It goes against my better judgment to talk to her, much less have her in this house. The decision is not mine, however. This is the work of Maelstrom. And as long as he is writing the checks that make my life possible here at Singing Wind, who am I to argue?

It is a very good life.

She is, young, perhaps late twenties, early thirties, blonde with perfect legs; feet on one end and ass on the other. The fact that her ass can only be considered a 9 ½ is only because I have never seen a true 10. Meeting her at the door to my study, I offer my arm to escort her in, the perfect gentleman. I purposely situate her body out of my line of sight. I want only to concentrate on her face. It is not a beautiful face. No, not beautiful, Beautiful is too bland an adjective. She is interesting, intelligent, and smooth. These adjectives work. . She is magnificent, utterly magnificent. Perhaps you think I exaggerate, but this is not the case. I have made a life study of women and fancy myself a connoisseur of feminine flesh and character. To put it in the vernacular of my trade, this is a five million dollar cunt. And this was the strangest recruitment interview I have ever conducted.

“…and he told me I could count on you to fully acclimate me to the facility.” She told me in a flat tone, delivered with even a flatter look on her face. She was sizing me up and at the same time, trying to maintain her dignity. Dignity is a strange thing to women. This one views me as powerful and I am. But she also thinks I’m the lowest form of life on the planet. Be nice to the lowlife, the pervert. How genteel. I may be, too, all that and more. I trade in flesh. I am the first link in the White Slave chain store. Now I find myself interviewing a genuine, card carrying member of the fourth estate, the press, the New York Times. She is sitting across my from me, in my study, wearing a short skit and no panties hoping to entice me. To be honest, I had no idea whether to laugh or laugh uncontrollably.

“My facility,” I intoned just as flatly. “This entire facility, as you put it, is mine. Its conception, construction, and implementation are the produce of my thoughts, dreams and desires. It exists because one man dared to dream a dream and is willing to pay the price of seeing his ideas bear fruit. And yes, you can count on me to fully acclimate you to Singing Winds.” I let these words, the latter delivered with sarcastic mirth and trail off to the proverbial pregnant pause, as I’d heard my aunt say, if not a million times, then close. Her flat look was still plastered to her face but it didn’t go all the way to her eyes, though. Her eyes were flinty. I would not swear to it, but it seemed her breathing had hiccupped, just a small catch. She glanced at her notebook as if she needed to refresh her memory, and I think that is true, in so far as the thread of her memory is unraveling.

“Exactly, where am I?” She asked.

“You are in The House of Singing Wind.” I replied, hinting in my voice that this was an illogical question.

“I mean, exactly where is the House of Singing Wind? Generally speaking, I don’t want to know the GPS coordinates or anything, just where I am.” Her confidence was returning, though not to full force.

“Generally speaking, on Earth. Great pains have been taken to assure my privacy, my client’s privacy and the privacy of my novitiates. You are an investigative reporter. Investigate. The precautions we have taken with you are the same that any client, the hired help, or the newly chosen experience. Blindfold, hood and blacked out windows on my jet. No contact with the crew. Timing the flight won’t help, either. The flight lasts between nine and eleven and three quarter hours.

“Singing Winds has been in operation for fourteen years. I do the recruiting, the scheduling, the transportation, and have personally directed the curriculum.” Curriculum, what a concept! I think the word “program” would be a more likely term, so I correct my self. “I like to think of it as the program.” At this, I see her visibly swallow hard. Her confidence is waning.

“The program,” she repeated, “exactly what does that involve?” I cannot stop the small smile that is tugging at the corner of my mouth. She is trying to be the reporter, always analytical. I wondered how long that was going to last. Perhaps forever, perhaps not past tomorrow.

“It’s a training program, pure and simple.” At this, I stood and clasped my hands behind my back and knew I was about to lecture. And she was completely in my view again. “We train concubines, servants, slaves, fuck toys, whores, sluts, or whatever you want to call uncompensated human beings that are owned, controlled, used, abused and held in servitude. We train them to understand the importance of serving another, completely, in any manner prescribed by the client. What the client desires, we provide. The actual crux of the matter is that each novice is here of their own volition.” I chuckled, “An all volunteer force, if you will, striving to be the best they can. They have the desire to serve, to be of service and to be compliant. We foster that desire, we mold that desire, and we hone it to a fine edge. That is the Program. What is it you desire? You’ve got your full story now, you can write your article and enlighten the world about Singing Wind. You have seen all you will see and told all you will be told.” I turned and started toward the door.

“No, wait!” She implored to me. “I want to have the full picture I want to know what it’s like to be in the House of Singing Wind, the experience, talk to the others. I want my story to be fact based on my own experience not perceptions. I’ve flown here, to God knows where and you’re ready to send me off? Maelstrom promised me a story and I’m here to get it and I mean to get it.” There was fire in her eyes now and the small smile was again licking at the corners of my mouth. She was close to saying what she needed to say, but not quite there. “I want to see what the novices go through, I want that.”

“No!” I almost barked, “That is not going to happen. Maelstrom does not own this place and I’m not his servant. I’m under no obligation to show you anything. I’ve told you what you wanted to know about this place. Go back to New York and make up what you’d like about Singing Wind. It exists, you’ve seen it.”

In almost a girlish tone she said what I’d known she’d say, eventually, I was taken completely by surprise by how quickly and timidly it came.

“I want to be trained.”

And that was that and I knew an article would never be written.

I walk over and stand before her. I know what my eyes look like boring into her and I am looking quite through her. I can taste the fear stirring in her soul. I can feel the intensity building in the muscles of my face. I can smell her very well now, her perfume, her perspiration, her cunt. I can feel my voice box tighten, ready to take on the raspy quality that comes with “The Voice”. I watch as her hands tighten their grips on the arms of her chair, her knuckles going white. I stop 3 paces from her chair.

“Kneel.” My voice is deep, the word perfectly annunciated.

She does not move, so I repeat: “Kneel.” My voice is even, almost slow. It is not a whisper, it is very conversational with enough conviction to let her know I am in no mood for games. Still, she does not move. As slowly as I can, I close the distance between us and as my right foot comes to rest next to my left, my right hand flashes from my side, a flick, fast as a fighter’s jab, I slap her. The sound reverberates in the stillness of my office. I think to myself that I will never forget this look in her eye. She is stunned, but she does not become hysterical. This time when I say “Kneel.” in the same, even tone of the last two commands, she slides smoothly to the floor into a kneeling position.

“Pleasure me.” Same slow, quiet, melodious tone. Again, she looks at me with an uncomprehending look. “Suck me, blow me, slurp the schlong, smooch the root, give Mr. Johnson a kiss, eat me, do the deep throat, puff the penis, bob the knob, you give me long time sucky-sucky, give me head. Do what your told, when you’re told. Are there any questions?” I slap her smartly again. “No? Well, that’s just fine.”

And deftly, her hands go to my fly to release my cock from confinement, her lips part and she envelopes the shaft into her warm, moist mouth. Her eyes close and, I’m sure her motivation is to get this over as quickly as possible. I make suggestions as to speed, tongue usage, teeth positioning, and she quickly learns to gently and devotedly bring me to climax. Dutifully, she swallows every drop of cum I pump into her mouth.

My orgasm does not stop her ministrations until I gently pushed her mouth from me, the sensation is too intense to deal with for long. I could swear that I see disappointment furrow her brow as I pull my manhood from her lips. Then, she looks up at me. I say nothing for a long moment. “When you are done with something, put it away,” I say. And dutifully, she does. I walk back to my desk and discreetly push a small button. Almost immediately, the door opens and an Asian woman with a dour look on her face walks in. “This is Soledad. You will call her Mistress Sollie. She is going to play show and tell with you. Show you what you need to see and tell you what you need to know. Sollie, this bitches name is Slut. Take very good care of her or we just might need a session with the barbed wire flogger.” Oh, the look on Slut’s face upon hearing this reminded me of the credit card commercial. Priceless. As fast as cat, Sollie places an iron collar on Slut’s neck and slips a leash in place and leads her away. Slut, too shocked and stunned to protest, crawls away on her hands and knees like a dutiful puppy.

Chapter 2 – Li

The morning is hot and muggy and there is little doubt there will be rain in the jungle before noon. From the tree line, we watch as people from the surrounding villes began to congregate in a clearing, a cul-de-sac, one road both in and out. There is little to do but wait and see what is going on. The Laotian-Thailand border is notorious as a portal for arms and supplies from China via Laos, across Thailand into Cambodia and on into Vietnam. What is most curious about this gathering is the predominance of men and children, mostly young women. To my eye, I am certain these are families. Tran Ngo, the team’s translator, sidles up to me to apprise me of the situation, for my ears only.

“These farmers, very poor. Come to sell children. Not come to meet to meet Cong. No guns, no rice.”

I was stunned. “Why?” I asked.
”No money, no food. Girl childs no be married, no money, no buffalo to give to husband’s family, boys too young to work to rice paddies. Farmers has many children, many mouth to feed. If no can work, no can feed. Better sell than kill or starve.” He said this with a matter of fact dignity. This was the oriental way: He would make no judgments. His flat look told me that I was in no position to judge, either.

When his report is finished, Tran evaporates as silent as a ghost just as a mid fifties vintage Cadillac pulls into the clearing. My fist shoots up in a tight fist next to my ear. My index finger goes strait up, waggles back and forth once and then I make the peace sign. None of the men in the team need any explanation for the signal: Freeze, take cues from me, safeties on. Also, the men know exactly who is driving the Caddy. It is Dirty Mary, the mamasan of a bar by the same name in downtown Bangkok.

“Looks like Mamasan’s on a mission to buy some new hookers.” Miller says. “Fresh meat and I’m three months from mid tour R&R.” He said this almost disgustedly. Virgins go for a premium bar fine and are very sought after on their first night working the second floor at Dirty Mary’s..

I flash “on me” and say out loud, “The smoking lamp is lit.” I pull a Lucky from my pocket and made a big production of lighting it, not caring if the clicking noise of my Zippo carries into the clearing and I begin walking toward the gathering crowd. The sight of five men carrying weapons sends a ripple of tension through the group, but they quickly realize that we are not Thai Federal Police and they relax. Dirty Mary recognizes Miller right away. I suppose spending the paychecks saved for five months in a week at a whorehouse can really popularize a person and she breaks out into a ever widening grin.

“You number one, GI, Millersan!” she cries out. That just about did it for me. I had the urge to butt stroke her upside her toothless head. I hate the way the gooks are always slipping into Japanese sounding Pigeon English; always calling us “Number One”. I am pretty sure that number is signified by the middle finger, but I ignore her.

I motion for Tran to get his ass over to me and point to a farmer standing next to a young girl. “Ask him how old she is,” I order. Tran did and the farmer went into a diatribe that lasted a lot longer than just stating a number.

“‘He say, she fifteen and very strong. Can pick grass out of rice patty long time, pick rice too. She good cook and make many baby, all boy.” The look on my face upset the farmer and filled him with fear. This seems to be Dirty Mary’s cur to begin to examine the girl. It reminded me of grizzled old ranchers examining breed stock before an auction at stockyards back, back in the world in Oklahoma. She fells the girl’s breasts through her rough blouse and pulls back her woven hat to pick at her hair and part her lips to look at her teeth, teeth that were perfect in spite of never having been seen by a dentist in their lifetime. Then, she began to dicker with the farmer. I looked a Tran and he said “She say she give 500 baht.” Twenty-five American dollars.

“Tell him I give one thousand,” and so the price war began. Back and forth the bidding goes until the figure reaches ten thousand baht. Finally, Dirty Mary gives me a disgusted look and spits at my feet. “You no come to my bar, no more, Lieutenantsan!”

“Not a problem,” I said, and spit right back at her feet. I paid the farmer who without another look at his daughter, turns and walks away, towards the woods and Laos. Mary makes an awful sound in my direction and Tran starts to translate. I hold up my hand him. “I know what she said, Tran.”

I walk away, also back toward the woods, to the Landing Zone where we’ll be picked up. Tran just looks at me and then says “You boo koo dinky dau!” “Yep, Tran, one crazy motherfucker, I just spent ten thousand nickels, five hundred bucks on a human being!”

I awake with a start and come instantly alert as I always do when I have this dream. You can take the boy out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the boy. A soft hand caresses my cheek and I look into two limpid brown pools of light that are Li’s eyes. I think she knows what I am dreaming about but she never says a word, and snuggles closer to me, placing her tiny hand on my chest. I am awake and will be for the rest of the night. I patiently wait for her breathing return to a rhythmical steady beat before I leave the bed. I have a lot to think about, the least of which is how Li came to be in my life. The dream that was not always a dream sometimes disturbs me.

I leave my private wing of Singing Winds heading towards the staff cells; I want to talk to Sollie before I leave. Without knocking, I walk right in to her room. Even if there were a lock on her door, I knew it would be unlocked. I reach into my pocket for the Zippo that has been in my pocket for the last thirty years, minus the four months three years ago when it took a little vacation to Bradford, Pee Ay, back in the good ole’ You Ess of Ay for some of that good old lifetime warranty service. Made it the U.S. of A may not mean shit in Detroit, but Pennsylvania is a whole different ball game.

I could have turned on the lights, but when talking to Sollie, especially, I find candlelight soothing. I open the lid of the lighter slowly and quietly and light a taper on her bed table and this does not wake her. On the other side of her bed, leaning against the wall I make out a shape. Picking up the candle, I move to the other side of the bed and can’t help but smile. No wonder Sollie doesn’t wake up seems she was busy far into the night.

Leaning against the wall is a rough cross with a limp body tied to it. The eyes are closed and I can see the eyes rapidly moving in REM dream-sleep. Ahh, the dreams of Slut; these are dreams that could interest me. Softly I touch her lips and an involuntary shiver courses down her body but she does not wake. She is beautiful, her breasts are full and pendulous, with a light sheen of perspiration that glistens in the candlelight. I can see that she is wearing a chastity devise. I don’t need to guess that her cunt and ass are filled and well filled at that. The slickness on her thighs also says that I don’t have to guess that it might be KY jelly. I return to the far side of the bed, lean down and give Sollie’s cheeks several light taps. Her eyes pop open and move side to side rapidly, unfocused. Finally, her eyes settle on my face and she recognizes me. She quietly slips out of bed and onto her knees. I sit on her bed feeling the warmth of her body still in the sheets. She knee walks forward and settles between my thighs, Idly I begin to stroke her black hair as she looks into my eyes with a shy smile that lights her entire face.

“Rough night?” I ask. Her smile broadens and just as suddenly she is serious. “Are you sure this one should be here?” She asks softly, nodding toward Slut. “There’s a lot of spirit in her. I’m not sure if she’s taking training because she wants it or because it gets her what she wants.” I knew exactly what she meant. “Sollie,” I said, “Don’t question her motives, and just train her to the best of your, and her, abilities.” I think she wanted to talk more about this but she knew the discussion was over. It is now time to listen to me.

“I’m leaving this morning; I’m going to see Maelstrom about this one and run some other errands. Don’t try too hard to break this one. And be extremely careful, I don’t know yet if this is someone’s property. Not that I really care, but if she belongs to Malestrom then it’s going to cost him the same she would fetch at auction to training her. Just in case, leave something out because Maelstrom thinks he can finish a slave’s training regimen.” We smiled at each other at this. “If that’s the case, I think this one might be at Singing Wind for a very long time,” I added and Sollie nodds in agreement.

I crane my head back as if to look at the ceiling and begin to rotate my head, eyes closed, feeling the gravel in my neck and spine grate bone to bone as I try to relax. I feel Sollie’s hand go into the fly in my silk pajamas and slip inside. I looked down at her and lightly grab her wrist to stop her. “Li’s already taken care of that,” I said. Rolling over on my side, I stretch out on Sollie’s bed. I am awake and know I won’t fall back asleep, but I am exhausted, the way I always feel after the dream. Sollie crouches at the end of the bed and begins to massage my feet. I close my eyes and give into the sensation she is sending up my sciatic nerve that culminates in a tingling sensation just behind my right ear. I roll onto my back and I feel her take my toes between her warm, moist lips, sucking my toes, pulling them between her lips as if they were tiny cocks. She runs her tongue between my toes and then licks up their lengths. She takes all five on each foot into her mouth at once and runs her tongue around each one. She then began to lick the entire foot with deliberate, long, tongue strokes. I raise my head and look down at her, her features softened by the glow of the candle, her face serene in her devotion to the worship of my feet. I lay back, closed my eyes and completely lose myself in her ministrations. She works on, sensually and methodically, into the night.

I wake, again, to light streaming through the high window of Sollie’s cell. I am in her bed, covered up, feeling snuggly warm. Slut is not tied to the cross any longer and I am quite alone in Sollie’s room. I throw back the covers and get to my feet, stretching broadly. I feel totally refreshed and alert, not totally unlike the mornings I awoke in the jungle a million years ago: Totally ready for any contingency. Briskly, I leave the room and head back to my quarters. Have to get a move on. Today, I’m to be a traveling man.

Chapter 3 – Changelings

Gently, Sollie tucks her master into her bed as the graying sky of morning was brightening her cell enough to see with out a light. Slut, tied to her cross is still sleeping the sleep of the dead. Sollie can see a ropy line of spittle falling from the corner of Slut’s mouth dribbling onto her left breast and this makes her smile. Picking a pair of soiled panties from the hamper next to her dresser, she retrieves a roll of duct tape from the bottom drawer. Moving silently to the sleeping form tied to the cross, she tears off half a foot and sticks it to the lower edge of the cross piece. She reaches out and pinches Slut’s nostrils causing her mouth to open and stuffs the balled up the panties deeply into Slut’s mouth and quickly secures her mouth with the tape.

Slut’s eyes flash open almost immediately wondering why this Filipino bitch would not leave her alone. The gag in her mouth did not allow for any noise to escape her. Solly moved close to her ear and spoke softly,

“Look in my bed.”

Slut did as she was told surprised to see the man she had met only the day before, the one who had sent her into hell with this bitch from hell who has seemingly worked her over the entire night. Just as quickly, she realizes that Mistress Sollie has not been working on her all night; she has been asleep standing tied to the cross. Her eyes go back to Mistress Solly. What surprised most is that that is exactly how she is thinking about this Asian woman: Mistress Sollie.

“Make one sound that wakes him up and your whole day will be irreversibly fucked up in the first 30 seconds you are awake.”

Slut thinks to herself that the day is already pretty much fucked up waking up tied to a cross, with a pair of panties taped in your mouth, wearing a chastity belt with a dildo up your ass and cunt wearing only what must be really nice bruises on her ass and tits being ordered around by what her brother (who’d done a tour in the Marines) would call a LBRPFM’s, which is short for Little Brown Rice Powered Fucking Machines. No, she thinks, days do not come any more fucked than this. “Understand?” Solly barks softly.

Slut nodded dumbly.

Taking a leash from a hook on the wall, Solly clipps it deftly to the collar around Slut’s neck and unties first her ankles and then her wrists. As she is lowered to the floor her shoulder joints make a loud popping sound. They are numb and leaden. Sollie gives Slut a hard look. “You know what position you are to be in when you are on the leash,” she hissed.

Slut dropped to all fours and is promptly and unceremoniously led out of the cell and into the morning light. Sollie keeps her moving at a rapid pace and Slut finds she can not keep up and quickly adjusts by coming up off her knees and onto the balls of her feet moving in a crab like fashion. Awkward as this was, she finds that she can now keep up with her Mistress. Abruptly, Sollie stops. Intent on keeping her balance, Slut does not realize this until the leash became taut and spills her on her face.

“Pay attention!” Sollie snaps. She grabs Slut’s collar and jerks her to her knees. Roughly, she rips the duct tape that covering her mouth and Slut can not stifle a cry and involuntarily a hand goes to her mouth to rub her lips. Her breath is coming in ragged gulps as she tries to catch her breath and spit the panties from her mouth. Slut has been in constant torment since leaving the study yesterday and Mistress Sollie has given her little respite since coming into her charge. The sleep she’d had on the cross had been poor, at best and fatigue was now her constant companion.

“We are now going into breakfast. I know you haven’t eaten since yesterday, but don’t bolt your food. Eat what you are given and don’t you dare ask for more. As a matter of principle, don’t talk at all. That is unless being tutored in manner is what you want from me, then, well, just piss me off.” Sollie gives Slut a sardonic and wryly sadistic smile at this while looking down at the wretched form of Slut, kneeling in the sandy grass with puffy eyes and raw knees, generally looking pitiful.

Slut thinks she wants to do more than just piss Mistress Solly off. She wants to grab a handful of hair and jerk her to the ground and give her a taste of her own medicine, but something tells her this was not even a remotely good idea. These thoughts, against her will, telegraph to her face. Sollie smiles, reached out and twists her left nipple cruelly saying, “You better think again. That good idea you are thinking right now may not be such a good idea in reality.” And Slut blushes bright red and tears began to course down her face. How in the name of fuck can she know what she is thinking?

Sollie turns and with hard tug on the leash, Slut begins to follow at a slower pace. They enter a building through a large doorway and she is led to a low bench before a long table and is given the order to stand. To her amazement, as she looks around the room, she is surprised to find the room filled with at least ten long tables and each has at least a dozen women standing just as she is. On the table before each place is a bowl of what can be best described as mush. A small bell rings and the women, in mass, sit in their respective places. Sollie has to give a small jab into Slut’s back to get her to follow suit. When she sits, the dildo from chastity device in her ass is noticeably uncomfortable and she is shocked to realize that her bodily needs are becoming pressing: She has to pee very badly. She sees that all the women have lowered their faces into the bowls and are eating. Sollie grabbed a handful of Slut’s hair and shoves her face into the bowl and she began to lap at the contents so as not to drown. Sollie says in a low voice “I’ll see you tomorrow, behave.” And she is gone. Slut does not see Mistress Solly for the next eighteen hours.

* * *

Slut is amazed that the contents of the bowl tastes delicious and she begins to eat greedily. She raises her eyes enough to see the girl across from her looking at her, her face and nose sticky and covered with the creamy mush.

“It’s breadfruit,” the girl whispers. No sooner than this is said, a hand pushes the girl’s face back into the bowl roughly.

“You want to eat or you at high tea this morning? Shoot the shit on your own time!”

Looking up, Slut sees a very large woman standing behind the girl holding her face in the bowl and then grabs a handful of hair and lifts her face from it bringing her to an upright position. The girl, her face now covered completely with her breakfast, opens her soft brown eyes and smiles softly at Slut.

“Thank you mistress for correcting this wayward bitch,” she says in an even voice. The woman only grunts and gives the girl’s head a shove. The girl only smils again and resumed eating.

She points a riding crop at Slut and barks, “Get your face back in that bowl if you know what’s good for you,” and then walks on.

Trying to take in as much of the scene as possible, Slut does not finish her meal before the small bell rings and once again, in unison, the women all rise. She can only look back at her unfinished meal and frown. The women deftly step back over the benches and reached their hands out to either side to clasp the hands of the women to either side. Slut did like wise. The women on her side of the table executed a left face, while those opposite performed a right face maneuver and the women file out two abreast for where Slut knows not.

* * *

Waking up in Sollie’s bed, I leisurely stretch out before leaving her cell and walk toward the beach rather than my quarters. Once on the beach, I contort my body with exercise to stretch out my leg and back muscles before I start out at an easy gait. Quickly tiring in the loose, dry sand, I ease down past the tide line on to the hard, wet packed sand and pick up the pace. I watch for my markers and in just over 13 minutes I punch out two and half miles thinking about nothing other than the blue in blue of the South China Sea off to my left. The hot, humid morning has me drenched in sweat and as I slow to a cooling walk, I can smell Sollie on me and that, perhaps, is also tinted with the smell of Slut.

Back at my quarters, I shower and change into a freshly pressed white Panama suit. Li has laid my clothes neatly out on the valet before the triple tailor’s mirrors and I can not help but admire the figure I cut. I am not a vain man, in the least, but I am amazed at how a tailored suit makes a man look. I think of Charles Laughton or Sidney Toler, the actor who played Charlie Chan and how good they always looked in a Panama suit, I never thought I would look so good. Knowing that Li has never seen a Charlie Chan movie or has any clue as to whom Charles Laughton might be, I am struck by her sense of style.

Just out the door my quarters, I found a jeep waiting on the cobblestone drive. In the driver’s seat is a young blonde woman and sitting in the rear seat is a dark, mysterious Hindu goddess. She is dressed in a cream silk blouse and dark A line skirt. The driver is naked save for a collar with a silver tag engraved ‘Cocksucker’. Not a word is spoken as I get into the front seat as the driver puts the jeep in gear and smoothly speeds out of the drive to the road leading toward the airfield. The trip takes less than 5 minutes even though the car never reaches a speed above 15 miles per hour. As the field comes into view, I can see the Gulfstream sitting on the tarmac as a lone figure completes a walk-around inspection as the tail strobe light flashes in the gathering sunlight of morning. I know instinctively that the inspector is Tommy Milkman, a bright, handsome lad, who you might mistake for preppy if it weren’t for his deep southern drawl, a true Son of Georgia. Tommy had learned to fly in the Air Force, flying lumbering cargo planes. He had longed to slip the surly bounds of Earth in the cockpit of an F-16, but had only qualified to fly the Military’s version of the Douglas DC-9, great training if your dream was to fly forever and ever for an airline, but that really sucked if you had the need for speed and Tommy had the need for speed very bad.

In the cockpit was J.D. McAlester. Mac had been my roommate at the Boat School, the Naval Academy, and captain of the crew team. He had been an Aerospace major, while I am a mere English major. He had dreamed of the sky since his childhood. From the time he was ten, every thought, every action was designed to get him into the cockpits of jets. And it had worked. F-4 Phantoms in Vietnam, almost becoming an ace and later he flew F-14A Tomcats. However, the Tomcat had bitten. In a training exercise, the immense weight of the aircraft over powered by a pair of Pratt and Whitney TF 30’s had managed to flat spin. By the time recovery of the aircraft had quit being an academic probability and had became a firm impossibility, the decision to eject had already been made by the Naval Flight Officer, a man who J.D. will only speak of by his call sign, Zippo. Coming out of the cockpit with the force and speed of a rocket strapped to their asses, the men were accelerated by ten gravities of thrust. Zippo’s body was never recovered while J.D.’s Martin-Baker ejection seat worked as advertised to float him into the Mediterranean Sea safely. He was cleared by the Board of Inquiry but, never the less, the injuries he suffered that day prevented him from ever sitting in the driver’s seat of a jet aircraft again, that is, until I bought him this Gulfstream, with a severe warning that eternity would be a nightmare of epic proportions if he killed me in the goddamn thing. Truth was, he was my best friend: If we died together, we’d toast the devil with his own scotch and spit in his eye.

Pulling along side the aircraft, Cocksucker brought the jeep to a smooth stop. I gave the driver’s left nipple a pinch and a tug and said with a smile, “Thank you, Cocksucker.”

“The pleasure is mine, Milord.” She says with a sweet smile, enjoying the manipulation of her nipple a little too much.

As the other passenger unloads my traveling case along with two suitcases of her own and lugs them toward the plane, I go strait over to Tommy waiting by the cargo hatch and exchange pleasantries as we wait for the girl to bring the luggage. Setting the three cases on the ground near the plane, she gracefully drops to her knees to bend forward to kiss Tommy’s shoes. I stifled a laugh as this is one of those things that is an embarrassment to Tommy and he can only look at me sheepishly.

“Get aboard,” I tell her and lightly touch her forehead as she rises to her feet.

“Where to Boss?” He is clearly relieved that the girl is leaving to board the aircraft.

“Hong Kong, Miss Singh has a date at an auction this evening at the Hilton and then we’re all going to get a massive steak and really drunk at Ned Kelly’s Last Stand on the Kowloon side. J.D.’s buying.”

“Does he know that?”

“Not yet,” I smiled, “you can break that part to him.”

And with that, I board the plane to take my seat.

Chapter 4 – An interlude between worlds

Tommy came through the cabin door after securing the fuselage compartments, folded the stairway and started to close the hatch behind him. Miss Singh came up behind him and lightly touched his arm. He turns and almost immediately the blush he had had outside on the tarmac was back. She can see it and his eyes, eyes that said he was a man unaccustomed to being in close proximity of such a beautiful woman, one that responds in a way that no woman in Tommy’s world ever responds. I watch as his Adams apple bobs in a very long swallow. She looks directly into his light blue eyes with her soft doe eyes.

“I will secure the door,” she says softly, so softly that in the distance between us, two seats, I can only make out the word door. Tommy slowly nods and turns and goes into the cockpit and gently closes the privacy curtain behind him. I imagine that he has sat down in the co-pilot’s chair rather quickly. Seeing him with a hard on would keep J.D. in stitches for months. Tommy does not care for the world on the other side of the island and I respect that. While he respects what it is I have built here and why I do it, it is something that he keeps a respectful distance from.

Miss Singh has been known for the last two years as Knob Bobber. Before that, she was known as Amahdee and twelve hours from now she will be known, as Linda, The Pretty One, for the rest of her life. She now stands at the door for a long time looking out taking in the scene and breathing in the warm, tropical air deeply. She makes no sound. The auxiliary power unit comes on line and the sound level rises noticeably and the cabin lights momentarily flicker. The unit begins to spool up as high pressure air makes it way to the compressor sections of the plane’s engines. At this, Miss Singh tugs on the tether to close the door and locks the handle in place. When she turns, she is crying. The sobs deep inside her chest are being restrained, but not very well. The tears, large and free flowing course down her cheeks streaking her makeup. Without looking at me, she takes her seat and buckles herself in. The jet turns at idle speed for about two minutes, taxies to the end of the runway, turns and accelerates in one fluid maneuver. Three minutes after engines start, we are in the air and “feet wet”, over the water. Miss Singh’s sobbing does not abate and her tears seem ceaseless.

I reached over and touch her arm. Her eyes meet mine. Her tears freshen.

“I cannot go, I am not ready,” she says.

“Yes,” I say simply. And with tears streaming unashamedly down her face, she laughs. A deep laugh, a normal, funny laugh, as if hearing a joke.

“Yes, I’m not ready or yes, I’m not?”

“Pick one,” I smile, “because what I think is of no import. It’s what you think that counts. Remember your first days here? Think about then, how badly you wanted this day to come.”

“First days? How about the better part of the first year! I wanted to be taught to be something other than me. How could I know that what I needed was to be taught to be treated like property? How would I know that I would love that? No, I don’t think I’m ready. I know I am not ready.” She said the last with conviction.

“You’re ready. Open the window shade and take a look.”

I touch the key to the intercom and bark “J.D., turn around. Give the island a flyby then do it again at 90 degrees.” I meant for it to sound like a request but it sounded more like an order.

He did just as I’d asked. We cruise the island about a mile off at just over a thousand feet up. I watch as Miss Singh cranes her neck to see the island come into view, watch it pass, and crane her neck again to see it pass behind us. After a long slow turn, the island comes into view again and she does the same again. Some time after it has passed from her view, forever, she closes the shade and turns to me. The tears are back and I soften.

“You can live your old life until we land.”

With that, she stands and slowly slides down the zipper of the skirt and lets it fall. She carefully unbuttons her blouse, removes it, and carefully folds her clothes so not to wrinkle them. She then unhooks her bra and slips from it and stands naked before me. She is not wearing any panties. From my jacket pocket, I take out a collar with a small silver tag that reads “Knob Bobber”. She kneels before me so that I can place it back on her neck and I am greeted with the sweetest smile I have ever seen.

* * *

Slut and the others silently leave the dining hall two abreast into the morning sunshine. The sound of an airplane draws her eyes skyward and she watches the small jet aircraft pass from left to right. She wanted to stop and watch it but when she slowed down the woman behind her ran into her and dropped her mentally back into reality. She knows it is the same plane that she had boarded in Honolulu, what, two, three days ago? She is dawdling and can tell the girl behind her is growing impatient with her as she is squeezing her hand sharply.

She fells like a schoolgirl again, walking in line with other girls, holding hands front to back, going to the lavatory in the library building at her elementary school, Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. As she looks as far up the line as she can, she sees that they all wear the same uniform. A lack of uniform actually, but uniform all the same. Each woman wears a polished black collar adorned with a silver tag and four inch black stiletto pumps. She is the only one different in the fact she is the only one wearing a chastity belt. This fact brings a new thought. Is this because she is new or is this because the belt signifies dunce?

She takes in her surroundings and is surprised at the campus like atmosphere. The courtyard is a quadrangle, surrounded by 6 buildings that she can see with an unknown number behind her and she dares not to turn to count buildings. Further, she cannot see anyone who appears to be in charge. They are crossing the quad two abreast, marching in step the only noise is the clicking of their heels reverberating off the surrounding buildings in unison. This made her remember Sister Rose, who, while strict, had made school somewhat fun. Sr. Rose had taught the girls to hum the theme song from the Adams’ Family Show” in their heads to help them stay in perfect step with a proud march. And just as suddenly she realized that tune was playing in her head and she was walking in perfect harmonious step with what she guessed to be fifty women.

The last two girls at the rear in each column suddenly dropped the hands of the girls in front and sprinted to the front of the formation to open and hold the doors of the building directly in front of them. The column of two marched directly into the building with out missing a beat, proud and strong. Just as the last of the women passed the portal, the door guards quickly closed the doors and the formation broke up in to a cacophony of sound as the formation dissolved and every one in the group relaxed.

Slut stands there in disbelief as the women begin to chat, sit on the floor and take off their stilettos and massage their feet and calves. The girl next to her, who is still wearing the breadfruit mush on her face, points at Slut’s chastity belt and says “Want some help getting that thing off?”

“I don’t know if I’m allowed.” She says dumbfounded.

The girl just smiles. “Yes, you are. It’s bath time and for the next six hours nobody will tell you what to do….” She trails off and reaches for the silver tag on Slut’s collar and reads the inscription. “…Slut,” she finishes. “This is our time and my name is Allpussy.” She sticks out her hand and with a growing smile shakes Slut’s hand.

She then spins Slut around and begins to work on the buckles of the chastity belt.

“So, you got orientation from Sollie? Oh, I know that because she has her initials

tooled into this thing. I hate this fucking thing.”

As the strap that runs between her legs falls forward, it relieves the pressure on the dildos that impale her. Allpussy reaches around from behind and plucks the dildo from her pussy and holds it up before her face. It is made from polished ebony wood and despite of the fact she has probably worn it for over eight hours, it glistens with moisture from her cunt. Allpussy leans close to her ear to speak to her in a low tone of voice.

“If one of these comes out of any of your holes in Mistress Sollie’s presence, you’d best take it in that pretty little mouth of yours and lick clean as Buddha’s cock. She loves to see them worshipped.” Allpussy then brushes the wooden cock across Slut’s lips. Slut gets the idea and opens her lips and takes the object into her mouth and begins to lovingly clean it. Before she could get fully into the act, Allpussy spins her around again and pulls her close so that they are cunt to cunt. The chastity belt drops to the floor, and reaches around and pulls the second dildo from Slut’s ass. Holding it next their faces, Slut turns to look at it. Allpussy says, “This one too!” Before Slut can do anything, Allpussy tosses the dildo from her ass over her shoulder and wraps her arms around Slut’s neck in an intimate embrace. “Give me a kiss,” she smiles, “I just saved you from a future ass whipping, though you might get one anyway for already knowing what to do. She’s pretty anal retentive that way.” With that, she pulls Slut into a deep, deep kiss.

Abruptly, Allpussy breaks the kiss and takes Sluts hand pull her into a short tiled hallway ending at a wall that seemingly goes nowhere. Just before the end, however, she sees two openings on each side that open into a larger cavernous room with whirlpool baths dotting the tiled deck and beyond those, an Olympic sized swimming pool. On the other side of the pool there are row upon row of massage tables, some already being used as slave girl works on slave girl while in the whirlpools, slave bathes slave. Two slave girls approach them each takes Slut and Allpussy in different directions. Slut reads the tag that tells her new companions name is Fuckface and she is leading her toward one of the baths. Gently, she assists her into the warm, bubbling water, places her head in the cushioned notch at the end and drapes her hair behind her.

Not a word is spoken as Fuckface picks up a brush and starts to brush out Slut’s hair, gently, lovingly. Slut raises her eyes and tilts her head to look at the girl, upside down. The face is serene, as if this girl were lost in a fantasy, perhaps brushing the hair of some long forgotten doll. Slut breaks the silence.

“What’s your name?”

“Fuckface,” the girl says touching her tag.

“No, I mean your real name.”

The girl lets out a small sigh and then the hint of a smile sneaks onto the corners of her lips. “Slut,” she says, “that is my real name. Whatever you called your self before, whatever I called myself before, well, those people don’t exist anymore. I mean, did you really like the person you were before? If that person is still in you and still has a name, I don’t want to know it. If you were happy before you got this name, then, why are you here?”

She wanted to say to get a story, but, she didn’t. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. Certainly, she was surprised. Malestrom had told her everyone here in training was here of their own free will. Hell, she’d had been forced to ask, no beg, for the privilege to entering this compound. However, compound didn’t sound right. After all, there were no fences, no guard towers and she hadn’t even seen a lock on a single door.

She needed to think on this, just like she would need to think about the similarities she was beginning to feel with her younger days at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows, remembering the nuns, the order, the discipline and the symmetry.

What surprised her most, however, was the peace of acceptance she was beginning to feel. At first, she had thought perhaps that too much was happening too quickly and then she thought that that wasn’t it, either. It was getting a story. Originally, she thought she could and she would endure anything for a story. And then the truth finally comes to her: The story is getting her. She looks back at Fuckface. “Thank you.” She says simply and closes her eyes. In Manhattan, a spa day of this magnitude would run close to a thousand bucks. She decides to just enjoy it and worry about tomorrow tomorrow.

As I herd her words, I nodded in agreement. My lesbian lover had talked over and over about modifying me, starting with my hair.

“I want you to be bald.” She had said on so many occasions, “I love the thought of you walking down the street with me, with no hair on your head, people staring at you because you look so different, wondering why a woman would have no hair.”

“Please.” She said again.

I lifted the scissors and cut through my pony tail and handed it to her. Tears were in her eyes.

“Thank you so much! Please let me go all the way.”

Now I had given in to losing the length of my hair I was not that bothered about the rest.

“You can do it.”

She kissed me and jumped up, went and fetched a razor and plugged it in the wall.

“Get on your knees!” She said excitedly.

I knelt down, my eyes stinging with tears that she was too excited to notice, but as I bowed my head and watched the floor knowing I would see my hair falling away, I felt a swelling in my clitoris. I reached down to rub it.

“No!” She said sharply, “You know you’re not supposed to play with it – remember what the doctor said!”

I took my hand away despite the way it was swelling and the wetness was running out. She was right – last time I had rubbed my clit it had swollen up for three days and throbbed unbearably. The doctor blamed it on over use of pumps and vibrators and I had been told this had led to the death of some of my clitoral tissue – it could not fill up the way it used to, it caused me pain now. The only way I could get aroused and cum clitorally was for my clit to get swollen and wait until I was close and have my lover brutally flick it several times, or to use a heavy duty vibrator which damaged even more tissue and left me feeling numb. I had been asked how I felt about possibly having the clitoris removed but the thought had filled me with horror, it seemed so barbaric to have my clit cut out! The doctor had told me that many women chose to have surgery to later their genitals for cosmetic or medical reasons and in those circumstances it was not thought of as mutilation. My lover had openly masturbated over the idea when I came home, she was black and from a country where many of her relatives had been circumcised, although she had left before she was old enough, and to this day often commented that she wised she had been ‘cleansed’ like her sisters and cousins. Sometimes she applied anaesthetic cream first to my clit and then to her own so we both went numb, then she would say,’ the circumciser has been to call…we have no clitorises, just a lovely clean scar, nice and neat…”

And I thought of this as I knelt down and my lover shaved my head. She buzzed me slowly; shearing it off slowly, then she took a bar of soap, wet it and rubbed it on my head. She took two new razors and took the safety off the first one.

“I’ll shave one side of your head with this and the other with the other razor – to make you soooo smooth!”

I felt the scrape, scrape, scrape, she pressed hard, thoroughly, when she had finished, she took a steaming hot towel and swiped it over my shining dome of a scalp, it stung and she laughed.

“Now you are truly shaven!” She exclaimed.

She rand her hands over my slippery scalp.

“Pretty pretty girl!” She exclaimed.

Then she looked in the mirror at the black stubble that grew on her own head.

“I shall shave bare also.”

I watched as she took a clean razor, wet it under the tap and simply scraped away all trace of hair from her head. She did not bother with soap, just shaved it right off there and then. Her head glowed when she finished and she put her arm around me and we looked in the mirror together.

“You look beautiful.” She told me, “And I want you to wear no hat when we go for your doctor’s visit tomorrow.”

I was dreading the doctors visit because the last time my useless clit had been examined it had caused me pain, it had been lifted free of its hood, griped by small forceps, squeezed, tugged, eve twisted, I had endured a skin sample being scraped off its tip with a wooden spatula and had it suctioned and tweaked, all to see how I responded and how much blood flowed to it. I had gone through all this naked with my legs pinned wide part and it was done by a doctor, an assisting nurse and a third assisting medical student who was very keen to hear how ‘abuse’ of the organ had caused tissue death. This examination was to see if I had the option of regular use of a numbing cream to prevent pain during arousal. I was also to have my clit injected and then scanned to see how many blood vessels still worked. I saw no point in any of this, my clit did not work properly any more and it was all so painful and humiliating.

My lover took a box of body paints and a brush from the cupboard. She began to mix some henna dye.

“I would like us to paint our scalps…I will give you ancient tribal markings on your bare head, and paint mine also. Then I will play with that clit of yours until it can be milked of an orgasm.”

I was surprised she wanted to after telling me not to touch it, but she took the thin brush and began to paint a swirling pattern onto my newly shaven head. It was henna and I knew they dye would last a while and not wash off, but when I looked in the mirror and saw the pattern pained on my shaven head, I had to admit it was beautiful. Then she painted her own head. While it dried she parted my legs and lapped at my cunt. She sucked my clit so hard the sucking noise filled the bathroom, pleasure filled the organ but then pain throbbed as she let go.

“We shall have fun tomorrow at the doctors.” She told me, looking up from my reddened hairless cuntlips, “I am having an examination also. I have paid for the doctor to treat us both together in the same room – we can watch each other!”

“What are you going for?” I asked her.

She smiled broadly.

“A routine procedure.” She told me.

Then her hand descended between my legs and she flicked my clit hard, battering it twice more with brutal force and the organ wobbled and I came with a loud cry.

We went to the doctors surgery at six thirty in the evening, we were the last two appointments and when the receptionist called out names she called them together. We walked down the corridor, my lover leading the way, into a white doctors room with two examination couches, the leg rests were in position and two nurses were attending, with a trolley covered by a towel and both were wearing masks and gloves.

I noticed the doctor and the nurses were black like my lover, she smiled and greeted us, then the doctor spoke pleasantly to my lover in their native language that I did not understand. As they laughed together, the doctor looked at me and I laughed also.

“You will both remove all clothing. I need you naked and on table” She said in broken English, “I have to examine the pubic region and open up for close look.”

My lover exchanged a look with me and smiled.

“We will be facing each other!” She exclaimed, “We can watch what happens to our pussies!”

She eagerly stripped off her clothes, hopped up on the couch and slung her legs into the leg rests. One of the masked nurses promptly spread her wider and swiped her bald cunt with a bottle of disinfectant. She groaned but managed to smile. The nurse held up the catheter and said something to her in her own language, she nodded and braced herself, as the tube slid in her pee hole she screwed up her eyes and her toes at the same time but took another breath and composed herself.

The doctor handed me two pills and a cup of water.

“Swallow please. It will relax you.” I obeyed, still fascinated by my lover’s medical ordeal that she seemed to be enjoying – and so was I, although my clit was swelling uncomfortably, I was getting very wet and juicy. I stripped off and lay back on my own table, my legs were fixed wide apart, my ankles strapped and tight straps placed around my thighs. I noticed the same was being done to my lover but I was feeling chilled and relaxed and just wanted to enjoy it. Then the doctor leaned over e and smiled.

“Nice and relax, yes?”

I nodded. The doctor opened my slit and moved her finger up and down, making my clit move.

“AAA aaaaHH!!”

“You are very prominent.” She remarked, “Big clitoris. No surprise it give you such trouble.”

Se tipped a bottle of clear liquid between my legs it stung and I groaned again, but the area was wiped with a towel promptly. The doctor spoke again.

“I have to open the labia majoria.”

I nodded feeling ashamed that I was suffering juice running out in front of my lover and the medical staff.

The tallest nurse patted my bald head.

“You share the occasion with your lady by tribal marking and shaving of the head! I have never seen a white woman have shave for the occasion!”

The doctor put on her mask and glanced to my lover as she picked up my catheter.

“You buy her wig tomorrow? Western lady need wig on head?”

I cringed a little but managed to smile as the doctor and nurses and my lover, who replied in foreign tongue, laughed together.

“Hold still.” The doctor ordered and slid the tube in my urethra.

“OOOOWch!!”

I relaxed as the pain subsided. Now me and my lover were restrained and catheterised, I looked over at her and my lover smiled as she watched her pee travel down the tube. Then she rested, relaxing as she looked up at the ceiling.

The doctor pinched my nipples. I smiled and gave a sigh. She dipped a finger in my vagina, it came out covered in fluid and she held it up to show the two nurses.

“She likes!” She exclaimed, “Bald white lady like!”

“She always like!” My black lover replied.

The doctor said something in foreign language and gestured between my open legs and the nurses chuckled.

“She will like afterwards – I hope!” Said my lover.

A nurse leaned over me and braced my thighs.

The doctor held up a hypodermic needle.

I looked at my lover and she did not smile, just nodded.

“For the best, my lover.” She stated coldly, “For the best!”

I tensed.

“Noooo!”I screamed, “Leave my cunt alone!! NO! No, no no…”

The nurse clamped my mouth open and stuffed in a double metal bar, it pressed down and gripped and immobilised my tongue. She fastened the strap at the back of my head.

“MMMMmmmmmmmmffff…aaaaaa…ammmmmmaaaafff..” I was gagged, helpless.

“Be calm.” The doctor said, and plunged the needle into my clitoris. I sunk deep, scratching and burning all the way. As she pulled the needle out I felt as if my clit was being dragged with it.

I thrashed my head from side to side; tears ran from my eyes as I clenched my fists. I felt my bowel spasm in fear and a small, hot lump of shit slithered out. The nurse retrieved it with a paper towel, and then wiped my anus clean with a swab soaked in surgical spirit.

“All over now.” The doctor said, no pain, all gone.” And she took my clit in her thumb and forefinger and pinched. I felt as if she were touching rubber. Then she picked up a thin, sharp par of scissors and spoke in her own language to the second nurse who came over, eyes fixed on my cunt. Se made a snipping motion with the scissors and the nurse nodded her head. My lover watched smiling.

“We want this.” She said dreamily, her own medication calming her, but she was happy she had always wanted this for herself!

“AAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh……oooooooowwwww!” I yelled, unable to speak.

“Shh it all over soon.” The doctor said.

She lifted my left labia and, as the nurse skilfully gripped the lip high, she slid the blade under and began to cut. The second nurse colleted the flesh in a silver dish. Then she clamped my other cunt lip, it was held and stretched, and the doctor snipped through it with ease.

She shot a jet of water on my bloodied cunt; I stared in horror at my cunt with the outer lips missing.

“She nearly clean.” The doctor said.

Then she jerked my inner lips upwards, pressed the blades down and cut brutally, as if cutting tough cloth, as the two bloodied inner lips were dropped into the bowl I could only stare with tears streaming down my face as I witnessed the removal of my woman hood. My clitoris was sticking up, enlarged with shock, seeming vulnerable – my clit, mine, being taken.

“uuurrrraaaaaaaa…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”

My voice echoed around the room but my protests were ignored.

She clamped the clit at its base, the nurse held it up, and with a brutal swipe of the scissors, she cut through my organ. It dropped into the bowl and blood pumped out. I was sprayed with a jet of water and given a second injection. The gag was removed from my mouth but I lay herein silence, tears running uncontrollably from my eyes as the nurse took a very long piece of surgical thread and began the slow procedure of sewing me up. While she worked I looked over at my lover.

She smiled at the doctor; the nurse held her hand as she was injected and although a tear ran from her eye, she did not change her mind. She looked down keenly. The doctor took another pair of scissors and, spreading her outer lips, snipped off the inner labia and kept cutting, working her way up, forcing the blades closed twice to lop off the pink nub of flesh that plopped into the kidney bowl.

“Ohh…” She moaned, although it was from relief the procedure was over. She was stitched quickly, a thin line of sutures. Afterwards she watched as the other nurse continued to sew me. I was stitched from one side of the labia to the other, and then the flesh was closed up. I had been given a total excision.

As the dressing was put on, the doctor patted my bald head.

“I give you through circumcision, bald western lady, You like?”

More tears ran from my eyes.

“I like.” My lover replied.

I turned my face away, sobbing again.

We were taken to a private room after our cunts were dressed and our beds placed side by side.

“I am sorry I did not tell you.” My lover said, “You have often said circumcision excites you, so I gave you a trial shave and paid for a full ritual circumcision by a good medical doctor. You are clean now and so am I.”

The doctor came into our room an hour later.

I was lying there, holding my lovers hand across the gap between our beds. We had  talked and I was beginning to accept this had not been an assault but a treatment that was better done like this than any other way later on due to my clitoral problems.

“How you feel now, bald western lady?” The doctor asked me.

I blinked tear stained eyes and exchanged a glance with my lover. My cunt, despite its ordeal, tingled in my holes as I turned weakly and looked at her, my face still tear stained and my eyes red and I replied, speaking the painfully honest truth:

“Clean” I replied, “I am nice and clean now, thank you.”

Each year a eight or ten are found large and strong enough to serve as possible mounts.  They were sent to learn about tack and saddles at an intense summer program under the direction of experienced riders and in the Fall, are assigned to a trainer.

Ethan’s mother was deeply interesting in racing and his house was filled with racing souvenirs and paraphernalia.  No one was surprised when Ethan tried out for the Riding program.  He was known as a hard worker but a mount needed adequate size to carry a rider.  Many were surprised by the growth spurt at the end of his Freshman year and his qualifications were obvious at the end of his Sophomore year.  His mother had chosen her sperm donor wisely.  That summer, he learned to bear a Pony’s saddle, bridle, and control rods.    He was worked hard by the experienced equestriennes.  He quickly gained strength and stamina to match his great heart.

Ethan wore the blue and gold Suffragette colors when Beth, a new freshman, first saw him.  He stood proudly in his tack and saddle.  Sheridan, a senior girl, ordered him down and he dropped smartly to one knee.  She showed Beth how to grasp his bridle and mount.  Beth swallowed her trepidation.  She had ridden before though and had no lack of moxie.   She grasped his bridle in her right hand and lifted her right foot to his muscular thigh.  She swung her left leg over his neck and neatly mounted the large creature.  That first day, he only walked with Beth in the saddle and Sheridan leading him but Beth’s potential as a jockey quickly became apparent.

At first, Ethan ran under Sheridan who taught him to respect the control rods and answer promptly to her crop.  He learned to run with a rider.  He learned to sprint.  His strength and stamina increased further.

Beth learned too.  She learned to help a mount don and doff his gear.  She learned to ride at the walk, jog, stride, and finally sprint.  She learned to use the tools of her trade, the control rods and crop.  She learned to bring her mount to an all out sprint and how to keep his speed under control.  She learned exit the starting gate cleanly and to negotiate the press of bodies at the start as jockeys and mounts tangled for inside position.  She learned to read her mount to know just what she might ask of him.  Some mounts required strong encouragement while others required restraint lest they exhaust themselves too soon.  Too many novice jockeys failed to read the warning signs and blew their mount too early.  If their mount didn’t collapse under them, they staggered painfully across the finish line lagging behind the rest of the field.  Beth had the small stature, physical courage, and will to win of a champion.  She also seemed to have a special rapport with her mounts.

Ethan ran under the other exercise girls and jockeys, but Beth was his favorite.  Though only a freshman, she was ranked second among the jockeys by the end of the year.  In her sophomore year, she enjoyed breaking in the green mounts who had just graduated the summer program but Ethan carried her to a number of victories for the Cady Stanton Suffragettes in dual meets against the neighboring high schools, the Steinham Valkyries, the Freidan Freedom Riders, and the Greer Riot Grrls.  She and Ethan would go to Sectionals.

II

The long drive to the Sectionals  had been difficult for Ethan.  This was his first year.  He had been uncomfortable riding alone in the close confinement of the pony trailer.  Beth had ridden up front in the car with her coach and her best friend Amy.  Beth noted his nervousness and uncharacteristic ill-temper when she led him down the ramp and to his stall.    Riders and mounts were arriving in scores for the Sectional race the following day and the tumult and noise elicited a palpable unease.  Her light conversation did little to relieve Ethan’s anxiety.  He settled poorly in the unfamiliar stall.  Finally,. Beth apologized to Amy and decided to spend the night with her mount rather than in the motel with the others.  Amy wasn’t pleased in the least and promised to come by first thing in the morning.

Beth showed Ethan where he might attend to nature’s call and gave him a few moments privacy.  She found something for him to eat and urged him to lie down in the straw.  She had her jeans and bulky hooded sweatshirt.  Ethan had only his trunks.  She covered his large body with a coarse blanket and spread her blankets right next to him.  She assured him that she’d be right back and left to see to her own needs, securing the stable door behind her.

She returned and slipped into her blankets.  The stables were poorly heated and the damp chill drove Beth ever closer to her large, warm mount.

Ethan derived real comfort from her close presence, the quiet sounds of her soft breathing and her familiar fragrance.  Once upon a time, such an arrangement would never have been allowed.  Most would have thought the petite young woman at risk for virtue and even life from the hormonally crazed adolescent male.   Those times were safely in the past.  Beth was his jockey and Ethan was her mount.

Ethan’s skin felt deliciously warm to Beth’s cold hands.  Sleeping, he seemed totally unaware of her frigid touch.  She snuggled even closer and her nearness seemed to quiet him.  She ran her hands gently over the strong muscles of his bare back and flanks.  He did not stir when she lightly kneaded his powerfully built buttocks. Finally, she rested her frigid hands  between his brawny thighs.

Inadvertently, Beth brushed his bulging ball sac.  Ethan was intact, while most of the older certified mounts had been gelded.  Intact males were notoriously distractible, lazy, and prone to violence.  However, elite riders usually preferred intact males because their greater competitive spirit and special bond that might be forged.  Ethan was too young for such considerations.

Beth felt Ethan relax at her touch.  His body’s warmth cut the chill and soon Beth fell asleep also.

Beth awoke first in the dim light before dawn.  Ethan slept soundly.  Nestled between his muscular thigh, her hands were snug and warm.  A mischievous notion seized her, she slid her hand carefully up the inside of his thigh.  The coarse hairs tickled her palm.  She slipped her hand inside the cuff of Ethan’s trunks and stroked his muscular buttock.  She imagined how he’d look with her brand.  Some day she would own a string of boys.  She grinned wickedly and reached for his sex.  As she guessed, her Ethan boasted his morning erection.  She encircled his girth between her thumb and index finger.  He sighed.  Beth froze motionless, then carefully removed her hand.  He did not wake.

III

The field was unusually large at the Sectional meet.  The ponies and their jockeys lined up shoulder to shoulder in the starting gate, eager for the final race to begin.  Beth and Ethan, in Suffragette blue and gold,  had done well in the preliminary races and stood third of ten from the inside rail.  The start was delayed until the track could be cleared.  Beth and the other jockeys worked frantically to calm their anxious mounts.   The doors opened and Ethan surged forward, leaving the gate cleanly.  Beth brought down her stick sharply to send him forward.  A whip cracked and the mount to her right hand panicked and jumped inside.  Ethan swerved and shot inside to avoid him only to collide with the mount to his left.  Mounts and jockeys went down in a jumble of arms and legs.  Somehow, Ethan avoided the pile-up and kept his feet. It wasn’t pretty but he won!

Ethan was still in high spirits from his hard-won victory.  The race had been grueling.  Breath came only raggedly and with effort.  His muscular chest still heaved from exertion.  His powerfully built legs still wobbled and trembled unsteady.  Utter glee and slowly resolving oxygen debt contributed to his giddiness.

Beth was exhilarated too.  She simply loved to win.  She wore her best leather boots, the brightly colored blue and gold silk top and white jodhpurs of the of the Cady Stanton Suffragettes.  Spurs were not allowed in the high school division.  Ethan wore only trunks, shoes, socks, his saddle, and tack.  In high school meets, the mounts always wore shorts.  After high school, males always ran naked except for their gear.

Beth knelt at Ethan’s feet to help remove his shoes.  Her Ethan was quite able to take off his own shoes but this was something that a jockey always did for her mount.  She had always dreamed of being a jockey.  She sat in Ms. Collins class and cringed at her teacher’s vivid retelling of the horrors of the Patriarchal Age.  She gave thanks that she lived in a more enlightened time.  Some day she would own her own string of ponyboys.  She half listened to Ms. Collins’ frightening tales, half-glanced at the frightening images she presented, and filled her notebook with various designs for her personal brand or mark.

Ethan bent at the waist, rested his large hands on his muscular thighs, and caught his breath  He felt his strong thigh muscles quiver with fatigue.  He looked down at Beth, kneeling at his feet as she wrestled with his stubborn laces, and tried to catch a whiff of the faint fragrance of her perfume.  She was small, but she wielded the damned whip with great energy and unwanted strength.  The laceration on his body showed her handiwork.  She loved to win every bit as much as he.  Perspiration had darkened the bright colors of her racing silks.  She usually smelled of soap and understated perfume  Now a more primal scent admixed with the others and yielded an even more alluring fragrance.  He thought just perhaps to bend a bit further and nuzzle her sweat-damped hair.

Just then Beth looked up to see him staring down at her. Ethan dwarfed the smaller woman.  “Ethan, lift your foot, she said, brooking no nonsense.

Ethan stopped and did as he was told.  Beth slipped off one shoe and stocking and then the other shoe and sock in turn.  She inspected his feet for any injuries. An army marched on its belly but a pony ran on his feet.

Her task completed, Beth stood.  Her usually deft fingers fumbled with his belts and straps as she helped him from his saddle and tack.  His perspiration had made everything slippery.

“Mount,” she said and Ethan dropped to his left knee in the ‘mount’ position.  To mount, Beth would grab hold of his bridle with her right hand, step up onto his broad thigh with her right foot and swing her left leg over this muscular neck.  Today, Beth reached forward to remove the bridle.

Kneeling, Ethan’s eyes were at the level of her chest.  He studied her blouse and cursed the pearl white buttons that held it closed.  He saw the outline of her pert breasts beneath her silks.  Perspiration had made the material translucent. He might just lean a bit forward and press his cheek against her inviting chest.

“Great race, Beth!” exclaimed Amy as she pushed into the stall.  She startled Ethan and he straightened quickly with Beth never learning of his intent.  Amy was tall.  Not just taller than her petite friend but tall and long legged.  “you did the Suffragettes proud. For a moment, I was certain that that cock-sucking Steinham Valkyrie bitch would beat us,” Amy confessed.  Steinham and Cady-Stanton High Schools were long-time bitter rivals.

“Great mounts make great riders.  I never doubted Ethan would win,” Beth said.

“Great race, Ethan – Beth -  really,” gushed Madison, one step behind.  “give the poor bugger some credit too.  He did all the work.”

“Not quite all the work,” insisted Beth. “My whip arm will be stiff and sore in the morning.  I may even have a blister from gripping it too tightly.” She studied her hand.

“Poor baby.  I’ll give you some ibuprofen.  Just look at poor Ethan.”  Amy pointed to the red streaks that Beth’s crop had inflicted on his flanks and thighs as she brought him in a winner.  Several of the deeper gashes still shed dribbles of blood

“He’s really magnificent, Beth,” Madison said, looking admiringly at Ethan.

Madison helped Beth with Ethan’s tack and Ethan thoroughly basked in all this feminine attention.

“Ethan, you are quite a fellow!”  Beth admitted to Ethan. “I’ve been trying to get Amy to ride you,” she explained to her friends, “forever!  Every time, she chickens out.  You’re really a great mount.  Here, let me show you off for my friends.”  She looked directly at Ethan.

“No,” Ethan retorted.  “I know what you want.  Never!”

“Ethan,” she smiled.  She felt a bit ridiculous arguing with her mount, even if he was her Ethan.  “Take off those silly shorts Let them see you.  You’ve got a great body and no reason in the world to be ashamed.  Like Madison said, you’re really magnificent.”

Ethan looked at Beth.  He saw no sign she would back down.    Then he appealed wordlessly to Amy and Madison.  Their faces betrayed their amusement.

“You know, Ethan, you haven’t got anything we haven’t seen before,” Madison explained matter of fact, “and we’ve probably seen better.”  Ponies ran naked except for their gear in the senior division. One could see riders and their mounts in the park all the time.  One could see races on the flat screen in super high definition.

Ethan thought hard for a long moment.  “Tell you what.  I’ll take off my clothes for you, Beth, but only if you take off your clothes for me.”  Ethan smiled broadly at his clever stroke.  He looked to Amy and Madison to sanction his victory.

Amy and Madison were shocked by his temerity.  Now Beth’s face revealed her shock.  Temporarily stymied, she  thought very carefully before she spoke.

Ethan felt pretty good about himself.  He had strong feelings for Beth.  He carried her on his shoulders endlessly in training as well as in his races.  Her weight was nothing to him but the fragrance of her perfume filled his head and dreams – both sleeping and awake.  Her sweet breath warmed his ear as she urged him forward.  When she hunched forward her soft breasts touched his head.  He wondered if he might turn his head and take her nipple in his mouth.  For the races, she wore her white jodhpurs.  In practice, she wore only brief shorts.  Her smooth trim thighs rested skin to skin on his massive shoulders.  The secret place between her thighs pressed firmly up against his heavy neck.  He studied her face and watched her lips press together while she formulated her answer to his challenge.   He allowed himself to wonder how those lips might feel pressed against his.

“Well Ethan, okay,” Beth said, surprising even Ethan and leaving her friends utterly speechless.  “But gentlemen first.”  “Gentlemen” was an old expression one no longer heard too often.  Ethan’s studdly behavior was becoming clearly annoying.

Ethan crowed his victory.  A triumphant grin stretched his face.  He turned his back to the women and stripped off his briefs.

He had a great ass.  Beth imagined her latest brand design on his muscular left buttock.  She wondered if she would have the nerve to brand him herself.  Branding required some skill but a woman forged a special bond with the mounts she branded with her own hand.   “The jockstrap too,” Beth reminded him, “remember, you agreed, naked.”

He turned away , hesitated, and then complied awkwardly.  You and me both, he thought, rejoicing. He waited a long moment before turning to face Beth, Amy, and Madison.

Beth stepped in beside him and slipped an arm around his waist. She was truly fond of the creature.   Inadvertently, she touch a tender laceration left by her whip.  Ethan pulled a little bit away.

“Sorry,” she said chagrinned.  “Say, isn’t my Ethan magnificent, just as I said!”

Once upon a time, a male might intimidate a score of healthy adult women simply by threatening to expose his male paraphernalia.  That time was safely in the past.  However, his “otherness” was striking – the mere size and bulk of him, his heavily muscled male angularity compared to the graceful rounded feminine curves.    His exuberant hirsutism betrayed his kinship with the bestial.  In a well run stable, he would be depilated for reasons of hygiene and aesthetics.  His ample male parts, once symbols of male power and authority, were now incontrovertible proof of his innate inferiority.

Ethan’s muscular body was every bit as impressive as the older ponyboys who raced naked at the track.  Scientific nutrition and long hours of strenuous training had made the most of the outstanding physique he had brought to the program.

Ethan put his large hands on his hips.  “Okay Beth, take off your clothes now.  Now I get to see you naked.”  He looked to Amy and Madison for support.  They had heard Beth promise, after all.

Amy and Madison looked at their friend, Beth, their sincere unease evident in their faces.

Beth showed no hint of distress. Beth took Ethan’s face in her petite hands and pulled him toward her.  Ethan closed his eyes and allowed himself to be guided.  She deftly avoided his questing lips and kissed him wetly on his broad forehead.  She was honestly fond of the big guy.  Boldly, she took his sex gently in her hand.  With both Amy and Madison there, she had no doubt she could control him.  Ethan was a silly name for a ponyboy.  Someday, he would have a real ponyboy name.  “Can Amy touch you too?” she whispered.

Her small hand on his sex made rational thought difficult for Ethan and coherent speech impossible.  Her warm hand just  felt so good.  He wanted to say, no, but he feared that Beth would take her hand away.

“I really don’t want to,” Amy objected.  Ethan breathed a sigh of relief.

I do!” volunteered Madison cheerfully.  Madison gave him little time to refuse.

Ethan started to protest but the kneading movements of Beth’s hand on his sex made coherent speech difficult.

Madison cupped his ball sac gently.  She certainly didn’t want to hurt him.   The coarse hairs tickled her palm.

“Amy, you should cop a feel.  He feels really weird.”  Ethan’s ball sac bulged ripely.  Most ponies in a stable were gelded.  Intact males tended to lazy, distractible and prone to violence.  However, elite riders generally favored intact males because of their greater spirit.

“I hope you guys wash your hands before you touch me!” Amy exclaimed.  She hoped her friends weren’t secret stag hags.  The mere notion of a large hairy male forcing himself into her most private places, nauseated her.

Without volition, Ethan’s  body responded to all the feminine attention.  His penis grew to fill Beth’s fist.  He was still uncircumcised.  He’d lose his foreskin promptly in a properly managed stable.  Lacking enthusiasm for a messy climax, Beth dropped him and put her hands on her hips.

Ethan overcame his burning humiliation with some effort.  “Okay Beth, I did what you wanted.  Now it’s time for you to get naked.  I want to see your little titties and cute little ass.”

“Okay Ethan, you’ll see me naked, I guess,”  Beth said with apparent resignation.

Amy and Madison gasped aloud.   Would their friend really humiliate herself?

“Close your eyes.”  Ethan enthusiastically complied. “And turn around.”

“You can see me naked, in your dreams!”  Beth slapped his butt sharply for his unbelievably egotistical presumption.  She then led Amy and Madison from the stall quickly, closing the door behind them.

“Can I open my eyes now?”  Ethan asked plaintively, but no one answered.

IV

Beth had told Ethan to meet her at the stables on Sunday, one last time.  High school was over now for Ethan and his promising future lay glistening before him but they had had so many pleasant times and shared  so many treasured memories.  They had been a championship pair on the Cady-Stanton Suffragettes equestrian team.  Beth was Ethan’s favorite jockey and Ethan was Beth’s favorite mount.  High school was over and Beth looked forward to one last ride.

Ethan went down to the stables, changed into his shorts, and waited.  In high school, mounts wore running shorts, brightly displaying in school colors. After high school, mounts ran naked except for their gear.  Custom required Ethan to wait and let his jockey put on his saddle and bridle and place the control rods, wooden dowels secured in his ear canals that put his greater strength fully under the control of his smaller rider.

Beth arrived no more than a few minutes late.  She wore battered leather boots, a casual tee shirt and jeans rather than her brilliantly colored racing silks and white jodhpurs.  After sharing a hug, Beth donned her leather gloves.  Ethan knelt and she helped him with his saddle and bridle.  She placed the control rods.  He stood; the saddle securely restrained his strong arms.  Beth pulled down on his bridle and Ethan leaned forward.  She placed a hand on either side of his head and kissed him fondly on the forehead.

Playfully, she pushed him away and inspected her mount one last time.  Reminiscences of past races, proud victories and hard fought defeats, flashed through her mind.  “One more thing,” she said aloud.

Her words puzzled Ethan.

Beth put her hands on his hips and deftly unfastened the buttons on his shorts.  A sharp jerk of her hand left him stark naked.

Surprised, he pulled away.

Beth yanked his bridle back sharply, yanking on the control rods and quickly quenching any insubordination.  “Ethan, come on!  You’re not in high school anymore.”

“You’re still in high school,” he added.

Real mounts don’t wear clothes.  You just looked so silly.  You’re magnificent.  You have no reason to be embarrassed.  If I were as beautiful as you, I wouldn’t ever wear clothes.”  She tucked the shorts securely in her pocket.  Her collection at home included the shorts of all the mounts she had defeated.

Ethan was confused.  Beth had seen him naked already.  He grimaced to remember how she had tricked him after their last race to the amusement of her friends.  However, he had found it utterly impossible to stay angry at her. She meant so much to him.  If he thought about it,  Ethan had to agree that she was correct.  After high school mounts were naked.  Older ponyboys ran naked in the park and on the flatscreen.  He had seen them himself..  However, never before had he been placed on public display.  One upon a time, a lone male might intimidate a dozen adult women simply by threatening to expose his male paraphernalia.  That time was safely in the past.

Suddenly, he realized that his Beth must ride other mounts too.  When she was older, they would be naked too.  He, at least, would be her first.

“Mount!”  Beth commanded and by reflex Ethan dropped to his left knee.  Beth grabbed his bridle and stepped up with her right foot on his brawny right thigh.  She swung her left leg over his neck and settled comfortably into his saddle.

“Up!” she ordered.  Some day she would own a string of mounts and she hoped they would be as sound and well trained as her Ethan.

Ethan felt her spurs jab sharply into his flanks.  He had never felt anything like it.  In high school riders did not wear spurs but Ethan recalled that he was no longer a high school mount.  Two more years of high school remained for Beth.  Ethan rose smartly and let Beth guide him forward into the yard.  On a weekend, the yard was busier than usual with mounts and riders, but the pair attracted little attention.

The stable lay on the edge of a vast park.  Beth brought her mount to a jog and then to an easy stride.  Ethan ran gladly and carried her effortlessly.  He had had long practice and he lived for these precious moments with her.   He ran and took pleasure in Beth’s closeness.  He relished the feel of her weight in his saddle.  The fragrance of her hair filled his head, even if her scent was only shampoo and cleanliness.  The secret place between her thighs pressed up against his neck, at times more urgently than might be ordinarily needful.  .  He ran and felt her warm breath on his ear as she whispered fond encouragements.  He let all conscious thoughts recede.  He heard his feet strike the ground and the sound of his breathing and of hers.  He ran and lost himself in the seductive rhythm of his stride.

Abruptly, pressure on his control rods broke his reverie.  He came to a quick stop and looked about.  He saw another rider, Cicely Westfall, on a sturdy mount.  Cicely sat astride his brawny neck.  Her graceful legs, ending his booted feet, boasting shining, spurs, draped over his muscular chest.  Her sharp, shining spurs impressed Ethan mightily.

Beth greeted her cheerfully.  Ethan heard little of their conversation.  The control rods impeded hearing.

“I call him Gambler,” Ethan heard Cicely say.  His eye was drawn to the other male. Although the bridle distorted his facial features, Ethan recognized the mount.  Greg as a naked as Ethan.  Greg had been a senior and a leading mount on the Cady-Stanton team three years before when Ethan was a freshman and an eager beginner.  Ethan doubted that Greg would remember him.  Ethan had grown much over the four years and Greg looked even more muscular than he had as a senior.  Greg was now a certified mount.

Ethan noticed several further alterations.  First, Greg had been branded.  Second, the metal ring that pierced the end of his circumcised sex was linked to a second ring set below his navel, lifting his manhood from his groin and displaying his scrotum beneath.  His sac hung flat and empty.  He had been castrated.  Intact males were notoriously lazy, moody, and ill-tempered.  All knew their penchant for insane jealousy and their alacrity for violence.  Most equestriennes chose to geld their mounts to facilitate easier handling and maintain peace in the stable.

Ethan thought to greet him but remembered his place.  Ponies didn’t speak.  Most likely Greg’s vocal cords had been altered to prevent speech.  That was fairly standard for certified mounts.

The women chatted merrily.  As she talked, Beth stroked Ethan’s cheek with the back of her hand.  Ethan relished her touch.  He thought to ease his head back and see if he might press his head against her soft breasts.  At his first touch, Beth pressed a control rod forward sharply and continued her conversation without comment or hesitation.  Foiled in his plan, Ethan leaned his head forward.  He waited impatiently, eager to be back on the trail.

Greg stared back at Beth and Ethan with no hint of recognition.  He looked as impatient to be back on the trail as Ethan.

Ethan was grateful for the jab of Beth’s spurs as she brought him back into motion.  He took several steps, began to jog, and quickly returned an easy stride.  They came to a long flat section of the trail.  Beth saw no other riders, hikers, or bicycles that might get in their way.  She applied her spurs sharply and urged him forward urgently.  Ethan exploded into a sprint.  His speed exhilarated both Beth and himself.  His long strides devoured the ground and they seemed literally to fly.  Both were breathless when she brought him back to a walk.

Beth spotted Amy, Madison, and Laura up ahead at the picnic site beside the lake and brought Ethan back to a run, eager to meet her friends.

“Hey!” Amy shouted when they were close enough.  “Took you long enough.”

“We made great time and I’ve had a wonderful ride,” Beth answered.  “You should try him yourself.”  Tall long-legged Amy would have made an awkward rider, even if she had had the inclination.

“Hey, Beth.  Hey Ethan,” Madison called cheerfully.  Beth brought Ethan to a halt and Madison grabbed his bridle.  Perspiration cascaded from his body and pooled on the ground at his feet.

Laura stood beside Madison, a bit intimidated by the male’s obvious size and strength.  On one level, she knew that she had little to fear.  The male could kick but he was otherwise restrained by his tack.  On another level she remembered her lessons about the male alacrity for violence and the horrors of the Patriarchal Age.

“Ethan’s magnificent,” Madison gushed and petted his neck.  She had been party to his humiliation in the stable but Ethan still relished her touch.   She stroked his flank and slapped his buttock playfully to show her confidence and lack of fear.

“I worry Beth’s too fond of the smelly creature,” Amy warned.  Sometimes she felt a rivalry with the male for Beth’s time and attention.

“Mount!” Beth called and Ethan dropped to his left knee.  Beth dismounted deftly.  “I’m thirsty.” she announced.  Amy handed her a water bottle.

Ethan was thirsty too.  He eyed the bottle keenly.

“I’ll get Ethan a water, Madison offered.  Ethan’s hands were restrained by the saddle and Madison held the bottle while Ethan, kneeling, drank it down greedily in three long swallows.

“Let me give him a water too,” Laura asked with some hesitation.  She held the water bottle and examined the large male, kneeling naked before her.  She could smell the musky odor of his perspiration.  She didn’t want to stare but she couldn’t completely suppress her curiosity about the male paraphernalia hanging between his brawny thighs.  She had seen pictures in school but his immediate physical presence had an ineluctable reality.

His thirst less urgent now, Ethan studied the girl standing before him, the dark cloud of hair that surrounded her head, her bright eyes and curious smile.  He also saw her pert breasts pressing against her tee-shirt and a hint of her nipples and dark areola.  Ethan smiled broadly, hoping no one might guess the cause of his good humor.

Both somewhat distracted, he drank messily, spilling water on himself and Laura, her wet tee-shirt becoming translucent.

While Mary was stuck raising our kids, I hung out in bars after work and cheated on her with any bimbo who would have me.  I did work hard as a carpenter and did as much overtime work as I could get.  I paid off my house in only 15 years and when I needed a new pickup I could pay cash for it.  My wife and kids were well fed and clothed and I felt they should be grateful for that.  They owed me for everything they got.

Then one day disaster struck.  I was standing on a two by four while trying to nail a roof truss in place on a two story house we were building when I slipped and fell.  I fell 10 feet landing on a two by four on what would be the ceiling of the first floor.  I painfully had landed with one leg on either side of the board and blacked out from the pain.  Unconscious I then slid off and fell another 1 feet to the floor below.  I awoke in great pain in the ambulance and was given a shot of morphine by the paramedic.

They wheeled me into the Emergency room and soon they had nurses cutting off my clothes so the doctors could examine me.  The doctor in charge told me they were going to take me into surgery and try to save my life.  The anesthesiologist told me she had the good stuff and gave me a partial dose of a drug which made the pain go away and left me drowsy.  I barely remember them wheeling me into the operating room then all went black.

The next thing I knew I awoke in the intensive care section with a tube down my throat.  I could not talk nor could I move.  As I awoke more and more I realized I was in a body cast.  When the doctor came in to see me, he told me, ” You are a lucky man.  We are pretty sure you will live, but you will never be the man you were before.  We had to remove your sex organs and repair your torn colon.  You have a broken pelvis that we repaired by putting a titanium plate and screws in you.  We were able to save almost an inch of your penis but you will have no feeling in it.  You also broke both of your collar bones and your left arm”  He turned and left the room.  I lay there motionless pondering what he had just told me.  I had lost my sex organs and now had a cock of less than an inch with no feeling in it.  I found I could move my fingers but not my head.  A couple of days later the doctor removed my breathing tube and I was moved to a private room.  I learned that I was fixed into an immobilizer. A steel frame that was connected to me by screws into my bones.  I was in a plaster cast from my below my hips up over my head  and both arms inside of my cast.  They had put a catheter in me to drain off my urine but since I would be unable to use a bed pan they had me in a diaper.  I was helpless as a baby.

Mary finally came to visit me.  She told me that the company I was working for was fighting a claim for workman’s comp because I had violated their policy by not using a scaffold and standing on a mere two by four timber.  She told me that our son had connected her with a lawyer to advise her.  She had me sign a couple of papers by telling me that my hospital bills would be astronomical and she wanted to save our house.  She told me that she had a friend who was a notary and had dated the transfer of our house to a year ago.  She had also applied for an uncontested divorce and cleaned out our bank account.  If I were sued I was destitute and they would get nothing.  I had never given her credit for having so much acumen.  She was really quite crafty.  She sweetly asked me if there was anything she could bring me to make my life more pleasant.  I told her I was used to drinking alcohol every day and I wanted her to smuggle me in something to drink.

I was being fed intravenously.  Every 2 hours day and night the orderlies would come in and turn me over to prevent my getting pneumonia.  Mary had told the nurses to let her be the one to change my diaper and wash my bottom.  They had been glad to be rid of that chore and so Mary came to be a nurse to me.  When I was face down she would remove my diaper and wash my bottom.  She then rubbed my bottom with baby oil.  My legs were spread out by the frame giving her total access.  As she rubbed my bottom with oil I felt her shove a finger up my ass.  I told her, “Please don’t do that to me Mary.”  She answered me saying,” You thought it was fine to shove your nasty cock up my ass so it should be fine for me to use yours.” She soon shoved another finger inside of me. She finger fucked me for a good 20 minutes or so before withdrawing her fingers and putting a clean diaper on me.  She made me say, ” Thank you Ma’am”.  She had me helpless and in her power.

The next day when Mary came to visit me she reached into her purse and pulled out a baby bottle full of white wine.  She put the bottle to my lips and I greedily sucked on the nipple to get some alcohol into my system.  Mary said, “That’s it baby, suck on that nipple.”  She had never called me baby before.  She had an air about her I had never seen before.  She seemed full of confidence and was no longer the meek girl I had controlled.  She took out a razor and shaved of my moustache and goatee.  She told me, ” They make you look like a man, which you no longer are.”    I knew my diaper was dirty but she waited to change me until the orderlies had turned me over so I was face down.  Once they had left Mary removed my diaper and Again washed my bottom.  This time she did not use her fingers to poke in my bottom but she had a dildo she was screwing me with.  She said, ” You need to learn to use your pussy now sweetie.  Since you are no longer a man you must be a girl.”  She was certainly treating me like one.  I knew if I did not do what she wanted she would stop coming to see me.  So  I thanked her for fucking me.  She used her finger tips to massage my stub of a penis.  I felt nothing.  She said, ” You won’t be cheating on me with other women now.”  She was gloating over my condition.

Every day Mary came back to visit me again.  She kissed me on the forehead and told me my lips looked chapped.  She applied some chap stick on them and I asked her for my bottle of wine.  She told me to close my eyes and when I did she shoved a nipple in my mouth I began sucking on it.  It was urine!  I spit it out.  She told me I had to drink it or she would not give me my bottle of wine.  She said, “That is my golden nectar and you will come to love it.” She had me in her power and knew it.  I began sucking on the bottle of her urine.  She smiled and said I was a good girl. Once I had emptied that bottle, she gave me my bottle of wine.  She sat with me until I had emptied that bottle and then took the empty bottle from me and left.  When the orderlies came in to turn me over, they told me that the red lipstick looked good on me.  That chap stick had been lipstick!

The next day when Mary came to see me she had somebody with her.  I could not see who it was as I was face down.  But she was explaining what she was doing as she removed my diaper and then began fucking me with a dildo.  She even let the other person ram the dildo in and out for about half of the time.  She was explaining that this was all a part of my feminization.  I felt soft feminine hand rubbing lotion on my legs.  When I was turned over again I saw our daughter Becky with Mary.  I had to sweetly thank both ladies before getting my bottles fed to me.  Becky fed me the urine and Mary my wine. The hospital staff thought I had a loving family that took good care of me.  They were turning me into a girl.  The ladies made up my face before they left.  Strangely I had begun to crave urine and looked forward to either Mary or Becky showing up each day.

For an entire week Mary did not show up at all, but Becky did.  Becky delighted in fucking me with a dildo and she even used a much bigger one than Mary had used on me.  She made me moan like a slut while she rammed it in and out of my poor bottom.  She made me tell her how much I loved being her bitch.  She even made me suck on the dildo to get it wet instead of using baby oil as lubricant.  She painted my fingernails and toenails bright red to match my lipstick.  The next time I saw Mary she was sporting D cup boobs.  She had gotten breast implants to match those of Becky.

As the days turned into weeks and then into months Mary came to see me less and less.  My facial hair never did grow back.  I supposed it was because I was no longer able to produce testosterone.  Becky was doing more of my care.  Every time she did visit me, she again put lipstick on me and painted my nails.  She made me drink a baby bottle full of her urine before she would give me my wine.  She told me Mary had taken a lover and he was a real man who treated her like a lady.  I was helpless in my cast and no longer a man.

When I finally got out of the cast and they removed the screws from my immobilizer I was weak as a kitten.  I had lost 35 pounds and was now a shadow of my former self.  I was finally able to see my nude body.  I had grown boobs while in that cast.  I had a little stub of a thing where my dick had once been.  With my painted nails and wearing lipstick I look like a girl.  My hair had grown long and shaggy while I was in that cast.  My body was covered with dead skin but my legs and face were baby smooth.  Those were the exposed parts they had treated with lotion and hair remover.  I went through some therapy to learn to walk again and finally was ready to be discharged.  Now that I was able to move I could use the bathroom and no longer needed to be in a diaper.  When Mary or Becky would come by to bring me my urine and wine, they made me fuck myself with the dildo while they watched.  They loved watching me suck it to get it nice and wet and also loved the way moaned while fucking myself.  They had turned me into a bimbo.

My hips were now wider and I was wearing a hospital gown.  Mary came to my room and she had her new lover with her.  He was a big strong looking black man.  I had never liked black men even though I had to work with some.  She told me that she and I were now divorced and she was in love with James.  She spelled it out clearly for me.  She told me that she and James would allow me to live with them in HER house as their maid, or they would be glad to drive me to a homeless shelter.  The bitch had snookered me out of all I owned.  In my weakened condition I would be fair game in a homeless shelter and so meekly let her redo my lipstick and nail polish.  She gave me a pair of thong panties and a skirt to put on for the ride home.  She fondled my boobs and told me I would need to wear a bra now.

James drove us to his house  where I began my new life.  Mary had sold my house and pickup truck.  She let me know that my clothes had been given to the Goodwill store and that they had been pleased to get them.  I all I had to wear were the skirt and blouse she had brought for me to wear home.  It was made very clear to me that I was to be obedient and do everything I was told or I would have to leave.  She had tricked me into giving her all I owned and now I had to hope I could get a small disability check from Social Security.  They let me know that I would have to turn over even that money to them to pay for my room and board.

Once inside James’s house, he told me, ” There can be only one man in this house and that is me.  You will be our maid, cook laundress and do what ever else we want you to do.  Mary told me how you used to treat her and your kids and now the tables are turned,  I am the attorney who advised Mary on how to handle the financial matters and she has a nice little nest egg now.  Your disability check will be $1200 per month.  I got you on Medicaid as a destitute person which you now are.”  I said, “But James”  and got no farther.  He slapped me so hard across the face that I fell to the floor stunned.  ” He told me, “You will call me sir or master you sissy little bitch.  Mary is now your mistress.  Is that clear?”  I looked up at his menacing figure and meekly said, “Yes sir.”

James told me, ” I am tolerating having you in my house as a favor to Mary but you may be of some use around here.  You are not a prisoner here, you may walk out the front door any time you want but you will take only what you are wearing.”  He went on to say, “While you are here you will be feminine at all times.  You will look pretty for us and any guests we may have here.  You will refuse no order and must smile and be cheerful around us.”  He wanted me to be his slave. He tossed me my new ID card and Medicaid card.  They both had my last name, but the first name on them was Fifi.   He saw my look of bewilderment and told me, ” Your name has been legally changed to Fifi.  We thought it better suited you in your condition than Steve did.  Your checks will be coming in that name and that is what you must use when you go for medical treatment.” Mary asked me, ” What is your name girl?”  I sobbed and told her, ” It is Fifi ma’am.”

She smiled knowing she now owned me.

Mary motioned at me with  her hand and said, ” Come with me Fifi.  I will make you look pretty.”  I got up off of the floor and followed behind her,  She led me to the bathroom and had me sit on the pot facing the wall.  She cut and styled my hair into a feminine pixie cut.  Then she  bleached my hair blond.  She told me, ” You will be a good blond bimbo Fifi.” She plucked my eyebrows and shaved my armpit hair off of me.  She put a collar on my neck that had Fifi inscribed on a brass plate.  She then led me down the basement to what was to be my bedroom.  It was a small windowless room with a double bed in it.  Two walls were made of stone and the other two were painted pink.   There was a dressing table with a mirror and a chest of drawers and a door to a closet.  There was also a teddy bear on the bed.  It looked like a little girl’s room.  I was going to be living in a feminine cell.  They were determined to make me a girl.  I wanted to run from here, but where would I go with no money and dressed as I was?  They had me in a box.  I had to be Fifi their maid, no their slave girl.

Mary opened my closet and showed me my skirts and blouses that I was to wear as their maid.  She opened a drawer and pulled out a short pink nightie and told me to put it on.  It didn’t even cover my ass but my boobs bulged out the flimsy fabric.  She led me back upstairs for my owner to inspect me.  James looked me over and told me he though I might be acceptable.  He was standing there naked and told me, ” As a sign of respect Fifi, I want you to kiss my black ass.”  I shuddered with disgust but knew I had to do whatever he wanted.  I knelt behind him and kissed his ass cheeks.  He snarled, ” Lick my asshole bitch.”  He wanted me to totally debase myself but I had to obey him.  I spread his ass cheeks and licked his asshole.  He told me, “Work your tongue inside of me Fifi.”  I worked my tongue inside of his asshole as far as it would go and wiggled it to please him.  When he finally let me pull my tongue out he made me thank him for the honor of tasting his shit.  He had shown me how low my status was now.

Mary handed me a baby bottle of her urine and I knew what to do,  I sucked it dry to get my alcohol.  I asked her if I could please drink it out of a glass and she told me she like the symbolism of having me using a baby bottle.  She knew it made me feel helpless as a baby.  Sadly I knew she was right.  I did.  She made me lay on my back on the floor and hold my bottle with both hands.  She delighted in seeing me act like a baby.  Only when I had emptied that bottle did she give me my alcohol.  Tonight my alcohol bottle was filled with straight vodka.  I was weaving as I made my way back to my room in the basement.  I lay in my bed and cried myself to sleep.

The first week was spent with Mary showing me how to cook, clean their house and do laundry.  When she a James would make love I had to stand beside the bed and watch how a real man pleasured a lady.  When they finished I had to lick and suck his semen from her well used vagina or asshole.  James liked doing her anally.  James would also have me lick his big cock.  His cock was the same size as the black dildo Becky had used on me.  When he fondled my tits he told me that I was going to get a boob job.  “All my bitches have D cup boobs.”, is how he put it.  All of my skirts were short and all my blouses had a low cut neckline.  With D cup boobs I would be showing a lot of cleavage.

The following Friday James drove me to a private clinic.  I had to sign a consent form using the name Fifi Johnson.  The procedure was done that morning and I was discharged that evening.  Under the bandages I now had D cup boobs and they were there for the rest of my life.  There was no way I could ever be Steve again even if I left James and Mary.  The weight on my chest would take some getting used to.  With my thin frame and these big boobs I looked very top heavy.  I was now a freak.

Once the bandages were removed my thoughts about my low cut blouses showing a lot of cleavage came true.  James made me go braless since it amused him to watch my boobs jiggle when I walked.  He also started making me suck his huge cock while he would squeeze my boobs.  He told me, “Fifi I  am going to teach you to deep throat a man.  It is a skill that will make men want you.”  He had me tilt my head back and look up into his eyes.  He then jammed his stiff cock partway down my throat cutting off my air supply.  Just when I though I would die, he pulled his cock out completely.  I caught a few deep breaths and he once again jammed his cock down my throat.  Each time he shoved his cock in it went a little farther down my throat until at last my nose was buried in his pubic hair and his entire 10″ cock was down inside of me.  He pulled out of my throat slowly and told me, ” You did well Fifi for your first time.  We will work on this every day until I can fuck your throat easily.”  I had tears in my eyes and was gasping for air but had to smile sweetly for him.

Mary had me exercise with her.  She told me a girl had to work at it to maintain her figure.  She had me doing leg lifts and doing bumps and grinds as well as crunches.  She looked beautiful and I regretted ever having cheated on her.  When we finished our exercising she took me into the kitchen.  There she told me, ” You have been eating the same food as us and that is hardly the way things should be around here Fifi.  From now on you will eat only this special mixture I am going to teach you how to make.”  She put some vegetables into the food processor along with some oatmeal and water and a 1/4th of a can of Alpo dog food.  She turned on the processor and soon had a pitcher full of a green mush.  She told me, “This had all the nutrients you need to stay healthy but should be less pleasurable for you to eat.  This pitcher should last you a week and it had better because that along with the urine and your vodka is all you will be getting.  Is that clear to you Fifi?”  I lowered my eyes and replied, “Yes Mistress.”

Each day I got up and dressed then did my hair and makeup before my owners awoke.  I fixed them a nice breakfast then had a bit of my green mush for my morning meal.  Then I cleaned the kitchen and did the housework for the day before exercising with  Mistress in the afternoon.  When James came home from work he would practice fucking my throat.  As the weeks went by I got to be good at taking him fully and working my throat muscles to get him to orgasm quickly.

Mary started using a strap-on dildo to screw me.  She enjoyed the feeling of power it gave her to bend me over and screw me doggy style so hard it made my boobs sway back and fourth.  She like James always made me thank her sweetly for doing me. In a few months they had stripped me of any shred of pride.  They had made me an obedient slave girl.

One day James told me, ” I am taking Mary to Paris for a vacation.  You will be happy to know I have found someone to baby sit you while we are gone.”  I had seen the suitcases and assumed they were going somewhere, but had hoped they were going to take me with them.  The doorbell rang and when I opened the door there stood Frank, my son.  He had bulked up a lot since I last saw him.  He said, ” Hello daddy, or should I say Fifi.”  He walked inside the house and looked me over closely.  James greeted Frank and told him, ” Fifi has learned some new tricks.”.  James then told me, ” Show Frank how you can deep throat a cock Fifi.”  I blushed despite myself, this was my son.  But I said, “Yes Master.”

I got on my knees in front of Frank and asked, ” May I please suck your cock sir?   You may shove it down my throat if you wish sir.”  It made my blood curdle to utter such things but it was required of me.  Frank looked down at me and laughed.  He was delighting in my disgrace and said, ” Say Pretty please Fifi.”  I did as he said and then he gave me permission.  He had made me beg to suck him.  How low I had fallen.  I undid his belt and unzipped his fly.  When I lowered his pants, I could see he wore no underwear.  He was much hairier than I had ever been and even better hung.  I kissed the head of his cock respectfully and then took it into my mouth.  As I sucked on it I felt it harden and grow.  I began to swallow it to get it in my throat as James had taught me to do.  As I looked up into Frank’s eyes he said, ” That’s it bitch, gobble that cock like a good whore.”  Mary remarked, ” Family togetherness is a beautiful thing to see.”  When Frank shot his load down my throat and pulled out, he told me, ” Pack some clothes Fifi, don’t forget your curling iron and makeup.”  Mary handed me a couple of trash bags to pack my belongings in and I went down to my room.  As James handed Frank a list of instructions for my maintenance I heard Frank tell him, ” Thank you sir, I will see that Fifi gets the care she deserves.”  Damn, even Frank called James sir.

When I had packed my things and returned upstairs holding two trash bags Frank took them from me with one big hand and Mary handed him another bag with enough ingredients to make my mush for two weeks and a couple of empty baby bottles.  They had obviously discussed me at length.  I was wearing a short black skirt, scoop neck blouse, panties and open toed heels.  Thusly clad, my son led me out into the snowy winter day.  He put my bags in the back of his van and had me sit in the front seat as he went back to get and load the luggage of James and Mary.  When all was loaded my owners came out and sat in the middle seats of the van.  As Frank drove them to the airport James was telling me to obey Frank as I would him or Mary.  He made me tell him I would be a good girl and do as I was told.

Once we had let them out at the airport, Frank drove me to his apartment.  As he drove he told me, ” Fifi you will love my lover Bruce.  He is about your size and kinky as hell.”                      That remark let me know that Frank was gay and not just using me out of hate for how I had treated him.  As soon as we walked into the apartment this young blonde man walked up to me and gave me a big French kiss.  I had never kissed a man and it shocked me as his tongue invaded my mouth.  Bruce told me, “Girl we will have a lot of fun together,” Frank told me to get my clothes off.  He said, ” In my house you will always be naked.” Frank threw my bags into a corner of the room and took me to the kitchen to start making my mush and their lunch.  He told me, ” I work nights so we have our big meal at lunch.”

They ate their lunch and I had some mush.  I knew now that I was mere property.

After they had eaten their lunch, Bruce asked Frank, ” Can I do her now?”  Frank just nodded yes.  Bruce led me to the bedroom and had me lay face down on the bed.  He smeared my ass with cold lard working some of it into my asshole.  He then proceeded to insert one finger after another into my ass until he had his entire hand inside of me.  As he rammed his fist in and out of me he told me, ” Moan like you love it bitch.  I want you to love me doing this to you as I do when Frank does it to me.”  This sissy fag was fist fucking me and telling me to moan like I loved it.  When he pulled his slimy hand out of my ass he made me kiss it.  The bastard even made me tell him how much I loved having him teach me a new skill.  If Mary had not given my guns away I would have shot the fag.  Now I was a toy for who ever wanted to use me.  Bruce fist fucked me and my son watched me being defiled by the feminine fairy he lived with.

Frank then took me to the bathroom and had me kneel in front of him holding my baby bottle in place while he filled it with piss.  Then he took a medicine bottle out of his pocket and using an eyedropper he squirted some fluid into the bottle of his urine.  I asked him what that was and he told me, ” Fifi that is your estrogen.  Mom told us kids she was making you feminine and doing it by having you drink her pee laced with estrogen.  You have no testosterone now and the estrogen controls you.”  That bitch had tricked me when I was helpless.  He also added some powder into the bottle of pee and then screwed the top with the nipple on it onto the bottle of pee.   He handed it to me and watched as I lay on my back and began sucking it down.  Frank told me that I was on a low dose of heroine.  The dose taken like it was gave me no pleasure but now my body had to have it.  That is why I craved drinking piss, it was spiked with heroine.  No wonder I had tits when they cut my cast off.  Mary had connived and manipulated me into a situation which left me no choice but to be a slave girl for her and her man.  I had become the family joke.

The next morning Frank took had me wearing heels and a robe when he led me across the hall to the opposite apartment.  When he rang the bell the door was opened by Becky.  My daughter and son had apartments across the hall from each other.  She had me come in and Frank went back to his apartment.  She had me shed my robe and then displayed me to her roommate Candy.  They were both naked and I could see that we all had the same size boobs.  James had converted them too.  They were also both blond as was I now.

Becky told me they were going to teach me to be a stripper so I could work with them at the club.  I told her, ” I would never get on a stage and take my clothes off in front of a bunch of men.”  She smiled and said, ” Yes you will Fifi and you will beg Frank to let you dance.  You will dance to get the special piss you need.”  She put on the CD with the song “The Stripper” on it.  They made me dance sexy to the song a few times naked before they dressed me and had me dance while removing my clothes in a sexy manner.  They told me it was important that I be naked when the song ended.  We took a break while they each had a salad for lunch.  Becky handed me the dildo she had me using in the hospital and had me demonstrate to Candy how I could suck it and fuck myself with it.  Candy remarked, ” That would make a wonderful scene at the club but would get us closed down.”  Becky said, ” Yes it would.  If Fifi can do it for two she can do it for 200.” By 4:00pm when Frank came to drive us girls to the club I was nailing my dance every time.  I wore a short black skirt, my heels and a white low cut blouse.  Becky was carrying my costume in a garment bag.  She explained that I was to perform twice that night and in between dances I would be a waitress serving drinks.  It was already past the time when I usually got my piss and vodka and I was getting stomach cramps.  I also had goose bumps on my skin.

When we got to the club, I learned that Frank worked there as an assistant manager and bouncer.  I learned that we all worked for James.  He owned this club along with several others and also had a real estate company who owned the apartment building where my children lived.  I was kept busy hustling drinks for the crowd that grew in size as the evening progressed.  I had to go to the ladies room and throw up.  I was getting sick.  Becky saw me doing that and told me, ” It will only get worse for you until you get your fix.  You are now a junkie bimbo.”  She took me to the room where the strippers changed into their costumes and had me get dressed in what I was to dance in.  She told me, ” You will be fine Fifi.  Just dance like you practiced and once you are totally nude do a slow turn completely around so all can see your body.  Then leave your clothes on the stage and run back to this room.  Leave you heels on, but everything else comes off.”

The announcer called me Fifi the Dancing Queen.  My music started and I began dancing.  I tried not to let the audience bother me and just did as I had practiced.  At the end of the song I stood naked in heels and all could see I was not a real girl but a freak.  After the required complete turn I dashed back to the dressing room while Becky retrieved my costume.  By the time she brought it into the changing room I was dressed in my skirt and blouse again.  She told me I had done well but to get back to serving drinks.  She gave me a swat on the fanny as I left.

The customers looked at me differently now that they had seen me naked  and most men I served drinks to tucked some money down my blouse.  An hour later I had to get ready for my second show.  It also went well.  My cramps were even worse and my eyes were watery.  I had to endure the misery until the club closed, we had cleaned off the tables and Frank had helped the manager count the proceeds of the evening.  As Frank drove us home I was doubled over in pain and crying.

Frank carried me into his apartment where he stood me up and had me get naked again.  The tip money fell out on the floor and Bruce picked it all up and handed to Frank.  I was shaking badly and Frank asked me, ” What do you want now Fifi?”  I answered, ” I want my piss sir.”  He smiled and said, ” Perhaps you have earned it tonight Fifi, but I want to watch you and Bruce make out with each other first.  Lots of kissing and fondling each other by you two sissies will be fun to watch.  Make it look like you two are in love as I video tape you.”

We put on a nice performance for Frank as he recorded it on his video cam.  He kept us at it for a half hour and it ended with Bruce fisting me again.  He finally gave me my bottle of specially enhanced urine.  He smiled down at me as I sucked it greedily down.

My cramps were nearly gone when I got my bottle of vodka.

The next morning bright and early I was again taken to Becky’s  apartment where I had to learn a new routine for tonight’s performance.  There was no use in pretending to myself that I would not dance.  I knew now that I would do whatever it took to get my fix.  All those exercises Mary had made me do were the moves I needed to be a stripper.  Since I had my fix at around 4am I should be ok until I got off work again.  Instead of injecting the heroine they had me drinking piss to get it.  I was indeed a junkie and also a slut.

The night James and Mary returned from Europe they came to the club  to watch me dance and waitress.  After my second show they took me home with them.  James told me he was proud of the skills I had learned.  He said, ” You were a useless thing when I met you, but you have turned into a money making girl.  You now have the skills to be a whore, a waitress, a stripper or an escort for perverts.  Men will pay money to be deep throated by you or to have you drink their piss.  Besides it was fun for me to ruin your life.”  He drove us to his house.  Mary fixed my bottles and I gladly lay down to suck them dry.

As I lay drinking my fix, James told Mary that the trip to Europe and the fancy way they had lived while there was his way of thanking her but was also a fond goodbye.  He told her she was to move out tomorrow morning.  He told her, ” I give Fifi to you and you will have a 3 bedroom apartment on the ground floor of the building where your son and daughter already live.  They  will move in with you and Fifi.   You will all be one happy family.”  Mary broke down and cried and begged James to reconsider but he was firm.  He told her had another younger lady moving in with him tomorrow.  That night Mary slept in bed with me in my basement room.

The next morning Mary and I and all of our clothes were moved into her new apartment.  Becky and Candy moved into the second bedroom with Frank and Bruce taking the 3rd bedroom.  Mary and I had the master bedroom.  James had given Mary all of the money from my disability checks along with the money I had made dancing and waiting tables.  That money along with the  money she had from selling my house and belongings gave her financial security.  She took a job at the club as a beautician to the strippers just to keep busy.  Becky, Candy and I worked as dancers and Frank as the assistant manager and bouncer.  At home everybody was free to use me as they wanted sexually.  I hoped the novelty would wear off in time.

After being a stripper for a year I was told I was no longer needed there and let go.  My tips had dropped considerably from what they had been.  I had hoped to be allowed to stay home and be a maid for the rest of the family but Mary told me that was not to be the case.  She told me, ” You need to bring me money you ungrateful bitch.  No money no treat for you.”  I had to beg James for a job in another of his clubs.  He got me a job as a topless waitress in an after-hour night club which catered to black patrons.  He let me know that I was to please any customer who would take me into the back room.  I was now a prostitute.

That Job lasted about 6 months before I was replaced with a white girl.  Frank had me making porno movies which he marketed to the gay and perverted crowd.  His best sellers were those where I was having sex with animals.  When I became sick it was found that I had full blown AIDS and was dying from the disease.

These words are being written by a reporter who is going to use my tale to write a book she says.  I am laying in a bed in a hospice ward where every 8 hours the nurse gives me a methadone shot to ward off convulsions.  My eyes no longer focus and I am very weak. I hope others can profit from the mistakes I have made in my life.  If I had it to do over again I would very loving and faithful to my wife.  My kids would have found me a warm loving and generous father.  Perhaps they would have gone to college and had decent careers instead of being involved in the seedy sex business.  As it is now I am dying as a lonely freak of a human.  I wanted to leave something behind besides a useless corpse.

“How are we today?”

She was wearing her white coat.

“I got pain in my cunny again.”

“Let me see.”

She spread me wide.

“Are you still getting painful constant arousal?

“Yes, all the time, I hate it!”

“You have a swollen clitoris. It is terribly swollen, it indicates you have an illness that I must treat. You need orgasm and then some desensitisation treatment to stop your inconvenient feelings of constant arousal.”

She wheeled a trolley next to the bed and I gave a groan of alarm as I saw the array of instruments – this was new to me, there were medical clamps and scalpels and a suture kit, cutting equipment and things I did not even recognise. Then to my alarm her nurse came into the room. She looked between my legs at my naked groin and then smiled at me as she put on a surgical mask.

My doctor patted my arm as she lifted a hypodermic needle.

“You are going to have an operation, my love. A real one, a drastic one.  I sent the results of you examination to a colleague of mine and they were able to confirm that your clitoris is over sensitive, that it will continue to swell and ultimately become irrevocably infected without intervention.”

“What kind of intervention?”

By now I was scared, the nurse was strapping my ankles securely into stirrups and taping my wrists to my sides. My lover was now my Doctor and taking charge of the situation, this was not a game and her expression was grave.

“The pain you have been getting in your clitoris is indicative of the most serous form of clitoriditis I have ever seen. I gave you an enema this morning was part of your prep, it was not play. I did not want to tell you the bad news until it was time to take you to theatre.”

I wanted to panic but the injection made me drowsy. I was not so drowsy that I was unaware, and I could still move, but ll the fear was gone. I understood I had to have an operation on my cunny and my lover was going to perform it.

The nurse was helping her with her gown and gloves. I watched as they both donned surgical garb. My legs were relaxing in the stirrups and I gave a tiny whimper as the nurse slid in a catheter, but as the amber liquid flowed from my bladder a sense of peace came over me – I was in their hands now and I had to have surgery on the most sensitive part of my body. My lover had remarked the first time she had licked me that my clit had seemed ‘rather large and red’ but now I understood why she had insisted on all the private examinations when the clinic was shut, why she had made notes on all the clitoral pain I had experienced. She had guessed I had a condition. She knew I needed an operation and she was the best person to do it. My ankles were released from the stirrups and my legs were placed closed, although there was a gap now the tube protruded from my labia. I was covered with a small sheet and then wheeled down the corridor. The clinic was empty but all the lights were on and as I watched my lover wheeling me she looked down.

“It will be alright.”She promised me, “You have to be a brave girl.”

To my shame my fetish was taking over and I felt wetness sliding out of me, even making my catheter rub in a pleasant way.

This all changed when we entered the operating theatre. I was placed on the tale under the bright lights, an IV was put in my arm and my legs were opened, the table positioned and once again I was in stirrups, this time with my knees bent high and wide apart and the heat from the light beating down on that painful red organ that was swollen up despite everything. My lover looked at me sadly.

“You condition has been linked to abnormal brain patterns as well as hormones, for that reason I have to attach some monitor wires to your scalp for the duration of your treatment so these can be studied later for abnormalities. For this reason, I have to shave your head clean.I am so sorry.”

“No!” I shouted, but the nurse who had stood behind me simply lifted my ponytail and sliced through it. I started to cry as she switched on a small white hand held shaver and switched it on. She placed the blades at the front of my head and shaved a strip, leaving the centre of my head with a bald stripe. Then she did it again, and again, shaving me bit by bit, as each tress fell away, she lifted it free and dropped it into a bag marked ‘medical waste’. The nurse continued to shave me despite my sobs. She paused to use a cool hand to briefly brush the tears from my face.

She looked at the doctor as she held up my ponytail.

“Is this for disposal?”

“No, keep it, she might want it after the op.” my lover replied, “So she can remember her hair.”

They were talking over me as if I was barely there. Then my lover looked down at me.”Please, nooooo…”I begged weakly but she just spoke softly to me.

“I have had to make the decision for you to submit you to clitoral surgery and neurological monitoring. Your condition means you must have this operation and lose your hair as part of the treatment. You will have the best care, my love.”

The nurse seemed fascinated as she picked up the pack of ready to use wax strips.

“ShallI do the scalp wax now doctor?”

“Yes, at once.” My lover replied.

The nurse began to keenly press the strips down and then pull them off, a press and rip sensation that hurt but as my head was waxed it was the loss of my hair that made me cry mostly. My lover watched, still looking at me with compassion. When the nurse had thrown away the last of the wax along with the last trace of my hair she took a cool cloth and wiped over my head.The cloth glided over and she paused again to wipe off my tears. Then she took the top off strong smelling glue. My Doctor had taken a marker pen and was dotting positions on my hairless head.

“Be careful with that, nurse – it bonds in seconds.”

My lover lifted up a dish containing small silver discs. There were about a dozen of them.

She spoke t me slowly and clearly in case I was drowsy from the tranquilizer injection.

“These discs will stay bonded to your bare head for a month after your operation, they will fall off after that, they are to transmit your brainwaves to a remote unit. Your head has been waxed so you have no regrowth for at least two months, my love.”

I was past crying now.My hair was gone and that was it. I knew I was facing genital surgery of a serious nature and I lay there, looking up while the doctor and the nurse prepared the instruments and talked over me.

The nurse looked down between my legs.

“It’s a shame, your girlfriends got a lovely pussy.”

“Yes but see how engorged the clitoris is?”

My lips were splayed open sharply.

The nurse peered down.”Looks like its going to burst! It should not be that purplish colour around the hood, either. She must have found orgasm very painful.”

“She did.”

My lover parted my buttocks and invited the nurse to share the inspection.

“The rectum is shockingly tight, too. She’s bled after passing motions several times. I gave her a rectal as part of our bedroom play and I knew she had a lot of problems in the area – its all linked and it all needs surgery. We she wakes up, after the pain is gone, she will feel like a new woman.”

“How will she cope with her new look down there? And what about her hair? It might never recover enough for the roots to grow back.”

My lover leaned down and smiled at me kindly.

“I shall still love you the same.”She told me, “Hair or no hair!”

I blinked, tried to speak but my Doctor was gluing cold metal sensors to my smooth head and they felt chilly and the glue stung, then tightened as metal set against my newly exposed flesh. The nurse took up a hypodermic. She hovered between my legs, her other hand holding my labia open.

“Do we need to restrain her any further, Doctor?”

“No.”my doctor replied, “She is well tied by the restraints.”

The she leaned over me.

“I am going to give you an orgasm, my love, I know the nurse is present and you are in pain but please try not to feel ashamed, it is important we record your brainwaves during pre-operative orgasm.”

My doctor and lover stood between my spread legs. She glanced at the nurse.

“Keep watching the monitor and make sure brainwaves are recorded. This won’t take long, that poor clitoris of hers is about to burst!”

Doctor lowered her mask then dipped her head between my legs. She hovered above my shaven pubis for a moment, taking a last look before surgery.

“I’m going to lick that juicy cunny of yours.” She told me.

Then she kissed my pubic mound, before spreading me wide and taking a long, tender lick. The sensation of her tongue on my swollen rosebud seemed to grate and I gave a moan of pain. But pleasure throbbed also and she sucked on the reddening organ, licking sucking, pressing down as her tongue worked hard.

“Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh ahhhh aaa  mmmmmmmm..mmm aaah!”

I was twitching and groaning, my voice echoing around the operating theatre. The nurse was studying the spikes on the monitor, which she began to print off.

My lover watched as my cunny twitched for the last time, then she wiped me clean, something that made me whine as the cloth scraped my clitoris, the organ was still huge and refusing to calm down. She took a brush and began to paint my groin with iodine, every stroke tickled despite the pain and as she glanced at me I managed a smile.

“That’s it, good girl.” She said.

Then she opened me wide and the brush soaked in bright iodine found its way into every crack and crevice – I groaned as she pained first my clitoral hood and then under it, before the brush went lower still and stung my inner flesh. She gave the brush a good soak in the iodine and painted around my rectum, then stuck the brush inside and twirled it for good measure.

Then she looked at me.

“Are you still aware, my daring? Nod your head for Yes.”

I nodded.

She lifted a pair of what looked like dainty silver tongs.

“Nurse, I want you to watch this.” She said aloud, “This is known as clitoral stretching and desensitisation. Its important  pre surgery , just to ensure the blood does not become too engorged.”

She held up the tongs and showed me.

“Take a deep breath.”

The tongs went between my legs, she positioned them slowly and carefully, then snapped them shut brutally. They locked with a click and my clitoris was trapped. She began to tug and pull on the tongs, from my position on the tale I could see my clit being stretched and crushed like a long piece of meat.  The nurse watched in fascination.

“How painful is it?” My doctor asked me.

My mouth as open but at first I could not find breath. Then she clamped the tongs shut even tighter.

“Aaaaaa eeeeeeeee aaaaah oooooooow!”

My voice was a high pitched scream.

“There there.” MY lover said casually and offered the tongs to the nurse.

“May I?”

“Yes, tug hard and then rotate left then right and pull again.”

“Thank you!”

The nurse obeyed her.

“Aaaaarrrghhh ooo oh oh noooo aaaaah!”

I fought to take a breath.

“Almost over.” My lover said to me, “Be brave, you are doing so well my dear.”

“It’s rather like tenderising a piece of meat.” My Doctor added, taking the tongs from the nurse, “The clitoris actually extends four inches into the body. It’s best that we draw as much of it out as we can. Check the print out to record her pain stats.”

The nurse went back over to the machine and watched.

“Once more.” Doctor said, then pulled on the tongs. I felt a sharp tug deep in my groin as if everything inside had been jerked outwards. I breathed in sharp and was grateful for the oxygen over my face. I stared upwards at the lights for a moment, pain stunning me. Then she pulled again.

“ieeeeeeeeee…ooooooowwwwwww…oooooo-oooo n-n-naaaa–noo -no- no-! “

I  gasped for air and looking down saw my clitoris as a glowing red bulb locked in tongs, swollen even larger than I had ever suffered it and the length of it resembling a small penis about three inches long.

She twisted the tongs again, twistng left and right. Tears ran down my face.

“MMMMmmmmmm….mmmm….aaaaaaa!”

As she caught the look in my eyes my lover stopped.

“Have you crossed into a brief sensation of pleasure?”

I nodded.

“Nurse.”

The nurse left the machine and came over. Her eyes widened as she saw how much of my clitoris hand been pulled upwards.

“Hold the tongs.” She ordered her, “My poor darling has some arousal remaining. I want to make her come again.”

Then she lowered her voice.

“It IS her last one.”

While the nurse held the tongs, my lover paced a thumb and forefinger either side of my blood red clit. Se began to rub frantically, until her glovedhand became a blur.

I came at once.

“OOOhhhh….aaaaaaaah aahhh AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGHHHHHH MMMMMMMMM OOOOooo ohhh ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Then I relaxed, pleasure fading as the sensation of my clit being pulled came back, although by now the tip was numb.

I felt something run down my face, I realised I was sweating but my lack of hair meant it just ran onto me. My Doctor wiped my face and head.

“I have to give you a large injection in the pubis.”She informed me, “I am so sorry if it is painful Count to ten and your pubis will be numb.”

I nodded dumbly, bracing for the needle but as it dug in and the nurse slid the needle deep into the bone beneath my clit, I gave a weak yell, then as the pain throbbed and she pulled the needle out, my lover, still masked, cupped my face and looked into my eyes.

“Count with me – two, three four, five six…”

“Seven, eight.” I said weakly, then I felt the pain melt. I was aware of a prodding sensation but felt little else.

“Can she feel that?” The nurse asked.

My doctor shook her head.

“Shes numb and hazy, good work, Nurse, that needle hit the spot. Numb the rectal area, please.”

I was aware of a gloved hand that seemed to rummage between my buttocks, the I realised the nurse was applying thick white cream both internally and externally which she covered with a dressing and the taped to me. The way I was spread with all holes on show meant the dressing just sat there with ease, while I felt my ass turn to ice.

An oxygen mask was placed over my face.

“It is time, my darling. Be brave.”

As I looked into the eyes of my lover I got the oddest wish that I could spread my legs even wider. I glanced down towards my groin and looked back at her and smiled.

She seemed to understand, patting my bare pubis.

“I know, I know.”She assured me, “It will soon be over.”

Then she covered her mouth again and turned to the nurse who showed her the results of my first brain wave recording. She nodded to her and ordered her to clamp me wide open. If felt nothing but more tugging as I was clamped. The nurse stood beside her, watching with intense interest. I noticed The tongs were back but now I did not care as I was numb. She grasped the end of my stretched clit and held it up.

“Fascinating.” The nurse said. My lover was carefully examining my clamped, stretched clitoris. She looked up at me.

“Your clitoris IS diseased.” She told me, “I am sure that after surgery there will be no more problems but you do know what this means, don’t you?”

I smiled in an understanding way as I recalled all the times she had mock examined me and threatened to ‘cut it off’. This was it, it was real and strangely I felt very aroused by the idea.

“Are you going to remove my clit?” I said slowly and weakly.

She nodded.”And the hood, and the inner labia. I’m so very sorry.”

I managed to smile.

“Operate on me Mistress.” I said, words were slurring.

The nurse glanced at the Doctor and I saw a trace of arousal in her eyes as she realised her Doctor and boss was my mistress and about to cut off my clit and not only this but I wanted it. My Doctor lifted a scalpel.

She looked intently at me.

“I’m going to slit the hood and remove it, then cut off the inner labia and remove the clitoris last of all.” She advised me.But all I could see was the eyes of my beautiful woman doctor.

“I love you.” I said dozily, “Take my clit, cut my cunny…”

“She’s under enough for us to proceed.” My doctor said.

She lowered the scalpel and began to cut.

Moments later she drew back a blood stained knife and demanded the nurse suction the area. She wiped me again and applied another clamp, then as the nurse held out a silver kidney dish, she dropped apiece of bloody flesh into it.

“That was your hood.” She told me.

She took a fine needle and began to sew, it was a slow procedure but the nurse watched with her eyes wide.

“We are we performing clitoridectomy?”

“After labia removal.”

She took a tiny pair of forceps and gripped my left labia. Then she took up miniature heated cutters, as she did so they bleeped and she nodded.

“That means they are at the right temperature.”

She held my inner fold tightly with one hand and clipped with the other.The room was filled with the smell of burning and and a sound with each clip as if chicken skin was being cut.

As she repeated it the other side I saw the nurse eagerly position the bowl to receive the flesh. As the Doctor dropped it in she paused to look at it, seeming fascinated by an amputated labia and clit hood.

“Keep the hood and the labia minora in the bowl and get another for the clitoris.”She told the nurse, “They have to be sent to the lab as separate tissue samples because the clitoris is an organ.”

The nurse nodded, placing the bloody bowl to one side and eagerly selecting another, larger gleaming bowl which she hovered between my legs with, watching my lover work with eagerly gleaming eyes. My lover looked into my eyes.

“I’m taking your clitoris right out.” She told me”There may be a few nerve endings left behind and as soon as you are healed i will be down there between all you have left to give you the remains of pleasure, but your clitoris MUST be removed and it is happening now. I will put on the clamp first.”

The nurse stood behind me and ran her latex covered hands over my bald head.

“Stay calm.” She was reassuring me, “It wont take long. Once your clit is gone you will have no more pain or disease. You’ll be nice and clean and you will look lovely. I rather think the bald look suits you.”

My doctor looked up from my groin and smiled.

“I think my nurse finds you attractive with your hairless look. I certainly do. Remember I said I’d always wanted to shave your head?”

I smiled and nodded.

As my lover drew her hands away from my groin I saw they were heavily blood stained.

“Is…the..clamp on?” I said weakly.

She nodded.

“The clamp is on firmly.”

Then she gripped the handle of the tongs so hard I saw muscles flex in her arms. She drew the tongs upwards and pulled even harder. I saw my clit as a thick, red, swollen piece of meat gleaming by the surgical light and stained with iodine. She slid the heated blades down low, I felt pressure as she dug into the pubic bone.

“Here we are.” She announced, then closed the blades.

It happened fast, she released the blade as burning filled the room and the wide eyed nurse stared at the clitoris that was dropped into the kidney bowl. My lover picked up another suture kit and began to sew quickly, she moved my catheter as she worked and I guessed she was tidying me up.

“I want to keep the outer labia intact.”She explained to me as she worked, “Purely for my preference, so I get a lovely surprise when I part the lips and see a lovely thin scar ad a pee hole and a vagina.”

I smiled through my mask.

As she finished stitching she changed her gloves and ordered the nurse to cover my pubis. The nurse carefully dressed me covering the whole of my cunny but leaving a gap for the catheter to poke through. Once it was all taped up  she took the ass dressing off and wiped off the excess cream.

“Are you still awake?”

My lover was leaning over me.

I nodded.

“I’m going to give you a rectal muscle stretch.”

I smiled lazily, now longing for sleep.

I was aware of a vague prodding, then my bowel filled with liquid.

“It’s important to flood the rectum with lubricant.” She said to the nurse.

“Hold her buttocks WIDE apart for me, please!”

As I lay there I laughed in my drugged state as I heard a squelch and a pop, then another squelch as her hand worked in and out of me, I could feel my body sliding up and down despite the restraints.

“Now I can get one hand in, I’m going to slowly insert the other.”

She talked to the nurse like a teacher as she elongated her other hand. The nurse nodded and watched, she was clearly thrilled to be a witness to such radical surgery and I had no complaints. She held my buttocks wide, bracing them open. My Doctor pushed in her other hand. I felt a vague slopping inside, a popping and slurping that made me giggle through my mask. As she took both hands out  trapped wind popped out loudly like a series of sharp snaps. And I laughed even harder, as I realised I was bald, catheterised, circumcised and now farting loudly while my lover and a nurse tore me a new ass.

“That was a loud one.” The nurse remarked.

I laughed again. I could feel my face reddening all the way up to my bald head.

“Good thing I cleaned you out this morning.” My lover said playfully, “It’s just a big, big fart, calm down, my dear. Almost done.”

She slid her hands back into my ass.

“Now I’m going to do the interesting part.”

The nurse was still holding me open.

“Stretch her hole with your fingers?”

“Slide both hands in, grip both sides of the anal opening and pull -”

My lover grunted with the effort, she was literally pulling my ass apart. The nurses eyes widened as her hands pulled until my hole yawned like a gaping black pit.

“She’s tearing.”

“Scissors.”

The nurse handed her the scissors.

“I’m snipping both sides at the top and the bottom of the rectal opening much like a vaginal episiotomy.”

She handed the bloody scissors back to the nurse. Then she smiled at me.

“When you are healed my hands will slide in and out of you, my love.”

“Have I still got an ass?” I asked lazily.

“A very loose one.”

She took a wide tube. It was clear plastic and looked more like a pipe than any kind of catheter. It slid in with a slurp and a pop and then she took up a needle and thread.

“I’ll now sew the new rectal opening to the width of the pipe to ensure a wide hole.”As she was tying off the last stitch I felt a rumble and another fart exploded from me.

“Thats quite enough!” My Doctor said and  showed me a long, thick rubber tube. She inserted it high into my rectum, way past the support that held open my ass.

“No more farts for a while!”She teased me, then she kissed my brow.

“All over now.”

I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.

When I woke up I was high on pain relief but my Doctor lover showed me a mirror and when I saw my bald head, still with the sensors glued to it, I swore I felt a tingle somewhere in the region of where my clit used to be. She told me she had left a small cluster of nerves behind so that with much stimulation I would still have orgasm sensations – with her help, of course. Then she took the dressing off. It was a neat scar, I marvelled at the way the thin line was so tightly stitched.  wo weeks later the results came back from pathology and revealed my clitoris and other tissues were actually healthy. I said to my lover i had become bald, circumcised and had my ass wrecked for nothing, but the she smiled and asked me if I liked the result. I had t admit I could hardly complain because I had masturbated ver it so many times in bed with her.

“I love it.” I told her.

She planted a kiss on my pubis, spread my labia and licked my scar.  The pillow felt cool against my bald head and I sighed as her hands slid in and out of my ass. And as I was still recovering in her clinic, the nurse watched everything,her own hand toying with something I didn’t have any more – a clitoris. My lover asked if she could play with it n fro of me and I said yes, then my toes curled as the Doctors expert finger hit a small bundle of nerves where my clit used to be and the nurse stopped masturbating to take the brain wave reading from the machine beside my bed.

I came to think of her as my masturbation nurse and welcomed her assistance when my lover played with me.

Six weeks later I went home with my lover and found my modified body made our love life better than ever. And my hair did not row back. That was something that excited both of us, and even the nurse, who made regular visits once a week to enhance my ‘check ups’.

And that is the story of how my lesbian doctor lover changed my life forever.

I remain her bald patient and lover and have a beautiful scar between my legs that I think of as a work of art.

TWO

I guess it was just about a year or so ago that Ramsey had his accident.
Ramsey didn’t act any different after that time in Charley’s, and he never mentioned what had happened, then or any of the other times, and we sure as hell didn’t either, not to him–though you can bet when he wasn’t around it was about all we did talk about for a good long time. At the mill Ramsey was his old self, working hard and keeping to himself mostly. He was probably the best damn worker they had out there, and I never knew him to miss a day, either, until he hurt himself.
How it happened was he was using the big power saw, and maybe the board he was working on had a rotten patch he didn’t see or something, but the thing broke, and normally it wouldn’t be any problem for Ramsey, but whether he was careless or just unlucky or whatever, his foot slipped and the saw got away from him and got him right in the leg, just above the knee.
I wasn’t far away and I saw him go down, and when I got there he was twisting on the ground and the blood was just coming out like crazy. A couple of other guys got there at the same time, and one of them ran to get the mill doctor. I yelled at somebody else to make sure they called an ambulance, and then I got down by Ramsey, but there wasn’t much I could do but try to tie my belt around his leg to staunch the blood. That didn’t work too good, and I got some of that blood on me and it was a mess. It seemed like forever till the doc came running up. Then I started feeling weak and had to move away for a minute.
When I got back the doc had made some kind of tourniquet and wrapped the leg up temporarily, but blood was seeping through anyway, and Ramsey was white as a ghost. Then we heard the ambulance siren, still a ways off but coming closer. Ramsey looked around then, his eyes kind of glazed, but he saw me bending over him and started to say something. Doc told him not to talk, but you couldn’t tell Ramsey anything, even then.
“Josh,” he says, and he could hardly get it out, but meanwhile he’s digging into his pants pocket for something, and he pulls out a bunch of keys all tied together and holds them out to me. “Abby,” he chokes out. “Get Abby.”
“Sure,” I said, and I took the keys automatically. “I will, Ramsey. Don’t worry.”
“Be sure,” Ramsey says, and he’s forcing it out now. “Abby.” Then he passed out.
Well, the ambulance came and they got Ramsey into it and the doc went along with him, but they wouldn’t let any of the other guys come. I went to tell the section boss where I was going, then I went and got my car, it was a little jeep I had then, and I started out to get Abby. Because Ramsey didn’t have a telephone up there. He never much wanted to talk to anybody, Ramsey, if he didn’t have to.
Ramsey’s place was back in the hills, not real close to anything at all, and you had to know that area pretty well to find it. I hadn’t been out there since I was a kid, but I remembered all right. Going up there I started to wonder why Ramsey’d given me his keys, since Abby was sure to be up there. But I figured probably he wasn’t thinking too clear right then, and who would be?
Took me close to an hour, I guess, and when I got there it was pretty much like I remembered, just a clearing with the old wooden house, not very big, but Ramsey had fixed it up some and the whole place looked neat and not all scraggly like it used to. I figured Abby would hear me drive up and come out to see, but there was no sign of her. So I got out and went up and knocked on the door. But nothing happened, and I couldn’t hear anything inside, either.
I knocked again, louder, and I called out, “Abby!” I still didn’t hear anything for a minute, but then her voice came from inside the house. It said, “Go away!”
Well, that set me back a little. I waited a minute, then I pounded the door again. I yelled, “Abby! It’s me, Josh Hawkins. From the mill. It’s about Ramsey. He’s had an accident. Abby!”
No sound.
“Abby!” I shouted. “Open the door. Please!”
Then her voice came again. She said, “I can’t.”
I didn’t understand what was going on, and I didn’t know what to do for a minute there. Then I recalled Ramsey’s keys, so I pulled them out. It took me a couple of tries to find the right one, but then I did and I got the door open and went in.
She wasn’t in the front room, so I called her name again. I heard her say, “Oh, god!”, and she sounded real strange. It came from one of the other rooms–there was just the three rooms in the house–so I went to take a look. It was the bedroom she was in, and when I got there I stopped short right in the doorway and I daresay my mouth fell right open like a fool. I know I was so damn startled that for a minute there I just flat couldn’t move.
Abby was lying on the bed, and she was all stretched out, what they call spread-eagled, you know, and she was chained down there that way. I mean she had these handcuff things on both wrists, one end holding her wrist and the other end fastened to the corner bedpost. And she had cuff things on her legs too, only bigger, and they held her ankles to the bottom posts the same way. I want to tell you, she was stretched out pretty good, too.
She had on a kind of a dress, but it wasn’t much longer than that skirt she’d been wearing in Charley’s that time, and I’m telling you those legs stretching out like that in different directions–well, it just made my mouth go all dry, once I got over the first shock of seeing her like that. Not to mention I could see she still didn’t have on a brassiere or anything, and the way those round damn titties stuck up…
Abby looked straight at me, and her face was flushed but her eyes were real steady, and it was like she was daring me to say something, but I couldn’t say a word. I just stood there gaping. Then she says, “What happened to Ramsey?”
I had to kind of pull myself together and clear my throat once or twice before I could say anything. Then I said, “He just had a little accident. He–he cut his leg pretty bad, but he’ll be all right. They took him to the hospital.”
Abby just kept looking at me, so I said, “He told me to come and get you. He gave me his keys.” I still had the keys in my hand and I held them up for her to see. I felt like a fool.
“All right,” Abby says then. “You’d better use them, hadn’t you?”
“Yeah,” I says. I started fumbling around with the keys, looking for small ones to fit the cuffs, and I knew I should just get on with it and mind my own business, but my guts were just busting with curiosity or something, and I couldn’t stop myself. So I said, “I guess maybe it’s none of my business, but why does Ramsey–I mean, how can he…leave you like–like this?”
“You’re right,” Abby says. “It isn’t your business.”
I could feel my face get red. “Right,” I said, and I was so kind of embarrassed that I dropped the damn keys and had to pick them up and start going through them again.
Then Abby says, “It excites him.”
I didn’t say a thing.
“It turns him on,” Abby says. “To see me this way. He loves to come home and find me like this, completely helpless. His for the taking.”
I was getting a little tight in the throat. I picked out the smallest key I could find and went to the bed to open one of the handcuffs.
“It excites me, too,” Abby says.
Well, I kept my mouth shut, not that I could have gotten anything out without choking. I just got down by the bed and tried to fit the key in the cuff on her wrist, but my fingers weren’t very steady.
“You can probably see that,” Abby says. “I get very aroused being kept like this. I can’t help it. Ramsey and I are two of a kind, you see.”
Her voice sounded a little funny. I couldn’t get the little key to fit that handcuff, so I figured I’d try the other one. The bed was next to the wall, so I couldn’t go around, and I had to kind of lean over her to get to her far wrist. It didn’t help any to keep my fingers from shaking, let me tell you. I tried to concentrate on fitting the key in the lock, but it wasn’t easy in that position. Then, just as I was getting it, Abby sort of shifted on the bed, and I don’t know how she could move much as tight as she was pulled by those cuffs, but she raised her body a little, and her breasts brushed against me. Shit, I could feel those hard poky nipples right through that dress and my shirt. I jerked back out of pure reflex.
“Sorry,” Abby says, and she sounded kind of hoarse. “I told you it excites me.”
I was still leaning over her, sort of sitting on the edge of the bed there, and I looked down at her, looked down at that mouth, those eyes, and I guess maybe I moved toward her again without even knowing it, because when she raised her body again it moved against me like before. The blood was just pounding in my head and I couldn’t think worth a damn. I just looked in those damn deep eyes and she looked back at me.
And then she whispered, “Do it.”
And I kissed her.
Well. Maybe you think you’d of done different if it was you. And maybe you would, I don’t know. But just don’t be too damn sure. A man can feel pretty sure of doing right when he’s sitting back thinking about it, but that’s not exactly the same as being right there with temptation itself spread out underneath you. I can tell you that.
I wasn’t thinking at all once I kissed Abby. Oh, somewheres in the back of my brain I knew damn well it wasn’t right. I knew she was Ramsey’s wife and Ramsey was my friend. I knew it the way you know you should be going one way when a hurricane is blowing you the other.
That mouth was as soft and sweet as it looked to be, and it knew what it was doing, too. So did her tongue. I never wanted to stop kissing her. I was bent over so the top half of my body was just about touching hers, and I felt those damn breasts against me as she breathed. Then somehow I was sort of lying on top of her, still kissing her, and I had a hard-on like a telephone pole.
Well, finally we stopped kissing, and I raised my head up and looked down into those big brown eyes and she looked up at me. We were both kind of breathing hard. She must of been hurting in those cuffs with me on top of her like that, but she didn’t look like she was suffering.
Then, like before, she says, “Do it.”
I said, “Abby–” But I was choked up so I couldn’t hardly get it out.
Then she starts twisting underneath me. Just a little bit, which was all she could manage stretched out that way, but it was enough to drive me crazy. I had to kiss her again, and I did, and she kissed me back, kind of moaning, and her body is pushing up at me. Then she rolls her head away and says, “Now! Do it now!”
Well, it surely wasn’t what you’d call romantic. All I did was open my pants and kind of push them down, along with my shorts. Then I pulled her dress up, and sure enough there was nothing under it but her, just like in Charley’s. And then I was inside her.
It didn’t take very long, that first time, but it didn’t matter. We were both so worked up. Abby groaned and sort of squirmed as much as she could and made little noises in her throat, and I tried to hold back but there was no way right then. But we both finished at the same time, Abby yelling out with it just as I came inside her.
Then after a minute I got up and pulled up my pants. I was feeling kind of strange, maybe embarrassed, I guess, and I couldn’t look at her right away. I heard her breathing get back to normal, and then she says, “You’d better unlock me now.”
So I did. First I pulled her skirt back down, and then I finally managed to find the right keys and get the cuffs unlocked. Abby got up slowly. She was kind of stiff, naturally.
Then she says, “What did you say your name was?”
I didn’t know if that was funny or sad. “Josh,” I says. “Josh Hawkins.”
“Right.” She walked slowly over to a kind of dressing table and sat down and started brushing her hair. “I’ve seen you before,” she says.
“I guess,” I says.
“You were in Charley’s one time.”
I said, “Yeah. Couple times, actually.”
First she doesn’t say anything, then she says, “Did you enjoy it?”
“You mean Charley’s?” I says. “Or just now?”
She looks at me, kind of smiling a little. “Well, I’m pretty sure you enjoyed just now,” she says. “I certainly did.”
I said, “We shouldn’t have done it.”
She didn’t say anything.
I said, “If Ramsey ever finds out–”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says. Then she says, “Ramsey’s going to be all right, isn’t he?”
“I guess so,” I says. “But he cut his leg pretty bad.”
Abby stood up. “Let’s go,” she says.
So we left and got in the jeep and started out for the hospital. I was still feeling kind of funny about the whole thing and I couldn’t think of anything to say. After a while Abby says, “How long have you known Ramsey?”
Ever since we was kids, I told her.
She says, “I’ve never been able to imagine Ramsey as a child.”
“He was a kid just like anybody else,” I says. “Except more ornery than most.” Then, just for something else to say, I asked her, “How did you two meet, anyway?”
Abby didn’t answer that one right away. I didn’t ask her again, I just drove, figuring if she didn’t want to tell me that was fine, I was just making conversation anyway. But finally she starts to talk.
“It was back in Youngstown,” she says, “where I come from. Ramsey’s mother was living there, and she died, and Ramsey came east for the funeral.”
I already knew that, but I didn’t say anything.
“I was a friend of his sister’s–she stayed with their mother, you know, when the family broke up and Ramsey went west with his father–so I came to the funeral. And afterwards…there was this gathering of friends and relatives at the house, and that’s where I met him. His sister introduced us. And I–well. You have to understand. I was no pushover. Not that I was a virgin or anything, but I was my own woman, you know? Sure of myself. Pretty sophisticated, I thought. Able to look at men with a cool eye. So I–then I met Ramsey. I can’t explain this. His sister introduced us, and I put out my hand, and he took it, and–well, I fell apart inside. That’s all. He kind of looked at me and held on to my hand–not hard or anything, not at first–just stood there looking at me and holding my hand. And he knew. I think he knew even before I did, but I knew too.”
“Knew what?” I said.
It took her a minute. “That I–that he was–that I–I belonged to him. That’s all. I know it sounds crazy. It just–I couldn’t believe it myself. I mean, I didn’t want to believe it, for god’s sake, I wasn’t–like I said, I was my own woman. I thought. Up to then. But there it was, he just–And he knew it too. Oh Christ. He knew it right away.”
“What happened?”
She gave a short little laugh. “He squeezed my hand, that’s what happened. Just for a minute. Not even a minute, just a few seconds. But he squeezed it hard. And oh Jesus, I don’t know how he knew things about me that I didn’t even know, but I was ready to go down on my knees to him, right there. In the middle of all those people. Just like that.”
“Like at Charlie’s,” I said.
She glanced over at me with a funny kind of a grin. “Yeah. Like at Charlie’s. Only I didn’t actually do it. Oh, I probably would have if he’d told me to. And I’m sure he could see it on my face. But him, his face never changed. All he did was let go my hand, and all he said was, ‘Come.’ That’s all. And he walked out of the room.”
She stopped, like she was expecting me to ask her what she did, but I knew she was gonna tell me anyhow, so I just waited.
“And I followed him,” she says finally. “He went out in the hall and came to the staircase and walked upstairs, and I just walked up right after him, with all the people watching and looking at us. He went into one of the rooms up there, and I went in after him, and he closed the door.” She stopped again. “And then he said his second word to me,” she says. “He said, ‘Strip.’”
“So you stripped,” I said.
“Oh yes. And he stood there and watched. And then he stripped too, and then–Christ, I’d never had anything like it. None of this foreplay stuff, none of this tender lovey-dovey lovemaking like women are supposed to crave and respond to, oh I’d had my share of that, and I was just as brainwashed about it as anybody, thought that’s where it was at all right. But not with Ramsey. He took what he wanted, he was direct and forceful, and he was rough too, and the rougher he was the more I liked it. The more he took the more I wanted to give him. And when he hurt me I…Oh Jesus, I…I begged him for more. And when I–”
She suddenly stopped again, like she had to catch her breath. “Shit,” she said, and that shocked me for some reason. “I’m telling you more than you want to know. Sorry.”
“No problem,” I said. It wasn’t really more than I wanted to know, but probably more than I should’ve known. I was damn interested, but also I had a hard-on again. “Anyway,” I said then, “don’t tell Ramsey about–you know, about what happened before.”
“Well, I’ll try not to,” she says. “But I can’t promise he won’t find out. You know Ramsey.”
That sure as hell didn’t make me feel any better.

THREE

Some of the people at the county hospital knew me when they saw me, on account of I was kind of going around with this girl Molly, who was a nurse there. Molly was a real cute lady, blonde and kind of short–but curvy where it counted–and I guess you’d say we were more or less engaged, though it wasn’t formal or anything. Anyway I used to go there sometimes to pick her up when she was getting off work, so they knew me there, like I said. When I walked in with Abby the gal at the desk looked at me funny and said, “Hi, Josh. Molly’s not off yet, she’s just started her shift, you want to see her?”

“No,” I said. “No, I’m–we’re here to see Ramsey. Ramsey Boyce? Hurt his leg up at the mill?”

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, right. They brought him in earlier on. Let’s see.” She looks up something on the computer they got there. “He’s in room 313. I guess you can go up there if you want.”

“Thanks.”

We found him all right, and he looked okay, maybe a little pale. They’d patched him up and sewed up his leg and given him a bunch of painkillers and stuff, so he wasn’t feeling too bad. Abby rushed over to the bed and kissed him, and they whispered back and forth a little, with me standing there by the door, feeling pretty strange about the whole thing.

Finally Ramsey looks over at me and says, “Thanks.” Not one to waste a lot of words, Ramsey wasn’t.

“No problem,” I says. Now I don’t know if there was something in my face or my voice or whatever, but Ramsey’s eyes didn’t move away from me. He just kept looking at me till I got kind of uncomfortable, but I just tried to keep looking normal. Seemed like an hour he kept looking at me like that, but probably it was just a few moments. Then his eyes shifted to Abby. Her back was to me and I couldn’t see her face. He just glanced at her and then looked back at me. I could feel the sweat starting on my neck.

“How’s the leg?” I said, to distract him.

“Leg’s gonna be okay,” Ramsey says. “Be a big scar, they say, but it’ll work good as ever. Take a little time though.” He’s still looking at me.

“Knew you’d be all right,” I said. “Takes more than a damn saw to kill Ramsey Boyce, right?”

Ramsey doesn’t answer. Then he turns to Abby again. “Ab, why don’t you go to the can or something, let Josh and me talk a little.”

“Sure, Ramsey,” Abby says. She turns around and goes out, not even looking at me.

Ramsey motions with his head for me to come closer to him, and I do. I’m still trying to act normal, but it’s not easy. I don’t know what Ramsey’s thinking. I mean, there was no way he could really know about what happened with me and Abby, but you could see he was sensing something. He was the damnedest guy for sensing things, Ramsey was.

I sat down in a chair close to the bed. Ramsey’s still looking at me. “Guess you were kind of surprised when you found Abby the way she was,” he says then.

“Yeah,” I said, and sort of shrugged. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“You have any problem getting her loose?”

“Nope. Just had to find the right keys.”

Ramsey nodded. Then he says, “Makes a picture, don’t it? Seeing Abby like that.”

I shrugged. “Guess so,” I says. “I was just thinking of getting her out of there so we   could–”

“Gets her kind of excited, you know? Being that way. Gets all hot and bothered.”

“Is that right?” I says. “When I told her–”

“What happened up there?’ Ramsey says.

“What do you mean? I just–”

“Josh.” Man, I knew that voice. I was sweating again, but I wasn’t about to let him see it.

“Yeah, Ramsey.”

“If something happened up there I want to know,” Ramsey says.

I made my own voice hard. “I told you what happened, Ramsey. I got her loose and we came down here. What the hell else?”

“You know,” Ramsey says, “if anything happened I’ll find out from Abby.”

“Well, fine,” I says. “Then you can stop this bullshit.”

“She’ll tell me, Josh. You know it. She’ll tell me everything.”

“Good,” I said. “Christ, you’re a suspicious bastard. Must be all those drugs they gave you.”

Ramsey just kept looking at me. “Okay, I’m going,” I told him. “I’ll come see you tomorrow.” And I got up and left.

As I was going down the hall I saw Abby coming back from the bathroom. I stopped her.

“Listen, Randy’s suspicious. It’s like he knows, but he doesn’t really, you know? I mean he can’t. But–”

“I know,” Abby says. “He saw it right away.”

“He says you’ll tell him. He says you’ll tell him everything.”

Abby closed her eyes for a minute, then opened them again, but she didn’t say anything.

“Christ!” I said. “You ARE gonna tell him, aren’t you?”

She wasn’t looking at me. “I told you I’d try not to, Josh.” Her voice was flat, kind of empty. “But I–If he really–Oh God, I can’t lie to Ramsey. He can see right through me. If he wants to know, he’ll find out. I can’t help it, Josh. I’m sorry.”

“Jesus,” I said. I was feeling a little bit sick.

“I’ll–If he does find out–I’ll tell him it was my fault,” Abby says. “I’ll tell him how it was. I tempted you into it, you couldn’t–”

“Won’t make any difference,” I said. “Ramsey’ll come after me. Probably kill me. I’ll have to fight him.” All the years I’d known him, I never saw anybody win a fight with Ramsey.

Then I thought of something I should have thought of before, only I was too busy worrying about my own skin. “Jesus Christ,” I said. “What will he do to YOU?”

Abby didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “I don’t know. I don’t think he’ll kill me, though.”

“But he’ll–he could–”

“I’m sure he’ll punish me,” Abby said. There was only like a little tremble in her voice.

“Punish you how?”

“I don’t know,” Abby says. There’s a pause. Then she says, “But you know, I enjoy being punished. Especially by Ramsey. You know that, don’t you, Josh?”

I knew she was thinking about the times I’d been in Charley’s back when Ramsey brought her in. But whatever it was she’d done then, it couldn’t have been near as bad in Ramsey’s mind as this. “Yeah, but–but this is–I mean, Ramsey could  get–”

“He won’t kill me,” Abby said again.

“Maybe not,” I said. “But he could damn well make you wish he would. Aren’t you scared, at least?”

She doesn’t answer right away. Then she says, “Yes. Yes, I am. I am. But…but being frightened is…the fear is part of it. You know? Being afraid is part of the excitement.” She looks at me then, and I could see that kind of melted look in her eyes, that look she’d had when Ramsey whipped her in Charley’s, the look I’d seen when she was shackled to Ramsey’s bed. It had made me hot then. Now it just made me feel sicker.

“Not for me it ain’t,” I said.

FOUR

Molly was working the nurses’ station on that floor, and I saw her on my way out. She gives me a smile and asks me how Ramsey is and I tell her he’s fine. Then she wants to know just how the accident happened, and I tell her that. Molly wasn’t too crazy about Ramsey, but because he was a friend of mine she didn’t bad-mouth him too much in front of me, and anyway she hated to see anybody suffering or in pain. I guess that’s why she wanted to be a nurse, part of it anyway. I was feeling kind of bad for what happened with Abby. Like I said, we weren’t really engaged or anything, but I guess we had what they call an understanding. I knew she wasn’t going around with anybody else, and neither was I, and since we’d got kind of serious I hadn’t fooled around with anybody either. Until Abby. I didn’t think Molly would like it too much if she knew, and I surely wasn’t about to tell her, but then I felt kind of bad about not telling her too. Things can get really damn complicated when it comes to women, but I guess you probably know that.

I think Molly could tell something was wrong–not the way Ramsey could see things, with those eyes of his that probed right into you, but more like women’s intuition, and because she knew me pretty good–but I guess she thought I was just upset about Ramsey’s accident. She asked me if I still wanted to go to a movie in town that night, like we’d been planning to do, and I said yes. I knew that afterwards we’d probably go back to her house and do it real quiet in her little bed, with her old father sleeping in the next room. We couldn’t go to my place because I was living in this boarding house, and the landlady didn’t allow the men to have women in their rooms. In spite of feeling kind of guilty, like I said, I couldn’t help thinking that this would be the first time I ever had two different women the same day. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking that way, but there was a sneaky kind of proud feeling about that. I couldn’t help it.

While I was talking to Molly, Abby came along down the hall from Ramsey’s room. I couldn’t remember if Molly had ever met Abby before, but I didn’t think so, so I kind of introduced them. I thought Molly had a kind of funny look on her face, but I didn’t think she could have suspected anything right then. I sure hoped not anyway. I had enough to worry about with Ramsey suspecting.

“Josh,” Abby says to me, “Ramsey said I should ask you if you’ll drive me back to the house so I can pick up some things. I’m going to be staying here for a while, until Ramsey gets better.”

Well that kind of surprised me for sure, but of course I couldn’t show it too much in front of Molly. “Yeah, sure,” I told her. “You want to go now or what?”

“Any time you want,” Abby says.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Molly was definitely giving me a funny look now, but I didn’t want to think about it. I told her I would be back in plenty of time to pick her up when her shift was over, and I left with Abby.

As soon as we were in my jeep and out on the road I said to her, “Did you tell him?”

“He knows,” was all she said. Her voice was real flat and quiet.

“Jesus,” I said. I couldn’t say anything else for a while. Then I said, “Well Christ, if he knows, how come he’s letting you go back there with me, all alone?”

“I have to get my things,” Abby says. “And anyway, he knows it won’t happen again.”

Well I had never expected it to happen again, hadn’t even thought about it, but when she said that I have to say I felt a real kind of disappointment, just for a minute there, down in my gut, you might say. I was kind of mad at myself for feeling that, but it was just for a minute.

We didn’t say anything else all the way up there. When we got to the house, Abby says, “Just wait out here for me, okay? I won’t be long.”

So I waited, and I guess it wasn’t more than fifteen minutes or so before she comes out. She’s carrying this heavy-looking suitcase, so I jumped out and took it from her and loaded it into the car. Then we started back.

We were still quiet as we headed out. I was worrying about Ramsey, and Abby didn’t seem in the mood to say much anyway. The roads up there were pretty rough, and once when I hit a bump I heard her make a kind of gasping noise. I looked over at her and she looks kind of pale, and her mouth is set tight.

I asked her if there was anything wrong, but she just shook her head. But after a minute, when I look at her again, she’s got her head lying back against the seat back, with her eyes closed and her mouth open, taking long deep breaths, and her face looks like she’s about to be sick any minute.

I pull the car over then and stop on the side of the road. “Abbhy, what’s wrong?” I ask her again. “Are you sick or what? You want to get out?”

“No,” Abby says. She opens her eyes then and looks at me. “It’s all right, Josh,” she says, and it’s like she’s forcing herself to talk. “I’m fine. Just go on, okay?”

“That’s crap,” I said. “Something’s wrong with you. What the hell is it, Abby?”

She closed her eyes again, but just for a minute. But she wasn’t looking at me when she said, still in that kind of flat voice, “I’m hurting, all right? I’ve got–I’m following Ramsey’s orders, that’s all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ramsey told me to put these things on,” Abby says. “It’s part of my punishment. All right? Don’t worry about it. Just go on.”

“What things?” I says.

She kind of sighs, but not very deeply. “Clamps,” she says then. “I’ve got these clamps on my–on my nipples. Ramsey told me to put them on. He–he told me to put them on tight.”

I couldn’t help looking at her chest. She was wearing a kind of loose blouse, so I couldn’t make out too much, but there did seem to be a couple of unusual little bumps around where the nipples would be, though you might not even notice if you weren’t looking right there.

I didn’t know what to say. I mean I had heard of things like that, but it was hard to believe people actually did that kind of stuff in real life. Not in Montana, for god’s sake. “Tight?” I said finally. “How–what do you–”

She still wasn’t looking at me. “They’re adjustable,” Abby says. She’s breathing a little harder now, and her voice is still low but it sounds kind of strained. “They have–these kind–they have like little screws, you can make them as tight as you want. Or not. Ramsey told me to make them tight this time. As tight as I could stand it. Okay? Can we go on now please?”

I couldn’t believe this. “God damn, Abby,” I said. “That’s crazy. You want to take them off? I can get out while you–”

“No,” Abby says. “I can’t. Ramsey would–No. It’s Ramsey’s orders. That’s what he wants. I do what he wants, you know that. Besides I–” She stops.

“What?” I say.

She closes her eyes again, and when she answers I can barely hear her. “I like it,” she says.

I can only stare at her. “Come on,” I said then. “That’s bullshit, Abby.” I don’t usually swear in front of women, I try not to, but this was too much. “I can damn well see you don’t like it,” I said. “You’re hurting like hell, you look like you can hardly stand it. I can hardly stand it myself, just looking at you.” Now this was true, in one way, it really was. But what I don’t tell her–hell, I could hardly even admit it to myself–was that there was something exciting about it too. Damn if I know why, but it was like when I watched Ramsey whipping her, or like when she was all stretched out in chains on that damn bed. I couldn’t help it that my dick was hard, but I didn’t have to like it.

“Yes, I’m hurting,” Abby says. “But it’s–it’s what I–it makes me–Oh Christ, Josh.” Her body is kind of squirming around a little bit now on the seat. “It turns me on, you know that, you have to know that by now. I can’t help it. It’s awful, the pain, it is, but I–I need it. Oh god I do need it, Josh.” Now she opens her eyes again and looks straight at me. “If you felt my pussy right now you’d find it was wet,” she says. “If you put your hand on it. Right now.”

“Jesus, Abby!” I said. I nearly did, though. Ramsey be damned. My damn hand was already moving before I stopped it. “No,” I said. “Damn it, no!” And I started up the jeep and got back on the road.

We didn’t say another damn word before we got to the hospital. I got out with her and carried her suitcase for her, right to Ramsey’s room. I figured I might as well face him now as some other time. If he knew, he knew. Whatever was going to happen, I figured might as well get it over with. Besides, at least he couldn’t do too much to me lying in a hospital bed. Not that I wasn’t kind of scared anyway.

Ramsey barely looked at me when we came in, and the first thing he says to Abby is, “You got them on?”

“Yes, Ramsey,” she says.

“You got them on tight?” Ramsey says.

“Yes, Ramsey.”

And Ramsey says, “Make them tighter.”

By now Abby is white as a sheet, and really looks like she’s gonna be sick, worse than she looked in the car. And from what she told me, she’d already made them as tight as she could. I could see her swallow hard, but all she said was, “Yes, Ramsey.” Her voice so low I could hardly hear her.

“Look, Ramsey–” I started to say.

“Shut up,” Ramsey says. He’s still not looking at me, but his voice cracks like a whip.

Abby moves slowly over to a chair and starts to sit down. “No,” Ramsey says to her. “Don’t sit down. Just do it. Now.”

Abby starts to open her blouse, and she kind of turns a little away from me, though she’s still facing Ramsey. “Don’t be shy, Abby,” Ramsey says then. “Josh has seen your tits already. Right, Josh?”

“Ramsey, listen. If you–”

“Save it,” Ramsey says. “I’m waiting, Abby. You want me to do it?”
Abby goes even paler, if that’s possible. She kind of shakes her head, biting at her lip. She turns back the way she was before, and I’m standing there and watching as she unbuttons her blouse. I can see her hands are shaking a little. I don’t know what the hell is going on in her mind. I know what she told me, but I still can’t figure it out. I can damn well see that she’s hurting already almost more than she can stand, and that she sure as hell isn’t happy about it. And that she’s scared that Ramsey will hurt her even more. Yeah, she’d told me she liked it–or at least that she needed it. That it turned her on. I remembered what she said about her pussy. Was it wet now? I couldn’t believe it.

But I stood there and watched. And Abby got the blouse open, and there were her tits, only sure enough, the nipples were covered by little metal gadgets, and they were being squeezed all out of shape. I could see the little screw things on the clamps, just like she’d said. Her hands were shaking harder when she reached for them.

Ramsey was looking at me now. “Maybe I should let Josh do that,” he said. His voice didn’t have much expression in it now. Just like his face. “You want to tighten them for her, Josh?”

“No,” I said. I think my hands were shaking a little too, but I tried not to let it show in my voice. “Ramsey, this is crazy,” I said. “Look, we can settle this ourselves, okay? It wasn’t–I mean, it just–Abby didn’t–”

“I know what Abby did,” Ramsey says. His voice still flat. “I know what you did. Abby is being punished. She’ll be punished some more, but that’s not your lookout. You I’ll get to later.”

I made myself shrug. “I’m not scared of you, Ramsey,” I said, which was an out and out lie, and Ramsey damn well knew it. “Any time you want to have it out, fine. But you should let me explain to you about what happened. And this here is not right. You can beat up on me all you want, but this isn’t right on Abby. She couldn’t–”

“You see her leaving?” Ramsey says.

“How can she–”

“She ain’t tied up,” Ramsey says. “She can leave anytime she wants. You want to leave, Abby?”

Abby closes her eyes, then opens them again. “No,” she says, in a whisper.

“Then do what I’m telling you.”

Abby’s fingers are on the little screws now. “I’m going,” I said.

“Suit yourself,” Ramsey says.

But the thing is I didn’t. Not because of Ramsey. I just didn’t, that’s all.

Abby had said she’d made those things as tight as she could, and I believed her, but now she was damn well trying to do more. I saw her knuckles were white with her trying to turn those little screws even further, and she must have been doing it, because a little whining sound started coming from her throat. Her body kind of went stiff, and that sound got louder, slowly, that whining sound, it was like little whimpers at first, and then it was one continual soft moan, not loud enough for anybody outside to hear, but enough to damn well make me shiver myself. And those knuckles were still white. And then Abby gives one loud cry that sounds like some kind of animal made it, and her legs give out on her and she goes down onto her knees, all bent over and just kind of gasping really hard. Then she topples over onto her side. I don’t think she’s turning the screws anymore, but her hands are still on her tits, and now she’s squirming around and whining again, and sort of crying.

“Looks good that way, don’t she?” Ramsey says then. “You want to fuck her now, Josh?”

“Damn you, Ramsey,” I said, but my voice wasn’t too steady. I don’t know if he could tell that my dick was hard.

“Why not?” Ramsey says. “You fucked her once, don’t make any difference now. Go ahead. The way she’s hurting now, she’ll give you one hell of a ride, tell you that.”

“You must be crazy, Ramsey,” I tell him. “Or they give you too much drugs, one. How about letting her take those things off now?”

“Why don’t you take them off her?” Ramsey says. “You know, that hurts like hell too, when they come off. The blood going back into those nipples. Makes her scream, every time. Right, Abby?”

Abby makes some kind of sound, I guess it means yes.

“You want to do it, Josh? Then fuck the shit out of her? What do you say?”

Well I always knew Ramsey was tough, and that he could be one mean son of a bitch when he got riled, but this was some twisted side of him I never saw before. I didn’t want to think about the twisted side of me, and how much I was tempted to do just what he said. “Go to hell, Ramsey,” I said. “I’m getting out of here.” And I started to leave.

“Well, damn,” Ramsey says. “What are you gonna do with that hard-on, Josh, go fuck that little blonde nurse instead?”

I was heading for the door, but I stopped and looked back at him.

“Molly, right?” Ramsey says. “Cute little thing.” Then he says, “How do you think she’d look with those clamps on her, Josh? You think she’d like it?”

For a minute I just stood there. I felt a little dizzy. Then my throat got real tight, and maybe I would’ve jumped on him if it hadn’t been Ramsey, or if he hadn’t been lying there with his leg all tore up. But I just said, sort of squeezing it out, “You got no call to bring her into this, Ramsey.”

“Why not?” Ramsey said. “You fucked my wife, right? You know what they say, Josh, turn about is–”

I went toward him then, and maybe I made some kind of noise, I don’t know. Ramsey just stayed as he was, not moving an inch, just looking at me. I guess he knew I wasn’t gonna hit him or anything, not with him in that bed and all. Or maybe he didn’t care. Anyway I got right close to him and stood over him, and I was kind of shaking, but it wasn’t from being scared, not then        . “Listen, Ramsey,” I said to him, and I was breathing real hard. “You try–you do anything–you touch her–Molly–I’ll kill you. I swear to god, Ramsey. I swear to god.” Then I turned and got out of there.

#

I had to go looking for Molly, she was working on another floor. I finally found her changing a bed in an empty room. She gives me a quick look when I come in, and goes back to what she’s doing. “How’s Abby?” is what she says.

“Molly, listen,” I say, “I want you to keep away from Ramsey, okay?”

She looks at me then, kind of surprised. “What do you mean?” she says.

“Just keep away from him, that’s all. Don’t go in his room, don’t have anything to do with him. All right? It’s best that way.”

“What are you talking about, Josh?” Molly says. “He’s a patient here.”

“I know, but just let the other nurses take care of him, okay? You stay away.”

“I can’t do that,” she says. “I can’t pick and choose who I nurse here, you know that, Josh. What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m telling you, stay away from him,” I said. “Or at least don’t go in there alone. You can do that, right?”

She’s staring at me. I can see she’s getting a little pissed off, and it’s weird, because like I said she never liked Ramsey all that much, and I was always the one kind of standing up for him. But she’s standing up for herself now, which is something she always did. She was no shrinking violet, Molly.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Josh, okay?” she says then.

“I’m not. I’m not, I’m just telling you to steer clear of Ramsey, that’s all.”

She’s getting hot now. “What makes you think you can tell me to do anything?” she says. “Who do you think you are? Just because–”

“Molly, for god’s sake. This is for your own good, I’m trying to–I’m just–”

“What is this all about?” she says then. “What’s going on here, Josh. Is this about Abby?”

“No, it’s–I just don’t want you to–to get hurt, all right?”

“It is, isn’t it,” she says. “It’s Abby. What went on with you and her?”

“Damn it, Molly! Just listen to me for once, okay? I’m telling you–”

“Don’t tell me,” Molly says. “Just don’t tell me anything, Josh. And don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. Now I’m busy here, all right?”

I can see it’s no good trying to talk to her now. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll come back when your shifts over, we’ll go to the movie.”

“No,” Molly says shortly. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m too tired tonight, I’m just going home.”

So I don’t get to do it with two women that day after all.

FIVE

The next day I went to work as usual. A lot of the guys ask me about Ramsey, if he’s gonna be okay and so on. There were some guys who didn’t like Ramsey, and I guess there were even a few who’d had run-ins with him and really hated his guts, though they’d never have the nerve to do anything about it. And for sure nobody ever got really close to him. But mostly the guys kind of respected him, his toughness and the way he carried himself. I told them he was going to be okay, and that was that.

When I came out of the mill after my shift was over, I got a surprise. Abby was there in the parking lot, standing by my jeep, waiting for me. Some of the other guys coming out made a couple of wise-ass remarks–not so she could hear them–and they were all staring at her, but nobody went up to her or anything. A few of them hung around, just watching out of curiosity as I went to my car, but most of them just got their own cars and left, or went down the street to get a beer at Charley’s.

Abby just stood there watching me as I walked up to her. When I got close I couldn’t help taking a quick glance at her chest, and she smiled a little. “No, Josh, I’m not wearing them now,” she says. “Ramsey took them off after you left.”

I recalled what Ramsey had said about that. I tried not to show it, but it must have showed anyway, because she smiled again. “What are you doing here?” I ask her.

“Ramsey sent me,” she says.

“Jesus,” I said. “What for now?”

“Ramsey says my punishment isn’t over,” Abby says. She’s looking me straight in the eye, and her voice is calm and level. “He says I need to be whipped–you know, like in Charley’s–but he can’t do it right with his leg hurt and all. So he wants you to do it.”

I can only stare at her. I guess my mouth is open. After a minute I close it and shake my head hard. “Tell Ramsey to go to hell,” I said. I pushed past her and started to get into my jeep.

“Wait,” Abby says.

“Wait for what?” I say. My head is spinning around, but I get in and start the engine up. “I think Ramsey has gone crazy,” I tell her. “And you’re crazy too. I don’t want to have any more to do with this, okay?” I put the jeep in gear and gunned it out of there.

I was a little worried about Molly though. I didn’t think Ramsey would actually try anything with her, specially laid up the way he was. But with Ramsey you could never tell. I thought about going back to the hospital, but Molly being so pissed off at me, I figured that wasn’t a good idea. She’d probably be off by then anyway. When I got home I tried calling her up, but all I got was her father, who told me she was out shopping. I told him to have her call me back, but she didn’t.

Next day I called the hospital from work, but they told me at the switchboard that Molly hadn’t come in for her shift that morning. I called her house again, but no answer. Now I was getting really worried, and when lunchtime came I drove over to the hospital. Went right up to Ramsey’s room, and it was empty.

“Oh, he’s gone,” the nurse at the desk says. “Bulled right out of here, wouldn’t listen to anybody. Nobody could stop him, even though he could hardly walk on that leg. Doctor told him he’d make it worse if he didn’t stay put, but he didn’t care, just grabbed his stuff and charged right out. Never saw anything like it.”

“Was his wife with him?” I said.

“Oh yeah, you’d think she’d have more sense, at least, try to get him to take care of himself, but she never said a word. Just went with him.”

“Okay,” I says. “Listen, you seen Molly yet?”

“No, not today, Josh, but you know, she might be working on another floor.”

“Yeah,” I says. “Okay. Thanks.”

But she wasn’t there. I called her house again. No answer. It was time for me to go back to work, but I had a bad feeling now. I knew it was crazy, but maybe it wasn’t. I had to know for sure. I got in my jeep and headed up to Ramsey’s place.

Soon as I pulled up at Ramsey’s house, the front door opened and Ramsey came out. He had on a T-shirt and a loose pair of khaki shorts. His leg was still all wrapped up, and he was limping, but he looked as solid and as mean as ever. And he was carrying a double-barreled shotgun.

My stomach started flipping around, and I could feel myself sweating, but I just sat there in my car and tried to sound normal. “What’s going on, Ramsey?”

Ramsey gave me a little grin. “Figured you’d be coming up, Josh,” he says. “Got everything ready for you.”

“What are you talking about, Ramsey?”

“Talking about Abby, for one thing,” Ramsey says. “You remember Abby, right, Josh? My wife, who you fucked?”

“Look–”

“You didn’t have any problem fucking her when I wasn’t around, did you, Josh? While I was in the fuckin’ ambulance, right? But when I wanted you to fuck her again, with me right there, when I said it was okay, then you wouldn’t do it. What the hell kind of a friend is that?”

“Ramsey–”

“And then,” Ramsey goes on, “I send Abby to tell you I want you to whip her for me. And you say no to that too. That ain’t very friendly either. That’s downright insulting, you know?”

“Ramsey,” I said.”I’m looking for Molly. Is she–”

Ramsey grins again. “Yeah, I thought you would be,” he said. “And that’s the other thing I’ve got ready for you, Josh.”

“What–” I climbed out of the jeep now and started to go toward him. “What are you–if you–”

Ramsey raises the shotgun and holds it so it’s pointed at my chest. I stop short.

“I told you, Josh,” Ramsey says. “I told you turn about is fair play, didn’t I? Isn’t that what they say?”

I couldn’t hardly believe Ramsey would actually shoot me, but I wasn’t about to take too many chances on it. Not the way he was now. “Ramsey,” I said, “Where is she? Where’s Molly?”

“She’s inside,” Ramsey says. “Don’t worry, Josh, I didn’t fuck her. Not yet anyways. Thought I’d let you watch it when I do. More than you did for me with Abby, right?”

You know how people say they get so mad they see red? Well that’s true, I swear to god. I saw red, and for a second I thought I was gonna jump him, shotgun or no shotgun, but I didn’t. I was kind of shaking all over, and I was so choked up I couldn’t even talk at first.

“God damn you, Ramsey,” I says finally, and my voice is shaking too, and I didn’t hardly recognize it. “I told you if you touch Molly I’ll kill you. I told you that, and I will, Ramsey. I swear it. Now you–”

“How you gonna do that, Josh?” Ramsey says. “Looks like I’m the one holding the gun here.”

“Let her go,” I said. I was having trouble breathing. “Bring her out here, Ramsey, and I’ll take her back home and we can just forget about all this crap, okay? You don’t want–”

“Can’t do that, Josh,” Ramsey says. “Gotta even the score here. Guy fucks my wife. Won’t even help me punish her. Can’t just let that happen. Not do anything about it. Can’t do that.”

“All right,” I said. “You want revenge, Ramsey, fine. Hit me, beat me up. Whup the hell out of me. You’re crazy enough to shoot me, okay, shoot me. You want to punish your wife, that’s your business. But Molly didn’t have anything to do with it. She didn’t do anything to you, don’t take it out on her. That’s not right. You know that, Ramsey, come on.”

“Guess she’s really got her hooks into you, ain’t she?” Ramsey says. “That little blonde gal. Yeah, she’s a cute one all right. Sexier than she looks too, once you get her clothes off. That body is–”

This time I really did jump him. I couldn’t stop myself. He didn’t shoot me, he just hit me with the shotgun barrel, right across the head, and I went down. Things went blurry for a minute, and it felt like my head was split open. But it wasn’t.

“Dumb thing to do,” Ramsey says. “Lucky for you I don’t want to kill you without we first settle the score a little. Get up now, we’re gonna go inside and get to it.”

It took me a minute to get back up. My head hurt like hell, and I guess I was bleeding a little. But mostly I felt sick worrying about Molly. Ramsey made a movement with the gun like for me to go inside the house, and I did, with him after me.

Soon as I got in the front room I nearly fell down again, and I guess I made some kind of noise. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

They were both in there, Abby and Molly. And they were both naked. Abby was bent over a little table on one side of the room, sort of the way she’d been at Charlie’s that time, only instead of her hands tied behind her they were tied to the legs of the table. Her toes touched the floor on the other side, but there were ropes around her body holding her to the table, so she couldn’t move very much. It was a sight to see, just like before, but I could hardly take it in, because all I could focus on was Molly.

She was standing in the doorway between the front room and the bedroom. Her arms were stretched up over her head, and her wrists were tied together. There was a small beam running across the top of the doorway, and the other end of the rope was tied to it, the rope that held her wrists, so her arms were pulled up really tight, and so was her body. Her feet touched the floor all right, but her body was really stretched out. I could see that she’d been crying. She wasn’t crying now, but her face was twisted with pain, and her eyes were all scared and crazy.

When she saw me she choked out something that might have been my name, but there was like a roaring in my ears, so I’m not sure. I turned to Ramsey and I swear I was about to jump him again, but he was ready, he was holding that shotgun right at my chest, and his finger on the trigger. I was shaking. Hard.

“Easy, Josh,” Ramsey says. He’s grinning a little bit, and I’m looking at his eyes, and I knew then that he really was crazy. “You don’t want to get yourself killed now, or how will you be able to rescue your little sweetie here?” He moved around me then, slowly, keeping that gun pointed at my chest, till he was standing close to Molly. “I could kill her too,” he says. “But not so quick. Not till I have a little fun with her, you know? Or a lot.”

“Ramsey–” I said. I knew I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. My head felt like it was going around, and my voice sounded far away.

“She’s a sweet little piece, isn’t she, Josh?” Ramsey says. “Looks real sexy all stretched out that way. Didn’t know she had so many curves on her. Look at this.” He swung the gun away from me and pointed it at Molly. I almost screamed. But all he did was bring the barrel up to one of her breasts and rest the tip of it against her nipple. Molly made some kind of sound and tried to pull away, but she couldn’t move very much.

“Look at that,” Ramsey says. “Even all pulled up tight that way, these little titties still stand out real nice, don’t they, Josh?” He rubbed the barrel back and forth over her nipple. I could see her trembling. “Nipples get real hard too, see? You think she’s turned on or what?”

I was still shaking, but I knew I had to stay as calm as I could. Long as Ramsey had the gun I couldn’t take any chances. “No,” I said, and I had to clear my throat. “No, Ramsey, I think she’s scared shitless, and so am I. Is that what you want? What the hell is this all about anyway?”

“Told you what I want,” Ramsey says. He moved the gun barrel over to Molly’s other breast and did the same thing, rubbing it back and forth over the nipple. “Told you I wanted you to whip my wife for me, ’cause I couldn’t do it right with this damn leg. Sent Abby to tell you that. You said no to her. Not very friendly, Josh, you know? Gave you the chance to fuck her too. Right in front of me, ’stead of behind my back, like you did before.” I couldn’t look at Molly. “Wouldn’t do that either,” Ramsey says. “That’s a pure insult, you ask me.”

“Ramsey–”

“Think you might do it now?” Ramsey says.

I’m staring at him. He moves the gun up under Molly’s chin, kind of lifts up her face with it. I can hear her panting, almost gasping. “Damn it, Ramsey!” I say. I wasn’t sure just how crazy he was now, but like I said, I couldn’t take any chances. I looked over at Abby, tied over her table. Her head was up, she was watching what was going on, and god knows she couldn’t have been comfortable, but there wasn’t any expression on her face that I could see. She was just waiting.

“Okay,” I said then. “All right, Ramsey. Sure. You let Molly go, I’ll do anything you want. Okay?”

“You do it first,” Ramsey said. “You do it good, do it right, I’ll let her go afterwards. Can’t say fairer than that.”

“Without hurting her?” I said. “Without…doing anything to her?”

Ramsey almost grins. “You drive a hard bargain,” he says, and he runs the gun barrel down over Molly’s body to her crotch. I have to hold on to myself to keep from bursting out. “But yeah,” Ramsey says. “That’s the deal.”

“How do I know you’ll do it?” I said.

Ramsey looks straight at me then. “You ever know me to go back on my word, Josh?” he says.

I thought about that, but I didn’t really have to think about it. Ramsey’s word was always good, everybody knew it. It was part of his code. I’d never known him not to do something he said he would do. But I’d never known him to act as crazy as he was now either. Still, it was all I had to hold on to. “No, Ramsey,” I said. “I never have.”

“Then do it,” Ramsey says. He was still holding the shotgun pressed against Molly’s crotch. I could see her trying to strain away from it. She was shaking, and little whimpering sounds were coming from her mouth when she couldn’t hold them in. Her eyes were wide open, but she wasn’t looking at me. I was shaking too.

“What do you want me to do, Ramsey?” I said.

“Told you that,” Ramsey said. “Just what I asked you to do before. Want you to whip my wife for me.”

I looked at Abby. She was still holding her head up, still watching, still without any expression that I could see. Except maybe her eyes. That look in her eyes. I couldn’t hardly breathe.

“All right, Ramsey,” I said. “I will do that. But take that damn gun away.”

Ramsey didn’t move the gun. “And fuck her too,” he said.

“Damn you, Ramsey!” I said. I looked at Molly. She still didn’t look at me. “Listen, Ramsey, that’s crazy,” I said. “How can I–”

“You done it before,” Ramsey says. “Bet you can do it again.”

“Not like this, for Christ sake! Not with you–not in front of–”

Ramsey kind of sighs. “Okay,” he says. “Then there’s no deal.” He pulled the gun away from Molly and went around behind her. He held the shotgun in his right hand and brought his other hand up around to take hold of her breast. He squeezed it hard, and Molly cried out. I took a step toward him, but he brought up the gun and leveled it at me. His hand was big enough so he could hold it steady and still put his finger on the trigger. I stopped.

“Damn it, let her go!” I said.

“Nope,” Ramsey said. “Fair is fair, right?” And he squeezed harder. Molly kind of screamed, and I could see her trying to double up, to ease the pain some way, but she couldn’t.

“All right!” I yelled at him. “All right, damn you, stop! I’ll do it!”

“Thought you might,” Ramsey says. His hand was still tight on Molly’s breast. She was crying now, soft little sobs, and twisting with the pain. “Coulda saved a lot of trouble, you did what I asked you in the first place.”

“Let her go first,” I said. I sounded like I was choking. “Untie her and let her go, and I’ll do whatever you damn want.”

Ramsey shook his head. He let go of Molly’s breast, but he ran his hand over it, rubbing it, tweaking the nipple with his fingers. “Can’t do that, Josh,” he says. “Need her here to make sure you do it right. Besides, I want her to see it.”

I started to curse him out, but I was afraid he would hurt Molly more, so I stopped. I wanted to say something to her, but I didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything I could say. But I swore to myself that whatever happened, I would kill Ramsey when this was over. If he didn’t kill me first, I would kill him for sure.

“Go on,” Ramsey said. He was kind of grinning now, but his eyes were hard as ever. Harder. “Do it. You can use your belt on her. And don’t hold back, Josh. You hear me? I’ll know if you hold back, okay?”

I couldn’t think straight. All I knew was I had to keep him from hurting Molly. I started unbuckling my belt. My hands were shaking. I made them stop. I opened the belt and pulled it out. It was wide and thick, wider than the one Ramsey had used in Charley’s place. But I hadn’t never whupped anybody with it. Never wanted to. Didn’t want to now.

Ramsey was waiting. Didn’t say anything now. But his hand slid over to Molly’s other breast. Playing with the nipple. Molly wasn’t looking at anything. She still made that little sobbing sound once in a while, but you could tell she was trying not to.

Abby was just watching, holding her head up that way. But when I went around behind her she dropped her head, like she was waiting. Her hair hanging down almost to the floor. It would’ve made my dick hard again, like back in Charley’s, seeing her that way, if it hadn’t been for Molly and what Ramsey was doing.

I was holding the belt by the buckle, and I knew what I was supposed to do, what I had to do, but it was like I was paralyzed or something, my arm wouldn’t move. Ramsey stood waiting. Looking with those eyes. I looked back at him. Probably not more than a few seconds, but it seemed like a hell of a long time we stood there staring at each other.

“Okay,” Ramsey says then, still looking at me. “If that’s how you want it, Josh.” And he brings his hand down off Molly’ breast and opens his shorts with it. They fall down. And Ramsey’s dick is big and hard, and then he started rubbing it against Molly’s ass.

“Goddam you, Ramsey!” I shouted, and it was like something exploded inside me, and I raised my arm and whipped the belt down onto Abby’s backside, I guess about as hard as I could do it. I was still shouting as I did it, but not words now. Abby made a little sound, but I could hardly hear it.

“That’s it,” Ramsey said. “But harder. She can’t hardly feel that.” He wasn’t rubbing against Molly any more but his cock was still right up against her rear end. “Whip her back too,” he says.

Now like I said, I wasn’t wanting to whip Abby or anybody else, but now I just went crazy. I guess all that hate and fury that I was feeling for Ramsey just had to come out somehow, and the frustration that I couldn’t do anything to stop him, and it was like everything inside me was boiling over, and once I started doing it I couldn’t control myself. I started bringing that belt down with all the strength of my arm and with strength I didn’t even know I had. I could hear myself yelling as I did it, and then I could hear Abby yelling too, and I whipped her ass and her back and the backs of her legs, her kicking legs and her squirming body and I did it and did it and did it until Ramsey said, “Okay. stop.” He didn’t say it loud, but he said it sharp enough to penetrate even my craziness, and I stopped. I was panting like crazy and sweating, and my legs felt weak.

And my damn dick was hard as steel.

Abby was moaning and crying, but those moans were not just from the pain. She’d moaned that way when Randy had whupped her back at Charley’s, and when he’d made her tighten those clamps in his hospital room. And when I’d been humping away at her stretched out body at their house, with the iron cuffs digging into her wrists and ankles. She was hurting all right, she was hurting bad, god knows I’d hit her hard enough, but just like she told me, that was what turned her on.

But what was my excuse?

I expect Ramsey could see the bulge in my pants, and I expect Molly could see it too, if she was looking. But I couldn’t do anything about it.

“Knew you could do it,” Ramsey says. He was still kind of grinning, but his voice was flat. “Time to fuck her now. Go on.”

Well, my dick might have been ready, but the rest of me wasn’t. Even with a goddam hard-on, I didn’t see how I could make myself do it. Not with Ramsey right there, with his damn gun. Not in front of Molly, for Christ sake. It was impossible. I stood there, still panting, and even as I thought about it my cock started to go down.

But not Ramsey’s. It was as hard as ever, and now he started rubbing it on Molly’s ass again. His free hand rose to her breast, and then moved down toward her crotch.

“All right,” I croaked out. “Goddamit, all right. Stop. I will.” And I made myself reach for the buttons on my pants and I got them open somehow and they fell down and my cock was already sticking out of my shorts, but it was only half hard now and kind of drooping.

Ramsey made a short sound that might’ve been his idea of a laugh. I had never heard Ramsey really laugh, so I wasn’t sure. “Maybe you oughta whup her some more so you can get hard again, boy,” Ramsey says. “But never mind. Abby can take care of that. Right, Abby? She ever use her mouth on you, Josh? It’s a treat, let me tell you. She’s a real fine cocksucker, Abby is.”

I’d never heard him talk so much either. I knew he’d gone crazy. I was scared. For all of us.

“Go on, Josh,” Ramsey says. “Go around and let her suck your dick. Go on.”

I made myself move. I must’ve looked pretty damn silly with my pants around my ankles, but I wasn’t thinking about that. I kind of shuffled around the table till I was standing in front of Abbhy’s head. She lifted it up to look at me. She was still making soft little moaning sounds and kind of catching her breath quick, and there were tears on her face and in her eyes, but even so those eyes had that shiny melting look that I remembered from before. My throat got tight and I took a step closer to her.

“Okay, Ab,” Ramsey said. “You know what to do.”

And Abby did it. And Christ, Ramsey was right, she knew what to do all right. She started with her tongue, and then she used her lips, and finally she took me right in her mouth and used all of it, and I had to try real hard not to do some moaning myself. I didn’t exactly forget about Molly and Ramsey, but damn, I think everybody in the world could’ve been watching right then and it wouldn’t've kept me from getting hard again. Not with that mouth on me. I could still hear her making little sounds around my dick, little sobs and whimpers, but it didn’t seem to interfere with anything she was doing, and pretty soon it was hard for me to keep from pushing myself at her. Not that she didn’t take me in all the way, because she damn well did, but just because I wanted to fuck that mouth, and I couldn’t help that. But I didn’t.

Then Ramsey says, “Okay, stop.” And Abby stopped. She pulled her mouth away, and I was hard all right. I don’t think I was ever harder in my life. And Ramsey says, “Told you, Josh, didn’t I? Okay, you can fuck her now.”

I couldn’t hardly see straight anymore. I sure as hell couldn’t look at Molly. I just stood there for a minute, and then I started to move, shuffling around to the other end of the table with my damn pants still around my ankles. That table was just high enough for me to do what Ramsey wanted, and Abby was bent just right too. I got between her legs and I didn’t let myself think about anything and I brought my dick right to her and she was wet and ready, and I pushed into her, all the way in, and she kind of tossed her head back and made a little cry, and then she lowered her head again and let it hang like before and she started gasping and groaning as I started to fuck her.

I did it hard. I was pissed off, like when I’d started whipping her, but now I guess I was mad at myself along with everything else. I kind of hated myself for enjoying Abby’s mouth, and now her pussy too, and for getting hard when I whipped her. And I was scared, but all of that didn’t stop me from fucking her, and from wanting to fuck her, and doing it as hard as I could. Till I heard Ramsey telling me to stop.

“Fuck her ass,” Ramsey says.

I heard a sound from Abby. I couldn’t tell what it meant. I still had my dick inside her but I wasn’t moving now. Fact is, I hadn’t never done that before. Oh, I knew about it all right, and maybe I was a little curious about what it’d be like, but I’d never actually done it. Not even with Molly.

“That wasn’t in the deal, Ramsey,” I said. I was breathing hard from fucking Abby.

“Oh no?” Ramsey says. “Well hey, Josh, if ass-fucking isn’t part of fucking, then I guess I can fuck little Molly here up the ass without going back on my word, wouldn’t you say?” And he rubbed himself against Molly’s backside again.

I started to curse him, but I was so crazy mad that the words wouldn’t come. And he was still holding that damn shotgun steady as a rock, pointing right at me. I made some kind of sound and I pulled out of Abby’s pussy and brought my dick to her asshole. It was right there, but it was so small and tight-looking that I didn’t think I could get into it. At least I was all wet and slippery from being in her cunt, so I just pressed it against her and held it steady and pushed at her until the tip went in. Abby made a noise, one of her noises, and I knew it had to be hurting her, but I kept pushing. I got a little way in and it was so tight it seemed impossible, and then I couldn’t go in any more. I pushed, but I couldn’t, and Abby was groaning, and then suddenly she gave a louder noise and sort of unclenched or something, and I was pushing in, going in deep, and it was still so damn tight, and she was squirming but I was pushing in and in until I was in all the way.

Abby was sobbing now and still squirming, even though she was tied and all. Her ass was clutching me so hard I didn’t know if I could actually fuck her that way, but I soon found out. I could and I did. And Christ, it was like nothing I ever felt before. Again I nearly forgot about Ramsey and Molly, until Ramsey started to move. He moved away from Molly, still holding the gun, and limped around to the front of the table, where Abby’s head was. His cock still sticking up, big as hell. Then he takes hold of Abby’s hair with his free hand and pulls her head up that way. Abby is moaning and crying and now she gives a little scream as he pulls on her hair. I couldn’t see her face, but I’m betting it’s got that look on it as he looks down on her, that worshipping look. He holds her that way for a minute and then jams his cock into her open mouth.

Now I’m fucking her at one end and Ramsey is fucking her at the other. Because that’s what he’s doing, he’s holding onto her hair to keep her head up and just fucking her mouth, moving pretty hard too. The sounds she’s making are muffled now, not only by Ramsey’s dick but also because there’s kind of a roaring in my ears. I was close to coming and a goddam army couldn’t've stopped me now. I heard myself shouting and I grabbed hold of Abby’s hips and banged into her harder than ever and I just shot and shot and shot, right up her ass, and then it was over.

Ramsey was still banging away at her face, but not for lonq. But he didn’t come in her mouth, like he’d done back at Charly’s. He pulled out and shot his wad all over her face, still holding her head up by her hair. I couldn’t see it, but I could see the stuff shooting out of his dick, and there was a hell of a lot of it, and it must’ve gone all over her face and her hair and everything. Then he let her go and her head fell down again and she was making those noises. Those Abby noises.

“Okay,” Ramsey says then, real quiet, and it was like something just all at once drained out of him, and not only his jism. He looked old all of a sudden. He broke open the shotgun and dumped the shells out of it, then just dropped it on the floor. He pulled up his shorts and buttoned them. Then he limped over to where Molly was, picked up a folding knife off a table and cut through the rope that ran over the ceiling beam. Molly’s arms came down and then she just kind of collapsed and laid there on the floor making little whimpering sounds. Her wrists were still tied together, but Ramsey didn’t bother about that. He limped over to a big chair and just fell down into it.

“Okay,” Ramsey says again. His voice sounded old too. “Did what I had to do,” he says. “Get out now. The two of you.” Then he nods over to Abby, still tied over the table. “Take her too, you want,” he says. “I’m done with her.”

Abby’s still making her moaning sounds, but now she gives a kind of scream and her head comes up, and now I can see her face dripping with Ramsey’s come. Ramsey doesn’t even look at her.

I am staring at him. My head feels like it wants to explode, and I can feel that red rage going through me again. I can’t believe Ramsey has left that shotgun right there on the floor. All of a sudden without even thinking I’m lunging for it. I expect Ramsey to come out of his chair and stop me, but he doesn’t even move. I pick up the gun and a shell and jam the shell in and close the gun and point it at him.

“I said I’d kill you, Ramsey,” I told him. I couldn’t even recognize my own voice, it was shaking so much and my hands were shaking too, but I kept the gun right on him. “I told you I’d kill you, you son of a bitch. Told you.” I even brought the gun up to my shoulder, my finger on the trigger. There was like a haze in front of my eyes, but I could see him all right. All I had to do was pull the trigger.

Ramsey never moved. “You ain’t gonna shoot me, Josh,” he says. Then he shrugged. “You want to do it, go ahead,” he says. “But you won’t. You ain’t got the guts.”

I was standing there ready to do it. I was shaking and aiming right at him and all I had to do was pull the trigger. But I couldn’t. I stood there like that and I told myself to do it, and I couldn’t.

Then Molly was screaming at me. “Do it!” she yelled. Her voice was all shrill and hoarse and crazy. “Kill him! Shoot him. Do it, damn you! Do it!” She was lying there on the floor and when I looked at her her face was all twisted up, and she was screaming at me to do it.

But I couldn’t.

I lowered the gun off my shoulder. I was still holding it, but I knew I wouldn’t use it now, and so did Ramsey, and so did Molly. She started crying now and she tried to get up on her feet but she couldn’t quite make it, so she started kind of crawling toward me, with her tied hands. “Damn you!” she says, choking and sobbing. “Damn you, kill him, kill him, do it!”

“I can’t do it,” I said. I still sounded strange. “I can’t shoot him. We’ll talk to the police, Molly. He’ll go to jail. He won’t–”

“You fuck!” Molly shrieks, and I swear I never heard her use that word before in all her life. But I never saw her look like that either, her eyes are all crazy and her face is twisted and she’s yelling and crying at the same time. “You bastard!” she yells, and she’s practically choking. “What’s wrong with you! What kind of a man are you! Kill him! Kill him now!”

“Molly–” I start to say.

But now she’s just shrieking, trying to say something but I couldn’t make out the words anymore, and she was still crawling, on her knees and her tied-together hands, and when she got to me she raised up on her knees and made a kind of crazy try to grab the gun, but I pulled it away and she fell back down. Now she’s moaning, still crying. I broke the gun open and dropped the shell out and kicked it away, and then I threw the gun to the other side of the room. Then I got down and reached for Molly to untie her wrists, but she pulled away from me.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouts. “Don’t touch me, damn you. Damn you!”

“Molly–”

“Fuck you!” She’s really hysterical now, and I didn’t know what to do. “Fuck you!” she yells again. “You’re not a man, you fuck! You’re a worm! A fucking worm! At least he–” She breaks off then, she’s crying too hard to talk, but then she stops. Like all of a sudden. She’s breathing hard, she still sobs a little, and her eyes still look funny, and  her voice sounds strange, but it’s lower now. “At least he’s a man,” is what she says. “He’s not a worm. He takes what he wants. He does what he wants. He’s a man. What are you?”

“Molly–” I reached for her again, but she moved away, and then she started crawling across the room toward where Ramsey was sitting. I started to go after her, but my goddam pants were still around my ankles. I cursed and pulled them up real quick, but by the time I got them buttoned she was there in front of him. Ramsey was just looking at her. No expression on his face. Even what she said to him didn’t seem to surprise him, but it damn well surprised me, I can tell you that for sure.

“You still want to fuck me, Ramsey?” she said.

I’m standing there staring at her. I’m what they call thunderstruck, and I couldn’t even move. Ramsey, like I said, doesn’t react at all. Just looks at her.

“You still want me, Ramsey?” Molly says again. “You’re a man, you can take me if you want.” She holds up her tied hands for him to see. “I’m still tied up,” she says. “I can’t stop you. I couldn’t stop you anyway. Take me, Ramsey.”

“Can’t do that, Molly,” Ramsey says then. “Told Josh I wouldn’t.”

“Screw Josh,” Molly says. “Screw him, he’s not a man. You’re a man. You do what you want. You want me, you said you did. Take me.”

“Nope,” Ramsey says. “Gave my word.”

“I don’t care,” Molly says, and now she starts scrabbling at his shorts, opening the buttons. It’s not easy with her wrists tied that way, but she does it. Ramsey doesn’t make a move.

“Stop it, Molly!” I said, and I started to move toward her. She turned to look at me, and damn, her face just froze me in my tracks. I can’t describe it. Her eyes were still kind of wet, but they were blazing, and her mouth was open, showing her teeth, and she looked like some kind of a wild animal, I swear.

“You touch me and I’ll kill you!” was what she said. I couldn’t believe it. I guess I could have stopped her all right, there was not much she could do to me in that condition, and I guess I should have, but the way she was looking at me and the way she sounded just knocked everything out of me. I suddenly felt weak as a baby, and I could hardly stand up.

“Come on, Molly,” I said, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. “This is crazy. Let’s–”

She made a sound like a screech and kind of exploded. She reached for something on the floor–it was the other shell Ramsey had discarded from the gun–and threw it at me. Of course she couldn’t throw too good with her hands like that, but she threw it pretty hard anyway, and it nearly hit my face, but I knocked it down. I didn’t know what to do with her like that. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do anymore. I was maybe as crazy as she was now, or as Ramsey was. I was so weak my legs were buckling, and I just sat down on the floor. Just sat there.

Molly turned back to Ramsey. His shorts were open now, and his cock was sticking up. It wasn’t really hard, but it was big as ever. Molly touched it with her tied hands. She stroked it. I heard some kind of choking sound. It was me. But I didn’t move. Neither did Ramsey.

Then she took his cock in her mouth.

I sat there and watched her sucking on his cock. I didn’t know whether to cry or scream, but I didn’t do anything. Now Ramsey looks at me. His voice is calm and even, like he’s talking about the weather. “I’m not doing anything to her, Josh,” he says. “Told you I wouldn’t, and I’m not. She’s doing it to me. Not the same thing.”

“Fuck you, Ramsey,” I said. Or maybe I didn’t say that. I don’t remember.

Molly couldn’t get all of Ramsey’s dick into her mouth, but the part she got she was sucking pretty good. She had sucked my cock too, though it wasn’t something she did a lot, and she might not have been as expert at it as Abby was, but it had still felt damn good. Ramsey’s dick was getting harder, and when she took her mouth off him it was good and stiff. But she didn’t stop. She dug her face right into his crotch and she was kissing and licking the base of it, the part her mouth hadn’t reached, and his balls too. And making little whimpering noises as she did it. Ramsey never moved.

Finlly she raised her head. She’s looking right into his eyes. “Now,” she says. She’s breathing hard. And she gets up off her knees and climbs right onto his lap and reaches down for his dick and sticks it right into her pussy as she comes down on him. Her back is to me and I can’t see her face, but her head goes back and she’s moaning. She slides down on him slowly, and she doesn’t stop till he’s all the way inside her. Then she stops and she’s moaning louder and she says something, I think she says something but I can’t make out what it is. Then she’s moving again. Up and down. Up and down. Fucking him. Up and down. Her arms come up with her wrists tied and she hooks them around his neck and she moves up and down, fucking him and moaning and whimpering and panting, and Ramsey never moves. Never touches her. He sits there and lets her fuck him. His face like stone.

I don’t know how long she did that. It seemed like a long time but I don’t know. After a while I could hear her sobbing, still moaning and panting, but sobbing too. But she didn’t stop. She just moved harder. Ramsey never made a sound, even when he came. I wouldn’t've even known he did except that Molly slowed down and then stopped moving and she sat there for a couple of minutes, breathing hard and whimpering and still sobbing, and then she unhooked her arms from around his neck and got off him and his dick was mostly soft again. She slid down and sat on the floor by his feet. She didn’t look at him again. She didn’t look at me either. She was crying.

Ramsey was buttoning his shorts like nothing had happened. I guess he figured he’d kept his word, and maybe he did, I don’t know. After a while, I don’t know how long it was, I made myself get up and I went over to Molly. She didn’t try to stop me now, and I stooped down and got her hands untied. She still didn’t look at me. I said, “Get dressed, Molly, I’m taking you home.”

She didn’t move. She just shook her head. The crying had mostly stopped now, but her breathing was kind of jerky.

“Come on,” I said. “Come on, Molly. You got to get out of this place.”

She looked at me then, and what I saw in her eyes just hit me like a punch in the stomach, I swear. It made me actually feel sick, not that I didn’t already. “Not with you,” she says. Her voice real low and strange, and the sound of it matched what was in her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

It took me a minute to be able to talk again. I had to try to be calm. “Molly, for Christ sake!” I said. “How will you get home? You can’t stay here, come on.”

“No,” Molly says.

I look at Ramsey then. No expression on his face. He just shrugs.

I didn’t know what to do. I was sick and mad and I didn’t know what the hell was happening, and I guess I lost it. “Okay,” I said finally, and I was panting like as if I just ran five miles. “Okay, Molly, you want to stay here with this–this crazy lunatic, that’s your lookout. You want to fuck him some more, go ahead. At least till the police get here.” Then, when neither of them says anything more, I turned and headed for the door.

“Josh,” Ramsey says.

I stopped. “What?”

He nods his head toward Abby again. “Take her with you,” he says.

I swear to god I’d practically forgotten about Abby. Still tied over that table, she raised her head and looked at me.

“The hell with all of you,” I said, and I walked out and got in my jeep and went back to town.

SIX

It’s kind of a wonder I didn’t kill myself driving down off those hills, crazy mad as I was, and I could hardly see. But somehow I made it back to town and I drove right to the police station. Old Lester was there, he’s the main cop we got there, and him and two young part-time deputies are the whole police department. He needs more help, like too many drunks shooting it up or something on a Saturday night, he calls the sherrif’s office over in Durston. But that doesn’t happen much.

I walk in there and he’s sitting there drinking coffee. He looks at me. “Hey, Josh,” he says. “You look all riled up, boy. What’s going on?”

“Listen, Lester,” I said, and I’m breathing hard, even though all I’d been doing was driving. “You gotta get out to Ramsey Boyce’s place. He’s gone crazy, and he’s got a girl there. Two girls, I mean one’s his wife, but he’s got another one too, he kidnapped her and she’s–”

“Hold on,” Lester says. “Just hold on there, Josh. What the hell you talking about?”

“Ramsey Boyce, damn it!” I said. “He’s got Molly up there and he’s gone crazy, Lester, I’m telling you. You gotta get up there and get her out. You better take your guys with you, ’cause he’s–”

“Wait a second,” Lester says. Lester’s not real excitable, which I guess is good most of the time, but I was ready to strangle him. “Molly, you say? Molly Harling?”

“Yes, damn it! He’s got her–”

“Okay,” Lester says. “That solves that mystery, I guess.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Her father was in here a while ago, said she was missing,” Lester says. “I got Jake and Connell keeping an eye out for her, but I figured she’d turn up all right. Shacked up with some guy, that’s usually what it is. Didn’t know it was Ramsey. His wife know about this?”

“Yes, but she’s not shacked up with him, dammit! I’m telling you, he kidnapped her! He’s got her up there and he–he had her tied up, and she’s–”

“Tied up?” Lester says. “Holy shit, you mean like with that wife of his, over to Charley’s? I heard about that. Molly like those kind of games too?”

I wanted to hit him. “It’s not like that, damn it!” I said. “She’s there against her will, Lester, and he’s–he’s–”

“Oh yeah?” Lester says. “How do you know that, Josh? How do you know what they’re doing up there anyway?”

I had to tell him, at least part of it. “I was there,” I said. “I just came from there, damn it. I couldn’t–”

Lester’s staring at me. “You were there? At Ramsey’s?”

“Yes, and he–”

“And Molly was there?”

“She still is, and you have to–”

“Ramsey’s holding her against her will, and he let you go so you could come tell me about it, or what?”

“Lester, listen, for Christ sake!”

“I’m listening, Josh. How come she didn’t come with you?”

“He’s–she–she–I mean, she doesn’t know what she’s doing, for Christ sake, and she–she just–”

“Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, all right,” Lester says. “Sounds like she wants to be right where she is. Women usually do, with Ramsey, you know that, Josh. Why, before he married that Eastern gal he had just about every–”

“No!” I yelled. “Damn it, Lester, you gotta listen to me! It’s not like that! Ramsey’s out of his head, and Molly is too, she–And Abby is tied up out there, and I don’t care if she likes it, it’s not–and Molly–”

“But you were there, and now you’re here,” Lester says.

I could have told him the whole story, but I knew he wouldn’t believe it. I couldn’t hardly believe it myself. “Lester, if you don’t go out there and get Molly back, I’ll call the goddam sherrif’s office over to Durston,” I told him. “I’ll call the state police, I’ll call the fucking FBI if I have to! I mean it, damn it!”

Lester sips his coffee. “Well, you do that, Josh,” he says. “‘Course, the sherrif will just call me to find out what the story is. He wants to come out here and go up against Ramsey Boyce for playing kinky games with his wife and your girlfriend, that’s his lookout. I sure as hell ain’t gonna. Now I’m sorry your girl is doing whatever she’s doing with Ramsey, but that’s women for you. I was you I’d go home and sleep it off. Lots of other girls around.”

I don’t even remember how I got out of there.

#

I went to my place and got out my hunting rifle. I loaded it up and put it in my jeep and started back for Ramsey’s place.

I wasn’t thinking too straight I guess. The thing is, I wasn’t thinking at all, I wouldn’t let myself. If I couldn’t shoot him before when I had the chance, why did I think I could do it now? But this was different. All I could see was Molly, up there naked and sucking Ramsey’s dick and fucking him. Of her own free will. But it’d been Ramsey that had made her crazy like that. I was ready to kill him now, if that was what it took to get her out of there.

I was only a few minutes away from Ramsey’s place when I saw somebody up ahead, walking along the road, heading down, and then I saw that it was Abby. She was walking kind of wobbly, and like she didn’t know where she was going, and when I got up to her I saw she was crying. She had a coat on. She stopped when she saw me and I pulled over.

“Abby!” I said. “What the hell? Where you going? Where’s Molly?”

She was crying hard. She kind of waved back in the direction of Ramsey’s place.

“Get in here,” I said. “What the hell’s going on?”

She got in the jeep and the coat kind of pulled open at the bottom and it looked like she wasn’t wearing anything under it. She was crying too hard to talk, and I had to wait till she could.

“Ramsey threw me out,” she says, and she can hardly get the words out between her sobs. “He–he threw me out. He said I was a whore, and he–he said he had a–a new slave now and he–he never–”

I saw red. “Molly?” I said, and it sounded like I was croaking. “He said Molly was his slave?”

She nods. “He–he asked her,” she says. “Right in front of me,” she says. She’s still crying, but not as hard. “The bastard,” she says. “‘Do you want to be my slave, Molly?’ He asked her that. And she said yes.” She starts crying harder again.

I felt sick. “She’s crazy,” I said. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. He’s made her crazy, tying her up that way and saying he’d kill her and–Jesus!”

Abby was shaking her head. “She’s not crazy,” she says when she can talk again. “She’s like me. Ramsey just brought it out in her. That’s what he does. That bastard. He’s got to her and she’s–she can’t–”

“No!” I said. “That’s bullshit. Molly’s not like that! She just–”

Abby kind of laughs, even while she’s still crying. “No?” she says. “No? You should have seen what she was doing for him before he threw me out. He made me watch. You should have seen her crawling for him. You should have seen her with her tongue up his ass. You should–”

I was really sick then. I got out of the jeep and threw up on the road, right there. I threw up until I couldn’t do it anymore. I felt like I was choking. Then I got back in the jeep and started it up and drove the rest of the way to Ramsey’s place. I parked a little ways away so he wouldn’t hear me drive up.

“What–what are you going to do?” Abby says.

“I’m going to kill him,” I said, and I picked up my rifle.

“No!” she screams out, and then she’s clutching at my arm, trying to hold on to me as I’m getting out of the jeep, and yelling. “No, Josh, no! Please! Oh god no!”

She’s yelling so loud I was afraid Ramsey might hear her, even though we weren’t that close to his house. “Shut up!” I told her, and when she didn’t I gave her a hard slap across the face. I didn’t even know I was going to do it. She stopped yelling and started whimpering, and she was looking at me with those melty eyes again.

“Don’t kill him,” she moans. “Please, Josh. I’ll do anything you want.”

“You’re crazy,” I told her. “Just stay here and be quiet.” Christ, we were all crazy. I left her there and went up the road and when I got to Ramsey’s place I snuck up and looked through the front window, and what I saw almost made me scream myself.

Molly was bent over the arm of a chair and Ramsey was fucking her in the ass.

I had a sort of side view, or three-quarters view I guess you’d say, from behind them, and they were turned away from me so I couldn’t really see their faces, but I could hear the sounds Molly was making even through the closed window. She was howling. I swear to god. Howling like a wolf, like a coyote, and I’ll never forget that sound for as long as I live. It was like she was screaming in pain, and I knew he was hurting her, he had to be, he was pounding into her ass with his huge damn dick like a fucking piledriver, but that wasn’t all it was. And she was kind of twisting like crazy and throwing her head up in a wild kind of way, but she wasn’t trying to get away from him. Once when she threw her head up she kind of turned her face toward me, and I could see her mouth wide open and I could see the tears in her eyes, but what else was there made me crazier and sicker than–well, I don’t know what.

I brought up my rifle and I was going to break the damn window and shoot Ramsey right there, shoot him right through the head with his dick up her ass, but right then I heard a sound behind me. I started to turn around, but before I could something crashed hard into my head, and I was gone.

SEVEN

First thing I felt after that, which I don’t know how long it was, was that my head was throbbing like hell, and the second thing was that I couldn’t move. For a couple minutes I couldn’t even think, and then I opened my eyes and I got it all right away.

I was tied into a chair in Ramsey’s place. My hands tied behind to the back of it, my legs tied to the rungs, and ropes around my body holding me in pretty good. Ramsey was sitting in that same chair he’d been sitting in before, looking at me. He had my rifle on the floor nearby, and his shotgun. Molly was at his feet, on her knees. And Abby was where Molly had been before, strung up in the archway with her arms over her head. All of them were naked.

“Hey, Josh,” Ramsey says.

My head was just pounding. I couldn’t even talk, it was hurting so bad. Anyway, what was I gonna say?

“Pretty good gash you got there, Josh,” Ramsey says. “Guess Abby here really whopped you with that tire iron. Guess she saved my life, the way she tells it. Never know about women. Threw the bitch out, you’d think she’d hate me, right? Think she’d want to kill me herself. ‘Stead, she keeps you from doing it. True love, I guess. Maybe I should keep her around after all. Along with this one.” He nudged Molly with his foot. “What do you think?”

Out of some dumb instinct I tried to get up, pulling against the ropes, but all it did was make my head feel like it was exploding. I was in there good and tight and I wasn’t going anyplace. I think I was shouting, but that hurt too, and I stopped. Ramsey just kept looking at me, like he was expecting me to answer him.

It took a while till I could talk at all. Then I had to force the words out through the pain. “You said you wouldn’t–do anything to her,” I croaked out. “You said you’d let her go.”

“Not holding her,” Ramsey said. “She wants to go she can go. Told her that. You want to go, Molly?”

“No,” Molly said. She was looking right at me too.

“Didn’t do nothing to her till she did it to me,” Ramsey says. “Didn’t do nothing to her she didn’t want. Right, Molly?”

“Yes,” Molly said.

“Kept my word, far as I can see,” Ramsey said. “Girl wants what she wants. Can’t help that.”

“She doesn’t want–” I was feeling sick again, but I didn’t have anything more to throw up. “She’s just–she’s–she’s not Abby, you bastard!” I felt like crying, but I wouldn’t let myself do that. “She’s not like Abby!”

Ramsey sort of shrugs. “Hey, all women are like that, deep down, Josh,” he says. “Just takes a real man to show them, that’s all.”

“Molly,” I said. “Molly–” I’m looking at her, and she’s looking back, but her eyes are empty. “Molly, for god’s sake–”

“Molly,” Ramsey says then. “Suck my dick.”

And Molly hardly even hesitates. She’s still on her knees, and she just crawls between his legs and takes his cock in her mouth. His cock isn’t hard, but she takes it in and starts to suck on it, and I can’t see exactly what she’s doing, but pretty soon her head starts bobbing up and down. Ramsey just sits there, like before, nothing showing on his face.

“Fucking bastard,” I said. It came out like a whisper. But he heard it.

“Don’t be jealous, Josh,” Ramsey says. “I’ll have her do it for you too. Kind of a parting gift, you could say.”

“Go to hell,” I said.

“Molly,” Ramsey said. “Go suck him off.”

This time she did hesitate. Her head came up and she looked at him. I couldn’t see her face, but Ramsey just looked back at her. “Do it,” he said. No expression in his voice. “Crawl over to him and suck him off. One last time.”

Molly lowered her head again, then turned and got on all fours and started crawling toward me.

“No!” I shouted. “No, damn it!” I tried pulling at my ropes again. Still a bad idea.

Molly reached me. The way I was tied she couldn’t get between my legs. She had to raise up on her knees and bend over to open my pants. Which she did.

“No!” I yelled again. “Molly, don’t! For Christ sake, Molly!”

But she never stopped. She got my belt open and my pants unbuttoned and she pulled out my cock. She wasn’t looking at me now. But she bent down and took my soft limp dick in her mouth, and I felt her lips close around it and her tongue licking at it. Even through the pain and the sickness and everything that was going on, it felt good. But I didn’t get hard. There was no way. I could feel her breasts pressing down on my legs as she did what she was doing. I could see the top of her head moving slightly. I could see Ramsey sitting there watching, like it was a movie he wasn’t particularly interested in. I could see Abby in the archway, with her arms stretched over her head, but her eyes were closed and she was kind of moaning to herself. I kept telling Molly to stop, but she didn’t. She kept her mouth around me and she kept working her tongue all around, and any other time I would have been hard as hell and blown my stuff down her throat in a minute, but not this way. After a while I heard her making little sobbing sounds in her throat as she sucked at me, but she just kept on. Until finally Ramsey told her to stop.

She pulled her mouth off my limp dick then and looked up at me, and her eyes weren’t empty now. They were hating. They were full of hate and contempt, like as if it was me who had made her do what she did.

“Christ,” she said. “You’re not a man at all!” And she kind of spits at me, or tries to, though nothing much comes out. Ramsey gives a little laugh.

“Don’t know,” Ramsey says. “Didn’t have any trouble getting it up for Abby, did you, Josh? You want her to suck you off instead?”

“Go to hell, Ramsey,” I said. “If you’re gonna kill me, do it. You sick piece of shit,” I said. “You’ll burn in Hell, you son of a bitch!” I was pulling at my ropes again, I couldn’t help it. Trying to shout and choking and hurting and crazy. Right then I didn’t really care if he did kill me, as long as I could get to him first. But I couldn’t.

Ramsey gets up then and he limps over to where Abby is half hanging in the doorway. She’s still moaning, with her eyes closed, but she opens them as Ramsey stands in front of her. He reaches out with both hands and takes her nipples between his fingers. He clamps down on them and then twists them hard. Abby screams like hell and tries to bend over, but she can’t. Ramsey holds her that way and she starts lifting her legs, first one then the other, bringing them up to try to stop the pain but it doesn’t do any good.

“How about it, whore?” Ramsey says to her. “You want to suck off your boyfriend here? Think you can do a better job than Molly? Bet you can. You scum-sucking cunt.” Then he lets go of her nipples and slaps her hard across the face. Abby is moaning and crying.

Ramsey cuts her loose then, but not like with Molly. He cuts right through the rope that ties her wrists together, like he doesn’t care if he cuts her too while he’s doing it, and in fact he does nick her skin and I can see a little blood, but it’s not a bad cut. Abby reaches out to clutch at him as she falls against him, and he steps back so that she kind of slides down his body, trying to hold on to him but falling to the floor.

“I love you, Ramsey!” she cries out between sobs. “Please, Ramsey, please, I’m sorry, I love you, please!”

Ramsey spits on her. He does a better job than Molly did, his spittle splashing onto her face as she looks up at him. Abby doesn’t even seem to notice. She’s holding on to his legs, or trying to, but he pulls away and limps back to his chair and sits down.

“Got a better idea,” Ramsey says. “Put on a show for him. You two girls. Always wanted to see that.”

Molly looks at him kind of dazed, like she can’t believe what she’s hearing, or doesn’t understand it. Abby is still crying, and I’m not sure she even heard him.

“You ever see that, Josh?” Ramsey says. “Two girls making it? In real life? Guess everybody oughta see that before they die, don’t you think?”
“Ramsey–” It’s just a croak coming out of me, and the blood pounding in my head makes me feel like I’m gonna pass out.

“Do it,” Ramsey says. “Do it good, you two. Come on, Abby. You know what to do, right?”

Abby’s sobs gradually fade out. She looks over at him, and he just looks back at her hard. No expression. Then she gives a little moan and starts to crawl over to where Molly is crouching on the floor, right in front of me. I hear Molly give a little whimper as Abby comes closer.

When she reached her Abby looked over at Ramsey again. Just for a moment. Then she turned back to Molly and brought her face to hers, as if to kiss her on the mouth. Molly reflexively turned her head away.

“No,” Ramsey said. That’s all he said. Molly made another tiny sound. Then she turned her head back and let Abby kiss her.            Abby kissed her for what seemed like a long time. Then she put her hands on her. She rolled her over onto her back, and Molly was a little stiff at first, as though she wanted to resist, but she didn’t. Then Abby started to play with her. She played with her breasts, rubbing her hands over them and tweaking the nipples. Then she moved down a little and put her mouth on them, and her hands moved down to her crotch. Molly didn’t seem to react much, but her nipples were hard. Abby moved down further. She slid her mouth over Molly’s stomach and stroked her thighs. Then she pulled her legs apart and put her face between them.

Molly jumped just a little bit and caught her breath. Her body kind of stiffened up, but she didn’t didn’t make any further sound, except for her kind of ragged breathing. Once she closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them wide, staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t see what Abby’s mouth was doing, all I could see was the back of her head, moving slightly, just slightly, up and down, side to side. Her hands reached up to cover Molly’s breasts as she went on doing what she was doing.

Then Molly began to moan. Softly at first, just barely, but I could hear it all right. At first she put one hand over her mouth, as if to stifle the sound, but soon gave that up. In spite of herself, I guess, her moans gradually got louder and longer, and then her body started squirming a little. I heard little muffled sounds coming from Abby too, and her head kept moving. Then Molly went all stiff and pushed her body up, her lower body, and she was groaning and gasping, and then she collapsed. I thought I saw tears in her eyes, but my vision was all blurry and I couldn’t be sure.

“Nice,” Ramsey said. “Your turn, Molly.”

Abby rolled over onto her back and lay sprawled out. She was panting a little. Molly was panting harder. She didn’t move for a long minute as her breathing started to slow. She was shaking her head, I didn’t know if she was saying no or if she was just still in a daze. Maybe she didn’t either. But then she rolled over and crouched up over Abby’s spread-out body.

I couldn’t watch. When I turned my head away Ramsey told me to look at them, but I told him to go fuck himself. I could hear Abby moaning, and I could hear little whimpering sounds coming from Molly, and I thought I was going to be sick again. Abby went on moaning, and then she was kind of squealing, and it sounded like she was close to getting off. And then there was the sound of a car pulling up outside. There was a light flashing on and off through the window, one of those rotating lights. It had to be the police.

Molly’s head came up. She looked bewildered and startled. Abby looked dazed, and scared. Ramsey had no expression at all. He didn’t even move.

“Okay,” Ramsey says. “We’re just having a little fun here. That’s all you girls have to say.” I heard the car door opening and closing outside. “Josh, you just think about Molly, okay? If you–” But he didn’t have time to say anything else before the knock came at the door.

“Molly,” Ramsey says. “Get the door.”

Molly got slowly up to her feet, still looking out of it. She looked around for her clothes and headed toward them.

“No,” Ramsey says. “Just like you are.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide. He looked back. There was another knock, louder.

“Now,” Ramsy says.

Molly made a little sound. Then she went to the door. And opened it.

It was Connell Dreyfuss, one of Lester’s part-time deputies, in his cop’s uniform. He was around twenty-two maybe, tall and gangly. When he saw Molly standing in front of him stark naked, it was like in a cartoon–his mouth actually fell open, and his eyes got so big it looked like they might really pop out.

“Let him in, Molly,” Ramsey says.

When he came in and saw Abby, also naked, Connell nearly fell over. I thought he might actually faint. His eyes took me in too, but he was already so overwhelmed that I wasn’t sure it even registered.

“Connell,” Ramsey says. “How you doing?”

Connell had to take a deep breath to steady himself. “Jesus!” he said then. “Jesus, what’s going on here?”

“Just having a little fun,” Ramsey says. “Right, girls?”

“That’s right,” Abby said. She had pulled herself together, and she now got up off the floor. “Just a little fun, that’s all.”

Connell looked at Molly.

“Yes,” Molly said, a little faintly, but she looked him right in the eye. “Just a little fun.”

Connell focused on me then. “But–but what–why is–”

“What’s the problem, Connell?” Ramsey said.

“Well, I–Lester told me to come out here and check things out,” Connell says. “He said, he said Molly’s father called him again, fussing at him about Molly being missing, and–and he said Josh had told him she was here and told him some kind of wild story, and–well, he told me to just come out and look things over, you know?”

I was thinking about what Ramsey had started to say to me. I knew he’d meant it as some kind of threat about Molly. I didn’t know what else he could do to her, but I didn’t want to find out. I figured Connell could see for himself that things weren’t right here. That was pretty damn obvious.

“Well,” Ramsey says, “you can tell Lester that everything’s fine. Nothing illegal here. Just playing around. It’s all a game. Molly’s just fine. You can see that, right? Tell her daddy she’s gonna be here for a while. But she’s just fine.”

Connell looked confused. “But–but why is Josh–”

“Josh got a little out of hand,” Ramsey said. “He’s the jealous type, you know? Came up here threatening to shoot me.” He indicated the guns lying on the floor. “Had to knock him out and tie him up. You better take him away with you. Put him under arrest or something till he calms down.”

I couldn’t keep quiet anymore. Like I said, I didn’t know what Ramsey could do to Molly that he hadn’t done already, but I couldn’t let her stay there. And he couldn’t do anything to her if he was in jail. And I was pretty sure he would kill me now if he ever got the chance.

“That’s bullshit!” I said. I was hoarse, but I tried to stay calm, not to sound too crazy. “Listen, Connell. Ramsey kidnapped Molly. He was holding her against her will. He had her tied up, and he– Jesus, look at me! He’s gonna kill me if he can. He’s gone crazy, you’ve got to–”

Ramsey laughed. “You’re the one that’s crazy, Josh,” he said. He looked at Connell again. “Like I said, he’s crazy jealous about Molly. But nobody’s holding her here. She’s here ’cause she wants to be. Isn’t that right, Molly?”

“Yes,” Molly said. “That’s right.”

I felt like crying. I could see Connell looking around now, taking in the guns, the bits of rope, the clothes on the floor, but his eyes always returning to the naked women. He was shaking his head. “I dunno,” he said finally. “Pretty kinky games you play, Ramsey.”

“Maybe so,” Ramsey says. “But nothing illegal about that, right?”

Connell still hesitated. “I dunno,” he said again. “Maybe I oughta call in to Lester, see what he thinks I should do.”

“No need for that,” Ramsey said. “Don’t want anly more trouble. You like these girls, Connell? Abby? Molly? Pretty sexy girls, right? Which one you like better? Or do you want both of them?”

Connell was staring at him.

“They’ll do anything you want,” Ramsey says. “Give you a good time. And then you can take Josh out of here and just tell Lester that everything’s fine. Okay?”

“Jesus!” Connell said.

“No!” I yelled.

But it was no good. Connell was a single guy, not all that bright or especially attractive, and most of the pussy he got, he got out at Anna Mae’s cathouse just outside town. There was no way he was gonna turn down an offer like that, especially with Abby and Molly standing naked right there in front of him. I yelled some more, but I couldn’t stop it. Connell looked like he was paralyzed at first, and Ramsey told the girls to undress him. And they did. Molly looked like she was in a trance, but she didn’t hesitate anymore, she didn’t protest, she just did everything Ramsey told her to do. Abby did too, like always. They got Connell naked and then Abby sucked his cock. He came really quick, and Ramsey told Molly to work on him till he was hard again, and then to fuck him, and that’s what she did. Connell didn’t have much staying power, but he kept coming back for more, and I’m not gonna tell you everything they did with him, but Ramsey kept them at it until he just couldn’t get it up again. It took a while.

After that Ramsey told Connell what he wanted him to do and say. He said that if Connell didn’t do it right he would get him in big trouble, tell Lester how Connell had attacked his girls at gunpoint, and the girls would back him up. But if he stuck to the story, Ramsey said, then Connell could come back from time to time and get a little more of what he’d just enjoyed so much.

Connell put handcuffs on me before he cut me loose from the chair. I knew nothing I said would do any good, but I tried anyway. Connell told me to shut up. He even pulled his gun. He took me out to his car and put me in the back and drove back to town.

Lester was still at the station. He didn’t bother to draw his gun. He listened to me, and he listened to Connell, and Connell told him how I was crazy jealous and had gone out there to kill Ramsey. He said Molly was fine and obviously having a good time with Ramsey and Abby. He didn’t say they were naked. He didn’t tell what they’d done with him. I told Lester the whole story, but I knew it sounded crazy, and that I did too, and I was obviously out of my head with jealousy and hatred of Ramsey because he’d taken my girlfriend. I knew that was what Lester believed, and I knew that’s what Ramsey would tell him if he bothered to ask him. And that that’s what Abby would tell him. And Molly too.

Lester finally said these were serious charges, and he was gonna put me in a cell overnight to calm me down, and maybe he’d go out to talk to Ramsey in the morning. Next day he told me that Ramsey wasn’t going to press charges, but he said I should keep away from Ramsey’s place. He said if I went out there again he’d put me away for a lot more than a night. He said he was keeping an eye on me.

I didn’t go out there again. I knew it wouldn’t be any use anyway. I didn’t go back to the mill either. I got myself a job in a garage out at Summerton, fixing cars. Molly quit her job at the hospital and she’s still up there with Ramsey. Abby too, far as I know. I heard Molly’s father went out there once, came back and never said anything to anybody about it, and he died soon after that. Nobody else ever goes out there, except I hear Connell does once in a while. Ramsey went back to work once his leg healed up. From what I hear he’s the same old Ramsey, keeps to himself, does his work, goes home. Only other time he ever comes into town is when he goes to Charley’s. Not very often. But now I hear it’s not Abby he brings with him, most times. It’s Molly. That’s what they say anway. I never go there anymore.

White land owners have been threatened, bullied, arrested and had their land confiscated or “purchased’ by government over their opposition.  Whites singled out as “troublemakers” and “racists” have been subjected to harassment and abuse.  This is the story of one such couple, Erik and Pamela Pieters.

When their land was “bought” by the government, Erik, working with a “radical” law firm, filed suit to contest the sale and get his property back.  He also wrote letters to the “resistance” newspapers criticizing the government and threw his support to opposition political parties.

This earned him the attention of the government’s state security forces.  Pieters was brought in for questioning more than once.  During these “interviews” he was browbeaten and warned to curtail his opposition to the government.

But Erik was a stubborn man and he kept writing letters and filing claims.  The word came down to intensify the pressure.   He was again picked up, but this time he was brought to a camp outside Bulawayo, run by Joshua Mutumbami.  The facility had been labeled by Western newspapers as a “torture camp”.

Chapter 2

The Whipping Post

Pieters was scared, but made sure he kept his feelings in check.  He had met Mutumbami before and hated him.  He hated all blacks and longed for the old Rhodesia.

Mutumbami disliked Pieters intensely was personally motivated by revenge.  He loved his job because it provided him with the opportunity to get even with whites.  As a boy, he had witnessed his father being humiliated, so his desire for revenge was strong.  Now, he had Erik Pieters in his grasp.  They brought the white farmer to him in his office.

Pieters’ cuffs were removed.  He rubbed his wrists as he sat down in the chair facing Mutumbami at his desk.  He looked around the room and thought to himself, ‘these kaffirs have it all to themselves now’.

“Well, Mr. Pieters, in the old days it was someone like you who summoned someone like me.  How times have changed,” Mutumbami said.

“What do you want?”

“Well, first – I want you to show me the proper respect.”

“Respect has to be earned.”

“True, and in time, I think you’ll come to respect me.  In the meantime, the government is weary of your attitude,” he said, a multitude of white teeth showing in his very black face.  He was smiling slightly and enjoying the situation enormously.

“We’ve decided that you need some persuasion to help you see the light.  When I say we, I mean, of course the government.  We’re gonna talk about persuasion today…”

Erik sat there stone faced, listening to this man go on and on…..he was waiting for him to get to the point.  He looked at him and thought, ‘what a stupid kaffir….in the old days he would have been sweeping the railway station….and doing a shit job of it at that’!

Mutumbami finally got to the point…..

“First, I’m going to give you a little tour of our facilities.  I don’t think you have an appreciation of what we do here.”

“I know just what you people do here,” Erik answered with a sneer.

Ignoring that, Mutumbami summoned two guards.

“Let’s go, Mr. Pieters,” he said to Erik.

He and the two guards escorted Erik over to the far wing of the one-story building.  Mutumbami walked Pieters to stand in front of a closed door.  Groans, cries and the sound of something being struck were heard; someone was in pain.  Pieters’ face blanched.

“Let’s go outside,” Mutumbami said suddenly and he and the two guards ushered Erik down a long corridor and thru a doorway.

Erik could see they were in the courtyard behind the main building.  There on the far side of the yard was a wooden platform with a post in the middle.  Erik looked at it and then at Mutumbami, and then he cleared his throat…

“I don’t care what you do to me.”

“I know….you old white guys are tough.  We’ve decided that it would be a waste of time to “treat” you.  But, there are other ways to get you to change your attitudes.

Just then, some guards came in to the courtyard leading a crowd of young blacks.  The men were boisterous….a group of young street punks and older men….the type that hung out on street corners in Bulawayo.  The guards brought them over to face the platform.

There were about three dozen men in the group.  They milled around – waiting.  And then Erik saw what it was they were waiting for.  Three guards emerged from a doorway leading a white woman by a leash around her neck.  Her hands were bound behind her back.

Erik recognized the woman….it was his wife, Pamela!!!  They marched her to a spot in front of the platform and turned her to face the crowd.  Her face was tearstained – she had been crying.  Erik began to make a fuss.  He attempted to go to her and when he did that, one of the guards held him while the other man punched him in the gut three or four times.

“Be a good boy,” the man beating him said to him cruelly.

The blows on his solar plexus and liver hurt terribly and Erik fell to the ground in a heap.  Rolling around in the dirt, he groaned in pain, fear and frustration.  Some part of him wanted to stay on the ground.  He didn’t want to see what they were going to do to his wife.  Now he understood why Mutumbami was so confident and smug.

The men who had brought Pamela to the platform had full control of her.  Whatever they had done to her before had made her very compliant and submissive.  She didn’t offer any resistance when they began stripping her.

Pamela was a tall, sturdy, well-built, brown-eyed 38 year old blonde mother of three, but she was like a doll as the big guards pulled off her blouse and her skirt.  Now, she was down to her bra and panties.  She had two teenaged children:  a boy of 18 and a girl 16.  She was still nursing her third child – a 12 month old baby boy.

No one but her husband and her doctor had seen her so exposed.  She was blushing from her cheeks down to her breasts.  She didn’t know where to look.  She kept wringing her hands.  She was so self-conscious – it was painful.  The leader unsnapped her bra and she felt her nipples pucker in fear and shame.  As he pulled off her bra, she sucked in her breath as the crowd became more abusive.

They had been taunting her, but now they hurled insult after insult at her.  Telling her how they would fuck her.  The verbal assault hurt…the cruel words like stinging arrows in her flesh.   As her big white tits, as large as grapefruits, with their protuberant brown nipples and aureoles were exposed and swayed, bobbed and bounced, some of the men, seeing her big tits, called her a “cow”.

Pamela winced, as she was a nursing mother and her breasts these days were for her baby.  She had nursed both her older children for more than a year each and her youngest was still at her breast three or four times a day.  To have her swollen milk laden mammaries on display for this mob was a horror to her.  Like her husband she had been raised to think of blacks as less than human.

She was sexually humiliated.  Mutumbami had the guards stand Erik up so he could watch his wife being degraded.  Erik didn’t know where to look.  He was horrified as his wife was stripped in front of him and all that black street trash, and kept turning away from the sight in front of his eyes.

“Let her go….let her go,” he started pleading.

Mutumbami just grinned.  He knew this was going to drive the old white farmer nuts.  Erik, at 48, was a good twenty years older than his tormentor….

Pamela, meanwhile, still had her panties on.  The leader made a motion with his hand and told her to take them off herself.  He wanted to humiliate her totally… and making her take an active role in her own debasement was a nice sadistic touch.

“Take ‘em off and show us your fat white ass, cow,” is how he put it.

She looked at the men and then at the crowd and blushed furiously as waves of humiliation overwhelmed her.  She was wearing full-cut, white, cotton panties.  She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slowly pulled them down and kicked them off.  Her tits bobbed and jiggled and her nipples stood up like swollen thumbs.  They mob went wild now that she was naked.

Now that she was completely nude, the guards turned her way and that.  Pamela was mortified.  Never in her whole life could she have imagined that she would have to strip down in front of kaffirs.  The men jumped up and down and howled as Pamela was exhibited to them.

She instinctively used her right hand and arm to cover both her tits and her other hand cupped her pussy.  Her white skin made her stand out in the mid-day sun.  The leader made her put her hands down at her sides.  Then he began feeling up her tits.  As soon as he squeezed them, droplets of milk appeared on the tips.  Pamela groaned in shame.

Seeing that she was lactating, he began to milk her.  Soon he had her tits oozing. He kept milking them and they began to drip and then squirt milk.  Pamela covered her face with her hands.  She was so embarrassed.  One of the most private, personal and loving of bodily functions was on display for the amusement of a rowdy crowd of animals.  Something he did, or a sound, or just her own body provoked the “let down” response, and Pamela’s tits swelled and then began spraying her milk.

The crowd, seeing this, began calling her “cow” and bellowing with delight.  Pamela looking down saw two big, black fingers pinching and pulling on her engorged nipples to make her milk squirt and spray.  She closed her eyes as this was mental torture for her.  She was blushing so much it seemed to hurt.  She prayed silently for this to stop.

Pamela began sobbing softly as he milked her for the mob’s enjoyment.  Pamela closed her eyes and bit her lip; there was nothing she could do to make him stop.

The mob milled about, as close to the platform as the guards would permit. They had been drinking beer since the morning and, now at 2 o’clock, the mood was soccer match loud and angry.  Barefoot and naked, Pamela was in for an ordeal.

“You need to watch, Mr. Pieters,” Mutumbami said to Erik in a mocking tone of voice.

Erik stared at the crowd; then at Pamela and grimaced.  The platform was just a few feet high with a small step; the guards pushed Pamela up and onto it. Her large white full globes with her big brown erected nipples oozing and dripping milk had brought the crowd to a fever pitch.  The noise was deafening.  Erik looked on in horror as his wife had been made the center of attention in a sick exhibition.

“Let her go, Mutumbami.  I’ll do whatever you want, I swear.”

“You’d promise me the moon right now, Mr. Pieters.  But, you just watch.  This is what you need…..”

The mob continued to yell obscenities and make rude gestures – verbally assaulting Pamela and Erik wanted to cover his ears and his eyes.  His wife was naked in front of kaffir hooligans and there was nothing he could do about it.

The leader made her put her hands by her sides and turn around.  Then he buckled a leather belt tight around her waist.  In the middle of the belt in the back there was a thin, rough leather strap – about 4 feet long.

It had a thumb-sized, wooden plug threaded on it, so that the plug could slide up and down on the strap.  As they turned her to bind her wrists, Pamela had the strap dragging behind her, like a tail.

The guards tied her wrists and pulled them over her head to tie them to hooks on either side of the post.  Pamela, now bound for whipping, was standing flat on her feet, with a little slack in her bonds.  Then, the leader reached underneath and grabbed the strap.  He took hold of the plug and greased it up with something he had in a tube.

He separated her asscheeks and grinning as he wormed the plug around, got it right at her tightly clenched anus and pressed it against her asshole.  Pamela tried to resist the intrusion into her tightly clenched orifice.

“Oh, no…..Oh………pleeeeease…..no……please…..please no…not…there……please…oh…..uh…..oh……..uhhhh…uhhhh,” she protested.

He kept pressing and, with a twisting motion, forced it thru her tight anal sphincter.  Once he had it fully seated in her rectum, he pulled the strap tight between her cheeks and over her cunt lips. Eventually the thin strap would work its way in between the lips of her sex to torment her also.  He pulled it forward and hooked it to the pole.

The plug in her rectum was an uncomfortable intrusion into her most private orifice.  It had been lubed and the grease heavily laced with the hottest Indian chili powder.  It was already starting to burn.  Feeling the building, hot sensation, Pamela began wiggling and squirming.

They didn’t fetter her ankles.  The position would become a torture after 5 minutes with her arms over her head and the thin, rough strap, tight in her crack, was already chafing.

Pamela began to pull on the ropes binding her and squirm.  Feeling the burning plug in her asshole, she began to wriggle her butt. Seeing her “dance” the mob reacted too.

“Hey slut, sit on my cock and wriggle like that,” someone yelled, making the others clap, laugh and mock her.

Pamela wanted to die.  Feeling the plug in her shit-hole burning hotter and hotter, she squeezed her cheeks together, seeking some relief.  The mob liked it when she clenched her buttocks.  The chili powder continued to burn and irritate her asshole and it got much worse as time went on.   She squirmed and as she did so the strap slipped between her labia and rode in her crack.

She quickly discovered that squeezing the muscles in her asshole was a mistake because it increased the burning sensation.  It felt like someone was holding a lit match to her anus when she did that.  She felt like she had entered “hell”.

There was no set number of strokes for her whipping; it was up to the leader.  He was going to use a whip made from two 18” lengths of automobile fan belt mounted on a 12” wooden handle.   He held it casually in his right hand – came over and patted her ass with the handle.  Pamela looked back fearfully over her shoulder.

“Oh God,” she whimpered.

Erik’s stomach was in knots as he watched his wife, now stripped and bound to a post, ready for her whipping.  He would have taken her place if he could.  He hated Mutumbami more than ever.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, turning to Mutumbami.

“Oh, but I do, Mr. Pieters,” Mutumbami said grinning at him.

Meanwhile the preparations for Pamela’s whipping continued.  Erik was sick now that he realized there was nothing he could do to stop it.  He watched, along with everyone else as her tormentor teased her buttocks with the handle.  Running it slowly and teasingly up and down her crack – making her clench.

This set a fire to roaring in her shit-hole and she bounced up and down on her toes – doing a little “dance”.  It was sickening to her how easily they were able to make her humiliate herself.  Her tits continued to ooze and drip milk…

He ran the handle up and down the crack of her ass and then poked her with it to simulate sodomy.  She clenched her cheeks to deny him entry and whimpered at the violation.  Every time she clenched, it burned.

‘She has a big, fat, white ass – perfect for the whip’, her tormentor thought to himself as he studied the flesh before him.

He spent a moment and took each of her fat hinds in his hands and bounced them lewdly up and down.  The mob began howling like banshees at this.  Finally, he took a position behind her.

“Are you ready, cow,” he asked her?

“Oh God….no….please….no.”

He began whipping her, making the fan belt lashes land heavily on her full buttocks.  Each blow sounded like a firecracker.  He made sure he landed a few low – to strike her on the “crease” – the area between her butt cheeks and her thighs. He whipped the backs of her thighs too.  Soon her buttocks and thighs began to show the heavy marks of the belts with angry red stripes appearing after each blow.

She had begun to sweat heavily now too, and hugged the post, shaking under the lash.  Her sweat ran off her ….and as she pressed herself up the post, she compressed her tits and this made her breasts leak.  She was a wet and messy doll ……sweating and jerking in her bonds as each blow landed.

Erik kept looking and then turning away.  He was in hell too.  When he tried to turn away, Mutumbami had the two guards force him to watch as his wife was whipped.

Pamela grunted during the first five or six, and then began to groan and finally cry out as her tormentor really laid the whip on her.  She clenched her cheeks involuntarily, but the strap between her legs and the plug in her ass hurt so – she was working hard to concentrate and keep herself from clenching.

Without being able to tighten her asscheeks against the blows, they hurt so much more.  The caused a raw, red stripe to appear with each blow.  She lost control, at one point, and humped the post – like she was fucking it and this made the mob yowl in delight.

“Lookit the whore fuck the pole.”

She hugged the post and groaned in pain every time she lost control and clenched her butt cheeks.  As long as she didn’t squeeze her asshole, the capsicum burned low.  When she lost control, it flared up hot and nasty.

Her plump globes were alive as they jiggled and quivered in between blows as she tried to shake off the pain.  It was erotic, the way her ass cheeks danced.  The plug in her rectum, the strap tight in her crack and the belt landing on her butt made her dance, and got the mob to count the strokes, clapping and yelling at each one.

“Twelve….thirteen…..fourteen….fifteen.”

Her cheeks were on fire.  When a stroke landed on a fresh spot it hurt so badly.  When the tips landed in her crack, Pamela screamed in agony.

“Oooooooowwwwwwww…….ooooooooHHHHHH!”

“Oh God …OOhhhhh, Ooohhhh God…..oooowww…..uuuuhhhh,” she cried out.

Pamela began sobbing like a baby as the blows turned her ass into two red, raw slabs.  Her tormentor was a tall, lean thug with a long arm and he landed plenty of heavy ones on the full fat meaty portions of her ass.  Her butt was soon criss-crossed by red weals and swellings where the strokes had overlapped.

Her face was wet with tears when the count reached 25.  When he laid on five hot, hard ones fast – she fainted.  Mutumbami held up a finger to call a halt.  The leader nodded and stopped.  Pamela’s buttocks were thoroughly beaten.   Many of the weals would soon turn purple.

The mob’s blood lust had been given a shot when Pamela fainted.  They would have liked to have the woman turned over to them, but it was not to be, as the guards untied her and hustled her away.  The crowd would have liked more, but they had been given their little show.

Erik took his wife’s whipping very hard.  He cursed the ‘black devils’, as he called them under his breath.  He hung his head in pain and shame – his hands balled up into fists in his pocket.

Mutumbami stood in front of him and said, “Drop the suit, Mr. Pieters and avoid associating with the resistance.  What you’ve seen here today ….well….you don’t want to come back here again.  You be smart now.”

Eric was released.  Pamela was returned to him the next day.  She didn’t know he had seen her ordeal.  He didn’t want to admit, at first, that he had been forced to watch and couldn’t do a thing to help her.  She didn’t blame him, for she was a supportive wife.  Erik kept apologizing to her, feeling totally responsible for what happened to her.

Chapter 3

The Theater

Both of them tried to get on with their life, but two months later, after having written a letter to one of the white resistance newspapers, Erik got a call.  The voice warned him that he was courting trouble again and then hung up.  He was now on high alert.

He had to go to town and worried about leaving his wife alone.  So, he dropped Pamela off at friends so he could run his errands.  He was just getting out of his car when he was accosted on the street by three goons – state security types.

“Come with us,” they said as they cuffed him and whisked him off.  He soon realized where they were headed and he silently cursed his fate.  He knew that he was in for it.  But he hoped they had not gotten to Pamela.  The ride was a torment as he worried about what was in store for him.  He was taken directly to Mutumbami.

“Well, I see you didn’t take my advice,” the security chief said without a smile on his even black features.

“Look, Mutumbami, all I did was write a letter.”

“Yeah, that’s right.   You still don’t understand, do you?  Well…… when you do something we don’t like……you have to pay.  It’s that simple.  And it’s that time again,” he said with a lock of mock concern on his black face.

“Look, I’ll write another letter.  I’ll deny what I wrote.”

“It’s too late for that, Mr. Pieters.”

Mutumbami and two tall guards with facial scars took Erik over to the other side of the compound.  This was the wing where he’d heard someone being tortured. They brought him to a special room.  Other than two chairs, there was nothing in there but a big glass window covered by a curtain.  It was dark – there was no light in the room other than what shone in from the hall.

They sat him down in front of the curtain.  They bound him hand and foot to the chair.  Then they gagged him.  Once seated and bound, Mutumbami pulled up a chair to sit just behind him to his right.  He began chuckling.

This unnerved Erik, but what was behind the curtain really riveted him.  He had a feeling that Pamela was behind that curtain.  Then one of the guards closed the door and they were in the dark.  Some light shone thru the curtain.   There was another room on the other side of the window.

“This is a theater, Mr. Pieters,” Mutumbami announced to him.  “On the other side of the curtain is the stage.  You’re gonna see things there you’ve never seen before.  Things you won’t believe.  Things you won’t forget for as long as you live.  Let’s listen in first.”

There was a big speaker mounted on the wall to their right.  One of the guards went over and turned the dial on a small box by the light switch.  Erik could now hear voices.  It was two men and a woman.  He heard her voice – Pamela’s.  Teary, but hers.

“Oh PLEASE, LET ME UP….PLEASE, I CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE….IT HURTS…..LET ME UP…PLEASE…..OW…OW…OW.”

Erik was totally transfixed at what he was hearing.  It was awful….but he wanted to see too.  He wanted to see what they were doing to her.

“Ah, your wife,” Mutumbami whispered from behind him. “Do you want to see her?”

Erik could only nod.  The guard went over to the curtain and pulled on the cord.  What greeted Erik’s anguished eyes was the sight of his wife, seated on a wooden armless chair.  Her hands had been pulled behind her through the chair’s slats and secured with handcuffs.

She was wearing shorts and a sleeveless white blouse, but they’d pulled down her shorts and her panties so that she was sitting on her bare ass.  Her blouse had been pulled open and her tits were out of the bra cups.  Her nipples were swollen and puffy.  A guard sat next to her on a stool with a bored look on his face.

Pamela’s eyes were shut.  It was obvious she was in pain.  Erik didn’t see it at first, but then one of the guards pulled her legs up and propped them up on a box, that’s when Erik saw what was hurting her.

She was sitting on a wooden wedge with a very sharp edge.  It was fixed it to the seat and her tender pussy slit and ass crack were being cleaved by the sharp edge of that wedge, with nothing to protect her.  Now with her feet up, there was even more pressure on her slit.  They had been letting her sit for awhile and now they propped her legs up to make it hurt in a different way.

“Please ….Please…PLEASE…..it hurts…..please…let me up…PLEASE.”

She squirmed on the hurtful wedge.

“Watch this,” one guard said to his comrade as he pushed the play button on a portable tape recorder he had in his hand.  As Erik watched, the sound of a baby crying could be heard.  As soon as Pamela heard it, her breasts began to swell and then spray milk.  They had taped her baby crying and now, her “let down” response kicked in.

The guard, with the recorder, came over and tapped on her swollen tits.  They were full and tight.

“They’re tight as a drum, aren’t they, cow?”

“Oh God…..they hurt….let me go please.  Pamela had finished nursing her son about 30 minutes before they picked her up.  Now that she could hear him crying, her breasts responded and they filled with milk for a nursing session.  Unless they were emptied, her tits would soon ache….

He put down the recorder and picked up a glass jar.  He held it up in front of her face and said to her, “you’re gonna need to have those big milk pots emptied….isn’t that right, cow?’

“Oh God….let me go…..please…..”

He grabbed her right tit by the aureole and began squeezing and pulling her nipple to milk her.  Just like the udder on a cow.  Pamela began spraying into the jar.

“Please, that’s for my son…..this is wrong….please….”

“I’m gonna give your milk to my dog,” he said leering at her.

He continued to milk first one tit and then the other.  Squeezing and pulling ……..Pamela kept her eyes closed as it was a huge humiliation to have this done to her. When he had the jar half-full, he stopped.

“You play with her,” he said to the other guard.

“No…..please don’t ……please,” Pamela begged.

The other man licked his lips and bent down to bite and then suck on her left tit.  He worked at draining that one, before he switched to her right tit.

It hurt when he bit them and it made her cry out.  When he began sucking on them like a baby, it felt good to her to have them drained, but the sheer mortification she felt as having a kaffir thug doing it was a torment.  He continued until he had his fill from both of Pamela’s big, brown teats and then he sat down on the stool again next to her.

He picked up a stick, about 18” long with three split ends.  Grinning evilly at her, he smacked her right tit with it.  It made a sick sound when it landed; and the blow indented the soft flesh of her breast.  The split ends trapped and pinched her leaky nipple.

“Oooooooooohhhhhhhhhhh,oooooowwwww,” Pamela moaned.

Erik sat there in agony.  He writhed and struggled in his bonds, seeing what they were doing to Pamela.  He felt so helpless.  Pamela started sobbing again, like a little girl. The wedge in her crack was hurting more the longer she sat on it.  The edge had chafed her pussy, perineum, and anus until she could not sit still. There was nothing she could do to make it hurt less.  And when she moved, the guard grinned at her and smacked her tits in turn.

When he held up the stick, menacing her with it, her face was filled with fear as she looked first at the stick and then at him.  Each cruel ‘smack’ made a sick sound when he smacked her puffy nipple with it.

“OOOOHHH….UHH….OH….OH, THAT HURTS…..OHHHH!”

Every time he hit her, the impact of the blow made her tit ripple with pain.  And when he got the three split ends right on her nipple, it pinched it painfully.  After being struck a dozen times, Pamela’s nipples had swollen up so much – they were the size and color of big, purple grapes.   Her nipples being wet with her milk had made the blows hurt even more….

“Please stop….please….please….it hurts…..oh….oh…it hurts.”

Mutumbami edged closer to Erik and whispered to him, “I’m gonna keep her on that seat for another hour.”

The other guard said something to Pamela that Erik couldn’t hear.  But it got a reaction from her, because she began sobbing harder.  Then he began milking her again into the jar.  He had about 5 ounces filling it now.  He joked with the guard about feeding it to his dog…… or did his comrade want to drink it?

After 5 or ten minutes of milking her, he let the other guard smack her sweaty tits again.  She winced and groaned after each blow.  He went back to work on her nipples and treated them to plenty of hot smacks.  He took his time – working methodically to hurt her.

Pamela continued to sob as he whipped her over and over again on both nipples.  She had nursed all her children and felt that her breasts were her most female possessions.  They were for her husband’s pleasure and to feed her babies.  Now, they were providing sick perverted pleasure to these savages.  Pamela was tormented in mind and body….

Erik was beside himself behind the glass – revolted by what he saw.  Mutumabami kept him watching his wife being punished for another hour.  By that time, Pamela was sobbing and begging them like a child as the two guards had fun with her.

The guard who had milked her grabbed Pamela by the hair. He unzipped his khaki shorts and pulled out his cock and balls.  She stared at his rampant erection right in her face.   His hard penis reared up from the kinky black hair at his groin.  He stroked the shaft, rolling the foreskin back so the glans showed shiny, red and polished with the wetness already leaking from the tip.

He grinned as he enjoyed displaying his hard, hot dick to her.  She was obviously intimidated by his rampant cock….his powerful black maleness.  She had never seen a black dick before.  In fact, Pamela had never seen another male organ but her husband’s and the penises of her two boys.  She was surprised at the organ’s size; it was longer and thicker than her husband’s.

He began rubbing the head of his cock all over Pamela’s face – smearing his pre-cum in little snail trails all over her face.  Then, upping the degradation level higher, he forced her mouth open, yanked her head around by the hair and made her take it in her mouth.  He got her mouth engulfing his hot, hard dick.  The other guard took out his longer, but slimmer penis and stroking it.  He watched and his erection grew at what Pamela was being forced to do.

And when she flattened her tongue so he could run the length of his dick over its silky surface, getting it wet and harder, the guard winked at his comrade and chuckled at her sluttish behavior.  Soon the man had his dick all the way in her mouth and she was sucking on it like a baby….

At first she couldn’t take much of his length into her mouth.  Sucking and working it with her tongue and lips, she wanted him to please him so he wouldn’t hurt her tits anymore.  But when his cock touched the back of her throat, Pamela gagged.  Then he grabbed her by the hair in one hand and with his dick in the other, made her take more of it.  Pamela’s mouth began drooling……getting all wet and messy.

Soon, he was forcing his whole cock into her mouth – just face fucking her.  He would do that for a few moments, and then give her a chance to breathe.

He commanded her, “Suck it”.

With her hot mouth engulfing his organ, it reached its full erect size, and taking the whole thing became a challenge for her.  He forced it to the opening to her throat – past the back of her tongue and this made her gag over again and again.

Erik was beside himself.  He was in a state of shock seeing his wife having to suck a kaffir’s dick.  He stared and hated himself for looking!

Pamela coughed and gagged and he took it out to let her get a breath.  With her eyes tearing, her nose running and her mouth salivating like mad, she was a sloppy mess.  He let her catch her breath and then he grabbed her hair – yanked her head around a little and then holding his dick in one hand like a weapon – forced her to suck it again.

When she sucked him expertly, he praised her.  When she displeased him, he took his dick out of her mouth and slapped her face with it.  It was very humiliating…..

When he went slowly, she only gagged a little.  But when he began reaming her faster and deeper, she drooled and gagged, coughed and sputtered.  Her throat muscles tightened involuntarily every time she felt his big dick touch the back of her tongue.  She struggled to control her gag reflex, but it was very hard.

He grabbed her head in both hands and fucked her mouth.  The slow, rhythmic pace was gone.  Pamela began to feel that she was going to choke.  Her throat tightened up, no matter how hard she tried to relax.  She was drooling madly; her saliva dripped down to wet her milky tits….

Pamela tried not choking on all the saliva and pre-cum pooling in her mouth.  She couldn’t swallow it all, so it just dribbled and ran over her lips and down her chin, getting her tits sloppy and messy too.  When his hips did a little jig and he ejaculated, it squirted out of the corners of her mouth.  He made her swallow his load.  She coughed when it was over and it was a very sloppy cough.

The second guard used his dick to tease the wet, sore tips of her tits.  When he was able to make her squirt a little milk, he made sure to smear his pre-cum with her milk.  Then, he put his dick in her mouth to make her clean it.  He came very quickly in her mouth and when he was done spurting hotly and wetly into her mouth, he let her spit it up.

Most of his semen and her saliva landed on her tits. He used the head of his dick to wipe it up, and get some of her milk mixed with it.  Then, he presented it to her mouth.  Fearing another beating on her sore nipples, Pamela dutifully licked him clean.  He repeated it making her swallow most of the semen she spilled.

Finally, they released her from her bonds.  She could barely stand from the pain between her legs and had to walk with her legs held open.  Her breasts….the tips were so sore and swollen from being roughly milked and beaten that she couldn’t stand to put her bra back on.  She would find her next nursing session with her baby a very uncomfortable experience.

“That’s your lesson for today, Mr. Pieters,” Mutumbami told him when they took his wife out. “Your wife will have to pay us a visit every time you do something we don’t like.  Make sure you don’t force us to pick her up again.”

Then they released him.  Later that day, Pamela was dropped off at the front gate of their farm.  Erik toyed with the idea of not telling her that he had witnessed her ordeal, but in the end he confessed that he had been a witness.  He held and comforted her.  The next day Pamela told Eric that from now on, he needed to lay low and not cause trouble.  This started an argument, as Erik had been stubborn all his life and didn’t cotton to bending before the “kaffirs” as he called them.

Erik was also upset seeing how his wife had sucked their two cocks so expertly.  He knew she had been forced, but it disturbed him all the same.  What Mutumbami was doing to them was slowly destroying them as a family….

“Unless you want to see me hurt and molested again, you need to back off,” Pamela told him angrily.   She was frustrated and frightened.

“Of course I don’t want anything else to happen to you, sweetheart, but do we want to give in to these dogs?”

Husband and wife continued to argue.  Pamela had been thoroughly intimidated by her experience at the hands of the kaffirs.  She had always feared the blacks; and had been ready to believe all the myths about them.  What they did to her had affected her.  She had never been in a situation where she was the mercy of cruel men.  It made a huge impression on her.   She didn’t want to be back in that room again either.   So, she begged Eric to back off, but he was not ready to lie down.

Chapter 4

The Breeding Session

And so, two months later, he was back in the “theater” – bound and gagged in the dark facing the dreaded curtain.  He was dragged there screaming and kicking this time.

“I have a report that you went to that rally.  That group is full of racists and troublemakers, Mr. Pieters.  You knew when you went there; you were going to have to pay.  So, you’re back here again.  And now it’s time for more punishment, Mr. Pieters,” Mutumbami told him.

The closed curtain was ominous.  Eric sat there in the dark, shaking.

Mutumbami leaned in close and whispered to him, “Shall we listen in again, Mr. Pieters?”

Erik groaned and hung his head.  He knew that his stubborn ways had put his wife in jeopardy before.  Now he wondered what they would do to Pamela this time.  The guard went to the speaker control on the wall and turned it up.  Instantly this is what Erik heard:

“Get your panties off.”

There was the sound of Pamela whimpering and then a ‘slap’ was heard.  And then the sound of little girl weeping.  His wife was crying again.  Erik’s eyes began to tear up when he heard this.

Mutumbami, seeing Eric’s response, motioned to the guard to open the curtain.  Here is what he saw: there was a table and a bed covered with a dirty mattress in the room now.  And there was Pamela and three men.  She was looking at them with fear in her eyes.  She had already taken off her blouse, bra and skirt.

Erik winced as he watched his wife having to strip on command for them.  She was standing there in her panties and looked so vulnerable.  She was holding her tits in her hands.  She was blushing and horrified as her nipples had erected again from fear and shame.   Mutumbami knew that the sexual fear of blacks was a potent weapon to use against whites.  Abusing a white woman, and in front of he husband was the ultimate.

‘He was right’, Erik thought to himself miserably. ‘I’m seeing things in this room I’ve never seen before – and I don’t want to see, ever!”

They played the tape of her baby crying again.  And once again, Pamela felt the humiliation of having her breasts swell up, leak and then spray her milk.  They subjected her to a painful milking again.  Two of the men bit and sucked on her tits and the other man milked her into a jar…..squeezing and pulling on her teats like she was a cow.

“Please don’t do this to me,” she pleaded….”My milk is for my son.”

“Take off your panties, cow,” the leader commanded her.

Pamela was slow to respond.

“Get them off, cow,” he barked at her.

Pamela slowly reached down and hooked her thumbs into the band of her cotton panties and pulled them down.  When she was naked, she didn’t know what to do with her hands.  She kept opening and closing them rapidly and then wringing them nervously.

“Bend over the table. And spread your legs,” he said to her.

Humiliated, she shuffled over to the table.  She bent over and lay down.  Her pussy was fully exposed in this position.  Pamela had a hairy cunt with prominent labia and a tight brown asshole nestled in her crack.  The grove between her full, fat buttocks was darker than the surrounding skin, which was snow white.

Then, the guards dropped their trousers and shorts to reveal three large black uncircumcised dicks.  Pamela alternated with closing her eyes and sneaking glances at their cocks as they were revealed.  Each man was lean and hard with skin so black it was almost purple.  Erik groaned as he saw what was coming and was helpless….so helpless to prevent it.

Already hard, their dicks pointed up and look like truncheons.  Pamela licked her lips nervously.  One of the men came over and began to grab and squeeze her breasts, making her squirt again.  He took his time as he squashed her tits and pushed her thighs further apart to explore her sex.  Erik could see his wife’s wet labia, glistening as the man forced two big black fingers inside her sexhole.

He rooted around, exploring the size and feel of her hole.  It was obvious she didn’t need any lubrication.  When he pulled his fingers out, they were connected to Pamela’s sex hole by long thick strings of vaginal mucus.  He jammed his fingers back in and was soon finger-fucking her steadily.

‘Please….Please….OH GOD…please….don’t do let them do this to her. PLEASE’, Erik prayed silently to himself.

“Notice how big their cocks are, Mr. Pieters.  In a few moments one of them is going to be stretching your wife’s pussy,” Mutumbami murmured to him.

“OH….GOD NO……PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME,” Pamela wailed!

“I’ll bet it makes your little prick hard to see your wife getting ready to be fucked like a slut by these black men Mr. Pieters,” Mutumbami taunted him.  The cruel black man sat like a wraith just behind him and kept taunting Erik….trying to cause him as much mental pain as possible.

“Look at your wife’s face as he fingers her pussy.  Look how she parts her thighs for him.  And this is just the beginning.   Look how wet her cunt is already -  dripping.  Look at that!”

The leader took his turn fucking Pamela.  He kept her bent over with her elbows on the table and her head between her hands.  Her piss flaps glistened wetly in the overhead light partly hidden by the thick mat of dark brown pubic hair guarding her nest.

Erik could see him enter his wife’s vagina.  He was amazed and sickened when his wife began to moan.  The man’s large organ went in deep and he took his time to work her cunt with it.  Pamela’s moans were keyed to what he did to her with his cock.  When he forced it in deep, she groaned.

When he pounded her fast and hard, the tall blonde mother began to go, “Uh…Uh….Uh….Uh….uH…Uh….Uh…..uh….OH….OH….OHHHHHH!”

“Erik, look at the size of his dick.  Look at how he fucks your wife.   What a dirty SLUT she’s becoming,” Mutumbami laughed, as he sat behind him.

He kept tormenting Erik, especially when he noticed that there was a bulge in his trousers.

“I think you like the show, Mr. Pieters,” is how Mutumbami put it.

Just then, light spilled into the room for a moment as another person entered and closed the door.  It was a lithe young black woman.  Mutumbami had arranged for her.  As Erik watched the man rape his wife, this woman pulled up a chair next to him and, to his horror, began to unzip his trousers.

Following this she exposed his manhood.  His eyes went wide, then he jerked against the straps binding him, when he felt her take his hold of his penis.  He heard her breathing gently near his ear as she took his penis in hand and began to play with his prick and stroke him.

Erik was already fairly erect when she entered the room.  Now that she was gently masturbating him, he groaned.  He didn’t want to be aroused.  He was ashamed that he’d gotten excited watching what they were doing to his wife.  But, it was almost impossible now to will his penis to go down – not with what the girl was doing to him.   Mutumbami wanted to mind fuck him totally.  And being masturbated while he was forced to watch his wife being raped was a terrible punishment.

And so, gently and slowly, this young woman, about 19 or 20, kept sliding her hand up and down the shaft of Erik’s penis.  As his prick began to drool pre-cum, she spread it all over the head and underneath on his frenulum to wet the sweet spot.  When she sensed he was getting too close to cumming, she slowed down or stopped.  She had been instructed by Mutumbami to stretch Erik’s masturbation for as long as she could.  In effect, torture him.

As this was going on, the leader came in Pamela’s pussy and kept his cock deep in her sheath to trap his load.  Pamela was sweating and moaning when he pulled his big dick out.  Then she closed her thighs and put her knuckle up against her mouth, to bite on it aimlessly.  She seemed to be in another world.  He brought his slimy genitalia around to her face.

“Clean it,” he said to her simply.

He made her use her mouth to clean his dick, balls, and inner thighs of all traces of sweat, semen and her vaginal secretions.  Then the second man started in on her.

When the first man had her cleaning his cock, the second man moved between her legs and took his turn.  When the second man finished dumping his load of potent semen into her cunt he came over to have his cock and balls cleaned.

Mutumbami then told Erik, sitting on his other side and just behind him, “My men are trying to impregnate her, Mr. Pieters,” he cruelly told him.

“What he’s doing is making it easier for his sperm to reach your wife’s eggs.”

Erik watched as the man scooped out some of the first two men’s cum with his fingers from his wife’s pussy.  He grabbed her by the hair and made her open her mouth; then he wiped the other men’s semen on her tongue and then suck his fingers clean.  It was so disturbing to Erik….

“I’ve picked more than 20 of my best men to fuck your wife silly this afternoon.  They’re gonna fuck the shit out of her until she’s pregnant with a black baby in her belly.”

Erik groaned in his gag.  As he looked, the third man now had his cock in Pamela’s pussy and was pounding away.  He struggled not to cry.  Just then he saw the door open and watched six new men pour in – full of high spirits, laughing and slapping palms. They came in and started to drop their trousers.  The sound of their zippers opening was a horror for Erik.

To think that each and every one of them was going to fuck his wife was torture.  Erik was in hell.  When he looked up another black man was standing behind his wife’s ass – a very tall Zulu warrior type – who sported a long weapon of a cock.

Over and over Pamela had to take one cock after another in her fertile vagina as Erik watched in horror, unable to turn away for even a moment.  He was riveted that he might miss something.  He knew that this was etching the worst horror on his mind – watching men fuck his wife and seeing how she responded.

It was as if he was, in some weird way, hungry for more humiliation.  And the young black woman next to him, squeezed and stroked is penis – making it leak pre-cum.

Soon, Pamela was fuck happy.  They had worked her into such a state that she cried out for more, screaming in sheer uncontrolled lust.

“Fuck me!  Fuck me!  Fuck me you dirty sons of bitches! FUCK ME….FUCK ME….FUCK ME…. Cum in my pussy! CUM IN MY PUSSY….  I’m cumming… cumming…..I’M CUMMING….I’M CUMMMMMMMMMING!

Except for giving her some water Pamela was kept on her belly or on her back.  Her pussy became so sloppy with semen, that most of the men when they stepped up for their turn, wiped her down, before they would put their dick in her.  They used a towel for this and each time someone used it to clean her pussy, it became more soaked and disgusting.  Some of them took to stuffing the nasty, soiled cloth into Pamela’s mouth before they fucked her.

Men stood around and critiqued each other’s performance.  Or cheered their comrades on, especially when one of them made her cum or humped her like a demon.  And, Pamela came frequently, as they took turns with her.  Much to her husband’s shame….

When this group was done, another five or six big, strong men showed up.  Some men fucked her from behind with her bent over the table.  Some pushed her to the bed and fucked her with her legs on their shoulders.  Sometimes, when she came, her tits squirted and sprayed her milk.

It was a very humiliating gang rape.  They were rough with her and pulled and pushed her around like a doll.  They all fucked her liked they hated her.  When this group had done the deed, another squad came in to take their place…..

One of the men in this squad was a huge rhino of a man – muscular but with a big gut.  He was at least 6’6” and maybe as tall as 6’8” and probably weighed between 275 and 300 lbs.

When he got his turn with Pamela, he smiled from ear-to-ear.  His cock was half-hard and even then, it was enormous.  Pamela, who had been fucked by 14 men at that point, and whose pussy was loose and packed with semen, looked at it and her eyes popped open.

He had a monster between his legs in a room full of big, hard, hot dicks.  He wiped Pamela’s pussy as clean as she could….and then with her on her back on the mattress, he pushed her legs to her milky tits and then got them on his shoulders.   His dick, as he got her ready, kept lengthening and stiffening.

He grabbed it – pulled the foreskin back and forth and said, “well, white cow – you’re gonna get stretched now….”

Pamela moaned as she looked down and saw how big and thick it was. It was now fully erect.  It was at least a foot long and as big around as his wrist, which was considerable.  It seemed even thicker than it was long…..

“Oh, God….it’s so big,” was all she said.

She felt him rub her swollen, purple labia with the head of his huge dick.  He took his time and worked it into her pussy.  In a little….then out….then back in.  Erik couldn’t believe it would ever fit in his wife’s cunt.  Pamela had accepted her fate and was relaxing her sloppy wet vagina as much as she could to allow him access to her womanly depths.

He took a few minutes to work his dick in.  When it was about ¾ of the way he began to fuck her slowly.  Pamela kept up a steady stream of moans, grunts and cries as his big cock ironed out all the wrinkles in her cunt.  After a few minutes, when it had gotten it almost all the way in, he began to really put it to her.  He had stretched her so wide that even her labia were pushed into her sex-hole on the in-stroke.

Most the semen that remained in her vagina was forced out of her moist folds as his thick shaft stretched her like a fat snake squeezing itself into a small hole.

Her pussy juice and the semen from the other men wet his cock and could be seen streaking his coal black monster as he plowed her at different speeds.

He fucked her for all he was worth to be the one to make her belly swell.  Pamela began to howl like an animal when he really pounded her.  Then with a roar, he came and streams of semen were forced out of her as he pumped his cum deep into her hole.

The young girl jerking Erik off sped up her masturbation.  As Erik got closer to ejaculating, she played his penis like a violin.  She’d already made his penis drool so much his balls were wet.  When his breathing and stiffening posture told her he was ready, she jerked him off fast for a few strokes and then slow…..then went – slow – fast – slow -fast until he ejaculated.

It happened just about the same time as the big man was hosing Pamela full.   Erik came like his soul was spurting thru his penis.  He groaned into the gag as the girl milked him sweetly all thru his spasms.  It was actually one of the most physically satisfying orgasms of his life.

When the big man finally withdrew, Erik could see that Pamela’s cunt stayed open.  He could see up her vaginal sheath.  Rivers of semen ran and then drooled from her stretched cunt mouth to form a puddle between her ass cheeks on the dirty mattress.

He brought his softening monster over for Pamela to clean.  Erik watched as his wife dutifully licked the man’s balls, shaft and cockhead clean of her secretions and his semen.  This group having done its duty, the men dressed and left and the last squad showed up.  Pamela groaned when she saw more men unzipping their shorts.  They got her bending over the table and fucked her from behind, slamming their dicks into her hard and fast.  Pamela came again….

The girl continued to play with Erik, as this was happening and he got erect again.  Watching Pamela take cock after cock, he could not help himself and even though it was terribly embarrassing, the young girl was able to jerk him off again to completion.  She left him with his lap wet and splattered with his semen.

When it was all over, Erik’s lovely wife of 18 years had been fucked by 21 men.  They had filled her pussy to overflowing and beyond.  She had been in a world of soul-shattering uterine orgasms that surged from her pussy down her legs and up to her breastbone.

The “breeding session” over – Pamela lolled soaked and drenched in sweaty exhaustion on the soiled mattress.  She whimpered softly, moving her knees together and apart, waving them gently as her cunt spasmed and drooled its pearly treasure.  Her pubic hair was plastered down with sweat, her pussy juices (she had squirted several times) and semen.  It was all over her inner thighs and had run down her ass crack.  She was a mess…

“Her pussy if so full….it’s kind of disgusting, don’t you think,” Mutumbami taunted Erik.

Finished with her for the day, Pamela would be allowed to sleep and let the hot sperm find its way into her fertile womb and her eggs.  The silence after the last group of men left was deafening.  It was only then that Mutumbami released Erik and had the guards take him back to where they picked him up.

They kept his wife for another week to make sure she was impregnated; and to use her as a sex slave to reward the guards and field agents.  When she came home, they both cried in pain, shame and humiliation at what had been done to her.  But what Erik had seen started another argument.  He was horrified that she had cum by being raped.  He accused her of betraying him.  Pamela, defensive about what had happened, wanted him to simply accept that sometimes a woman can’t control how her body reacts to such stimulation.

Between this issue and Pamela wanting him to back off, they argued bitterly.  Erik wanted to examine his wife’s body.  She didn’t want him to do that.  She felt violated and was uncomfortable letting him; but Erik was persistent.

She seemed “OK” until he looked closer.   Then the marks on her inner thighs, the bite marks on her tits and her swollen nipples testified to the fact she had been used hard and put up wet.  But her pussy told the whole tale.  Her pissflaps were still swollen and purple….her clitoris seemed enlarged as it peeked out of its hood and her vagina was slightly open and a little slack.

And she didn’t want to have intercourse with her husband.  She told him she felt too violated.  This started another argument.

A week later, five security guards came to their farm house and despite Erik’s protests; Pamela was brought back for a second “breeding session”.  Once a week for the next two weeks, Pamela was “detained” at the Bulawayo camp for her “breeding”.  And there was nothing Erik could do about it.  For her part, Pamela dreaded the experience, but each time she experienced the hottest, most mind-blowing orgasms and this caused her much mental pain and guilt.

After four such sessions, Pamela missed her next two periods, and her belly began to swell.  She was sick in the morning and her doctor confirmed it:  she was pregnant.  Her belly grew with a dark “pregnancy line” down the middle as the black fetus grew within her uterus.

Several times, during the next few months, Joshua Mutumbami had Pamela brought to the compound for fun and games.  He had begun to realize that the big, sturdy blonde was physically enjoying being ravaged.  It gave him a sick pleasure to continue to degrade her this way, knowing it was probably destroying her relationship with her husband.

Since she was now pregnant with a black child, they had taken to fucking her in the mouth and ass.  When she let Erik examine her, after these visits…. and he looked at her ass, her angry brownish-red anal sphincter was mute evidence that she had been repeatedly sodomized.  Her anus had been stretched into a raw “O”, like a toothless mouth.

Pamela eventually delivered a healthy nine-pound baby boy and nursed him for a year and a half.  They had no choice but for her to carry the baby to term and raise him, when Mutumbami told them both that they had to do just that.  He warned Erik if anything happened to that baby, it would cost him his life.  So the additional humiliation of Pamela having to bear and raise a black baby was forced on them as a family.

Erik was nearly out of his mind with what they had done to his wife and his whole family, but he promised his wife he would lie low.  But in time he did something that angered the government and was brought back to the “theater” for another hellish show.

This was the worst session.  They had abducted his blonde 16- year old daughter and brought her to the “theater” for a “breeding session”.  Seeing his baby girl, Diana, forced to take one big, black dick in her virginal pussy after the other, finally broke him.  He never again did anything that attracted government attention.

©2008 Shabbadew2002

My name is Anita and always has been. Some of the other girls had their names changed, but they liked mine so I’ve kept it. Looking back 9 months ‘Anita’ was a very different person. I was living an existence. I lived in the same town I’d grown up in; I never knew my father and my mother had died when I was 19, leaving everything to me. We had not been wealthy but I did have a small flat to my name and could support myself by working as a secretary.  I had a few friends but an unexciting life. I never met anyone new and didn’t go out much. I’d had a couple of bad experiences with men in my late teenage years and since my mother had died I’d not dated anyone. I was actually uncomfortable around men, as if they were another species that I couldn’t relate to. I’m not beautiful so it was easy for me to escape attention and get on with my work. It was when I was 24, 9 months back that I got home one day and had a nervous breakdown.

I felt like my life was meaningless, here I was, apparently in the prime of my life coming home and going to bed at 9 O’clock with a mug of hot chocolate. I dressed in the same clothes I’d worn for years, a brown suit and flat shoes for work. No make-up. I felt like there was no way anyone would find me attractive. I would dream of meeting a man who would treat me like a sex goddess, who would be consumed by passion and fuck me wherever he could. I imagined that I was glamorous and irresistible and then I would open my eyes again and realise that I wasn’t.

That evening I had vowed that I couldn’t go on like that. That I had to change something; that I had to see someone and ask for help. I didn’t want to waste my life. I also felt though that I was a hopeless cause and that it would take a miracle to undo what I’d turned into. My friends seemed quite happy to be single and didn’t seem interested in men at all, so I didn’t think that they’d be much help. I was unsure about how to start anything and it was blind fate that had brought me to the personal ads in the evening paper.

‘You.  Yes, YOU can become a sex goddess. Treat yourself to a personality makeover and start living now!’ – Dr Vivienne Black, sex therapist, confidence coach and expert in seduction; welcomes ‘lost causes!’ First consultation half price!

It was like the paper was speaking to me, I was actually shaking as I copied the number into my diary. I had gone to bed feeling weepy but at last I had some hope.

‘How about after work then? ‘, the lady on the phone was lovely, very gentle and easy to talk to. My heart was pounding as I made my first appointment for that day with Dr Black herself. She had been warm and accommodating and had said that if I came to her clinic I could start my first session at 6.30.

I’d finished all my work on time, said goodbye to my boss and nervously plotted a route to where her clinic was. It was actually a bit out of the way and on the front of an industrial estate with nothing to draw attention to itself, but it looked clean and tidy. I’d had to check if it was the right address but then saw a small plaque on the front door which confirmed everything.

I parked up and knocked on the door. After only a few seconds I was greeted by the smiling face of Dr Black, or Vivienne as she had introduced herself. She had enthusiastically taken my hand and had a real presence about her. She looked stunning, not that she was extraordinarily beautiful but that she was beautifully dressed. She wore a well tailored black trouser suit with expensive looking high-heeled boots. A flowing mass of straight black hair was combed to perfection, lifted into a ponytail and held there with a large burgundy flower, swaying down to the small of her back. I had been quite captivated by her even then and remember thinking that if I could be anything like as attractive then I would be more than happy.

First off, she’d taken my coat and led me through to the consulting room. It looked much more like a very expensive executive office though, plush leather chairs, proper artwork marble flooring and stunning rugs. She stood in front of me, holding the back of one of the chairs.

‘Come here and sit down.’ She had smiled.

No sooner had I sat than she was handing me a metal cup with a warm drink inside.

‘This tea will help you to relax a little as we talk’, she had said.

‘Let me tell you a little about what I do and then you can tell me what you want to get out of this. My background is in psychology and neurosciences and my technique will involve helping to change the way you think about certain aspects of yourself, things that need to change so that you can move forward. Today I need you to tell me about yourself and what you want to achieve. Now while you’re doing this I need to monitor some of your body’s responses, just your heart and skin with some sticky pads, just like when you go to hospital, it’s all perfectly routine’

She had then sat in her own chair and listened as I told her about my life. She’d soothed me when I started crying and told her how unattractive I felt and how I wanted to be a confident woman who men would find attractive.

She’d all the while been asking me questions, what clothes would make me feel confident, beautiful, and sexy and what would make me feel dowdy; to which I had given a weak laugh and said my whole wardrobe. Then she asked me a lot of other questions that she said were to help ‘map out my personality’ a little. She asked me to imagine that I was someone else and to tell her how it felt. She had started off with a film star but had gone on to ask much more embarrassing things; she wanted me to imagine that I was the office flirt, then the office slut, then I was a lap dancer with men ogling me while I writhed in front of them for their pleasure! I was surprised to hear myself say that I would be excited to have that attention, very excited. Dr. Black had such a kindly way about her that I felt I could be completely honest with her. I had blushed heavily but felt aroused nonetheless at the thought.

‘That’s excellent, Anita”, she had said after a while, ‘I want you to relax for a moment while I go next door’

I had relaxed back in the chair feeling free of worries. Dr Black had closed the door in to the next room but I could hear her talking, obviously just taking a quick phone call. After a few moments she had returned.

‘Everything’s going really well. Now what I need you to do is come next door. Before you do I want you to stay beautifully relaxed, just listening to my voice still and then just gently stand yourself up. Excellent. Now slowly come through here’

I was in a lovely trance, I had felt warm and secure as I walked next door.

‘Lie down on the bed over there and relax’

I did so.

‘Now Anita, this next stage is so I can find out a little more about you. I’m going to use a scanner to look at what happens to your brain as we talk, OK?’

I had nodded.

‘Close your eyes and relax into to moulded pillow’

I let my head drop into the soft casing. There were holes for the ears so I could still hear perfectly.

‘Well done, now I’m going to put a little strap around your head so it stays still in the scanner, OK?’

‘Fine’, I replied.

I felt a firm rubber strap over my forehead holding my head comfortably but firmly in place.

‘Now close your eyes. We’re going backwards now, nothing to be alarmed about’, she said as the bed gently slid backwards a little.

‘That’s good, now just relax and get comfy Anita’

She had started to ask me to imagine the same things again. This time she was sat at the bedside, close to me. I could hear her adjusting a few controls and using a computer mouse from time to time.

She asked me about work, people I trusted, my boss, what would happen if he asked me to bring him coffee, to stay behind and work late, to come into his office and strip. I answered honestly and was surprisingly not shocked by her questions, such was her manner. I felt utterly comfortable confiding in her my most personal secrets. Obviously the barriers had gone up at the last request, I would not strip for my boss but I told her this matter-of-factly without any rebuke for her asking me such intimate things.

I can’t remember how long I had stayed on that bed being probed to the depths of my core by Dr. Black. She had asked me in detail about my sexual fantasies; which were along the lines of being found irresistible by some tall dark stranger at a grand summer ball to the point where he could resist me no more and had to take me, which he did over the desk in the study. She had plumbed my feelings on oral and anal sex at this time too. I felt quite excited about taking him in my mouth, but was scared of anal penetration.

She then had asked a number of bizarre things about how I would react if a series of increasingly unpleasant or unreasonable things were asked of me. That’s all I could remember afterwards anyway.

The next thing I remember was hearing,

‘Open your eyes, Anita’

I looked up to see the reassuring smile of Dr. Vivienne Black. She was offering me her had so I could get up from the bed. We had walked together back into the office next door and she had poured me some juice.

‘I can really help you with your problems, Anita. What I think will work best for you will be a regular set of sessions where we set goals and try some new behaviour for you. I have to say that this will be no less than ten sessions and requires up-front commitment and payment. Listen to what I have to say before you say anything though.’

I was unnerved but excited as I listened.

‘The first thing we need to do is to get you feeling great about yourself and build up some confidence. I propose we do this by firstly getting you a complete makeover. New hair, make-up, clothes, shoes, the works! Again this will require some outlay on your part’

‘That is no problem,’ I had said, I was now for the first time feeling that things might start to turn around with the help of this lady, ‘I have enough money set aside for all of this. I can’t think of anything more worthwhile to spend it on.’

‘That’s fantastic, Anita. We need to do this soon and at the same time I will work on your behaviours so you not only look but feel like a confident, beautiful, sexy woman. Are you free this weekend?’

PART 2

And so it was that on Monday morning I had stepped into the office a new woman. People in the office noticed immediately. Everything that could possibly be different was.

The weekend had been packed full of activity. It had started, early, with a morning session at Vivienne’s office. I’d pulled out my cheque book at the start and signed away a small fortune, but I didn’t care. It was only money. I’d rather be happy.

We had then started the session proper.

It was amazing that two full hours had passed, by the clock, but she had made me so relaxed, so quickly, that the time had gone in a flash. I had awoken feeling refreshed and excited.

She had told me that to start with we were going to work on how I held myself and that was the task to work at while we were out and about. I had listened intently as she told me the first of her ’secrets’ to confident behaviour. She only wanted me to do three things today, easy things she said but, ‘Oh so important’; Firstly, and most importantly, to smile a lot; at people, entering a room, when I feel uncomfortable; in fact most of the time. She had asked me to smile for her and had adjusted it so it looked right. Then she made me practice it and said she would remind me by saying, ’smile’ throughout the day.

The other two things were posture and how to walk well. She said that as I was going to be stunning and probably a constant wearer of high heels, our first job was to get me a pair to learn in right away. I had felt nervous but again excited by this. I’d only ever worn high heels once, at a birthday party when I was 17. I’d found them difficult and had not persevered with them; they had looked more trouble than they were worth. I did like the look of other women in them though, if they could walk in them. I usually wore very practical but desperately unglamorous flat shoes.

It wasn’t long before I had stepped out in a pair of new, black leather, high, stiletto heeled boots. Without anything else I had immediately started to feel glamorous. Vivienne had taken my arm and talked me through the ‘correct’ way to walk in them. She had taken me up and down a quiet side street while she improved my posture and got me balancing properly on the high heels. She was such an amazing teacher and had such a fantastic way of putting things. I had walked the rest of the day with my head high, like I had spent years in high heels. I felt so good that she had rarely to remind me to smile.

We did the rounds that afternoon. I had to go back to the car halfway through because we’d bought so much; two stunningly cut fitted suits that I’d never have picked myself; trousers and tops for evening wear; two pairs of attention-grabbing gorgeous heels for work that I would never have dreamed of wearing; a pair of fluffy high heeled mules to practice in around the house ( I’d found that so funny, Vivienne was pleased I was enjoying myself ) ;earrings; underwear; two bags; a coat; the list went on! I didn’t care how much of my savings were being used up. I’d smiled at everyone that day and gone home a happy woman. I’d immediately thrown my old things in a pile to make room for my new clothes. Vivienne had left me in town, elegantly kissing me goodbye. She had arranged to pick me up the following morning and take me for ‘a day of sumptuous pampering’. I’d sat in the bath that night with a glass of chilled white wine in my hand and a beaming grin on my face.

The following day I’d got up early and dressed in my new clothes at a leisurely pace; new trousers, pink-brown top, coat and boots.  I was chauffeured by Vivienne to a beautician’s. Her name was Trisha and she was stunning. Tall; slim; black skin, the colour

of milky coffee; lush, full, glossy lips; lustrous, frizzy, blond streaked hair, knotted up in a way so elaborate only a professional would be able to do. I had felt over-awed by her beauty. She clearly knew Vivienne well as they both shared a hug and kiss before Vivienne introduced me. Trisha had smiled and looked at my face, then stepped back to regard me.

‘You’ve got some natural beauty for me to work with all right; and really quite a magnificent figure’, she had smiled mischievously and exchanged looks with Vivienne, ‘come inside and we’ll get started.’

We were the only ones in the shop but it was small and looked incredibly exclusive. I had bet it must cost a fortune to get anything at all done there. There were no prices up anywhere.

‘I’m glad I paid up front’, I had joked to myself.

Then I wondered if I had.

‘Come this way Anita’, Trisha had said.

She was dressed in a smart beige beautician’s uniform; practical for getting hair and oil spills on but well fitting and very fashionably designed. She wore simple but perfect make-up and a pair of smart but comfortable looking beige sandals. She carried herself with the same confident elegance that Vivienne had but had more swing to her slightly wider hips.  I had followed her down a light, wood-floored corridor to a small changing room with a half door at modesty height. She had brought me a white silk robe and slippers, which she passed in, and told me to change. She said to take everything off as she was going to make my whole body beautiful. She said that Vivienne was leaving us but had said to have a great day and to let her take good care of me.

‘So, Anita, have you had beauty treatments before?’ she asked as I belted the silk robe around my naked body and dropped my panties onto the floor.

‘No. Never’, I replied.

There then followed an amazed set of questions along the lines of, ‘What, you’ve never had your nails done?!’ through to, ‘Not even a facial?!’

All of it was said with a pleasant jocularity that made me warm to her straight away.

‘Well. You’re in for a hell of a day girl!’

Over the next four and a half hours I was transformed into a woman.

She had started with a full body massage to get me relaxed. She asked me questions the whole way through. She had a way, like Vivienne, that made her very approachable and trustworthy. I had felt able to be totally honest and confide in her. We had chatted for a while until the massage just got too good and I zoned out.

I came to lying on my back with Trisha, back towards me, handling some things on a table next to me.

‘Now, I’m afraid, I’m going to have to torture you’

I looked up as she turned around.

‘Wax time!’ she smiled.

I must have looked a picture!

She was a real expert though. Waxed me everywhere. Took away hair I didn’t know I had. Face, legs, bikini line, everywhere was fair game. It really didn’t hurt much either. She trimmed my pubic hair from a spidery bush to an elegant, feminine strip.

After that she treated my skin with scented oils and creams, which she worked in while I gently melted.

Then she pedicured me and manicured my hands.

‘Ok, now the difficult subject of nail colour’, she had said, ‘I’m going to put some false nails on your hands so we will have to paint them’

I trusted her. I never wore nail varnish, partly because it seemed like too much trouble, but mainly because most examples I’d seen looked pretty tacky or tarty. I particularly hated women with really long nails, they reminded me of whores. Long pink or red nails, horrible! I remember we both had a good laugh about that.

She showed me a wooden display book with lots of sample colours painted onto little stones. I had looked at them for a while unable to make up my mind. Then I realised what I thought might work.

‘Don’t tell me’, she had said looking into my eyes before I could open my mouth, ‘I’ll bet you really would like a French manicure, yes?’

‘Yes’, I exclaimed, genuinely amazed, ‘that’s incredible, how did you knew that?’

She had smiled

‘I know what works.’ she had purred, ‘I know what works for you too, Anita’

Apparently she did.

She finished my nails, making sure they were just long enough so I could still type easily. Then she gave me the facial.

‘I’ve got a hair colour for you too sweetie. Now see how you like this’

‘It’s beautiful’, I had said, ‘It’s so perfectly beautiful. Do you think it would look OK on me?’

‘Only one way to find out’

She dyed my bush of thick light brown hair a deep red, orange. It was gorgeous but it did scream for attention. I was slightly worried at first but then I fell in love with it. She had cut my thick bush into something that was just so ‘me’ but I would never have found it; lively, a little chaotic, beautifully shaped, longer at the back than the front but fashionably so. She talked me through how to do it myself, it was very little trouble. It framed my face perfectly, which she then taught me how to make-up. As I finished off with a thick velvety lipstick I couldn’t have believed I would ever look this good.

‘Ok now go back to the dressing room and change’

When I emerged she kissed me and told me I looked absolutely beautiful. I had blushed and thanked her. She told me that she would have ordered me a cab but thought that maybe I should take a walk a bit further up the road, into town, to get a cab there. To show myself off a bit she had said with a wink. I had teetered out on cloud nine.

Monday morning, the minute I walked into the office, heads turned. I loved it. I loved the attention and found that all kinds of people were treating me differently. The doorman had almost ‘double-taked’, he eyed me down from immaculate hair and face, through my nipped-in fitted suit, all the way down my black nylon covered legs to my high black leather stiletto-pumps. I had smiled to myself and carried on my proper walk. I know he checked out my ass for a good time without having looked.

I stood in the lift with a guy who worked upstairs. He’d never noticed me before but I could see him checking me out in the door reflection. I smiled at him, then the door opened for my floor and I left.

I work in a multi-story office block. Our company, a legal firm, is on the tenth floor and takes up half of that. I’m the personal secretary for one of the partners and handle the work for one other junior lawyer usually. That’s enough to keep me pretty busy and I am a good secretary. There’s a central area with the lawyers’ doors coming off where I work with 3 other secretaries. All the offices had frosted-glass doors and windows opening onto our area. It was a very professional set up as all the clients were seen there. I had often felt that I was the thing that let it down the most and was glad my desk was to one side.

The girls I share a room with couldn’t believe it! They showered me with complements and started asking where I got my things from and where I got my hair done. I was cagey about it as I didn’t want to let on that I was seeing a therapist and after naming a few shops turned the conversation round to something else. When we went out to get lunch I felt like there was more of a buzz about the group of us and everyone had seemed more excited.

My boss had come in late and had immediately gone in to talk to one of the other partners. When he came out he came over to me to ask me into his office, this is what we did every day and I would go through his diary with him. He immediately paid me a complement as he saw me at the desk, sincerely saying I looked lovely today. Then he told me to come in. He held the door for me as always and I sidled past him and stood at my usual spot. He sat down and we started going through meetings and cases as normal. He was definitely different with me though. I saw him eyeing up my legs several times.

He was not attractive physically but was very confident, decisive and could be quite commanding. He was always very specific with what he wanted me to do and I liked that. He was also the most powerful man in the company, the other partners generally deferred to his judgement. I had once woken up very flustered after a dream where he had taken me into his office, bent me over his desk and fucked me until he came. Then he had sent me away unsatisfied and frustrated to finish my typing. I recalled that dream while I was standing there and blushed, Vivienne had me smiling at him though!

That night I had another session. I recounted every detail to Vivienne. The final detail was the one that had made the day for me. As I had stepped into the lift to go downstairs I had realised that the same guy from upstairs was in it. I’d smiled at him and stepped in. He had wasted no time telling me that I looked beautiful and would I like to meet up for a drink some time? I have never been asked out by a stranger before (!) but strangely handled it very well. He introduced himself as David, I gave him my name and number and said to call me. Then I walked out before him feeling a bit like a temptress as I walked, knowing I would have his full attention on me.

‘That’s fantastic, Anita’, Vivienne said, ‘I’m so happy for you. And you know this is just the beginning too. We’ll cover what you’ll need to handle a date soon as well!’

‘Ok, let’s start the session’

I remember envisaging some scenarios but the details were very blurry. I can remember one starting with approaching a man I found attractive but I couldn’t remember what happened next. I remember feeling very, very sexy though; and still felt sexy when I came to at the end.

‘I have to say that things are going extremely well, Anita. You’re almost a model subject and I can practically guarantee a good outcome with you’

I smiled happily

‘Next session will be in three days, on Thursday. Homework is to find a fitness activity you can do as I think we should get a few pounds off you. You aren’t fat honey, don’t worry, this is about getting you to your absolute best; so absolutely no junk food or chocolate until we’re happy about this. Secondly I want you to masturbate every night now for a while. We need to develop and explore your sexuality now you’re getting to be in a position to need it.’

I blushed from head to toe, ‘Yes, Vivienne.’

‘I have a little present here that I think you will learn to like a lot. Use it when you get home and then every night’

I felt a little naughty as I took an expensive looking, little black bag from her. Something was wrapped up inside it.

‘Now off you go’

PART 3

The next day a strange thing happened.

I had got up early for work, had an unhurried breakfast, went through my beauty routine and got dressed. I had washed and stowed away my shiny new vibrator all the time thinking, ‘what have I been doing all these years!’

Then I’d got the bus to work.

I’d got into work again and just put my bag down when I saw a letter in my in-tray. I had opened it and it said that my application for annual leave had been approved. I was puzzled; I had not made an application. I looked at the dates and it was for three and a half weeks leave from next Wednesday. There must obviously have been some mistake I had thought. Never mind, I would sort it out.

The rest of the day passed without incident. I say that because the way I was treated and looked at now, was the norm. I felt like a proper woman now, a lady, people were more polite and deferential to me and I felt attractive and desirable. It made me feel great but was no longer a notable event or rarity; rather it was me, full time!

I had dropped by the gym opposite on the way back from my lunch break with Melanie, one of the girls I worked with. Very aware of my instructions from Vivienne I had a small, healthy salad for my lunch with plenty of water, a careful eye remaining on my figure.

Melanie was brassy and generally told it how it was. She was not especially bright but she had ‘lived’ and brimmed with the confidence of someone who had been through it all. She made me laugh in the office, usually with jokes about sex, usually crude ones at that. She was in her late thirties, a single mum who supported her three teenagers. She didn’t have that much money and she tended to dress sexily but cheaply for the office; short black skirt; cheap plastic heels and three pairs of worn oval matching gold earrings that increased in size towards the front pair. She also wore too much makeup. The other girls could sometimes be a little snobby about her behind her back, saying she looked so common (I did tend to agree about the earrings), but I liked her. I knew where I stood with her and she had been so encouraging to me since I had started to undergo my ‘change’. She was, as it happened, trying to give up smoking and was going to try to exercise her way through the craving. So she was keen to stop by the gym with me.

We looked at their programme. I immediately was drawn to one item, every Wednesday and Friday,

‘Pole Dancing, beginner to intermediate level’

My hand went over my mouth as Melanie immediately blurted out that that’s what we should do and started to storm inside. I wondered if I should take the plunge. It must have been about thirty seconds before I slowly followed her inside, nervous but buzzing; and we enrolled. My mind flashed back to pleasuring myself the night before, daringly imagining myself an object of desire, a fabulous feathered showgirl, dancing on the stage in a fabulous West End show. To do something like this for real, though, was totally different.

I’m sure I was blushing when I signed my name on the register. We could start right away, the following day that was, as there were a couple of vacant poles in the class.

Melanie asked the receptionist about it. She said that the class was actually taught by a professional but was attended by regular gym users. Melanie had joked that she was glad it wasn’t an apprenticeship with a job to follow!

‘That’s what everyone says’, the receptionist had laughed politely.

It was usually very popular, we were lucky there was a single vacancy. She went herself in fact, and it was a lot more difficult than it looked. She said that she’d only been going for a month but was already much, much stronger and fitter. It was all strictly behind closed doors and for women only; there was no chance of any men or outsiders watching. That had made me feel relieved. She said that the instructor was ludicrously good at it. She, herself, was very proud of the fact that she could just about hold herself upside down and steady on the pole now and still maintain some posture. It sounded very challenging and just what we needed to get fit. She said all we needed to bring was something comfortable but not too baggy to wear because the pole could rub on bare skin; and a pair of high heels. I slightly balked at the idea when she mentioned that as it brought a slutty look to my mind, an image I certainly wanted to avoid. She was very matter-of-fact and said that it was intrinsic to the whole art and a necessary part of ‘the dancer’s form’. She advised us that she actually wore boots so she didn’t have to worry about losing a shoe when she was hanging from the pole. It sounded like good advice. I was glad we had talked to her. We thanked her and said we’d see her there tomorrow.

As we walked back to the office Melanie had said, ‘I can’t believe you are making me do this. I didn’t know you were such a little tart!’

I had laughed a little defensively at her joke. I was not accustomed to being called anything like that and it had, after all, been her suggestion.

After work I nipped out and bought a cheap pair of boots that I wouldn’t mind getting sweaty in. I chose some with laces for a good fit and because they looked similar to the type a dancer would wear, albeit with higher heels. I felt pretty sexy in them right away and did a couple of twirls in the shop to make sure I would be able to move well in them. I picked up some gym clothes as well, some short leggings, a tight top and a sports bra. I’d then gone home for an early night, tired but excited. I was a good girl and did my homework.

The following day Melanie and I had been like giggling schoolgirls. We didn’t tell the other two what we were planning. They were a little more conservative. I actually felt ashamed at the thought of them knowing, so it stayed our little secret. We were thick as thieves that day. My boss even picked up on it and made a point of returning two letters to me with spelling mistakes on. It was as if to reprimand me and tell me to concentrate on my work; that he thought I should be above such girlish immaturity. I had apologised and, riding the wave of girlishness, flattered my eyelashes at him. He had snorted out a smile and left.

That night we slipped off after work to the gym. It was like stealing off for a cigarette at the end of the school playground.

Truly I’d been embarrassed as I walked out of the changing room with Melanie, dressed for the first time as a keep-fit pole dancer. We stood around uncomfortably for a few minutes until our instructor, Lisa, arrived. She briefly welcomed us to the class, in something of a hurry, and got us to introduce ourselves to the other eight women there. She then wasted no time getting us to our poles and starting us with testing yoga-like stretching exercises. That lasted for about half an hour, she stressed flexibility and strength above everything else and made sure we were all sweating, stretched and warm. Then we started with some moves, gently walking round the pole to start with.

After a while I was sucked along with it and quite suddenly realised that I was strutting and swinging myself round the pole like I was a proper erotic dancer; moving for the pleasure of an audience. I blushed fully at this realisation but saw that I was not alone in my actions. All the other girls were doing exactly the same and were thankfully oblivious to me. Several, in fact, were really going for it; exaggerating the wiggle from their hips as they sauntered sexily round their long brass poles. I couldn’t believe it and blushed again as I thought it looked a bit trashy but maybe quite fun to do. I made an attempt to copy them. I liked to do things well, it was all behind closed doors and I did, after all, want to do the whole thing properly.

‘Good movement, Anita’, I heard from my Instructress. I hadn’t spotted her looking at me and almost died with embarrassment as the others all looked up at me.

Later, as we moved on, Lisa told us not to do the more advanced moves and instead gave us some simpler exercises to practice while the rest of the class continued difficult lessons that they had already been working on.

She made us do press-ups, sit-ups and jumping-jacks (in heels!). By the time she told us to go and get a shower I was exhausted and every bone in my body ached. My arms could hardly move from what they’d been put through. If anything was going to lose me a few pounds; that was it for sure. At home I went straight to bed, initially struggling with the idea of my homework, but soon settling into it. I had a massive orgasm and then turned over to rest. It was half past nine!

I was just dozing off to sleep when the phone rang. I considered not answering it but it so rarely rang that I picked it up. It was the man from the lift! He sounded lively and really pleased that I was in. He said he knew it was a little strange and not what he’d initially intended but asked if I would like to accompany him to a party on a yacht that Saturday night. He’d been invited last minute and thought it would be fantastic if he could take me (yes ME!) as his date. It took my breath away. I thought I’d be speechless but felt like I must have had the confidence of Vivienne when the composed sounding,

‘Yes, I’d be delighted to’, sprang from my lips

He arranged to pick me up at 7 sharp and said that it was black tie and cocktail dress-code. He asked if that was ‘ok’ and I replied that it was ‘absolutely fine’; in spite of having no dress and no idea what it would be like. I thought about phoning Vivienne straight away to scream for help but thought better of it as it was late and I had a session with her the next day anyway. I would just have to wait and sweat on it. I took a few deep breaths and regained some composure. I was so excited, I hadn’t been asked out on a date like that, well, ever!

The next night I had giddily come straight out with it almost before saying hello to Vivienne. She had grinned and said,

‘My! Someone’s excited aren’t they?!’

I must have been wagging my tail like a puppy asking her what I should do. I coyly paused and asked her if there was any chance she could help me find something to wear. She had such good taste and I knew if she was with me I would pick something that I would look and feel incredible in.

‘We’ll see’, she had said teasingly and then pressed me to start the session.

Like the first time, I remember her relaxing me and then getting me to walk next door and lie down in the comfortable scanner. The memory was much less distinct than the first time and after that I remembered nothing. I awoke back in her office. I felt very different from previous sessions. I did not feel fantastic and refreshed. I felt like I had just done the exercise class from the night before, but many times, one after another. My body ached and the only pleasant feeling I had was like an endorphin hit, the kind that followed heavy exercise. I had told myself at the time that it must have been my muscles; only then starting to seize and complain from the class the night before. It didn’t trouble me that the pains were in places that I had not been exercising, like my breasts and my sex, as well as the rest of my body. However, before I could dwell on it Vivienne had said,

‘Because it’s such a special occasion I think I can come into town with you on Saturday morning to help you pick something out’

I was so relieved, ‘Oh, thank you!’ I had said.

‘I have a couple of things to do there myself in fact so it won’t really be too much trouble. Maybe I should let you buy me lunch and it’s a deal’, she smiled.

‘Oh I’d love to’, I had swooned, feeling at the time that it would be my privilege to do that.

‘Wonderful then, see you there, Sweetie.’

PART 4

Saturday came and I met up in town with Vivienne. I was aching from my second class the previous night and my feet were sore from rubbing in my dancing boots. I had whined a little to Vivienne and she had told me ruefully,

‘A lady never complains about her feet, Anita. It is most unbecoming and very common. Your feet will toughen up soon, don’t worry; so stick with it but don’t complain’

I had nodded like a scolded puppy. I was wearing my high-heeled boots and they were aggravating the same spots with every step. I had smiled said, ‘Yes, Vivienne’, and put on a brave face for the rest of the day imagining the size of my blisters and quietly dreaming about a foot bath. She had to sort out some business at an estate agent’s and with her lawyers to start with so I had to follow her for that; thankfully it passed very quickly and without too much walking.

She came through with the goods in the end though, like I knew she would. She steered me towards a spectacular short, black, strapless cocktail dress in a small designer boutique tucked away down a side street. I almost cried when I put it on and saw myself; I looked like a film star. It was the kind of thing I had never worn before. At three hundred pounds I didn’t think twice about not buying it, I owed it to myself to have it. She even said she’d lend me some proper jewellery to make it work. She was like the big sister I had never had, the perfect big sister who made everything all right. She helped me pick out a pair of sexy dress-sandals to go with it and then packed me off home to relax and get myself ready for my big date.

It was later that night that I reached what I now know to be my all time high. I will never feel like that again now and I’ve lost count of the nights I’ve gone to sleep crying at that thought. It pains me to have to recall how I felt then and how I can never feel like that again.

I had spent the afternoon readying myself. I took a lovely, sensual bath with fragrant oils, followed by full skin treatment with soft moisturizing lotions. I got my nails, hair and makeup looking absolutely perfect. Put on suspenders and black stockings. Zipped up my lovely new dress, almost shivering as the cool satin lining closed around my body to sit firmly about my increasingly slender waist. I slid my richly painted, stockinged toes into my strappy stilettos; my heels almost wobbling high over the tiny points; and fastened the skinny straps snugly round my ankles. A week ago and I would have quaked at the idea of having to walk in them, but by that time I was confident and thought that I would be taking very delicate, ladylike steps. Mercifully the straps avoided the key areas that had been rubbing all day, although had they not I would have worn them without complaint and suffered silently, as a lady.

I then sat down at my dresser and took the box that Vivienne had lent me. She had said that the contents were worth ‘a lot’ of money and that I was to take exceptional care of them. I carefully opened the box and looked inside. There was a pearl choker wrapped around a purple velvet ring. I unfastened it and lifted it up, feeling the weight. It was stunningly beautiful, it had three lines of well sized pearls all strung together fastening with a clip at the back. At the front of the choker was a dazzling piece of cut onyx, shiny and black, surrounded by an elaborate pattern of diamonds set in gold. It felt like it was all real, the highest quality, not an imitation, it must have been worth an absolute fortune. I was transfixed. Slowly I clicked open the fastening and drew it up to my neck, feeling excited as the cold inside fell against me, arousing me slightly. I moved my hands around behind me, encircling my throat with the pearls until I could slide the mating fastenings together and they clicked home. It stayed comfortably halfway up my neck, around almost the narrowest part. I took the matching earrings from the box and put them on too. Then I looked at myself.

I felt incredible. Elegant; sexy; beautiful; I felt fantastic, like I could take on the world. I put on some perfume and stood up and admired myself in the long mirror. I felt so glamorous. I posed, like I was in a society magazine. I poured a glass of wine and waited for my date to come. I felt beautiful and in control. I felt like I looked a million dollars. I paced around a little to get used to the shoes and then the doorbell rang. I put down my glass and answered it.

I couldn’t remember him being so handsome and he looked fantastic in black tie. He was stunned with me and absolutely showered me with complements about how amazing I looked. I was glowing as we walked to the taxi together and rode to the yacht.

The night was, well, spectacular. I can’t really describe it in any other way. I had the time of my life. I was paraded around on the arm of a lovely man; I got so much attention and met so many wonderful people. My boss of all people was there. He was very taken with me and told me I looked, ‘absolutely enchanting’. I had smiled, thanked him and returned to my date. We danced and laughed. He walked me up onto the top deck and in the moonlight he kissed me for the first time. I was truly happy and felt very, very special. The whole night had passed in a wonderful blur until he took me home and kissed me goodnight. I was quite willing to invite him in as I didn’t want the night to end but Vivienne had given me very clear instructions on this.

‘There will be plenty of time for that sort of thing’, she had smiled very mischievously during one of the sessions.

I had heeded this, said goodnight to him and gone inside. I knew not to have sex on a first date anyway. I was damn glad to have my homework to do that night as I melted into the bed reliving the evening and climaxing at the thought of him taking me, still in my dress, because he had to have me, I was too beautiful not to.

Before I knew it I was back at work on Monday again. I told Melanie about my weekend and she was so happy for me. She even said she knew the guy I was talking about and that she definitely ‘wouldn’t kick him out of bed!’ I felt embarrassed but it was a complement from her; that I had done well for myself. He actually rang me at my desk to say that he’d really enjoyed the night. He asked me out on another date, something quieter, this Thursday. I didn’t hesitate to say ‘Yes’ at once.

Melanie was struggling with her smoking that afternoon so I tried my best to keep her spirits up. My boss told me again how wonderful I had looked over the weekend and was clearly starting to look at me like he wanted me now. Not explicitly, but his gaze lingered that bit longer. I tried to avoid walking in front of him if I could, but it was difficult when I went into his office because his desk faced the door.

The following day I left work to go to my session with Vivienne. I arrived at her office at 7 and got buzzed in. I was surprised to see a blonde girl sat behind the reception desk. She was a little younger than me, about 21, very pretty and dressed in a smart black skirt and white blouse. She looked up at me with a tired expression on her face.

‘Doctor Black says to wait here’, she said and then continued to stare blankly at the wall.

I felt a little strange as her manner was a little unnatural. There was silence save for the very faint sounds of a conversation next door, it was a little creepy as the reception area had a bleak feel to it and there were no magazines to read. There was just a pile of cards offering the services of Dr. Vivienne Black followed by a long list of conditions that she was adept in treating. I was just reading past ’sexual problems’ when the intercom sounded,

‘Send her in’

The girl just looked up at me, I had heard myself. I didn’t think she was a very good receptionist and would tell Vivienne what I though about her. I was now a confident assertive woman who deserved to be treated with dignity and respect.

Vivienne had just finished on the phone. I strode in, the metal from my heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. The room was dark with the curtains closed. I was happy to see my big sister and was now bursting to tell her about my big date. I’ll never forget how she looked at me. There was no smile there. She looked straight into me with empty, black, shark-like yes and said,

‘Stand there’, she pointed to a spot about a metre in front of the centre of her desk. Her tone was emotionless. I didn’t know what to do so I stood there.

‘Stand up straight, head high, suck in your stomach’, I did so,’ and push out your breasts’

I obeyed. I didn’t know what was happening.

Then she smiled and a hideous look started to take hold on her face,

‘Freeze’, she commanded.

Her smile broadened into a grin. It was not like her usual refined and restrained grin, this was a grin of sadistic abandonment. I was scared and went to tell her that I was frightened BUT I COULD NOT MOVE.

Not a muscle!

My god I couldn’t move!

I immediately started to panic. As my heart raced she started to cackle. She stood up slowly and sauntered over to me.

‘What was happening? Why couldn’t I move?’ I raced. I wondered if I may have had a sudden stroke or if I was dreaming…but it was too real. Before I could think further she said,

‘Shhhhhhhhhhh, little one’

She ran her hand down my face and stood in front of me. She looked evil in her dark makeup and deep red lipstick. Her wide smile was becoming Satanic. She started to run her nails down my face, slowly, just so they started to scratch a little. Like a cat toying with a baby rabbit. I was choked up with fear, staring at her.

‘I expect you are wondering why you can’t move now.’

‘Yes!’ I thought silently

‘I could keep you like this forever you know. I’m sure you’d like that wouldn’t you’

I couldn’t understand what she was saying, I was totally helpless, a fox in a snare.

‘This’, she said taking my bag off my shoulder and throwing it aside, ‘is our chance to get to know each other a bit better. Since I already know all about you, all your deep, dark secrets, I’ll do the talking shall I?’

She took off my jacket and started unbuttoning my blouse.

I choked back a sob but couldn’t lift a finger.

‘Yes, I could keep you still like this for as long as I choose’

My blouse was removed from me and tossed aside.

‘Maybe I could have a little glass display case made and stand you in it over there’, she mused, ‘get a nurse to put in a dear little feeding tube, a catheter and a daily enema and you would become like part of the room, a permanent fixture. My favourite decoration maybe’

I was going insane with fear now. I felt I would pass out, my head was swimming. My body was not listening to me and try as I might I could do nothing about it.

She unbuttoned my skirt and pulled it down. Then she unfastened my bra and threw that behind too. In spite of my paralysis the tears ran down my face.

‘Oh don’t mind me dear I’ve seen it all before’, she mocked as she yanked down my tights and pants airing my sex to the room.

‘Left foot up’,

It moved up and she took my shoe off. I was aghast. She did the same for the right so I was standing upright and quite naked in front of her. She picked up my shoes and set them upright in front of each of my feet.

‘Slut-heels on’, she snapped

I stepped into my shoes again and she smiled.

‘You see now. I am your Goddess. I own you now and I can do with you as I please. Now I may let you speak, but if I don’t like how you do it I can easily silence you again. Permanently.’

‘Do you understand?’

‘Yes……Vivienne’, I said, to my surprise.

A look of venom crossed her before she slapped me with full force across the face and screamed

‘No more “Vivienne”‘, mocking my voice on her name. She was riled.

‘Last chance now so make it good……Now say it bitch!’

‘Yes my Goddess, my powerful Goddess’, I sobbed. I was terrified of her. She had become a monster, an all powerful demon.

‘Good’, she smiled slowly, ‘now we are starting to understand each other. ‘Mistress’; will be adequate to address me from now on though. I think it show that you understand who is in charge’

‘Yes, Mistress’

She then turned and walked back around her desk. She clicked her fingers and said, ‘Up on here on all fours, now’

I immediately moved; I didn’t want to, I wanted to run away as fast as I could.

‘What’s happening to me?’ I wept hysterically

‘Well dear, you’re unable to resist me now as you’re under my spell’, she moved aside to allow me to climb up onto her desk

‘You see you’ve been treated in a very special way.’

I was now on all fours on her desk. She ran her hand through my hair

‘The first day you came in here I decided I could use you so I did it to you then. It’s amazing what you can do with a scanner, a gamma knife and a virgin brain. I make a few little tiny, special cuts to the right parts and, hey presto, I have a devoted, wonderfully controllable little minion.’

‘My….my….brain’, I spluttered my mouth wide open in abject disbelief.

‘They’re absolutely teensy-tiny, really very little to worry about now’; she said gently stroking my head with the mocking, trivialising sincerity of a sadistic nurse helping a small child through a horrific medical procedure.

She opened a drawer in her desk and took something out.

‘The process nearly always works straight away but there is a small chance that with a lot of resistance new pathways can form in the period immediately following treatment. That’s why you wanted it to work for you; and you have been praying for it to work haven’t you’

She smiled at me. I had played right into her hands. New tears sprang to my eyes.

‘Yes,’ she said stroking my head, ‘I’m afraid the damage is done now Anita, there’s no going back now unless I let you go. Your mind is like a piece of clay for your Goddess to play with and I wonder what I will make you into.’

‘Please…..Mistress…,’ I sobbed, ‘I don’t like this! Please let me go!’

I was weeping uncontrollably, crying my heart out.

‘There, there now’, she said, ’there, there.’

PART 5

‘I do so cherish these special moments’, she had said

I heard the sound of stretching, snapping rubber and the squirt of jelly forced from a nozzle.

‘There’s a certain intimacy that comes from the realisation that you are now, for the rest of your life, completely under the control of your new Goddess. Don’t you think? I am going to impress upon you that your mind and body are mine to do with as I please. You will want to be desperately, desperately eager to make sure that I am happy with you. I can make you behave as I wish, without any scope for you to resist. I could order you to take your life and, believe me; you would not hesitate to do it’

She came very close and whispered into my ear,

‘Also, I could kill you with a word. You would die, where you stood, over a time course of my choosing. Very, very painfully. Believe me……..Perhaps the phone will ring one day when I have no further use for you. Very, very clean. No loose ends. Natural causes would be irrefutable as the cause of death’

I could feel my heart slowing down, my vision went black; I couldn’t stay up. She slapped my face, hard. I snapped back round. As I remembered the horror of what she was saying she continued,

‘Things may well end that way one day but I am not ready to end you just yet, little one. I have other plans in mind. I do not want you passing out like that again though. Apart from anything else it’s a very inconsiderate way to reward your Goddess for her time and attention. Let’s try and keep you in the here and now a little more shall we’

She moved around to my side towards my bottom. I felt something cold at my sex then the brutal intrusion of something. It was her fingers.

‘No!’ I sobbed in protest.

‘This should keep you mindful of who’s in charge and who’s fucking who here’, she said working her fingers in over the third knuckles. The penetration was horrible. I had only ever had sex with one man and only then a handful of times. I did not enjoy it; it had been a painful, upsetting experience; not how I imagined it could be with the right man; maybe my perfect, handsome suitor from the yacht. I was jerked immediately from that thought.

The rubber fingers inside me brought a horrible memory from my adolescence flooding back; lying on my back in the dark, tears in my eyes, trying not to sob so he would know how upset I was. I had been trying not to cry out with the pain from his inexperienced, brutal thrusts. I then felt the hand slip in further the feeling was revolting, I wanted to reach down and pull it out but my hands were stuck supporting me and quite useless. I couldn’t stand it and longer.

‘Please, Please, Please Mistress!’ I sobbed miserably, ’I will do anything you want, just please stop’

I was broken. I had given up. She had won. I could take no more. I would do her bidding, whatever it was she wanted from me.

‘I can already make you do anything that I want, you stupid bitch, I have total control over your mind and body so to offer me that is to offer me nothing. Do not insult my intelligence again………..’

She gripped me deep inside to make this point. I felt a deep unsettling pain as she squeezed my womb.

‘You do still have something left that you can offer me though.’

‘What is it?’ I begged to know, surely it could be hers for the taking. If not I would freely give it to her if she would just release me from her grip and let me go home.

‘Lets not make any rash choices now Anita. I want you to fully understand the options on the table before you sign your life away. ‘

Her hand was fully worked into me now.  It was deeply painful. When it moved there were new waves of spasm and pain, she was twisting her hand one way then the other to keep it constant; squashing my cervix between thumb and forefinger as she reamed her long gloved arm around inside me. It was a shocking, reviling sensation. If I had had any control at all I would have leapt up and ran as fast as I could in any direction.

‘I can’t take it any more Mistress, please, I’m begging you, please take your hand out of me’, I wept, begging for the abuse to end.

‘The first choice’, she continued oblivious to my protests,’ and the one I really don’t recommend, is this. I have a very comfortable wheelchair just behind that door. I’m afraid you’re going to have an accident falling down the stairs at your flat. It’ll be clear that you must have broken your neck because you won’t be able to move any of your body at all. Ever again.’

I didn’t think it was possible to be more frightened than I already was at that time but this brought me to a new height of terror. This was my deepest, my most terrible fear, she had cut straight into me with the worst thing I could have imagined at that time. She must have found that out from me during one of the sessions. Oh how I had betrayed myself! My mouth had gone dry and I had struggled to speak.

‘It gets better,’ she silenced me,’ they’ll scan your neck but everything will look absolutely normal; there will be no evidence of any structural problem. Obviously I won’t let you tell anyone what really happened, so they’ll draw their own conclusions. You’ll spend the rest of your life being looked after by people who think you are at best mad or at worst a liar and a fraud. It won’t engender much sympathy I can tell you. In fact I’ve already picked out a care home for you. I’m afraid it has had some bad press recently with some of the inmates being sexually abused and an otherwise appalling record on neglect and the preservation of dignity; but it’s cheap and for this reason, surprisingly popular. I think I can swing a place there though. I want you to remember how this feels every time you are fucked there’

My head was swimming again. My eyes lost focus then the hand inside me tensed, formed into a fist and punched upwards with the force of a powerful boxer’s jab. I screamed in agony. It was the release I needed, I had screamed in terror, absolute terror at what she had said. I had screamed at my total abject helplessness; and I had screamed at how the woman I had so respected, so looked up to and revered, had become the most evil, dreadful tormentor conceivable. I hated her like I’d never hated before but more than that I was terrified of her. I screamed in my absolute terror and in that moment was briefly transported away from the reality for the tiniest respite. Her voice then brought me back to my possible future.

‘How does that strike you Anita? I hear they generally just leave the residents in their rooms all day as it’s very little bother to do that. There used to be televisions but they tended to get stolen so generally the inmates are left alone in their rooms with their thoughts in a peaceful silence; sounds lovely doesn’t it. Of course the newer residents tend to get the poorer rooms. Most of the rooms don’t have windows and they are under pressure to stay competitive and keep costs down so they tend to turn the lights off too. You’ll have plenty of time to think about whether you made the right choice here today. Plenty of time to mull it over, I can tell you.’

As I whimpered, she gently stroked the side of my face with her other hand.

She paused for a while letting the gravity of her words sink in further.

‘Of course there is another alternative………………….It will demand hard work from you though.’

‘Please, I will do it’, I begged, like I was begging for my life.

‘And if at any stage I feel that you are not playing by the rules, there will always be the care home waiting. Do you want to know what the alternative is or have you already decided to go with the first option. I know it’s pretty tempting?’

‘Please, what is it Mistress?’

‘The other option is for you to give me something that I really want. I am going to change you significantly over the next few weeks. You will, of course, obey me completely in it but I want that little something extra from you.’

‘Please Mistress; I will give it to you’

‘I want your devotion to it. I want you to apply yourself to it. In short, I want your very soul’

I gulped. The day had been so unbelievable that thoughts of vampires and the devil filled my mind as she had suggested this. She wanted the heart of my being and that thing that was most precious. For many people it would have been a difficult choice.

‘It is yours Mistress, I am yours fully. I will apply myself to whatever you give me’, I had answered without hesitation. The alternative was just too terrible to contemplate.

‘Excellent.’, she had warmed, ‘It will be unpleasant but don’t worry I will be able to help you along the way. I want you to remember today, remember the feeling of the penetration of your mind, body and soul. Every time you are fucked I want you to feel like you are now, as you are being fucked by me. It is enough for you to know that you are going to be changed according to my specifications over the next few weeks. I want you to remember how this moment feels as you apply yourself to my will.’

She rammed her fist in hard again and wrenched it round. I felt like my very core was being ripped. I yelled out again in pure physical pain.

Then she took her fist out.

‘We will talk about this some more later, that’s enough for now. Clothes back on’, she said

She sat down at her desk and took off the rubber glove.

I got down off the table and, sobbing still, hurriedly scrabbled together my clothes and put them on. My makeup must have been streaming down my face as I stood shabbily dressed in front of her.

She pressed the intercom button.

‘Jenny, could you send in Miss Sanders please’

‘Go into my bathroom and fix your face, my obedient little slave’

I scurried into the private bathroom discretely concealed behind a panel in the wall. I sniffed and sobbed as I washed my face and started to put my makeup back on.

‘I haven’t got all day though girl’

‘Yes, Mistress’, I said, I was doing it as quickly as I could.

When I had disguised the tears and the redness around my eyes and made my hair look acceptable I adjusted my clothes and walked back out. I was surprised to see Trisha stood there smiling with Vivienne.

‘Hello Anita’, she had said, ‘I’m going to look after you tonight to make sure that you are all right for tomorrow. You have a very big day ahead. Come along’

She turned as if to walk and clicked her fingers at her show. My body lunged forward as I moved to heel, standing just behind her to the side, matching her movements.

‘Say goodbye Anita’, Trisha said.

‘Goodbye Mistress’

Vivienne was now sat back at her desk touching up her make-up with a mirror. She didn’t look up.

‘I look forward to seeing the results. Now behave yourself and remember what we have talked about as you recover tomorrow.’

Trisha started to walk out and I followed like a good puppy.

She opened the door for me and I walked back out into the reception.

‘Hi Anita!’

I spun to the sofa and couldn’t believe it. There was Melanie from the office beaming at me.

‘I thought I’d take your advice and come and get some help with the smoking’, she blurted out, and ‘I’ve got my first appointment now!’

‘Oh,’ I had said. God! I wanted to warn her. I wanted to scream at her to flee while she still could.

’That’s fantastic’, I lied, smoothing the pathway into the trap.

‘Dr. Black’s ready for you now dear’, Trisha said extending her arm towards the luxurious office. Melanie excitedly got up and clicked her way into the office giving me a little wave.

‘Hear you’re on holiday Anita, talk to you soon’

She was looking around at Vivienne’s room like a child in a sweet shop.

Trisha closed and sealed the door and then smiled at me. My heart ached for poor Melanie as I felt a wave of hatred and bile rise within me. I was completely impotent. Trisha turned and I followed. We walked outside and found her car.

She took me back to her house. I was so exhausted from my ordeal that I remember very little about it. I had started to feel sleepy. I remember that she did not say much but had made me eat, drink and shower. She had then put me to bed in a guest bedroom. She had calmed me with a soothing touch. She stayed sitting at my bedside for some time, stroking my head while I let out the occasional whimper. Gradually the terrible images faded from my mind.

‘Sleep now’, she hushed,’ save your strength for tomorrow’

I went out like a snuffed candle.

PART 6

Trisha’s two-seater Mercedes slowly crunched up the gravel driveway. I was hungry, thirsty and nervous. She had commanded silence from me from the moment we had left her house some two hours ago. I had quickly lost track of where I was, no doubt at her instructions. She sang along to the radio for most of the way swapping between stations to avoid hearing the same breakfast news stories over and over. She had a large plastic cup of strong smelling coffee in the holder next to her seat. She had not offered me a cup. Similarly, she had made me sit at her breakfast table while she had eaten toast, without allowing me any. She had then made me do the washing up while she put on her makeup.

She had given me a soft pink tracksuit to put on after I had showered. Under this, at her instruction, I had put on a thickly padded, push-up bra. It had made my little breasts look much, much bigger while at the same time pushed them together enough to actually generate some cleavage. After I had put on the tracksuit top and zipped it up, she had adjusted the zip downwards so as much of my breasts as possible were on show. I didn’t feel at all comfortable like that and she’d made a point of calling me ‘Busty’ or ‘Tits’ after that as a kind of unilateral joke. She had been so kind to me the first day I had met her. Now I was a source of amusement for her. She had turned into a school bully, taking delight in mocking and belittling me.

‘Come on hot cakes, lets sort out your nails’, she had said signalling pointedly to a chair opposite her.

I sat myself down and surrendered my hands. I controlled the frown on my brow. She said nothing but proceeded to take all my nail varnish off and scrubbed my finger nails so that they were clean. It was obvious that there were artificial extensions glued on when they were in their naked state.

‘We’ll keep this one clean’, she said pointing to my left forefinger, ’but there’s no reason we can’t let you tart the others up a bit’

At that she took out some bright pink varnish. She positioned my hands on the table and then started to paint my nails with it. I didn’t understand why she was doing this.

‘It’s so much more convincing if you look the part a little today’, she had explained as she finished my left hand and moved over to the right.

My left finger nails were drying with a loud, plastic, bubble-gum pink; lacquered thickly on. Unlike my usual deep, velvety looking, tones it looked awful.

‘Nice colour isn’t it’, she said raising her eyebrows as she started on my penultimate finger.

I didn’t answer. I was trying to sulk although I was wary of making that too obvious. I was still frightened. Not anywhere near as much as I had been the night before but a long way from feeling comfortable. While Vivienne had seemed like evil incarnate, Trisha merely seemed like a malicious bully. She wasn’t freezing me and violating my very being, she was just making me look tasteless; by comparison it was very little. I still hated it though.

‘Put your feet on here’, she said. I obeyed. Then she started to quickly paint my toenails too.

‘There now’, she said as the last nail lay there starting to dry.

‘Lets quickly do your face’, she said grabbing a bright pink make-up bag, ‘Look forward’

It took her only a couple of minutes to cover my face in a multitude of products, such was her expertise. I felt thick foundation and caught the sight of a pink lipstick that matched my nails. I didn’t see anything else of what she was doing as I obediently faced straight ahead.

‘Put these on now’, she said.

From the bag, she took out a pair of large gold rings, about three inches in diameter with a thick twisted ribbon design on. I had never worn big earrings like that before because I hated them; but did as I was told; pushing the little bars through the piercings in my ears and hooking the backs of the rings over the bars so they hung on securely. They reminded me a little of the ones that Melanie would wear, only these were even more eye catching and more tarty.

Trisha was grinning at me. She roughed up my hair and adjusted it to a fashion that she approved of. Then she walked out into the bedroom I had been in and returned with a white faux-leather overnight bag stuffed full and zipped tightly shut. Her other hand was obscured.

‘Here are the things you’ll need for your stay’, she said, ‘Now it’s time to leave, so put your shoes on’

She handed me a pair of white patent leather sandals with high stiletto heels. They were really tasteless. I took them, the straps hanging from my fingers as I looked at them in disapproval. What on earth was I going to be looking like? I know I used to look drab but I had never looked cheap.

She gestured at my feet. I was not being commanded here but I knew I had no choice as I put the shoes on the floor and slipped my feet into them. In my heart I wanted to kick them across the room, screaming at Trisha, running out into the courtyard outside.

The heels must have been five inches high. As I buckled the straps on I wondered if I would be able to stand properly in them, let alone walk. I looked down nervously at my bright pink toes peeping out from the knotty white straps and hoped that this would not be the day that I snapped an ankle.

‘Stop staring at yourself, Hot Buns, we’ve got places to be’

She stood me up and drew a wide white plastic belt around my waist fastening it with the large gold horse-shoe shaped buckle it had. It constricted my waist in the tracksuit making me catch my breath. I wanted to loosen it a little and went to touch it. She froze me with a disapproving stare and I took my hands away again. She’d then grabbed her own bag and made for the door.

‘Come along now, Titsy’

I had teetered out after her clutching the white bag. I caught a look at myself in her mirror. I looked so common; too much bright pink and blue makeup and dressed like a bimbo. The shoes, belt and earrings looked crass, slutty and demeaning. I was about to protest but I heard a click of fingers and was immediately fixed at her heel once more.

‘Sway your hips more when you walk in heels, Anita’, she sounded like a friend now; ‘try to capture how you felt at the pole dancing class last week.’

I filled up with shame. I knew I had no choice so I started the feeblest saunter that I could manage. I felt like such a slut, I was praying that nobody would see me. Before we even got to the car, some few yards down the drive, my feet were rubbing painfully on the plastic straps and the balls of my feet were aching in the cheap sandals. I was glad to get out of sight. I said nothing about my painful feet but didn’t feel in any way refined about my silence.

She had then told me I was to remain silent and only answer direct questions until further notice. There was no way for me to protest to this.

Her car pulled up outside the main door of the building. I didn’t know where I was and was start to fret.

‘No tears till afterwards now’, she said in an almost sympathetic tone, realising my fear.

My eyes remained dry.

She handed me a blank brown paper envelope and shooed me out of the car. I shut the door and she lowered the electric window.

‘Now I’ll be back to pick you up afterwards and take you back. Off you go, you have about ten minutes so you’re fine. Enjoy!’

The window went back up and she waved at me before speeding the car round and driving away. I felt like I was in a dream, it was all so unreal; partly because my stomach was empty but mainly because the place was all so alien.  It was a very modern looking building – all polished stone and angular chrome metalwork. The architecture looked like it was devised by someone who prized appearance far above function. For all the decorative false roof-canopies and unnecessary glass panes, it looked like there was only a relatively small part that people could actually use.

I turned round and looked at the door. It had the word ‘Entrance’ written on it rather non-specifically. Walking unsteadily on the last of the gravel before the stairs up to the reception I wondered where on earth I was and what I was doing here. In spite of the difficult shoes and the outfit I was glad to finally be rid of my tormentors and on my own terms a little more. If only I could forget how I had been made to dress.

I walked in through the door. The receptionist looked at me and, thankfully, did not betray any response as to how I looked. She took only a brief interest in me. I immediately handed her the envelope as a ploy to distract her. She examined the paper inside, looked up, smiled and said,

‘Bottom of the corridor, please take a seat by the statue’

She gave me back the letter and I tottered off down the corridor. I passed a couple of very well dressed men in smart suits. I felt like a cheap whore showing off her breasts and avoided eye contact with either of them. I was forced to strut to make any headway on my white stilettos. I cursed Trisha over and over again as I was sure I was stripping the skin from the backs of my heels. I gradually carted the weighty bag down to the bottom of the corridor and saw the statue. It was of a luxuriantly robed Geisha, a tight black bow wrapping her waist like a fine gift, her pale face looking down in deference but betraying a wry smile. As I admired her I momentarily forgot that I looked like a prostitute. There was another girl sat there. She smiled at me and moved her bag from the only other chair.

‘Hi.’, she said.

I smiled back. I was not to talk unnecessarily.

‘You being done today too?’ she asked.

‘Yes’, I replied without really knowing what she meant. She made a friendly gesture of pretend nervousness.

At that moment the door opened and a tall man in a well cut black pin-stripe came out.

‘Miss Janine Rothwell?’ he looked at us both. The girl put her hand up. He smiled slightly.

‘Please come in’, he gestured inside.

‘And you must be Miss Anita Durrant?’ he asked.

I nodded.

‘I’m very sorry but we seem to be running just a little late this morning. I shouldn‘t be too long. Please try and bear with me’

At that he turned around and shut the door. He was tall, broad shouldered and extremely good looking. He had short dark hair and a sharp, well-cut beard. He was the kind of man that I’d have stared at in the street. Ordinarily, even with my recent confidence, I’d have been quaking and nervous talking to such an extraordinarily attractive man. Today, though, I felt like a tramp. I must have turned bright red as he had addressed me. I had turned quickly to look at him, my earrings knocking against my neck, reminding me of how dreadful I looked; a showy tart with her breasts rammed up and out for the men to see.

I sat there for the next ten minutes wriggling my feet and ankles trying to find a comfortable position, dreading that I would have to face him again. I wanted to go and clean myself up. I wanted to go in looking like I had when I had worn my black dress and Vivienne’s jewels.

Janine soon opened the door and walked out, off and up the corridor. The door opened a second time and the man was there again.

‘Anita’, he said gesturing inside.

I made a weak attempt to smile at him, the best I could do under the circumstances. I felt fully humiliated as I picked up my budget-store matching bag and, in as dignified a way as I could muster, walked past him into the room. I felt the warmth in my face as I heard the door close behind me while I clicked to my seat. He must have noticed how I looked as I strutted past him.

I sat down in a chair and he sat behind his desk. He looked at me. I wanted to shrink away. I remembered the letter and my ploy. I gave it to him thinking that at least while he read that he would not be looking at me. After scanning it briefly he laid it on the table and once more set his gaze on me.

‘Well, firstly, congratulations on your new job’, he said, ‘I know the business is getting more and more competitive by the day now’

‘Thank you’, I smiled like an idiot. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

‘I specialise in this kind of work and want you to know that I’ve had a lot of experience in dealing with exactly what you have asked for. Because of its success it’s now becoming very, very popular indeed. I do this full time and have been doing so for five years now’

I nodded; he was putting my mind at ease about his experience. I was still totally lost. I had wondered what the new job meant. I remember feeling a moment of panic wondering if Vivienne and Trisha had lined up me up for something.

‘I just need to go over a few things, Ok?’ he said.

I nodded again

‘You’ve already selected styles from the on-line image suit, so that’s not a problem. I have all your choices right here’, he held up a dossier.

‘And I have an excellent letter from your psychotherapist explaining that you are very much of sound mind, understand everything fully and stand to benefit from this’, he looked up and smiled,’ I don’t doubt this for a minute Miss Durrant but you’d be amazed at the amount of hoops we have to jump through these days. Dr. Black is, I have to say, a superb therapist and we have built up an excellent business relationship now with….oh…..at least two dozen very satisfied ladies. If she is sponsoring your application then I have no doubt that it will be a complete success ’

I smiled politely

‘Now. I can do all the work today with the exception of one item. A two stage procedure is going to be necessary, with the conclusion performed in several weeks; that’s accepting the fast-track plan that you have already selected’

I nodded so he would continue, still completely fazed. He looked up again from the dossier.

‘If you could take off your top and bra now for me please’

‘I’m sorry!!!’

I had wanted to say. Instead, I went bright red, fumbled for a minute and then unfastened the belt and unzipped my top.

He stood up and signalled that I did the same. I rose, bashfully dropping my top onto the chair. The thick padded bra was now very much on display. He waited. I could pause no longer. I put my hands behind me and unfastened the bra. I slipped it over my shoulders and, keeping them together with my arms narrowed and up at my sides, I put the bra down on the chair.

‘Please Anita, there’s no need to be embarrassed’, he was very kindly and was smiling sympathetically at me. He seemed a little surprised by my reaction but was obviously very experienced in having a girl strip in front of him. He projected complete control and infinite time and patience. He was a professional.  I relaxed a little. I was blushing from head to toe.

A man had seen my breasts for about five seconds once – that was it. It had been the man whom I had slept with. I had never liked to expose myself, we’d had sex with the light off because I was too embarrassed to be seen naked. It was bad enough showing myself to him but the padded bra made it look like I had major psychological issues about the size of my breasts – I didn’t, they were small but they were me. I didn’t feel comfortable showing myself to a man; even with my new found confidence. Had I taken my date into my flat after the party I would possibly have let him see me topless I think – but only him; certainly not a complete stranger. While I fantasised about being found beautiful or, at my most daring, a sexy, glamorous dancer on the stage it was always in the context of being dressed. Being stripped by Vivienne had been terrible but it was not so much the nakedness in front of another woman that had troubled me. Rather, it was what she had done to me when I was naked. Being seen naked by a man, on the other hand, was a big issue. The cleavage I had flaunted had been bad enough but to be fully exposed like this before in front of a man was unthinkable. What’s more, I found him incredibly and disturbingly attractive which made it all the more difficult.

‘Just relax and stand up straight with your arms by your side’

I complied, not looking at him.

‘What I will do Anita, is put some tissue expanders in through small scars here’, he made a line with his finger on the underside of my breasts to demonstrate where the scars would be. I felt waves of arousal and nausea at the same time. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my mouth went dry again. He was feeling my breasts…………..He was going to operate on them.

My mouth choked up. I wanted to shout, ’No!’

I tried to whisper it even but could do nothing.

He started to touch the bridge of my nose too, clearly examining that.

‘If you could just take your bottoms and panties off now please, Miss Durrant’

I wanted to curl up and cry but I knew I had been forbidden. I dropped my pants kicking them off my hot eighties porno shoes. I felt fully like a prostitute as I dropped my panties for him. I was a deep, deep shade of red. Were I not under the strict control of Vivienne there is absolutely no way I could have done that.

He turned me away from him and knelt down behind me. He started to feel my calves and tendons.

‘Just go up onto tiptoes for me please’

I did so. I was glad he was so clinical, it helped me get through. He examined my lower legs as I stood on tiptoes. Even there, the tips of my heels probably were not much off the ground.

‘And if you come down again, just separate you legs and bend forward for me’

I did so. I was glad to hide my face behind my body but was very acutely aware that I was showing my sex to him. I was so glad that Trisha had waxed me that weekend and that my legs were newly shaved. I was almost holding my breath with shame.

‘Please just take your bottom cheeks and pull them apart for me’

I turned a pale beetroot colour as I pull my bottom cheeks firmly aside for him.

‘Looks like there’s been a little recent trauma here’, he commented.  I almost died.

‘I’ll be able to take that into account though so don’t worry about it. Please put your things back on and sit down’

I dressed myself again quickly. When I got to the belt I made sure to try and leave it a little looser than Trisha had. I was unable to fasten it any other way. I conceded to have it tight so that I was not scrabbling in front of the man. I sat down and pulled my bag a little closer to the chair.

PART 7

‘Now then. I need you to read and sign this form for me. It states that you fully understand the procedures and potential complications and that you consent to have the procedures performed. Please feel free to ask any questions you like.’

He placed a piece of printed paper on the desk and put his fountain pen at the bottom. I picked up the form and held it in front of my face. The writing seemed to be normal but I was unable to read it. Curse you Vivienne, inside my mind. I wanted to cry again. I looked up at him and felt like while I was unable to cry – my lip, at least should be trembling. It wasn’t. I felt like an illiterate bimbo. I couldn’t even read it.

I signed the form. I had no choice.

‘That’s all fine Anita. You’re fourth on my list so we will probably get to you in about three or four hours; in the meantime, obviously, nothing to eat or drink. If you’d like to go back towards reception and turn left just before, you can go and get checked in at the ward. I’ll see you again after it’s all done, Ok?’

He stood up and offered me his hand. I took it and shook it. I saw the crass, vile pink of my nails, my delicate fingers tiny in his strong hand. I looked away again. I picked up my bag and hurried out.

After as much time as I could realistically put it off, I had checked into the ward and changed into a theatre gown and dressing robe from my bag. Of all the stupid things, Trisha had packed my pink high-heeled slippers too. I saw one of the cleaners smiling at them on the floor as I sat with my feet dangling over the edge of the bed. I felt like a vacuous bimbo. Also, I cursed anxiously when I realised that Trisha must have been in my flat. What else had she interfered with? My mind was racing anyway.

Within no time I was a nervous wreck but I couldn’t say anything to anyone. I’d never had an operation before and was so scared. The girl from the waiting area, Janine, was sat at the bed next to me. She noticed that I was starting to struggle.

‘Are you ok, Sweetie?’ she asked.

I shook my head, looking up at her with puppy-dog eyes. She came around her bed and sat next to me. She put her arm round me and I began to shrink into her as my bottom lip began to tremble.

‘Don’t worry, everything’ll be fine’, she said in an Essex accent; although she seemed more than a little nervous herself. She kept trying to bite her nails and stopping; they were as plastic as my own.

‘I know loads of girls who’ve had this done, they all say it’s all right you know. It’s a bit sore for a few days after, but then it all starts to settle down. My friend Leisha, right, she couldn’t get any modelling work till she got her double D’s but now she has to fight for a holiday! And she gets paid loads too. She can’t keep the blokes away neither. She came here and got the full modelling lot, lips, nose-job and tits. Reckons she’ll be back for a facelift when she gets on a bit too. She does video too, don’t do no hardcore though so she didn’t get no bleaching or anything like that done’

She showed me her breasts and looked down at mine.

‘I can’t wait to get these done. Look at them, tiny aren’t they. You must feel the same right? No more messing around with padded bras for us eh?’

, she laughed.

She was trying to cheer me up. I didn’t reply, I just held on to her. I needed something for comfort. She couldn’t have been much older than seventeen.

‘My agent reckons I’ll be able to get on page three after this’, she said proudly. I tried to keep listening to her to take my mind off my predicament.  It was true she was very pretty and had lovely long blonde hair. I told her as much and agreed that with ‘a nice pair’ she’d make a great pin up. Although I pitied her for her worthless ambition and brainless lack of insight; and although I recognised that she was perhaps a different kind of slave, I had no doubt that I would have gladly swapped lives with her then, in an instant. She wasn’t owned as explicitly as I was. I had an evil Mistress who would have me cut upon for no obvious reason; and I was so scared because of it.

A porter arrived with a trolley. The nurse looking after us came over. She addressed my young comforter first.

‘Miss Rothwell, I’m terribly sorry but there will have to be a delay in your procedure, we’ve had some equipment problems I’m afraid; nothing serious, just inconvenient. Don’t worry though it will all be fine for later’, she turned to me, ‘Miss Durrant if you’d like to hop up onto this trolley, we can do you now instead’

I stared at her in disbelief. I was stunned. I didn’t want to go, not at all. Janine helped me up and onto the trolley, I could barely move myself. I gaped wide eyed at her as the porter pulled up the side bars on the trolley, I felt encased. In the hope that she could somehow stop everything I desperately tried to keep looking at Janine as he started to wheel me down the corridor. I was pale, cold and sweaty as she soon disappeared around a corner. My heart was pounding as I rolled down the featureless, sterile corridor. I was hyperventilating.

Within no time I was in the anaesthetic room with a drip in my hand. I had heart electrodes on my chest and an oxygen sensor reading from my one clean finger. I tried to scream, I tried to move. I tried to mouth the word, ‘Help’. I couldn’t do anything.

I started to panic. I could hear the beeps of my heart rate speed up. The anaesthetist realised that I was climbing up the walls with fear and he wasted no time.

‘Ok. Now think of something nice to dream about, keep it clean though!’ he joked, ‘and we’ll see you when you wake up’

I felt a cold sensation in my arm and then nothing.

I don’t know what time it was when I awoke later. I remember being sore and drowsy. I remember seeing Janine in the bed next to me with dressings over her chest. She was asleep. I looked down. I had bandaging over my nose. Looking down further, my chest was totally covered with a thick supportive dressing. Oh my God, they had done it!

I started to cry. I sobbed for a second and then started to wail loudly. It was ‘after’ now and I would have my tears; and the ones that I was owed. One of the nurses came over and cuddled me, soothing me. I wept in total and complete anguish. As I bawled my eyes out all I could think was ‘What had they done to me? What violation of my will had just occurred? What had been done to my body? What had they done to me?’

My lips and face were puffed and swollen. The tears rolled down over the taut skin and soaked into the bandages.

‘There now, Anita’, she said catching my name off my wristband, ‘What’s the matter, Hmmmm?’

‘I don’t know what they’ve done to me’, I wept. I looked into her eyes, appealing to her for an answer now that I’d been given an opportunity to ask.

‘Shhhhh, now’, she said. She gave me a soft reassuring smile, ‘It’s just the after-effects of the anaesthetic. It can play with your emotions a little you know. Everything went fine you know, there’s nothing at all to worry about’

She held me close but hadn’t told me what they’d done. She slowly stroked the side of my head. I resigned that I would have to wait longer and held her tightly, I needed the contact. I couldn’t say what I needed to say or ask what I needed to know. In spite of being held I felt completely alone. I closed my eyes and cuddled her.

I was awoken again later by the surgeon calling my name.

‘Anita? Ah, yes, there you are. Back in the land of the living again’, he joked. I didn’t want him to see me like this; but realised that he had done it all so it wasn’t new to him.

‘Everything went perfectly you’ll be delighted to know’

He paused and studied the chart at the end of the bed. Now was the time for me to ask him what had been done.

‘Brilliant’, he said putting the chart down, ‘well, I shall see you in my clinic, all the very best and good luck with the new job. Hope I’ve given you a helping hand.’

Next to me, Janine suddenly started to throw up into a cardboard vomit-bowl. The surgeon left me to deal with her. I lay back and closed my eyes. I’d clearly had had some cosmetic surgery I thought but I was unsure of exactly what had been done – or indeed why. I guessed that he had probably enlarged my breasts and maybe given me a nose job as well. I couldn’t think, though, why Vivienne and Trisha had arranged for me to have it done. I hadn’t been unhappy with the way I had looked physically, I had accepted myself. I had sometimes felt that my breasts could maybe have been just a little fuller but I accepted that they suited my smaller frame. I thought large breasts looked crude on a woman of my slighter build and hoped desperately that the enlargement had been a subtle one. My nose had a little bony prominence to it but I had never been too vain to find fault with it. Why anyone would target that for correction was beyond me. As I wondered more on their motivations the residual anaesthetic took me into a peaceful slumber once more.

As I slept, I was moved from the recovery bay to a private room.

It was later that evening that I was just about well enough to get up, out of bed. The nurse insisted that I at least had a cup of tea and a piece of toast first. I said I needed the toilet and she said that she’d help me as long as I was very careful. I had a catheter in place, to be wary of, and a swollen bag of urine to empty before I could get up. I had asked for a bed pan initially but she had said that it was a good idea to try and mobilise, even if just for a short while. There were risks involved in spending too long in bed after surgery.

As I sat up, my belly strained and ached. There were no scars there so I didn’t understand how or why it should be so painful. That didn’t make it any less so.

As I went to stand up, my calves suddenly alit with fire. Was there none of my body that was safe to move? My feet felt fixed pointing downwards; I could hardly bend my feet up at the ankles for the pain in my calves. What had he done to my legs and what possible reason could anyone have for doing it?

‘You’ll need these now honey’, the nurse said and put my slippers on the floor. I started to worry again about what had been done to me and how completely helpless I was. I slipped the toes down into the soft pink mules and tried to stand. My calves were killing me as I finally made contact with the instep, my feet resting precariously on the high heels.

‘They won’t stay that bad for long honey, don’t worry. You just won’t feel like doing much walking for a few days, that’s all’

She wasn’t kidding. I stood up, very glad of the heels. Any lower and I’m sure my Achilles’ tendons would have ruptured. I felt a little dizzy from the painkillers and my whole body ached. She handed me a walking frame that had been next to my bed all along.

‘Don’t be embarrassed to use this honey. Believe me, you don’t want to come off those heels today’

‘Thank you’, I said. I took the frame and used it to steady myself. I slowly made my way to the toilet. I felt ridiculous with the combination of heavy bandages, stiletto heels and a Zimmer frame. The nurse walked at my side to keep a careful eye on me and keep me steady.

Janine had continued to be quite sick for several hours and I considered myself lucky to have not had such a nasty reaction to the anaesthetic. I was trying to think of something else as I sat on the toilet. When I tried to open my bowels I felt a terrible dull ache deep inside. I remember thinking that had I died under the anaesthetic, I would not have minded. After I made it back to bed it was with a sense of nihilism that I took my tablets and rested my head against the pillow.

It seemed like I had just closed my eyes when I felt a nudge, my nurse was next to me again and it was clearly much later.

‘Telephone for you Anita’, she said

I was immediately worried; only two people knew where I was.

‘Hello?’ I said as the nurse walked out.

‘Ah! Anita, hello!’

It was Vivienne. My head was awash as the memories came flooding back. I remembered how powerful I knew she could be at the end of a telephone. I filled up with fear again, was there nowhere that I could be safe? I had my mobile too even if there wasn’t a phone in my room. It dawned on me that I must be constantly accessible; constantly on an invisible leash and a telephone ring away from total control; or worse.

‘I hear things went very well’, came the voice. She sounded bright, almost friendly, as if last night hadn’t happened,

‘I also hear that you’ve been a good girl. I am pleased with you, Anita’

I felt an immense relief! I felt a pathetic happiness. I was glad that I had pleased her! It was more than the relief of my fear of her; or possible punishment; it was a cowardly celebration of my successful ingratiation to her. She had become my keeper, my Mistress, and held such incredible power over me. I had pleased her as a little pet or toy might and felt a small pride in that. I hated myself for it. Where was my dignity? I felt the pain again in my swollen breasts and remembered that I had lost control of my life; become her property.

‘Thank you’, I said, humbled and once more mindful of the delicacy of my situation.

‘Now I want you to relax and be happy. You’ve been through the wars this last couple of days and I need you strong and recovered, understand. So here’s what will happen’

I listened eagerly. I was, for the first time since last night, not anticipating something dreadful from her.

‘As a reward, you may talk freely, within the normal boundaries. The only subject that’s off-limits is your surgery; you may not discuss what has been done. You may talk about how you are though. You will notice that you have some difficulty walking to begin with, this will improve but you must keep trying to do it as this will relax and stretch the muscles again. Stick strictly to heels though, I don’t want you walking anywhere without shoes. Now, you will be staying there for a couple more days to recuperate. I suggest you get plenty of rest, eat well and enjoy yourself with the other girls as much as you can. The food is excellent there, so enjoy it, and I have arranged for you to be massaged tomorrow. How does that sound?’

‘It sounds wonderful Mistress, thank you’, I whispered, almost touched by her apparent mercy. I had not expected that at all.

‘You see girl, if you behave yourself, good things sometimes happen. I will look at you when you return. In the meantime I suggest you continue to please me’

She hung up. I slowly rested my head back, into the pillow. I let out a long slow breath and for the first time in a long time, smiled a little. My body ached mildly but it was with a mild euphoria and a soporific haze from the morphine that I went to sleep; gone was my anxiety.

PART 8

The following day I awoke feeling like I’d been run over. Everywhere was tender. My nurse saw the discomfort I was in and gave me more painkillers.

‘I’m afraid the second day is always the worst’, she said opening the curtains allowing me to see the crisp, clear morning, ‘why don’t you have a look at this menu and tell me if there’s anything here that will help take your mind off it’

In spite of the soreness I remember being ravenously hungry and asked for a full English breakfast with sausages, scrambled egg, toast and fresh coffee.

When it came it was fantastic. Like a five star hotel it was all beautifully presented and prepared from the finest ingredients. My lips were thick and swollen but as I put the first fork of soft, creamy, scrambled egg into my mouth, I realised I hadn’t felt so good in days. I closed my eyes to savour it. The nurse brought me a newspaper and gave me the television remote. She told me that the room had all the film channels you could possibly want and told me to spend the morning relaxing; she would get me up for the afternoon. In the meantime if I needed anything, anything at all, I only had to buzz her.

Within half an hour I was carefree. The painkillers had kicked in and I felt a lovely satiety from the breakfast. Ignoring the effects of the delicious, Guatemalan coffee, I nodded off to the morning news on the television.

Before lunch I was given a warm, soothing bed bath and changed into some soft pyjamas that had been in my bag. Like my outfit from the previous day they were pink, this time more of a bleached cerise. They had the Playboy rabbit on; they were awful. The nurse made no comment on my taste but I felt very embarrassed as she said that she thought I should have lunch with ‘my friends’ in the day room at the end of the corridor. I didn’t really want to see anyone, or have anyone see me, but I agreed reluctantly. She exchanged a smaller bag onto my catheter line and strapped it to my leg. Then she wrapped me up in a thick pink dressing gown and told me that no-one would see it and not to worry. She lined up my slippers and Zimmer frame again and before I could admit that actually I’d rather stay in bed, I was struggling up the corridor.

The day room was actually a conservatory looking out across stunning pastures with mature woodland hills up on the far horizon. A huge weeping willow dripped over a wide, wind-swept lake to the right. It was the perfect autumn view to sooth the eyes and encourage recovery.

The room itself was high-ceilinged and furnished with deep burgundy sofas and tall-backed leather chairs around a stout oak dining table. A television hummed quietly to itself in the corner; the usual morning chat show; this time some shouty young teenager defending her choice to have an abortion. I hated morning television.

There were three other girls sat there already. Thankfully they were beyond caring about my situation. Of the three, one of them had a walking frame too. They were all bandaged around the breasts and, with the exception of Janine, their faces too. I noticed that the girl in the nearest chair had a complicated set of metal bars forming a harsh looking brace around her mouth. I counted that as a small mercy as I tip-toed past her to take a seat.

‘Hi Anita’, said my little friend from the day before. She came over and sat down next to me giving me kiss on the cheek.

‘See, I told you it would all be okay. Look at these’

She tried to thrust her chest out at me but recoiled in pain after pushing herself a little too far.

‘I can’t wait to be able to go shopping for some new tops, something to really show these off in, maybe a push up corset or a boob-tube or something’

She made a few gentle poses, imagining herself in front of the lens.

I considered myself a serious and intelligent woman; I usually couldn’t stand glamour models or bimbos. It outraged my feminist sense of worth as a woman to see other girls turn themselves wantonly into compliant sex objects for men to lust over. Ordinarily I would have not given her the time of day and would have scorned her; but the circumstances had made me warm to Janine. I had so needed a friend and she had been there when I needed her. She had the same grass-roots honesty and transparency as Melanie, and that endeared her to me even more.

‘You’ll look gorgeous sweetie’, I said, trying to play the role of the encouraging big sister, ‘you’ll be beating them off soon, I’m sure’

That was one of Melanie’s expressions; that you’d have to beat the men off with stick because you looked so good.

The other two girls weren’t saying much. The one with the braces looked like she wouldn’t be capable of proper speech for a while. I noticed that she had a fine yellow tube coming out of one nostril. It must have been so she could be fed while her jaw was so extensively wired. I felt so sorry for her; but she didn’t have a Zimmer frame and she didn’t seem to be in as much discomfort as I was. The forth girl had the same array of dressings that I did. She was the one with the walking frame. She was a slim light-brown skinned girl. Even under the bandages I could see that she was extremely pretty. She had lovely long eyelashes. She made no eye contact and studiously ignored the two of us, looking down at her feet. I thought maybe she was ashamed to be here, like me.

‘Jeez, you must have had the whole works done babe’, Janine said looking me up and down.

I blushed and turned away. The attention was now back on my own modifications.

‘I’ve never seen anyone have that calf thing done, that’s pretty hardcore that is. You in videos or a dancer or what?’

I was a little shocked. The black girl had heard what she had said too and stirred a little. I had wished that Janine was a little more subtle.

‘Er, Dancer’, I said. It was the closer of the two I supposed.

‘Thought so’, she said, ‘you have a dancer’s body’

‘Thank you’

I tried to take it as a compliment and was secretly a little bit pleased that she thought I had a dancer’s physique. It was impossible to make it out under the thick dressing gown and surgical dressings then though.

‘I’d love to be able to do what you girls can do’, she mused, ‘I can only just walk a bit in really high heels, but that’s it, I’m unsteady and it’s proper hard too. I know I’ll have to wear ‘em for porn shoots and that. Can’t do no real dancing mind, pole dancing and lap dancing stuff, that’s proper skilful that is.’

It was easier not to bother pointing out that I was not an erotic dancer.

‘Bet that hurts though at the moment. Walking, I mean. My tits are pretty sore but you’re all bruised up everywhere; and with that walking frame too!’

There were some things I wished she’d just shut up about.

‘Yes. It hurts, thank you, Janine’, I had said. I looked out over the meadow and welcomed a moment’s silence.

Before long a waitress came and took orders for lunch. Presumably out of sympathy, the wired girl was escorted away while the table was laid for three. It was a difficult meal. Janine didn’t stop talking, while the other girl couldn’t even look at us. I didn’t say much myself, instead I allowed myself to get lost enjoying a beautifully cooked sirloin with potatoes and sauce Béarnaise. Janine had a plate of chips with mayonnaise which she ate with her fingers. I was relieved when, finally, my nurse came and walked me back to my room.

Later that afternoon I found myself back in the day room. I had been given a wonderful massage in my room. It had lasted over half an hour. The masseuse was a plump Asian girl with long pony-tailed black hair swinging down to her bottom. She had a firm, powerful grip and clearly was very well practised at her art. She had concentrated on my feet, arms, neck and head; so as to avoid my tender areas. She had also worked extensively on my calves to loosen them. It had tortured me as she glided her thumbs along the lengths of my burning tendons, again and again. She had rubbed them over and over to get some heat into them and then gradually applied a stretch to them. I had screwed my face up tight trying not tense them as I knew that that would make them hurt even more. I was so relieved when she finally moved down to my feet and the agony became a relaxing, soft bliss.

I had taken a brief afternoon nap before being walked back to the day room. It was empty save for the black girl from earlier.

I felt a difficult tension in the air and sat on a sofa away from her. I watched her from across the room. She was curled up in her chair looking down. Below her, a pair of black leather, stiletto-heeled mules was discarded and to the side was her walking frame, similar to my own. She had dressings over her nose and breasts and was wrapped in a thick gown as I was. I wondered if I could make out the bulge of a urine bag against her leg. She ignored me. As I watched her some more I realised that she did not look at all happy. Then a possibility jumped into my mind. I sat up, alert, wondering. I had to talk to her; she wasn’t like the others. I had to do this..

I grabbed my frame and slid my shoes back on. I carefully stood up and made my way over to her. I was determined to find out about her. She looked up as I inched across the room towards her. She seemed frightened and at first tried to shy away, that only made me more determined.

‘Hello’, I said in as friendly a voice as I could muster.

She tried to give me a smile, instead looking like she was about to cry.

‘Hello’, I said again, ‘my name’s Anita, what’s yours?’

‘Lisa’, she said quietly, looking down again.

I turned round and sat myself down next to her, exaggerating the show of relief I felt as my calves eased. I wanted her to see that I was in the same state as her; I was a friend. I didn’t know how to broach the next subject. I knew that certain topics were taboo for me and that there were some that I would be completely unable to bring up. I was also very mindful of my need to not do anything that could be interpreted as misbehaviour by my Mistresses. Vivienne had told me to have fun with the other girls, though, so I was clearly allowed to talk to them

‘How are you feeling?’ I asked innocently

She looked into my eyes and I cold see tears forming.

‘I’m……….’ the tears welled up in her eyes and she started to sob.

‘Are you able to answer?’ I asked her, forcing her to look at me. She sniffed and then I saw a spark of recognition in her eyes. She realised what I was getting at.

‘Yes’ she nodded.

‘Are you able to talk?’ I asked her.

‘No’, she said staring at me in disbelief and acknowledgement. She was now fully alert.

‘Just answer questions then?’

‘Yes, Anita, that’s right’

She sniffed and tried to stop her crying; she was trying to smile for me.

‘It’s okay’, I said putting my arm gently round her, ‘it’s okay, Lisa, I’m your friend now okay?’

I felt calm and composed. For the first time it was me who was able to be the strong one. She wiped her eyes and then looked at me. I wanted to ask her all sorts of questions; if she was as controlled as I was; when she had been taken; what had been done to her; but I didn’t dare try. Instead I asked her about herself. Even using ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers it was possible to learn a lot from someone. Lisa could at least reply a little more fully than that. I found out that she lived two hundred miles away, almost on the south coast. She was 25 and had been born in Somalia but came to live in England when she was a baby. Her father, originally French had been a diplomat in Somalia initially but had taken permanent residence in England after an early retirement. Not long after this he had passed away. Her mother was still alive but they had fallen out, I didn’t want to ask why, I was after all, trying to raise her spirits a little. She had two brothers and a sister back in Somalia. She was married but separated and she had no children. She had started working as a lawyer for a large firm in London. She kept a small flat there since leaving her husband.

I kept talking to her for at least another hour about anything that came into my head. I remembered how horrible it had been when my own speech had been restricted. I wanted her to be able to express something of herself to someone. Even if we couldn’t talk about the issues burning in our minds, we shared so much in what was not spoken. We had found each other; someone else who was being put through the same. I wouldn’t have wished it on anyone but I was selfishly glad to not be alone any more.

Our meeting was eventually terminated by my nurse who came to put me back to bed for more rest.

I didn’t leave my room after that, I was too tired. I ate another fantastic meal and fell asleep for the night in front of the television. It was seven o’clock.

PART 9

As we drove back, I tried to piece it together in my mind. There had to be a reason for everything, I had no doubt of that.

I had been awoken to another breakfast in bed. As I had eaten and looked forward to another morning in bed the nurse had told me that she would make sure everything was set for my discharge, that afternoon. I didn’t want to leave my room, it felt protective. I had been cared for there, looked after; and well at that. Nothing bad had happened to me since I had been unwillingly operated on, so I associated the room with peace. It was my sanctuary. I was troubled at the thought of leaving.

That morning I had been given another massage and then another bed bath. During this, my dressings were taken down for the first time so that the nurse could examine the wounds. I couldn’t see my nose at first but she looked happy enough with it and said that although the dressing could stay down, some clients preferred to keep one on for discretion, especially when they were leaving the clinic. I said I wanted to leave it open to the air, the dressing had been annoying and impeded my view. She warned me that it wasn’t pretty and would take days for it all to settle but showed me my face in the mirror. There was heavy bruising and swelling all around my nose and lips, I looked like I’d been a punch-bag. I looked away. I hoped that I would look all right when it settled down. I was neither vain nor especially pretty but my face had been unblemished, before Vivienne had ordered me cut upon. I started to get teary again at the thought of my helplessness and had to shake myself out of it. What was done was done. I tried to think of Janine. I tried to remember that many girls saved long and hard to have this kind of thing done to them. I tried to convince myself that maybe I was actually lucky; that I may end up looking beautiful at the end of all this.

She slowly took the dressings off my chest. I watched anxiously as my breasts were revealed to me for the first time. They were also heavily bruised, blue and deep red shades swirled on the tender skin of my giant battered orbs. They were much bigger. They looked like they had been stuffed full. The skin, designed for my small, understated mounds, was taut and ripe to burst such were the size of the implants sealed inside my skin. My nipples now pointed upwards and outwards. I considered them and gulped to myself. They were now a pair of well above average sized breasts, at least a D cup I thought, probably more, I was no expert. I was scared of them. I remembered how I’d felt when Trisha had made me wear the push up bra, even with my small breasts. I had felt so naked, so displayed and so ashamed. I would not be able to hide these anywhere near as easily; even in a normal bra their shape would show, no matter what I wore over it.

I pulled myself together and again tried to remind myself that many women better than myself had opted for breast enlargements. Maybe it was all for the better. My attempt at self deception didn’t last long. I soon had full teardrops running down my cheeks, I hated that my body had been mutilated against my will. I hated the hideous projections on my chest, they were not my breasts anymore; they were alien. I didn’t know if they belonged to me or if they were really Vivienne’s and I was just wearing them, permanently. I wanted to tear the scars open and rip the hideous things out. My mind moved to wondering about the true reason for it all. I desperately avoided spending any more time dwelling on the terrible purpose that had Lisa and me at this clinic; it would surely just upset me even more. I had told myself I must try and think of something else.

The nurse tried to soothe me and reassure me that it would all settle down; that really he had done an exceptionally good job on me. She said it was very normal to have so much bruising at this stage. I ignored her and tried to think about something totally different. I thought of the office, of Melanie and my boss. I thought of the girls at work. Oh god, would I have to go back to work like this! Oh no! I started to worry all over again. I desperately hoped that the changes would be subtle. I didn’t think I could face the other girls if they knew I’d had time off for cosmetic surgery; or my boss for that matter; or anyone in the whole office. I fretted to myself as the nurse cleaned and re-dressed the wounds under my breasts. She told me everything was healing well. I didn’t care.

Then she examined me down below and pulled some bloody swabs from my vagina. I was shocked! I didn’t know why I had bled from there. It was heavier than a period, a lot heavier, and I wasn’t even due on mine. I so wanted to ask her what had been done to my sex. I was starting to get very upset at the thought of this new violation. I searched for sensations there, trying to gather evidence. I could feel all my vulva as she wiped me. I felt her swabbing my lips and my clitoris, so I didn’t think it I had been cut there, I was relieved. I was sore in the depth of my belly but I couldn’t think why that should be. I felt a sudden sharp, burning pain as she drew the catheter out of me and gave me a quick wipe. As the smarting subsided she put a thick, clean pad under me and pulled some fresh panties onto me. My bed bath was now complete. I was still trying to hold a straight face.

When she left, I turned, put my head sideways on the pillow and sobbed to myself. I would have buried my face into it if my nose hadn’t been so sore. I curled myself up like a foetus and wished that none of this had happened. I reached a finger down between my legs and felt myself. I could feel the pad. I was scared to feel inside. I wished that I could jump back in time. I would take my old life back. I would be drab and dreary again. I would be boring and plain but I would be in control and safe and I would have my own body. The more I thought about it the more I wept.

The thought of harming myself crossed my mind. I surprised myself with this but I was desperate. What if I just ended it all? It wasn’t going to get any better. What if I cut my losses and took my own life? I could swallow some pills and it would all fade away. It was worth carefully considering as I remembered that I had given my life away already. Maybe I should steal it from Vivienne as a final ‘fuck you’. It would have given me great pleasure to annoyingly snatch a stalemate from her won position. I hated her so much now; she had taken everything from me. She had made me have obvious, big tits. She had interfered with me in other ways that I didn’t understand. I was so scared that I’d be made to show my breasts off, to look like the kind of woman I despised. I gently put my hands on them. They were me now, I couldn’t take them off.

Back in the car I sniffed back a sob.

‘Anita, be quiet’, came a voice from the front.

‘Yes, Mistress’, I said, steadying myself.

From my right, in the seat next to me, I felt fingers take hold of my hand. I looked at her. Lisa couldn’t speak to me but her eyes were soft and understanding, trying to comfort me. I gripped her hand and didn’t let go.

I had been surprised as I had sat in the car. The nurse had helped me dress in the same clothes that I had arrived in and had packed my bags for me. She had led me out to a waiting room where she had handed the bag to a waiting, smiling Trisha. She had then left and returned with a package. It looked like a small box measuring several inches along each side. It seemed heavy and was wrapped in light brown paper, knotted with string. Trisha took it and put it carefully in her own bag.

With the simplest of controlling gestures she led me outside and sat me in the back of her jeep, stowing the bags in the boot. She hadn’t spoken to me but left me there for at least half an hour. I had sat and sulked, dressed as a cheap slut again. At least my hair was tidy and my face was clean, albeit colourful in its own way.

I heard crunching on the path and turned to see her returning, this time with Lisa. She was carrying a bag for her too and in the other hand had another brown parcel, the same as the one she had collected before. She opened the door on the other side and put Lisa into the seat next to me. As she shut the door and went back inside we looked at each other in fear and when Trisha was out of sight we rushed into a tearful embrace. I quickly took her arms off me. I didn’t want us to get into trouble but I was so glad to see her. I gave her a careful kiss and gripped her hand.

Trisha got into the driver’s seat and turned to face us. She broke into a grin.

‘Well look at my sluts now. Very nice. Hot little bitches I think’

She eyed us both up and down making approving noises. She snorted, derisively at Lisa next to me with a look contempt. Her face relaxed as she returned her focus to me, finally resting her gaze on my breasts. She looked me in the eye and winked at me. Then she turned back to face the road and laughed to herself. She turned the radio on and then sped the jeep off, down the driveway.

We arrived at my flat in record time, Trisha liked to drive fast, frighteningly so in fact. She got out of the jeep and took the bags out of the boot.

‘Out sluts’, she snapped.

We both got out.

‘Bring your bags and follow me’

I was puzzled as both Lisa and I picked up our bags and tottered after Trisha towards my flat. She let herself in, with a key that she had obviously had cut for herself, and left the door open for us. I stepped in after her with Lisa behind me, staring around inside. My flat seemed, thankfully, much as I had left it.

‘Make me a cup of tea, Anita’, came Trisha’s voice from the living room.

I put my bag down in the hallway and put the kettle on. I walked into the living room to check if anything had been altered. It was all the same except for two large boxes set in front of the television.

‘You now have a room-mate Anita’, Trisha said, ‘Lisa here is going to be living with you for a while’

We exchanged looks, this was not too bad at all.

‘While you are here you may both speak totally freely, if I am pleased with you that is. If not, you already know that I can take your privileges away as easily as I can give them out.’

It was true. She had all the power.

‘You still have some recovering to do from your operations but that doesn’t mean that we can’t put the time to good use otherwise. You, Bitch’, she said looking at Lisa, ’strip. Now!’

She began taking her clothes off.

‘Where’s that tea, Anita?’

‘One minute Mistress’, I said, hurrying out to the kitchen. I wanted to be able to talk with Lisa. I wanted to keep Trisha happy. I returned with her mug to see Lisa completely naked, lying face up on my sofa. Trisha had opened one of the boxes and taken out a large but mysterious, white electrical appliance. It had a number of leads and tubes attached, I didn’t recognise it. As I set down her tea on the table I watched as she connected the various wires and plugged it in. As she turned it on a number of lights flashed and some LED numbers glowed on a small faceplate.

‘You strip now too Anita and then come here next to me’

I quickly followed her orders, I was not overly pleased to once again be naked, but was very glad to get the sore, cutting straps of my shoes off the stripped, angry skin at the back of my ankles. As I took my panties off, the thick pad stayed stuck underneath me. I peeled it off. There was a small patch of reddish, yellow staining there but nothing like what had been there earlier. Conscious once more of the florid bruising on my battered body, I was about to kneel next to Trisha, near the sofa.

‘Hold it there, Anita. Stand up straight. Let me look at you’

I stood up straight, staying on tip-toes because I couldn’t flatten my feet. It hurt to have to hold my whole weight on tiptoes; the first time I had stood without the support of high heels. My weak muscles started to shiver and shake. I tried to hold myself still. I didn’t like her looking at me but I was much more scared of displeasing her. Moreover, I wanted her to let us speak to each other. I almost wished I could put the shoes back on as the discomfort grew.

‘Wow! Nice tits, slut’, she said with appreciation, ‘why not stick them out just a little more for me’

I pushed them out as far as I could. She chuckled to herself.

‘Yes, very nice. Turn around now Anita and bend over, let’s see all the goodies’

I turned and bent to touch the floor.

I felt her forcefully spreading my buttocks. Then she gave a little contented chuckle and told me I could kneel next to her.

‘Pull your legs up an spread them wide, Bitch’, she said, slapping Lisa on the leg. She raised her feet high above her head and spread her legs wide, completely exposing her crotch.

‘Look at how smooth and soft her sweet little ass is now’, she pointed at Lisa’s anus, ‘ yours is the same, Anita darling. You’ve both had some bleaching tattooed all round your sweet little ass-holes while you were asleep. It looks a lot less purple and…well…..bowel-like now don’t you think? A lovely, baby-soft pink. So, innocent, so much more…………..inviting.’

I swallowed.

‘It makes you both look much more sophisticated, believe me’, now she was mocking us.

‘You will both be very special, very…’, she looked into my eyes,’….desirable when I am done with you. That’s what you always wanted isn’t it, slut? You wanted men to lust over you.’

‘No!! Not like this!’, I silently protested. I wanted to be loved for who I was. I wanted to be beautiful, so beautiful that it inspired irresistible attraction; who didn’t want that? Attraction, not lust; not crude sexual desire.  I averted my eyes, I didn’t want her to see the dissonance in my thoughts.

There weren’t many reasons I could think of for making a girl’s ass look pretty. I watched her, numbed, as she took a tool that trailed off from the electrical appliance and held it up for us both to see. It took my mind off my backside. It looked a little like a soldering iron. It was essentially a handle with a thick umbilical connecting it to the box. There was a compact, little button on the handle and a short needle a it’s tip. The needle tip was much, much finer than a soldering iron’s. It looked like it would bend if you blew on it.

Trisha unhurriedly took her cup and sipped her tea.

‘Watch closely Anita. This is an electrolysis machine. It’s for hair removal. The little needle tip here fries the roots of the hair follicles, where they grow from. It’s like plucking the hairs except they don’t come back afterwards. It just stings a little bit when it fires’

With that she carefully put the tip into the root of one of Lisa’s leg hairs and pressed the button. The machine buzzed and I could see a tiny patch of whitened skin under the surface. As she pulled the needle back the hair fell off of it’s own accord and Trisha smiled contentedly.

‘There you are you see. Really not too bad’, she said hanging the probe back on the machine, ‘I can assure you that it’s not rocket science. It’s not difficult to find the right part of the hair, it’s just very boring and very, very time consuming. Normally this machine would be used to remove a few stray hairs on the eyebrows or around the lips. It’s a top of the range machine so you are both very lucky’

With this last remark she smiled at me and took a long drink from her mug.

‘You try it Anita’

She put the probe in my hand and guided me to sit over a quivering Lisa.

‘Relax, both of you’, she said moving my hand so that the needle touched the tip of another hair.

‘Now. Just work it down into the follicle a little…….There, that’s it……Now zap it’

I pressed the button, the machine buzzed again and the hair floated off.

‘Well done’, she said cheerfully, ‘now carry on repeating that, Anita. I want you to be confident with the technique’

With that, she got up and took a seat at my dining table. I took the needle to another hair and once again zapped it. I did it again and again, each time the tiny hair detached and was swept away by the currents from my breath. I looked up to Lisa, I didn’t want to be doing this but I had no choice, I was commanded. She shook her head at me trying to smile but I could see that she was upset. She didn’t want me to feel bad though, God she was so sweet!

Trisha let me carry on for another ten minutes. She had bought a newspaper on the journey back and was casually flicking through the stories.

‘Well done Anita, that’s good. What a quick learner you are! I’m sure that will come in very handy’, she flashed me a demonic grin, ‘Now let’s swap places. You lie down there and you, Bitch, get up here and take this’

I lay down on the sofa and Lisa took up the instrument. As before, Trisha took her through the technique, demonstrating the proper method first. As the machine buzzed I felt the mildest nick above my ankle. That was fine, I had thought. I was more nervous when Lisa took up the tool and I could feel her unsteadiness. She got it wrong the first few times and buzzed the wrong parts. It didn’t hurt any more than before but I gathered that she wasn’t doing it right.

‘You are quite a stupid bitch aren’t you?’, Trisha asked her.

Lisa kept quiet and ignored her.

‘I see. So you like to not speak….Eh bitch?’

‘Please answer her’, I was thinking, I could see where this was going.

‘Yes, Mistress Trisha. I am quite a stupid bitch’, came her reply. I wanted to be relieved but her tone had not been at all respectful.

‘Oh, I know that already, slut. You clearly need to think about your manners I think’

‘No Mistress, I am very sorry’, she now realised that she had made a mistake.

‘And to think, I was going to let you both chat away today as well’

‘Please Mistress, she didn’t mean it’, I had blurted out. I was anticipating punishment and I so didn’t want to have my speech confined again.

‘Don’t you dare tell me the way things are either, slut’, she snapped at me, clearly displeased. This was not going well. I whimpered. I just wanted things to be a little easier if they could be.

‘I can see you both need to learn lessons. You need to learn that those mouths are now our property, that they respond promptly when talked to and that they don’t interfere in things that don’t concern them. I will deal with this in a moment’

Turning back to me she caressed my leg.

‘You won’t ever have to shave these again Anita, think how much better that will be’

She moved her hand upwards.

‘You will remove all the hair on each others legs. Then you will attend to this’, she grasped a pinch of my pubic hair and tugged roughly on it, ‘all of it, so there’s not a hair left. Get round the back as well, I want you both beautifully bare all down here. Then do each others armpits and all down each others arms. Then do any stray hairs on your faces, round your lips or on your necks, backs or belly’

I was looking up at her in absolute horror. She smiled back at me

‘That’s right Anita, you’ll be baby-smooth all over. Not a hair on your body’

She stood up. Her face hardened.

‘Now. Up sluts! Stand there’, she pointed

We both got up and stood side by side facing the window. She went to the other box behind us and I could hear her removing something.

‘Now then. Open wide Anita’

I opened my mouth as I felt her hand behind my head.

‘Wider’

I opened it all the way. I felt something around my head and then, suddenly, something large, thrust into my mouth. I tried to let out a muffled noise but she was pulling it further in. It felt like a thick rubber shaft, filling my mouth. I tried reflexively to spit it out but there were two straps, one on either side. She grabbed one in each hand and pulled hard so the thick rod was pulled much more deeply into me, jabbing at the back of my throat, making me wretch. I was frantic and wide eyed as she buckled the strap behind my head, yanking it and tightly securing it in place. I fought to keep my hands at my sides throughout, I knew that the last thing I should do was anything to aggravate her further. It was all I could do to not reach up and tear the vile intrusion from my throat. My eyes watered as I swallowed on it, the foul rubber slipping over the back of my tongue and throat as I gulped. While I was struggling to hold it together she fitted Lisa with the same device. I could see a thick strap around her head holding it in place. I could see that she was gagging, and hating it too. Trisha stepped back in front of us and smiled.

‘You will wear these for two hours and then two hours a day afterwards. I hope you are pleased with yourselves about this. This will punish those displeasing throats for you. I strongly recommend that you take the time to think very carefully about how you want to speak to your Mistress, and whether she wants to hear it. Two hours can very quickly become four or six, so be careful’

I cursed Lisa to myself and then quickly ticked myself off for it. It was not her who was forcing us to wear these gags. I couldn’t get comfortable in the damn thing, it was so horrible.

It wasn’t long before I was back on the sofa with Lisa zapping me again. In no time Trisha was getting ready to leave.

‘Remember sluts. Two hours a day in the gags. You will not touch your own gag. You can gag each other and be sure to fasten them tight. You can choose when your two hour slot is. With the hair removal, take turns on each other. You have three days. There’s food in the kitchen so you have no need to leave the house. You remember all that you stupid sluts?’

It was not easy to forget. We both nodded in our gags.

‘If I find a single hair on either of you when I come back….well, I think your Mistress has offered you both alternatives should you not wish to devote yourselves fully to her. These will be realised for both of you if I find a hair between you. Three days is not very long for two whole bodies. You will have to work long and hard to do it, so get on with it’

With that she turned on her heels and left. I looked up at Lisa. Her brow was furrowed in deep humility, I could see she was so sorry about the gags. I held her arm and tried to show her that it was all right. She held up the electrolysis tool. She was not at all happy to make herself an instrument of my torment. I pointed to my leg and nodded at her; we had to do this, there were more terrible things than depilation. I was trying not to think about what would happen when she finished my legs.

PART 10

By the end of the morning we took each others gags out. It was wonderful to finally be free from the gagging and to have the constant pressure relieved from my throat. My jaw had started to ache intensely from being held open. Though it felt much better to be able to finally relax it, every time I moved it to speak, I was reminded of how sore it was.

After Trisha had left, we had cuddled for about five minutes and then decided to carry on working. Lisa had picked up speed at the electrolysis and had got about halfway up my calf. I looked at my legs. Since I had last shaved there were short, dark stubs starting to grow back. It was easy to see the targets and where they had been obliterated. I touched myself on the patch that was bare. It was perfectly soft and smooth, permanently.

‘I’m so sorry about the gags, Anita’, Lisa had said,’ please don’t hate me for resisting her. I just can’t take it, not from her’

With that she had dissolved into a stream of tears.

‘There, there, it’s okay’, I said holding her, rocking her gently, ‘let’s take a break and I’ll make us some tea’

She buried her head into my breast.

‘They are turning us into whores aren’t they?’ she said, looking up into my eyes.

I looked away.

‘I don’t know, Lisa, I really don’t know’

‘Come on Anita! We’ve got big tits. We can’t walk without the help of fuck-me heels! They’ve had our assholes bleached for fuck’s sake! What else could it be for?!’

I started to cry too. I didn’t want to be made into a slut. I stood up and scampered out, on tiptoes, to the kitchen. I wanted to forget the whole idea and started hurriedly to make drinks.

‘Please don’t be upset with me, Anita’, she had followed me and was standing in the doorway. She came up behind me and held me.

‘I’m so scared too’, she pressed her head into my back,’ At least we have each other now’

She turned me round and lifted my teary face to look at her. She tried to smile. I tried to smile back. We held each other again, both in tears.

‘I’m so glad you are staying here you know’, I sobbed to her.

‘So am I, you’re all I have now’, she sobbed back.

By the end of the day we were both bare on one leg each and I had taken all the hair off up to above Lisa’s mid-thigh. It had been a monotonous, repetitive exercise but we were both getting much faster and more efficient as the day wore on. We had been able to talk, unrestricted, for the first time. There had hardly been a moment of silence between us since we had taken the gags off. It was as if, by talking, we could take refuge within each other, away from the terrible reality; away from the tyranny of our Mistresses’ plans for us.

It had been truly cathartic for me to tell her my story. I had not been able to speak to a soul about the details of my subversion and subsequent torment. I told her everything, all the terrible details and she listened patiently, as she worked on my leg. By the end, she was in tears for me. She didn’t seem much surprised by any of it. I was sure a lot of it was very familiar to her. She told me how brave I was. She kissed me and told me that other girls wouldn’t have made it this far, that I was made of tough stuff. I didn’t feel like it. She then told me what had happened to her.

She had been married, as it happened, to a wealthy man. He had made his money selling beer; owning several large commercial breweries and a handful of internationally recognised brand names. She had met him several years ago by which time he was already a dashing, young multi-millionaire. They had quickly fallen in love and were married after only six months. She had been so happy with him to start with. Things had, unfortunately, turned very sour when, fairly recently, she had discovered that he had been sleeping with his secretary. After hiring a private detective, she found out that she was only one of many other women in his life and that he was not only a serial adulterer but a regular at a number of different strip clubs and brothels throughout London. She had been devastated. She had confronted him and told him of her plan to divorce him. As a lawyer herself she planned to take him for all he was worth.

It had been around this time that his sister had contacted her. They had never really known each other too well but she had been very keen to help support her, during this difficult time. Her sister had told her how her brother didn’t deserve to have such a wife after the way that he had behaved. She was so apologetic for his behaviour and took it upon herself to make amends in the name of her family. Lisa had, after some initial suspicion, warmed to her and accepted her peace-offer of a course of relaxation sessions. The idea was that it would help to relieve the considerable stress that she was facing. She had been introduced to Dr Vivienne Black who was a good friend of her sister-in-law and things had gone from there. Now, her brain had been treated and she was completely at her sister-in-law’s mercy. Trisha had told her, in no uncertain terms; that she would be terribly punished for presuming that she could attempt to ruin her brother. She had told her that she had always despised her and had felt that her brother had married far too far below himself. She had told Lisa that she was no better than a common street-whore and that she would see to it that Lisa understood that and was reminded of it every day of her life. As well as that, Lisa had simplified her divorce settlement so that she would take none of their joint assets. She had instructed her firm that she just wanted an immediate annulment of her marriage without a difficult courtroom struggle. She had, of course, signed all the relevant paperwork, rendering herself destitute. She had then resigned from her job and transferred her flat and other assets to Trisha. She had moved out to come to the clinic and now my home was where she would live and the small bag from the clinic, the sum of her possessions.

We had stopped stripping each others hairs to hold each other.

‘I know you have been forced to come here Lisa. But I want you to know that you are so welcome here in my house. Please try to see it as your own, as ours, somewhere shared’

I decided that then was a good time to show her round.

‘Come, let me show you round’, I said trying to sound as enthusiastic as I could. It was a pretty pointless exercise as she had already seen all the rooms except the bedroom. I just wanted to try and raise our spirits a little. I wanted her to feel welcome, especially as I now knew she was otherwise homeless.

I showed her where everything was kept in the kitchen; where all the food was stored and the freezer. I showed her to the bedroom. As I opened the door I was a little startled. There was a suitcase there.

‘My things!’ Lisa exclaimed, obviously recognising her luggage. As she picked up the case and laid it on the bed, popping the catches, I noticed a letter resting on the pillows. As I picked it up, I noticed the word ‘Sluts’, written in thick black ink; it was addressed to us.

With a feeling of dread, I took it and opened it.

It said that from now on we would be both sharing the only bed in the house; my single. It then said that as a part of our ‘training’ it had become necessary for us to start to master the sexual arts. Every night, until told otherwise, we would sleep together, during which time Lisa would be required to bring me, with her mouth only, to orgasm. I stared at it, taken aback as Lisa took it from my hand and read it herself.

‘No!’ she said, ‘I can’t do that, Anita’

She looked up at me, and I at her.

‘We must’, I said, ‘We have no choice’

‘God damn it, Anita! There’s always a choice! This has gone too far. I say enough!’

‘Don’t be stupid, Lisa. What can we possibly do? Eh? What can we do?’

I knew that a refusal on her part would count as one for me too.

‘We’re helpless’, I was starting to shout at her, ‘we’re fucked! Can’t you see that? They have complete control over us. Any “choice” we think we have is what they are allowing us to have. What choice do we have? It’s either do what they say or be punished. And then maybe they’ll make us do what they say anyway by commanding us to. No, Lisa, the only choice we have is, we do it now or we get punished and then do it later’

‘I know that, Anita. I’m just saying that there may be another way out of this. It’s not good but it’s the only one with any dignity, I can tell you that much’

With this, she turned away and looked out of the small bedroom window.

I was silent. I had had those thoughts myself.

‘We’ll be gradually forced to do more and more demeaning things until life will truly be worse than death’

She turned around again, solemn and deadly serious.

‘We could choose to take control.’ Her hands were formed into fists ‘We could end this for each other, painlessly. What else do we have to live for now, hmmm? I don’t think you want to be a slut and I sure as hell don’t’

We looked at each other, silent for a minute. I could see the logic behind what she was suggesting but I couldn’t bear to think about the actual execution. I had never thought that I would be seriously considering anything like this. I had always thought that however bad life got, there would be a way to cope with it. Things had clearly changed.

‘Look, if we are going to disobey then that means we have to do it now, or very soon’, I said.

Lisa nodded in agreement.

‘And…….I don’t think I’m ready to do that yet, Lisa’, I looked at her through a blurred teary vision, ‘can we not think about it just a little longer. It’s such a big step and once we do it, there couldn’t be any going back’

‘So you want me to have sex with you then?’ she asked.

‘No! No! I don’t want that at all, Lisa!…..Please try and understand that I find the idea as revolting as you do’, I implored her,’ I think we need to buy ourselves more time to think, that’s all’

She turned away and paced up and down. After a few minutes she said,

‘All right. I’ll do it. I agree that we shouldn’t be rash about this but we should set a time. If things aren’t improving by then, then we must go through with it. I suppose it will give us a chance to prepare anyway. If anything else happens though, we should just do it. I don’t know how, find a railway line or jump in front of a bus or something, anything. I’m not having that bitch do much more of this to me. You understand? There’s only so much I can take and I can’t take much more, Anita’

‘I understand, Lisa, believe me. Come on, let’s get back to the electrolysis or we’ll definitely be made to suffer’

PART 11

That night we brushed our teeth, turned the light out and got into the bed together. There was an uncomfortable silence for a minute and then she rolled to face me and held me.

‘I’ve never been with a girl before’, she said to me.

‘Me neither’, I said.

‘If I was going to be, I would want it to be someone like you Anita. You’re a beautiful person, really you are, you know that?’ she stroked my face.

‘Aww!……….Thank you!’ I had said, genuinely touched.

‘Now, they will know if we fake this, so we have to do it properly’

I nodded.

‘Just try to relax and enjoy it, that’s the best way for both of us’

With that she backed off under the covers.

I couldn’t believe the situation I was in. Here I was, in my own bed, with another woman about to kiss me in my most intimate, sensitive area.

I felt her hair sweeping down my breasts and then my belly until I could feel it brush over my pelvis and thighs. It was soft but electrifying as it brushed, leaving a trail of charged, static pleasure, sensitising my skin. Oh God, I was enjoying it! I felt an overwhelming sense of embarrassment as I realised that another woman was exciting me. I swallowed. I wanted to tell her to stop but my rational self told me that it would be a futile exercise; that we would just have to begin again and repeat it anyway.

‘Yes, best to get it over with’ I thought, as Lisa had said. I felt her body fall between my legs. Oh God! With a resigned reluctance, I opened them, spreading myself timidly before her.

I felt her hands take my hips and hold me. I felt her moving closer, I could feel her breath between my thighs and her warmth on my lips below. God it felt good. I couldn’t believe how good it felt or that I was letting myself feel this way about it. It was supposed to be a perfunctory exercise, a mechanical exchange that would let us tick our box and move on to another day. But I was enjoying the touch, the feel of another woman on me, it was all wrong. I started to cry. I bit my lip; she mustn’t know I was crying. We must get it over with, with as little fuss as possible.

Was I a Lesbian for feeling aroused? Oh God no! I thought to myself, I was normal; a normal woman. I was attracted to men.

I felt something soft and warm, gently running up my lip on the right.

‘Oh!’ I moaned.

The tongue moved down again leaving a trail of swelling warmth behind. Reflexively, I tried to lift my hips slightly, but they were controlled by her hands and held down. I wanted her back on me. I wanted more of the touch. I could feel my clit hardening, like she also wanted to lift herself up, in need, to her lover.

Then, I felt a deep warmth as her whole mouth cupped me. She closed her lips, sweeping together across my engorged folds and then, with a kiss, upwards to surround my throbbing clit. I shook involuntarily with the exquisite touch but was again, held fast. She nuzzled my hood upwards to further bare the tender flesh beneath, ready for her tongue.

‘Oh, my God1′, I moaned as the tears dried on my hot, flushing cheeks and I felt the firm snaking of the tip of her tongue around my tensely swollen bud. I was so totally, so disturbingly aroused, completely at her mercy as she ran slow, tiny pleasure circles around me. I was burning with guilt at my apparent homosexuality as the overwhelming sensations coursed through me. It felt so good and I knew it was a bad idea to stop. I took my mind wandering, to imagine that I had a gorgeous, strong man between my thighs. A man so overtaken with how beautiful he found me, so enamoured with me, that he longed to give me the most extreme pleasures imaginable. He would make me feel such a devastating feminine beauty in the depths of my being; he would make me understand how beautiful I was.

‘Oh!’ I moaned in tension as the lapping on my clitoris drove me into a rampant frenzy, ‘Oh!…..Oh!’

I felt her reach deeply inside me. With the speed of her entry and the ease of its accommodation, I realised that I must have been sopping wet with lust. The image of the soft, mocha skinned beauty between my legs flashed into my mind as I closed my eyes in denial at what I had become. Then she was back on my clit with fast flicks, I couldn’t stand it. I caught my breath as she gripped me and forced me to stay still, receptive to the unbearable pleasure she was giving me. I submitted to it. Then I wanted it. As I felt a tide of orgasm building I started to gasp uncontrollably and moan in complete abandon. Then, without a choice, I came. I almost screamed with the most intense, earth-shattering orgasm I have ever had. My whole body coursed with the rolling waves of climax until I was so sensitive I couldn’t be touched and had to jerk myself away.

‘Oh, my God!’ I breathed, catching my breath.

Lisa ducked out from the bottom of the bed and hurried to the bathroom. I heard her spitting and running the taps. My pleasure soon left me as I was brought back to the reality of the situation. This was not love. It was rape; I had raped her mouth as she had been forced to pleasure me like a sex slave. A colossal guilt swept up inside me as I bent out of the bed to try and see her, to make sure she was okay. I heard her washing her mouth out and then brushing her teeth.

It was about five minutes before she came back and crawled into bed beside me. She avoided my eyes. I was so upset that I burst into tears, saying I was sorry over and over. She held me but didn’t say anything. I could tell that she was more than a little overwhelmed herself. I hated that I had caused her to feel that way. It was as if my pleasure had become her misery, as if I had stolen her good feelings.

I cried myself quietly to sleep that night as she faced away from me. Later that night though, when I turned over in my sleep, I thought I heard her sobbing

The following day we had risen early and had taken a quick breakfast. Lisa apologized to me for the night before, saying that it had been very difficult for her to come to terms with being with another woman, especially being forced to, against her will. She stressed that it had nothing to do with me and that I should not feel bad about it in any way. She said that she hated the total control that she was held under and that with every abuse that was forced upon her, she felt that a little of her soul was being forever wrenched away. I had kissed her and stroked her as she lay in my lap. After a few minutes, she had hugged me, composed herself, and then pulled me over to the sofa to start the electrolysis.

We had decided to get the gags out of the way and wore them straight away. They were just as unpleasant as the day before but we got on with our task together. On a couple of occasions I had to fight to keep my breakfast down. By the end of the morning the gags were off and we were making good progress; there was not a leg hair left on either of us.

We were contemplating the next stage, the humiliating removal of our pubic hair. I had said that I thought it would make me feel child-like, pre-pubertal but also more exposed; that I would have nothing to hide behind. Lisa pointed out that it was practically mandatory in the sex industry to have a shaved sex and that it was an incredibly slutty gesture. She said that she wouldn’t like anyone to see her bare like that, that she would feel terribly ashamed. That didn’t help me with the task at hand and I had wished that she had kept that to herself as it added another dimension to my humiliation.

It was then that the doorbell rang. We looked at each other quizzically and I grabbed up my robe, donned my slippers, and went to answer the door. As I pulled it open, I was confronted by the towering figure of Dr Vivienne Black. She was dressed in a long black coat and a black, wide-brimmed hat. The corners of her deep, dark crimson lips curled upwards into a snarling smile before she opened he mouth.

‘Pick those up, girl, come back inside and get that robe off’

She brushed me aside, striding into the living room. There were two large bags waiting for me on the doorstep. I grabbed them; the right hand one being weighty, the other one light; and hurried back inside. By the time I was in my living room, Vivienne had removed her coat and hat and had sat down. She was wearing a light grey skirt-suit of fine wool. Her hair, as usual, was pulled into a high ponytail. I could see, now that her hat was removed that it was bound tightly with a piece of thin, knotted black leather; gone were the soft, feminine flowers she often wore there. Lisa was kneeling at her feet with her head pressed down to the floor. I hurriedly pulled my dressing gown off and threw myself on the floor, my head down against the carpet.

‘I have two boots. One for each slave girl’, she kept her legs crossed; ‘lick them clean. Now!’

We both swallowed, I took the foot dangling above the ground and immediately started licking at it. She was wearing a pair of knee length, lace-up, black leather boots with high stiletto heels and long toes. The boot before me was not dirty save for a few specks of dried dirt towards the lower edge. I licked at them with as much enthusiasm as I could muster; I wanted them to be spotless for her. The bitter taste of polish and the smell of the leather were not that bad. I would much rather have devoted myself to that task than risk one of her terrible punishments. Vivienne curved the pointed toe of her hanging boot outwards, so that I could lick the other side. To my right I could see Lisa applying herself with the same ardour, bending herself around to the back of the foot, licking at the beige leather underside of the arch of the boot.

Vivienne laughed.

‘That’s it. You little bitches are not good for anything else yet so you’d better make sure you give them a damn good clean now; lest I decide that you are completely worthless and decide to dispose of you both in some unpleasant way’

She lifted the foot that I was licking. I immediately started lapping at the mud on the spike heel. I swept my tongue up its entire length to catch the tiny splashes of dried puddle water that peppered the jet black, matt veneer on the horizontally grained, wooden heel. At the very top of the stiletto, after it curved upwards and backwards to smoothly join the leather; I attended to the back of her heel. I worked my tongue into the line of tiny stitching that formed a tight seem behind, hugging the back of her foot, working loose the little mud that had collected there.

‘Good girls!’ she cooed, ‘from now on, whenever I enter your room; that is how you will greet me. Understand?’

‘Yes Mistress’ we said in unison.

‘Your Mistress likes her boots to be shiny and clean. If I ever pick up any dirt on them, I expect you to beg to be allowed to clean it off. If you ever allow me to walk in dirty boots I will have the soles of your feet beaten, severely. Do you understand that sluts?’

‘Yes, Mistress’ we both repeated.

She bent over to eye her boots and inspect our work. We both pressed our faces into the carpet in submission.

‘I see you have both learned a little more of your true place. Now, both of you, stand up. Let me see you. Attention!’

We both jumped to our feet, the toes of them anyway, and stood before her, eyes straight ahead. She stood, taller than either of us in spite of our tiptoed stance. She regarded me with a feline smile.

‘You’re nose and lips; the swelling has gone down now. That is how they will be. Have you seen them today?’ she asked me

‘No Mistress. I have not looked at myself today’

She reached into her handbag on the table and took out a vanity mirror. She handed it to me.

‘Look at yourself’

I looked into the mirror. My nose was still a yellowy-brown as the bruising was fading but the shape was no longer masked by the inflammation. The bony lump at the top of my nose was no longer there. Instead I had a smooth, cute, slightly upturned, petite and pretty nose. Its only downside was that it looked like every other generic ‘perfect plastic surgical’ nose. My lips were still full and bulbous, I gasped as to my mind they were still too swollen.

‘Yes, Anita, you almost have a lovely face now’, she stroked my cheek softly, ‘yes, very pleasing, both to me, your Mistress, and, you will find, to men too. Pleasing because of its aesthetics, you look sexier now dear’

I jumped a little as she stroked my breasts,

‘But also pleasing because your surgery was designed to be less subtle than is currently possible. I want your face to look like it has been operated on. I want people to see vanity when they look at you; the sad vanity of the wannabe slut; the willingness to please and the willingness to conform to a man’s needs. A girl who will put herself under the knife shows her devotion and commitment to being a real slut’

She laughed

‘And then there are your huge bulbous lips. They just scream ’slut’, don’t they?’

‘Yes Mistress’, I looked down briefly and then corrected myself. I could feel my eyes start to dampen.

‘They’ll look even better, enhanced with an eye catching gloss I think. Lovely tits as well, Anita, by the way. You look like a sycophantic little bimbo don’t you, so eager to be a man’s wet dream?’

She looked me in the eye with a gleeful glint.

‘Yes Mistress’

‘Tell me, Anita, are you looking forward to showing those tits off?’

‘Yes, Mistress’, I said. I wanted to be fully cooperative with her the tears in my eyes doubtless betrayed my true feelings. She snorted.

‘Your tits are still healing. However’, she leaned very close to my ear and cupped my breast ‘when they are ready we will inject the implants with more liquid. We’ll do it gradually, slowly, so the skin has time to grow. Then, when you have lovely big whore’s tits, we’ll have a nice, big, permanent implant fitted. That’s right, your tits have still got quite a way to go, and already they are big enough to turn heads. How do you like that?’

I was starting to break down. I broke my position and turned to look at her.

I dropped to my knees and put my hands together in a praying gesture.

‘Please Mistress! Please don’t do that to me! My tits are big already, lovely and big, I already look like a whore. Please let them stay as they are’

I bent down and kissed her feet again, throwing myself into it in the hope that it might save me.

‘Awwww! Poor slave’, she stroked my head. I felt slightly comforted, maybe she would be merciful. Maybe my Mistress would take pity on me?

‘Stand again’

I returned to attention. She held her finger over her lips in mock contemplation. She quickly nodded her head, having thought about it.

‘But you’d look so right as a big-titted slut, Anita. I’m afraid I must insist, so we’ll say no more on the matter’ she gave me a sickly sweet smile ‘Now, Mistress Trisha tells me that you have a lovely little anus as well now and I can see that you are both longing to wear high heels too. You will thank your Mistress later when you appreciate that you will have a lot more control in high heels now. The unfortunate side effect, as you have already discovered, is that you will be quite unable to stand with your feet flat, ever again! So its slutty stilettos from now on for both of you I’m afraid’

She cast her glance over Lisa, next to me and then told us both to kneel again.

‘Now then my little novices, I have some presents for you both’

PART 12

Only a week ago, a gift from Vivienne would have had me brimming with eager anticipation. Now, it was with trepidation that I watched her reach into one of the bags that I had fetched in for her.

This thought made me realise that it had only been a week ago that I had been revelling in glorious attention at the yacht ball. Her gifts to me had been; choosing that perfect, demure dress; and the priceless pearl jewellery. I remembered how it had been that night; how I had been a lady. I muffled a sob at the thought of how steep my decline had been since then. I had gone from such a peak, to such an unfathomable trough in just seven days.

‘These mark your gradation from clueless little bitches to proper, aspiring slaves. These will help in your training and, later on, they will allow much, much more’

She removed something from the lighter bag. As she moved closer, I could see that she held two leather straps, a single gold buckle on the end of each. I had been thankful that it hadn’t been some other hideous devices to torment us. She came to stand in front of us. I could see that one of the straps was a natural, light tan colour and the other was a studded patent white. She turned the leather straps so the darker, rougher and unpolished side of the leather faced us. On the inside of each there were two prominent gold studs spaced about two inches apart.

‘These are collars for you both’, she said.

She took one, the tan coloured strap and started to fix it around Lisa’s neck while she remained obediently still. Then, I dared not move a muscle as I felt the cool leather strap of the white collar, first at the back of my neck, then winding round until I felt it’s pressure around my whole throat and it was buckled tightly behind. I didn’t dream of reaching up and touching it so I stretched my neck out to let it sit more comfortably. I could vaguely feel the two studs on either side of my windpipe, although not uncomfortably so. I couldn’t fathom their purpose.

Vivienne stood back in front of us and regarded us with satisfaction. She sat down in her chair and crossed her legs again.

‘You will wear these when you enter the house and all the time you are inside. Keep them by the front door hanging on the coat pegs when you leave and put them on as soon as you enter. They are several things to you now. Not least of which is that they are symbols of your ownership. In donning your collar you will acknowledge to yourselves that you are kept properties, animals, and as such you have obligations to please your owner, your Mistress. They make pretty decorations to you both as well. I’m sure you will find that Mistress Trisha has chosen the colours wisely and with a careful eye on the final looks that she wants you both to have. They both suit you quite nicely already’

She leant forward and stroked my collared throat.

‘They have much, much more important functions though’

At that, she stood up, leaving us kneeling in the same place.

‘You have both been, in your later therapy sessions, conditioned to respond to certain key words’

She strode gently behind us.

‘You may remember feeling different after those sessions. That’s because you were being taught to suffer. You have been conditioned to experience pain, truly horrible pain; and with it, the most unbearable fear. I have trained you to experience absolute terror’

She was right behind us, her head bent almost between us.

‘It is the mother of all understatements when I say that I have programmed you both with very, very unpleasant punishment routines. I have tapped into the deepest, darkest and most painful parts of your brains and installed little switches there, pain amplifiers if you will’

I felt a hand on my head.

‘It is possible, at a command, to put you into this punishment state for a time. My other girls try very, very hard to avoid their punishments, so fearful are they of them. I assure you, as it is with them, so it will be with you two. It will help to keep you………..focused’

She smiled. She turned her attention to Lisa.

‘The collars that you both wear act as safety devices; you must be feeling the studs pressing against your neck for the punishment to occur. It’s to stop the unlikely event of someone inadvertently using the word while you are out, triggering the sequence. Anyone who knows the word can punish you, you see? Eventually that may be quite a number of people. All of whom you will have to be totally obedient to’

I shuddered.

‘Don’t worry about being free from punishment though, you can be commanded to put the collar on first, and if I want you to be punished while you are out somewhere, you can be made to take it with you. Maybe you will wear it outside as part of your outfit, if Mistress Trisha wants you to look like that’

My heart raced with fear as I felt her hands come onto me from behind, caressing the leather fastened to my neck.

‘Why bother with all this if you are both my obedient slaves already?’

She looked at us as if we had asked the question.

‘Now I could have you mindlessly follow any orders I give you; but that is not what I want. It would be far too easy; and where would be the fun in that’

Again she smiled ruefully at us.

‘I don’t want my slaves to be cloned automatons, mindless trained sluts who repeat the same behaviours over and over. I want you both to develop yourselves into the natural slaves that you are both meant to be. I want your individuality forced through into your final states and held there for everyone to see. I don’t want your souls buried beneath a weight of commands and programming, I want them helplessly exposed and forced along; nailed to the front of the engines of your slavery’

She was lecturing now, gently pacing backwards and forwards.

‘To achieve this, it is necessary for you to be free to experiment within your lessons a little. Soon your training will begin. You will be set a number of tasks. Some of them will be very specific, but others, you will have to find your own way with. In all of them, anything less than complete devotion and successful completion will indicate punishment; and it will be unpleasant’

She stroked the side of my head

‘You will learn that the last thing you want to do is fall below standard, believe me. No matter how awful you think my tasks are, the punishment for not complying with them will be far, far worse’

She casually stepped back in front of us and sat herself down in the chair again. She crossed her legs. She was in total control.

‘Now that I have seen how my two sluts are coming along, I am almost ready to go. Just a couple of further things before I leave you to get on with stripping those sweet, little cunts down’

I was totally still and docile. I desperately did not want to try this new punishment.

‘We are going to install a few things about the house; all things to help with your training. You will soon be recovered enough to start working properly; fit enough to start your training in earnest. I hope you will both work hard for me, very hard. I hope you will both apply yourself to your studies. You will learn the arts of sexual pleasure and the different disciplines of pleasing.’

‘I will have you taught how to behave, how to walk, how to talk and how to move. You will study how to dance and how to show off those lovely slutty bodies. You will be forced to drive men wild with desire. You will learn how to be hot, irresistible and available; and you will learn how to satisfy the lust that you have stimulated. Most importantly of all though, you will eventually learn that you must be continually improving and developing yourselves. That’s what makes MY girls so special. You will contribute ideas towards your own training and then be submitted to them. We will have little interviews so we can direct your progress. You will finally become independent, self-directed little whores, devoted to my purpose.’

She sat back and smiled to us with satisfaction.

I could not believe what I was hearing. I was to be trained to be a sex slave,  a prostitute, a whore!…And worse than that, I was not only going to have to work hard to learn my new role but I would be punished, horribly, if I was not good enough!

I was so completely cornered; there were no options available to me. While every instinct that I had wanted to me to scream ‘No!’ at her, I knew it would do me no good and worse, it might earn me discipline. At the same time, it was inconceivable that I could accept the plan that she had just laid out for me. I was intelligent, educated and from a good background. I wasn’t to be a whore! I just couldn’t be! That was for other women; lower class women; women who didn’t have the dignity to get a proper job; women who were just natural sluts. Not for women like me, not for someone who was too sensitive and enlightened!

I wanted to tell her that she had the wrong girl, that somehow she had taken the wrong person. All I could do was look down in misery and try to hold back the tears. I had dared not even open my mouth; such was her domination of me.

‘Before I go, I thought it might amuse you both to see these’

She unpacked the other bag, the heavy bag, which she had brought with her. As she took them out, I immediately recognised the two packages that Trisha had carried from the clinic on behalf of Lisa and me. They were still in the same brown parcel wrap and string. After briefly examining them she handed one to Lisa, the other to me.

‘I have a little hobby connected to my work. I’m something of a collector you know’

She motioned that we should open the packages.

‘I wanted you to see my latest pieces, before they are set in their places in my collection. Do be careful with them now girls’

She was smiling sweetly now. It sent a sharp, metallic chill cutting through my soul. It was like she was some dark, festive bringer of gifts. I hesitated. She motioned to me again, less sweetly, and I reluctantly tore at the paper.

The paper was several layers thick; the packaging on the heavy box had been generously layered. As I scratched away the final sheet in one corner I felt a smooth, cold surface. Scratching away some more I could see that it was glass; glass with some kind of fluid inside.

I was so scared. I looked up at her sardonic grin; her cold, sadistic eyes enjoying watching me, like I was a spider having her limbs plucked for her amusement. She bade me to continue.

I flipped the string around the corner of the box on one side and slid the remainder of the packaging off en masse.

I stared at it. It was a glass box, perfectly filled with an umber liquid. Floating in the middle was a ragged, brown mass. It looked like some sort of triangular lump with a pair of trailing water-swollen appendages. It was hideous.

I looked up questioningly. Her expression turned to one of glee,

‘They were removed vaginally. It just wouldn’t do for either of you to become pregnant and in your line of work, periods are a nuisance’

I dropped to my knees. I could see my ovaries swaying in the wash as I hit the floor, the specimen box held up in front of me. I felt the box lifted away from me as she reclaimed her trophy.

I would never have babies.

I broke down and wept.

PART 13

As I opened the door I caught my breath. There were two women standing there, neither of them were familiar, that didn’t stop them practically walking through me. Unable to protest, I watched as they carried in a stack of boxes. Having piled these in the front room, they went back to their car and came back with even more. As an inert bystander in the activities in my home, I had returned to the sofa and stared at the floor for a minute. I had been scouting for any rogue hairs left on Lisa. Watching the girls out of the corner of my eye I tried to carry on; I could not see any, she was as smooth as a baby below the hairline on her head. She had just finished looking me over. I had stood naked in front of her with my legs spread while she had examined me. I could feel every stir and eddy of the air as a cool brushing on my sensitive bald skin. Nowhere was I more conscious of this than in the area that was accustomed to being sheltered with pubic hair.

I had grabbed my short robe to answer the door and could feel the crisp autumn air rushing in against me.

With a slam of my front door, the two women set down the rest of their boxes.

‘You are to stay out of the way and keep quiet while we work’, said one of the women. I knew that I was bound by that command; I could feel when a message was aimed at Vivienne’s control system within me. It seemed that anyone could be given access to this since she had fitted it. It was like a parasite in my head, I almost wanted to smash it clean open and rip at my brain; such was my frustration. I gritted my teeth and once again accepted that I was a controllable ’slave-girl’.

I looked at the nearest girl. She was in her early thirties, I thought. She was immaculately figured, with short-cropped bleached, blonde hair. She was a tall Amazon, a classical Germanic beauty. Her accomplice was a smaller, but no less beautiful, red-head. She had the same low-maintenance hairstyle as other girl but was wider in the hips. Both were dressed in practical, forgettable, grey overalls.

I had turned back to Lisa as they had started to unpack. The cool air had lifted some microscopic hairs up on her forearm. I was thankful for the luck as I set to them with the electrolysis probe.

It was two days after Vivienne’s visit. As I fried the tiny patches beneath the hair follicles I realised that I was sitting almost in the same place that I had been when Vivienne had crushed me. I had been revolted, in equal parts, at her depravity and how I was so helplessly subject to it. Her vile, psychopathic ‘hobby’ of storing the removed wombs of her victims revealed just how unhinged she really was. That anyone could gain pleasure from that was twisted and warped beyond my comprehension. The fact that it was she who was my Mistress was starting to fill me with nihilism. I would never be able to live a decent life, I was sure that she could not possibly be planning that for me. Maybe the only way that I could live would be to avoid her punishments. It struck me that to try and live between the gaps of her strict regime would be a progressively futile enterprise. Maybe I would just have to go with it. Maybe I should simply no longer care, as my caring just gave her ways to torment me; but then that was the kind of person that I was; I had morals, aspirations and ideals; I couldn’t just erase them.

I had always thought, in fact I had known, that one day, I would get married and have children. She had now torn that from me, quite literally, to become a decoration in some macabre display. On that day, I had started to carefully count my blessings, as I had no idea when the next atrocity would be afflicted on me, nor what it would be. Maybe my hands would be cut off next, so I should just enjoy having them; or maybe she would blind me, for fun; so I should cherish every single vision, even the terrible ones. It seems to me that there is only so much fear that a woman can live in before she starts to change, irreversibly. In the most perverse, deconstructive way, she had almost rendered me enlightened!

After she had left, I had locked myself in the toilet for two hours. I’d tried to take a razor blade to my wrist but I knew that I would be forbidden before I could pick it up. That was the final straw, the death blow, checkmate against Anita. I couldn’t even kill myself. ‘Fuck it’, I had thought. I resigned. I gave up my resistance that day. Having lost everything, my fear had started to give way to an abandonment of concerns. It was almost liberating. I knew I was fucked, fucked up beyond all hope, but maybe I could scavenge some grains of enjoyment from this somewhere. Maybe. I would try.

There was a thump to my left. I returned to my work, studiously ignoring our most recent intruders. The girls were obviously well drilled and experienced. Within an hour they had set up two computers in the front room. They had set up a secure internal network and had fitted cameras in each room of the flat. These were apparently ‘wireless’ and each looked down from one of the ceiling corners so that the whole room was within its range. The blonde girl had done the fitting while the red-head had spent her time at the keyboard, configuring the system, I supposed.

When she had set up all the cameras, the blonde girl started connecting leads to the other computer. There were a number of units, mounted in a rack that needed to be wired to the computer. After she had done this, she went back to the car and returned with a large, padded sausage-looking thing. It was about three feet long and about a foot in diameter. She took a number of sturdy, adjustable metal poles and fitted them to the sausage. As she turned it upside down and stood it on its four legs, it reminded me of a vaulting horse. She screwed an umbilical cable into the horse and connected the other end to the rack of boxes. Another trip to the car and she came back with a clinical, white case which she stowed under the horse. Finally, it was all set up. They arranged it so that one computer was facing into the room while the other had its screen disconnected and was secreted inside a cupboard. After this, they both cleared away all the boxes, collected their tools, and without a word, left.

I zapped the last hair that I could find. I wanted this job done well and Mistress Trisha would be here soon, she had to be satisfied. We had packed the electrolysis machine away and were just letting our curiosity pull us towards the new equipment when, true to her word, Trisha arrived. She let herself in.

She was dressed in a stunningly cut black trouser suit; her hair was pulled tightly up before billowing outwards as fluffy shocks of wavy curls. She was an incredibly attractive woman but it was her deportment that carried her towards near perfection. Lisa and I had discussed our plan for her arrival. As she stepped gracefully towards us, we both threw ourselves to the floor on our bellies and, naked still, we started to vigorously lap at her boots.

‘Good sluts!’ she said, her pleasure was almost palpable.

She let us clean her boots for a minute before getting us to our feet. She had us standing with our legs widely spread and our arms up at ninety degrees. She took a magnifying glass from her bag and gave us a serious look. I was not religious, but I had prayed that we had done our job properly. She started with Lisa. Her magnifying glass had a light on the inside edge of its rim; there was no way that she would miss a single hair. I shut my eyes and prayed again.

The tense minutes dragged out further and further as Lisa’s body was scrutinised to the minutest detail, we were all in absolute silence. I could hear Lisa breathing rapidly next to me, I wanted to reach out, hold her hand and tell her that we were in this together. I stayed motionless as Trisha straightened her back and, in silence, moved over to me. I was shaking as she looked me over. One minute she as under my armpits, the next she had me pulling my buttocks aside.

‘Mmmmmm, look at that lovely soft pink rose, Anita’

I let out a surprised little scream as I felt her fingernail rub against the inside of my anus. Shocked with myself, I immediately pulled myself back to attention. Trisha giggled.

‘Sit down on the sofa, girls’, she finally said. Her voice was relaxed and playful, ‘had we done it?’ I dared to think.

PART 14

The tiny muscles that ran from my inner thighs to my deep pelvis burned and the skin above them screamed as it chaffed and bumped angrily into the padding. Beads of sweat ran in highways down either side of my face, so intense was my concentration. My mind was focused on the thick shaft that I was milking, desperately following every command from my uncompromising silicon task-master. First I was tensing the muscles low down near my opening and withdraw until I could just grip the head of the training prick. The screen would let me know if I was gripping firmly enough; and if I wasn’t, I would have to repeat the manoeuvre again and again until I could do it. A meter on the right hand side of the screen bobbed up and down. At the moment it was hovering at the middle of the scale, in the ‘yellow’ zone, and that was the cause of my intense efforts. I could see a little further down the bar, in the lower ‘red’ zone; there was a black line with the words ‘immediate punishment’ unequivocally awaiting any slip in my performance. The machine had taught me a number of different patterns or ’strokes’ and was now alternating, apparently randomly, between them. I had been standing over the horse, wearing my white heels, fucking the accursed thing for half an hour now and was quite exhausted. The machine was completely disinterested in how I felt though and so I was summoning every ounce of strength to keep the needle up and to keep from failing.

The only respite I was getting was on the ‘head ride’ command, where I lifted off the shaft and caressed its end with my lips. Then I rapidly dipped onto the tip, lapping around the side of its ‘glans’ with my inner lips on the way back up. It gave my pelvic muscles a break. The other strokes demanded a co-ordinated squeeze from various parts of my vagina. It had started very slowly and clearly with me but had rapidly adapted to my learning of the manoeuvres. Had I known that this would happen, I would have tried to be a little more ’stupid’; ‘wasn’t retrospect a great thing’ I reflected as the instruction changed to ‘deep head fuck’ and I once more rammed my inner thighs down onto the horse and tensed my power-depleted deep muscles on the head and shaft, hoping that the pressure transducers there were merciful to me. On this occasion they weren’t.

‘Fucking hell’, I screamed as the number ‘20′ appeared signifying how many repeats I had to perform to address this flaw in my abilities. As I gripped it for all I was worth, knowing that I had enough strength for maybe one more try. The number dropped to nineteen. The bar on the right started to slowly drop.

It was with tears rolling down my face, my teeth gritted and a constant shouting of ‘Fuck you!!, Fuck you!!’, that I managed to work my way through. The needle hovering over the instant death zone proved to be a horribly efficient motivator and to my astonishment I worked off my ‘deep head fuck’ debt. I hoped that I hadn’t ruptured my recently cut vagina, the burning was so powerful.

Finally the machine let me go. I had fucked it for almost an hour and was totally spent, saddle-sore and beaten – by a fucking machine. I never looked at it the same way again and whenever I was scheduled to return to that saddle, I counted down to it with absolute dread.

Trisha had set me going on the trainer before she had left with Lisa. She had said that we would both be ‘rewarded’ for having satisfactorily stripped each other. She was going to oversee Lisa’s right then and I was to await further instructions after I finished my training. I lay on my back, the taste of salt in my mouth, sodden with my own sweat. I was exhausted and my sex ached in ways that I never imagined it could. I wondered how long it would take for me to become strong enough to keep it up for a whole session. I had no idea then that a ’session’ was a fluid rather than a fixed entity.

The screen beeped loudly and as I turned to look at it I was met by an ominous looking set of instructions and diagrams.

‘Shit!’ I thought.

‘Fuck!!’ I thought as I noticed that there was a timer counting down where the performance bar had been.

I quickly summoned my faculties and started to follow the precise instructions.

The phallus disconnected from the top of the horse. I could see the numerous connections on it’s mating below as I un-clicked it. It was heavier than I anticipated, obviously a very complicated and sensitive piece of engineering. The screen showed me where to re-attach it – on the side of the horse. I clicked it on. Without further ado, the screen changed colour and started to lay out the learning objectives and rules for the oral-training mode.

‘NO!’ I wept, my fingers clenched,’ please, I can’t do any more’

I kept my blurry, tear-filled vision on the screen in case I missed something, but I wanted to stare at the camera in the corner and plead. I didn’t even know if anyone would be watching.

After taking in the basic rules, most worryingly of which was the instant punishment ‘teeth contact rule’, I had my lips around the shaft, my teeth well away from the plastic. I could smell my own pussy on it and could taste the drying mix of artificial lubricant and my own juices. I felt like the lowest, most depraved little bitch as I clung onto the shaft; there was a penalty for letting go as well. I sobbed to myself as I followed the programme through to the letter. After a few minutes I was actually glad for the time spent wearing the penis gag as I would not have been able to have deep-throated the huge prick without it. As well as that, I would not have had the stamina in my jaw to have completed the programme with brushing a tooth against the penis. It kept teaching me how to suck cock for half an hour.

When the screen finally relented and let me go I lay in a ball on the floor. I wept with relief and massaged my jaw muscles. My tongue ached from licking, my lips from sucking and my throat felt sore and swollen from the uncompromisingly deep prodding I had been forced to withstand when I had had to swallow its entire seven inch length.

Feeling deeply humiliated and ritually violated I pulled my knees up close to my chest and waited for the screen to beep and make me take the thing in my ass. I was, if nothing else, becoming more of a realist.

I was surprised when it told me to take two paracetamol, two ibuprofen, drink a pint of water from the fridge, thoroughly bathe, wash my hair and then go to my bedroom table. The screen then blacked out. I noticed that the power lights stayed on for the rest of the system though.

As I lay in the hot, scented bath-water sipping the icy drink, I felt better. I rubbed at my thighs and gently stroked my sore pussy lips, trying to work the residual pain away. The cold water felt good in my throat. I was glad when the taste of the probe finally started to subside. I looked at the clock, still before midday. I held my nose and bent my knees so that I was submerged in the soothing water. My eyes tightly shut; I tried to convince myself that I was still in the womb, far away from my reality as a novice prostitute. In the moments before my air ran out I imagined that I was just getting ready for another boring day at the office. I tried to feel the mundane safety that, until so recently, had been my life. As I gasped in the air and opened my eyes, the first thing that I saw was the brown-yellow of the bruising around the nipples of my swollen tits; there was no getting away from it.

In the bedroom, following the instructions that Trisha had slipped onto my dresser, I blow-dried my hair. Using hairspray, I was to shape it as instructed. She had left a series of diagrams and even some photographs of other girls. It was the opposite of how I had done it before, instead of calming my curls I was actively blasting the hair outwards and holding it there with the spray.  It was all blown up and away from my face. The mane at the back was similarly blown upwards and infused with spray to make it look ‘big’. The shaping that she had cut into it the week before now appeared to have another purpose. Curls that had flown down around my face now arched upwards defining the outer border of a sheer volume of loud red that to me, and probably most other people, screamed ‘attention-seeking bimbo’. As I saw how the style was supposed to look, I found myself primping here and correcting there before locking the whole ‘slut-do’ in place with the best part of a can of hairspray.

As I looked at myself in the mirror, the image of this girl flashed into my mind. I saw her with her eyes closed, her lips massaging the base of a huge cock, the tip twitching in her throat as she swallowed again and again sending waves of pleasure coursing over its head and causing it to pump its load deep into her. As I parted my puffy, collagen lips slightly, I could see that I now looked every inch the part; and that was just the hairdo.

Working my way down Trisha’s list, I removed the varnish from my nails and re-applied the new colour that she had provided. I looked at the bottle, the shade was apparently called ‘Playmate Pink’; a glossy silvery pink lacquer could be seen behind the logo of a smiling, buxom cartoon glamour-girl. True to its name it looked like the colour a porn star would wear. The obedient girl that I am, I applied it perfectly to every nail on each hand and foot before replacing the cap and waving my hands to dry them.

Then I made myself up. Exactly as I was told, I applied a generous cake of foundation to cover the remaining bruising on my face. Then I carefully put on a light metallic blue eye shadow, blending it laterally with a silvery white shade. I followed this up with plenty of blush and a lip gloss that partnered the nail varnish. My new bubbly lips looked huge and moist with the light metallic pink gloss. I then took a purple-red lip liner and worked a careful line around the gloss on my lips. It emphasised them even further and created a look that could only be described as ‘dirty’, no self respecting woman would wear make-up like that. It made my lips look like just another inviting pleasure organ.

‘My God!’ I thought as I looked at the whole picture. I was scared at how good a slut I made, at how the looked seemed to work so well with my features. I realised that I looked like a gorgeous, glamour girl. I looked good enough to be a pin-up, a man’s wank-fantasy. I gulped at what I was becoming; there was no way I could be seen like this.

I opened the bundle on the bed and pulled on a pair of soft grey pants and a grey pullover. It was a relief to not be completing the porn star look. Finally, I slipped my newly painted feet back into my white sandals, wound the straps up and around my ankles and buckled them on. Following the final instructions, I grabbed a pair of my old flat shoes to drive with, picked up the street map that Trisha had left and made to leave the flat. I unbuckled my collar and hung it next to Lisa’s on the coat peg on the way out.

PART 15

As I pulled the handbrake on and stopped the engine, I looked at the three ladies standing in front of the car.

Trisha, the stunning natural beauty that she was, looked effortlessly magnificent in a light, beige, long coat with a tan bag and high-heeled boots. Her hair was free and her wild curls erupted in a sprout; bouncing with life as she moved.

Vivienne, who was merely ‘very physically attractive’ at her side, made herself at least Trisha’s equal with her elegance, taste and class. Today, she looked disarmingly feminine. She wore a belted purple overcoat over what looked like short purple trousers. I recognized her deep purple boots from our first shopping trip, I had been dazzled by their £650 price tag as we had walked through the boutique; and Vivienne had the bag to match them. Her hair was combined back and knotted with a purple lily and her make-up was soft making her too unbearably pretty. She looked incredible. To look at her you would never imagine the kind of woman she really was.

The real shock for me though, was Lisa. What a change they had made!

Her hair was cut into an ultra-modern bob with a chaotic, shaped, side-fringe hanging down at one side; it shimmered with random high-lights. She wore a tight, sculpted, but immaculately cut, black suit with a micro-mini skirt. The lapels, a thick band of cream silk, matched a line which ran round her upper thighs, at her hem. Her toned legs emerged in white stockings and, already lengthened by the tiny skirt, ran all the way down to a pair of incredibly ‘designer’, black leather, t-bar shoes that lifted her a full four inches on needle-like stilettos of dark mahogany. Platinum hoop earrings and a tiny bag around her shoulder finished the outfit. I looked at her. Her shoes alone were worth twenty times what I was dressed in. I had expected her to be a ‘slut’ by now.

I got out and shut the door.

‘Now Anita, you’re going to be having a lovely afternoon with us. So give Lisa your car keys. I assume you brought some other shoes to drive in?’ Vivienne said

‘Yes, Mistress, I did’

‘What a good girl you are. Today I think ‘Miss’ or ‘Miss Black’ will be fine, okay sweetie’, she smiled at me.

I didn’t quite know how to react.

‘Thank you, Miss Black’, I said and smiled at her.

‘You’re welcome sweetie. Now show Lisa into your car and then come along’

Trisha snapped her fingers at Lisa, who hurriedly teetered over to my car. Lisa looked terrified, and as soon as her back was to the other two I could see tears forming in her eyes. Vivienne and Trisha became occupied with each other, chatting and looking the other way.

‘What’s the matter honey?’ I asked, as soothingly as I could.

Lisa looked at me. She stepped past me and opened the door. She sat down in the drivers seat and as she set about unbuckling her shoes;

‘They punished me’

She spat the words out in a tight sob, her brow furrowed and trembling as she looked up at me. I could see that it must have been bad, she looked like she was only just managing to hold it together; to not collapse against the steering wheel in tears. ‘When I get home…….I……will be punished again…..’ she looked up at me, half blankly, half in terror, ‘Anita, it’s so horrible! Please beg them not to, please say that you will, please, you have to help me’, she was grasping my hand, pleading, as if I could help her, the tears now ready to drip from her eyes.

‘Of course I will!’ I clasped her hand, ‘Oh Lisa, I’ll be back for you later okay’

She sniffed. I looked up, Trisha was looking at us.

‘I have to go now’, I wished I could have stayed and comforted her but I knew that it would not do to keep BOTH my Mistresses waiting. I walked back over to them, accentuating my hippy wiggle; I wanted them to see my obedience, that I was being a good ’slut’.

‘You see. Now MY little slut is much better behaved, aren’t you Anita’, Vivienne seemed extremely happy.

She pulled out her mobile phone and showed it to Trisha. She smiled.

‘See how well she did this morning’

Trisha looked over to the car as the engine started and scoffed at its wretched driver.

‘Enthusiastic little cock sucker aren’t you?’ Vivienne giggled, turning the phone my way. She beckoned me over to look at the screen. I saw myself naked, sweating and sucking off the dildo in my front room. I gasped to myself as I realised that she would always be able to have her eye on me. Whenever I was in my home she would be able to see me and what’s more, I would never know when she was watching.

‘The machine stats are very encouraging too’, said Vivienne matter-of-factly. Clearly, she also had access to all the information from the computer. Trisha gave her a wry smile.

It was like they were discussing a horse in training, rather than me; like I was an animal; or a project. As well as that, for some reason, Vivienne seemed to be rubbing Trisha’s nose in my ‘good’ performance. It was like there was some sort of friendly rivalry between them over Lisa and me and Vivienne was my advocate. All I could do was stand there nervously, trying to avoid unnecessary eye contact, shifting uncomfortably in my high-heels.

‘Off we go then’, said Vivienne. She beckoned me over to her and then took me by the arm. Trisha walked on the other side of me and took my other arm. It was deeply unsettling as we strolled together like three close girlfriends towards the building.

I must have been as tense as a board as we walked, our heels clattering together in random polyrhythms against the tarmac. Vivienne confided in me, close to my ear

‘We’ve got the whole afternoon for shopping now. You will let your tensions go so you can be relaxed, open and honest’

She stopped and stroked my cheek gently.

‘There now’, she soothed. I relaxed a little and swallowed. I looked into her eyes. Her face was soft and comforting, like it had been when I first me her, but her eyes, I could only look at them for a moment before I was overwhelmed with her power. I felt her primal, basal, cruelty as I felt her gazing deeply into my soul. I felt faint. I tried to speak.

‘Ssshhhh, Anita’, she soothed.

I started to feel different; more relaxed yet more vulnerable at the same time. Vivienne smiled at Trisha and we started walking again. As they led me around to the front of the building, I felt clear headed and completely ‘in the moment’.

We were on one side of a large outdoor market; it brimmed with activity. The large building was obviously some kind of ultra-low budget clothes outlet, one of a number of such stores around the market’s perimeter. True to form, the windows were plastered with large signs with ‘massive discounts’ or ‘75% off’ primitively daubed in thick marker. There was a steady but scanty trickle of customers milling around, apparently the bargains were not as enticing as the adverts would have had us believe.

I was led inside and immediately seated at a table. There was a small tea stall set up to one side. Trisha went over, returned with three steaming polystyrene cups, and soon was huddled next to me, with Vivienne sat across the table smiling at me.

‘Now. We’re going to work on some ideas for your new look, darling. I think that you want to be a cooperative,  good girl with this, don’t you?’

‘Yes I do Miss Black, very much’

‘Good’, she smiled,’ because your friend had other ideas and I think she’s already regretted her decision. You see, she decided to try and keep things from us, she was trying to hold back and not be honest with us, we could just tell’

With that last remark, she exchanged a wicked smile with Trisha.

‘Enough about her though, let’s talk about you sweetie as it’s you we’re shopping for. Now we have to be focused here. Do you remember the Spice Girls?’

I looked at her, dumfounded, completely wrong-footed by her question. I nodded a cautious ‘Yes’.

‘Good. Now they had something for everyone right? Blonde, red-head, black girl, all that crap yeah?’

I nodded again having no idea where this was going.

‘Well we want you to become one of our ‘Spice Girls’ as it were. We’ve done our market research pretty thoroughly and we’ve identified a hole to fill. We know what role we want you to take, think of it as like a vacancy, and it’s a part that you are going to grow into. I choose my girls very carefully, the advert you replied to was designed to attract a certain type of girl’

With that she reached over and stroked me again, this time, it seemed, with some genuine affection

‘We knew you could look the part, the first time you walked into my office. But it was only when I probed you a little that I realised what potential you really had. You’re a very bright girl Anita………….and an incredible prude’

I blushed.

‘I need girls that not only fit the programme looks-wise but who can learn well and have an eye for detail….And you my dear fill the bill perfectly. Now I’ve just ‘disinhibited’ you a little, you will have little choice but to be honest with us, all afternoon. We’re going to make you tell us some of your deep, dark secrets!’

She clasped her hands together, half in mock excitement, but only half.

‘Now I want you to think, and tell us how you think we should have you look. I want your ideas for a nice, trashy look. You’re going to be the ‘filthy red-head’, our cheap-looking, hot, hussy’

She leaned over right into my face

‘The real fucking dirty bitch of the pack. The guys won’t be able to get enough of you’

Oh my God! This was going to be so bad. I swallowed and felt my head swim a little.

‘So tell me how you’re going to accomplish this look for me. I want something special or there will be……consequences’

With that she sat back, took a sip of her tea, smiled and stared at me expectantly. The last word, coming from Vivienne, was something that I very much wanted to avoid.

I knew that whatever Lisa had done, she had tried to lie, or at the very least, she had omitted something important. I knew I had to start talking and I knew I needed to come up with something convincing. I also knew that I would probably have no choice anyway and that Vivienne possibly already knew what I would say or very probably some part of it

‘To hell with it’, I thought, I would have to be honest with them, otherwise they would see straight through me. I blushed and then tried my best. I opened myself up to them.

‘Well, I think Miss Sanders ideas for my hair and make-up are a great start’, I began nervously,’ when I saw myself in the mirror, I felt like a really trashy bimbo. My lips especially, they make me feel like a porn girl’

They were both silent.

‘My white shoes make me feel really trashy too’, I began again,’ I’ve….kind of always though of white stilettos a being really……well……very cheap and nasty. I’ve never worn them before and to me they’re very………..humiliating’

‘Yes’, said Trisha, ‘that’s why I chose those for you. We want some of YOUR ideas now Anita, not ours’

I looked down, embarrassed but I felt that as the thoughts entered my mind, I should be sharing them.

‘Actually white stilettos are about as trashy as it comes for me. I mean they are, aren’t they?’ I asked looking up, ‘They just look so cheap, I mean even really slaggy girls stopped wearing them years ago. When I wore them to the clinic I felt so embarrassed. When I stood in front of that surgeon’

I knew not to hold back but blushed even more,

‘That gorgeous surgeon, I felt like such a tasteless, cheap slut. I was just dying’

‘Good girl!’ said Vivienne encouragingly, ‘keep it up! Carry on…….shoes are very important for a slut’

‘I guess any cheap shoes with high heels really’

They both looked at me. I turned red again.

‘Well, I mean, a pair of thigh boots is pretty trashy isn’t it, you know, like Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman. I mean, how about her whole outfit’

I blushed again that I had made such a suggestion. What if they made me wear that outfit?

Vivienne giggled

‘Oh Anita, you’re so funny! Trust you to like that film, I mean “Hey it’s really fun to be a prostitute right?”‘ she said laughing, ‘what a crock of shit that was! You’re right though about the outfit, very whorish….but far too generic. Girls wear that to fancy dress parties. I want something that’s YOU, some outfits or ideas that would particularly affect you, particularly…….humiliate you’

She ran her hand through my hair

‘You are going to learn humility, and learn it well. Every girl has something that does it for them. I have a girl who had a thing about facial piercings; she also was terribly affected by something so simple as wearing a dog collar. See, it’s the little things that matter here. Now she’s my little punk slut by the way, and she works hard to keep improving on her image. I want to know all the little things, all the important details for YOU. The devil’s in them. I want to know what makes you squirm sweetie. All my girls have something. The white stilettos were a good start, so carry on’

I paused for a second. Some images flashed into my mind. I closed my eyes in despair. It was just so perfectly cringe worthy that Vivienne was forcing me to be the lead conspirator in my own betrayal.

‘A really short dress to let people see my legs in my white stilettos, I’ve only had to wear them with trousers so far. I’m very uncomfortable letting people see my legs bare, so a short, tight mini-skirt would really…..work well’

I was looking at the table now; I was making myself very small indeed. Vivienne took my hand and held it.

‘Tell me more about the dress sweetie’

Although I was staring to get a little wet in the eyes, my voice was unquivering

‘Well I was thinking of something pink or purple because that would really offset the white shoes. It should probably lycra; cheap looking and tight on me………The ones that have a high neck but a hole to show some cleavage through, do you know what I mean?’

I couldn’t believe what I was telling them. This was my absolute worst nightmare of an outfit.

‘Yes dear’, said Trisha,’ that would be a great choice while your breasts are still discoloured too. Clever girl! What else?’

I blushed deeply again,

‘Well……a dress with an open side, with straps going across but so that you can see a lot of skin between. There was a black dress I saw once that had these gold fastenings on the side of it, I can’t remember where I saw it but it was really, really tarty; I’d just die if I went out in that. And……….I’m SO embarrassed at the thought of anyone seeing my breasts…….so……any tops or dresses where I show cleavage. I’m so embarrassed about my new breasts. I…….I…hate them so much’

I paused again, this time because of the swelling in my throat.

‘You’re making me very pleased Anita’, said Vivienne,’ we had to send your little friend to sit in the toilet and be punished you know, because she didn’t just let it all come out, but you’re my good girl, such a good girl!’

She returned to staring at me, clutching my hand. I felt like the school bullies were being nice to me because they wanted something from me, or because they were setting me up for something much worse.

‘A tight leather skirt, a really short one’, I said, ‘ a white one would be the worst, but a red one would be bad too and I suppose pink or purple with white stilettos would work well too’

I was getting into the swing of betraying myself and the ideas unfortunately stated to come thick and fast.

‘A matching leather jacket too, and under that maybe a see-through top. Come to think of it, red heels are a good idea too. In fact, the thigh boots should be white or red even, that would make them more ‘me’, more individual, rather than what Julia Roberts wore. And I’ll tell you what else, a pair of ankle boots that are lace-ups but with a high stiletto heel. Oh and wearing dark tights with white shoes, or any tights with patterns on. Maybe we could find some on-line that had special patterns on? Like maybe crude images or something’

I looked up. Vivienne looked gob smacked, she was absolutely delighted. I was thankful that she was happy but she needed to know it all. I knew I had to tell her what I really hated.

‘What I really think would work though, is lots of gold, or better, fake gold’

‘Oh yes!’ said Trisha, ‘ you really are doing well Anita’

I never, ever thought that I would say this, ‘My friend Melanie wears these gold earrings; they’re just what I mean’

Vivienne smiled at me ‘I know the ones, I’m sure we can find some nice big ones like that’

Twisting the blade in my own side , I continued,’ I could even wear more than one pair in each ear and they should be the same style but get smaller as they move away from the front pair, or maybe just a load of different clashing one, both would be kind of different kinds of ‘slutty’, maybe I should have a selection…….maybe even………three………in each ear’

Trisha cleared her throat, a little pointedly

‘Oh I think you can do better than that darling’, Vivienne purred, there was a slight warning to her tone; I shouldn’t have tried to play a game; we both knew that I needed more earrings than that on one ear. I could feel Trisha gently squeezing my earlobe and running her finger up my ear. I thought about the idea of having lots of earrings, I shook and tried to push the image from my mind.

‘Of course Miss Black, I could have my ears pierced many times. Many, many times’

I looked down again in resignation. I may as well just carry on digging the hole I was making for myself.

‘Those handbags that have long gold chains to go over your shoulder? They would “work” too.’

‘Oh, this look’s really starting to come together’, Vivienne said excitedly.

‘Yes, very….co-ordinated’, Trisha sniggered.

I remembered something else, oh my God.

‘I could get a gold necklace with my name on as well. “Anita”, written cursively’

Vivienne looked a little puzzled.

‘Well, as well as looking totally, totally awful and tasteless…….I would feel objectified……….labelled. I don’t know why, but I even hate to wear a name badge at work……..I hate to be labelled…….I despise those necklaces……………And if I was ‘with a stranger’ they would know who I was’

I turned a deep purple at my own afterthought.

‘Oh I LOVE it!!’ Vivienne grinned and clapped her hands together,’ I love that you want to be that kind of girl; that fucks before giving her name, I love the name idea. I tell you what, that can be my special present to you today. I’ll buy you that necklace!’

‘We were thinking of changing your name though’, Trisha interjected

‘Yes, to something a bit more whorish’, said Vivienne,’ you know, like Candy or Traci or something but with a bit more imagination. We haven’t found the right one yet though. Have you any ideas?

I thought for a minute.

‘Well, Miss, I could…….er…….keep my own name. There are plays on it that I could make, you see, like “Anita man to fuck me” or “An…i-ta of cocks”‘

They both laughed together.

Vivienne reached over and kissed my face affectionately.

‘You’re a special one you know? ‘Anita’ it will stay, I suppose it does suit you anyway, especially with those lips, you’re right; they are so made for cocks right now. Any more ideas honey?’

‘Well, one last thing. I saw a girl with a ring pierced through her fingernail; I thought that looked pretty tarty too. Then I suppose there are body piercings’

Vivienne held her finger up to her lip.

‘Not now darling. You’ve come up with plenty without piercings or tattoos or anything like that. We’ve got enough ideas to get you stopping traffic by the end of the day. And if you carry on being this good, then I think we may be able to arrange a little treat for you’

I heard her drain the dregs from her teacup, I had hardly touched mine. I tried my best to smile at her.

‘Right, let’s shop!’

PART 16

‘Let’s have a look then, stand up straight.’

I pulled the hem-line down and stood up as straight as I could. I was wearing a tight, pink and white, tie-dye patterned dress. Its short skirt stretched round my ass but very little more. It ran up to a thick band around my throat which joined two larger bands, one on either side, running up from the sides of my waist, outside and around each of my breasts. It zipped at the back which pulled it tightly around me. The effect of the straps at the sides of my breasts was to pull them together and upwards, creating a huge cleavage. My mauled, battered orbs bulged out from it and the compression was nauseatingly painful, it was still less than a week since my implants had been installed.

‘I preferred the size down you know, she really spilled out of that one’

That one had been ridiculously tight everywhere, I thought that it might tear when we fastened it and that was without me moving in it. My breasts had screamed with dull agony in it.

‘Yes, but she can ‘grow into’ this one. And this one actually fits her round the ass’

They both giggled.

It was like they were little girls playing at dressing their dollies like whores; only I was the doll. I was hating every single second of this shopping trip as I was coldly and precisely worked down the shopping list that I had made for myself. In the process, they were going out of their way to demean and shame me as much as they possibly could. I had to keep counting to ten and telling myself to behave. They were making my whole whore idea come true; it felt like I was having a living nightmare.

‘That’s definitely a keeper, now try this one’

As I unzipped my cheap Lycra number, Trisha handed me another dress, this time a shocking pink-purple colour.

As I held it up, I despaired. Trisha grinned and gestured enthusiastically that I put it on.

This one just slipped over my head and pulled down. There was a wide halter-neck band, which was elasticated at the back, but there was no zip. The dress stretched around me, it had dozens of centimetre wide, fibrous, elastic bands spaced out along each side, up its entire length. The effect was of a dress that had a front half and a back half connected by numerous strips of pink elastic. I was essentially exposed for three inches up each side. As I pulled it down so that the miserly hem rested at the very tops of my legs and my breasts billowed out of the cups, they both giggled again. The loud pink material at the front and back was ruched. It formed a line running up my midline with the fabric folded to create a slight U shape; bowing gently downwards on either side. At the back I could see that this accentuated my ass cheeks, while at the front it served to exaggerate my breasts. The elastic on each side and around my neck ensured that the material was skin tight. With my face and hair the way they were, there was only one possible interpretation of the look.

‘How do you like this one darling?’ Vivienne asked.

I looked at myself in the mirror and did a little twirl on my sandals. I wanted to cry.

‘It makes me look like a prostitute Mistress’, I said sullenly, my head hanging, ‘I really hate this one.’

‘Ooooo, a potential favourite there then’, Vivienne cooed, immediately sensing my true feelings.

She threw it on the same pile as the previous dress and we continued.

We had started, earlier, by walking around the shop, specifically looking for things that met the descriptions that I had given during my debriefing. These had now become our ‘objectives’ but we were open-minded too. I had to tell them if there was anything that made me feel strongly; in fact it was me that had picked out every single dress that we were now trialling, including the pink monstrosity I had just removed. The frustration in being the architect of my own ignominy was enormous.

I had to stop myself stamping my feet in a desperate temper tantrum as we continued with a crass, cheap looking, black velvet number that had gold fastenings on the side. This one had only one shoulder strap and also exposed my sides in the way I found so awful; but whereas the pink dress had had many elastic bands, this dress had no elastic, it zipped at the back and had only six gold bands fastening it on either side. The effect was to create much longer, wider ellipses of flesh running up each side. The tacky gold look of the fastenings; the give-away loose threads betraying its sweat-shop assembly; and the fact that it was so horrible that no woman in her right mind would wear such a thing, all justified its £3 clearance price tag.

‘Now that’s a real party number don’t you think?’

The trailer-trash in the mirror meekly nodded her head; her lower lip hanging sullenly.

‘Touch up your lipstick, slut’, Trisha hissed.

As I went to the counter I had eight dresses, a selection of miniskirts and a number of tops, all of them dire. Trisha had picked out some jackets for me as well, two blue, one in tight stonewashed denim, the other in close fitting, dark blue leather. I also had short, tight, faux leather jackets; one in white, one in pink; with buttons that fastened around the collars. To enable me to break the fashion ‘no-no’ of combining matching leather, we had picked out the two corresponding tight leather miniskirts

The attendant looked up, made some pithy remark about me being their ‘shopper of the year’, and gave me the bill. I met this with a brooding glare. Given that I had bought half the store, it actually really was a bargain; although we must have taken all their least desirable stock off them. In spite of the ‘bargain’ it was obvious, as Trisha and Vivienne strolled out of the shop, that I would be paying for ‘my new wardrobe’.

After storing the numerous bags in Vivienne’s car, we moved on. As we walked through the array of pet stores, food shops and cheap household stalls in the market, I worried about where we would be going next.

‘Now I’m sure it’s somewhere…….Ah, yes’, said Trisha and we all made a bee-line after her. On the edge of the market place, in one of the buildings, there was a ‘jewellery’ store. This was about as low-end as it was possible to get. It struck me immediately that in such an insecure shop most of the ‘gold’ wasn’t even locked in cabinets. There were a few items on the back wall intermingled with large signs boasting ‘24 carat’ or the bluff, ‘real gold’. I had to close my eyes in despair; I knew it was a matter of time before I would be wearing something from here.

Vivienne was right about every girl having her own specific buttons and I cold feel the fingers hovering over mine. As I tottered past a mirror and caught another glimpse of my Barbie-doll face, freshly glossed lips and my glamour-girl hair, my humiliation peaked further.

‘Oh, now this is just perfect for you isn’t it Anita’, Trisha said looking around, beaming. She lifted up a large pair of hideous triangular, gold-looking earrings.

‘Please no’, I whispered to her. I knew it was futile but some increasingly small part of me still tried to object.

She scowled and put her mouth close to my ear

‘I don’t like your attitude young lady. Not one bit. And your Mistress has been so good to you as well’, she snarled. She stood up straight and composed herself. She thought for a second, then the corners of her mouth curled upwards and her eyes narrowed.

‘Just for that, you will go over of your own accord, and get your ears pierced. I’m thinking of a number, and if I don’t see at least that many studs in each ear, then you will really be in for it. I mean that, I’m not fucking around girl, what you’ve had up until now will seem like a fairy story. You can decide how many earrings you will wear from now on but you better get it right’

‘NO!’ my mind screamed, ‘don’t make me do that!’

I shivered and looked up at her. I was small, miserable and too vainly sorry too late. My eyes pleaded with her to relent, but also to not tell my Mistress.

Vivienne had wandered to another part of the store, missing our exchange. She held up a different pair of vile earrings, large and horseshoe shaped.

‘Oh, now aren’t these just darling!’ she said, sickly sweet.

Trisha looked at me.

‘Do it now and then pick all the right earrings. If I’m happy with you, this can stay our little secret. If not, then you’ll be joining that other little cunt in a punishment slot tonight and I’ll double it for both of you. Now do it, or I’ll tell Mistress’

‘Thank you Mistress!’ I had gushed; I can remember an irrational relief, almost an elation from the slight mercy of her not telling Vivienne. I really didn’t want to displease Vivienne while she was so happy, I sensed that it would be especially bad.

I approached the sales woman with a torrent of clashing emotions. She was in her mid-fifties, her sun-wrinkled, smoke-haggard skin was made up with the subtlety of a drag queen or a pantomime dame. I noticed that she had three rings in each of her ears, the front hoop had another thick, heart shaped loop dangling from it; they were perhaps the worst earrings I had ever seen. My new fate hit me and I balked. Could things get any worse today?

I hesitated in front of her, trying to not burst into tears. What to say? Not getting enough piercings was just not an option; but the real torture came from knowing that I could actually ask for too many. Given my particular revulsion to this, I could be making an evil rod for my own back; I didn’t want any more rings in my ears than were absolutely necessary.

After a second’s further thought, the petrified look on Lisa’s face at the front of my mind, I said

‘I’d to get my ears pierced please’

PART 17

‘So these are the only ranges that they make that come in that many different sizes. We stock these two here, see’

A long pink nail from her wrinkly finger pointed at two of the designs on the page. The woman behind the counter, or ‘Brenda’ as she had introduced herself, was very helpful. I looked in the catalogue, there were at least eight ranges to choose from, all of them unspeakably bad. Vivienne stood quietly next to me, nodding at the right times to encourage Brenda but otherwise trying to stay in the background. She was loving every second of my ordeal. I supposed that all of her ‘girls’ probably had their ‘humiliations’ plumbed and probed as deeply and as excruciatingly as mine were being. Whatever a girl’s quirky embarrassments, I had no doubt that Vivienne would hunt them out. Trisha, on the other hand, was less interested and had walked out some time ago, so that we weren’t crowded in the shop.

I had had a master-class in ‘bargain’ gold jewellery, from Brenda. It turned out that the earrings that I so despised that were oval in shape and fastened with a hinged bar, were called ‘Creole’ earrings; and she could rightly boast that she had them in spades.

The shop had been pretty busy, but her daughter had materialised from the back room and was more than capable of handling the background trade. The teenage girl really was a ‘chip off the old block’. As well as sharing her mother’s excellent customer service skills, she shared her endorsement of the company products. I recognised the style that Brenda had just been showing me. Obviously this was the result of two women, alone and bored in an ear piercing shop, her ears swung with obscene gold

Brenda had taken into the back room and pierced me. She had sat me down in a worn but comfortable leather armchair with a head rest and had encouraged me to relax my head back. From the corner of my eye I saw her pick the piercing gun from the wall and set it down somewhere behind me. I had started to sweat. As I felt her finger softly examining my ear, the curtain parted.

‘Erm…….excuse me……..Brenda, Anita…..erm. I’m thinking of getting my ears pierced some more, but I’m a little scared, do you mind if I watch? I promise not to faint and I really think it would help me get over it?

Brenda welcomed in the meek Vivienne and caringly sat her down to one side. She sat down and immediately reverted to her elegant, powerful self as she reclined and crossed her legs, ready for the show. I closed my eyes and tried not to think about it

Brenda was an expert at this kind of multiple piercing. She knew to mark my ears before using the gun and she spent a lot of time looking at me from the front, making sure everything was symmetrical and evenly spaced. Then she dotted me with her pen. When she was finished she sat down on her stool to my left. Vivienne was beaming at me. Tears started to form in my eyes. I tried to remember when I had had my ears pierced originally, and if it had hurt; I couldn’t think.

‘Ok honey, now you stay lovely and still now. No sudden movements and we’ll get you done. You’re going to be gorgeous!’

With her fingers holding my ear, I felt something cold clasp around it; then I heard the piston spit out its loud, sudden hiss. I was crying softly with humiliation as the sharp pain hit my brain. As the second wave of sensation hit me, I felt an unpleasant, dull aching from just behind where I normally wore my earring. I felt the gun again, a little further up and then another hiss. I sobbed out loud, my eyes screwed together. Vivienne took control immediately. She held my hand,

‘There, there’, she said, ‘it’ll soon be over darling. I know it’s not very nice, but just think about how you’ll look when it’s finished, hey?’

I continued to cry like a baby.

She nodded at Brenda that she should just keep going; and while I wept and sobbed, she worked her way up my ear. The studs higher up were the worst, they really smarted and made me suck my breath in, in between sobs. I could stand the pain though, it was not that that was upsetting me; it was how I would look from now on.

‘You’re doing really well honey’, Brenda said as she moved her stool over to the other side. My left ear was throbbing intensely. I sat there sniffing.

She then repeated my humiliation so that both sides matched. By the time she put the gun aside and her sympathetic face appeared in front of me with a box of tissues, both my ears were burning.

‘It’s all done now Honey’, she smiled,’ come on, let’s have a look, that’ll cheer you up’

She grabbed my arm to get me to stand so I could look in the mirror. Before I could see myself, Vivienne stood in front of me and smiled.

‘Well done, sweetie’, she said but I could see that she didn’t completely mean that. Was she displeased that I had cried?

She reached up to my ear, I half managed to check my automatic reflex to withdraw and then I felt a series of sharp pains as she ran her finger along my row of new studs. She had a childlike look of fascination about her. She led me to the mirror, next to Brenda, who was waiting expectantly. I looked at myself, turning my head from one side to the next, I had six new studs equally spaced up each ear above my original holes. I looked like a tramp and I started to cry.

‘Oh it’s all a bit much isn’t it’, said Brenda kindly, she left us behind and went out to the front of the shop.

‘Oh it’s wonderfully humiliating isn’t it, slave?’ asked my Mistress

‘Yes Mistress’ I looked down at my toes, peeping out of the front of their white straps.

‘Keep a hold of that feeling, but I want you to stop crying now, we’ve still got things to do’

I nodded and wiped my eyes. The tissue was smudged with a smear of different colours from my eye make-up. I looked in the mirror and saw that my mascara was running. Vivienne quickly wiped away the worst of it and cleaned me up.

After a minute, with her guiding hand at my reins, I went back through and bought several ’sets’ of earrings. I bought a simple set of six pairs of inch diameter gold hoops that all matched; I could wear a single pair of different rings at the front of these.

With that in mind, I had to ask Brenda where the earrings she was wearing were. She showed me them delightedly, but I decided on an even worse pair from the same range that were thick creoles about three inches long. A lop-sided heart shaped disc swung from the bottom of each. They were thick, showy and crass. They were, I thought, the most tasteless things that I had ever seen and now they were mine.

After picking out a range of seven matching creoles of increasing size ( in the style that I found the most ‘interesting’ ), I ‘decided’ that it would be fun to wear the new ‘heart’ earrings in front of my new studs, so I fixed them into my original piercings and turned to face my Mistress. She motioned for me to turn my head. As I did so I could feel them swinging in my ears, I looked back.

‘Perfect’ she smiled, pleased.

Brenda let me take her catalogue with me so that I could ponder on the right selection for my mismatched chaotic array of clashing styles. They must have been able to close the shop early; I parted with almost two hundred pounds for all that I had bought. As we walked out of the shop I burned with renewed humiliation as people were immediately looking at me and at my ears.

Vivienne was still full of energy and it was off to the sex shop next, for shoes.

PART 18

It was later that same day that I sat, secreted away, in the corner of a pub. I looked down at my fingernails and wanted to curl up into a tiny ball, so small that nobody could see.

Trisha had done the nails herself, her head cocked to the side in the mock pose of an artiste.

She had removed my existing extensions and replaced them with much longer, inch-and-a-half square-ends.  She had then re-painted them in the glittery bubblegum pink that I was wearing. She then delighted in adding little designs to them. She painted over them with thick silvery white lines that, afterwards, she drew a thin, central black line down. She then finished them with a clear protective lacquer that would preserve her work for the weeks to come. I sat there, obedient and sulking, offering my hands to her the whole time.

The lines she had drawn on my nails made out squared, heavily stylised but recognisable letters. It took while to identify the symbols but the message could then be made out, if you concentrated for more than a few seconds. I had ‘SLUT’ written in capitals, facing away from me, a letter on each of my four fingers.

She held them still as they dried, protecting her work until it was solidified and safe from any accidental injury. I looked at her. I hated her for the casual way with which she had done this nasty afterthought to me.

As if it couldn’t get any worse, she took a little punch and clipped out a tiny hole from the ring and little fingernails on my left hand. Then she fitted a tiny gold ring into each. She put my hands down onto the table and admired them.

‘They’re just so……………YOU, you know’ she snorted, amused by her own joke.

‘Are these the sort of nails that you had in mind Anita?’ she asked mockingly, her head tilted to the side in parody of a beautician.

She was completely disinterested in my reply; I would be keeping them.

‘Yes, Mistress’ I said

‘Good girl, now be sure to show them off later’ she had warned me.

I sipped my drink, it struck me that this had been the first alcohol that I had tasted for well over a week. The gin and tonic was slipping down very easily; I needed something to help settle my nerves.

‘Ooh, it’s nice to be able to enjoy a drink for a change’ said the girl at my table, finishing hers and returning to the bar to order a second round. She obviously didn’t get out much.

She strutted effortlessly back to the bar. I watched her perfect fishnet-clad legs and her effortless style as she swung one foot in front of the other, stepping like a catwalk pro in her black knee-high spike-heeled boots. The half-dozen aging, alcoholic regulars at the bar were hypnotized by her movement; but I knew that she would have had that effect on a much, much younger and more discerning audience. I took up my own drink and drained it worrying again about my future.

After telling me to set my make-up right, Vivienne had waited. I had felt very uncomfortable as she had stood behind me, making sure that I did everything properly; it was twice as hard to get it right with someone following my every move. When I had myself looking like I was a hot glamour-girl ready for a porn-film shoot, she took something from her bag. As she lowered it around my throat, I saw that she had been true to her word and had bought me my ‘Anita’ necklace. I looked at her reflected eyes, in misery, as she reached around me and fastened it on; the name resting just above my collarbones. I wanted to reach up, tear it off and hurl it across the room screaming and spitting on it as I did so.

‘Well slut, what do you say?’ warned Trisha, I must have looked like I had felt.

‘Thank you very much Mistress, its……perfect’

She smiled broadly acknowledging my submission and recognising the completion of my outfit. She then left me, telling me that she expected great things from me and that she didn’t want or expect to be disappointed.

Trisha had then sat me down and fed me a simple microwave supper and a glass of water. She told me that I would need some food inside me for the night ahead. I had shuddered at this idea, I was terrified at the notion that I would actually have to be seen looking like I was.

While I was eating this, the door had opened and I had looked up. I had recognised the same blonde who had been sat in Vivienne’s reception, the night that she had sprung her trap and reeled me in. Her expensive-looking, beautifully cut, long, unnatural-blonde style was out of kilter with the worn, short black coat and scuffed, black boots that she wore. She shut the door and clicked her way over to my table.

Trisha smiled at her and then at me.

‘Anita, this is Cara; Cara, this is Anita’

We both looked at each other. I remembered her curt treatment of me when I had been at Vivienne’s office but decided that I couldn’t judge her on that alone. I smiled nervously at her. She looked me over and then smiled briefly back before sitting down quietly and looking up, expectantly, at Trisha.

‘Cara is going to teach you a few things, Anita. Go with her and listen to what she tells you’

We had taken a taxi together into town, Cara and I. I was fretting the whole way there.

Before going into the sex shop that afternoon, they had made me change, so that I could try boots on without my trousers getting in the way. In the shop, I had ‘chosen’ three new pairs to insult my feet. Vivienne had said that it was a good start but because I was so affected by slutty shoes, I would be buying myself a lot more over the coming weeks.

It was then that I discovered, to my chagrin, that the strappy white sandals that had become my staple ‘slut shoe’, in fact, had only three and a half inch heels. I’d have bet that they were at least five when Trisha had first made me wear them. It was only when the attendant brought my first choice out that I had stared in disbelief at real five inch heels. The attendant had wasted no time making sure I wore a pair of their heavily used hold-up stockings so that I didn’t soil their boots. I wondered if she treated all her customers that way or if it was because I looked so perfectly filthy in the pink dress with the elastic sides, the dark blue leather jacket, my newly fitted ear studs and the ‘fuck-me’ creoles with hearts that swung against my neck. All the same, I didn’t dare object and I quickly pulled the stockings on, feeling the dried sweat of the countless previous ‘ladies’ who had chosen to shop for their boots there. I took out my shoes, a pair of white lace-up boots that came to just above my ankles. They were shiny, white and stood on thin, towering stilettoes.

I had loosened the laces in the plastic boots and had slipped my foot into the first one. It was tight and narrow as my toes neared the bottom; they were squashed from the start. I had to push hard to slip my foot completely into the boot. When I felt my toes at the end and I could feel the unbelievably high heel under me, I must have blushed with humiliation; these were about as slutty as it could possibly get. I saw them as the most blatant advertisement, the epitome of walking, wanton, female need and a crass pledge and acknowledgement of my availability.

As Vivienne knelt and lovingly tightened the laces, I shuddered to think how I would look walking in them, without a prayer of anything to cover them up or hide them behind. As she wound the laces tightly around their fastenings and up to the top, I realised that they would not be easy to take off either. When I had put the other one on and had stood up, I immediately noticed the extra height and how much more exaggerated the heel was. With the smaller platform on which to stand, I had to concentrate just to balance in them. I could feel that the immediate discomfort that I felt from the crushing in my toes would rapidly get worse and worse. As I stepped and saw the delight on my owner’s face, I felt a crushing wave of submission sweep over me. The steps I was forced to take were short, dainty, feminine and devastatingly sexy. With the ankle boots now completing my outfit, I felt a lump rising in my throat as I teetered with a walk that was unforgivably dirty. I found myself having to place one foot a little in front of the other, with a slight swing, just to keep steady and to keep myself from careering off balance.

‘Now those legs go on for miles’ Vivienne whispered to me ‘you’ll stop traffic in those boots, let me tell you!’

I wanted to scream at her but I ignored her. I turned and saw a man at a magazine stand unashamedly staring at me, lustfully appreciating the show. A burning blush coursed up my face, this was just unbearable, I wanted to sit down, tear the boots off, run home and get all this stuff off me; and then get on a plane to somewhere far, far away. Instead, I was congratulated by my tormentors and then made to sit, while the boots were re-packed and set aside for me.

As I sat in the taxi with Cara, my permanently plucked, baby-smooth legs rose out of the same, squeaky-white ankle boots.

Forcing me to keep my legs clamped together was a tight latex skirt that I had ‘found’ at the sex shop. It was shamelessly short but the material was thick and shiny; the patent black vinyl looked as if it had been poured around my hips and set there. I had ‘chosen’ it because there was a zip at the back running upwards from the centre at the bottom, all the way up to just below the waist-band. It would tempt and goad a man and dare him to bend a girl over something and unzip her. It was totally outrageous and probably the most blatant thing that I had bought all day.

Above that I wore the tight pink leather jacket with a white long sleeved top underneath. The top had large defects over the shoulders and a large oval so my breasts could squeeze their way out and compete for attention.

It was the first time that I had worn a bra on since my breast surgery and although the wiring rubbed uncomfortably against my suture lines, the cups lifted and crushed me together. When I had put the top on and seen the hole and how much cleavage I was advertising, I had tried to pull the jacket seems together, to cover myself. Trisha had slapped my hands away with the back of hers, I had wobbled on my shoes, losing my balance, and then had stood defeated and dejected, dressed as a whore. Trisha had smiled evilly at me.

It had been a relief when Cara had had the taxi drop us right outside the pub. There had been nobody but the driver to see me as I got out and hurried to the private table tucked away in the corner.

Cara was not anything like the cold bitch that I had first thought. She was a victim, the same as I was, albeit a more experienced one. After a few carefully ambiguous questions I had established that she was both willing and able to be very frank and open with me. In an attempt to take my mind off my impending nightmare, I had asked her about herself.

She had been taken by Vivienne three years ago now. She was twenty but her perfect, soft face made her look younger. Vivienne had made her quit medical school and had trained her to work for her. I warmed to her when she joked that she didn’t normally go out looking like that. She had made the joke in a kindly, self-deprecating way that made me feel that she would never judge me, and that she understood , from experience, what was happening to me. She told me what was expected of her and, by inference, what I would have to start to learn.

For her ‘role’, she was the posh, immaculately groomed, ‘clothes-horse’ of Vivienne’s stable. She wore only the very finest designer gear; all the bleeding-edge fashions. She had the most modern, stylish hair and was treated to all the options available at Trisha’s shop, which was by far the most exclusive in the area. She was probably one of the best dressed women in town.

She started to explain that her role was to be the unavailable, out-of-their-league, ‘it’ girl who could, on this occasion, possibly, actually be theirs. It was almost the complete opposite to the ‘slut’ role, which I would be learning, but only superficially so. At the end of the day, she had said, she serviced probably more men than any of the other girls.

She closed her eyes in bliss as she tasted the first mouthful of her fresh gin and tonic. It struck me then that I would probably not be allowed to drink much more from now on. I took a deep glug from my own, I had never needed Dutch Courage this much before.

Cara had been a prodigiously bright young student. She had also been socially aware, a punk; she had always shunned the traditional idea of how a woman should behave and look. She had hated the kind of girl who was a slave to society and especially to fashion. She had never worn traditionally feminine clothes or make-up, rarely skirts and certainly, never, ever, high-heels. She thought that women that did, were the worst victims of society.

She had had a shaven head and had worn a ‘Dead Kennedys’ T-shirt and had been fresh from an animal’s rights march when she had enrolled in a deep relaxation therapy programme to help with her learning.

Vivienne had immediately tormented the young, anarchic, tomboy. Cara’s version of hell was realised when she was made-over, initially with a short blonde wig, to look like a sexy, millionaire’s trophy wife. It was years behind her now and I could see that those years had been long ones but in spite of the time, the affront to her soul was still obvious. She sipped her drink again to try and move on from such painful thoughts. She sat forward and announced that we had come out for a reason and that we should get down to business now. I hoped that I had not upset her by raking up her past.

I then listened to her with horror and fascination as she laid out the fundamental rules that I would have to play by.

We were going to go across to another bar. This one would be packed full and would be the venue for my ‘debut’. I was going to start meeting and greeting men. My legs trembled as she spelt it all out. She would help me with a few chat up lines but said that it would be very simple; I would be direct and I would be with a man outside, in the back alley, before the night was through.

I started to shiver and I could feel myself starting to cry.

‘No, Anita, no’ she took me by the chin ‘no more crying from you, you must do this and you will do this. You have to pull yourself together. I know it’s not nice, I was there too, don’t forget, I know exactly how easy it is, but you HAVE to do this, you hear me?’

‘I……..I don’t think I can, I mean I don’t think I could actually do that’

‘Well you’re going to, and you’ll see. It’s actually easy. You really don’t know how easy it is. That’s the whole point of tonight’s exercise; it’s an introduction for you. Its a chance for you to go out as the new you and see the effect you have’

I sobbed inwardly as she equated the person I looked like with the person I knew I was and the person that I would have to be.

She told me that I would have to meet men’s advances with encouragement. A grab on the ass should be met with a ‘don’t do that unless you mean it’ type remark. I would confide, very early, that I was not wearing underwear and was in terrible need of a really good fuck. Either that or I would tell them of my unswerving desire to give them a blowjob; the choice was mine, tonight.

I reverted to shaking my head and trying to explain that I couldn’t do that. In truth, I knew that I had no choice though. In desperation I suggested that I rang up Vivienne, maybe she could take away my anxiety and make me relax again, like she had done earlier. Cara had said that if I did, and that was my choice to make, she would certainly help to motivate me but that I was in no position to state my terms to my own Mistress. She told me that Mistress had paralysed the last girl on her first night out because she had fucked it up. She had spent the night, frozen, completely unable to move, packed into a tight coffin. Every hour a buzzer had sounded for five minutes and she had been punished. Cara said that she was never the same again and on her second chance she had performed perfectly.

I was stunned. This option had seemed brutal, although when I considered Vivienne, my terrible Mistress, it had seemed less surprising. I swallowed anxiously. Could I go ahead with this, was I actually capable of approaching a man and saying those things?

I decided, then and there, that I would have to be, or I would be doing it in a few nights time, after a punishment that would surely reduce me to madness.

Cara went on. She said that the man’s needs should always be paramount; that they came first, always. For example, if I were to come during sex, then I was not to lose the slightest stroke of my work on his cock. Neither should I use either of my hands to arouse myself unless it was as a show to arouse him. They should otherwise, always be on him, for his pleasure.

She told me that, as well, we should always act like we were having the best sex of our lives, with the best possible lover. We should be very appreciative, always thanking them afterwards, but also we should be admiring, almost awestruck, and let them know how incredibly, irresistibly good they were. Every man should feel like he has just had the fuck of the century. Cara said that this was what made a man come back for more and was critically important for business. She said that because we, as a group, were so well trained and well kept, and because we had such a good business approach, we were well beyond competition from crack-whores and traditional, money-sluts. She laughed and said that she should probably stop lecturing me in whore-philosophy now.

As we neared the bottom of our glasses and my heart was beating faster and faster, she told me that the best thing I could do from now on was to try and enjoy myself in any way that I could. I should find some artistry in what I was doing; enjoy a hard, passionate fuck; get off on the feminine power I could wield or whatever else I could find in my new life.

Like a little girl on her first day before school, I had sat, hanging on her words. She was honest and was trying to help me in the only possible way that she could. My stressed mind returned to the idea of ringing Vivienne for a possible escape. No. She would just hurt me, terribly, over the phone. She would remind me of the consequences of not going through with it. No, she would not give me the help that I so badly needed and I knew better than to bother my ‘Mistress’ with my dilemma, terrible though it was.

‘Now, to make this work, you need to ooze confidence, especially dressed like that, or you’ll send out confusing signals. Mistress trained you to smile already, so we’ll do that tonight and apart from that, you just need to stand up straight and I don’t want to see you lowering your eyes, okay?’

I was silent

‘Anita, I have trainer privileges on you and I have my own orders and my own consequences………I will punish you if you don’t do this properly’

My eyes widened woefully, begging, but at the same time, I knew that it was not in her power to grant me mercy.

I nodded obediently. I would do everything that she had told me. She held my hand.

‘One man; however you want him. That’s it for tonight, Anita. Ok. It’s really not as bad as it could be…………………………………………So, tell me………………what kind of guy turns you on?’

I was momentarily speechless, the whole night was surreal.

‘Er…..well…..tall, handsome, kind, gentle’ I was just making it up now.

‘Come on Anita, now’s the time to be honest about the type of guy that does it for you, I mean you’ll eventually have to do them all, but tonight you are the one with the choice and you won’t often have that luxury, believe me. Have you never fantasised about anything more…….well, horny?’

I blushed deeply.

‘Well, look, I’m not your Mistress and I’m not going to make you do anything beyond what you already have to do; but from one girl to another, go with a guy that makes you feel horny, it’ll go better for you if you do. Now go to the Ladies and lube your pussy up with this, it’ll make it a lot easier for you’

I tucked the tube into my handbag. I looked at her and then at the table. Bless her. She was really trying to help me in the only way available to her. It was just too much for me. I gripped my hands to stop the tears forming.

‘Cara, thank you’ I said as she stood up and pulled me to my feet.

PART 19

A wave of heat hit me as I stepped into the bar. In my head, my teeth were grinding together; in reality I smiled as sweetly and prettily as Vivienne had taught me to. Feeling Cara behind me, I stood tall and held my head high. I faced forward and, on my impossible heels, stepped into the bar.

It was packed to standing room, almost exclusively with men.

My God, they were all turning to check me out!

I could feel my cheeks burning with shame. I was actually glad of the thick foundation on my face; perhaps it would help to hide my obvious degradation as my deep blush radiated my humiliation to the whole room.

I could feel the latex, tightly snagging around the tops of my legs; cold and chilled from our brief walk in the frozen street. Trying to pretend that I was somewhere else, I strutted towards the bar.

The music was loud but I could make out mumblings, directed towards us. Then there was an explicit, incredulous;

‘Fuck me, look at her!!’

The only way I could stop myself from screaming was to concentrate on something simple. I was intent on just one thing, getting to the bar. Cara was with me, I thanked God as I reached backwards and I felt her take my hand. I stood at the bar, facing it and leaning on it. I ignored the guy on the stool next to me. His eyes had almost popped out of his head as he looked down at my legs and boots. Cara leant over the bar next to me.

‘Good choice Anita, show them that ass, those legs and that naughty skirt’

I spun my head in anger at her.

‘I’m not fucking with you, honest. Keep calm…….okay, calm……good. Lust is power ok, the more a guy wants you, the more control you have; plain and simple. Now you just keep smiling Anita, you’re doing so well, so well honey, I’m so proud of you’

She looked so sincere. I could see that she understood exactly what I was going through. I forgave her and struggled to get the smile back onto my face. This was just awful.

‘Now if you want to take control here, you need to check out the room, and quickly, otherwise someone will hit on you…………and we’re not allowed to turn a guy down, Anita’

Oh my God! NOW she had decided to tell me that rule! I was now even less in control than I had thought I was. Could it get any worse?

I turned a little and started to try and catch the room. There must have been twenty pairs of eyes on my ass alone. I wanted to curl up and die.

I had never been the focus of so much male attention before. To find myself that way, dressed the way I was, was just unreal. I remembered my hair and make-up. I remembered what I was wearing, the top, the skirt, the boots and the earrings, even the little name-necklace and my nails. I closed my eyes in the most abject and complete humiliation; this is how the spotlight had caught me. I had to hand it to Vivienne; she had done me over so perfectly.

I kept the pretty, confident smile on my face as I composed myself and quickly scanned my way around the room. I couldn’t believe I was seriously considering who I would try and fuck.

‘Pretend you’re Julia Roberts’ I told myself ‘pretend you’re her and you’ve got all that confidence; so that you can deal with all of this. Pretend you’re a Pro, pretend you’re her in ‘Pretty Woman’, and pretend you’re experienced, savvy and can handle men’

It was like a mantra. I repeated it to myself and as my gaze swept round, my eye lingered for a split second. I couldn’t believe it, it was the guy from the road-works outside my flat. He caught me and I saw him nodding slowly, appreciatively at me. I looked away in shame but then to my astonishment, I looked back at him and smiled.

Had there been a command from Vivienne or Cara, or had I done that myself? I had no idea but I quickly turned back to the bar and tapped Cara. I told her that I’d seen this guy and that he’d whistled at me earlier. She cut straight to it and asked me if I though he was ‘hot’. I looked away in frustration. I felt the hearts rocking in my ears, my breasts pushing up through the huge oval defect in my top and my crushed, bent toes from my high-heels as I confessed to her that, yes, God damn it! I was attracted to him and in the worst possible way.

‘Well that’s perfect for you Anita’ she had said enthusiastically. She grinned, and for the first time, she looked like the teenager she really was. She composed herself again and then whispered,

‘Now, really sexy banter okay? Tell him you’ve got no panties on; how hot you are; how sexy he is and how much you need him. Ask him if he wants to try your zipper or tell him that you want to drink him dry. Say something blunt and direct like that, nothing complex, keep it simple’

She handed me another drink. I don’t know what it was. I took a suck up the straw. Whatever it was, it was strong. I took another deep slurp.

‘Put this in your bag, it’s on’

She opened my bag and put in a mobile phone; then she shut it inside the bag.

‘Your Mistress likes to hear her girls sometimes, to make sure they are behaving properly. Make sure you make plenty of noise and make sure that he does too, otherwise she will teach you to do it properly and you will suffer.

Believe me Anita, its best this way; there really is only one way here. Now, think sexy thoughts and remember that you can have any man in here; you just have to be ballsy. You look gorgeous. Smile. Now!’

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and looked up and……..there he was.

My heart was pounding. It was a miracle but I managed to get back to my smile.

‘Can….I buy you a drink?’ he stuttered.

It hadn’t crossed my mind that he might actually be nervous approaching me. It calmed me down a little. I saw his eyes steal a glance down at my chest and then back at my face, I could see how affected he was by me; that I had made him feel his powerful, basal urges. He had obviously bought into my slut gimmick; fully. Such a cheap trick had made me almost powerful; I was turning him on and almost had him under a spell. As I remembered the humiliating details of my appearance, I was amazed that he wasn’t ridiculing me. It was inconceivable that he was actually enraptured by me. His attention was different to the type that I had received on the night out on the yacht; this was raw, unsophisticated lust and it was intoxicatingly potent.

I couldn’t believe anyone could actually like the way that I looked but this man was clearly dumbstruck; head over heels. I felt Cara nudging me in the ribs.

He was good looking; blonde, stocky and muscular with an angular, unshaven, darkly stubbled jaw, blue eyes and beautiful long eyelashes. He was the kind of rough looking man that I had never dared fantasise about, he was too dirty for a nice girl to be able to want. To look at him, the way I was doing, made me feel disturbingly uneasy.

He was waiting for his answer. And so, in my bag, was Vivienne. I was trapped and the moment of truth was upon me. All my natural impulses were telling me to run away. The Anita that I had always been wanted to blush and shrink away; ideally, to disappear completely.

I remembered the look on Lisa’s face that afternoon. I remembered Cara and her talk of Vivienne’s coffin. I would have to be brave, heroically brave. I took a little step forward to his ear, balancing on my high shoes. I brushed, so lightly, against his face with my nose before I whispered

‘They don’t sell what I want to drink from you’

It was like I was detached from the whole scene, watching it. I couldn’t believe that I had even thought of that, let alone had just said it. I stepped back and looked him deeply in the eyes. I picked up my drink and slowly, seductively, closed my glossy lips about the straw. I could do this. I could nail this.

I decided, there and then, that there was no merit in trying to finesse the situation. Cara knew what she was talking about and had said to keep it simple. I slowly licked at my straw like I had seen a girl in a film do; I pretended that it was his cock. Burying my shame, I leant forward and confessed that I was not only totally naked under my skirt but that I was all hot and bothered. I looked at him, bashfully, like a naughty schoolgirl and admitted that I thought my zip might be stuck. I asked him, sheepishly and brazenly at the same time, if he could maybe have a look at it for me, perhaps outside at the back of the pub.

He was gob-smacked. He stared at me for a moment in complete denial; he only needed to do a cartoon double-take to complete the cliché on his face. Then, what I had said registered fully, and he started to breathe deeply. He licked his lips and smiled. His face lit up as his lips drew back into a cheeky, devilish grin; I could see the idea taking hold.

‘Come with me little lady, lets see if we can’t fix that problem of yours’

He took my hand and I walked after him, struggling to step fast enough to match his speed. I heard some jeering, probably from his mates; and a wolf whistle; but we were soon out of the bar and into the back yard, in the cold night air.

I looked into his eyes. Here I was; a slut, his slut, to do with as he pleased. I was giving myself to him; I was doing my Mistress’s bidding. Not wasting a second and thankfully taking the lead from me, he backed me against the red brick wall and gripped my ass with both hands. I shuddered, my cheeks held firmly as he pulled me in, towards him. I had very little balance on my boots and I was forced to push my breasts up, into him. His hand was soon up, groping at me. I felt so dirty. I tried to keep on smiling while, in reality, I was petrified.

With a little flick behind me, I felt the tension vanish from my bra. His hands reached under my top and I could soon feel his coarse palms working up my belly until they cupped me, pushing my bra upwards and aside. He pulled my top up to my neck, displaying my taut, buoyant breasts so that he could see my thick nipples standing proudly to attention for him. As he gently pinched them and started to feel my aching, implant ridden glands, I panted with pain as it smarted. He obviously took this as confirmation of my arousal as he pulled me over to one side. He moved me up against a bin.

‘Well, let’s have a look at that naughty little zip then’

I teetered as he spun me round and then pushed my shoulders forward so that he bent me over the bin, facing away from him. The gold chain of my handbag trailed down the side of the corrugated metal and, as I saw the white leather of my bag swinging, bouncing against it. I remembered the phone and that this would all be in vain if I didn’t please Vivienne.

‘Oh, yes’ I moaned. I started to get wet in the eyes; this just couldn’t be happening. I felt a pulling at my skirt and then, unceremoniously, the zip was wide open and it was loose; hanging down from my waist. I sobbed quietly to myself as I felt a hand sliding its way down my inner ass cheeks, until it nestled near the bottom. I could feel him reaching further and then I felt his fingertip at my folds.

‘You horny bitch, you’re sopping wet down here!’

I drew my breath in with surprise as he touched me; my lips were incredibly sensitive. I tried to move away. He had his hand firmly on my ass though, so his fingers stayed exactly where they were. He ventured up higher and I gasped as he found my clitoris and gently pushed into it.

‘Ahhhh!’ I squealed as the sensation hit me.

He wasted no time and started to massage little circles around me with his finger. My God, he had done this before! My breathing became short as I panicked. I hadn’t expected it to feel nice and definitely not this nice. His touch was too good; it was starting to excite me. I felt like I could be driven wild by such a touch and that idea terrified me. No, that couldn’t be! I was not a whore; not a slut in a back alley!

I moaned again for Vivienne, but it was also a relief to let the noise out and not to have to bottle it up.

‘Oh my God’ I moaned as I felt his thumb at my opening, sliding around the entrance to my tunnel, caressing and orbiting the very outside of my hole. I could feel myself gaping, inviting him to enter; I blushed with abject shame.

‘My God! You are so fucking horny’ he breathed.

After another minute, as he continued to stimulate me, I felt his hand leave me. I heard him tearing at himself. I moaned again, this time for Vivienne, and in humiliation. I realised, as he hastily prepared himself; that I was little more than his bitch; I was Vivienne’s bitch waiting to be fucked. I spread my legs and lifted my ass to him in obedience to my Mistress. My surrender to her and my resentment of how she was treating me was now almost complete.

‘Fuck me now’ I pleaded. I told myself I wanted it over with. I was ashamed with myself for having enjoyed his touch. Maybe I really was a common slut after all and that I really did need him to fuck me.

I felt his rock hard prick work its way down my ass crack, lightly dusting and bouncing against my smooth, sensitive inner cheeks and rippling tiny electric surges upwards and through me. My God, I hoped that it was too dark for him to notice the cosmetic tattooing around my hole! I have felt like the vainest slut imaginable for having had such a thing done to me. I felt his head nestle between my lips and I felt my own juices as he slid across me. I whimpered softly, wishing that none of this was happening.

My lips felt puffed and swollen, pulsing with the blood of my arousal. I leant further forward onto my elbows and pushed my pussy upwards; proffering it to him, even if it meant that he may see my designer ass-hole. My stilettos put me just above his cock; at the perfect entry height. In spite of my rampant humiliation, I could feel the heat in my own cunt and I told myself that, therefore, I really must have been a slut.

‘Ahhhhhh’ I gasped, genuinely, as I felt him slide into me. My bottom lip quivered with his intrusion as the reality hit me – I was having sex with a man, like a free-gift whore.

He moved deeply into me, but softly. I was weeping. On top of it all, the pleasure of him filling me was too much; I shouldn’t be able to enjoy this on any level.

This was me, big-titted, conveniently sterilised, in white stilettos, with my ears studded and my face made up like a total slut. My nails spelt out what I was and, as I remembered them, my heart skipped a beat hoping that he had not seen them; although as he pushed into me I was sure that he would be past caring. As I felt him rubbing inside me and exquisitely stretching me, I couldn’t stand the raging, conflicting emotions I was being made to feel; I started to come apart.

‘God you are so. Fucking. Horny!’ he breathed against me.

As he stroked against the front of my tunnel, beautiful waves of warm pleasure radiated up through me. It was unbearable. The tears streamed down my face as he sped up and began thrusting into me, grunting. I started to moan back, into his rhythm.

‘Oh, please, keep doing that to me’ I burst out, trying to keep acting the whore but now drawing upon real emotions to pad out the part. I didn’t know if this was an attempt to convince Vivienne, him, or a moment of true sincerity. Worse than that, I didn’t care.

‘Oh my God’

I felt him stiffen and then slow right down, moaning and gasping as he moved gently but suddenly into me. I actually felt him coming as his cock pulsed and he emptied his load into me. I suddenly felt overcome as I realised that my blind ending vagina was now purely a fuck tunnel; somewhere for a man to spill his seed for pleasure. I pinched myself so that I didn’t burst into tears at that thought. I remembered where I was and what my brief was.

‘Oh Yes, Oh Yes’ I moaned, almost as an afterthought. It had to be good for him. I was so glad that the terrible, reluctant sensations stopped there and I could start to think again; no longer disturbed by such extreme, basal, pleasure.

He pulled out of me and helped me up.

I turned to look at him. He was red faced but looked very pleased. I wiped my eyes and smiled nervously at him, I didn’t want him to see that I had been crying. He didn’t seem to notice or care. As he pulled his cock back and tucked his erection inside his trousers I saw his eyes at my necklace.

He looked into my eyes

‘You’re a pretty incredible fuck, Anita. You’re one hell of a babe, you know that’ he said.

I turned a deep purple and told him that he was pretty fucking incredible himself. As I reached down behind myself and tried to close my skirt, I told him he was the best fuck I’d had all year. I was sure that this would massage his ego and help him to think that I was the fuck of the century, even though I had been far from that. I only hoped Vivienne was listening and that my efforts were being noted. I could feel some of his cum seeping out of me; a globular flow gradually working its way onto the inside of my thigh and starting to run down my leg.

He realised my predicament with the elastic skirt and laughed. He went round behind me and pulled the ends of the hem together so that I could stretch the zip closed through the thick rubber latex. I thanked him for his help and then, remembering Cara, I thanked him, in awe, for his incredible, mind-blowing fuck. His smile widened and he said

‘Any time Anita baby, anytime.’

We made our way back inside.

It was like returning to earth from some strange other-world but the noise, heat and smells of the pub brought me right back down, crash-landing with a bang. An eye of one of the few women in the bar caught me. Her expression was one or absolute derision and total disgust. She shook her head at me in contempt, like I was the lowest piece of dirt on the planet. I broke into hysterics and had to run, immediately, to the toilet, lock myself in the cubicle, close my eyes and start to sob furiously.

In no time, Cara had knocked on the door, made me open it and was cuddling me firmly. I wept uncontrollably, in utter confusion.

She stroked my head and whispered soothing, calming nothings at me. I was so disappointed in myself. I was a slut. I hadn’t resisted at all. She told me it didn’t matter. She kissed me and held me tightly.

She told me that she had seen everything, that I had done fine and that Mistress was pleased with me. I just sobbed into her shoulder but I was relieved that I would not need to be further tormented or punished.

After a few minutes I started to calm down a little. I could feel more of his juice starting to seep its way out and I went to wipe myself. Cara stopped me.

‘Mistress wants that to stay on you tonight’ she said. Her face changed a little and she became my instructress once more.

‘Fix your make-up, then go and give him your number. Write it in lipstick and then tell him to call you so you can get his number. After that you can spend the night with him if you want, or go home’

I looked at her aghast. All I could think about was running back to my room, my bed and screaming for Lisa. How dare she even offer that to me! I was not a slut! I stormed my way to the mirror, wiped my eyes and started to put my make-up back on. I saw her reflection walk up behind me. I ignored her, trying not to start crying again. She reached into my bag and took out the phone. I heard a beep as she ended the call.

I looked up again and into her eyes. I hadn’t meant to be angry at her. She smiled softly, came up behind me and squeezed my shoulder.

She told me not to be hard on myself. She said that my life was going to be hard enough without making a rod for my own back. She said that she would be seeing me again soon and with that, she turned around and left me there; a whore fawning to tidy herself up.

PART 20

I lay in bed. Finally I was totally exhausted and utterly depleted, emotionally. Sleepiness was starting to take me and it was the most merciful thing that had happened all day. I heard a key in the door and then heard it creak open.

I heard it slam and I heard sobbing. I heard rapid, marching footsteps going into the living room and then I heard frantic movements, the crying became louder and the sobs more piteous as she broke down. I figured that Lisa was probably feeling how I had been about two hours ago. I couldn’t leave her. I got up. It was cold so I wrapped a blanket around myself before going to the lounge. The light was on and the floor was littered with stockings, underwear and unfastened shoes. In the corner, naked, curled up in a ball, sobbing and broken, was Lisa.

My heart went out to her immediately and I rushed over to hold her. Her eyes were wide with fear as she held her hands up, holding me off; she didn’t want to be touched. Her eyes were red raw, her face was streamed with black streaks from her eye make-up.

‘Lisa, it’s me, Anita, darling’ I had said ‘it’s only me baby. Ssssshhhhhhh. Its okay, Lisa. It’s okay now darling’

She had carried on sobbing. I was lost already and hardly in any position of strength myself. I wrapped the blanket round her and sat down, naked, next to her. I saw her discarded dress in a tiny pile. There couldn’t have been much to it but it looked to be made of a fine purple silk. Her black stilettos lay nearby, the word ‘Manolo’ stared across at me from the leather sole. A diamond choker lay coiled at her feet. I remembered the clothes that I had taken off and hung up when I got home, they were so different.

The loud sobbing next to me started to bore into my fatigued, spent mind. It wasn’t long before a tear started to trickle down my own face and I sat, silently, next to her, my eyes screwed up, curling into my own little ball.

After a minute, she reached across to me and wrapped the blanket round me. We looked at each other and then grasped each other tightly. With the blanket pulled tightly around us, to protect us, we wept together. We wept at what was our lot. I had worked through it all so many times that night as I lay there, unable to sleep, but I had found no resolution; I doubted if I ever would. Vivienne, my Mistress, had smashed me down even further today. She had maniacally bulldozered her way through more of my most intimate boundaries. She had made me become a slut and no matter which way I looked at it, it tore into my very soul.

Eventually, at about three o’clock I had cried myself dry again and was weary and blurred with fatigue. Lisa, however, was still inconsolable. It was all I could do to get her onto the sofa and get her to drink some hot chocolate with the blanket wrapped around her. She stared blankly ahead with the glazed eyes of a woman who belonged in a mental-care home. I was seriously worrying about her sanity. I lifted the cup to her lips and made her drink some. Finally, she took a little sip and, for the first time in probably an hour, made eye contact with me.

I cuddled her some more and eventually managed to get her into bed, holding her and gently stroking the hair on the side of her head. Eventually she breached her silence.

‘I think……I think I’m going to go mad’

As I clutched her, I had worried about my own sanity. I couldn’t think of anything to say to her; I had the same fears and no answers. I had also been stretched to such an extent that I would never spring back; I would never be the same. After a time she opened up a little. She kept breaking down as she remembered all the horrible things from her day. I just listened. I didn’t want her to rake up things that she didn’t want to so I didn’t ask her a thing. I had no useful wisdom to impart to help her with her dire situation and I was, on top of it all, so very tired; but I stayed awake for her, to listen.

She had been taken out early that morning by Trisha. She was going to get a new high fashion, ‘fuck me’ trophy-secretary look. Lisa had instantly balked at the idea and had made no secret of it. Trisha had been delighted and had forced her to follow, at heel, as she led her through the shops, threatening her with a few things. She wanted her dressed very expensively, so that she would be an absolute prize; but she wanted her sexy; very, very sexy.

To make it worse, Trisha had started to touch her. In fact, she couldn’t keep her hands off her. She kept following her into the changing rooms and when the curtain was shut, she would start to caress and work her hands over her. Lisa found this deeply unsettling and when Trisha, looking her lustfully in the eyes, slid her hand down into her panties and made a slow but penetrating stroke up the front of her slit, Lisa had torn herself away, yanking out her Mistresses hand in defiant repulsion. When she told me this, I had gasped. That was why she had earned herself a punishment earlier.

This had been further compounded when, halfway through their shopping trip, they had been joined by Vivienne and had all sat down in the café at Harvey Nicholls. They had given her an interrogation, similar to the one that I had received, except they had obviously been less forceful with her ‘disinhibition’. She had, in spite of her hanging punishment, tried to fob them off with a few whimsical ideas for her ‘look’; but they had caught her out.

When they had eventually flicked the switch in her mind that opened her up fully, and she was forced to tell the truth, the real answers had unmasked and exposed her as the liar that she really was. She had sat there shaking with fear, a trapped animal, as Trisha told her that she had earned herself, in the space of an hour, a second punishment. She wept as she recalled how easily she had been played and how stupid she had been for trying to lie. I gulped and thanked my lucky stars that they had not set that trap up for me.

They had then gone back to the shops and hunted out some of the key items that would really get to her. She hated to show off her legs, so they bought a selection of fashionable, mini-skirt-suits. She hated ‘fuck me’ office heels and patterned or fishnet stockings, so they had bought a very thorough selection. She had fretted as item after item was bagged up for her. She couldn’t believe what was being done to her; it was one of her nightmares coming true. Trisha had purred constantly with lustful approval as she had tried everything on.

Lisa was used to dressing very professionally and conservatively, she had, after all, been a lawyer. She deliberately avoided looking sexy or overly feminine and she admitted, under duress, that she had actually looked down on the secretarial staff that did dress like that. Her firm had been huge and they had had many sexy young girls out to make their mark with daringly provocative but incredibly fashionable outfits. With Trisha’s compelling guidance, she had reluctantly recalled the details of these. She had listed all the essential and defining things that she would need for her new look. Her Mistresses had grinned as she had slowly spilled her guts to them. Then she had been made to find everything and buy it.

She curled up as she remembered how she had been made to look and how satisfied Trisha had been with the end result. I thought that I would have been glad to have been dressed like that, especially given what they had condemned me to wear, I didn’t feel the same way about it as Lisa. I accepted that everyone was different and that we all had our own, different and painful buttons. Vivienne had pressed mine as Trisha had pressed Lisa’s.

As she finished her hot chocolate, she started to relax just a little as she carried on talking. At the end of the morning, she had been taken to Trisha’s beauticians shop and had been left there for her makeover. They had cut and styled her hair, done her nails, shaped her eyebrows and made her up. She had then been sprayed with Trisha’s choice of perfume and set to sit and wait for her Mistress to return. It was then, just before I had met her in the car-park, that she had first been punished.

She broke down again as she recalled it and I deliberately didn’t ask her about it; I just held her. I could see in her eyes that it must have been much worse than I could imagine. A new wave of fear swept over me as I sensed the power, the terrible magnitude of this thing that Vivienne had put in our heads that we might be disciplined. I shuddered as Lisa started to speak again.

For the afternoon she had been sent home and had spent two whole hours on the training machine. I contrast to my own time; all of hers was spent working on the artificial pussy, with her mouth. It had allowed her a few breaks between programs but had otherwise pushed her to her absolute limit. Her tongue had burned as the poor muscle had been worked to exhaustion; like never before.

At a time that must have coincided with Trisha’s disappearance from my shopping trip that afternoon, she had visited Lisa at the house, and had punished her again; this time for her behaviour in the changing room. There must have been something else, some awful detail that was too painful to share because she stopped talking there and reverted back to her blank stare. I shook her, until she looked at me once more.

Again I asked nothing, but she wept hoarsely as she told me what the worst part of it all was. As if things weren’t bad enough, apparently there was going to be a change of plan for her. Trisha had delighted in revealing it to her as she had lain sobbing, begging, and clinging to her Mistress’s shoe; that she was going to have Lisa fixed. She was going to become her very own, perfect, personal assistant. She was to become her fully trained sex-toy; exactingly schooled in the arts of pleasing a lady and she would be made to suffer, exquisitely, for her Mistresses pleasure. Dumbstruck at the horror of her unfolding future, she had then been made to lie down flat on her back while Trisha froze her for the next hour, to think about what she had done and how she would learn to apply herself from now on. After spilling all this out she collapsed into a flood of tears again. She was to become Trisha’s personal slave. She was to be utterly at the mercy of the woman that she was most afraid of; and she would be her lesbian pleasure slave.

Lisa fixed me with an ice cold stare. I could now see that this was what had been wrenching at her sanity.

To prepare her for her new role, her evening had been not dissimilar from my own, in terms of smashing through her most intimate boundaries.

She was dressed in her own new style but instead of being taken to a pub, she was taken to a lesbian pick-up bar. She didn’t tell me any more of the details and I could understand why; I was not going to tell her about my incident in the back alley. It occurred to me that she had been out a lot longer than I had though, so there was plenty more potential for her abuse. I could only feel her pain with her; I could do nothing to ease it.

After that, she spent a few minutes just staring down at the floor. Eventually, she came to her senses and asked if she should pleasure me, as we had to do at bedtime. I looked at her, dishevelled and mentally unravelling. She looked like it would be the final straw. I looked at her tearful face and remembered the cum still inside me. I shuddered knowing that that filth was still there, setting; hardening within me; an evil surprise for anyone who went down on me. I simply couldn’t bring myself to make poor Lisa lick that. There was no way that I would be able to become aroused given the horrors that we had both endured that day. Consumed with pity, I told her that she had been through enough and was sure that she had done more than enough pleasuring for one day. She had looked into my eyes and had dropped he head to my bosom, burying into me. She had kissed me and I cradled her, I would try and protect her. In no time, thoroughly burnt out, we both went to sleep, in each others arms.

PART 21

It was ten in the morning when we awoke to the sound of the phone ringing. It didn’t stop, even after a minute, as I emerged from my sleepy twilight. In the end, Lisa beat me to it and stood there, listening.

‘Yes Mistress’ I heard her say and then she put the phone down.

I noticed that the computer screen was flashing. I started to worry that we had overslept as I clicked the mouse. Up popped a sheet with ‘Training Plans’ written at the top. There followed the day’s date. There were then two columns, one was Lisa’s and one mine. I was immediately glad that the first item was scheduled for eleven o’clock; someone had appreciated that we had had a difficult day.

I was less happy as I saw that I was first up with ninety minutes on the training machine. Subconsciously, my lip hung down and my shoulders slouched as I remembered how unpleasant it had been the day before. I was taken with a feeling of resignation and helplessness. If the screen had said four hours, then that is what I would have had to have done; none of my life was to be under my own control it seemed. As I scanned my way down the list; erotic dance; behaviour development; dress inspection; assignment, I started to fret; would I never be set free?

The residual comfort from the night’s sleep now fully dissipated, I called Lisa over and she looked, equally dismayed, at her own list. It seemed that the erotic dance session would be for both of us, whereas for her first session she simply had to get dressed and do the shopping for the house. I would much rather have done that than face the machine again.

I took the spare hour as a chance to get a shower and finally clean yesterday’s deposits from inside me. Then we had some breakfast. I couldn’t get the impending tasks out of my mind, so I couldn’t relax as we drank our juice and coffee. With the cups drained and sitting in the empty sink, we got ready to start our programmes. At two minutes to eleven, Lisa had just fetched her shoes to go out, and I was ready to take my robe off and submit to the accursed machine but there was a knock at the door. Lisa looked at me in surprise and answered it.

‘Inside, NOW, slut!’

It was Vivienne and she marched her way in; she had a scowl on her face. Immediately frightened, I threw myself onto the floor and started to frantically lick at her boot; but she kicked me away. Lisa’s attempt was also met with a firm rebuke, Vivienne’s heel digging into her forehead and shoeing her painfully away.

‘Kneel there, both of you, heads to the floor’

We both scrabbled to comply. I was shaking. Mistress was not happy.

Vivienne cut straight to the point

‘You have deliberately disobeyed your instructions. I am told that you decided it was not necessary for your late night oral training session?’

My heart sank, Oh no, please not that! We both whimpered

‘You, slut’ she kicked at Lisa ‘must actually get off on punishments; you remember that I said that any more trouble from you and you would go into the slave box, yes?’

At that, Lisa just snapped.

‘NO!’ she wept loudly.

‘No! Please No!’ she screamed, desperately trying to get her mouth near to Vivienne’s boot. Once more she was pushed aside, this time with her toe.

‘No please Mistress’ she collapsed ‘it wasn’t me! Anita said we shouldn’t do it, I thought that we had been let off! Please Mistress, it wasn’t me! I had nothing to do with it! Anita said not to do it!’

My fear rose higher and then redoubled as I looked in terror, in utter disbelief, at Lisa, stretching herself out towards Vivienne, sobbing in sheer, broken desperation.

‘So it was Anita was it?’ asked Vivienne, calming slightly and regaining some of her feline poise.

‘Yes! Yes Mistress!’ she welcomed.

‘Sit up girl’

Lisa struggled to sit up, kneeling back on her heels. She got into her best slave posture. Vivienne walked over to her and started to toy with her hair, running a finger through it and then grabbing a handful.

‘So, slave, should I give your punishment to Anita?’

I watched in horror, like this just wasn’t happening as she rapidly nodded her head, desperately; affirmatively.

‘No’ the word slipped out of my mouth, quietly, pathetically, an expression of my disbelief.

Vivienne stepped over towards me. Her voice was calm and cold.

‘Is this true, slut, was this your idea?’

Oh God, I couldn’t believe I was in this situation. I started to cry out of pure fear. Oh God, I was in trouble.

‘Yes Mistress’ I sobbed, half insane with fear ‘…….but I thought that….’

‘Silence!’ she shouted.

‘I don’t want to hear it’

‘I’m so sorry Mistress. I didn’t want to….’

‘Shut up now you dumb fucking slut, or I’ll double your punishment!’

I clamped my mouth with my hand and sobbed as quietly as I could. I huddled myself into a little ball in panic and misery; there was definitely going to be punishment.

‘You may go’ she said dismissively at Lisa

‘Thank you Mistress’ I heard as she scurried off to the front door and then out.

‘Stay silent slut’ she said. I watched as her expression became severe again and she started to fume.

‘You will NEVER assume to make alterations to your orders; never, ever. You will do EXACTLY as you are told to. You have disappointed me slave, really you have. I was pleased with you, you know, but now you have annoyed me. You will learn that that is not a good thing to do ’

I lay there, frozen with terror as she regained her control. Her eyes narrowed and she calmly told me to lie flat on my back.

I did it, almost in a trance, whimpering with fear. I couldn’t even beg pathetically, she had taken even that option from me.

‘Freeze’ she said and at once, like in her office, I was immobile; rigid like a board and stuck, unable to move, on my back.

When I realised that she had done this, I struggled, frenziedly, to move; to shake myself about; to scream my lungs out – but nothing happened, not a damn thing. Inwardly I was crying my heart out; I knew no peace at all and felt like my mind was about to snap.

Then I heard that she had said something, but I couldn’t hear the words.

It was sudden and it was so brutal. It hurts me now, so terribly, to even think about it and I don’t think that it is possible to adequately convey exactly how severe my pain was.

In a split second, my entire body was rapt with agony.

I felt such intense, such unbearable, lancing pains, that I could never have imagined such a degree of suffering was humanly possible. As it tore through me I understood, in my torture, that my Mistress had inflicted this upon me, as my lesson and I would never forget it.

Every part of me; my arms, legs, stomach, breasts, my genitals and my face; coarsed with searing, white-hot agony; like I had been thrown into a steaming cauldron of boiling fat. My skin was obviously refusing to cook, so the pain didn’t subside as my nerves were eventually eaten away by the fire. It was so perfectly torturous, so excruciatingly violent and exquisitely unendurable. I could never have possibly conceived of such complete suffering. I was sure that I was dying as my soul was ripped out and my body was being gradually but thoroughly destroyed.

Unimaginably, almost worse than the sheer physical pain, was the raw terror that accompanied it. It was as if a switch had been thrown in the darkest recess of my mind and my deepest, most pre-eminent emotions had been activated, fully. I felt the fear fevering up inside me. It rose and multiplied, over and over, until I was petrified; consumed with the dread of my own certain impending doom. I felt like the sheer unabated terror would fracture my mind, splitting it forever into a thousand pieces. I lay there perfectly still, screaming dementedly to myself, wanting only to cease existing, so that my suffering could end. I lost track of time completely but I now know that it was twenty seconds before I was shocked out of it and was perfectly awake. A mere twenty seconds was all it took and it had felt like five minutes. The torture had stopped but I was far from normal, it had stamped me; burning itself indelibly into me and branding my mind. I was now scarred, it formed a reminder of the consequences of my disobedience and of my Mistress’s displeasure. In twenty seconds, she had broken me, utterly.

In hysterics and on the far verge of sanity, I weakly but desperately crawled over to my Mistress and clutched hold of her boot. The only thing that mattered was to not be punished any further. I rejoiced as she didn’t kick me away. I wept and licked at her and I swore that I was sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I pledged my unswerving obedience to her in a desperate attempt to convince her not to return me to the pain.

I looked up fearfully and she smiled down at me. Her happiness filled me with hope and I renewed my pathetic efforts to curry her favour; pressing my face into her black leather boot.

When she finally told me to kneel and said that my punishment was over, I wept tears of joy and devotedly thanked her over and over. She must have taken some pity on me as she walked to me and touched my head. As I heard her mutter something, I felt my mind start to calm and for the first time, I started to regain control of myself. Sniffing repeatedly, I knelt still as she stroked my head.

I felt a beautiful relief sweeping through me with every touch of her fingers. I knelt at her feet and she ran them softly through my hair. The happiness I felt as my Mistress petted me was just overwhelming. When she stopped and sat on the sofa in front of me I could only stare at her in a confused awe, wanting her touch; needing it even but not understanding why. She had such extreme power over me, she could elevate me or plunge me to hell with a word.

She smiled at me again and clicked her fingers. Within a second I was nestling and pressing my face and body against her legs, a forgiven pet, weeping at the beauty of her mercy. I needed her touch so badly. The punishment had been so awful; I needed to feel her forgiveness. That she didn’t kick me away was enough and I revelled in the knowledge, as I lovingly kissed her boots, that she was, once again, satisfied with me.

‘You really are a natural slave you know’ she mused ‘I’ve really never seen such an intense reaction before’

She lifted my face so that I looked up at her. The stern, sadistic expression was gone and her face was almost warm with a gentle smile. I was so confused with how I felt about.

‘Now you be a good girl and work hard at your studies’

I nodded at her, ‘Yes Mistress’

As she stood up, picked up her bag and walked away, I almost wanted to reach after her. Watching her towering black spike heels work their way towards the door I felt the memory of my punishment resurface. As I struggled to keep from crying, I vowed that I would never, ever, disobey her again; even if it meant taking a knife to myself.

Tearfully, I went over to the computer to start my training. I would have to work hard.

PART 22

As I stepped out of the house, I held my fear in check and made a mental review of all the things I had to remember to do; there was no way I could afford to fuck anything up. The day had been terribly busy and actually just plain terrible. Now I was hurrying because I knew I didn’t have much time to do what needed to be done.

After another session licking, sucking and fucking myself to exhaustion on the latex sensor-cock and being thoroughly worked through increasingly complex routines by the computer, I had more sessions; but this time, in other ‘disciplines’. I had not been able to approach them relaxed and with a clear mind as once again, my jaw ached from all the blowjob techniques I had been made to practice. As well as that, the muscles in my vagina throbbed from over-exertion and I was breathless from spending the last twenty minutes being forced to rapidly ‘bunny-fuck’ the cock as I straddled the training horse.

Of the new classes, the first of which, had been taken by Cara.

I was not interested in learning ‘Erotic Dance’ but I had been overjoyed to see her as she had stepped through the door wearing her calm, worldly smile and a tight black track-suit. I had hugged her tightly. After what Lisa had done earlier, she was now the closest thing to a friend that I had and that was so depressing. I felt a little lump swell in my throat as I thought that, but then forced a smile onto my face; I didn’t want to lose her as well.

As we had walked into the living room I saw a logo on the back of her track-suit jacket. Written in pink, in cursive neon lettering was the word ‘Zippers’. I had never heard of that brand before but before I could ask her about it, I heard the door open a second time and, turning, I could see Lisa come in. I looked away immediately but could hear that she was carrying lots of bags. I wasn’t going to go and help her, not after what she had done. She must have dumped the bags straight on the floor because in no time she was in front of me, tearful, and on her knees.

I looked down at her and just couldn’t hold myself from crying as I saw her, weeping at my feet,

‘I’m so sorry Anita, please, you have to believe me, I’m so, so sorry, so very sorry……I just couldn’t take what they were going to do to me….I didn’t mean to hurt you, I love you!…I just couldn’t…not being put in that box…..not that….’

She was hysterically upset, barely able to speak with her frantic sobbing. I couldn’t bear to see her like that. I had been so hurt that she had betrayed me but, now that I had felt that unspeakably evil thing myself, I could understand why she had done it. Maybe I would have done the same had I been threatened with more of it; I couldn’t say. Either way, we both had far too much to deal with, without any difficulties between us. I wasn’t going to punish her any more, even though she had so readily sold me down the river. I could see that she had suffered with her guilt already and was clearly and terribly sorry.

I knelt down next to her and held her. I told her that it was okay. She grabbed me tightly and tried to break a smile through her tears. I kissed her and she struggled to look at me again. I could see that it would take a lot before she could forgive herself for what she had done to me. She knew exactly what she had condemned me to and she knew the magnitude of her act.

‘Ahem’, Cara cleared her throat loudly ‘come on now you two. You have work to do now. You will behave and you will apply yourselves to this; as if I’m not happy, you will both be punished again. I have control and punishment privileges over both of you and I will use them if I don’t think you are working your hardest. You will remember that and you will treat me as a Mistress’

I was a lot happier with Cara than my other two Mistresses. We both knelt in front of her and she had us strip there. She had us both wearing only our shoes; I fetched and tied on my white ankle-boots. She had then stood each of us up and had inspected and then adjusted our posture. She spent a good time teaching us a number of poses and then cycled us through them calling out each one by name – ’Hands on hips’, ’Look at my tits’, ’From behind’….etc…

She then spent an hour showing us some basic dance moves.

She put a disc into my player and made us sway and gyrate our hips to the pulse of the beat. She told us to practice that whenever we had a few spare moments, she wanted the basic rhythm to become like second nature to us. As the lesson moved on, she had each of us trying to lap dance in front of her as she sat on one of my dining chairs, giving us pointers.

She had brought a crop with her which she had taken from her bag after the first few minutes. She still had her kindly way about her but there was no mistaking that she was here to train us and was very much in charge. I felt a lot less nervous in front of her, while she was holding a whip, than I did in front of Vivienne, even if she had nothing. I knew that Cara would have no option but to treat us like this. She would have the threat of her own punishment hanging over her, to be instigated if she didn’t achieve results with us.

She was, however, a superb teacher. She expressed what she wanted us to do very clearly and encouraged us when we did it properly. Halfway through the session, I lowered myself, bending my knees, keeping my back straight, swaying in front of her, with my hands above my head as she had shown me, so I was lifting my breasts. My mouth was parted as she had shown us and my tongue was just visible inside my lips, like I was ready to kiss or lick. She wanted me to have my legs further apart for that move. I didn’t resent her for training me, I knew she had to, but it didn’t lessen the pain from her riding crop as she switched me cruelly on my inner thighs telling me to look like I was lowering myself, needfully, onto a lovely, erect penis.

A tear of pain in my eye, I repeated the move for her, pretending that I was slipping myself over a stiff cock until she smiled, nodded and beckoned Lisa over to try the same. She told Lisa that her Mistress would want to see her feminine needs too, so she would make the same display that I had. She threw herself into it and escaped the lashing that I had received. Soon after however, she was whipped for not smiling and not looking enthusiastic or hot enough as she danced. As this was a more serious transgression, Cara beat her with ten fearsome strokes across her breasts. Lisa stood still with her hands behind her back, holding her breasts forward, yelping miserably with each blow. At the end, the tears ran down her face.

I had tried my hardest to do that well, the whole way through, as it was the first and most important lesson that Cara had stressed to us – in all things we did, we must look like we were joyful, horny, appreciative and desperate for sex. Following her advice, I tried to imagine that I was deliriously hungry for sex as I danced. I pumped and ground my body like a whore and it helped me to avoid her whip. I felt like such a slut though.

After the dancing I was even more fatigued and was glad that my next session was a less physical one. In fact, the ‘Behaviour’ session consisted of just me, alone, doing some research. I sat in front of the computer screen while Lisa sat behind me, noisily lapping at the artificial pussy while the computer gave her instructions.

I followed the programme that was laid out for me. I was to browse through the extremely comprehensive library on the hard drive and the internet and ‘get ideas’ for my role as a ‘slut’. The focus was not to be on sexual technique but rather how a girl behaved and if there were any mannerisms, touches or finesses that I could pick up or develop. After sufficient time, I would be interviewed with a view to planning my behaviours. My mind looked back to the time Vivienne and Trisha had sat me down in the Café; I knew how effective their interviews could be. As I read the instructions, I could feel that I was being subconsciously forced into a state where I would, once again, not be able to hold anything back. As I looked down the list of titles and I felt my hand move the mouse pointer, I despaired and felt a sense of woe in my very soul.

PART 23

Later that day, after being given quarter of an hour to dress, I stood in front of my Mistress once more. Lisa had left the flat, I had no idea why, and I was all alone with Vivienne. I was quaking and was so glad that she was smiling.

When she had arrived we had sat down together at my table and ‘talked’ about my afternoon of research. Out of everything that she had done to me, I could see that she got the most pleasure from systematically teasing my distastes, fears and weaknesses from me so that she could toy with me, before making me do the same, awful things. I would even have rather spent the whole afternoon wracking my body, pleasing the machine, than being made to slowly but deliberately hammer nails into my own future.

To start with, after she had instantly rendered me fully obedient, I had shown her a video of a girl walking. I had found it after having been horrifyingly, and consequently irresistibly, drawn to the title. I hated the way that the loop had been set up inside me. I would scan my way down a list or look at some pictures or films. The ones that I were most afraid of, most scared about being made to do and the most appropriate for a ‘slut’ would be obvious. I would then be compelled to examine them. The walk had been one such instance. The girl from ‘Desperate Cum Sluts’ had me whimpering with shame. Her walk, the things she did and the things she said; and how she said them. I had never seen a woman behave in such a disgraceful way before; so explicitly wantonly, she had not a shred of dignity about her. That accursed film would lead to a wealth of misery and despondent humiliation for me.

The girl on the screen was dressed scarily similar to how I had been; she wore white heels and a pink dress and even large gold earrings. She approached the camera with a walk that would have been described as ‘sultry’ if it was about a tenth as extreme. The way it was, it could only have been described as utterly depraved. It was not the sexy, business-summoning walk of a whore; it was the wanton, debauched walk of a nymphomaniac, overcome and peeking with raw lust. The look on her face was one of obsession and deep, basal need; you could see that she longed for a cock in her, anywhere. I looked away in shame but Vivienne grabbed my face and shoved it back towards the screen. I watched her again; sullen and resigned.

As I watched her slowly writhe forward, offering herself to the viewer, I looked at Vivienne, watching the screen herself with a wide, satisfied grin on her face.

She had me emulating the walk in my own living room. She made me get the face right in my mirror and then practice the walk, watching myself. It wasn’t hard to do, physically at least, although the thought of anyone seeing me putting on such a display was just too much and I had to keep pushing the anxiety from my mind.

That wasn’t the worst of it by far though.

I had clammed up when Vivienne had asked me what else I had found. She had smiled knowingly at me and I had tried to shrink away; like a puppy, knowing she was going to the kennels. She had then looked very pleased and snapped her fingers, pointing to the floor next to her chair. I had quickly got up and knelt right next to her, on the floor. She put her hand in my head, scratching at me with her long nails and took a grasp of my hair, bending my head upwards to face her.

‘I’ll let you show your Mistress from down here’ she grinned down at me.

I was starting to cry as I reached up and moved the film on to a bookmark that I had set earlier.

As the film played I could only see my Mistress’s face. I watched as a wicked smile formed and her lips separated into an evil grin.

‘Oh yes slut, I definitely approve’

I sank my head onto her leg and wept,

‘Yes Mistress’ I said.

The film had shown the same girl, the ‘heroine’, the ‘desperate cum slut’ herself, finally getting her satisfaction. She had sucked her co-star’s huge cock with a gusto that suggested it was essential to her survival, like it contained some sort of antidote. Then, just before his climax, he had pulled out of her mouth and while she had left it wide open for him, he had unloaded spoonfuls of thick white semen onto her face and into her mouth. I found the whole thing quite repulsive but it was the part that followed that I was showing my Mistress.

The girl looked like her most incredible dream had just come true as she relished the cum in her mouth. It was the look on her face, there was no mistaking what she was. Then, slowly and carefully she wiped up some more of the cum on her face and slowly, savouringly, put her finger in her mouth sucking on the precious juice. She closed her eyes in ecstasy as she, one by one, licked he fingers clean, savouring every drop of the delicious cum. The show that she was making was the most humiliating sex act I could have thought of at that time. It had me quivering in my Mistress’s lap. I had tasted a tiny amount of cum before and I had hated it.

‘Go and get a yoghurt from the fridge, slut. We are going to have you practice doing that in front of the mirror, you have three minutes and then you will give me a show’

I rushed out tearfully, another nightmare coming true. I was soon pretending that I was the same sperm-crazed whore. I lustfully and slowly licked my fingers clean, scooping the yoghurt from my face and licking at it like it was the most joyous delicacy. I kept my eyes focused on myself in the mirror and tried as hard as I could not to start crying.

A snap of the fingers from Vivienne followed and she knelt me down below her again. She took the spoon and gleefully flicked a blob onto my cheek. I then gave her the same show, fixing her eyes with my own and trying to look as depraved as possible. I hated what I was being made to do from the absolute depth of my soul, but the alternative was just not an option. I visualised myself as the girl from the film as I slowly lowered another fingertip of white yoghurt onto my wanting tongue. My heart felt like it was breaking as she smiled down at me and after a while, flicked another glob onto me saying,

‘Good slut! I think this will be your little party trick. You will do it after every cum, what do you think?’

‘Yes Mistress’ I submitted and then, sobbing, I tried to squeeze the words out, there was a little more, something from my own twisted mind.

‘Mistress…….I think…….that I should say that………I just love cum so much’

As a further idea formed my sobbing intensified

‘Good girl, that’s it, let it all out’ she stroked my head

‘Maybe I should scoop some cum out of me, if that’s where it is, and do the same sometimes…..Oh please Mistress…don’t make me do that!’

I collapsed into a fit of sobbing. She slapped me hard round the face but was smiling at me

‘You know better than to say that, but since you feel that way, we can have you do that as well’

She smiled down at me and stroked my head as I wept into her lap. She was so cruel to me that there was nothing else that I could do. I no longer had any hope of mercy from her; it just felt better to cry on someone, even if that person was the complete cause of all my misery. She let me cry in her lap for a good long time, I’m sure she must have enjoyed it. It was after that that she sent me off to shower. She told me to wash myself thoroughly and return to her only in what I needed to walk with.

When I returned, after our ‘little sit down’, Vivienne had further enjoyed herself at my expense. I had tensed and squirmed a she had opened a large medical bag onto the table and she had told me to sit down next to her and to thrust my breasts out at her.

I started to tremble as I saw her take out some medical gloves and a bottle of antiseptic. I squeezed my hands tight trying to stay still even though I was almost paralysed with fear. I wondered how much it was possible for one person to take as I saw her take out two huge syringes, each filled with a clear liquid. I looked at her in terror as her face took on its demonic smile once more.

‘Please’ my eyes begged her ‘I can’t take much more’

She reached over and took hold of my left breast. I almost screamed with fear as she touched me lightly. My obvious discomfort made her laugh loudly. She told me to keep still or she would fist me again. She lifted my breast and examined the suture line. Then she did the same to the other one. I just wished that I was dead. I seriously considered her offer of spending the rest of my life paralysed, being institutionally abused.

‘These are healing beautifully Anita. The stitches will already be starting to dissolve and your scars look very neat; tiny in fact, but good and strong; certainly ready to be…..tested, just a little’

As she ran her finger along the scar lines, I shivered at the unsettling touch. It was a mix of hypersensitive, healing, inflamed breast-skin and numb, nerveless scar-tissue. I shook at the occasional shooting bursts of electric, burning pain as she rubbed firmly against the severed nerves along each incision, causing them to fire-off, randomly. She was in no hurry to stop playing with me, I was like a pet to her, a toy and she was starting to really upset me.

‘He is such an excellent surgeon’ she mused, turning to her medical instruments ‘he always gets such good results. And oh my God!…Very fuckable too, didn’t you think’

She put on the sterile latex gloves and started to soak some gauze. I could smell the clinical scent of the antiseptic as she lifted the dripping gauze with some forceps and turned towards me. I was frozen. She grabbed my left breast firmly and started to swab the cold, flowing liquid around my nipple. I broke a cold sweat. Thin lines of pink fluid ran down, over my breasts and down my belly, as she rubbed and worked my nipple and the area around it. I could feel the copious, spilling antiseptic, cold, and seeping down to my thighs. I watched her, trembling, as she took a second gauze and did the same to my other breast.

A memory from the day at the café came back to me. Under Vivienne’s wicked spell of such brutal self-betraying honesty, she had had to stop me when I had gotten onto the subject of having my body pierced. Getting carried away with my own hideous self-‘slut’ concept, I had envisaged, amongst other things, a pair of thick nipple rings. I had been relieved when she had prevented me from telling her about them, but now my fears had not only returned but were boiling over as my nipples stood, erect and chilled as the cleaning solution evaporated off them. I was terrified that another of my nightmares would now be realised.

I snatched a look at her tray as she took further things from her bag. She was screwing long points onto the two syringes that she had. There was a plastic sheath on each, but inside those, I could see two thick needles. I spluttered out a sob at their sight. Why was I being made to suffer so? What had I ever done to deserve this?

Vivienne looked up from her tray. She let out a chilling, callous cackle. She so loved to see me scared, trembling in anticipation, not knowing what was going to happen to me.

‘I love it when we get to spend some quality time together you know?’ she said, lifting one of the syringes so that it stood vertically, tip upwards. She gave the plunger the slightest test and I could see a tiny droplet form within the plastic needle sheath.

‘Now slut. I know that you do so love your new tits but I wonder if they are still just way too small for you’

My lip trembled out a sob as she asked,

‘What do you think slut?’

She looked at me, hard; she would only accept one answer.

‘Yes Mistress’ my voice broke in quivering tones as I tried hard not to cry.

She fixed me with an ice cold stare and said simply,

‘Beg’

I started to cry properly now. Vivienne’s image blurred as I wept,

‘Please Mistress; I’d love to have big tits…….’

I sobbed to myself; it was one of the things that she had done to me that I loathed the most. I hated the large breasts that I was now made to wear and I was mortified when I had been made to wear clothes that revealed and even emphasised them.

I felt her latex clad hand on my face, wiping at my tears.

‘I’m not convinced that you want them slut. One more chance or maybe we’ll think about some punishment for you’

‘Please Mistress’ I begged, I looked her in the eyes and tried to look sincere ‘I want to have big sluttish tits’

She looked at me

‘…..I want to have huge tits and I want to show them off, I want men to come on my huge bimbo tits’

I was desperate to please her. As I saw her mouth break a smile I breathed more easily.

She laughed and then picked up one of the syringes.

‘Please!’ I whispered.

She grabbed my breast and I watched in absolute horror as she pulled the cap off the needle and turned to point it towards me.

‘No!’ I whispered, frozen with fear as she pushed the tip to the skin just below my nipple and then plunged the needle into my held bosom. I wept hysterically but kept still and obedient as she pushed the needle in to its hilt. I watched as she started to press the plunger.

‘Now. Let’s watch you become even more of a whore as they…….grow’

As she slowly depressed the plunger and the huge vial of liquid began to disappear I watched as my breast slowly started to swell. My sobbing took on a frantic high pitch as Vivienne laughed loudly. I thought that I would pass out as she pulled the needle out and gave my tit a squeeze. It was visibly and palpably taut again, like it had been the week before, when the implants had been fresh. I sobbed myself hoarse as she took the second needle and did the same.

As she depressed the second plunger, at her instruction I repeated,

‘Please make my tits bigger Mistress, I so want my whore tits big’

As I wept the phrase out, she pushed the fluid into me and I watched in revulsion as my other breast bulged and grew. When she took the second needle out I broke down crying. She stood up and dragged me by my hair to the bedroom. She thrust me in front of my dressing mirror and held my head so I had to look at myself; at my chest. I saw her smile of satisfaction as my sobbing was renewed afresh at the sight of my newly stretched breasts.

‘We’ll be doing that little and often Anita, till you look……remarkable’

With me still weeping uncontrollably, she sent me away to dress, telling me that I would be subject to her inspection. She told me to make myself look like the kind of big titted slut who would walk the way I had shown her and dream of gobbling down as much cum as she could. As soon as I was in my bedroom I fell to the floor and pounded it with sheer frustration. My life was so horrible! I did this, but just for a few seconds as I dared not displease my Mistress and risk being late or poorly dressed.

I stood in the pink dress with the open sides and the elastic strips. My smooth crotch was bare to the world below the tiny skirt that was snapped about the tops of my upper thighs. I had fretted about my hair and make-up and had made sure that they were exactly as I had been instructed; I looked like the proper porn-shoot bimbo that I was supposed to. My freshly sore tits bulged dramatically against the stretched fabric and pushed up and out of the cups in the dress. They presented an immense cleavage between the zip-edges of my dark blue leather-look jacket.

There was no way that the jacket could close around me. I so wanted to hide myself away in shame, to cover myself in a huge smock. I couldn’t look at my chest or I would immediately start crying. I looked straight ahead.

My look was completed by the white bag on the gold chain and another pair of my new shoes.

Again I had to concentrate as I teetered on high, five-inch stiletto heels; but this time I wore shoes rather than the ankle boots. These were also patent white. Vivienne had told me at the time that the white stilettos that so perfectly humiliated me would become a constant feature of my outfits, like a trademark. My heart had sunk as I had tottered around the sex shop in them, so perfectly degraded. She had made the further point that they suited my virginal inexperience for the time being but, in my case, they would soon form a delicious incongruity with the depraved slut that I was to become. I had stared at her sullenly, like a bitch about to be punished, like a little girl being forced to wear her mother’s choice of new shoes; that she hated. Vivienne had stood there and smiled cooing over my new shoes.

They were slightly pointed white pumps with a thin strap that closed with a delicate gold buckle around my ankle. At the side of my heels there were several little triangles and other shapes cut out, so the pink flesh of my foot was visible and contrasted against the shiny white of the plastic. They unequivocally shouted ‘trailer-trash’ and I had sulked to myself as I had deliberately selected them, today, for my Mistress and reluctantly fastened them on. I so longed to go back to being ‘boring Anita’ again; to dress in dull, flat, brown shoes. I wished that I could go back in time, burn that advert in the paper and spend the rest of my days dressed like a woman twice my age; as a frump.

‘Walk for me slut’ she purred.

PART 24

I immediately swallowed my pride, fixed my gaze on my Mistress and tried to think like the girl in the video had perhaps done. I tried to imagine that I was desperately horny. I knew that I had to ooze confidence and throw myself into it; it really was an ‘all or nothing’ walk. I took a deep breath and then twisting on one foot, I slowly stepped my other leg forward. My bare skin was on full display from the very top of my thigh to the white plastic of my high heels. I was such a whore. I stepped down so that I would put one foot almost in front of the other; the height from my heels exaggerating the swing and forcing a sinuous, filthily debauched, writhing from my hips as I moved.

I tried to keep it smoulderingly sexy and focussed on my Mistress. I kept my mouth slightly gaping and the shame of my busting cleavage pushed out crassly towards her. While I did this, my hands started to move on my body. I felt like the girl in the film now, a depraved ‘cum-slut’, and I knew I had to play the part as well as possible.

She was smiling at me as I glided across the room to her.

‘Good’ she nodded keenly ‘very good slut! Keep that going, and work those hands up to those tits! Show me how much you love them!’

I swallowed quickly, burying the urge to dissolve into tears one more time. I worked my hands up until I held handfuls of my own inflated breasts. By this time I was standing right in front of her. She giggled at my earnest display, I blushed intensely; I could never win with her.

‘Good slut’ she said as she stood up.

She stood just slightly taller than me, in spite of the height of my heels.

‘One more thing before you hit the road’

She walked out, leaving me standing there. I had so feared having to go out again.

I heard her in the bedroom and then she walked into the kitchen. I heard the banging of pans and the tap running and then some quiet movement. I stood, alone, dressed like a prostitute, in my own living room. I tentatively tried to pull the jacket edges closer together, to try and cover myself a little more. It was totally futile; the jacket was too small for that. So I just stood there, nervously working my balance from shoe to shoe.

After several minutes Vivienne came back in. I could hear water boiling on the stove in the kitchen.

‘You are going to be so hot tonight slut’ she purred mischievously.

I dared not even turn round as I heard her walk up behind me. I felt the chain from my bag and then she spun me round to face her. She was looking straight into me, I had to look down. She took the chain again, this time from the front, and led me forwards.

‘Go to the bedroom and sit at your table’

In no time, Vivienne had me watching in the mirror as she carefully, one by one, started to remove the studs from my ears. Each one was sore and I could see, as she placed each one on my dressing table, the specks of dried blood on the pins. I counted all six out of each ear as I sat there motionless, nervously watching her careful movements.

She went back to the kitchen and soon returned with one of my pans and a small bottle; clearly something that she had brought herself. She placed the pan down on the table and then reached into it. I could see her grinning as she pulled out the first, and largest, of my new matching earrings. My heart groaned, silently.

She just hummed a little to herself as she wiped the pin of the earring with some of her antiseptic and then moved towards my ear. I felt a sting from the alcohol and an aching as she pushed the metal through the young piercing; then she clipped the bar onto its fastening. I watched in misery as she returned her hand to the pan and the hideous ornament continued to hang from me.

Within a few seconds, she was hanging the ‘next size down’ earring in the piercing above on the same ear. It was all I could do to sit still and tolerate the humiliation without reacting. I resisted protesting and I tried my hardest to not give in and give her the pleasure of seeing how I really felt. I watched helplessly as she gradually set all the earrings in place. To my horror, I saw the brazen tart, my perfect ‘slut alter-ego’ starting to emerge in the mirror. The nightmare concept-woman that I had always despised but had only fully conceived of and crystallised that day at the café, was now coming into fruition.

When she had finished, to ‘rub my face in it’, she made me make some of my ‘slut faces’ into the mirror. She made me turn my head to the sides as I did them, to show off my new earrings. She had me licking the air in front of me, ‘wishing for some cock’ as she put it, deliberately rocking my head a little to make the obscene amount of gold dangle and sway in my ears. She told me to push my breasts out more. I felt a crushing wave of panic envelope me as she returned from the kitchen with another yoghurt. She made me practice my ‘party trick’ with my earrings and newly inflated breasts. With her eyes fixed on me, every second of it was torture.

I tried my best to put on a good show for her. As she laughed and taunted me, calling me her ‘ultimate whore’ and a ‘desperate cum slut’, all I wanted to do was to crawl under my bed-sheets, hide and grasp one of my teddies. I wanted to wish myself away; to another place or another time.

My fear only continued to rise when she handed me a bottle of lubricant and told me to make sure I was fit to deliver ‘pussy services’. In abject humiliation, as she watched me, I hitched up my skirt and rubbed a generous amount of the warm, oily liquid onto my folds and deep into myself. I tried my best not to be churlish as I did it. God knows I had never been sunk to such depths before!

‘Your assignment will test your sluttish abilities today Anita’ Vivienne finally spoke.

Her tone was neutral and instructive and on this occasion, that worried me. If she was going to merely expose me, as I was, I’m sure she would have been a lot less pleasant with me; she would have taunted me.

‘You are going to do your first ‘double’ today’

I looked at her in the mirror.

‘You are going to get a man off, twice; once with your mouth and once with your cunt’

I saw her smile at the pleading expression that took to my face.

‘It’s an excellent way of testing your technique. A man will come practically immediately when confronted by such a sexy slut as you. Make no mistake slave, you look like you have come straight out of a man’s wank-fantasy’

I blushed.

‘But the second come is more difficult as he has just been spent. It will be a measure of your technique and skills. It will test your ability to please him, to excite him’

I wanted to cry

‘If you fail to get him off twice in, oooooh….say……twenty-five minutes, then there will be a punishment session waiting for you when you get back, a….lengthy one….Its just as simple as that slut’

I felt like I was going to pass out.

‘Now don’t fret’ she laughed, reaching out to me and holding my cheek ‘you can do that, Anita, believe me when I tell you this; but you’ll have to use your sluttish wiles. You’ll have to use all the things you’ve learnt today, your face, your walk, your party trick, your dance moves as you slide up and down him, anything you like’

She was smiling and stroking me, almost fondly, like she wanted me to succeed.

‘I don’t care. Just make sure he gets off twice’

Her smile faded.

‘I’m making it easy as well; he’s already a client of yours’

PART 25

It was a crisp, icy day but very bright. Having been stuck indoors all day, I had to squint as the sun glared into my face. I shuddered as I stood outside, in the open; anyone could see me now. I had to keep my mind on the task, on the job, otherwise it would implode. I corrected my posture, took a deep breath and then started walking. Not the ‘exhibition’ from the video, but my ‘normal’ slut’s gait. I strutted and moved like I was cruising for business. I had to take small steps but I took them quickly as I knew Vivienne would soon be behind me, ready to be my voyeur; as if the phone transmitting from my bag wasn’t bad enough.

I saw a figure starting to round the corner ahead of me. My heart started to pound, I couldn’t believe I was going to be seen, in cold daylight, looking like I was. I reaffirmed my resolution to avoid the pain; I would have to be able to deal with this.

As we neared each other, I could see that he was behaving strangely. He was trying to snatch glances at me without making it obvious. His obvious discomfort actually made me feel a little better, like I was not so severely disadvantaged. He ignored me as we passed each other and I breathed a sigh of relief. I could do this, hopefully.

The second figure around the corner was a woman; then a second woman appeared, walking with her. My hope disappeared. They were about my age and fashionably dressed, in dark coats. They both wore stylish leather boots with heels and had ‘designer’ looking handbags. One was blonde, with a long ponytail, the other had an angular, fashionable ‘bob’ haircut. As one of them noticed me, I saw her hand go to her mouth. She was talking behind it. The other girl then looked for me. When she caught me, she visibly sniggered. I wanted to scream! I wanted to scream at the top of my voice; to scream my lungs out. I was fully exposed, helpless in front of them.

The intertwined ticking of our heels gradually merged as we neared each other. I could see that they were stifling their amusement; trying to hold straight faces. I did the only thing I could, I smiled. The girls stared, with eyes like the heads of nails. Their looks, although evasive, were of contempt; contempt for being a slut. I saw the disbelief in their faces as they noticed, when they were close enough; how extreme my earrings were; the little ring through my fingernail; my swollen, surgical lips and my ‘tits’; begging for attention. It was all I could do to just keep moving and not turn around to run back inside. When they were behind me, I did not turn round, I didn’t want to see them looking back and laughing at me. I filled up with a deep, shameful crimson. My throat felt tight. I reached up and touched it, trying to loosen a tight blouse that wasn’t there. I felt my ‘Anita’ necklace nestling above and between the heads of my collarbones. My God, what did I look like!?

To stop the mentally downward spiral towards collapse, I ran through my checklist again; as a distraction. I brought myself back to the job at hand. I had to remember everything; the walk, the face, the moves Cara had taught me and worst of all, the thing that Vivienne kept calling my ‘party trick’. Glancing behind me, I saw Vivienne emerging from my block of flats; I knew I had to get on with it. I took a deep breath and as I heard the clicking from my Mistress’s spike-heels, gradually getting louder, I set off, around the corner.

The noise from pneumatic drilling immediately hit me. I had been so absorbed in my shame that I had not really noticed it. There were half a dozen men working on the road, all wearing hard-hats and fluorescent yellow over-vests. I couldn’t believe the situation I was in, it was just unreal. I tried to imagine that I was in a trance as I found my target amongst the workforce. With one further thought about the punishment, to drive me, I started to strut. I went through my confidence routine, like the previous night. I tried to feel like I was Julia Roberts again. Fuck it, I tried to imagine that I was the whore from ‘Desperate Cum Sluts’. I tried to tap her well of shamelessness. Amongst the noise, I somehow made out the sound of high heels behind me. I wished it was Cara. I would have felt a little better if it was her who was with me. It would have been harder doing it alone, but it was worst doing it for the amusement of Vivienne.

I flicked my head high. I felt a cold splash from the dangling golden hearts at the sides of my neck; I felt like such a slut. For the first time, I tried to consciously draw power from that. I harnessed the slut’s confident abandon, that uncaring, almost oblivious regard for her shame. I channelled that feeling into my walk. I was completely conscious of my legs and breasts, perfectly displayed, as my man set down his bucket and chanced to look up. I saw him freeze, dead, like he’d seen a ghost. I swallowed and he watched, mesmerized as I started my performance. It was slightly easier to do at that distance but as soon as I saw his jaw drop I knew that I had two choices. I could either submit to the raging shame swelling inside me, or I could ride my way through this, become the slut of his dreams and seduce him.

There was no way I could take the horror of Vivienne’s punishment again. I blew him a kiss as I became ‘her’. I told myself I was playing a role; that it wasn’t really me. As that thought started to ease my pain, the ‘naughty slut’ smile on my face started to feel more relaxed, and as a double-edged sword, more natural. I ignored the little voice at the back of my mind; my dignity.

I started to think ‘I need a fuck, God I need a fuck so badly, and I want it from you!’

It was like a mantra, to brainwash myself. Even the swelling self hatred that was building inside me was not powerful enough to match Vivienne’s punishment. I though it over and over again as my walk became more and more depraved. My pelvis was swinging and grinding as I writhed as lustfully as I could towards him. My focus was on my mark, solely. I didn’t care about the other men, as they stopped their work. At least that’s what I told myself. The blush across my face and neck told a different story though. The drilling and clanking gradually subsided to a total halt. Against the background sound of the traffic, they could now hear the clicking of my stiletto heels on the concrete. I pressed my chest out. I would use my hated tits now; they would become an asset and would help me to get this awful job done.

My man was obviously flushed but had regained some control and was now walking towards me. I heard the first whistle from his mate, and then they all started. It was to a melee of wolf-whistles, calling and howling that I stopped my strutting and took a pose; my right hand on my hip, my foot turned out to the side, my bag hanging down on the left and my head turned and cocked slightly. I kept my lips parted, trying to imagine I was in the middle of my programme on the training machine, anticipating taking the cock into it. I hoped the cake of foundation I had on my face was enough to hide my utter shame.

‘My God, I mean…..Wow!….I mean……Wow!….Anita!……You look…….Amazing!’ he spluttered. His eyes were all over me, he didn’t know where to look. Feeling that it was the only way I could carry on, I drank in his lust and started to feel some power from it. Damn it, I started to feel in control a little, like this guy was ruled by his dick and that at the moment, I was ruling that. This had to work in my favour.

I slowed my walk down. I made a conscious decision to become his temptress, albeit an easily obtainable one. I wanted to drive him wild, he would need to be able to come twice, in twenty five minutes. He was paralysed as I stepped right up to him and reached up to his face.

I moved, tantalizingly, towards him and slowly, painfully slowly, moved to kiss him. At the last moment, as he closed his eyes, I moved to the side, to his cheek and lightly bushed my lip against it, breathing onto him. I felt him moan. I had to cash in now, I had to go in for the kill. I looked him I the eyes.

‘I need you inside me’ I breathed seriously ‘I need you now’

It was a cheesy, porn-film line but it worked. I saw him swallow. One of his mates was shouting, ‘Go on son! Give ‘er one from me!’

This was met with cheering and more whistling. I looked at him and smiled,

‘Go on, give me one’ I thought as I made my slut face for him. I tried to project that thought at him.

‘Come with me’ he said, looking around shiftily.

I took hold of his arm, becoming his girl. A sudden wave of panic hit me, was I really doing this? How was I going through with seducing this guy? Why was I not shrinking away in embarrassment? Where was my dignity?

As I felt his thick, tight muscles, the realisation that I was a woman, giving myself to him consumed me. I felt so female, so female that it almost melted me. Then I remembered that I was, of all females, a pleasure girl for his amusement; a trainee whore; a slut, learning her trade. Instead of screaming, ‘No!’ as loud as I could, I squeezed his arm and looked into his eyes. As he looked longingly back, I licked my lips and said

‘Come on lover, I want to taste you’

I thought I saw his pupils dilate there and then. He quickened the pace and I had to concentrate to walk that fast in my white stilettos. As we made for a side street, we passed Vivienne. She completely blanked me but it was enough to remind me of my true purpose, my true condition. Instantly upset and struggling once more to hold it all together, I gripped hold of the man’s arm and took some comfort from the fact that not everyone wanted to see me suffering. After the treatment that I was getting used to from Vivienne, I started to warm to the idea of some company that would treat me nicely; even if it meant giving my body to them for some easy love.

I wanted to ask him things. As my emotions started to carry me away, I started to get upset again. I didn’t even know his name; the second man that I had ever had sexual relations with and was now about to ‘double’. I felt the pain of Vivienne’s cruelty again. She had stroked my head before I had left the flat. She had given me a couple of further rules. Next to what she had already done to me, they seemed so trifling, but now I was feeling their sting.

She had told me ‘No conversation outside of sex-talk’.

At the time, it had been the last thing on my mind. Now, as we walked, hurriedly and silently to the makeshift venue for our encounter, I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to at least know his name. I wanted to tell him that he was only my second man ever. I wanted to let him know that, so that maybe he would treat me with special care and attention. But that was my former self talking. It was ‘Slut Anita’, and her only, who was allowed or able to talk to him. The closest I could come to expressing myself was,

‘My! Someone’s in a hurry?!’, a desperate attempt to invite a compliment, to hear that he cared for me. As the pause lengthened, I released the tension; it wouldn’t do to have my ‘client’ feeling uncomfortable,

‘And it’s me baby, I want to fuck you dry’

As the ache weighed in my heart, I recognised the truth of how lonely I was. I would be intimate with this man yet we would remain strangers.

As I thought of what I had just said, I wondered how I was thinking of these things, I really was not that kind of woman normally. I almost sobbed aloud when I remembered that the girl in the video had said exactly that!

I had subconsciously absorbed and assimilated it. Her behaviour was becoming mine. What was I turning into?

Whatever it was, regardless of my own despair at it, he was responding to it.

‘Oh you will! Don’t you worry, I’ve got more for you, more of what you got last night. God you were so hot, I’ve……well, I’ve never been with anyone like you before Anita, you’re just so damn……well…….Fucking hot!’

At that he stopped. He turned me towards him. I could see, in his eyes, he was overcome with raw desire, for me. He pulled me close, one hand between my shoulder blades, the other down, on my left cheek. I felt enveloped by him and while his embrace was driven by his rising lust, it was warm and loving too. His touch was firm but sensitive. I responded, like I knew I should, by rubbing my knee up his leg and running my shoe up his calf. When my thigh was horizontal, he hooked his forearm under it, supporting it. My God, I felt his fingers fishing under my skirt. We were still on the street, in broad daylight!

He pulled me in, so I was so close that I could rub myself against his leg. I heard him gasp and moan as his fingers brushed across the perfectly smooth, bare skin atop my labia. I didn’t realise that my bare skin would be so exciting for him. I made a huge moan of pleasure when he started, with a finger inside me, to gently rub around the outer part of my tunnel. It felt good. I’m ashamed to say that after all the punishment and sadistic torture that I had been forced to endure, I allowed myself to enjoy the feeling; to lose myself in the lovely sensation. While we were not able to be intimate mentally, we could be one physically. His touch, for that moment, freed me. It was the most welcome contrast to my Mistress, who wanted to cut parts out of me or burn holes in my mind. I would allow myself to be his and it was all right anyway, because that was what my Mistress wanted.

PART 26

When we had got to his van, I had taken control. I knew the clock was starting and, in the parked Mercedes across the street, sat Vivienne Black. There was no way I was going to risk being punished. I sat him down and was straight onto my knees. Trying to project hungry, lustful thoughts, I fixed his eyes with my lips parted, licking them. At the same time, my hands were at his trousers, unfastening them. He had reached down and stripped his own belt off in seconds, by which time I had his buttons undone and was starting to tug his trousers down to his ankles. The grit and dust on the floor bit into my knees and marred the perfect white of my shoes, but I ignored it. Instead, I gently lifted his pants over his bulging erection and pulled them down. Keeping eye contact, but without lingering, I set to work on him there and then. It wasn’t long before I was locked into the training sequence that had started to burn itself into my mind. To me it was an almost robotic sequence, a choreographed set of moves, all performed with smiling fervour. Vivienne was right; in no time at all he came.

It took all the discipline that I had to not open my mouth and scream in disgust. I felt the pulses of warm salty semen unload into my mouth. I wanted to be sick. Instead I had to grin at him and pull off him.

My soul was shouting ‘No!’ as I was then forced to do that most dehumanising and hideous act. Vivienne’s evil, controlling grin was loud in my mind as I made sure the last droplets of his seed spilt onto my face. That was vital for what had to come next.

I was burning with such deep, deep resentment of her but I kept my composure. He was spent but was still hypnotically fixed on me, fascinated. I licked my lips and I saw his mouth open in disbelief. Girls like me didn’t exist, not for real, not outside of porn films. I saw his eyes widen as I formed my face into the depraved, wanton smile that she had made me practice and take a finger to my face. Delicately and carefully, but hungrily, I scraped up the last drop from his cheek and then, exaggerating the movement; the savouring, I sung the finger into my mouth and closed my eyes. As I tasted the stringy, watery globs I tried to think of it as ‘precious’, in reality it made me want to throw up.

‘Mmmmmmmmmmm!!’ I moaned and then, opening my eyes, I delivered my line; the cheeky confession of my most secret vice.

‘I’m sorry; I just love come so much!’ completed with the most vacuous giggle that I could muster, exactly as Vivienne had wanted it.

I had spent the next few hours curled up against my bedroom skirting-board, sobbing quietly to myself, still dressed as I had been. Vivienne wanted me to ‘stay just as I was so that I could reflect on my performance’. Every time I opened my eyes and saw the blurry view of my long naked legs disappearing into my shoes, it took me straight back to the van. The virgin patent white around the toes of my shoes was now marred and dirtied from kneeling on the dusty floor. I took a cloth and wiped away the black marks. It didn’t make me feel any better. I just sat there and wept, until I could weep no more. Then, finally, I got up, took my clothes off and took a shower.

Hours later, as Lisa joined me in bed; I wanted to talk to her. I had snapped myself out of my earlier self-pity the minute she had strode in through the door and fastened her collar about her throat. So much had happened, to us both, that we needed to treasure our time together and use it to help each other. While I was not hungry to hear about whatever inhumanities she had been forced to endure, I needed to share what I was going through. I knew it was good to talk, even about these things. Nobody ever benefited from bottling things up.

She smiled at me and made a face that I had never seen before. She put her finger up to her lips and gave me such a convincing, raunchy but naughty smile. I didn’t want this. My God, she was training up well though; better than me. I felt a rush of shame as I realised that I had thought such a competitive thought, and then another ache in my heart as I realised that our real time together would be eaten into be the necessity of her new, enforced, lesbian façade. I couldn’t do anything that would make things difficult for her, or for me for that matter. I knew that the kindest thing that I could do would be to lie back, try to enjoy her mouth on me and come quickly, so that we could hold each other and then talk properly. I suspected that if I didn’t come, she would probably be punished. It was made all the worse by the fact that, after I had done so well in the van with my man earlier, Vivienne had told me that I would get a reward from Lisa later. Again, the man’s cum remained inside me, but this time, I knew much better than to try and intervene. It didn’t stop me feeling guilty as I felt her breathe on my hairless, sensitive crotch. I knew that she would have to lick out all of his juice, without complaint.

It was already a much, much different sensation to the first time that she had pleasured me. I was instantly aware of her training and skill as, in spite of my reluctance, she almost instantly had me alight and burning with the most carnal pleasure. How on earth was she doing this? The first time she had done it, she had had to rely on raw, sincere passion and her own natural aptitude; now she had some technique to augment that. She was getting far too good that I was behaving against my own will.

I felt her roam her hand upwards, over my belly and onto my breasts. In spite of the recent surgery and the fresh injections, she actually, for the first time, made them feel nice. Oh I held on to that sensation! Her soft caresses sent ripples of pleasure pulsing up my body. I felt my nipples hardening like rocks, nosing themselves outwards eagerly as her palms swept over, hoping to snag deliciously in the spaces between her passing fingers. I allowed myself the freedom to take pleasure from my breasts then, in spite of how their new form humiliated me. I had wondered if the surgery had damaged the nerves in them or dulled them to sensation somehow but those fears were absolutely set to rest. I even started to push them out, so that they were huge and full, towards her hand, hungry for more and more of the sensation on them. This was not like the frenzied gropings of earlier, I was being pleasured by a woman this time, and oh what a difference that made! I glowed with pleasure as I felt my nipples throbbing, fully engorged and standing absolutely en pointe. As she started to give them more and more attention her touch became electric.

It wasn’t long before I was fully lost in the pleasure, my hands stretched behind me, grabbing the bed-head, and my legs splayed wide, giving her full access to my all. After minutes of moaning intensely, feeling guilty but just too aroused to step back, she made me come, incredibly powerfully, as she flicked her tongue across my clit, stroking inside me at the same time with her fingers.

I tried to tell myself that I had done it for her, to ease her suffering. But I found that difficult to reconcile with the unnecessarily crushing intensity of the orgasm that I had just felt. I breathed deeply, trying to catch up with the demands she had made on my body.

‘It’s not over yet baby’ she breathed and then was back on me. My God, I was back on the brink in an instant.

I had never had multiple orgasms before but this girl, this trainee woman-pleaser had me spilling over the cusp of orgasm within seconds. She rubbed at just the right spot inside me, forcing me to moan in sheer, unabated need. I had already come once, I had fulfilled my brief, but now we were continuing. As she stretched me so beautifully I felt the warmth of her mouth once more, warm and soft, coursing up my swollen folds ready to deliver the final blows to my straining clitoris. It was too much to take. With the smallest, slightest flick of my clit I was, once more, thrashing in the throws of another irresistible climax. It lasted seemingly forever; wave after wave of pleasure rose and passed through and over me as I fell down a multi-coloured well of joyous abandon. Finally she was off me and I could start to return to reality.

I forced myself to get my breath back. I remembered how guilty this sex act made me feel; only now it was twice as bad. I filled up with shame; I had behaved so wantonly, where was my dignity?

‘Lisa, I…’ I stuttered, realising the true depth of what I had just done.

‘Don’t say anything Anita’, she said softly. She had her finger gently, but decisively, over my lips, hushing me. She had a determined look in her eyes. Had this been something she had been told to do or was this because of the punishment she had given me?

I looked into her eyes and I knew that we should just leave it there, it was all far too complicated and ultimately insoluble. I let it all go, opened my arms and she fell into them. I squeezed her with all my strength and in that moment was sure that I would never let her go.

We held each other for the next two hours and started to talk. We no longer felt any shame from sharing our feminine nakedness, not with each other; we had moved beyond that. It was probably that those boundaries had been so completely violated for us that it was futile to try and re-erect them when they were actually unwanted. It felt wonderful, after being so lonely, to finally be able to be intimate, truly intimate with someone; with my friend; my best and only friend.

PART 27

‘I’m Anita, I was told to……’

‘Wait there’ fizzed the speaker abruptly.

I scanned away from the little camera next to the pokey back-door; there was nothing but cars, concrete and weather. A freezing gust caught me, forcing me to grasp my hands around myself and bend my bare legs tightly together. There was never a ‘right’ time to be out dressed like I was but this was certainly not it. I shook, bare-legged in a white leather miniskirt.

‘Come in’, it snapped me back to the door

I recognised her as I hurried inside; she had been the one who had installed the cameras in my flat. She was disinterested as I passed her. She slammed the thick metal door against its mate and then pointed down the stairs, now the only route. I grasped the handrail, worrying about going over on one of my towering stilettos and breaking an ankle. Down was always so much harder than up.

‘You’d better get used to those shoes I think’, there was no affection in her German accent. The stairs were wide and well worn in the rheumy yellow light. She passed me before I was halfway down, not slowing as she reached the bottom and disappeared around the corner. I went as fast as I could, barely finding my balance with each teetering descent. By the time I was standing at the bottom, the corridor was empty. Through the dull hum, I could hear music and the faint sounds of girl’s voices. Carefully, I hurried after her.

‘Hello slut. No that’s ok’

I stopped my hurried journey across the room towards Vivienne’s feet as she held her palm up.

‘Thank you Mistress’

Her smile was wintery.

‘Strip and put these on’ she said, businesslike.

Suspiciously, I lifted some lacy white material from the little bag and stretched it out, I shivered.

‘It’s not summer any more is it slut, I’m sure you want something to help keep you a little warmer’

I dropped my bag. The white leather jacket, matching tight skirt and purple boob-tube lay on the chair as I drew the garter belt around my waist and clipped it shut behind. Little white bows rested above as the loose straps bounced lightly against the tops of my legs. I sat down and unbuckled the ankle straps of my pumps; I had to grip each heel as the shoe popped off. I reached inside the bag again. I could see the designs jumping out of the white nylon, loud stringy flowers and gaudy heart shapes; I could feel my skin crawl.

Inexcusable as it was to keep my Mistress waiting, I tore open the packaging, ruffled the stocking up my thumbs and passed it over my toes. As I drew it up my leg I watched the patterns emerging, growing until my whole leg was tightly bound in the white nylon. A giant heart and piercing arrow dominated the side of my thigh. I screwed up my face internally, feeling the embarrassment that would surely come each time I was seen. I was now firmly into porn star territory I thought; women with taste simply didn’t wear things like that, not even in the bedroom.

I clipped the suspenders onto the stocking and put the other one on. A snap of Vivienne’s fingers and I was seated again, the toes of one foot nestling back into the white point of their shoe. Again, grabbing the long white stiletto for leverage, I forced my heel in. As I rested against the floor to wind the little strap around my ankle, I could feel the thick lines against my foot pad.

She beckoned me up and looped her finger. I stood, held my arms against my body, fanning my hands outwards and made a little twirl for her.

‘Little Slut’ came her caustic laugh.

I hated how I looked, naked except for the cheap slutty lingerie and high heels. Yes, I was a slut, you only had to get a glimpse of me to see that, but it was not out of choice! It was not something that I had planned for myself or decided that I wanted to be!

Of course, nobody looking at me would know that; that’s what made the whole thing so utterly frustrating and so damnably humiliating.

They sat me, naked save for my new stockings and shoes, on the bench. I started crying as the German girl pushed me back against the padded rest and scooped one of my legs up under her forearm. She swept it up and over a vertical support, resting my spike-heeled foot into a stirrup.

‘Please’ I sobbed, the fear starting to grow within me.

She completely ignored me.

I looked desperately at my Mistress, pleading for mercy with my eyes, knowing that it was futile. I dropped my head and wept as my other foot was hung, wide, to the other side. My newly patterned legs were held, splayed open. The thick lacy top of my stockings curtained either side of my smooth, naked sex which gaped open towards the two women.

Vivienne was standing below me, fiddling with a camcorder. The sterile white of the floor and walls emphasized the black of her tight clothes and boots and the dark lines of her make-up. Her full lips wore a deep burgundy velvet. Her hair was pulled tightly up to a spout at the very top of her head, it fountained over and downwards in thick arcs of straight dark silk. The other girl was also in black, a tight sleeveless top and leather trousers, the short crop of her blonde hair gelled into chaotic spikes. I cried out again.

‘Stop being such a fucking baby’

The tall blonde girl stared at me, her inch of patience had just snapped. She slapped me hard around the face. As the snap echoed, I felt the sting-wave hit, jolting me out of my self pity and back to the horror of the moment.

‘I’ll give you something to cry about’ she muttered

My head swam a little as she pulled a trolley over and came around to my side. I thought that I might be sick.

‘Now we make you like the other girls’

Vivienne stepped up, between my legs, squaring the lens at my face. Self conscious, I sniffed and tried to stem the tears. As I looked down and saw the top of the trolley. I couldn’t stop myself. I screamed.

‘Oh No! Mistress, please! Please not that! Please….. No Mistress!!!’

My breathing became irregular. I stopped caring about the camera and appearances and struggled for air. I scrabbled desperately to sit up. I saw the blonde girl’s wiry muscles tense as she grabbed my wrists and had them yanked behind me and controlled. She wrenched me back into the seat. Vivienne was totally absorbed by the view from the camera; it was like I was alone with the blonde girl, as if her voyeurism somehow detached her from the reality.

‘No’ I had whispered to myself, shaking my head.

I felt cold metal digging at my wrist. Then clicking as I felt the circle of the cuff close on me; I was terrified. I had never been restrained before. I had never before felt the helplessness of handcuffs.

‘No don’t, you don’t have to do that…..! Oh Please!’

After a second clicking I felt both of my wrists stretched securely behind me, holding me back against the padding. I screamed again and jerked against the cuffs. The metal bit painfully into my wrists, refusing to yield even a millimetre. I sobbed unrestrainedly, not daring to think about what they would do to me, trying to cloud my brain with my own tears.

My makeup must have been streaming down my face as I blubbered incoherently, the camera in my face, recording my nightmare, capturing my misery for Vivienne’s sick museum.

My face was surely bright red and strained as she snapped on a pair of gloves and picked up a soaking purple gauze. My tears flowed freely as she raised the dripping antiseptic slowly towards me, I just couldn’t believe what they were now doing to me. Even after all the surgery Vivienne had put me through, this had somehow seemed more degrading. It was a toxic mixture of fear from the pain of having my sensitive body needled and the torment of the knowledge that the whole process was for the permanent addition of some new and awful humiliations.

I started to panic as she settled the swab against my nipple and started to work the cold liquid around it.

‘No, not there, surely this can’t happen’ I told myself

My throat was parched, bone dry. She wasted no time. In a second, she had my nipple crushed in a pair of stout forceps. She ripped it up and outwards with a deliberate brutality, she had every intention of hurting me. It was quite the most violent thing anyone had ever done. It took a split second, but when it hit, the pain was impossible. I screamed my lungs out showering her and the camera.

My vision started to blank as she grinned and raised the piercing needle, sure to make sure I appreciated the whole thing. I was sure I’d have passed out when I saw the thick cutting shank of the bevel. But I remember everything, so vividly.

Somehow, strangely, when Vivienne had injected my breasts, it hadn’t hurt so much; it had been more the idea of it that had been so unthinkable. Maybe it was because the needle had only slipped through a thin layer of skin before entering the numb implants inside me, and that had protected me. My vulnerable, throbbing nipple was entirely different. It was a button, rich and bursting with nerve endings, bubbling with tenderness, a vulnerable nexus of feminine sensation. I tore at the cuffs as I felt the sharp prick. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t. I sobbed and choked insanely, tensing my head and neck as she pushed. I screamed and tore my head away. She drove the icy point clean through, lancing right through. My most tender bud exploded.

Part of me was still clinging to the belief that this wasn’t happening. The sight of the thick steel wobbling in my flesh as she unclipped the forceps and my skewered nipple snapped back was totally undeniable though. I hung my head as I saw her go to the other side. I was shrieking dementedly as she did the same to my other nipple. The tears sailed down my cheeks, dripping onto my chest and running down around my punished mounds. She opened a sterile paper packet. I watched, detached, pathologically transfixed as she revealed my new jewellery, my rings.

The thick gold gleamed as she held the inch-and-a-half wide loop between her pale latex covered thumb and forefinger. Instead of a little ball where the ends of the ring screwed together, it was shaped like a tiny heart. I wept in despair when I saw them, Vivienne and Trisha had recreated every possible detail to best humiliate me. I knew I would have to wear them and I didn’t know how I would be able to face another human being if they knew. I filled up with shame.

My skin had crawled as she had slid precise metal grommets, tubes barely wider than the needles themselves, along each of my nipple-needles so that they rested just inside the skin, holding the piercings open. She deftly removed the needles and then took up a strange syringe-shaped tool and slid the thin end of it into the new grommet. As she depressed the plunger, I winced; it griped sharply. She pulled the tool out but it left me stinging inside.

‘No, that really hurts’ I pleaded. Maybe she hadn’t realised. She chuckled.

I so wanted to free my hands so that I could massage myself and try to dull the pain. I implored her silently as she pushed the tool into the other nipple and then, smiling directly at me, squeezed the trigger again. I yelped, hanging my head in resignation, gritting my teeth to take the pain again. I sobbed quietly, trying to ignore it, trying to think of something else as she unscrewed and opened the rings. One by one she fitted me with them, sliding them into the new grommets before squeezing the ends together. She screwed them both closed and tightened them with another little tool. She hung them, heart-closure down and stepped back, pleased with herself.

‘Now then’ Vivienne triumphed ‘don’t you look special now’

She reached forward and stroked my cheek and then kissed the side of my head.

‘So special. I just love them. Imagine how you will feel showing them to your boyfriends’

I wept at the thought. She reached forward and, with the tip of her finger, lightly flicked the ring so it bounced up easily and swung back. I tried to shrink back away from the awful things; I wanted absolutely no part of them.

‘Slut’ she mouthed slowly at me, whispering the word into my face.

Reaching forward again she held the ring. Slowly, she twisted it, just a little, just enough to suggest the sensation. As it tightened against me, I glimpsed how these new, unwelcome intruders could be made to punish me. I looked at her through my tears, aghast, my nipples were not supposed to instruments of pain! I sat fearfully still, not wanting to hurt myself.

Her eyes were almost loving, warm and tender as she threaded her finger through the ring and rubbed gently against the end of my nipple. It felt sore and sharp; all I could feel was the constant ache of the uncompromising steel that now filled me and the fear of Vivienne even slightly twisting.

‘Beautiful’ she said kissing me again, keeping me on a knife edge with her finger,  ‘I love you confused, frightened and utterly controlled’

I was surprised when she withdrew her finger from my nipple ring.

‘You’ll need to behave now; we can’t have any more thrashing about’

She whispered something in my ear. I felt myself stiffen.

PART 28

It was probably the worst night I had ever had. The blonde girl, ‘Suka’ Vivienne had called her, had taken me home and left me in my bedroom with a can of spray, some ointment and an instruction sheet on how to care for my piercings. The only thing that she said to me, the whole way back, was that if they got infected and she had to take them out, she would whip my cunt, hard.

I’d spent the evening curled up and crying, waiting for Lisa to come back, needing her to make me feel like a person again. I hadn’t dared undress in case I saw what they had put in my flesh; what they had put into my body. I was not comfortable, curled up, clasping my hands in front of my stockingged shins and lying on my side. The tight leather mini nipped the top of my legs and the tiny jacket held my breathing. I didn’t even take my shoes off.

Every movement of my head caused my earrings to jingle against each other. Every time I looked at my fingers, I saw Trisha’s wicked ‘SLUT’ looking back at me. And every time I looked down I saw my huge, plump breasts bubbling upwards, reminding me of the huge implants they reluctantly housed.

I wanted to wish it all away. If it had been an option, I would have died right there. I would have taken a suicide pill, cut my wrists or thrown myself from the window. I knew that I had been programmed against all of those things and that I had absolutely no option but to go trough with whatever Vivienne and Trisha had planned. I wanted my friend, she was the only thing in the world that could help. Until Lisa came home though, I was alone. I ran my tongue along the roof of my mouth.

All the way back, I had swallowed and played with my lips and teeth, as if that would help. Every time I felt the metal ball against the roof of my mouth I felt the terrible memory. I was sitting, frozen, stiff in the chair sticking my tongue out as far as it would go waiting for the pain. Needles and scalpels had flashed past my staring eyes.

The stud that ran through my tongue was my greatest humiliation. It conjured up depraved images of tongues, mouths and men’s cocks, images of woman pleasing. That was what it was for. It was a device, installed in my tongue, to feel good on someone else’s genitals. It was a sign of my apparent devotion to oral sex, a commitment to its practice and a badge that made sure everyone knew it.

Worse than that, after the stud was secured, she had injected me under my tongue and then nicked me painlessly with her scalpel. I wasn’t sure what she had done but I worried about it bleeding. My mouth was even more personal than my nipples, it was an even more intimate violation. It was a thick, dull ache in my tongue and a bloody nuisance. I had to think about everything my mouth did and every word I spoke so that I didn’t hurt myself. I hated what they had done so much.

I let the tears flow, hoping that crying would cleanse my mind of the pain and the crushing emotional blackness they had inflicted upon me. My nipples throbbed, rubbed and aggravated by the course lycra of my purple boob tube. I wasn’t going to remove it though.

Gingerly I had slid my finger down, stopping at the thin wall of leather between my legs. I felt the numb stinging inside there too. I snatched the quickest of smiles at the mercy that I didn’t have some vulgar adornment in my clitoris or my vaginal lips. It could have been even worse I told myself.

After they had sited the tongue stud and moved down between my legs I had feared for the worst. After the pain of the nipple piercings I don’t think I could have coped with a piercing down there and I was completely distraught, fearing that my mind would cave in. They had pierced me, but not how I had expected it. At the time I just felt the sting, mild compared to the nipples and tongue. They made me look at what they had done as Suka held a mirror up. There were two little balls, the first one poking out in the centre, directly above my clitoral hood; and the second one a little above the first. There must have been a thin shank of steel inside the skin connecting them both so that they both held each other in place.

“You’ll enjoy it so much, Jane,” Carol told her enthusiastically. “Just think; a whole three weeks in role together!”

Jane was dubious. Her cousin’s proposal was exciting, but Jane had never role-played before strangers and she inwardly quailed at the very idea of appearing naked in public. But, deep within, a queer little thrill at the prospect stirred.

Carol laughed at her. She knew very well what was troubling Jane. A veteran of several BDSM Club events, she herself had once shared the same reservations.

“It isn’t at all what you may think, dear!” she said earnestly. “Take it from me, BDSM Clubs are extremely tough on anything sexual; they’re positively Puritanical on the point. No-one, particularly a woman, will be subject to any sexual innuendo even, or anything of that kind! And, don’t forget, this will be a Femdom event; the men present will all be slaves and well under the control of their Mistresses. And also, we’ll be there in animal roles, and these people are very experienced in letting people play their parts; they will think of us purely as animals; attractive and graceful animals perhaps” (she chuckled) “but animals just the same!”

Jane, despite herself, was almost convinced. But at once she put an unerring finger at the weak spot in her cousin’s scheme.

“If this is a Feminine Domination event,” she said, “they won’t want subordinate women there. Surely it would make a mockery of the whole thing?”

Carol’s brow creased in a frown; her cousin had a point!

“Yes; it would rather,” she admitted. “But we wouldn’t be present as woman, but as female animals. Anyway, that’s the argument I’ll put to Lady Isobel when I see her tomorrow. Why don’t you come too? One look at her will put your mind at rest!”

And to this proposition Jane agreed; after all, what could it possibly cost her?

Noon the next day found them driving along a narrow lane somewhere near Minchinhampton. A broad gateway flanked by two stone lions led by a winding route through extensive park lands to a large, Georgian mansion.

Carol parked in front of the house, slid out from beneath the steering wheel and walked confidently up the broad steps to the imposing front door where she pulled insouciantly upon the bell rope at its side, while Jane stood uncertainly at her cousin’s side, a little over-awed by the grandeur and scale of their surroundings. Her equilibrium was further disturbed when the door was opened by an immaculately dressed Butler.

To Jane’s secret admiration Carol was perfectly composed in the presence of this forbidding apparition.

“Good afternoon, Perkins,” she said airily. “We have an appointment with your Mistress!”

“Quite so, Miss Carol,” he murmured in reply. “Yourself and…?”

He glanced at Jane, an eyebrow raised in polite enquiry.

“My cousin; Jane,” explained Carol.

“Of course!” he gravely replied. “Good afternoon, Miss Jane. If the ladies will follow me…?”

On their way along the broad corridor, with its walls hung with paintings and its high ceiling, Jane’s hand sought out that of her cousin for assurance, and it was thus they entered the large, sunny morning room; hand in hand like two children.

‘Lady’ Isobel turned out to be an incongruously large and jolly-looking woman in her middle years. When they were decorously ushered into the room, they found her poring over a pile of official looking documents, steel-rimmed pince-nez perched upon her ample nose. Perkins uttered a polite cough, and she looked up from her papers.

The smile of welcome on her face changed to one of tender and appreciative wonder when she saw them together. Two pretty young girls, hand in hand, virginally fresh, and identically dressed from their tiny sandals to their simple dresses and even to the leather collars around their slender throats. Carol she had met on several occasions, but the other girl – who might well have been her twin – was unknown to her.

Introductions were made, Perkins was dispatched for refreshments, and the three settled down to the business of their meeting.

Isobel sat in a comfortable armchair, facing ‘the twins’, as she was already mentally thinking of them. They sat opposite on a sofa, close together as if loath to be separated. Every so often their hands would steal into each other’s, and they spoke alternatively, often completing each other’s sentences, obliging their hostess to look from one to other. marvelling as she did so at their uncanny resemblance to each other.

“We know it might be a problem,” began Carol.

“Because of it being a Female Domination event,” added Jane.

“But we wouldn’t be attending as slaves,” said Carol.

“But as animals – female animals, of course!” her cousin said, giggling infectiously.

“So we could be hunted…” “Like the male slaves…” “Except that when we’re caught…” “Our new owner would treat us as animals…” “We’re very good at being animals – really!” Carol ended earnestly.

Isobel looked at their anxious faces and burst into helpless laughter, the tears running down her homely face.

“Oh, my dears!” she gasped. “Of course you may take part; if it was my sole decision. You shall both stay for lunch, and meet Mistress Sarah – it’s at her place that the Hunt is taking place. If she agrees – and I’m sure she will – the other Ladies will fall into line; I’m sure!”

With that, she sent them both off under the charge of Perkins to prepare for lunch.

In the large and luxurious bathroom, Carol acquainted Jane with the details of Lady Isobel’s eccentric menage.

“Perkins is a permanent resident,” Carol informed her cousin. “He’s a slave, of course. Did you notice his collar? It’s silver, you know!”

Jane was astonished at this bland declaration. Carol went on.

“Lady Isobel has quite a few slaves. Some temporary – weekends and holidays, and so forth – and two or three permanent. We’ll probably be waited on at lunch by one of her transvestite slave-maids.”

Jane giggled, and was about to express her amazement that anyone would want to be a transvestite, let alone a slave, before remembering her own reason for being here with Carol. Wisely, she remained silent and joined her cousin in the large shower.

Showered and lightly scented, they descended the sweeping staircase in Perkins’ wake. By some triumph of organisation, their sandals had been cleaned and polished, and their dresses pressed and ironed during their brief absence in the bathroom.

They entered onto the sweeping terrace on which lunch was to be taken, Carol confidently – because she had met Mistress Sarah before – and Jane timidly, her hand stealing again into that of her cousin to give her confidence.

Everything went perfectly swimmingly, Mistress Sarah being as struck by the cousins as her friend. They departed with the assurance that the rest of the Ladies would agree to their presence, odd though this innovation was. But they were warned that one member of the Group, a certain ‘Lady Noire’, might be awkward about it.

Chapter TWO

The possible objections of Lady Noire were evidently overcome, or set aside, for only three days later an E-mail confirming the admission of Jane and Carol to the Hunt was received, and a copy of the Rules was being down-loaded on Carol’s computer.

Jane had bought, on a whim, an extra-large office chair and installed it before the computer keyboard. Designed to seat a very large man, the diminutive cousins were able to sit in it side by side, the fingers of their four hands flying over the keys.

They stared at the Rules on the monitor before them in silence before beginning to summarise them for each other’s benefit.

“All slaves to be hunted shall be naked and mitted,” read Carol, with a little giggle.

“The Hunt will start daily one hour after dawn, and cease one hour before sunset,” read Jane.

They printed out a copy for each of them and retired to the patio with a large jug of cold lemonade to study them.

The methodical Jane read carefully, often referring to the detailed map of Mistress Sarah’s estate which had been sent to them. A skilled model-maker, she even went so far as to build a relief map of the area and spent hours studying it carefully and making numerous notes.

The less organised Carol was astonished by the seriousness in which her cousin was approaching their forthcoming ordeal.

“It really isn’t worth the effort, my dear,” she told Jane. “No slave has managed to stay uncaptured for more than the first day and night. Nearly everyone is taken by noon on the second day, and no-one lasts till that evening.”

“Well,” said Jane, her mouth set in a grim little line, “they won’t find it so easy to capture us!”

Carol gaped at her in amazement.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked in a tiny voice. “You surely can’t hope to stay free for the entire time?”

“I can and I do!” replied her cousin confidently. “And so shall you if you do as I tell you!”

Carol begged her cousin for more information, and they went outside to for Jane to explain her strategy over a cup of tea.

Jane began by saying that the slaves were almost all middle-aged town dwellers. They would not know how to live, naked and unseen, in the woods; after a single night of cold, hunger and loneliness they would be delighted to be captured – they enjoyed being slaves, after all! And the threat from their Mistresses was not great. They, too, would only be playing at hunting, and would soon become discouraged when their quarry failed to oblige them by offering itself to be caught.

“But we are wild animals,” Jane told her, “and we don’t enjoy captivity!”

“But what about food?” Carol asked doubtfully.

“The Lord will provide!” Jane replied cryptically, and giggled.

Chapter THREE

They arrived at the appointed time of noon to be welcomed by Perkins, lent by his Mistress for the occasion. At Jane’s desire, he took them on a short tour of the outside of Mistress Sarah’s imposing Georgian mansion. She payed particular attention to the walled yard at the rear on to which opened the kitchen. There were kennels on the far side, at the ends of narrow, barred runs. There was a large barn, in which were ‘pony’ stalls and cages, and Carol shuddered at the delicious thoughts that these sights suggested to her.

It had been decided, Perkins told them off-handedly, that, as they were to be ‘animals’ as opposed to slaves, they were to be introduced in that role. A suitable cage had been provided for them, and they would spend the night in it before being released tomorrow morning when the Hunt started.

“So if the ladies would care to follow me,” he told them smoothly, “I shall show them to their, er, temporary accommodation where they may prepare themselves.”

Giggling, the two girls followed the Butler into a smaller barn where he left them to get into role.

“One of the household slaves will attend you in ten minutes in order to, er, secure you,” he said before leaving them.

They walked over and regarded the cage provided for them with professional interest. At six feet long and four feet high and wide, it was easily large enough to hold two creatures of their diminutive size in moderate comfort. There was a broad, shallow steel trough welded to the bars halfway down one of the long sides, and a thick absorbent pad covered the steel floor. There was no sign of any ‘toilet’ arrangements for the cage’s inmates, an omission which made them giggle afresh.

Carol at once removed her single garment and her sandals; Jane, after a moment’s hesitation, following suit. Her cousin, kneeling to rummage in the small bag of gear they had brought with them, brought out the little gags and the mitts they would wear for the next ten days. Jane, caught up in her cousin’s excitement, swiftly fitted her gag and clamped her mitts shut around her wrists. Then she went down on all-fours in readiness for Carol to switch on the portable transmitter they had brought with them which would keep them from rising above the pre-set height of three feet. Tittering in delight, they scrambled into the cage.

The promised slave, a middle-aged man in a steel collar and thick sandals, a short linen skirt covering his loins, arrived within a few minutes. To their great delight, he took no more notice of them as if they’d really been the animals they’d set out to imitate. He merely spared them a casual glance before closing the cage door and securing it with its simple latch. As he left the barn, he shut the door behind him, leaving them in the dusty dimness.

Jane lay on the soft but scratchy pad, her head propped upon her cousin’s thigh. Now that the die was cast she felt much more comfortable, enjoying again the delicious feeling of total irresponsibility which accompanied her complete helplessness. Carol, judging by her regular breathing and lack of motion, had dozed off, and Jane lost no time in following her example.

It was still dim in the barn when Carol awoke, the only light coming through the gaps in the crude wooden door. She turned drowsily on to her other side, her legs colliding with the ankles of her cousin. Opening her eyes fully, she saw Jane crouched in a corner of their cage, and, by the sounds of liquid splashing on to the pad, she was urinating. Carol felt herself flushing, and giggled silently. The sight made her conscious of her own full bladder, but she postponed relieving herself until she gathered the courage to do so in such close company. But she would have to do so soon, and she was in the process of debating imitating her cousin when the opportunity was lost for the moment.

The door opened, letting in a flood of bright late-afternoon sunshine, and two burly slaves entered. Jane instinctively crouched to preserve her modesty; but Carol, much more used to being naked before the eyes of others, rose on her hind legs and placed her front ‘paws’ upon the transverse bar midway up the side of the bars to see what the slaves were doing.

Completely ignoring the two girls, the slaves took up a long, ‘T’ shaped, steel rod and inserted its plain end into a socket at the front of the cage. Grunting with effort, they pumped it up and down, and the cage rose smoothly upwards on the hidden rubber wheels in its thick base. Each grasping one side of the ‘T’ shaped handle, they pulled the heavy cage through the doors into the sunshine.

Travelling slowly across the concrete yard, Jane was flushed with embarrassment, feeling that every eye was upon them, crouched naked in their cage. But Carol had no such qualms; she ran from one end of the cage to the other, occasionally stumbling over Jane, eagerly drinking in the scene as they progressed.

The cage, after traversing the yard, was brought to rest on a lawn under the shade of a huge tree. Around them were scattered pretty little rustic tables with comfortable padded chairs of wicker, obviously for the use of the Ladies, though none were to be seen as yet. Fifty feet away, directly across the lawn, was the raised terrace of the house. An ornate white-painted balustrade protected any occupants from falling to the ground four feet below and was extended down each side of a broad flight of shallow steps to end in a gate at the edge of the lawn.

The two slaves left as silently as they’d came, but Jane had scarcely time to feel her relief at being unobserved before a woman walked briskly into view around the corner of the house, leading on a chain a man, his shoulders bowed in submission.

The distance was not so great as to prevent them noticing that the slave had been punished recently, for several thin, red stripes disfigured the white skin of his buttocks and the backs of his upper thighs; and he was stark naked, too, apart from the steel collar to which his chain was attached. Jane felt herself flushing once more, but she continued to watch as the woman, on reaching the gate, uttered a curt order at which the slave fell to his knees for his chain to be secured low down to a gate post. The woman left him crouching there miserably without a backward glance and Jane, who had dreaded the prospect of the woman coming over to their cage, relaxed. Carol took the opportunity to squat and relieve herself despite her embarrassment at the near proximity of her cousin.

Jane stiffened in surprise and apprehension as there appeared on the terrace, one after the other, two women, ‘Ladies’ by their apparel, for they were dressed in the gauzy garments beloved of Edwardian painters, and they carried dainty parasols which they erected against the glare of the sun as they descended the steps.

The tethered slave, rising instantly as high as his chain allowed him, scrambled to open the gate for them. They passed through, talking softly together in languid voices, totally ignoring the slave crouched obsequiously to one side. Reaching the lawn, they stood for a moment as if in search of diversion. Then, to Jane’s horror, they turned their slow steps towards the shade of the tree.

Jane crouched in the centre of their cage, her head buried between her paws as if, ostrichlike, she believed that if she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her. But, of course, she knew it to be wishful thinking, and she felt that she was glowing bright scarlet all over her body with embarrassment and mortification when the Ladies halted so close that she could hear the faint rustling of their silken garments.

Her cousin had no such inhibitions. Scrambling over Jane, she crouched at the bars, her front paws on the transverse bars as before, her rump quivering eagerly as if trying to wag an invisible tail, as Jane could plainly see through her slitted eyes.

“Ah, you dear little thing!” She heard a voice coo affectionately. “Isn’t she sweet, Samantha? And her twin sister, too! I never knew she had one!”

Jane became uncomfortably aware of being stared at from both sides as the other Lady moved to stand opposite her friend. Blushing an even deeper crimson, she pressed her hot face into the pad between her paws, suddenly and uncomfortably aware of her unbathed body, and the faint but growing smell of the damp patch in a corner of her shared cage.

“Poor little doggy!” a voice said. ‘She’s shy!” Then: “We surely aren’t going to hunt these poor little things tomorrow? They won’t last five minutes! I shall trap them both and walk them on gilt leashes!”

With that, Jane felt a soft, scented hand stroke her gently down her back from her hunched shoulders to her upthrust buttocks. Before she could react to this impudent assault, she heard the steps of the two women move off and the creaking of wicker as they took their seats at a table.

Anger overcame her shyness; how dare these languid, over-dressed women patronise her so! Five minutes indeed! There and then she made a vow that she would see those soft, pampered, scented creatures fume helplessly in frustration at their failure to capture her. And her cousin, too; if Carol would follow her example! Raising her head a little she shot them an angry glare, but they were too interested in watching the approach of a slave bearing glasses and a tall, dewy pitcher on a silver tray to notice her defiance.

The tables were rapidly filling up as more and Ladies, each clad in Edwardian grandeur, crossed the terrace and came down the steps to the lawn. The cringing slave at the gate was ignored by them all except once, when he was a little slow scuttling out of the way of a large, angular Lady. She, without seeming to change step, took a small coiled whip from her linen belt and brought it down across his shoulders. Then she strode on without a word to join her sister Mistresses.

The cage was now completely surrounded by the softly chattering women, some of them less than ten feet away. Every Lady had paid the cousins a visit, cooing over them and petting the eager Carol, while Jane continued to crouch sullenly in the middle of their cage, often jostled and trodden on by her cousin as she shamelessly scurried about to attract the attention of the Ladies.

The sounds of ice tinkling in tall glasses, and the constant visits of sweating slaves bearing pitchers and bowls of fruit, made the cousins increasingly aware of their thirst. Jane, abandoning her futile attempt at concealing her body from the casual gaze of those around the cage, rose to all-fours and licked her dry lips with her tongue while Carol put her front paws on the bars and whined piteously.

During a lull in the conversation at the nearest table, a Lady rose and sauntered towards the cousins. Carol redoubled her whimperings, and the woman put a slim hand through the bars for Carol to nuzzle. Extending her other hand to Jane, she snapped her fingers in command. Almost against her will, Jane found herself at the bars, her hair being ruffled by the woman’s scented fingers.

“I’m sure these dear little things are thirsty,” the woman said languidly. “We really ought to tell a slave to water them.”

“Oh, it’s far too hot to bother about that now, Melissa,” a woman at a nearby table said dismissively. “Do come and have some iced lemonade!”

The woman shrugged; after ruffling Jane’s hair absently a final time she wandered back to her friends, leaving Jane seething inwardly at this cavalier treatment.

However, some such order must have been given, for a little later a slave appeared bearing a bucket of water, some of which he casually splashed into the cage’s dusty trough. The cousins lost no time in slurping up the tepid water while all around them the women cooed affectionately at the sight of the two fair heads bent over their trough side by side.

Feeling considerably better after slaking her thirst, Jane lay down on the padded floor and closed her eyes, affecting to ignore the chattering women a few feet away, though Carol shamelessly continued to paw at the bars and whine for attention at anyone who passed by.

Jane must have fallen into a light doze, for she was abruptly brought back to full wakefulness by a painful jab in the ribs with something hard and sharp. With a little gasp of shock and surprise, Jane rolled over on to her back just in time to see the ferrule of a gaily-striped furled parasol withdraw through the bars. The hand that held is was black, as was the narrow aristocratic face peering down at her – a deep, soft, sooty black.

“This one’s awake now!” she heard a foreign-accented voice remark with satisfaction. “Come to Noire, little pale beast; come and lick my fingers!”

Jane could scarcely contain her anger and outrage, but her cousin was having her hair ruffled and her back stroked by the narrow black hands, and she was uttering little mews of satisfaction and wriggling her rump in ecstasy. Suddenly aware that she was still lying on her back, exposed to the gaze of the chuckling onlookers, Jane scrambled to all-fours. She was unable to avoid the hand that seized her by her collar and pulled her to the side of the cage, nor the other hand that stretched through the bars and began to scratch her behind her ears.

“They are so pretty, these little white animals!” the black women said. “I shall hunt them both down tomorrow; it will not take long. And then I shall find a good use for them.”

The watching women burst into laughter.

“Come off it, Noire!” a nearby Lady said, to general agreement all round. “We all have plans for those two!”

There and then it was decided that, if the pair were captured separately, one of their captors would sell her prize to the other.

Chapter FOUR

The gathering broke up shortly afterwards as the Ladies went to bathe and change for aperitifs on the terrace before dinner. Jane and Carol, left alone in their cage in the early twilight, gazed after the elegant, departing forms. Carol whimpered in disappointment, then lay down and curled up to sleep, but Jane stayed on all-fours, staring at the brightly-lit mansion through the bars and plotting her vengeance on these patronising, pampered, over-dressed women. Hunt her down, would they? It wouldn’t take long, would it? She’d lead them a merry dance!

But worse was to come. An hour or so passed, and then the two slaves who had brought out the cage returned and wheeled it back into the little barn. There the slaves each took down from the wall a thin leather leash before opening the door of the cage. Carol, who had been expecting this, and had none of her cousin’s inhibitions about being on public display, came out eagerly to have her leash clipped to her collar. But Jane hung back until a slave thrust a brawny arm through the bars at the top of the cage, and, grasping her collar, dragged her to the entrance. There she felt fingers fumble under her chin and heard the sharp little click of the leash’s spring-clip engaging with the ‘D’ ring of her collar.

The ensuing tug at her neck was stubbornly resisted. Jane heard the slave swear under his breath, then felt his knuckles grind into the back of her neck as he seized by her collar and dragged her forward by main force. With her head held down by the imprisoning hand, Jane didn’t see the downward blow of the short riding crop which struck her painfully across her rump, nor the blows which followed it. But she felt the stinging pain they brought, and she gave a little yelp of agony at each one.

Through her tears, she heard a dispassionate voice from above. “Bad girl!” it said, and when her leash was tugged again Jane followed meekly, occasionally wriggling her buttocks to ease the pain of the blows she’d received.

The slaves led the cousins in single file out of the barn and into the flood-lit yard. Jane found it difficult to look ahead, for the slave leading her held his hand well down on her leash, but she could see the Carol’s little white haunches some three feet in front of her as they crossed the concrete yard and went through a wide door into a dim corridor smelling of liniment, stale beer, tobacco smoke and male sweat.

The coarse carpeting and dim lighting of the corridor gave way to damp, white tiling and a glaring light from above. Jane, when she’d recovered her vison, found that they were in a large communal shower room. There were no partitions, only shower heads jutting from the tiled walls under which three or four slaves were even then showering.

Jane had never seen a naked man before, or been seen naked by any man but her father when she’d been a tiny baby. After a single horrified stare, she blushed to the roots of her hair as she was led behind her cousin across the centre of the brightly-lit tiled floor. But, to her relief, the slaves paid the two naked women being led amongst them on all-fours no attention whatsoever apart from a casual glance. So little was their appearance remarked that Jane, with a certain feminine perversity, found herself becoming annoyed by their indifference to the sight of her body, and she found herself giggling at her own contrariness.

Reaching the wall, each cousin was tethered by a short chain ro a low-set ring in the wall. Then the shower-head above them was turned on, and their attendant slaves, after removing their sandals and thongs, began to wash them down.

Jane endured the following indignities with all the fortitude she could muster. Once again, however, she felt obscurely aggrieved at the impersonality with which the probing fingers treated her body. When they all dried off in a narrow room set about with enormous hot-air blowers, a delicate scent was sprayed upon both cousins; on their fluffed-out hair, under their armpits, and between their buttocks and the tops of their thighs, all the time with the same maddening ordinariness as if they were indeed two little animals being prepared for presentation.

Clean, dry and perfumed, the cousins were led away again, once more in single file. Somehow, after threading a maze of corridors, they found themselves being led along a wider, brighter passage, this time floored with soft, deep carpeting, up to a set of broad wooden double-doors. A discreet knock by the leading slave caused the doors to be opened by a slave standing behind them, and Jane found herself upon the same terrace that she’d been able see from their cage on the lawn below.

The Ladies had begun to dine; some at single tables, other in pairs and threesomes, each attended by her personal slave. The smell of food reminded Jane forcibly of the fact that, apart from a single slice of toast that morning, she had eaten nothing all day. Her cousin was equally hungry, but she was accustomed to this scenario, as she showed by tugging on her leash with the obvious intention of approaching the nearest table at which a Lady in lavender silk dined in solitary splendour.

At a sign from this Lady, the slave leading Carol stooped to detach her leash, and she bounded forward to sit by the Lady’s chair. Then she rose, balancing on the balls of her feet, her upper body raised and her mitted hands dangling downwards from her wrists in front of her breasts for all the world like a dog begging. The Lady smiled down at Carol, ruffled her bright hair with a casual hand, then picked up a morsel from her plate and offered it between the tips of her perfumed fingers. Carol took it neatly, gulped it down, then raised her head once more to stare insistently upwards at her smiling benefactor. Another morsel and another followed before the Lady tired of Carol’s persistance and made an impatient gesture to the slave. He uttered a curt command, and Carol slunk back to his feet to be leashed once more.

The cousins were then led from table to to table, Sometimes a Lady would signal for them to be unleashed and come to be fed; sometimes they were ignored. At first Jane could not bring herself to such humiliating conduct, but she very soon realised that this was likely to be the only opportunity that she’d be given to eat anything at all before the Hunt began in the morning. Swallowing her pride, she joined her cousin in her shameless supplication for scraps. They soon discovered that, when they begged side by side, their two golden heads together, the women gushed over them, plying them with morsels from their plates.

They were back on their leashes as the last course of fruit was brought in and it was then that the sharp voice of Lady Noire was directed at their handlers and they were led to the table where she was dining alone.

“Come, little pale beasts! Come and beg for scraps from me!”

Picking up an apple, she showed it to them before slicing it into several pieces and taking them up in her hand. But then, instead of offering the apple to them slice by slice, she casually tossed the the pieces to the floor at her elegant feet.

Once more Jane seethed with anger; once more she swallowed her pride, the more so as her cousin was already down, her fore-arms flat on the floor, snuffling amongst the fragments. Jane joined her immediately, conscious all the time of the black woman’s gaze from above. A peach followed, and then a pear before Lay Noire tired of them and waved them away.

Her dismissal was the end as far as Jane and Carol were concerned, for they were led away down the steps to the lawn, around the corner of the house, and into the yard behind the kitchens. There they were taken into the barn and put back into their cage. Water was splashed into their trough, the barn door slammed shut behind the departing slaves, and the cousins were left alone in the dark.

Chapter FIVE

They were woken from a deep sleep, curled up together, by the abrupt opening of the door and the entry of their handlers. The ‘T’ shaped bar was put into use once more, and their cage dragged out into the fresh coolness of the dawn air.

The slaves continued pulling the cage along, across the yard and on to the turf separating the mansion from the scattered woodlands of its surroundings. On and on they went, lurching from side to side as the cage rode the bumpy ground, until they were two hundred yards outside the enclosing walls of the mansion grounds. Under a lone thorn tree the slaves left them and went back to the house.

Sheep continued to crop nearby, unconcerned at the novel presence of two naked women in a cage. The two sheep-dogs came to investigate, poking their long muzzles through the bars. Carol shrank away in fear, but Jane returned the dogs’ interest, sniffing and licking their muzzles and allowing her face and body to be thoroughly sniffed and licked by the dogs. All this was for a purpose, for she meant to be known to the dogs as harmless and for them to be her unwitting allies in defeating her hunters.

The dogs departed, satisfied as to the harmlessness to their charges of the strange bitches in the cage, and Jane and her cousin lay down to wait in the faint but increasing warmth of the newly-risen sun. They were now outside the range of the portable transmitter that kept them on all-fours under the threat of paralysing agony and could have stood upright had their cage been higher; and that was a relief, for Jane had feared they’d be hunted on all-fours. She cocked an experienced eye at the sky. It had been a cold, clear night, and it would be a hot, windless, sunny day. So much the better; the prospect of a perspiring hunt in hot weather would dampen the ardour for the chase of the pampered creatures now slumbering in their soft and scented beds, and so would wind and rain; perish the thought that their delicate and elegant clothing should become damp and muddy! She glanced at Carol, regretting that she hadn’t impressed upon her more indelibly the importance of doing exactly as she did, of copying her every action. But she was dumb now, and it was too late. She nuzzled Carol to rouse her and tried to communicate her concern with her eyes.

The grazing sheep looked up, startled by the faint but growing sound of lusty male voices roused in song in the distance. A group coming across the turf from the house resolved itself into twelve slaves, stark naked and linked together by chains to their steel collars, and two attendant guards in thongs and sandals bearing sticks. At their head came Mistress Sarah’s husband, Mark, the chief slave of the establishment, in his silver sleeveless tunic, his silver collar and carrying his staff of office in his hand.

The chained slaves were singing as they walked.

“Heigho, heigho,” they sang cheerfully, “it’s to the hunt we go!” and so forth until they reached the thorn tree and formed themselves into a straggling line, with much surreptitious pushing, shoving and tripping of each other under the humorously disapproving eye of the head-slave.

“Now, gentlemen!” Mark began, to ironical cheers and raucous ribaldry from his audience. “Now, gentlemen,” he repeated, making the word drip with sarcasm, “you all know the rules. When I blow this whistle, you have an hour’s grace before the Hunt starts. There’s another hour of immunity an hour before dark, when food will be left for you in the usual clearing. There won’t be enough to go round; but that won’t matter. I confidently predict that all you knock-kneed dead-beats will be captured and in your cages long before then!”

Jeers and boasts greeted this announcement, and he grinned broadly. Jane looked on in astonishment, amused in spite of herself by the spectacle of these sturdy middle-aged men, jovial and self-assured. She began to suspect that, just as with herself and Carol, these men enjoyed their roles, even if they didn’t seem to be taking them entirely seriously.

The chains linking the slaves’ collars were removed, the whistle was blown, and the ‘prey’ bounded off across the turf to the the shelter of the woods, laughing and exchanging badinage as they ran. Then the door of the cage was opened, and Mark and the two guards walked off without a backward glance.

Chapter SIX

Jane was first through the door, closely followed by her cousin. Tentatively, they stood upright, then Jane led the way at a loping trot over the turf into the woods. Once under the trees her careful studies of the maps was put into play immediately as she wound her way through the trees to a little dell through the middle of which ran a tiny, sparkling stream. There they drank their fill before rising and moving deeper into the woods until Jane found a stagnant pool. There, under Carol’s disbelieving eyes, she flopped down and rolled vigorously around in the mud at its edge. Rising, dripping with slime, she glanced significantly at her cousin. Carol, her face screwed up in disgust, gingerly followed suit. Then Jane again led the way at a fast trot through the wood.

She quickly found what she was seeking; an area of lush, green grass that the sheep, nervous of venturing so far into the trees, had ignored. The mud had been drying on their bodies as they ran, and Jane, without more ado, fell down upon the grass and rolled about in it energetically. Carol watched in wonder, and when her cousin rose she followed her example doubtfully.

Carol found rolling about in the thick, cool grass very refreshing, but when she sat up, dizzy from her exertions, she found that her cousin had vanished! She stared around in confusion and dismay, then something moved against the greeny-brown background and Jane stood before her, smiling down at her. Carol scrambled to her feet; now she understood the purpose of Jane’s actions.

“Oh; you clever girl!” she thought admiringly. “Camouflage!” She glanced down at her own body, observing the way the brownish hues of the drying mud combined with the green stains from the grass to produce a curious striped, mottled pattern on her skin, then turned to her cousin with a smile of thanks.

Jane did not linger. With a gesture to Carol, she turned and ran off at an easy loping trot through the woodland.

Carol had no idea of where they were bound, and it was with trepidation that she saw the woods abruptly end and the open turf begin. But Jane, after a cursory glance around, dropped to all-fours and scrambled into the open, running quickly and easily on the balls of her feet and the tips of her mitts, and her cousin followed suit.

The terrain they found themselves in was an area of broken ground, with tiny valleys and ridges, none more than six feet deep or high. Turf was the sole covering except for occasional little stands of small thornbushes on the ridges. Sheep grazed everywhere, ignoring the silent passage of the two cousins. The two dogs, lying in the shade under a thornbush, merely gazed at them in mild curiosity, recognising their scents and knowing these hairless creatures to be harmless.

The broken ground ended in a sea of gorse bushes, so close together that they formed a continuous mass of green needles and mustard-yellow flowers. It was old gorse, ranging from four feet to six feet high in places, and Jane halted for a moment, seeking a way inside.

Carol saw her cousin dart forward, drop to elbows and knees, and worm her way into a gap in the gorse. Jane’s brown and green striped rump passed from her sight, and, dubiously, she followed.

To Carol’s relief the passage wasn’t as painfully prickly as she’d feared, and in the gloom under the foliage the ground was clear except for a deep, soft layer of shed needles and dead leaves blown inside by the Autumn gales. She saw Jane facing her a few feet further in, then followed once more when her cousin turned and began to wend her way, silently and skilfully, through the maze of passages formed by the twisted trunks of the gorse plants.

Carol found a surprising amount of head-room, from thirty inches rising to almost three feet, and they made quick progress in a direction she could only guess at until Jane came to a halt, flopped down on her belly, and began to inch her way forward.

Carol stayed where she was, uncertain of what to do, then her cousin gave an unmistakable gesture of one mitted hand, and Carol went down on her belly and wriggled forward to lie at her side.

The sight before her brought a little gasp of astonishment from her lips. There, only inches in front of her eyes, the gorse came to an abrupt stop, They had climbed during their journey from the wood, and were now at the far edge of a little rounded hill, no more than fifty feet high and crowned with impenetrable gorse. But they had a view, from only a hundred yards or so, down over the low surrounding wall into the big yard on to which the kitchens, the stables and the kennels opened.

Carol gazed at her clever cousin in unfeigned admiration once more. She was beginning to have an inkling of Jane’s plan.

“What a clever thing she is!” she thought. “They’ll never think of looking for us here!” And she nuzzled her cousin’s shoulder in appreciation.

But Jane knew that only the first minor skirmish had been won in their battle against the Huntresses; she continued to gaze steadily downwards into the walled compound, taking mental note of all she saw. Beside her Carol, bored and drowsy, dropped off into a doze.

Chapter SEVEN

Jane, her chin propped on her ‘paws’ watched the activities in the yard. Mistress Sarah’s slaves were hard at work bolting together a row of six by six by six foot cages. There were a dozen in all; one for each of the hunted slaves. She expected little action as yet from the Ladies; by her experienced reckoning it was barely seven o’clock, and these pampered females would still be asleep in their perfumed boudoirs. Not until nine, or even ten o’clock, did she expect the Hunt to begin. The weather promised to be her ally, too, for it would be a hot and airless day. The Ladies would soon become too warm and uncomfortable, away from the cold drinks and the diversions of the house, to carry on their hunt much after eleven. Then they would retire to rest, then to lunch, then a siesta until the heat of the day diminished. Then they might come out again for a final hour or so before they took their aperitifs on the terrace.

She stared with interest as the men in the yard; slaves of Mistress Sarah judging by their short white skirts, pulled out from a barn several carts. Jane counted them carefully. There were six in all, three two-seaters painted in gay colours of blue, green and red, and three light single-seaters; yellow, orange – and black; the last obviously the property of the Lady Noire. She frowned at the thought of Lady Noire, then brightened up as she realised the Hunters had made their first mistake. She knew that they had available for the Hunt only twelve slaves at the moment; if three pairs were used to pull the larger carts and three slaves to pull the smaller, then only three remained to be employed as ‘hunting dogs’ – and it was those she feared most.

Settling herself more comfortably, she observed the ‘ponies’ being led from the stalls where they had spent the night. She grinned happily; these middle-aged men would not be at their fittest after a night spent on straw with their arms pinioned behind their back. And nor would the ‘dogs’; they had been kennelled on all-fours. Now, as they were taken from their barred runs and dragged upright, they stretched their cramped limbs in obvious relief before their arms were strapped behind them. They were muzzled too; evidently their Mistresses didn’t trust them not to escape their control once they were off their chains!

“Good!” thought Jane. As far as the ‘ponies’ and their riders were concerned, she had no fears. Both she and her cousin could outrun them with ease, and they could thwart them by merely running into the woods and among the the trees where the carts couldn’t follow. But the ‘dogs’ were more dangerous, though she was puzzled about how they were supposed to trap their prey.

One by one, Mistress Sarah’s house-slaves harnessed the ‘ponies’ to their allotted carts; the last, the one selected to draw the sinister black single-seater, was a tall and powerful black man, obviously the personal slave – or even the husband – of the equally sinister Lady Noire. Jane watched him with narrowed eyes before relaxing. Big and strong though he was, and skilled at directing him as his Lady was likely to be, she and Carol could outrun any man harnessed between the shafts of a cart!

Nothing happened for some time, and Jane yawned as she watched. Then the the budding ‘Dianas’ made their appearance, and she gulped back her laughter.

Exquisitely dressed in simulations of the hunting costumes of Edwardian Ladies in delicate pastel shades, some even wearing veils beneath their broad hats, they mounted their carts. Only Lady Noire, clad in black relieved only by a jacket of bright scarlet, was an exception. They even took a stirrup cup, proffered to them in silver goblets by obsequious slaves, before the wide gate was opened and they drove forth on to the open turf.

Jane watched them disappear into the haze to her right, then she rolled over on to her back, crossed her arms behind her head, and closed her eyes – not in sleep, but in thought. Her chief concern was Carol; the programme of evasion Jane had planned demanded not only ingenuity and guile, but also endless patience and an infinite capacity for boredom, qualities that Jane had been obliged to acquire during her long period of imprisonment by her own dog. She feared, above all, some impatient indiscretion by her cousin that would result in her capture. Turning on to her side, she opened her eyes and nuzzled her cousin’s dirty green-streaked hair affectionately.

Rolling back on to her stomach, she took up her watch once more. At about ten o’clock by her reckoning, the first of the carts came into view. Their hunt had been successful, for three slaves, their arms bound behind them, ran leashed behind three of the carts.

Jane looked on as the slaves were led into the yard and placed each in one of the row of cages reserved for them. Half an hour later the rest of the Hunt returned, and with them five more slaves.

This was what Jane had expected. The slaves, hungry already and quite content to be captured, were easy prey. Only four now remained at liberty, and probably none would survive the afternoon Hunt. But for now it seemed the Ladies were content. It was hot, and they would crave cold drinks. Then they would take a light luncheon and afterwards their siestas; only when the afternoon had cooled, at around four o’clock, would they return to the Hunt for the two hours before they took their aperitifs. Then they would have the added aid of the captives, perhaps as ‘hunting dogs’, perhaps as ‘ponies’, but Jane was unconcerned – at the moment, anyway. Intending to wait a couple of hours, then to take herself and Carol to drink from the stream in the full heat of the day, she wriggled back a little from the fringe of her cover, came to all-fours, and went into the gorse a few yards to urinate. After scraping debris over the damp patch of soil to guard against its future smelliness, she returned to her post where she rolled on to her side and fell asleep.

Carol woke wondering where she was, and what she was doing lying in this dim, hot place. Then her memory returned and she glanced over at the sleeping figure of her cousin. She was hot, thirsty and bored, and her bladder needed relief. On all-fours she went further into the gorse to squat, then she carried on to the far edge of the gorse and looked down across the broken ground towards the inviting coolness of the woods. For a moment she considered returning and wakening her cousin, but dismissed the notion. Jane would come and drink when she was thirsty enough. Slipping out of the dimness into the full glare of the noon sun, she made her way across the turf and into the cover of the woods.

For sometime she wandered among the trees searching in vain for the little stream she’d drunk from earlier. She found it, although at a different point in its course, and lost no time in going down on all-fours and lapping noisily at the cool water. Then she followed it downstream until it met another, larger stream where their confluence had built up a bank of soft sand under the bright water.

Carol bathed herself thoroughly, delighting in her feeling of cool cleanliness. Climbing out at last, she stood in the hot sunlight to dry herself, then wandered off further into the woods. Soon she came across a little grassy bank, shady and fragrant with the smell of wild flowers. There she lay down and slept.

Chapter EIGHT

Jane woke at the time she’d mentally set: at about one o’clock in the afternoon. At once aware of the absence of her companion, she was not perturbed at first; no doubt Carol had wandered off into the maze of gorse trunks. Jane stretched where she lay, yawned, and rose to all-fours. Then she padded back under the dim, green roof of her hiding place to where she’d entered it, keeping a sharp watch for any sign of her cousin.

She saw and heard nothing of Carol in her passage, and she emerged from the gorse to look down towards the woods still none the wiser. Jane scanned the fringes of the wood, still with the same negative result. Carol, she decided, had gone to drink.

Jane moved swiftly and easily down the little depressions and over the tiny ridges over the rough ground. She ran on all-fours with the ease of long practice, her rear legs straight and her rump in the air, pausing every so often to lift her fore paws from the ground to enable her to raise her head and check her surroundings. Once inside the cover of the trees she stood upright and flitted like a ghost between the trunks until she reached the stream. There she drank, and, after drinking her fill she cast around for her cousin before realising the futility of the enterprise. Her belly swollen with the water she’d drunk, Jane trotted slowly through the woods until she reached an appropriate place to deposit her droppings, though she doubted whether either the Ladies or their slaves had the skill to tell from their condition how long they’d been there. Above all, she was determined that no signs of occupancy would be found anywhere near her hiding place. Then she made her way back to the gorse-covered hillock. Carol had not returned, and Jane lay down in her sentinel’s postion over-looking the yard and dozed off.

The first stirring of the cooler breeze that sprung up in mid-afternoon woke Jane. After relieving herself, she went back to her position to spy on the Huntresses. Carol was still absent, and Jane hoped fervently that she’d have the sense to remain hidden and still until the Hunt was called off for the day.

Once more the carts drove out, this time with the addition of the slaves captured that morning in the roles of ‘hunting dogs’. Jane was unconcerned; when they’d passed from her sight she wriggled quickly through the gorse and chose a vantage point which allowed her a view to the South.

She saw the remaining slaves quickly rounded up; as she’d thought, the occasion was not wholly serious. And then she saw the capture of her cousin.

The black cart had lagged behind the others on their triumphant way back to the Manor and was out of Carol’s sight when she stepped blithely out from the cover of the trees.

The same cool breeze that had wakened Jane and caused the Hunt to restart had woken Carol too, and she trotted through the wood enjoying the fresh coolness of the air on her now clean skin. Despite being thoroughly lost, she had no fear of being unable to find their hideaway, for all she needed to do was to go out far enough on the open turf and look around her for the low, gorse-clad eminence where it lay.

Reaching the fringe of the wood, she lay flat on the ground and wriggled forwards , congratulating herself on her caution. She, too, saw the brightly-coloured carts; she, too, saw the newly-captured slaves being led away leashed to the rear of the carts.

After waiting ten minutes, as she reckoned it, she rose and walked confidently out into the open.

Twenty yards, then forty yards straight out from the trees she came. The place she’d left cover from took the shape of a little bay, with narrow promontories of thin-scattered trees to her left and right. Carol knew that her goal lay to her left, for she could see its low summit, but instead of cutting through the few trees towards it, she chose to continue out into the open until she could walk around them.

Jane could do nothing but watch with horror as the sinister black cart appeared around the point of the Southern stand of trees, moving at a walking-pace and attended by three ‘dogs’. Carol was then two hundred yards from cover, and Lady Noire stiffened in surprise at the sight of her unsuspecting prey. Acting quickly and decisively, she waved her three ‘dogs’ off to her left; one by one they vanished into the fringes of the woods.

The Lady’s plan was obvious to Jane; she meant to infiltrate her ‘dogs’ along Carol’s flank, then she would drive her pony after her quarry, forcing her further out onto the open turf or into the arms of the waiting ‘dogs’.

The unsuspecting Carol strolled on in the warm, turf-scented air, behind her, when she judged the moment was ripe, Lady Noire brought down her whip hard across the haunches of her giant black ‘pony’ and he leapt forward with amazing speed, straight for Carol, three hundred yards away.

The breeze was in her face, and she heard nothing of the cart’s advance until it was fifty yards behind her. She turned, startled, then raced away at full speed. Instead of angling off to the woods, using her greater agility to escape the lumbering ‘pony’, she ran straight on, trusting in her superior speed over the man handicapped by the weight of his cart and its driver.

Then it was too late. At their Mistress’s signal, the ‘dogs’ emerged from Carol’s left, one a little ahead of her, one level with her and the third to her left rear. Forced further and further away to her right and open country, Carol ran with desperation. The two nearest ‘dogs’, fit and rangy men despite their years, gained upon her fleeing figure inexorably. Then Jane saw just how the ‘dogs’ trapped their prey. It was a brutally simple technique; they merely ran into Carol, knocking her from her feet. When she tried to rise, they pushed her down with their hips, knees and thighs. A quarter of a mile away in her aerie, Jane ground her teeth as she saw the black cart halt nearby and Lady Noire make a languid descent, walk over to Carol’s prostrate body, and place a narrow, black-sandalled foot on her neck.

The rest was quick. Carol, her fore arms strapped together in an arm binder behind her back, her face wet with tears, was leashed to the very front of the left-hand shaft of the cart. Lady Noire’s whip rose and fell twice; once upon the rump of her black ‘pony’, once across the right buttock of her tiny captive. The cart moved forward, dragging Carol with it.

Jane went back to overlook the yard again. There she saw her cousin led in and the ‘dogs’, their arms released, were dismissed to their cages, all of which would be occupied until the last fugitive, Jane herself, was captured. Lady Noire herself led her captive away, around the corner of the house and out of Jane’s sight.

Jane lay in deep thought, resolving her plans for the night. In a couple of hours the Hunt would officially finish for the day with an hour of immunity before sunset. At its beginning, a slave would be sent out with food to a prearranged spot, but Jane had no intention of going there in daylight. She would wait until after nightfall, when the nearly full moon rose at eleven o’clock. Nor did she intend to rely on the few morsels of food they would provide in this manner; she had a much better and more attractive alternative in mind. Curling up, she prepared herself for sleep.

She was awake to see the moon rise, and, after half an hour, she judged there was enough light for her to depart her hiding place. Slipping surely through the gorse trunks, she emerged into the open and trotted over the moonlit turf secure from observation. In the little glade designated for the purpose she found the small heap of food left out for her. It was pig meal, as she’d suspected, coarse, fibrous and smelly; and there was little enough of it. But she ate it anyway; she didn’t want her prime source of food to be suspected. Then she trotted confidently away towards the dark bulk of the Manor and its outbuildings.

She found the entry to the yard that she’d suspected; through an outlying orchard. But first, a hundred yards from her destination, she dropped to all-fours lest the little transmitter was switched on. Pushing aside the flimsy wicker hurdle set there to deter the sheep from entering, she came out into the yard. Crouching in the deepest shadows she could find, she waited patiently.

Jane smelt the fox before she saw it, then she watched as it slunk cautiously into the yard and up to a plastic bin. Expertly, it rose on its hind legs and knocked off the plastic lid. With its front paws hooked over the edge of the bin, the fox pulled it over, releasing a flood of food scraps over the floor. Its head lowered, and it snuffled up those that it fancied with feverish hunger.

Long after it had gone, Jane came out of cover. She knew the fox would spurn all the vegetable scraps, and she made a good meal of what the fox had left. She had no qualms about it; after all, she’d lived for months on what the dogs she’d lived with had left her. Licking her lips, she looked around at the moonlit cages in which the captured slaves were snoring, then went in search of her cousin.

Padding along the corridor in the stables off which the pony stalls opened, she peered through the barred doors. But, though several ‘ponies’ were tethered in them, none was Carol. The door to the small barn in which their cage still stood was open, but the cage itself was empty.

Jane sat upon her haunches in the moonlight. Perhaps her cousin was at that moment curled up asleep, chained to the wall, on the thick, soft carpet of Lady Noire’s bedroom, now the lapdog of her captor, a fate Jane had sworn to avoid. Around the corner, in a little yard of its own, was a lone cattle pen of concrete and steel, and Jane padded over to investigate. Over in the corner formed by the junction of two walls, something bulky lay upon a pile of straw. Jane lay on her belly and wriggled beneath the horizontal steel bars. It was a tight squeeze, but she managed it at last and crawled over the concrete floor to the corner where the figure lay.

It was indeed her cousin, but a brief examination told Jane that her vague hopes of being able to rescue her were foiled in advance. Carol’s face was strangely blank in the moonlight, its lower portion was covered by a leather muzzle, and she was blindfolded, too. Her ankles were linked by a short, thick chain between thick leather ankle cuffs, and she was chained by a six-foot chain from her collar to a steel ring set about four feet high in the wall behind her. None of these could Jane remove with her animal-helpless paws; for that matter she couldn’t even open the gate of the pen. She nuzzled her cousin’s shoulder, trying not to weep at the sound of Carol’s heart-broken whimpers. Her cousin rose clumsily to her feet, and Jane was about to follow suit when she realised that the tiny switch on her cousin’s collar was turned off. But she tried to rise all the same, only to fall back to all-fours with a grunt of pain. Hopelessly, Jane stared up at her cousin, tethered blind and helpless in her pen. She stayed with her as long as she dared before slipping away with a heavy heart, raging at Lady Noire’s cruelty.

It was some consolation to see the return of the dejected Ladies the next morning from their fruitless quest, but while they were away Jane had been treated to the spectacle of her cousin being exercised, walked slowly back and forth on a short leash on a stretch of turf by the yard gate, still blind, muzzled and hobbled. Worse for her was the return of Lady Noire in her black cart. Dismounting, she tossed the rins to a waiting slave, than signalled the slave leading Carol to let go of her leash. Carol stood uncertainly, not sure of what was happening, and Lady Noire flicked her on her lower left thigh with her whip, causing Carol to utter a little stifled gasp of surprise and pain.

Lady Noire continued to torment her blind and helpless captive, walking silently round and round her, flicking her with her whip from every angle until Carol, confused and terrified, tripped on her hobble and fell down. Hauled brutally to her feet by a slave, she was led off into the yard while the watching Jane wept with fury.

Later, in the full heat of early afternoon when she was confident that the the Ladies would be asleep, Jane slipped away to drink and to empty her bowels in the spot she’d chosen far away from her hiding place.

It was really hot now, and airless, and the sky held a high haze. The weather-wise Jane anticipated a thunderstorm. She was not far from her own country, the pattern was familiar, and a mischievous idea came to her.

Deliberately, she washed herself clean in a stream, then, instead of returning to the gorse-covered hill-top when the air cooled, she wandered as far from it as possible, loitering in the open, her eyes fixed in the direction of the Manor.

When the gaily-painted carts came into view Jane’s little pink body was clearly visible against the background of the woods. Faint cries of triumph came to her ears, and the ‘ponies’ were whipped into a run. The ‘dogs’, now numbering fifteen, spread out into a hollow concave crescent and ran towards her. She let them get within two hundred yards before she affected to notice them for the first time. Turning, she loped into the woods in simulated terror.

There, on the broad paths and among the thick undergrowth, Jane led the Hunt on a merry dance, flitting silently along in contrast to the crashing of the clumsy male bodies of the ‘dogs’. Occasionally she showed herself, luring the Hunt deeper and deeper into the woods while all the time the sky above them grew darker and more ominous.

Jane felt, rather than heard, the first rumble of thunder. A sudden breeze, hot as from a furnace, stirred the tree tops, and Jane went to ground under the thick cover of a large clump of bracken and brambles on the edge of the large clearing in which the Hunt, tired and angry, had gathered. Within minutes she heard a far off sound, rapidly nearing, as if of surf on the shore, and she grinned happily to herself in anticipation.

The first huge raindrops pattered down simultaneously with an earth-shaking clap of thunder directly overhead. Jane heard the Ladies cry out in fear and outrage before the downpour blotted them out of her vision. The rain stopped abruptly, the temperature dropped, and hail, borne on the South-Westerly gale, lashed the clearing, turning the muddy ground into a seething mass of white. When it stopped, as suddenly as it had begun, the Ladies were huddling under the inadequate shelter of a large oak tree, their delicate Edwardian-style finery soaked and muddy, their flimsy parasols tattered. The ‘dogs’ had dispersed in all directions seeking shelter while the unfortunate ‘ponies’, abandoned by their drivers and maddened by the stinging hail, had wandered off. Those who had not been tethered, that is; those like Lady Noire’s giant black ‘pony’, left by her blindfolded as well as tethered, had no choice but to endure the storm. The black cart was within a few yards of Jane’s hiding place; when the rain of the last flurry of the storm began again she crouched by the wheel furthest from the huddled group of Huntresses. The big ‘butterfly’ nut which held the wheel on the axle was easily turned with her mitted hands, and she loosened it as much as she dared. Then, without a backward glance, she ran off into the thinning rain.

Dry and comfortable under the gorse, Jane lay at her ease and watched the sorry procession come into view. The sun was now fully out, and steam rose from the soaked and bedraggled finery of the dejected Ladies as their tired ‘ponies’ trudged along over the damp turf, their ‘dogs’ following in a single exhausted huddle. A full hundred yards behind them came the black cart driven by Lady Noire, even her huge ‘pony’ scarcely able to summon up a trot. Jane observed the nearside wheel keenly; was it developing a wobble? Apparently it was, for it suddenly dropped off its axle, causing the cart to lurch heavily to its side and tipping its driver unceremoniously on to the muddy turf. Jane revelled in her enemy’s shriek of alarm and outrage, and giggled at the sight of her sprawling on the ground. Bereft of assistance, the furious Lady blindfolded her ‘pony’ and trudged away, leaving him to be fetched in later by Mistress Sarah’s house slaves. Hugging herself with laughter, Jane watched her vanish around the side of the Manor.

Lying on her back, her head resting comfortably on her crossed arms, Jane gave full vent to her elation. All alone, a tiny, naked, hunted animal, she had outwitted her numerous pursuers and rendered them ridiculous in their own eyes. Behind closed eye lids she played out the memory of Lady Noire’s discomforture. Smiling, she fell asleep.

Back in the Manor, bathed, perfumed and in clean, dry garments, Lady Noire stood in the Billiard Room thoughtfully examining the huge relief map of the Estate, complete in every detail, ignoring the occasional burst of outraged speech from the Drawing Room behind her where the other Ladies restored themselves with tea. They had only just reached the uncomfortable conclusion that their ordeal had been deliberately contrived by their quarry, but Lady Noire had been sure of it for some time.

“Where are you, little pale beast?” she murmured. “Where are you hiding? Where are you getting all your food?”

There was only one answer to that as a few questions to her Hostess’s kitchen slaves confirmed. Afterwards, she walked past the row of cages in which crouched the unfortunate ‘dogs’ and thought that they, at least, would be keen to capture the sole survivor of the Hunt as until then they’d be kept caged at nights. She needed allies, but she needed somehow to enlist their aid without the other Ladies getting wind of her plans.

Thoughtfully, she wandered into the small adjoining yard and into the pen where she kept her captive. The little creature shrank instinctively from her touch as she ran a hand down its flanks and thighs, noting the long, firm muscles under its grimy skin. She would come back and feed it later – she had already trained it to eat from her gloved hand – and tomorrow she would have it harnessed to a light racing cart. Then she would test its strength and endurance. But now she would consult Mistress Sarah.

The pattern of the previous night repeated itself; Jane, having rolled thoroughly in the dirt beneath the gorse, went unnoticed as she scavenged for food and paid a regretful visit to her helpless cousin. Long before dawn she was back in hiding and asleep.

Chapter SEVEN

Jane woke to see the carts being pushed out into the yard. Automatically she counted the ‘dogs’ in their cages. All were present, and she watched the ‘ponies’ being harnessed as usual. Then, to her surprise, another vehicle came around the corner, a light racing cart looking frail and spindly among the others. Harnessed between its shafts, bridled and bitted with her blinkers closed shut over her eyes, was her cousin, held on a short leading rein by a bored house-slave.

Jane seethed with anger at the sight of her imprisoned cousin, waiting like a patient beast for its rider, and her rage redoubled when Lady Noire stepped out of the house and mounted the cart. The attendant slave passed her the leading rein and flipped open Carol’s blinkers, then Jane saw the black-gloved hand holding the long whip bring it down on her cousin’s back.

The little cart moved through the gate at a slow walk. The whip came down again, and the pace increased to a slow trot. Jane was surprised; unlike her cousin she had never done any pony-play and she marvelled at how easily the little creature between the shafts pulled the weight behind it. But Carol had pulled heavier carts with heavier drivers many times before, though never for too long or too far.

Lady Noire was pleasantly surprised at the strength of the little body before her. Experimentally, she whipped it into a fast trot, watching with approval the rhythmic pumping of its slender thighs and taut buttocks. It was a well-trained little beast, answering easily to its bit and responding willingly to the tiny flicks of her whip which told it when to exert extra effort. She was quite pleased with it; bringing the cart to a halt she dismounted to inspect its condition.

The little animal was panting, but it was fast recovering its breath; obviously it was by no means exhausted. Lady Noire patted it casually on the rump, wrinkling her nose fastidiously at its strong odour of dung and sweat. Thinking that she must have it perfumed before she took it out it again, she mounted her seat and drove back to the yard.

Jane watched all this with gritted teeth, and she continued to look on as her cousin was led away by a house slave and tethered in the shade to await further employment. The slave went off to fetch a bucket of water, then returned to water Carol from his cupped hand. Then all the the Ladies, elegantly attired as usual, came out and mounted their carts to begin the morning Hunt.

The patient watch from the gorse went on; Jane needed to know that all the Ladies and their carts, and, more importantly, all their ‘hunting dogs’ had returned before she left cover to drink.

While she waited, she was witness to a further indignity inflicted on her cousin. A house slave came from the kitchen bearing a wicker hamper which he strapped to the rear of Carol’s cart. With it firmly secured, he undid her tether, and, with casual brutality, pulled her head around to turn her cart before opening her blinkers and taking his seat behind her. Jane watched with rage in her heart as the slave took up the long whip from its holder and flicked her cousin across her rump. She saw Carol lean into her harness and the cart begin to roll slowly forward. The whip rose and fell once more and the cart picked up speed on its way out of the yard. Moments later Carol was pulling it along across the flat turf at a slow trot in the direction the Hunt had taken.

Rigid with anger, Jane watched Carol disappear into the hazy distance. To see her little cousin treated as a draught animal in so matter of fact a fashion was unbearable, and mad schemes of rescue revolved in her mind before the knowledge of her own helplessness intervened. But she swore that Lady Noire would pay for this degradation.

Jane would have been surprised that her cousin didn’t at all share her feelings of outrage. Carol was well-used to ‘pony play’, although she’d never before even approached the length of time she’d been kept in this role so far, and she didn’t mind pulling the cart; anything was better than being shut up all the time, blind and tethered, in her pen. She leaned willingly into her harness, responding accurately to the slightest pressure on her bit and not resenting in the least the occasional flick of the whip warning her of the need to exert more effort to tackle the little obstacles her driver could see ahead of her. Deep down, she was enjoying the freedom from inhibitions that being an animal brought; oddly, in this her preferred role, she felt no embarrassment about satisfying the needs of her body under the gaze of others, and the slave driving her was one of Lady Sarah’s smallest and lightest.

The young slave lounged in his canvas seat, happy to be spared the long, hot walk to the woods carrying the heavy hamper with the cold drinks for the Huntresses. He looked down at his mount with vague interest, noting the smoothly moving muscles of the shapely little back, buttocks and thighs as she trotted easily along.

“A strong little filly,” he thought with approval, flicking her on her left buttock to encoursge her to surmount a tiny hillock in their path.

When he halted her in the shady clearing where the Ladies sat waiting for their cool drinks, he was glad to see that his mount was breathing easily and not sweating any more than might be expected. He had kept her at a slow trot for this reason, for he feared the wrath of her owner if he exhausted her new possession. Slaves unloaded the hamper and began distributing its contents to their Mistresses, and Lady Noire herself sauntered over to inspect her little ‘pony’. The driver held his breath with apprehension as she looked over the strong little body, then breathed a sigh of relief as she turned away. But then he went rigid with fear as she turned back.

“You, slave!” he heard her snap at him. “Come here!”

He walk the few paces to her and prepared to prostrate himself at her feet as he’d been trained, but she forbade him with a curt word of command.

Standing with his eyes fixed upon the grass at his feet, he shivered internally as she walked around him, her gaze considering and thoughtful.

Finally, she ended her examination, dismissing him with a flick from her whip and ordering him to water his animal and drive her back to the Manor. There he was to ask his Mistress if the beast might be washed down and perfumed, for it was very dirty and it smelt. With relief he saw her walk away. Once the used glasses and empty flasks had been collected and the hamper strapped back in place, he lost no time in making his escape.

Thus it was that Jane was able to watch her cousin returning, this time at a fast trot as the young slave, in sheer high spirits now he was relieved of the oppressive presence of the Ladies, whipped her onwards.

On his return, and when he’d blindfolded his mount and tethered her in the shade, his fear returned. But a Lady had instructed him to address his Mistress with a request, and he had no choice but to obey.

With trepidation, he approached the elegant figure sittting reading under the cedar trees at the edge of the lawn. Although he had been her slave for more than a year, he had never dared speak to her beyond a dutiful “Yes, Mistress!”

“Sir Jasper leered evilly at the back of the divinely tall figure standing in the bay window of her Drawing Room. A hand toying with his cruel black moustache, he advanced silently upon her to take her by the arm.”

“But Guinevere was on the qui vive; swiftly she turned and confronted him, her bosom under her tight bodice heaving with emotion.”

“She drew herself up to her full height, her sapphire-blue eyes flashing.

” “Unhand me, Sir!” she said haughtily.”

“Oh, wow!” thought Mistress Sarah happily, and took another gulp of her iced lemonade.

Then she frowned and cast her eyes down on the prostrate figure that had appeared at her feet. She vaguely recognised him as one of her lesser slaves and wondered at his temerity in approaching her.

“What is it, slave?” she demanded sharply, at the same time prodding him with a delicate shoe.

Humbly he gave her Lady Noire’s message, and waited patiently as his Mistress considered.

“Of course I shall accede to the Lady’s request,” she told him. “And you shall fulfil it. But not now. She has put the beast at my disposal for the present, and it will be useful in sparing the time and energy of my slaves. There will be letters to be taken to the Post Box later, and perhaps other errands it can help them perform. You shall wash it down and clean it when the Hunt returns this evening as its Mistress may desire to drive out before or after dinner. Now go!”

She returned to her book, ignoring the slave who came to all-fours and backed away from his Mistress, only rising to his feet when he was several yards off, and even then walking away from her in reverse, not daring to turn his back upon her.

The Hunt returned, empty-handed and disconsolate, and the various Ladies went off to bathe and change for luncheon. Afterwards they would take a siesta, and after tea the Hunt would set forth again in the cooler air of the late afternoon.

At about one o’clock, in the full heat of the day, Jane left her hiding place to drink as usual. She felt perfectly safe, having carefully counted the Ladies as they returned and checked that all the ‘dogs’ were back in their cages.

She drank her fill, then trotted off to the place she’d chosen to deposit her droppings, far away from her temporary home. On an impulse, she then washed herself all over. It felt good to be clean, and she could easily renew her camouflage. Unwilling to return to the hot and stuffy gorse, she wandered at length in the cool woods. Finally arriving at a spot North of the Manor where the paved road to the Lodge gates ran between pollarded trees.

The country hereabouts was much more open, but Jane, having examined the mettle of her opponents, was confident that she easily outrun any of the ‘dogs’ if she was to be spotted.

She lingered long in this open country, even going as far as the Lodge past which she and her cousin had driven a few days ago where she spied upon the Lodgekeeper and the chained slave whose task it was to open the heavy gates on demand.

The first breath of cooler air told her that the Hunt would soon commence, and she slipped away from the lodge and struck out across the smooth turf towards the woods from which she would regain the gorsey hillock unobserved. Observing a flicker of movement from the corner of an eye, she turned to see her cousin being driven along the paved track towards the Lodge.

Carol came on a fast trot, whipped on by her driver, a slave bigger and heavier than her previous one. He would be punished if the letters he’d been entrusted with missed the next Post, and he plied his lash unsparingly. Jane wept with rage, but there was nothing she could do.

The pattern of events repeated itself; the Hunt grew more and more disheartened and angry, and Lady Noire spent long hours studying the big relief map and revolving plans in her mind. The ‘dogs’ were frustrated in their unusual roles, longing for the elusive little animal to be captured allowing them to return to serving their respective Mistresses. Mistress Sarah had been concerned that Jane, virtually unseen since being released with her cousin from their cage, might have been injured and incapacitated, but the scanty food left for her disappeared every day, and a little pile of fresh droppings was deposited daily in the usual area.

Two mornings later, Lady Noire had perfected her plan for Jane’s capture. Just as dawn was breaking, six of Mistress Sarah’s slaves, grumbling sotto voce at being deprived of their thongs and sandals and being mitted, took the place of six of the ‘dogs’ in their cages. Then the latter, well briefed by Lady Noire, sped off into the early daylight.

Later Jane watched her cousin trot along the track to the Lodge between the shafts of her car. She seemed to make that journey frequently, and today she looked cleaner than usual. Her hair had been pulled back, appropriately enough, into a ‘pony tail’ secured by a bright red ribbon; for some obscure reason this act of decoration angered Jane afresh. Then she looked on as the Hunt left and settled down to wait patiently for its return.

After an hour or so, her cousin, now returned from her errand to the Lodge, was driven across the turf with the usual cool drinks, then, after an interval, driven back again.

Chapter EIGHT

Far beyond Jane’s sight, a tarpaulin in the load bed of one of the two-pony carts was pulled back, and the slight figure of Mistress Sarah’s young slave was revealed. He was quickly hustled away by Lady Noire. Fifteen minutes later he stood before her, clad in an ensemble of her old clothing. Black trousers, black satin shirt, scarlet jacket, black veil under a black hat with a scarlet band, long black gloves covering his hands, from a distance he had a more than passing resemblance to Lady Noire. Without a qualm, she sent him off in the company of her colleagues, driving her great black ‘pony’. She made the rounds of the waiting ‘dogs’ she’d spirited from the Manor that morning, giving them the ropes and nets brought out, along with certain other equipment, under the tarpaulin along with Mistress Sarah’s young slave. Then she settled down to wait for her prey, hoping that the ‘dogs’ would be able to use their gear effectively with their clumsy mitted hands.

At her usual hour of one o’clock, Jane did a final count of the ‘dogs’ and ‘ponies’ in the yard. All were present and correct, and she’d seen all the Ladies return. Slipping easily through the gorse, she ran over to the woods and through them to the stream.

The first pair of ‘dogs’, well hidden on either side of the path, watched avidly as the small, brown and green streaked figure flitted silently past them. Heeding their instructions, they waited until it was out of sight before rising and following.

The next pair of ‘dogs’ were passed by the oblivious Jane, lulled into a false sense of security by her previous immunity; behind her they spread out on either side of the others. Then one of the ‘dogs’ uttered a peculiar bird-like whistle; ahead of them the third pair of ‘dogs’ left their cover and walked openly down the track towards the oncoming Jane.

Rounding a bend in the track, Jane saw them and turned to run. The net clumsily thrown by the first of the ‘dogs’ fell over her head and shoulders. The end of a rope thrown by the ‘dog’ opposite fell neatly into his ‘paw’; together they sprang forward and wound the rope around around their quarry. Soon Jane, trussed and and helpless, was being carried by six pairs of triumphant hands to where their Mistress sat.

The Lady Noire smiled at the sight of Jane, sprawling at her feet. At her signal, two slaves, mitted ‘dogs’ no longer, seized Jane by her wrists and ankles while the others removed the ropes and net which bound her. Thick, padded cuffs were strapped around her ankles and wrists, and linked together with short steel clips. Then her wrists and ankles were linked together. A muzzle and a blindfold rendered Jane completely helpless, and the slaves withdrew, flexing their freed fingers and smiling with satisfaction.

Lady Noire looked down at the prostrate body of her captive, blind, muzzled and helpless at her feet. The little beast seemed even smaller with the ankles of its fore legs linked to those of its hind legs. She rolled it on to its back with one narrow, elegant foot and placed the sole of her shoe upon its neck in token of her possession. Then she flicked it casually with her whip, noting the little start and gasp of shock and pain and the angry red welt that appeared on the flesh of its uppermost buttock. Continuing to flick its body with her lash, she spoke to it thoughtfully.

“So, little pale beast, I have you both now. Shall I harness you to my cart alongside your sister-animal? Or shall I keep you as my lap-dog? You will make an amusing little pet once I have tamed you. You shall eat from my hand and sleep at the foot of my bed, and I shall walk you on a scarlet leash. But we shall see,” she went on.”Perhaps you will be more useful to me as a pony. Have you been trained as a pony, little pale beast? I do so hope not!”

Jane sobbed silently into her stifling muzzle, trying not to react to the endless painful little blows from the whip of her tormentor. But worse was still to come. Lady Noire sent off one the slaves to fetch her cart. When he returned, driving her big black pony, two of the burliest slaves took up a long pole, padded at each end. Jane couldn’t resist a sigh of relief as the link between her fettered wrists and ankles was removed, then she felt the smooth wood of the pole slide past the insides of her fore arms and lower legs. And then she was hoisted from the ground as each slave lifted the pole and placed the padded ends on a broad shoulder. Dangling from the pole by her wrists and ankles, her head lolling downwards, Jane was carried back to the Manor feet first like a captured wild animal.

Jane knew nothing of the excitement and glee of the Hunters, particularly the ‘dogs’, now released from their cages and allowed to shower, put on their thongs and attend to their Mistresses again. She was dumped unceremoniously on the hard ground and left alone. In a far corner of the yard, her blind and tethered cousin was aware of the excitement and wondered vaguely what it was all about.

An hour later Jane was freed of the pole and dragged roughly to her feet. Her arms were pinioned behind her back and forced into a leather arm binder. Her muzzle was removed, and a bridle buckled around her head. She felt cold steel at her lips, insisting on entrance, and she clamped them firmly together until a large hand closed over her nose, forcing her to open her mouth for air. Then the bit was rammed between her teeth and secured behind her head. She felt fingers at her cheek, and heard the click of a halter being attached to a ring of her bridle. There followed a sharp, powerful tug on her bridle, and she staggered forward in response, discovering that her legs were still hobbled in the process.

Jane walked beside her handler, silently sobbing with rage and humiliation, knowing that the arm binders pulled her shoulders back, thrusting out her breasts; knowing that every intimate detail of her body was exposed to the casual gaze. The slave who led her so easily was big and burly, he held her halter high up by her bridle, and Jane could feel the heat from his large hand on her cheek while the hairy skin of his brawny fore arm brushed across the top of her shoulder.

She was halted, and fingers fumbled at her waist, buckling around it a wide, heavy leather belt. Outraged that they intended to put a harness on her, Jane struggled violently, only for her handler to cuff her on the side of her head with a heavy hand.

“Stay still, you little brute!” he told her.

Her head ringing with the force of the blow, Jane stayed as still as she could bear while the hard male fingers continued their task. She shivered as the rounded strap from her belt which divided into the broad shoulder straps was forced into the valley between her breasts. The diamond shaped leather carapace was fitted over her her solar plexus, stomach and groin; its upper corner just below her breast, its lower ending in her modest little bush of pubic hair. She gave a little squeal of outrage as the large oval steel ring attached to this corner of the diamond was positioned around the lips of her vagina. The ring was held in place by the two narrow straps which went between her crotch and up below the cheeks of her firm buttocks to her waist belt.

Her harness secured and checked for tightness, she was led a short distance and halted again. Felling the fingers at her waist again, and realising that she was about to be hitched between the shafts of a cart, Jane uttered a stifled cry of anger. She struggled once more, and her reward was another stunning cuff on the head from the slave holding her. Very soon both slaves left her. She’d heard the slither of leather around wood and she knew that she was tethered by her bridle. Weeping with fear and rage, she awaited the next ordeal.

It was not long in coming. Jane’s keen ears heard the tap of leather soles and concrete and caught a faint whiff of perfume. Her blood ran cold; Lady Noire was near her. Come to gloat, Jane thought at first, but then she sensed movement and heard the soft sound of her tether being unwound from whatever it was tied to. Then her head was pulled around gently but firmly, and instinctively Jane followed, the light cart bouncing behind her.

After she’d been turned in a half-circle, she sensed movement near her face, and smelt Lady Noire’s perfume from a closer range. Her blinkers suddenly flipped open, and she screwed up her eyes against the dazzling light. Then the cart behind her sagged and lurched alarmingly, and she knew that her enemy had mounted it.

Her bit was jerked in her mouth, and she gasped in shock as the whip flicked her upon her left buttock.

“Walk on!” The curt voice was that of Lady Noire, but Jane, seething with anger, stayed stubbornly motionless.

This battle of wills could have only one outcome; a few minutes later, whimpering from the pain of the whip-blows, Jane began walking forward.

Lady Noire watched the straining back of her captive with satisfaction; the little beast was learning, as captive animals must, that the price of disobedience was pain. For the moment she kept it at a slow walk to accustom it to its limited vision and the weight of the cart it was drawing.

Jane walked onwards in sullen fear of the whip at her back, surprised despite herself at the ease with which she was pulling the cart and its passenger along. The shafts, which had transferred part of the weight of the empty cart to bear down on her waist, were now weightless, allowing her to use all her strength to push into her harness. Her view of the world was very restricted; a narrow vertical slot permitting no vision at all to the sides. Because she was obliged to lean forward into her harness she could see very little before her except for a few feet ahead, and despite herself she automatically obeyed the light pressures on either side of her mouth telling her which direction to take.

Behind her, Lady Noire nodded approvingly. The little beast was learning fast. Leaning forward in her seat a little, she brought her whip down casually across the slender haunches of her mount.

The result was all that could be desired. Instinctively Jane jerked forward against her harness to get away from the pain; as a result the cart gained speed, and, after a further blow, she found herself slowly trotting across the turf.

Lady Noire smiled. For a moment she considered whipping the little beast into a full trot, but these were early days. Instead, she drove Jane in a large circle four hundred yards in radius and back into the yard for a further stage in her taming. Throwing the reins to a waiting slave, she gave him a few terse orders. When she’d left, the slave unhitched Jane from the cart and led her away by her bridle, her blinkers closed over her eyes.

Chapter NINE

On their brief journey Jane was led within ten feet feet of her cousin, though neither were aware of it. But Jane felt the concrete beneath her feet alter to smooth stone, and by the change in the atmosphere she guessed she’d been taken indoors. Down a ramp they went, round a sharp corner, and down another long ramp, passing as they went the various dungeons in which the Ladies punished their slaves, all unseen by Jane but producing a shiver of fear in the slave who led her.

A small cellar of about fifteen feet square was their destination. There they found Mistress Sarah’s slave carpenter and her saddle and harness maker, both lent to Lady Noire for her purpose. A thick rotating circular pillar stood in the centre of the room; obviously it was meant to be turned by the long capstan bar which jutted from it horizontally. This the carpenter had modified to be adjustable for height, and when the saddle maker had clamped a bulky leather yoke around Jane’s neck and checked that it rested comfortably upon her shoulders the yoke was clamped to the bar. Then the bar was adjusted for height and secured in place. When they were satisfied, they left her alone in the darkness.

Jane took what little stock of her position she was able. Her neck and shoulders were rigidly held by the thick padding of the yoke, and the bar had been set at such a height that she was bent forwards a little at the hips. The air was hot and humid, and she could feel a stone floor beneath her feet. And that was the sum total of what she could learn about her condition. Closing her eyes behind her blinkers, she tried to get as comfortable as she could.

The sound of approaching feet brought her to full awareness and she listened carefully. There was the clack of of a woman’s leather soles, the heavier sound of a slave’s sandals, and the light patter of bare feet. They stopped a few feet from her, and she stiffened in apprehension.

Lady Noire smiled mockingly at her captive before making a cursory gesture at the sandal-shod slave holding the his barefoot fellow on a leash. He led his charge to the rotating central pillar to which the capstan bar was fitted and locked a chain to his steel collar. Thrusting a pony-whip into his hand, he left him and joined Lady Noire in the doorway.

She nodded curtly at the chained slave with the whip; at once he brought it down across the taut protruding haunches of the little woman yoked to the bar.

Lady Noire smiled again as Jane uttered a little gasp of shock and pain and began to move forwards, pushing her shoulders into the yoke. She waited as the slave brought Jane up to a slow walk before he pressed one of the switches on a panel fixed to the central column. Jane slowed a little, then resumed her pace, encouraged by a flick from the slave’s whip. Another switch was pressed, then another. As each switch was pressed, the load on Jane’s yoke increased, and the slave only stopped when she was panting lightly, her body leaning fully into the yoke. Satisfied, Lady Noire and her attendant went away, leaving the cellar door open to provide a dim light for the tethered slave to see his target.

In the elegant salons of the mansion large fans hanging from the ceilings began to turn slowly. The elaborately dressed Ladies glanced up at them, welcoming the stirring of the warm, scented air. They spared not a thought for whoever was trudging round and round like a blind ox in the darkness far below their feet.

Jane plodded on and on, in constant terror of the unseen whip at her back. After a time she fell into a sort of hypnotic trance in which the only realities were her steady panting and the smooth movements of the muscles of her calves, thighs, buttocks and back, broken into now and then by the lightning-swift sting of the lash. The demands of her full bladder gradually broke into her reverie and she automatically began to slow to a stop to empty it. Quick as thought, the lash fell on her back. Stifling a sob of despair, she increased her speed again. Finally she had no choice; still keeping up the same steady pace, she urinated, the warm liquid splashing down between her thighs with each step.

Not until the last Lady, yawning delicately behind her delicate paper fan, had gone to bed was Jane released, and then only to be tethered in a corner of the cellar on a heap of dirty straw. She was fed and watered, then left in the darkness to sleep. It seemed only minutes passed before she was yoked to the bar again and trudging on her endless journey. This time she was turning the fans in the kitchens, and the sweating slaves, preparing breakfast for their Mistresses, glanced up and were grateful.

Lady Noire kept Jane to her task for three endless days until she judged her spirit had been broken enough for her to be brought back into daylight. This time, when Jane was harnessed to her cart, she obeyed immediately. Lady Noire drove her round for an hour or so; satisfied with Jane’s new docility and obedience, she generously put her, along with her cousin, at the disposal of Mistress Sarah and any other Lady who wanted a drive or had errands for their slaves.

For the two cousins the next few days became a routine of being driven here and there by various people, both Ladies and slaves, most of whom they never even saw. Kept blindfolded except when actually being driven, the first warning they would receive was the sound of footsteps, usually those of a slave, then the sound of their tethers being untied from the fence. Their heads would be wrenched round and they would be led forwards a few feet before being halted again. The opening of their blinkers and the lurching of their carts would come next, then the slapping of their reins on their shoulders. A flick of their driver’s whip on a buttock and Jane and Carol would lean into their sweaty harnesses and pull their carts forward, faster and faster, obeying the whip at their backs and the guiding pressure of the reins on their bits.

Carol was in her element at this treatment, revelling in being a ‘real’ pony, her shyness at being observed relieving herself forgotten. But Jane still writhed occasionally at the mental picures she couldn’t help summoning up; of herself, naked and harnessed between the shafts of a cart. A further insult was inflicted when, like her cousin’s, her own hair was scraped back into a pony-tail and secured with a bright red ribbon. That she should be so bedecked at her Mistress’s whim was unbearable.

When Lady Noire drove her (and she always knew by the whiff of subtle scent which came to her nose, and by the firm, self-assured touch on her reins) Jane still seethed with humiliation. Sometimes she raged at the trivial natures of the errands she and the slave who drove her were continually sent on, errands on which she was made to run a mile each way to bring a bucket of ice for the Ladies’ drinks, or a fan, or a book some Lady had forgotten to bring back from some secluded glade where she’d been reading. The track to the Lodge became boringly familiar to her, so much so that she knew every little bump and hollow on its surface. Often she would see her cousin pulling her own little cart, panting and sweating like herself. Her vision, when she was allowed it, was firmly restricted by her blinkers, but occasionally some careless slave would forget to blind her before tethering her, and then she would see the Ladies walking elegantly along the raked and weeded paths around the Mansion, or sitting at tables on the lawn under the trees, sipping cold drinks while their slaves attended to their every whim, and then Jane would writhe anew.

The days continued hot and sunny, the nights, which the cousins spent tethered in the same stall, were still and chilly. Occasional short-lived thunderstorms occurred, always in the late afternoons, and then Jane and Carol would be driven through the rain to recover oddments of discarded clothing, fans, parasols and the like while the Ladies, having been transported by their slaves back to the house in dry comfort and in good time, sat drinking tea on the terrace.

But the worst times for Jane were the evenings, when the Ladies had dined. Before her meal, Lady Noire woiuld usually have her two ‘little pale beasts’ – as she would refer to them – harnessed side by side between the shafts of a two-seater cart in case she wanted a ride after dinner. Sometimes she drove them out, either alone or carrying with her a friend; sometimes she lent then to another Lady or Ladies. And sometimes they were left to stand in blind patience until a slave was sent to unharness them and put them away in their stall when the last Lady had gone to bed.

One particular velvet-soft evening, sweetly scented with night-flowering shrubs, Carol and Jane had been left harnessed to their individual carts. Lady Noire and one of her friends, a certain Lady Bronwyn, drove them out for a ride, intending to stop en route and take their coffee and digestifs at a little gazebo half a mile away.

Jane was vaguely wondering why she and her cousin hadn’t been harnessed together that evening, and what their Mistress intended for them, when her halter was untied and she was led away. She felt the concrete of the yard under her feet change to the clipped turf of the lawn, then she was halted by the slave leading her. A moment or so later, she heard the distinctive lightness of her Mistress’s feet on the turf, accompanied by a heavier tread. Her cart heeled under the weight of her driver taking her seat, then her blinkers were flipped open, dazzling her with the dim evening light. Allowed a moment to adjust her eyes she noticed the rear of her cousin’s cart, above it the dark shape of her driver’s back. Then the whip fell across Jane’s haunches and she leaned obediently into her harness.

She very soon realised that she was being driven by a Lady other than her Mistress. The other Lady was heavier, for one thing, and she was by no means as skilful in driving her as Lady Noire, sawing with the reins on Jane’s mouth as she drove her uncertainly in the wake of the other cart and using the whip to punish rather than to encourage her.

Jane was panting heavily when she caught up with her cousin, considerately brought to a stop by Lady Noire at the edge of the woodland. The two Ladies exchanged a few words, then Lady Noire flicked Carol’s rump with her whip and drove her into the wood at a walk. Lady Bronwen’s inexpert lash caught Jane painfully high on her back, and she uttered a little, stifled gasp of pain as she pulled the cart into motion. Head down, she followed the other cart into the wood.

The two Ladies drove around the wood for half an hour or so before going to the gazebo where slaves was waiting for them with coffee in a silver flask and a selection of digestifs. Little coloured lights had been strung in the branches of the nearby trees, and the rendezvous presented an almost fairy-like appearance as they came to it from the gloom of the wood. With glad little cries the Ladies dismounted and took their seats at the marble table after tossing the reins of their ponies to an attendant slave.

Carol and Jane waited patiently, tethered side by side to a sapling several yards downwind from where the Ladies sat. Jane had not been blindfolded on this occasion, and both Ladies were fully in her narrow field of vision though she couldn’t see her cousin only a few feet away. She could smell the rich aroma of their coffee and saliva flooded her mouth; treated since their arrival as animals, neither cousin had drunk anything but water. She wondered just how long they had been at Mistress Sarah’s, and how long they were to remain. The Feminine Domination session was to last three weeks, and she unsuccessfully tried to count how many days must pass before she and Carol resumed human roles again. But the days since she had been trapped by Lady Noire and made into a draught animal for her convenience blurred into each other, so alike in their drudgery as to be identical. A tiny scream of dismay from Lady Bronwen caught her attention.

“Oh dear!” she wailed. “I’ve left my cigarette holder on the terrace!”

At once her companion snapped a curt order at a slave and he walked briskly over to where Jane and Carol stood. Seconds later Jane was being driven at a fast trot back to the Mansion.

This was not the only time that evening in which one or other of the cousins was driven off at speed to fetch some trifle or other considered necessary to the Ladies’ comfort. Fresh coffee, more ice, a silken wrap for Lady Bronwen, who was feeling chilly as the evening advanced, all of these and more.

At last the lateness of the hour persuaded Lady Noire’s companion to return to the house for a nightcap before bed. She drove away with Carol between the shafts, leaving Jane alone with her Mistress and the slaves patiently waiting to clear away the debris of the evening. Lady Noire called out to her personal slave.

“I shall go for a drive in the moonlight,” she told him. “I may be some time. See to it that a bath is drawn for me, and a hot drink and Brandy await me on my return!”

“Yes, Mistress!” he replied humbly. Striking him with her whip as a token of dismissal, she turned and walked slowly over the short, sweet-smelling turf to where Jane was tethered. Halting at her side, she ran her narrow hand down Jane’s back and flanks.

It was one of those occasions when Jane’s blinkers had been closed over her eyes when her driver had left her. Too far from her Mistress to have heard her conversation, she’d had no notion of her intentions.She stiffened as the casual hand swept down her body, and she heard the unmistakeable voice of her Mistress.

“I am not yet tired enough to desire rest, my little pale beast. You certainly are tired; but that is of no moment. I shall go for a ride, and you shall pull my cart under my direction. That is the way of things between a human being and an animal she has trapped and tamed!”

Jane clenched her teeth on her bit at these insulting words. Her blinkers were opened to the straight-ahead position, then she felt her cart heel as her Mistress mounted it. The reins jerked her bit, the whip flicked her buttocks, and she leaned wearily into her harness and began to walk forwards.

Whether out of an unlikely consideration for Jane’s tiredness, or because she wished to prolong her own time in the cool night air, Lady Noire kept Jane at a slow trot, even allowing her to drop into a walk whenever there was an uphill slope in their path. Jane trudged on in that state of blessed indifference she had come to welcome; her vision limited to a few feet in front of her, automatically responding to the gentle pressures on her mouth which told her which way to turn and to the painful little flicks of the whip which told her when to exert extra effort. In this state of self-imposed hypnosis, it was some time before she realised that her Mistress was talking to her in her low, clear voice.

“I have said that I have tamed you, little pale beast, but that is not really true. Rather, I have trained you to obey me under fear of punishment. But, when I have truly tamed you – and I SHALL tame you, little pale beast – then you shall obey because your beast mind will not be able to conceive of any alternative to obedience. I shall make of you a friendly, docile, obedient little animal. I have not the time here and now, but you will come to me to be tamed when I command you; you and your pale beast of a sister, too|! But she will be easy to tame; she is very submissive. As for you; I do not think that you are submissive at all, and that will make my success the sweeter. But someone has tamed you in the past; I wonder who he was? I can see the invisible collar you wear; did he put it around your neck? Or did you do it at his command? You have been a real animal; and you shall be one again. I have you on an invisible leash, and you shall come to me when I call to you.”

Jane, panting as she drew her cart across a patch of rough ground, only half-heard this soliloquy, though its words were later to become engraved on her mind. The whip flicked her hard on her rump, and she broke into a weary trot.

“Run, little pale beast; pant and sweat in yoiur harness!” she heard her Mistress say. “I grow chilly, and I want my hot drink, my Brandy and my bath before I go to my warm, soft, scented bed. And you; you will want to be given water and allowed to sleep in the straw of your pen. Run; little pale beast – run under my whip!”

So saying, Lady Noire brought down the lash in a flurry of blows on the slender back and haunches before her.

Chapter TEN

Unknown to either cousin, Lady Noire and her entourage left the Mansion early the next morning. The long session was winding down; there were only five days remaining, and, while several new Ladies appeared to spend a few days with Mistress Sarah, more left than came. The weather grew hotter and the cousins spent much of their time yoked together in the cellar, turning the blades of the big fans in the house above them.

Saturday was the day the session was to to end, and, by tradition, the Friday was ‘Slaves’ Freedom Day’, the day allotted for the slaves to become used again to being fully clad ready to resume their normal lives. In the late afternoon of Thursday all the slaves were freed, including those under punishment in the dungeons, and the cousins too, although some of the Ladies made a little moue of displeasure at the prospect of being deprived of cool air in the Salons for the next two evenings. But their Hostess was obdurate; the ‘animals’ would be freed along with the slaves.

Jane and Carol were led up from the cellar for the last time. They stood in dull astonishment as busy fingers undid the straps and buckles of their harness, as their arm binders and their bridles were removed at last. Finally, blinking in the sunlight, they found themselves standing unrestrained in the yard behind the kitchens among the bustling of cheerful slaves.

“Welcome back, you two!” a kindly slave told them. “Use our showers, then see Perkins for your clothes. The Mistress wants to see you!”

Their hands stole out to find each other, hand in hand they stared about them. No one was taking any notice of them at all; seeing the doorway to the slave showers they walked timidly towards them, strangely ill at ease at the novel feeling of being able to move around at will after so many days of restraint. But Jane’s first moment of freedom, now that she had the use of her hands, was to remove the hated red ribbon securing her pony-tail and shake her hair free about her face even before she took out the little pastic gag imprisoning her tongue.

Later, fully clean for the first time since their arrival, they went in search of the Butler. As they padded bare-foot along a thickly-carpeted corridor, Carol began to giggle.

“Oh, Jane!” she whispered. “We’re still naked – except for our collars!”

To her delight, Carol saw her cousin blush a deep crimson all over her face and neck and down to her breasts. But her giggle was so infectious, and the total lack of interest shown by everyone that met so reassuring, that Jane began to giggle helplessly in response.

Perkins, when they’d tracked him down in the Morning Room, gazed gravely at the two naked little women, only a twinkle in his eyes indicating his true feelings. A stickler for protocol, as a good Butler must needs be, he had decided that their true position, when they were not in role, was that of Ladies and therefore his superiors. True, they both wore collars, but he been assured that this was an affectation of certain young ladies and that he was to regard it as merely a mild eccentricity.

“If the ladies would follow me,” he murmured, “I shall show you to your suite where your, er, garments await you.”

His stately figure preceded them up a broad flight of stairs, along a lushly-carpeted corridor, and halted by a polished wooden door. Opening it, he ushered them into a luxuriously appointed Reception Room. Beyond that, in a delicately scented, entirely feminine bedroom, they saw their freshly-washed and pressed dresses lying upon the large, soft single bed. For the first time, he seemed a little nonplussed; a mere male confronted with feminine mysteries.

“I’m told that these garments,” he said, indicating the simple dresses, “are the only articles of clothing the Ladies arrived wearing – apart from your footwear, of course.” He paused helplessly before continuing. “If the Ladies require additional garments …?”

Carol giggled.

“Our dresses will be quite sufficient, Perkins!” she told him regally.

“Very good, Miss Carol,” he replied, scarcely hiding his relief at being able to change the subject. “Tea is being served upon the terrace where my Mistress will meet you later.”

Left alone, the two cousins wandered about examining their surroundings before taking another shower, this time employing the delicately scented soap left out for them. Then, after perfuming themselves lightly, they put on their dresses and sandals, giggling together at the novel feeling of light, cool silk on their bare bodies. Hand in hand before the huge mirror, they spent a few minutes in innocent admiration before their reflections, from the golden halos of their hair, still fluffed out from its drying, to the tiny gilt sandals on their shapely little feet. Still holding each other’s hands, they made their way to the terrace.

It felt odd to be seated on comfortable, padded chairs after so many days confined to either standing between the shafts of their carts or lying in the straw of their pen, and odder still to regard from the terrace the fence to which they has spent so many hours blind and tethered, draught animals patiently waiting to be driven away. Carol eyes glistened with her memories, but Jane gazed out sombrely, remembering her past anger and outrage. The words of her captor came to her mind. Perhaps, she thought, I am not really of a submissive nature. Then a further phrase of Lady Noire’s presented itself. “You will come to me to be tamed when I command you” she had said, and Jane gave a little shiver at the memory. She was Jane, wild and free; she would not be a tame animal!

Mistress Sarah joined them, accompanied by her slave-husband, Mark. Both congratulated the pair on their devotion to their roles and expressed unstinting admiration of their stamina. That evening, at the dinner in which the slaves joined their Mistresses and dined on human food, the cousins were feted by everyone present, sitting side by side on Mistress Sarah’s right hand.

Friday passed in a pleasant, restful haze, and on Saturday morning their Hostess herself drove them to the car park by the Lodge in a cart pulled by four laughing, volounteer slaves.

On their way home, Carol continued to marvel at their recent experiences, over and over again expressing her determination to repeat them. Jane, however, remained more circumspect; she did not altogether like being an animal, she decided. All the same, the little thrill that appeared whenever she thought about it refused to leave her.

The connection seemed clear. But Botto was the first surprised, he was so surprised he offered 5 million Euro for anybody finding Miss Firenze, dead or alive.

Hundreds, no, thousand of people started searching the small hold and the sea where her little vessel exploded. Deficient fuel system, said the police investigations; a real accident. But no one believed. And they were right. Natalia was neither dead, nor in Botto’s hands.

As soon as she heard about Botto’s escape, she knew her live was threatened. Knowing about the dangers of being Judge in Italy she never founded a family so when it came to flee she could do without hesitations, and what better place to hide than Death. She faked her own death and escaped to the States with a false Passport. Miss Marilyn Noone, being her English good enough to fool everybody. There she decided to hide in a small village and to start another life, far away from media, fame and Italy.

When she was young a lot of boys and men fancied her, but she never indulged. She was to be judge. Her beauty helped her to become a media star, cause she really was pretty: 6 feet tall, long, black hair a slim waist and generous hips. And an angel face. Her present 36 years only enhanced her beauties conferring some maturity to it. She was the most know Judge all over Italy.

Lost between Fort Worth and Wichita, there was a small town called Petersville. The perfect place to start a new life, or perhaps not. She came to Petersville as a widow hiding away from her pain, as a mother who had lost both her kids and her husband in a car accident. As somebody with no past wanting to start again.

After two weeks she was completely installed. Even she didn’t need a job cause ‘the live insurance’ had been high, as she explained, she accepted a job in a bank, just to live a normal life.

Everything would have been fine 20 years ago, but in the cyber-era, even in Petersville they had internet.

It was Phil, the Mayor’s teen son, who first noticed. He was quite a nerd, and therefore unpopular between the girls. That let him with enormous amounts of time to search the web. And a beauty as Miss Firenze had caught his eye. When he first saw her on the screen he looked for nude pics of her in the internet, but there were none. When he saw Miss Noone he vaguely remembered something. Before doing anything wrong he secretly took a photo of Miss Noone and loaded it down. Than he remembered, and there was no doubt: It was the same person. 5 million Euro. He jumped in his room. He was so nervous he couldn’t even sleep.

Next morning after school he talked to his best (and only) friend, Frank. A nerd like him.

“Are you absolutely sure it is one and the same woman”

“Look by yourself, what do you think”

“Yeah, it seems, but if we are wrong, we are not rich, but dead”

Phil too, was afraid of the Mafia. “Lets test her” he suggested “…and we’ll know”

“Great” exclaimed Frank “but how”?

At five O’clock Phil and Frank were waiting in front of the bank. Natalia went out and headed toward her home, the boys ran and positioned themselves on each side.

“Miss Noone, we would like to talk to you…” started Phil.

“What is it?” Natalia asked friendly, without stopping.

“Well it’s quite private” answered Frank “I think we should wait till you are home”

“And why should I invite you into my home” a still friendly Natalia retorted.

“Cause we are about to win 5 million Euro and you work in a Bank…” The stroke hit. Fully.

After some seconds she regained her composure, but it had been time enough for Phil and Frank to know the truth.

In Natalia’s home the silent was oppressive. She had made herself a coffee and some hot chocolate for the boys. “What do you want” she finally asked.

“Well, at first we just wanted to be sure, but now we see you are nice and…”

Phil let his sentence unfinished.

“You are nice and pretty…” It was Frank who tried to talk.

“Boys, you better keep your hands off, you don’t know the Mafia and I swore you it’s better for you to stay like this. Natalia had again the upper hand, and soon after the boys left, discouraged.

“But we are saving her ass” Phil said once they were again home

“Yeah, her nice ass” agreed Frank.

“Did you notice how pretty she really is?”

“Of course I did, she is a knock out”

“I think that she should be really friendly to us, after all, we are saving her ass”

“Yeah, really friendly and it’s only a small compensation…”

“Miss Noone” called Phil “do you have a moment”.

Natalia, fearing the worst, stopped dead “Yes?”

“Can we have another chocolate at your home?”

“Yes, of course, your are welcome” Natalia was visibly relieved.

When opening her door Frank gave her a small pat on the ass ‘you first’ he said.

Angrily she looked at him: “Don’t you dare to touch me again, you creep”

“But, but, but…” coolly answered Frank “…we are saving your ass. I think it’s only a small compensation if we get a piece of what we are saving” And adding his hands to his words he patted her again. Her ass was soft and smooth.

She slapped his face.

“You’ll regret it, you bitch, you are dead” And slamming the door he left.

In panic Miss Firenze followed him. “I’m sorry, really I’m sorry. It was a stupid reaction” Frank was still walking away. “You are right, I think you’ve earned yourself a small compensation…”

“Your ass” interrupted Frank.

“Yes, my ass” Natalia was hysterical. If she didn’t stop this guy she was dead, or worse.

Frank stopped “You agree that your ass is only a small compensation and that it’s free for us”

“Yes, yes, you can pat me whenever you want, but please don’t phone Botto”

Frank’s angry face became sunny. He turned around, took Miss Firenze by her waist and went back to her home. This time when they entered he did not slap, but fondle her behinds. Her warm, soft flesh, it was the best ass he ever touched. She let it happen, ashamed.

Phil was waiting inside. As soon as he saw Frank’s hand on her butt he knew they were getting a piece, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on her.

The whole time Miss Firenze spent doing the hot chocolate, Phil and Frank stood next to her, fondling and squeezing her ass. Both spotted hard erections.

This time it was Phil who risked more and when she was carrying the two hot chocolates to the table he cupped both her tits from behind. “Hey, Phil” she shouted “don’t overdo things”

“Miss Noone, or should I call you Miss Firenze, don’t you think it’s only a small compensation feeling you up.”

“Yeah, do you think your body is 5 million Euro worth?” Frank asked. His hand was on her cunt now.

She was still standing, like paralyzed, in her own living, sandwiched between two horny and hyperactive teens.

“I think you should not protest being felt up, it a small price to stay alive.” Phil added.

“But I’m not a whore…”

“I think you are a 5 million whore, but a whore after all…” started Frank, pressing harder against her slit.

“Our whore” triumphant interrupted Phil squeezing her boobs.

“No, don’t talk like this. I don’t like …” Natalia was each time more afraid. She couldn’t accept being a whore for these two nerds, but she couldn’t risk them to phone Botto.

“Miss Firenze, I think we should clarify the compensation we’ll get for saving your ass” started Phil “I think you being our whore is only a small compensation, but a compensation at all”

“Yeah. ..but if you prefer” interrupted Frank “we cash 5 million Euro and have other whores, younger…”

“What do you mean by being your whore?” Natalia asked in a low voice.

“Be ours”, “be our doll”, “take care of our cocks”, “let us touch you”, “…see you”, “..fuck..”. The answers spurted out. Incoherently, but clear for Natalia. They didn’t want a whore, they wanted a slave.

She couldn’t accept these terms. She tried her last bluff.

“It seems you are thinking with your dicks. Do you really believe El signore will pay you kids 5 million Euro?”

“If we are thinking with our cocks you should be caring for them” answered Frank “and I don’t know if that guy is going to pay us, but for sure he is going to kill you. Yeah, for sure. So if you want to stay alive stay here for me to finger your slit and take care of my cock” Frank was now massaging her cunt for all he was worth.

“Take care of your brain, Frank, of your brain” joked Phil.

Natalia was destroyed. The nerd was right.

There she stood, a 36 years old woman, renowned judge, dressed (as a good widow) in black. She wore tight black trousers, black shoes and a black blouse and was shamefully accepting a 15 years old boy fingering her slit. And worse, she knew she had to touch him. Slowly she put her hand on his crotch. She clearly felt his pulsing shaft. His hands were busy on her ass and cunt. He massaged and fondled avidly. She felt four hands feeling her up. Phil was still holding her boobs and put his crotch to her hand, soon she was caressing a cock with each hand. It didn’t take long and both boys cum into their trousers. She too was hot by now, but she didn’t tell. It ashamed her getting aroused by these two kids.

The difference between 15 years old boys and men is that the boys spotted again erections in the time she cleared the table.

“Natalia, I would like to see a little better our compensation” said Phil

“Yeah, strip naked or change into something more revealing” added Frank.

Natalia blushed, she thought her nightmare was over when they wetted their pants, but it seemed she was wrong. Oh God, how wrong she was. Humiliated she asked: “Haven’t you had enough?”

“Enough?” shouted Frank, do you think such a lousy work is worth 5 million Euro. “If I ever hear you complaining again, I cash the reward. You are our doll, yeah, our fuck-doll and you do as we say”

The afternoon went from bad to worse for Natalia. First they made her change into a short dress and parade for them, then they made her lift it and flash to them her panties. Panties she soon had to remove and show them her pretty, well trimmed, black haired pussy. Repeatedly she asked and begged them to stop but, it only encouraged them. They felt power having a grown up woman and well known judge begging as a baby. She had to parade naked for them and adopt each time more revealing, no, more obscene postures. Phil and Frank touched and fondled at their whim and jerked off two more times. They couldn’t get enough of her soft, warm charms. And Miss Firenze was a healthy woman. Slowly all these fingering and touching brought herself close to orgasm. The boys instinctively were acting right, touching the right points. Phil was as mesmerized with her boobs, he massaged, squeezed, licked and sucked on them, not getting tired. Frank was exploring her cunt. He was slowly finger fucking her when she finally, and to her absolute humiliation, came on Frank’s hands. The boys celebrated it loudly.

They made clear that this was the beginning of a long friendship and left French kissing and finger fucking the naked judge. They also told her to show up at Phil’s place tomorrow just after work, ‘and dress as the slut you are’ Phil said.

“Yeah, no panties and easy access” had added Frank.

Next day she felt uncomfortable at her workplace. All the males looked at her and smiled when ever she looked. The message they got was clear. ‘I’m still a young woman, this is what I’ve to offer. The mourning time is over’ They were like flies around her. And it was comprehensible. She dressed a short, light blue dress, clearly without bra and high heeled sandals.

When she showed up at Phil’s place they heavy fondled her and made her French kissing them at the door, before coming in. She knew there were people looking and was deeply ashamed. But what could she do, they hold all the aces, she thought, even my ass, she joked to herself. And they were really holding her ass, lifting it and massaging it, for all to see.

The afternoon soon was a sex party. Miss Firenze was touched and kneaded, brought to her knees. They made her crawl around in the nude. Miss Firenze was blowing Frank and Phil was busy fingering her sex, when Mark, Phil’s father and the city’s Mayor entered the room. Phil was petrified. He had lost all sense of time. They had been abusing the woman for more then three hours, but for him it had been like fifteen minutes; not for Miss Firenze she had endured the humiliation of being a sex toy for two teens, and these three hours seemed three days to her.

The relation between Phil and his father was as good as non-existent. When Phil’s mother vanished some years ago, the only link disappeared. He often had asked his father where his mother was. “I don’t know and I don’t care” was all he got.

Mark wanted a star-boy and not a prat. Mark was, at least for himself, the most important person in village and his son was still in school only cause he was the mayor. And Phil had never brought home any girlfriend only that jerk of Frank, inwardly Mark feared his son was gay.

“Dad, I, we …oh my god” for Phil the situation was horrible, but for poor Miss Firenze it was unbearable.

There she was naked, on her fours, sucking on a teen’s cock and in position to be fucked by another one.

If Frank had released her head she would have ran away, even naked. But on the other side, perhaps this man could stop these beast, perhaps is was the lesser of two evils, been caught like this.

Only Frank maintained his composure.

“Hi, Mr. Larsen” he greeted “want to join the party?”

Mr. Larsen looked at Frank, but only saw Miss Firenze pretty hanging breasts than he looked at Phil and saw her proud, round ass and a glimpse of her sex.

He didn’t know who this woman was, but it was a woman and his son was going to fuck her. HIS SON was going to fuck that pretty thing.

He looked at his son with other eyes, not a kid anymore, not a semi- eunuch, not a gay, he was a MAN.

“My son” he started formal “I’m sorry to interrupt you, please go on and show this woman the MAN you are. I’m in the kitchen having a beer, come later” And said this he shut the door and left.

Phil looked at Frank and smiling he felt his cock raising again. His father had told him to show this woman that he is a man and he had talked to him with respect.

Natalia’s heart sunk even lower. He had not only allowed these beast to go on, he had encouraged them.

Her thought stopped when she felt a dick invading her sanctum sanctorum. Phil’s first sexual encounter was short. He pumped a few times groped both her tits and repeating whore, whore, whore he cum.

“So this is Miss Noone?” asked Mr. Larsen looking at the naked woman standing in his kitchen.

Phil had told her to stand still, hands behind and legs slightly parted. Phil himself sat together with Frank on the bench having a beer.

“Yeah” answered Frank “Miss Noone, Miss Marilyn Noone.

“And why is this pretty woman allowing two boys to take such liberties” asked Mark softly caressing Natalia’s skin.

Natalia shivered, it was bad enough being blackmailed by two kids, but now the former media-star-judge had to stand naked, for all to see or touch and listen how she is discussed as a whore. The Mayor was kneading one of her generous tits and cupping her cunt.

“Well” answered Phil not wanting to reveal their secret “she is friendly to us and we are friendly to her”

Mr. Larsen was not a stupid man, he understood there was something fishy going around and decided to find it out by himself.

“And is she going to be friendly to me too?” he asked slowly passing his finger through her swollen cunt.

“But of course, Daddy, whenever you want” answered a happy Phil. The Judge was not asked if she cared standing naked in a kitchen with two ogling teens and a man fingering her. She was not asked if she was going to be ‘friendly’ to that man too, she was just felt up and used.

If Mark needed one thing with women it was authority. He wanted to be in charge. And this pretty thing was exact what he liked, she would learn what it meant being ‘friendly’ to him.

“Miss Noone, please” he said and putting his hands on her naked buttocks and guided her to his bedroom.

There he produced some rope and attached her wrists, behind. He looped the rope around her neck and passed it through a hook in the ceiling., just over the bed.

Natalia was afraid. “Please Mr. Larsen, please I…” what she was going to say became a secret cause Mark stuffed her mouth with a rubber taste item. Then that item started growing, and growing till her mouth was open, filled and hurting. It was a self-blowing-up gag. A very effectively one.

Mr. Larsen than fixed the cord to a ring behind his bed and started stripping. He was not a bad looking guy. A little bit tummy perhaps, but well build, big and strong.

In another situation she would even have looked forward sleeping with this guy, but not as a bound, gagged and naked sex doll, offered by a teen. She felt humiliated and abused, and when she saw his attributes her eyes grew to new dimensions. It was not a penis it was a monster-cock, and it was still not fully erect.

“So, so, so you are Miss Noone, Miss no-one aren’t you” Mark said slapping Natalia’s tits. “I don’t believe you are no one” he said and pinched and stretched a nipple “cause it would be a pity having no one to fuck today” His hands were fondling and stretching poor Miss Firenze’s cunt lips. She felt horrible. And there was nothing she could do about. Sticking a finger into her sex and pulling he made her climb on the bed. His monster-cock was now ready to fuck, if, and she doubted it, it was going to fit into her.

Mark took the cord and pulled down, lifting and strangling her, he than lay down and directed his cock to her cunt hole. She couldn’t breathe nor think, she was dandling from the rope not kneeling and not standing trying to hold her weight with her insteps. Suddenly she felt down and OOOUUUUUCCCHH impaled herself on the meaty stake.

Then began the fucking. Mark did not move, he rhythmically pulled the cord and Miss Firenze was lifted and strangled. Each time he pulled at the cord she was lifted by her neck. Her bound hands accentuated the feeling of helplessness. Each time she thought she was going to die. Up and down, up and down. He was not fucking her, he was masturbating himself with her cunt. Natalia felt his cock filling her completely, she felt her own body betraying her. How could it be she was getting aroused by such kind of treatment. But she was. Up and down, up and down. It was hurting her, it was humiliating and it was making her horny. The fucking lasted for twenty minutes and when he came, it swept the last locking with it. She came with him mounding into her gag and trying to move.

Half an hour later, with a whipped ass and clothespins on her nipples a Natalia who was still attached by her neck, was telling him the truth. And the whip hadn’t been the worse. What made her tongue loosen were the photos, the photos of Phil’s mother. Better be killed by Botto than end like this, she thought.