splendid,” Kenneth said, “well worth having.”

The Prince deliberately missed the point.  “I congratulate you again, young man.  She is, as you say, well worth having.”  He began to move away.

“If you’re interested,” the boy began, then paused.  The Prince slowed his stride but didn’t turn back.  “If you’re interested,” Kenneth began again, “we might be able to work something out.”

Aware that he had just taken the upper hand, the Prince walked past Kenneth to stand directly in front of Ruth Waterman.  “Far from a virgin,” he said sharply, “and old enough so the breasts no longer remain upright.”  He reached over the wooden fence, lifted Ruth’s breast with one finger and let it fall back to her chest.  “Once they are out of their teens,” he instructed, “they begin to lose their firmness.”  In any negotiation there were always features to be denigrated, pressure put on the seller.  Had Kenneth been more aware of such things he would have noticed the dreamy look in the Prince’s eye, a look that revealed a serious interest in the woman, a look showing that he had already begun thinking of her as his property. 

Ruth Waterman watched his face with growing dread.  She could see what Kenneth couldn’t, that this man meant to have her.  Without thinking Ruth tried to back away but she only managed a few inches before the slack in the reins was taken up and she was pulled to a stop.  Were she able to speak she would have begged Kenneth not to sell her to this man, pleaded with every ounce of sincerity in her soul.  Tugging did no good against the wrapped leather reins.  Although what she would have done even if she were able to separate herself from the fence, was not at all clear.  Decked out in harness and pulling a cart, she couldn’t have gone very far before she was caught, but the instinct was not to be denied.

Her spirit appealed to the Prince.  She would make seven, one for each day of the week.  Anything more than that, the Prince thought, would be greedy.  Saturday, he decided, the Jewish Sabbath, that would be her day.  He’d put her between the Japanese and the French air hostess.  His Jewess could worship him every Saturday.  “What’s her name?”

“Ruth,” the boy answered.

The Prince clapped his hands.  “What could be more perfect than a Jewish woman named Ruth?”  

The sounds that rose in her throat were muted and distorted by the metal bit pulling against her cheeks.  Again and again she struggled against the unyielding leather straps that held her in place.  The Prince found her fear and agitation almost unbearably stimulating.  His erection pressed painfully in his narrowly tailored pants.  He removed his jacket, handed it to the boy, unfastened the reins and moved quickly to the cart.  “I’ll take her for a ride,” he said, “I’ll let you know what I think.”  He left no room for disagreement. 

Now that she was free to move, Ruth desperately wanted to stay where she was.  Several hard blows with the whip and followed by hissed encouragement, convinced her to begin moving. To send her in the right direction, the Prince used the whip just enough to sting the outsides of her thighs, only increasing the force when she slowed.  At the far side of the field, just over a small hill, he brought her to a stop, pulled the brake lever, and removed his pants, folding them neatly before placing them on the seat of the cart.  Facing Ruth Waterman, he took off his underpants.  Lifting and spreading her legs he lifted her so she fell back supported only by the leather harness between the wooden shafts.  He thrust himself between her legs, working his way through the thick black curls surrounding her moist opening.  He grabbed her hips and pulled her hard enough to make the pressure of her pelvis almost painful.  After about a dozen hard strokes, thrusting forward while jerking her toward him, he was done, the tension drained, a pleasant glow seeming to surround him.  “Well my sweet,” he said as he dressed, talking in a conversational tone as though continuing a discussion.  “I think we shall buy you from that young man.  I doubt that he has had you long enough to have spoiled you.  That would have been a shame.  Yes, that would have been a real shame.  I would hate to have seen you spoiled.”  Carefully he straightened his shirt, buttoned his pants, and checked his appearance.  Satisfied, he moved to stand directly in front of Ruth Waterman.  He touched her cheek with the back of his perfectly manicured hand, before tracing a line beneath her large, dark eyes. 

Dragging a fingernail back and forth across her lower lip, he said softly, “nice mouth.”  Her puffy, pink lips were a source of secret pride, a pride that she had never shared with anyone.  Often, looking at herself in a mirror, she thought that other women wore lipstick just to have lips that looked as large and attractive as hers.  Oh, she sometimes wore lipstick, but more out of habit than need.  When she was in college Ruth discovered that it was not difficult to interest a man by innocently poking her tongue between those sensuous lips.  “Quite nice.”  And in a gesture deliberately meant to cause dismay, he put a finger between her lips, rubbing the metal bit.  “Good teeth,” he said tapping them with his finger.  Her ears and forehead reddened, whether with shame or anger or dismay, it was impossible to say. 

“Your husband may have spoiled you a little, but not enough to interfere with your training.  Learning is a virtue. Don’t you agree?” he continued.  “Isn’t that what your people teach you?”  At this he paused as though he expected her to answer but she didn’t make any sound.  “Well, you will learn many new ways to please a man.  And you will, no doubt, be an excellent student, devising ways to excite and satisfy me.  I require cleverness and originality in my possessions.”  The anxiety he saw in her face as he spoke pleased him immensely.  He found visible signs of apprehension in women wonderfully stimulating.  That picture would sustain him until she was installed in her place.

He made a clicking sound as he mounted the cart, seated himself, opened the brake, loosened the reins, tapped the whip lightly on her shoulder, and directed her back toward the patio.  As she walked, Ruth became sharply aware of his moist residue dripping down her thighs.  There seemed to be a much thicker flow inching down her right leg.  She longed to be able to clean herself.

“A few moments ago,” he continued the one way conversation, “I was very excited and would surely have paid much too much for you.  Now, I am much calmer.  Not that you wouldn’t have been worth the higher price, my sweet Jewish princess.  Are you a Jewish princess?  Anyway, I am calmer now and will strike a much better bargain.  It is not seemly to waste money when you don’t have to.”  With only a little urging she moved along steadily.

The financial arrangements didn’t take long.  The Prince offered one-third of what Kenneth asked for her.  When the boy didn’t respond, the Prince immediately withdrew his bid.  In the end they settled for only a few dollars more than the Prince’s original price.  They were both more or less satisfied.  And, although Kenneth received much less than he expected for Mrs. Waterman, he had disposed of a very serious threat, while the handsome Prince added this exceedingly attractive, young, Jewish woman to his collection for much less money and certainly a lot less effort than he ever could have believed.

The sun was half way down the sky.  The last of the women was unhitched from her cart, freed from her uncomfortable get-up, given some salve for the whip marks and allowed to dress.

After a long, harrowing motorcycle ride, Karen and Chrissie were delivered to a large, dirty garage.  After each of the five members of the Tall Pines Motorcycle Club had satisfied themselves with one or other of the sisters, they fastened choker collars, left there from a time when fierce dogs guarded a working garage, around the girls’ throats and attached to the wall with chains about three feet long.  The arrangement was deliberate.  That way the twins could be enjoyed either together or separately.  Sitting huddled at the juncture of two mattresses laid end to end, the girls were wearing the only things that had been returned to them, their panties.  Chrissie’s was a skimpy, lacy, sky blue pair while Karen wore a more demurely cut yellow panties adorned with pink butterflies.  With a bravado meant to keep the girls in their place and puff up their own egos, they pronounced the sisters to be adequate, but not great.  The discussion turned to how long they would keep them, whether they were worth what they paid for them, and what they would do with them.  Somebody suggested that they make a road trip to Mexico.  They could probably sell them down there for what they paid.  Yeah, they would take Fat Sharon on the trip with them to be the girls’ keeper.  Somebody would have to accompany them in ladies rooms.  And when they got there, they’d sell Fat Sharon too.  Get more for the three of them and save on gas on the return trip.  They all laughed.  But for the time being the girls would be fun to have around.

                                       ***

Later that night Kenneth worked with his newly purchased shop vac to clean every inch of his parents’ car.  He had watched enough TV to know that all traces of Ruth Waterman had to be obliterated.  As a further precaution he was going to burn the cabin. 

At about the same time a case, looking very much like a large set of golf clubs, was taken aboard the Prince’s yacht.  The captain and his mate lugged the crate down to the Prince’s cabin.  There they unpacked a terrified Ruth Waterman.  The temptation proved too strong and both men availed themselves of the lovely, naked woman.  With their limited English, the men explained that if the Prince found out what happened, they would certainly receive some minor punishment.  She would be put to death.  After it became clear that she understood, they gave her something to eat and allowed her to use the bathroom.  When she begged them to let her go, they seemed genuinely distressed not to be able to help.  If she were not there when the Prince returned, they tried to make clear, it would be more than their lives were worth.   She cleaned herself and the two men lifted her bodily, put her into the display case at the foot of the Prince’s large bed, and locked it.  As the latch snapped home, Ruth Waterman’s naked body was bathed in a rosy glow from two lamps, one above, mounted in the ceiling and one below.  The captain and his mate remained shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, gazing in silent appreciation.  The thick glass remained impervious to her pounding and, after awhile, she stopped trying. 

                                       

***

Betty was also on display, though not in anything nearly so fancy as the Prince’s silver and glass case.   “Goddamn it,” Lester was ranting.  “Not a thing.  We didn’t win a single thing.  Jesus.  What the fuck’s wrong with you that you couldn’t ever do what I wanted.”  She hung in the wooden triangle, her arms and shoulders aching, her red hair hanging limp to her shoulders and her back still stinging from the whip.  Lester decided that he would brand her, a large block L on her right cheek.

                                       ***

Gloria and Susanna both naked, were crawling in tandem across the living room floor.  They had already been taken twice, once each by the detective, Tom and once by his son, Todd.  To please his son, Tom had them down on all fours.  Todd liked to see them like that, creeping around on the floor.

"Goddamn it, Gee," Tom barked.  "I told you to get your nose up there.  Now do it.  Do what I tell you.  Stick your nose up her ass." 

His palm crashed against Gloria’s backside and she squealed at the sharp burning pain.  "Did you think I was speaking figuratively?"  Once again she felt the sting.  "No!  I was being literal.  Now get it in there."  Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed Gloria forward, pressing her face against Susanna's buttocks and inserting her nose into the crack of her daughter’s behind.  "All right.  Now we’ve got the caboose hooked on to the engine.  Let's put the train in motion."  He slapped Susanna's rump just next to her mother’s head.  Trying to obey, Susanna started forward. ­As she pushed forward, her left leg became tangled up with her mother’s arm unbalancing them both.  Gloria fell hard on her right side bringing Susanna down with her.

"Jesus," Tom said, "can't you two get anything right?" ­Grabbing Susanna's hair, he lifted her back up to her knees.  "Sue, spread your legs.  That's something I know you can do."  Susanna widened her stance, splaying her feet wide.

"Gee, stick your nose back in there.  And  hold on to Sue’s hips."

Leaning her forehead against her daughter’s bare backside, Gloria placed her hands on the girl’s hips.  Tom's palm struck just at the tops of Gloria’s thighs.  She whined in pain.  "How many times do I have to tell you?  Get your nose in there.  Now do it."  He slapped her again and she raised her head, inching her nose into the crack of her daughter’s behind.

"That's better," he said when she managed it.

"Okay,” Tom, said, “let's try it again."

They began crawling forward.  “Let’s hear some choo-choo sounds and the train whistle.”  Susanna grunted noises interspersed with wooing sounds in imitation of a train whistle.  “You too,” he called to Gloria who responded with muffled hoots that echoed between her daughter’s legs and sounded vaguely cow-like.

Tom clapped his hands in appreciation as mother and daughter  moved in tandem along the floor.  "Hey Todd," his father called to the next room.  "You’ve got to see this.  It's great."

"One sec," the boy called back.  "Should I bring you a beer?"

"You want the engine or the caboose?"  Tom asked.

"Okay, okay.  I'll be right in."

"Keep it moving, girls," Tom said when they showed signs of slowing down.  "I'll tell you when you can stop."

The two men stood over them, sipping their beers while Gloria and Susanna negotiated their way, slowly and uncomfortably, around the room. Very soon the sight of the two women had the desired effect.  Todd attacked Gloria from behind, spreading her lower cheeks with his thumbs.  Inch by inch he forced himself deeper inside, some of his pleasure clearly derived from her groans of discomfort.  He grabbed a handful of hair, pulling her head back in order to gain a little extra leverage.

Tom drew up a chair, placed himself directly in front of Sue, lowering his pants and pushing himself in to her mouth.  A little while later, after she had drained him and swallowed his output, Tom leaned down and patted the girl’s back.  “C'mon,” he began walking away.  Susanna crawled after him.  From just outside the door he called back to his son.  “Look,” he said.  “I’ll sign them up for next month and you can take them.  Alright?”  Without waiting for an answer he called back over his shoulder, “Now, you entertain Mama, will you?  We don’t want her to get bored.”

***

Daniel had to say that his professor been a major disappointment.  Not fast enough to win a medal in the sprint, nor graceful enough to look really good when she was strutting.  They had gotten past the first round in the slalom but on the second run Mary Louise tripped twice and they knocked over four barriers.  In the free-for-all, she was much too timid.  The black guy drove his curly blond mercilessly and won the free-for-all going away.  Worst of all, other women were way better looking.  That was what hurt Daniel the most.  He had planned to dazzle them with his gorgeous professor.  But no one was dazzled.  Sure, she was good looking, but in that company, with several genuine beauties, Mary Louise was just another good-looking woman.  No, he decided, she had definitely been a disappointment. 

“Daniel,” she said in a voice just above a whisper, “please don’t ever make me do this again.”

“Of course not,” he replied.  “No, I won’t.”  Touching her back he asked, “What will your husband say about the marks?”

“He won’t ever see them.”  She leaned toward him to kiss his cheek.  “Thank you for being concerned, Daniel.”  Bending over further, Mary Louise buried her face in his lap.

She had given him an A+ in her class for his excellent work, far above the usual standards.  He had worked very hard for that mark, earned it, deserved it.  She, on the other hand, was going to get a D, for her performance.  D for disappointing.  Two Ds for deeply disappointing.  Not to win a single medal.  That was awful.  She should have won something, at least come in third in one of the events.  If that was all, he might have forgiven her.  But nothing.  Not a single medal.  And where did she stand for looks?  Okay, that woman with the dark curly hair was magnificent.  And there were the two blonds, the one driven by the black guy and the one with the torpedo tits and the brown nipples.  Great looking women.  Mary Louise might have had more substance than the twins but she was no better looking than the college girl or the dark haired girl with the enormous boobs.  That was it.  Mary Louise certainly wasn’t the best looker there.  Average boobs, no better than that.  Legs were no better than most of the others.   To top it all off, that kid driving the curly haired woman was even younger than him.  Wasn’t she something? Daniel mused.

All in all, the Professor turned out to be way below average.  She deserved a low D.  He was also going to give her more Ds.  D for debauched, D for debased, and a D when he dumped her.  The next time he brought her out there, Daniel decided, he’d let them rent her out.  He would watch the spectacle.  It would be satisfying to see his professor whipped and driven by some stranger. Maybe he'd find a buyer.

To console himself he decided right then to try her out in a threesome.  It wouldn’t work to put her together with the drama major just yet.  Mary Louise might object to a little orgy with an unknown student at the University.  No, it had to be the cashier.  That might be a lot of fun, Daniel decided, and if Mary Louise were at all skittish, it would make it that much easier to dump her.  Heather, his cashier, complained more than once that it wasn’t fair that she was always the one who was spanked and never the one did the spanking.  Now Daniel would supply a playmate that Heather could take over her knee.  Daniel wondered how the professor would deal with a hiding from an almost illiterate grocery clerk.  Mary Louise tried to raise her head from his lap.  She often tried to pull away before he was completely finished. He held her head in place.  As far as he was concerned her assignment wasn’t complete until she sucked him dry.

While Mary Louise was in the bathroom, he phoned the supermarket, asked for Heather and told her she could come for a visit after work.  Mary Louise was cuddled up next to him, her head resting on his shoulder when the doorbell rang.  “What’s that,” she said sleepily.

“I’ll go see what’s up,” he whispered.

Mary Louise gasped and jumped up when the light suddenly went on in the bedroom.  Realizing that someone was standing in the doorway with Daniel she pulled the blanket up to her neck.  “She’s pretty,” the girl said and addressing herself to Mary Louise, smiled and said, “You’re pretty.”

“Heather, this is Mary Louise.”  Daniel began the process of removing her uniform.  “Heather works at the big supermarket on the next block.  She’s a cashier there.”

“Mary Louise, this is Heather.”  He spoke casually as though the three of them were meeting at a bar or in a restaurant.  “Mary Louise is a college professor.”

“I never finished high school,” Heather said without embarrassment.  “Never talked to no college professor before.  Pleased to meet you,” the girl said in her most refined voice.  “Certainly never did it with no college professor before.  That’s for sure.”

Sitting up in the bed, protecting her modesty with just a blanket, Mary Louise was appalled.  She had been brought up in with middle class, Middle West morals and attitudes.  Now she had decided on her own, as a free decision, to become an adulteress, and with a student, even more had spent the day being used as a pony girl.   Her sense of stability was shattered.  Heather, though neither pretty nor well built, was not at all uncomfortable being naked in front of other people.  Crawling into the bed, she simply pulled the blanket from Mary Louise and began stroking her stomach.  “Mary Lou,” Heather said, “You sure are a good looking lady,” and leaned over to take Mary Louise’s nipple into her mouth.  After sucking on one side for several minutes, she raised her head.  “C’mon Danny boy.”  Heather said, wiggling her small behind, “you got two ladies in distress here and you ain’t doin’ nothin’ about it.”

By the end of the evening, when she sat up, Mary Louise was exhausted.  There had permutations and combinations that she never would have dreamed possible.  Her legs were wobbly and when she tried to stand and Mary Louise sank back to the side of the bed with a little giggle.  Heather grabbed her hand.  “That a wedding ring you got, Mary Lou?  You a married woman?”

When Mary Louise didn’t answer, Heather asked Daniel, who admitted that she was.  Though slim and wiry, Heather was quite strong.  Taking a handful of dark hair she pulled Mary Louise across her lap.  “You know, Mary Lou, married women shouldn’t ought to be doing these things.  You got to be punished.”  Heather’s hard, calloused palm struck Mary Louise’s backside with a loud thwack.  Her next blow struck the other cheek. 

“Okay, Heather I’ve been chastised.  Now please let me get up.”  But Heather had just begun.  Again and again the blows came, for a while to one side of her rear and equally many to the other side.  Mary Louise was in tears.  “Please,” she begged.  “Please stop.”  Mary Louise tried to struggle free, but Heather’s strong, calloused hands kept Mary Louise in place.   This country girl, who had begun doing physical labor even before she started school, indeed had powerful hands and arms.  Now the woman was wailing.  Daniel, excited at what was happening, sat on the bed at Heather’s side.  Heather lifted Mary Louise’s head and, without a break in her attack on the woman’s hindquarter, lifted her head and impaled it on Daniel’s erection.  She didn’t let go even after Daniel lay back on the bed, thoroughly drained. 

“Danny, honey,” she asked, “if Mary Lou does me with her mouth right after doing you in her mouth, can I get pregnant?”  Daniel smiled at the girl’s lack of understanding.

“No, Heather,” he said indulgently, “I don’t think so.”

Heather turned on to her side, pulling Mary Louise’s head between her legs, clamping her thighs tight around the woman’s cheeks, and continuing to hold on to a handful of dark hair.  “Let’s see if your college professor do me real good and a real lot of times?  Course she will,” Heather answered own question.  “Then I don’t have to spank her no more.” 

Watching Heather manage Mary Louise, Daniel suddenly realized that he wouldn’t have to dump his college professor after all.  He’d just turn her over to Heather for safekeeping. 

                                       ***

“Do me baby.  Do me.”  The woman upstairs in Leroy’s bed screamed in apparent ecstasy.  Andrea looked up at the ceiling.  She was cleaning one of the closets.  It was the last day of her servitude and she had already been replaced.  

From the kitchen, Andrea heard the bell clearly.  She waited a moment.  Perhaps they had accidentally knocked the bell from the nightstand next to the bed.  A few seconds later the bell rang again.  She made more noise than was necessary as she padded barefoot up the stairs to the bedroom, both to show Leroy that she was hurrying and to alert them to her arrival.  She wondered which of the black women from the party was in Leroy’s bed.  Was it the skinny, glamorous one with all the make-up or the chubby one with the hat, or maybe a new one?  Only a little longer now, she told herself.  Whatever happened she could deal with it.

Andrea opened the bedroom door, fell to her hands and knees and said “You called, Master?”  She sure had been easy to train.  The house was much cleaner now than when she arrived.  Kitchen and bathrooms done, shoes shined, clothing ironed.  Good on her back and with her mouth.  She had performed good service.

“Run down and bring us some coffee.”  The woman wasn’t there.  In the bathroom, Andrea thought. 

“Yes, Master,” she intoned.

“And why ain’t you wearin’ your medal?”

“I’ll get it.”

When she arrived with the tray, the woman still wasn’t in evidence.  Leroy rose from the bed.  “Give me the tray and get down there.”  Andrea knelt in place on the floor next to the bed, the gold medal dangling all the way to the floor.  Seating himself on the edge of the bed Leroy placed the tray with the coffee and cups on her flattened back.  She winced where the tray rested on top of skin still sore from the whip.  “In addition to everything else, you make a good table.”  Leroy poured himself a cup and replaced the steaming pot.  The woman’s voice called out wondering if the coffee had arrived.

“The coffee’s here,” Leroy answered.  A foot appeared right next to Andrea, touching Andrea’s hand.  A white leg just in front of Andrea’s face, a white hand that poured out a cup of coffee.  “Thank you, Momma,” said a familiar voice.  “I knew you were good for something.”

Andrea’s mouth fell open.  She tried to speak but no words emerged, only inarticulate sounds from the back of her throat.  “Don’t try to get up,” Hillary said.  “You’ll spill that hot coffee all over yourself.”  It was true.  If Andrea moved too quickly or tried to stand, the hot coffee would scald her back.

“What is happening?”  Andrea asked, genuinely confused.

“I never owed Leroy any money,” Hillary clapped her hands.  I just made all of that up to see what you would do.  And you fell into it.”

“But the drugs and the confession.”

“Oh, I burned that confession.  It was a phony anyway.  Leroy confessed to something that never happened.”

“Sweetie, why are you doing this to me?”  Tears rolled down Andrea’s cheeks.

Hillary leaned over her.  “Don’t you dare sweetie me, you bitch!  I’m not your sweetie and you’re nothing to me.  With you gone, when Daddy gets out of jail, we’ll have lots of money.  And there are all those joint accounts you’ve told me about but never really shared.  Little bits of allowance is all you’ve ever given me.  Now you’ll give it all to me.   The apartment with the great view, that will be mine.  And the car.  And your condo in South Carolina.  It would be crazy not to get rid of you.  Best of all I get to see you like this, being treated the way you deserve.  You and your boyfriends drove my daddy away.  And you made him pay for the privilege.  Now you’re being repaid.   I’ve hated you ever since.  Just hated you.”  She paused for breath.    “Lee, honey,” she turned to him, her voice softening, her tone dripping, “tell the bitch what’s going to happen to her.  I want her to know, to see it coming.”  Hillary snuggled up next to him.  “Tell her!”

“You going to South America on a private jet,” he began.

“Momma always liked traveling in little jets.  Isn’t that right?”  Hillary rested her head on Leroy’s shoulder.

“I sold you to a friend of mine,” Leroy continued.  “Juran’s uncle.  You met him.  Really tall guy was at the party the other night.  Juran’s uncle does import and export.  Rare and exotic animals.  Anyway, Juran’s uncle made a deal with a guy in Brazil.  Rich guy.  Wants a good-looking blond gringa for the men who manage his land and his mines.   Hillary here offered you to him.”  He lifted the tray from Andrea’s back and took the gold medal.  But before she could stand up or even move very far, he slipped one end of a chain around Andrea’s neck, locked it shut, and holding her down, he clamped her ankles and wrists.

By the time the doorbell rang, Andrea was terrified.  Unable to move, barely able to breathe, completely uncertain about her future, she was shaking uncontrollably.  The two men talked for several minutes.  There was some further negotiation.  The man’s hands explored Andrea’s stomach and breasts and buttocks.  “Just let go,” he said as the needle pierced her backside.  Andrea was beginning to drift into a peaceful sleep when Leroy lifted her up.  As he carried her down the stairs, Leroy whispered in her ear, but so quietly that she might not have heard a word.  “Don’t worry, darlin’,” he breathed.  “You gonna see your step-daughter again.  About a week.  After she be my pony ride.  Juran’s uncle sellin’ her to the same people he sold you.” 

Andrea was packed into a burlap bag, folded gently into the bottom of a laundry cart and rolled away.  Hillary came smiling down the stairs.  Holding out his arms to her, Leroy looked her over.  Good looking pair like that, mother and daughter in the Amazon, or wherever Brazil was, sure to fetch Juran’s uncle a pretty penny.

***

Robin hustled around the restaurant, trying to keep up.  Her stiff, bright orange uniform was finding all the tender spots on her sides, hips and back.  Even when she wasn’t suffering from those afflictions, the uniform was uncomfortable.  It was too small, showed too much of her legs and over accentuated her breasts.  Robin supposed that the owner made a conscious decision to deck out the waitresses in such tight uniforms.  For the customers, he would say.  But Robin knew it was mostly for his own enjoyment.

One of the other girls hadn’t shown up so Robin had to wait on the other girl’s station as well as her own.  Robin’s legs, arms and back ached from the day’s efforts.  There was her boy friend, in a corner booth, drinking coffee with several of his friends.  She could tell, from their conspiratorial looks and knowing smiles that he was regaling them with a description of his day at the races.  Her neck and face reddened when they laughed and gave each other high fives.

                                       ***

The party was in full swing, loud music and insistent voices echoed around her.  Alicia Brix stood almost erect, entirely naked except for high-heeled shoes and a red collar around her neck, inside the black, wrought iron, cage.  Jonathan was showing her off to his fraternity brothers and their dates, describing their afternoon at the Pony Races.  Alicia purchased the cage only a few days previously.   Drifting off, she reluctantly recalled the scene. 

It’s a very special piece Miss," the short, chubby man looked his paper to find her name.  "Miss Brix.”  Adjusting his bow tie, he smiled at her.  “Nineteenth century Irish, the part that is now Northern Ireland."  The man smiled at Alicia Brix encouragingly, as though she should have been impressed.  He continued.  "The gentry developed a passion for keeping large birds, so the locals had to make huge bird-cages like this one.  You can see the steel flooring, its all been redone.  That floor will hold two hundred pounds or more.  We've cleaned the wrought iron," he rubbed his hand along the outside of the cage, "and given it a new paint job."  He swung open the door of the cage.  "Originally, they made it large enough to fit an ostrich.  Although I don't believe it ever held an ostrich."  Closing the door he said, "Indeed I think you could crawl inside."  His eyes rested on her breasts and his face reddened.  "You know what I mean."

He turned away and walked toward his desk.  "Is it satisfactory, Miss Brix?"

"Yes, it’s fine," she managed, the words barely above a whisper.

"That's $475 for the cage,” he poked his calculator, "with tax and delivery it comes to $538.50.  Will that be cash or charge?"

She handed him her credit card.  "Would you like it delivered this afternoon?" he asked.  Alicia Brix nodded. 

"What are you planning to keep in it?" the man asked brightly as he handed Alicia her receipt.  She didn't answer, even though she knew just what was to be displayed in her new cage.  Even so she  never expected to be locked inside, the centerpiece at a fraternity party.

The young couple, their faces at the bars of her cage, peering in at her naked body brought Alicia back to the moment.  Jonathan was hosting a little party for a few his college friends and Alicia was the centerpiece.  “No shit,” one boy said to Jonathan, “she’s really a high-school math teacher?” 

Jonathan nodded.  “I took geometry and trig from her.  Good teacher.”

The boy took his arm from his date’s shoulder, looked around, moved off and when he returned, thrust a partially peeled banana between the bars of the cage.  “Take this,” he said touching it to her lower lip, “and hang on to it.  Don’t bite, just hold it.”  Alicia Brix opened her mouth and he inserted the soft, white fruit between her lips, pushing it to the back of her throat.  “That’s right, just like that.”

“Oh, Dennis,” the round-faced girl with dark hair gushed, peering at Alicia.  “That’s so vulgar.”  The girl, already a bit tipsy, reached inside the bars to tweak one of the long, brown nipples jutting so prominently from the schoolteacher’s breasts, giggling when her drink splashed on Alicia’s leg.  “Oops,” she mumbled.  “I think I’ve soiled your math teacher.”