The Beauties in Bondage Club

By Kenneth Harding

CHAPTER ONE

Sheila Andrews indignantly twisted herself out of Granville Tomlinson’s grasp, and slapped his face, her eyes blazing. "I don’t ever want to see you again, Granville," she scathingly declared, her breathing erratic as her magnificent closely-spaced round titties rose and fell with the vehemence of her shamed anger. "If that’s all you want from a girl, you’d better find yourself a whore, because I’m not that sort. It’s a good thing we came to understand each other before this got serious. Now please don’t phone me or annoy me any more, or I’ll put you under a peace bond." With this, she slammed the door of her apartment, turned the lock, and walked back to the couch, trembling violently, in aftermath. Walking over to the sideboard near the bay window, she opened the cut-glass decanter of Scotch and poured herself a stiff drink, then downed it nearly at a gulp. She stood there a moment, fighting to regain her even breathing, and then sat down on the couch, still fuming.

She had never been so insulted in all her life, and she still couldn’t believe that he hadn’t been joking. Here they had been engaged for three months, and out of the clear sky this pleasant, brown haired, soft-spoken man who worked down the hall from her in the Chicago advertising agency of Porton, Davidson & Semmering had as much as invited her to join him in an orgiastic secret club in which she would be expected to give her body to any man or woman member who lusted for it. At least, that was the way she had interpreted his remarks. The audacity, the brazen, ifithy nastiness of the man!

Sheila Andrews was twenty-three, with a magnificent, thick mane of coppery red hair which fell below her shoulder blades. Five feet six inches in height, delectably proportioned with round firm titties, a breathtakingly undulating, shapely behind whose round, tightly compact globes executed a suggestively lascivious, rhythmic shifting as she walked. Sheila Andrews had come to Chicago just eight months ago from a little farm town in southern Illinois, where she had been attending a girl’s college and intended to be a teacher until the sudden death of both her father and mother at the same time from a contagious virus attack. Her father had left her enough insurance to tide her over for a year or two, but she had found a job as a receptionist in the advertising agency. A few weeks after that, Granville Tomlinson had stopped by her desk to tell her that he was going to lunch and where he was going after that, and had rernained to chat a little and to discover that both of them liked books and old historical movies. From then on, the pattern had been pleasantly eventful, beginning with dinners at excellent restaurants, occasional movies or perhaps a play or a concert till finally he had asked her to marry him just two weeks ago. And she’d said yes. And now this!

Sheila was a virgin, but only technically. Back in high school, she had tasted love’s dualistic pleasures just enough to realize that she was extremely passionate and that it needed only the right circumstance and partner to channel her emotions into fruition. There had been a very brief but exquisitely bittersweet episode with a young civics teacher named Evelyn Amston, a handsome brown-haired young woman of twenty

ight, who had asked her over to her apartment for tea and had wanted to discuss Sheila’s term paper. During the serving of refreshments, Evelyn Amston had awkwardly tilted the teapot and wet Sheila’s frock. She’d made a great fuss about how sorry she was, and had hurried to help Sheila out of the frock. Then, when the delectable redhaired teenager had stood there in just her slip, bra, and panties, Evelyn Amston had moved to her, her slim hands caressing the girl’s sides and moving down to her bottom which she had begun to squeeze amorously. Then she had kissed Sheila, and delicately intruded the tip of her pert pink tongue until a wave of sensual wakening had swirled over the youn?; girl’s being.

Before that afternoon had ended, Sheila had found herself lying on the teacher’s couch in just her stockings, elastic garters, and her bra, being gamahuched by the mature brownette lesbian, half fainting from the exquisite thrill of being drawn to a quaking, seething come.

She had yearned to go back to Evelyn Amston’s apartment and renew that exquisite, lyrical lovemaking, but the very next week her civics teacher had been unaccountably missing and the principal had made a brief announcement during assembly that Miss Amston had been called back to the East because of the death of her parents and that there would be a replacement arriving in a few days.

And then, during her freshman year at the girls’ college, Sheila had known what it was like to neck with a magnetic young man whose very touch and kiss made her pulse beat faster and the lips of her pussy twitch and moisten with a titillating anticipation that would inevitably lead to a good hard fucking, except that he had very thoughtfully held back from making her go all the way.

It had been Peter Blount, a twenty-one year old senior from a nearby men’s college, who had met her in the little town one Saturday afternoon while she was out shopping, bought her a soda, and then persistently called her for dates until she had finally gone out with him in self-defense.

About two weeks after that, he had driven her down the highway to Springfield, turned off along a dirt road, and into an abandoned farm site, taken her in his arms, and begun to kiss her throat and titties.

Writhing and squirming in his embrace, she had felt his hand sneak under her skirt and caress her stockinged thigh until it encountered the satiny pale-white flesh and then on to the hems of her frilly little cotton panties until at last she had felt a forefinger just tickling the rims of her cunt hole. She had been drawn to as furious a come by that as by Evelyn Amston’s Sapphic wooing.

There had been several torrid necking sessions with Peter after that, and sh

d almost been ready to give him her cherry because the feelings that he aroused in her were just devastating. But he told her that he didn’t want to take a girl the first time, that he respected her and hoped to marry her. And she had come to the point of learning how to take out his prick, use a handkerchief, and jack him off while he in turn frigged her pussy until they both had exquisite relief and yet avoided the involvement and possible risk of an unwanted child.

And then Peter’s father had moved to the West coast and that had been the end of that romance. And that was all there had been for her until Granville Tornlinson.

Ths tin

she had really thought she could care for a man, and that Granville would be the one to lead her from excitement to the fulfillment of passion, to teach her all the mysteries, to make her feel at last what it would be like to have a stiff male prick burrowing into her tight warm cunt and wakening her to womanhood. She wanted to be a one-man woman, to belong to someone. And that was why his proposition, detailed to her over dinner at Maxim’s, had been all the more incredible.

"I want to marry you, Sheila," he’d begun, and of course she’d held his hand across the table while the headwaiter smirked knowingly and made a gesture for their waiter not to bother this handsome young couple for a little while. "But there’s something else I have to tell you. I’m not going to be with the agency too much longer. You see, I’ve suddenly come into a lot of money very unexpectedly. I’ll have a chance to do what I’ve always wanted to do. We’ll have a chance to travel, and we won’t live here in Chicago, Sheila."

"I don’t think I’d mind. Where would you go, dear?" she asked naturally.

"There’s a place out in the Arizona desert, Sheila. And there’s a sort of very special and private group of people living out there. We call ourselves the Bondagers. I’m going to join and I’d want you to come along with me."

"That sounds very mysterious, dear. Who are they, and what sort of group are they?" she wanted to know.

"Well, the simplest way to tell you, Sheila, is that it’s a sort of commune. They believe in doing what they want and having fun without the stuffy conventions that we have right here in our big city societies. There are men and women there who experience all the pleasures there are to know, and they are shared."

"Are you suggesting that it’s some sort of wife-swapping group?"

"Not quite that, dear, but the idea of sharing is implicit in their rules," he had told her blandly as he had lit a cigarette.

"I think you’d better take me home. If this is your idea of a joke, it’s not in very good taste," she had flared.

He had shrugged, paid the bill, and then taken her home in a cab, dropping her off in the lobby of the North Dearborn apartment building. Seeing how handsome he was, and realizing how closely she was drawn to him she had relented a little and told him to come up for a nightcap so they could talk this over more seriously. Of course he’d come along with her.

And then when she told him, "Now tell me it was all a joke, darling," he’d shaken his head and said, "It’s not a joke at all. I’m going to be a Bondager, Sheila, and so will you if you marry me. Haven’t you ever thought how exciting it could be if you were tied up and helpless, blindfolded in a sound-proofed room without any light, not knowing what was going to happen to you next?"

And then while she had stared at him speechlessly, he had gone on, "And then the door opens and you don’t know who it is and you can’t speak because you’re gagged. Then you feel a hand touching your skin, but you can’t tell whether it’s a man or a woman, or perhaps even a boy or a young girl."

And that was when she had slapped his face and told him that she never wanted to see him again.

It was a kind of fanciful nightmare and it just didn’t make sense. She poured herself another drink, lit a cigarette, and sat staring into space.

Well, there would be other fellows, more normal, more dependable and maybe even more exciting than Granville Tomlinson. Naked and bound and blindfolded and gagged, indeed! He had better see a psychiatrist, she thought to herself, if that was the way his mind worked.

CHAPTER TWO

About forty-two miles southeast of Kayenta, near the ridge of the Carrizo Mountains and about a hundred and fifty miles from the Petrified Forest National Park, on the slope of a sprawling hill to the northeast, two new graystone buildings stood, anachronistic in this primitive desert setting, with yellowish ground and clumps of mesquite, yucca, and cactus almost as far as the eye could see. But the buildings themselves were concealed on one side by a row of dumpy spruce trees which had grown in wild profusion near this building site.

Just below them, along the plain ground, was a man-made airstrip and there was a hangar painted a dull yellow so that it would blend with the ground. In it were two planes, one a Piper Cub, the other a two-engine Beechcraft capable of riding six passengers.

One of the two buildings was rectangular, only one story in height, and here there were handsomely furnished rooms, soundproofed cells, and beneath, a kind of subterranean amphitheater with loge seats, a kind of miniature replica of the world-famed Colosseum of Rome.

The other building, close beside it, was two stories in height, and it contained luxurious quarters for the members of this singular, eccentric and extraordinarily wealthy cult who called themselves the Bondagers.

The acreage on which these buildings and the hangar were built had been acquired by outright purchase from the Land Bureau of the State of Arizona some twenty-eight months ago under the name of the "Borchard Air Freight Corporation." Since this part of the desert was virtually wasteland so far as agriculture or urban development were concerned, there had been no problem in acquiring it.

The corporate name derived from Clement Borchard, the founder of the Bondagers, a man of thirty-six, with pleasant features, light reddish hair, whose father had been enormously wealthy and an aviation pioneer. Indeed, because of the reputation of his father’s name, Clement Borchard had found it easy to negotiate for the tract of land which he wanted and which he had chosen after a studied and lengthy tour of such states as Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Montana.

Arizona seemed most logical; it was near the Mexican border, and there were almost no tourists or hikers or mountain climbers throughout the year, and those who did come, went mostly to the Painted Desert. Nor did Clement Borchard and his profligate friends care for intruders, which was exactly why he had chosen this particular locale.

For he, like Sheila Andrew’s erstwhile fiance, Granville Tomlinson, was a devotee of flagellation and of bondage, of domination of the female, and his enormous wealth had enabled him to establish what amounted to a deluxe vacation resort not only for his friends and trustworthy associates, but also for clients who either wished to pay a fabulously high premium for the privilege of being guests at what he called "Borchardville" or to purchase a trained slave; or finally, to bring along a girl or young woman-usually a domestic or private secretary-who would, while they stayed there, undergo the pitiless and prolonged regimen of coercion and bondage to turn her into a submissive, humble, obedient slave-bitch.

It was the middle of April, and night had fallen over the Arizona desert. The rich purple and orange and dusky red of the sun had tinted the yellowish ground, dappled the spruce trees, made weird shadows on the mountains and hrns and had its way with the gray buildings standing side by side and on the roof of the hangar.

Inside the main building, which might be called the "hotel," dinner was just ending in a magnificent refectory hung with great tapestry-like drapes which ran from ceiling to floor and covered the opaque glass full-length windows which, during the daytime, were left undraped so that the filtered light of the sun would be sufficient to illumine the room.

The table was rectangular and made of teakwood from India, the dishes were the finest Sevres that money could buy, as were the silverware and the wine goblets. The table could seat forty, but tonight there were only eight present, three men and five women.

At the head of the table by natural right Clement Borchard sat, wearing a black dressing robe with red belt and sandals. He, like the two other men at ihe table, was naked under that robe, and stitched over the left breast exactly over his heart was the insignia of the "Bondagers," a pair of handcuffs through which the stock handle of a whip was thrust.

One of the other men was none other than Granville Tomlinson himself, who, after having been rejected by Sheila, had telephoned his good friend Clement Borchard and then flown out the very next day to enjoy the hospitality of "Borchardville."

The third man was Magnus Fowler, a dissolute fifty-two year old Los Angeles industrialist, chairman of the board of a huge chemical manufacturing plant and now semi-etired, so that he might devote most of his time to the lecherous pursuits so dear to his sensual nature.

He was widowed, and had two sons enrolled at Stanford as engineers, and a fourteen-year-old daughter, who, with her governess, was attending a Swiss private girls, school

He was nearly bald, his face fat and unpleasantly obscene, with broad nose, thick lips, a double chin, and beady little eyes with bushy eyebrows. As he sipped a pony of Grand Marnier, he shot covert glances at his latest mistress, who happened to be his latest private secretary as well, and whom he had brought from Los Angeles two nights ago, purportedly to aid him in recording the minutes of a directors’ meeting.

He had quite another project in mind for Dorothy Selmers, and he could hardly wait to have the founder of the Bondagers announce an adjournment to the amphitheater building where her indoctrination into bondage and servitude were to begin.

The five women were all different and all intoxicatingly beautiful, beginning with Clement Borchard’s own brunette wife, Jane, who sat at his left. She wore a silver lame cocktail frock cut low enough to expose the upper halves of her round, closely spaced, firm titties, high-heeled pumps, and black leather gloves to the elbows; all she wore under the frock was a nylon-elastic garter belt whose tabs hooked to the tops of gossamer smoke-tinted nylon hose. She was thirty-one, of medium height, with a sweet, winsome face. Her full red mouth, Grecian nose, rounded, dimpled cheeks, and dark blue eyes gave to the first-time observer an impression of candor and sweetness.

Conversely, she was as perverse and cruel a sadist as might be found under this roof on this warm July night. She had married Clement Borchard six years ago, and he found her such an indomitable spirit that, although he had mastered her physically and taught her to respect the whip and shackles of servitude, he had granted her a kind of equality with him in ruling this little select colony.

Then there was Mrs. Eva Perkins, a silver blonde, Arnazonian beauty of thirty-two, five feet eight inches in height, wearing her hair in a coronet brad, with sumptuous pear-shaped titties set closely together and thrusting boldly against her gold lame frock, cut just as low as Jane Borchard’s, and wearing red leather elbow-length gloves and pumps of the same hue.

She was naked too under that frock, except for garter belt and hose. Her husband had died of a heart attack two years ago, leaving her heiress to an eight million dollar estate In Detroit.

He had been an ineffectual, timid man in the bedroom for all his blustering ambition and ingenuity in the motor car business.

Early in their marriage, Eva had taught him how to be her maid-slave and had even trained him to wear lingerie and a maid’s costume and to serve her at footstool, table, hammock, and to attend her at the toilet when she had to perform intimate and necessary functions.

With his death and the accumulation of his wealth, she had met Jane Borchard when the latter had visited an exclusive bordello in Paris, had been introduced to her by the sophisticated madame, and the two women had become fast friends. An invitation to join the Bondagers had subsequently followed, the fee for which was fifty thousand dollars, with annual dues set at ten thousand.

These funds, together with other sums raised by the charges to guests of members and proceeds earned from sale and training of slaves, were used by Clement and Jane Borchard in the rather risky and certainly expensive operation of sometimes abducting likely and attractive candidates for servitude. Also, in purchasing an arsenal of the most exotic and authentic flagellatory and bondage instruments and costumes and apparatuses.

The chef had been hired away from one of New York’s most exclusive restaurants to work the year round at "Borchardville." There was a hairdresser from Miami’ a beautiful Swedish masseuse from Stockholm and elderly dressmaker from Paris who could design special bondage costumes, dreses, lingerie, and restrain garments and turn them out in a workshop that had every modern convenience.

In a word, it was a private little realm in which every possible desire could be catered to in the utmost luxury and comfort and with an absolute minimum of risk of blackmail or exposure.

There was a movie room where the latest Holly wood films were shown, another room filled with rare, out-of print items which alone would have brought a fortune at auction to a discriminating connoisseur. There might he immediate enjoyment for the privileged guest or member making it unnecessary to leave his or her quarters to go to the amphitheater and the subjugation cells. Equiped with such devices as whipping benches, sawhorses, metal isoceles triangles, and other ingenious equipment on which the victim could he bound and posedd in the mostt erotic and exquisitely painful ways

It had everything.

Whipping benches!

Sawhorses!

Isoceles triangles!

leather whips!

Chains!

Was there anything it didn’t have?

Eva Perkins wondered.

Eva Perkins glanced casually at Dorothy Selmers, the unsuspecting private secretary of Magnus Fowler, and her thin lips tightened as her hazel eyes glowed with an endless desire. Although she was a dominatress over men, she had come here this weekend to buy a female slave who would gratify her in lesbian pleasures and serve her in all intimate things just as her own dead husband had once done.

She knew, however, that Dorothy Selmers was not for sale; Magnus Fowler had brought her here to break her in for himself. It could be true, of course, that all the guests present tonight would be able to enjoy Dorothy’s subjugation, but only for the time of their stay. Next Monday evening, Magnus Fowler planned to fly back to his palatial home in Beverly Hills and he intended to take back with him a thoroughly submissive, dominated slave-bitch, who would be Dorothy Selmers herself.

Dorothy was twenty-six, with ash blonde hair set in a chic guiche bob. Her face was oval, with large, closely set gray-green eyes, a dainty aquiline nose with very thin, flaring wings and a soft, ripe mouth, perhaps a trifle small and denoting a certain selfishness of temperament. Her skin was a pale milky tint that, Eva Perkins knew, would mark deliciously under the whip. She was five feet six inches in height, willowy, with small, orange-like titties that were very firm and exquisitely proportioned. But her bottom was what most excited Eva Perkins, for it was spacious, comprising two broad, tightly set, upstandingly firm ovals, and her long, gracefully sculptured thighs and high-set calves, complemented this very exciting physique which was ideally tempting to a flagellatory instinct of a bondager.

The other two women were sisters, both aggressive lesbians, the sole heiresses to a twenty million dollar estate left them by their doting father, who had been the living pillar of his church in New Hampshire and made his fortune in, of all things, cosmetics. He himself had inveighed against sinfulness and the idolatries of the flesh, little knowing that his two daughters in the room next to him spent their nights pussy-rubbing, sixty-nining, and seducing his own pretty young maids whenever they could.

The sisters, Melissa and Henrietta Lage, the former being thirty and a light brownette, her sister Henrietta being two years older and auburn, had come today for a female slave.

Clement and Jane Borchard had established a very exclusive coterie of thirty members of their cult, including themselves. Slaves for training and eventual sale often came through the auspices of the other members, as for example Magnus Fowler.

Indeed, only six months ago he had brought an orphaned girl, a pretty eighteen-year-old brunette whose guardian he had become, and callously turned her over to the Borchards for eventual sale to a Negro member of his cult, Lester Cowan, fifty-seven, a policy-racket king in the city of Atlanta. But since Cowan owned a ranch in a little Mexican province, his white slave was there under the supervision of his mistress and the foreman of his ranch, a sadistic Mexican who shared his Negro boss’s penchants.

When members wished to procure slaves, they would make their desires known to their host and hostess, who would then set into operation an elaborate plan for the abduction of a girl who would fit the description desired. The cost of this operation be bome by the eventual purchaser, to be sure. This evening for example, there were just two slave candidates ready for display and sale, and they were awaiting presentation in the amphitheater. Granville Tomlinson turned to his host and lifted glass of Bristol Cream. "Here’s hoping you can help out this time, Clement," he said eagerly.

Clement Borchard smiled as he lit a cigar. ‘It may be a little more difficult than our usual operation

Granville, but for the sort of money you’re 0ffering, I think it can be done. The girl lives by herself in an apartment on the North Side of Chicago, I understand."

"That’s right."

"Of course, we’d have to kidnap her, drug her, package her, and get her out to her Beechcraft, which would probably land at Meigs in Chicago’s lake. It would be touch and go, but I think it could be done. I have some contacts in Chicago, and of course our good membel, Mr. Tanner, lives in Evanston and would be able to help us with the matter. You really have a crush on this girl, don’t you’?"

"When I offered her the chance to become one of us, she thought I was a queer. She as much as said so. She’s a haughty redhead and, I suspect, extremely passionate.

"But you’re sure she’s a virgin?"

"it doesn’t matter whether she is or not. I want her as my slave now," Granville Tomlinson said, his lips tightening.

"Well, I would need a deposit of at least ten thousand dollars before I would consider doing anything at all about this, my young friend."

"I’ll write it out for you now, Clement. How soon do you think you can have Sheila Andrews here?"

"Within a week, if all goes well. But now let’s adjourn to the amphitheater and have some amusement."

CHAPTER THREE

Magnus Fowler rose from the table with a belch to signify his appreciation of the superb cuisine and the vintage wines which the imported chef had served, and winked meaningfully at Clement Borchard. In his robe and sandals, luxuriating to feel himself naked under it and with his prick already swollen in anticipation of what was to follow, he approached his attractive young mistress, Dorothy Selmers, and took her by the elbow. "Baby, I think you’ll appreciate a little entertainment our hostess planned in your honor," he murmured.

The ash-blonde young woman glanced nervously about and then confided in a tremulous whisper, "Magnus, darling, how long are we going to stay here? I just don’t like this place. We’re so far away from everyone, and I don’t know these people at all-"

"Oh but you will, my pet, I promise you. Besides, we shan’t be too long. I have to get back to the West Coast by next week to take care of a couple of mergers. Time will pass quickly, you’ll see. And I’ll be right here with you all the time." He slyly reached down with his other hand and patted her jouncy bottom, and Dorothy Selmers blushed. If truth be known, she was not particularly enthusiastic about being his mistress. In many ways he was coarse and boorish, and in bed he was particularly obscene. Virile he was, and she had no cause for complaint on that score, and she could grudgingly admit that he brought her to pussy-juicing almost every time they fucked. But his paunchy, corpulant body, his strong sweaty odor when he was fucking, and the smell of cigars and whiskey always clinging to him assailed her fastidious sensitivities. There was, of course, a great financial security for her; and since she had had some trying and anxious times in finding proper employment and had herself come from a none-too-secure family background, these advantages had outweighed for her tke physical distaste she had come to have for her portly lover, twice her age and, of course, old enough to be her father.

As for Fowler, himself, this disparity in their ages acted as a kind of spiritual fillip and gave him the notion that in fucking Dorothy Selmers, he was committing incest with his own daughter. It was one of the most powerful motives for the rekindling of a middle-aged or elderly man’s lusts, and indeed, this phenomenon might well explain the general tendency of all men of that age to prefer a far younger bed-partner when they went philandering. It was in a sense, a kind of whistling-in-the-dark defiance death and impotence and all the other penalties of age, in seeking to mate with young, soft, ardent flesh and to feel once more the resurgence of passions that belonged to a past youth.

But there were certain things about Dorothy Selmers which her employer-lover himself did not particularly like, and it was for this reason that he had decided to bring her to "Borchardville" to be subjugated, to be taught the humility and servility which comes of bondage and total helplessness, the absolute vulnerability to any form of punishment or sexual caprice which can be put in effect against a female rendered absolutely helpless to resist or even to know what awaits her.

She was at times flippant, almost disrespectful, and there were tirnes also when she was much too possessive and prying. She had on several occasions intimated that she would like to be Mrs. Magnus Fowler, and of course that was unthinkable. As a matter of fact, what Dorothy Selmers did not know was that he was planning to announce his forthcoming marriage within the next two months to a very handsome and extremely wealthy widow, whose socialite background and whose first husband’s fame as a leading military officer in the Korean policing action of the Fifties would solidify his position as head of his own industrial empire. Moreover, this woman, Eugenia Morgan, though forty-four years of age, was still exotically beautiful, and he had also discovered that e had certain proclivities towards sadism which matched his own. It would be in many ways a most dellghtful union. Indeed, as he led her out of the main building and on towards the amphitheater, Magnus Fowler was thinking how amusing it would be to have Bugenia and himself present in a mirrored bedroom with Dorothy Salmers servicing them both as a bondage and sexual vassal.

The two buildings were connected by an enclosed passageway

and Clement Borchard and his sensual wife Jane opened the door which led directly into the amphitheater building, to find two sturdy Negro guards awaiting orders. An electronic signal which Clement Borchard had pressed and which was located on the under side of the dining room table had already alerted the two men to await the arrival of Dorothy Selmers. "Good evening, Bud, John," the founder of the Bondagers pleasantly greeted the two guards. "Is everything ready?"

"Yes sjr," Bud, a heavyset, forty year old former wrestler, grinned and touched his forehead. "Misa’ Laura’s all ready. She got the other two gals in two whenever you want to see them"

"We’ll begin with someone new, Bud. You and John may as well take her off to Laura now and start the subjugation process

" Clement Borchard ordered.

He turned slightly to glance at Dorothy Selmers, who, with a terrible presentiment uttered a stifled cry and drew back. But at the sme moment Magnus Fowler put his rough palm to the middle of her back and pushed her forward, sneering, "Take her, boys, and don’t hesitate to give her the whip if she gives you any trouble!"

"Magnus darling-what does this mean-I don’t understand-" Dorothy Selmers stammered, very pale and trembling.

But already Bud and John, a wiry, thirty-five-year-old light-colored Negro, had seized her by the wrists and were dragging her away. Frantic with terror, her face turned back over her shoulder, she shrieked out, "Magnus-what are they going to do to me? Why are you doing this to me? What have I done? Oh, tell me, tell me!"

The two Negroes dragged her in front of a narrow door to the left along the main corridor, opened it and disappeared with her, and her despairing shrieks died away.

"I should almost like to watch Miss Laura operate," Magnus Fowler said, as he belched again and lit a fresh Havana Panatela. "But I know that she’s a perfectionist and likes privacy when she meets a new slave for the first time."

"Quite true, my dear Magnus," Clement Borchard put his arm around the fat industrialist’s shoulders. "Let’s meet her again in about twenty minutes, during which time we’ll be amused by some of our little cupbearers. Then you’ll see her out in the arena. It will have to be a crash course, since you intend to leave with her early next week, you know."

"I realize that. And she may give you some trouble. She’s quite an obstinate girl at times, I’ve found," the industrialist drawled.

The two Lesbian sisters, Mrs. Eva Perkins, Granville Tomlinson and the Borchards, along with Magnus Fowler, now turned to the right down the corridor and Clement Borchard pressed a button which slid back a door through which they passed. This led into the theater section of the arena. It had some fifty loge seats, luxuriously upholstered

and the theater itself was formed in a kind of circle. In the center, set off by ten-feet-high heavy wooden planking, was an arena such as one might have seen in the old Colosseum during the time of the Roman Caesars, when the Christian martyrs were fed to the lions, when gladiators battled for their lives and a prize of gold or freedom, when beautiful naked female criminals were staked out and mated with wild dogs, wolves or apes.

Dark earth, heavily packed

formed the ground for this arena. There were a few trees, a grassy knoll, and a sma11 creek4ike trough filled with water, vegetation, harmless watersnakes, frogs, carp and crabs. it was about six feet deep. Once every three months, the Borchards staged an elaborate "Roman orgy" for the wealthiest of their member-guests, who paid an additional, staggeringly high premium to watch a kind of restoration of those ancient Roman sports where actually such spectacles as a naked girl fighting for her three virginities would be pitted against one of the Negro guards, who would have one arm bound behind his back; or whip duels between two society rivals, the loser to become the other’s slave; and, on several occasions, the staking out of an obstinate girl to be fucked by a, dog specially trained by Miss Laura Haggerty, who served the Borchards as official trainer in this exotic realm in the heart of the Arizona desert.

Melissa and Henrietta Lage took their places in two front loges, holding hands and smiling at each other in sensual anticipation of what was to follow. The silver-blonde Eva Perkins, who felt herself superior to them, sat far to their left and by herself, while Jane and Clement Borchard occupied the largest front-row loges in the exact center of the little amphitheater, Granville Tomlinson being seated at Clement Borchard’s right. Magnus Fowler sat at Jane Borchard’s left, glancing round the enclosure and puffing at his cigar with keen relish.

Now through one of the side doors leading into the loge section, there appeared half a dozen charming young girls and women, all of them wearing diaphanous blue nylon robes belted with silver cloth and wearing high-heeled sandals. Under those robes, they were naked. Borchard turned back to watch them, and made several signs with his hand which signified the designation of slave-girl to guest.

At Granville Tomlinson’s side there now appeared one of these charining cupbearers, as the founder of "Borchardvilie" termed them. She could not have been more than fifteen, with a sweetheart-shaped face, her golden hair cut in helmet style, but her body was already sumptuous and enticing. Round, proudly firm, widely spaced titties, and slim waist that flared into surprisingly spacious hips and full round bottomcheeks. Her skin was a baby-pink, and there was a sort of wistful beauty to her lovely face, particularly in the servile look appearing in her widely spaced large sky-blue eyes as she knelt down beside the young brown-haired advertising man who had been Sheila Andrews’ fiance and was not resolved to have that coppery-redhaired beauty brought here to be trained and subjugated as a slave.

"My name is Cleo," the girl explained in a soft husky voice as she clasped her hands before her and looked meekly up at the handsome young executive. "I am your slave, master. How may I please you?"

Granville Tomlinson put out his left hand and stroked the golden head of the lovely teenaged slave-girl. He felt his prick harden and throb under his robe. He thought of haughty Sheila Andrews, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could already see her in the arena, naked except for sandals, her coppery-red hair tumbling down over one tear-stained cheek, while a naked Negro pursued her, one arm behind his back, a whip in his left hand.

"Suck my prick, pretty bitch," he commanded hoarsely.

"To hear is to obey, master," Cleo murmured softly. Then, squirming forward on her knees, since there was ample room between each loge seat and space again for each row of such seats to allow just such servicing, she reverently parted the folds of his robe, bowed her head and with her soft red mouth nuzzled the tip of his swelling prick. Then her soft lingers caressed his calves and thighs as delicately, at times darting the tip of her soft pink tongue over the lips of his aching ramrod, the teenaged girl began to French him until at last with a stifled cry, his head tilting back and his eyes rolling in their sockets, he burst his seed down her throat and imagined that it was Sheila herself who was thus homaging him.

CHAPTER FOUR

Bud and John had dragged the pleading, weeping Dorothy Selmers through a door which led in turn to a long and narrow passageway at whose end was what Clement Borchard called "the orientation chamber." Here, in a wide, soundproofed and thoroughly equipped room the size of about five average living rooms, the captives of the Bondagers were prepared for their new regimen of subjugation, discipline and pitiless training into servility and blind obedience. Laura Haggerty presided over all such indoctrinary sessions. And the Borchards themselves enthusiastically agreed that there was probably no better disciplinarian or bondage expert in the entire country, if only for psychological reasons.

For Laura Haggerty detested attractive girls and young women, and for excellent reasons. Now twenty-nine, five feet eight inches in height, her light brown hair styled in an imposing oval bun at the back of her head, her face cold and a classic cameo-like oval, she had once been the heiress of a five-million-dollar estate which her father, a Miami realtor, had left her. An orphan at the time of his death and only nineteen, having been brought up in a private school in Switzerland, Laura Haggerty was easy prey for a viciously cunning fortune hunter who wooed and won her, took her to Europe on a six-months tour of the capitals, buying her lavish gifts and making her so infatuated with him that she did not begin to question Where he had derived all the money he spent on this extravagant and overly generous tour. She had no way of knowing that he had approached the corrupt and sensual vice president of a Miami bank who had been appointed administrator of Laura’s estate and who, because of his own mania for gambling and women, had become heavily in debt. Laura’s husband artfully persuaded him how to milk the estate and promised the banker that he himself would cover up these losses by persuading his young, susceptible wife to transfer much of the estate over to himself.

This he accomplished while they were in Paris, taking her to an elegant bordello and there bringing. her under the influence of opium and morphine till she was addicted. While under the influence of these drugs, Laura was induced to prostitute herself to lesbians, Negroes, cripples and even, during one fantastic orgy, to three police dogs. Her husband took soundtrack movies of all these debauched sessions, and then had her "cured" of her drug addiction in an expensive private sanatorium in Zurich. When she emerged from the limbo of drug influence’, he cynically confronted her with the films and. told her they would be sold throughout Europe and the United States if she did not at once make a settlement with him. Horrified at the proof of her own depravity, Laura Haggerty tearfully capitulated. But not content with this, after her husband had forced her to sign waivers which transferred nearly half the estate over to him, he then had her flown, once again drugged, to the retreat of the Bondagers and sold her outright as a slave to the Borchards.

Jane Borchard, for once sympathetic, locked herself up with Laura Haggerty and spent a passionate night of girlfucking, to learn her story. She then offered the distraught beauty a chance for survival. At a spectacle in the arena the very next evening, for the benefit of a dozen wealthy members of the cult, Laura had been scheduled to fight against a powerful Negro who had one arm tied behind him If she could manage to elude him for half an hour, Jane Borchard promised her a chance to escape the ignominious servitude to which she had been consigned by her opportunistic husband. That marriage had lasted eight atrocious years, and it had only been when, certain that he could get no more out of her and tiring of her, he had decided to take her to this desolate Arizona hideout and callously dispose of her.

Strengthened by her own desperate determination to draw herself out of the morass of carnal servitude and bondage, Laura Haggerty had faced the Negro in the arena that next night. He had been a tall, heavily built man in his early thirties, and both their bodies had been greased to make the spectacle last longer. But, overconfident, he approached her at the very outset, intending to make a quick end to the struggle, and Laura, petrified with terror, had waited until he was almost upon her and then had driven her knee up into his crotch, smashing his testicles.

Jane Borchard thereupon offered her a position as trainer of slaves, and in return for this she signed a document which bound her, body and soul, to the Borchards. They, too, had movies which her faithless husband had turned over to them, and they promised her they would use these to blackmail her if she played them false. In two years she had become a renowned expert of training, subjugation, bondage and flogging, and many wealthy debauchees stipulated that any slave they bought must be trained by her before they would accept delivery.

As she confronted Dorothy Selmers now, her face impassive and her eyes cold, she was magnificently imperious in a one-piece red leather corselet which gusseted between her long, shapely thighs. She wore thigh4ong boots and shoulder4ength gloves of the same material and color and in her hands she held a three-thonged black leather martinet.

"This is the Selmers girl, Miss Laura," John explained, as he and Bud showed Dorothy Selmers forward and then stepped back to station themselves at the door which they had closed behind them their arms folded across their glistening chests, for they had disrobed and were wearing only sandals and jockstraps so as to be at their ease if their services were demanded in the conquest of this beautiful young blonde.

Laura Haggerty particularly detested blondes, because during the last year of her atrociously nightmarish marriage, her husband had openly paraded his nineteen-year-old golden haired mistress before her. Through those years which had followed the terrible downfall in Paris, he had kept her virtually a will-less, helpless slave by means of drugs. Only in the last year, when he decided to sell her to the Borchards, had he withdrawn them from her. She had gone through the unspeakable hell of a "cold turkey" cure, which had worked, but had left her devoid of energy and will, even the desire to be free of this monstrous trickster.

Once he had bound her to a chair, bent over the back which was turned so that she faced a huge bed on which he and his young mistress lay. He had thrust a rubber dildo with torturing spikes up to the hilt inside her asshole and gagged,, her with a leather pear gag, while forcing her to watch the two of them fucking together, and then see his young mistress sucking his prick to renew his potency for a second bout. He had made the girl give Laura a sound spanking with the flat of her hand, as one might do to a child, while he taunted her and told her of his plans to sell her as a slave and thus make a final profit on their marriage. The girl, relishing her power over her married rival, had begged him to let her torture Laura and use her as a slave. And under the whip, shackled and wearing bondage costumes, which her faithless husband had procured, Laura was compelled to gamahuch the young beauty, even to drink her urine and once, unforgettably, eat her feces. Because she had vomited that last time, her punishment had been even more agonizing: her husband had gone out into the street and brought home two brutal Negro roustabouts from the wharf, and one of them had been urged to bring along his own mulatress girlfriend. Then Laura’s husband and his mistress had watched avidly while Laura was doubleholed by the two Negroes while being compelled to gamahuch the mulatress, whipped, compelled to French both her ravishers, and otherwise tortured and abused. Her husband took movies of the entire scene and sold them to the Borchards.

It was no wonder, then, that Laura Haggerty, having recovered from her drug addiction, finding herself penniless, had seized eagerly the chance of rehabilitation, even if it meant criminal conspiracy with the wealthy couple who had founded this exotic bondage cult. She had become so proficient at her art that from time to time notable heads of white-slave operations in Asia and Europe and the Near East had flown to the desert locale to watch her a work and to observe her methods whiich they afterward employed with their own unfortunate captives.

Dorothy Selmers shrank back as she saw the cold stare of Laura Haggerty’s hazel eyes which held not a trace of warmth or compassion. "Miss," she began to stammer, "I don’t know who you are, but. please help me! I was brought here by my employer without any explanation and I’ve been taken by these niggers and brought to you-"

"Silence, you stupid bitch!" Laura Haggerty interrupted. And then, to Dorothy Selmer’s • incredulous horror, she stepped forward, raised the martinet, and swept the three pliant, glistening black leather thongs straight over Dorothy’s titties, stinging them diabolically through the thin faille frock, the sewn-in slip and nylon bra which covered them

With a shriek of pain and indignation, Dorothy Selmers clutched at her titties and recoiled, her eyes mad with fear and torment.

"You’ll speak when you are spoken to, and you’ll obey every order, or you’ll feel this, bitch!" came Laura Haggerty’s inflexible admonition. "Take off everything. I want you naked as a worm! And I wam you not to call Bud and John niggers again, or I will let them pay you back for the insult. At once-your clothes!"

"But why-why is this being done to me-please-I want to see Mr. Fowler-"

"Just once I will give you an explanation, and that will be all you’ll have. Mr. Fowler wishes you trained. He has delivered you here for that purpose and you will not leave this room until you have obeyed me. Do I make myself clear?" And before the astounded girl could answer, Laura Haggerty again swept the martinet across the young woman’s. titties.

With a sharp cry of pain, Dorothy Selmers turned and tried to flee, but the sight of the two Negroes standing there barring the door which was already locked by a secret mechanism from inside, halted her.

"Strip her naked, boys," Laura Haggerty commanded.

Dorthy Selmers shrieked and tried to fight, but they laughingly seized her and began to rip the expensive faille gown and the glossy satin slip from her lithe body, until at last she was down to bra and panties, garterbelt and beige nylon stocking and her pumps. In a few moments more, these too were torn from her, and she cowered on the floor, seated, her knees drawn up against her titties, locking her arms around her knees, staring up at them with stupefied, dilated, tear-blurred eyes while Laura moved around her like a cat studying its prey, the martinet upraised.

"A very pretty pose, but it’s not the one you’re going to take now. You’ll put on this costume which Bud will give you. On your feet!" Laura hissed, and the martinet slashed down across the milky back of the unfortunate captive. At once the angry bright-red splotches of the thongs stood out against the smooth naked flesh, and Dorothy Selmers scrambled to her feet with a cry of pain. Then suddenly, flinging herself on her knees and wrapping her arms around the dominatress’s thighs, she babbled, "Oh please, Miss, have mercy on me! I haven’t done anything to you! I want to go back home! Please! I promise I’ll never see him again-"

"I think," Laura interposed, "this little bitch needs a sound thrashing to learn once and for all to obey. Don’t you agree, boys?"

"She sho nuff does, Laura," Bud sniggered, his greedy eyes feasting on the cowering nakedness, the thick dark-blonde curls of pussy fur, the panting titties with their dainty coral buds, the jouncy bottomcheeks of the captive. And as Laura motioned to him, he moved swiftly to seize the frightened naked victim, seated himself upon a heavy footstool, dragged her onto his lap and then, clamping his right leg over her lower calves and tucking in her waist with his left arm he began to spank her milky naked ass with solid, sonorous blows that rang out in the soundproofed segregation chamber, and were punctuated by her shrill, hysterical cries.

Relentlessly he spanked, while poor Dorothy Selmers, her fists pounding against his heavy thigh, did all she could to twist and wriggle herself off his lap, but in vain. Her bottom jumped and jiggled each time his meaty hand smashed down on the shuddering nether globes, which soon turned from an angry red to a livid hue, piteously swollen and inflamed, so that each new spank was unspeakable torment to the naked sufferer.

At last she began to cry out for mercy, babbling in almost incoherent phrases, cut off by shrieks and wails as he continued the spanking, his hand descending vigorously about every five seconds without respite: "Owwahhrrr, please don’t, Oh, you’re killing me. Oowwwwooouuuuuu! !! have mercy-I can’t stand it any-ahhrrr!! only stop, I’ll do anything-ahrrrrr!! M-mercy, oh please, Miss Laura, I-owwuuu!!"

Laura Haggerty made a sign and the Negro at once halted the spanking, pressing his heavy palm over the flaming, shuddering cheeks of Dorothy Selmers’ burning ass. Bending down to the contorted, tear-drowned face of the lovely ash-blonde victim, Laura intwined her gloved fingers in the elegantly styled tresses of the unfortunate young woman and, twisting them yanked Dorothy’s face up till it was only inches from her own.

"Are you going to obey now? Are you going to do everything you’re told? Understand, if you don’t, I’m going to have you tied to that whipping post and I’ll let you have the martinet till you bleed. Answer me, bitch!"

And Dorothy Selmers hysterically capitulated.

Ignominiously, she was then trundled off Bud’s lap, landing on her blazing bottom with a scream of pain, but then quickly scrambling to all fours at Laura’s hissed command. Whimpering, tears running down her cheeks, she crawled forward to the dominatress, bowed her head and began to lick Laura’s boots, while Bud, kicking off his sandal, posed his bare right foot on the middle of her milky back as a token of triumph over this girl who had insulted his race.

"I think, Bud and John," Laura at last decided, "we shall put her astride the parallel bars with stretching dildoes up both her slits, and swab her down with itching powder. Then a little pussy- and tittie-whipping will let all our guest and honored employers observe how docile she has suddenly become."

"Great idea, Miz Laura! Let’s put her there!" Bud gruffly demanded.

"Just her bare skin this time. I think Mr. Fowler will buy some special bondage costumes to take back home with him after he has seen her presented formally," Laura Haggerty smiled. Bud smiled.

And so, not quite half an hour from the time that she had been led into this subjugation chamber, poor Dorothy Selmers, her eyes still drowned in tears, was led out by the two Negroes into the amphitheatre, and there in the arena where two parallel bars ran about six feet in length and at a little more than the height of an average man’s waist, found herself sitting straddled over them, leather thongs with buckling straps tightly circling her wrists, forearms and elbows. A solid rubber gag was fixed between her open jaws, and there were metal ankle-shackles clamped around her slim ankles to which were fixed cords which set into two heavy pegs fixed in the ground at either side of the two parallel bars, balancing her. Finally, from the ceiling of the amphitheater, a long pulley rope had been let down and this free end tied around her ash-blonde hair which had been gathered into a sheaf. So she could not fall, and she was supported with most of her weight bearing down on the cold steel bars which martyrized her tender cunt and asshole.

A gasp of admiration came from Magnus Fowler, who leaned forward on the edge of his loge, almost forgetting that a pretty girl, black haired and only fourteen, knelt between his thighs, industriously licking his balls and tickling them with her soft fingers. His mouth was agape, the extinguished cigar clutched between his fingers, while he watched John now shake a can of grayish powder all over the unfortunate young woman’s panting titties and down into the fleece of her cunt hole. Her gurgling moans were stifled by the rubber gag, but now her muscles began to jerk fitfully as the itching powder did its deadly work.

Laura now appeared in her dominatress costume, to thunderous applause. Bowing to the audience, and first of all to Jane and Clement Borchard, she approached the helpless girl with a curious little whip. Its handle was about six inches in length, and the lash itself only another six inches, made of the nerve of a bull pizzle, soaked and dried in vinegar and oil, to become murderously pliant. It was no thicker than a woman’s little finger, and depending on the angle and the vigor with which it was wielded, could inflict excruciating torment, especially when it was applied, as it was meant to be this time, on the erogenous zones of a captive’s body.

Standing at poor Dorothy’s left, Laura visited the victim’s heaving titties with twelve lashes to each shuddering globe. Mad with pain, her eyes rolling and revolving in her sockets, sweat laving her shuddering sides, Dorothy Selmers jerked and squirmed atop the parallel bars, whose cold round metal ground against her cunt and tender bottom-furrow, which had been exaggeratedly distended in this cruel straddle.

Then, moving very close in front of the unfortunate captive, Laura Haggerty began to apply deft little flicks which darted downwards, sending the pizzle right into the gaping pink crevice of Dorothy Selmer’s cunt. Then, in a frenzy of indescribable torture, roars and bellows and maddened shrieks being stiffled by the effective rubber gag, the naked young blonde jerked and squirmed, even jerking her head back to and fro, despite the agonizing twinges of pain this inflicted against her tender scalp. Magnus Fowler had two orgasms into the black haired girl’s tender young mouth while he watched this exquisite and pernicious presentation of a rebel who would submit now to the most demanding phases of bondage and captivity. For when Laura stepped back and made a sign, the Negro guard John approached to remove the rubber gag, Dorothy Selmers hysterically moaned in an almost inaudible voice, "I’ll do anything in the world, only have mercy! Oh, no more, please, I want to prove how good a slave I’ll be, Mistress Laura!" It was, indeed, an adaptation which Laura Haggerty had told the girl she was to say after she had been presented in the arena and had her tittie- and pussy-whipping.

"Terrific, Clement old boy!" Magnus Fowler panted as he glanced over to Clement Borchard, who himself was being serviced by a freckle-faced, saucy and very pretty fifteen-year-old auburn haired slave girl named Sally. "I’ve got to hand it to Laura, she never misses. I don’t think Dorothy will give me any trouble from now on. And I think we’ll turn her over to the guards for the night. I want them especially to make that cute little bunghole of hers a little wider so it’ll fit my prick!"

"It will be done, Mr. Fowler," Clement Borchard chuckled, and made a gesture to Laura Haggerty, who inclined her head respectfully. "You may take her away, Laura. And now, if you please, let us see the two slaves who are already trained and may be presented for sale."

Thus passed an evening at "Borchardville," the ultimate destination of unsuspecting Sheila Andrews.

CHAPTER FIVE

After Dorothy Selmers had been removed from the amphitheater and, at clement Borchard’s order, dressed in a one-piece red polished kid subjugation costume which covered her from neck to kneehollows, and had two specially attached dildoes with studded leather spikes along the shafts and lubricated with an irritant salve which had caused the unfortunate beauty to remain sleepless all night long, the young cupbearers circulated among the guests and the master and mistress of ‘Borchardyllie’ to serve liqueurs, little cakes, and glasses of Haitian coffee which oomprised two kinds of rum, cinnamon, strong black coffee and gobbets of whipped cream

Granville Tomlinson was titillated and fascinated hearing Clement Borchard’s order to Laura Haggerty for Dorothy Selmers’ special costume. "I should like very much to think of Sheila Andrews treated just this way, but I don’t think I’d like to have her two virginities just this way. You know what I mean. I wouldn’t like to have her two virginities taken by artificial phalluses," he said as he lit a cigar and then, the hands of the kneeling Cleo, who had already given him such a superb Frenching before the presentation of poor Dorothy Selmers in the arena. Bondagers chuckled. "Magnus Fowler simply wants his girlfriend’s asshole properly stretched so he can enjoy buggering when he gets back to the West Coast. Besides, it’s a kind of punishment and this salve-which is made from the gum of the jucca-has the special propensity of both her tender clefts. She will wriggle and twist all night long, and of course the tight-fitting leather sheath will make her perspire. "Sheila is perfectly proportioned, and I wouldn’t change an ounce," the advertising executive said with a nostalgic sigh of envious anticipation. "Will she be gagged and blindfolded all night long too?" He was eager to know the answer. He felt an erection building. His imagination rolled on. He almost forgot where he was. Then he caught himself. Clement began.

"To be sure. A special helmet will be added to the sheath. There will be a rubber gag in her mouth and two tiny slits in the mask, also made of kid, will allow her to breath through her nose. There are no slits for the eyes, so she will see nothing. It will thus, for at least eight hours, unless of course, Magnus Fowler decides to have her conveniently brought to his quarters before breakfast time. The helpless sensation of being able to do nothing about her bondage and to have to wait with growing anxiety for her master to come release her or give her additional torments, according to his good pleasure. This, indeed, is the very credo of the Bondagers, Granville."

"I understand that. It is one of the main reasons I have decided to become one of you, Clement."

"I applaud your sentiments and good taste, Granville. Now Laura has our two new slave candidates ready for demonstration. I have no doubt that those sisters are ready to buy the girls, unless of course Eva Perkins outbids them. But since they are as wealthy as she is, it should be a very interesting and, I should add, profitable transaction."

With this, Clement Borchard leaned’ back in his loge and a pretty fourteen-year-old auburnhaired girl named Nelda, who wore only blue high-heeled pumps, matching blue kid shoulder-length gloves and bluish-black nylon hose with a blue satin elastic garterbelt around her slim waist, but was otherwise creamy-naked, knelt down and plunged her head under his robe and began to lick his balls with her nimble, soft pink tongue. His beautiful wife Jane, beside him looked over approvingly, and then sighed languorously as a girl no older than Nelda, but this one honey-haired in a very mannishly short bob and wearing exactly what Nelda did but in the color of green, knelt down, put her head under Jane Borchard’s robe and began to lick Jane’s inner thighs abdomen, and finally after much deliberate teasing, her ardent cunthole.

Once again Laura Haggerty appeared in her boots, gloves and gusseting corselet, brandishing a long thin silken carriage whip whose tapering thong was studded with little knots all along the last three feet. It was toughened silk, chemically treated, and it would not tear the delicate skin of a naked tittie or thigh or bottonccheek, but it could sting with the most exquisite perniciousness. If it were flicked into a girl’s cunt (and Laura was an expert flagellatress), it could produce unspeakable, lingering torment. Many a slave-candidate brought to "Borchardville" could testtiy to the truth of this statement! And, indeed, many of the most obstinate, who had refused servitude and had sworn they would rather die than surrender themselves as body slaves to a master or mistress who had purchased them on the auction block, had been known to capitulate under two or at most three flicks of the diabolically innocent-looking whip when its tip was darted right between their strainingly yawning thighs.

The results were nearly always successful.

Laura Haggerty bowed to her small but select audience, lifted a silver whistle dangling from a chain around her neck and blew three blasts. At the back, from the narrow door from which Dorothy Selmers herself had emerged into the arena, came Bud and John, naked except for sandals and jockstraps, their bodies glistening a dark ebony and chocolate color under the blaze lights from the very ceiling-top of this miniature replica of the ancient colosseum. A murmurr of interest rose from the spectators as it was seen that the two Negeoes were drawing what looked to be an animal cage on wheels behind them. It was a long cage, and in it were two naked young worn, blindfolded, wearing only black leather pumps and elbow-length black leather gloves.

The cage was drawn to the center of the arena, the two Negroes swung open one of the doors and commanded the two captives to crawl out, They helped the young women down and led them out to face the Borchards, Eva Perkins, the two Lage sisters, Magnus Fowler, and Granville Tomlinson. The pretty young cupbearers also watched, with mingled emotions which they tried to hide from their exquisite young faces. Clement and Laura Haggerty had tried to impress on all these nubile teenagers the absolute necessity for maintaining at all times the most cheerful, radiant and happy disposition, in lieu of which there would be serious punishments. Cleo, for example, the girl who had serviced Granville Tomlinson so ably with her mouth and tongue, had only last week received fifty lashes with a birch rod on her titties and belly, the last five cuts being applied right down between her legs on her tender cunt, for having grimaced with distaste when she had watched Bud fight a whip duel with a handsome divorcee of twenty-eight, who had been abducted at the wish of a wealthy Bondager member whose proposal to be his mistress she had indignantly rejected.

It was seen that the two naked women had had their pussies completely shaved, not a sprig of hair there or in their armpits being visible. One was about five feet eight inches in height, with short bobbed light-brown hair, while the other was perhaps five feet four inches, somewhat plump but younger, with a sweet heart-shaped face, full melon-like titties which were almost a size forty, and a magnificent bottom, ideal for the whip. She was black haired and wore her hair in a youthfully girlish pageboy with the ends turned under.

"May I present, ladies and gentlemen,’ Laura Hagerty declaimed, "Susan Talmadge, the brownette, age twenty-seven, and Myrtle, the brunette, twenty-two and her sister."

Henrietta and Melissa Lage leaned forward, exchanging a greedy look between them. Eva Perkins, the stately coronet-braided blonde, gave them a sneering look and then picked up a pair of mother-of-pearl decorated binoculars and trained them on the two naked sisters. It was evident that her passions were aroused, for with her other hand she quickly summoned Bertha, a fifteen-year-old naked, young sandy-haired cupbearer who was rather boyish-looking with slim hips, tightly spaced oval asseheeks, small orange-like titties, and a very milky skin. Bertha at once knelt down, thrust her head under Eva Perkins’ robe and began to caress the woman’s inner thigh and abdomen with her soft fingertips, applying an occasional lingering kiss on the naked flesh but prolonging the moment when she would attain Eva’s cunthole.

"Where the devil did you get so many charming little bitches to act as body servants?" Granvilie Tomlinson murmured to his host.

"Mostly from orphanages, my friend. In several imtances, Jane and I adopted them, and in others, some of our good members went through the legal formalities of acquiring guardianship. We made sure, of course, that not one of them has any living kin or anyone who can possibly identify them or seek to trace them. The youngest girl was brought here at the age of twelve and trained personally by Jane herself-that is Cleo, whom you seem to favor so much. She’s a very charming girl, and even at twelve, I can assure you, was particularly adept with her mouth and tongue. She does, however, have a certain penchant for her own sex, which is understandable because of her early affiliation with my wife. But a few good thrashings have helped convince her that it is equally essential to flatter and serve a male member and guest just as diligently."

"Just so. And you actually think that Sheila Andrews can be made into such a pliant, docile creature?"

"There’s no doubt about it, Granville, I could promise you, for example, that within a week of her arrival here, your obstinate dream girl will be quite ready to suck off Bud and John before all our assembled members, and then, if need be, to service with her mouth and tongue and fingers each of the occupants of these loges."

"Incredible!"

"Not incredible at all. Simply skill and the will to dominate, combined in our own credo of pleasure for the dominator and dominatress," Clement Borchard pleasantly explained.

The two blindfolded naked sisters stood with arms at their sides, visibly trembling, awaiting orders. Clement Borchard explained in a low whisper to Granville Tomlinson, "It is most interesting how we obtained possession of these two slave candidates, my dear friend. They were the only heiresses to a large fortune left by a spinster aunt some two years ago. Their parents died when they were about ten, and this aunt raised them. They had no interest in men or in women either, but they had an obsessive interest in garnbling. One of our members owns a casino in Las Vegas, and when I intimated to him that we needed some female slaves to be sold to our, more Sapphically

oriented members, he made it his business to have these young ladies lured to his place of operation. They lost a great deal of money, nearly all their aunt’s fortune, and then it required only a little more ingenious persuasion to persuade them to try again. They lost again and went very heavily into debt, and when they were confronted with the information that they would either have to pay up at once or take the consequences, they accepted selling themselves to clear the debts-particularly as our good friend and associate trumped up a nasty little scandal which would have blackened their names forever. It seems that they were caught in bed with a thirteen-year-old boy and his twelve-year-old sister. It would have meant disgrace beyond repair, and so they willingly surrendered themselves."

"And so they’re both virgins?"

‘Precisely. But since it is my own purpose to direct the sale to its most prosperous con4usion, I have decided they will fight a whip-duel and the loser will be fucked and buggered by Bud and John, in whatever respective order our two estimable Negro guards prefer to enjoy. Thus I think the winner will probably be bought by either Mrs. Perkins or the two Lage sisters, while the loser would undoubtedly fall to somebody like our estimable West Coast industrialist. If he isn’t interested, she. can be held over until next weekend when I expect to have at least a dozen more guests at Borchardville."

Then, raising his voice, the handsome and perverse master of’ this secret domain, called out, "’Aura, you will acquaint the Talmadge sisters wlth the facts of the duel they are about to engaged in.,’

At once, Mr. Borchard." Laura Hagerty bowed. Then, turning to the blindfolded young women, she haughtily explained, "You are going to be given whips, and you will fight each other. The first one to beg for mercy will at once be obliged to give her body to our two Negro guards, Bud and John. I would also advise each of you, since they are not exactly gentle when they have a white woman at their mercy, to try your utmost to emerge victorious. Give them the whips, boys!."

The two Negroes smilingly approached, each holding a six-foot-long carriage whip of tapering, polished black leather, split at the end for about three inches into two notched tips to impart a vicious sting to the lashes handle with about four inches in length, of double thickness and sturdy in grip. John obliged the older sister to take hold of her whip and then led her by the left wrist my from the petite and younger brunette beauty.

They were about five feet apart from each other, and were made to face each other

at right angles to the loges, and then Laura cried out, "Begin! You are about five feet apart from one another, your whips are six feet long, and you know the rules One last word - if either of you is too timid, John and Bud will encourage you with their own five-thonged martinets on your bare breasts and bottoms!"

Indeed, the two powerful guards had already seized these weapons and had planted themselves near the two naked, trembling, blindfolded young women,

but out of rangg of the long ladies with which they were about to duel.

Myrtle spoke. "Oh please, must we do this?" she Quavered. No one spoke, but John, with a soft Chuckle, approached with his martinet and slashed it Straight over her plump, olive-sheened ass. With a Shriek, she put her left hand back to rub the burning Flesh, and then, taking a step backward, drew back the Long whip and swung it wildly out. It fell short of its Mark, but the older brownette, having been thus warned of what might befall her too, if she proved hesitant in this duel, drew back her own right arn and snapped out the whip. At the last minute, she jerked her wrist, and the split tip of the lash caught her sister squarely on the collarbone with an angry crack. Myrtle Talmadge uttered a cry of pain and moved to rub the already flaming mark, then moved her body slightly and tentatively to the right, since both young women had been warned that to attempt to take off the blindfold would subject them to immediate and severe whippings.

Then she swung out her whip to her left, and this time the lash coiled around Susan’s waist like a deadly serpent, emblazoning its mark on the pale milky skin. Susan Talmadge uttered a wail of pain, seemed to twist and squirm herself until the lash slithered away, and then stepped forward and flicked the whip out again, this time with even a more successful aim. The two split tips of the black leather thong darted right into the younger woman’s bellybutton. A harrowing scream rang out as Myrtle Talmadge clutched at her navel with her left hand and very nearly dropped her own whip, almost squatting as she tried to shake off the atrocious sting of the lash.

"Give it to her! Give it to her!" Henrietta hissed to the brownette, her eyes blazing.

Thus encouraged, the older sister took a step forward, but this time swung out her lash in a wide arc. The thong coiled around her sister’s thighs with a cruel crack, and again Myrtle Talmadge screamed and tried to shove the coils away with her left hand, then swung out her own whip blindly. The tip of her lash caught Susan on the edge of her left shoulder, and a gasp of pain was drawn from her. Intrepidly, she advanced again and once more swung her whip in a wide circle, then flicked her wrist. The black leather thong wrapped itseff over Myrtle’s melon-like titties and the split tips of the lash bit against the under- side of her left boobie.

"Arrrrrrrgh..."

A prolonged shriek of pain attested to the atrocious suffering caused by this stroke, and the brunette this time dropped her whip and sank down on her knees, rubbing her titties frantically as great tears rolled down her cheeks.

Put up your whip, you stupid bitch and use it!" Laura Haggerty hissed. And once again Bud advanced and slashed his martinet down across the brunett’s shuddering, perspiring back and shoulders. With a new cry of pain She scrambled to her feet, pantingly moving to the right and trying to peer through her blindfold, let the whip fly out in a vicious circular arc. This time it was her turn to be successful, as her lash wrapped around the brownette’s body just below her tittles, and a shrill cry of pain encouraged her to drag back the whip and flail it out again Once again with miraculous good fortune, her whip attained her older sister’s body, this time wrapping around the carnation-tinted bottomcheeks, while the two split tips nipped the upper left thigh. Susan Talmadge shrieked, sturnbled back, lost her footing and sprawled on her back.

"After her, She’s down, She’s down!" Melissa Lage screamed to the petite brunette.

Thus guided by the sadistic lesbian member of the Bondagers, Myrtle Taimadge began to swing her whip out and down, and two of her lashes slashed over the brownette’s belly and loins before the latter could scramble to her feet, retrieve her whip and swing it out defensively. The tips stung against Myrtle’s collarbone, momentarily halting her advance and drawing a Shriek of pain as She clutched the agonized spot where the lash had kissed.

"Now you have her-give it to her’ Henriette entreated the brownette, whose tall beauty lustfully excited her.

Furiously the brownette swept out her whip and was rewarded by her sister’s "Ahrrr! Not between my legs, for God’s sake, Susan’."

Pick up your whip, you stupid bitch, and use It!" commanded Laura Haggerty.

She lashed out at her cunt whose unfleeced and unprotected pink lips, fleshy, soft and enticing, were supremely vulnerable and enhanced in all their lascivious beauty by the glazing lights of the amphitheater.

She screamed

Once again encouraged by this knowledge that her whip was finding its mark, the older sister swung it this way and that in a kind of feverish anxiety to save her own tender flesh from the torment. By now she had forgotten the blood relationship between them, forgotten everything except emerging victorious and saving herself from the odious rut of the two Negro guards. Three times her whip slashed over the brunette’s belly and titties and , at last conquered, the petite younger woman flung herself down on her belly, waillng,"I give up. I can’t stand it."

"After her, she’s down," screamed Melissa

"Stop!" Laura Haggerty commanded. "John, Bud. Take that brunette bitch as you prefer!"

Myrtle Talmadge begin to swing her whip out and down

The girl could have at once scrambled to her

t, retrieved her whip, and swung it out defensively.

But her dilated, humid eyes nonetheless followed what next ensued. Bud and John dragged the whimpering, sobbing petite brunette to her feet, ripped off her blindfold, and then John, cupping her big titties, gouged his prick into her hairless cunthole, breaking her hymen with a single rutting dig. Even as she shrieked her pain, John, behind her yawning open her ass-cheeks with his big fingers, crammed his prick into the dainty furtive rosebud of her asshole, and both Negroes began to doublehole the wailing, pleading naked victim.

"Now you have her-give it to her!" Henriette entreated, covering her scarlet, tear stained face with her hands, weeping hoarsely and convulsively, her shoulders shaking. Then Clement Borchard rose and announced, "I proclaim Susan Talmadge the winner of this whip duel. She is now on sale to bids!"

"Twenty thousand dollars," Henrietta Lage promptly cried out.

"Twenty-five," Eva Perkins countered, with a malicious look at her rival.

"Thirty-five!" Henrietta hissed, returning the look with an even more venomous intensity.

Eva Perkins frowned, then shrugged. "She’s not worth that, she’s ungainly and too impetuous. You may have her, dear Henrietta," she purred.

"Sold! To Henrietta Lage, for thirty-five thousand dollars," Clement Borchard announced with a smile. "And now, Myrtle Talmadge is offered for sale. Perhaps you, Miss Melissa Lage?"

"No, thank you. I don’t want a bitch that has been dirtied by men," the younger lesbian sister sniffed in disdain. Granville Tomlinson, aroused by the show and the attention Cleo was giving to his prick, feeling her soft fingers caress and tickle his inner thighs and balls, suddenly called out, his voice hoarse and thick with rut, "Ten thousand!"

There were no other bids, and so Clement Borchard good naturedly said to Laura, "you will take these girls away, have their wounds salved, given a good sedative and then brought to the suites of our members, Mr. Tomiinson and Miss Henrietta Lage, by noon tomorrow. I trust that is satisfactory?"

CHAPTER SIX

Sheila Andrews had spent an extremely trying two weeks since her last date with Granville Tomlinson. She hadn’t really meant what she told him-that she never wanted to see him again. But the very next morning, when she’d come down to the reception desk and started work for the day, his secretary had come ‘by and mentioned that he’d phoned her at home that morning and said he was taking a leave of absence. And now it had been two long weeks without a letter, a phone call, or even a wire. As a matter of fact, his secretary had mentioned just this morning that not even the big boss knew where Mr. Tomlinson was. There apparently wasn’t any worrying about him, and he strn had his job, at last accounts.

Still and all, it annoyed the lovely twenty-three.year.old coppery.redhaired virgin. It was a kind of affront to her pride and self-esteem. After all, they had been engaged, she had agreed to marry him, and then had come that dreadful, cynical and almost indifferently casual proposition of his while they were dining. If only he’d said to her something that had reassurance to it, maybe something like "Sheila dear, we’re going to be married soon, but I just can’t wait, I’m so crazy in love with you. Can’t we enjoy each other and pretend it’s our wedding night?" Something romantic like that, because, heaven knows, she was all ready and squirming to belong to a man.

Of course she was a virgin, but by now her healthy, latently ardent nature had begun to reassert itself. She’d almost been sleepless every night of these past two weeks, and only by resorting to what she had done as a girl in high school, frigging herself to sleep, had she been able to rest. There was so much about her that Granville didn’t know. If only he’d been a little patient, because with her strict upbringing she’d been taught that you gave yourself entirely, body and soul, to your husband and to nobody else. Maybe that was why she’d subconsciously seemed to hold back when Peter Blount, back in college, had very nearly taken her cherry. She’d really wanted him to, if truth be known. And then when her civics teacher had taught her how girls can have fun together pussy rubbing and sixty-nining, way back in high school, she’d known that she had hot blood and would one day have to take care of it or perhaps go down the primrose path and perhaps wind up as a call girl.

Tomorrow would be Memorial Day, and the office would be closed. She felt out of sorts, left out and isolated. There wasn’t really a soul, except maybe her mother’s first cousin way off in Boston, who had written her a polite note of condolence at the time of her parents’ death. There wasn’t really anyone in the world who cared what she did, and the realization brought Sheila Andrews up short. Maybe she could get in touch with Granville, try to explain things. It wasn’t easy for a girl who’d been trained that marriage was everything and that you gave yourself to just one man for life,.so he certainly must understand why she had reacted so violently. And if she could explain that she really wanted to be his, all his, and it was only indifference and the casualness he had shown in wanting to go to bed with her that had brought about this triggered reaction.

The day dragged wearily, and finally it was over. On impulse, just before leaving the office, she dialed his number, but there was no answer. And it was suddenly very dark outside for five o’clock, even with daylight saving time in effect and it would mean a sudden thunderstorm. Fortunately she was able to hail a cab as she walked out of the building lobby and with a sigh of relief, leaned back and closed her eyes. She remembered when she had been a little girl back in that farm town and there’d been a terrible thunderstorm, and she’d huddled herself deep down under the sheets and shuddered every time there was a clap of thunder, and suddenly there’d been a strange feeling tingling all over her, and she’d keep pressing herself and continued to rub, and then there was that first time she had learned about pussy rubbing and frigging, and she’d been just twelve.

But it wasn’t only that, she remembered. He had wanted her to join some sort of crazy club in which there was swapping, and that was just intolerable. How could he respect and love her, even marry her, if he expected her to give herself to others, she who had held herself back from Peter Blount, even though her pussy had wildly churned at the thought of being fucked that memorable night? She shivered and opened her eyes as the driver turned to tell her they had arrived at her apartment building. Shaking her head, blinking her eyes to dismiss the foolish daydreaming, she paid and tipped him, then walked into the lobby, saw there was no mail in her box, and opened the door which let her into the self-service elevator. Momentarily, she thought it was a good idea to have this locked door to prevent robbers or rapists from getting in and frightening the tenants. This was one of the reasons she had taken an apartment here.

When she got into the elevator, she pressed the button for her floor, then rummaged in her purse to find a cigarette, and lit it. The door opened noiselessly, and she went down the hall to her apartment and went inside. Out of force of habit, she turned the lock and at that moment a clap of thunder made her shiver again, almost remembering that night back on the farm.

It would be wonderful to take a hot bath, to wear just a silken robe against her quivering naked body, to have dinner by candlelight with a man like Granville Tomlinson, and then to lie in his arms with his mouth fixing on her titties and moving down to her pussy, her inner thighs, rousing all the deepest emotions within her until she was overwhelmed by them and had to surrender. What a night it would be to begin a honeymoon!

She hadn’t turned on the lights, but had sprawled on the couch and leaned back, emotionally drained from all this anxiety. Of course he’d been joking. She’d read about such things in the newspapers and in books about wife-swapping clubs, but she’d always believed they were made up and emotionalized just for sensation’s sake. The women must be terribly cheap and the men nothing but filthy lechers, and there couldn’t be any love or constancy.

Then, slowly she rose, shrugged off her light spring coat, took off her felt turban, and moved into the kitchen. She didn’t want to go out tonight. She’d made do with a frozen TV dinner. And then as she flicked on the light, she uttered a cry and stood rooted to the spot, her eyes huge with disbelief.

A tall Negro was standing there, immaculately dressed in an expensively tailored suit made of English broadcloth, wearing spats, and beside him was a tall, light-brown-haired woman with a pure oval shaped face, her eyes cold, her lips thin.

"Who- what-" Sheila Andrews gasped, hardly able to speak from shock.

"You’re Sheila Andrews?" the woman demanded.

"Yes, but- but- I don’t understand. Who are you? How did you get into my apartment?"

"Go ahead, John," the brownette crisply ordered.

The light-colored, wiry Negro had taken a small hypodermic needle out of his coat lapel pocket. Before Sheila Andrews could realize what was happening, he had seized her left wrist, twisted it around, and pressed the tip of the needle in, then forced home the plunger. She uttered a stifled cry, broke loose of him, then staggered back against the cupboard, a hind to her forehead.

"What are you doing-I don’t understand-who are you-oh my God-oh, what did you d-ohhhh-" Suddenly her eyes were blurred1 the sound of her own voice was distant, and she thought she heard a faint chuckle and then. she crumpled to the floor.

Laura Haggerty nodded. "It worked very well this time, John. Now get her ready. I’ve got the car in the parking lot. You think you can get her down without being seen?"

"I can sure try, Miss Laura."

"On second thought, it might be a good idea for me to go along too. Put her hat and coat back on. We’ll walk her between us, and if anyone says anything, we’re taking her to the hospital. She’s taken an overdose of sleeping pills. There isn’t a front desk or anything around, except maybe a maintenance man. I think it’s worth the gamble. But be careful. Her boyfriend doesn’t want her scratched or harmed."

"I’ll handle her like she was Dresden china, Miss Laura," the Negro chuckled, as he bent down and lifted Sheila’s inert body. A few minutes later, Sheila Andrews was being led, her head fallen forward, her eyes closed, between the two of them down the service elevator to the main floor and thence into the parking lot where a black Cadillac awaited.

"Drop me at Meigs Field, John. We’ll put Sheila aboard, and let Mr. Rolfe and his assistant, Mr. Dennison, fly her back safely. You and I will turn the Cadillac in at O’Hare and then fly back at midnight. By noon tomorrow Sheila’s anxious admirer will be giving us orders, I’ve no doubt, to start the training. And I for one can’t wait to be alone with her."

"Me neither, Miss Laura," again the Negro chuckled.

Sheila Andrews opened her eyes, and turned her head. She felt weak, almost nauseated. But there was nothing but darkness around her and she groped with her hand, finding herself in a kind of narrow cot, but with a thick mattress; Then, suddenly remembering she sat up with a cry of terror, warily lowered her feet to the floor and stood up. Then she uttered a still louder cry, for she was naked as the day she was born.

"Oh my God, what-what’s happened to me-where am I?" she gasped. She moved cautiously forward, groping with both hands, till she brushed against a wall. It was made of stone, and as she traced her surroundings, she found herself in a narrow cell not much larger than a spacious closet. She reached the door, found it made of heavy metal and, with growing fear and anxiety, clenched her right fist and hammered till she winced with pain, crying out for someone to come. But there was not a sound around her save that of her own crying and her own fist on the door. The cell was soundproofed. She was a captive-but where and of whom? Her heart was pounding rapidly, and the weak feeling still permeated her. Slowly she sank down on her knees, covered her face in her hands and began to cry softly. It was terrifying. And that Negro and that woman-who could they have been? Now she remembered how the Negro had stuck a needle into her wrist-he had drugged her, and that was how they had got her here. But where was here? And why? What was the purpose of this?

After her fit of tears, she slowly rose and found her way back to the cot, sank down on it and tried to rest. But sleep would not come again. Then she heard a faint sound, like a click. But she did not know that in the corridor outside, pressing back a panel which allowed him to peer through a panel of one-way glass, Granvilie Tomlinson was outside, trembling with impatience. And then suddenly a brilliant, blinding light seemed to fill her cell, for he had pressed a little button near the catch which sprung the panel back which allowed him to peer through the narrow rectangle.

He caught his breath at the sight of her, the dark auburn, thick, curly fleece over her cunt, her magnificent titties, the full womanly thighs, the juicy bottomcheeks, and the haughty face now taut with terror. He felt his prick harden savagely and it was all he could do to keep from having the door unlocked and then and there flinging her back on the cot and fucking her mercilessly.

She would be his wife, yes, but more than that, she would be his body-slave. For a long time he studied her, saw her lips move, then saw her run to the door and beat upon it with both fists. He could not hear her, nor of course could she see through that :1 panel. And then at last he turned off the light and walked back to his chamber. He had bought petite Myrtle Talmadge, but during his two weeks at Borchardville, he had used her sparingly. That first night, after her loss of the whip duel with her sister, he had first had her hurts salved and then she had been taken to his bedchamber. There, arming himself with a thick leather strap, he had had her undress him, and then on her knees, the strap held over her, she had put her soft tongue to his thighs and finally to his balls and prick.

Already conquered by the whip, the pretty brunette had made no protest and his left hand had twisted in her hair, forcing her over to the bed and onto her back, and when he had savagely mounted over her and dug his prick into her to the balls, she had made still no complaint. She had submitted passively, whimpering in pain because the stinging cuts of her sister’s whip lashes still hurt her in spite of the salve. His gouging fingers and his ravening lust had hurt and frightened her: as well, and yet her nature was inherently passive and his vigor had conquered her. Several times as he had fucked her, he had muttered the name of "Sheila," and she had rightly thought to herself that somehow she epitomized for him that unknown woman who so haunted him.

Perhaps three more times during the weeks which followed the memorable night in the arena, Granvllle Tomlinson had exercised the rights of a master over the young brunette. Tonight, however, unable to sleep with the knowledge that the one woman who had excited his lust beyond any other was here and at his mercy, his own property, bought and paid for, had imbued him with an insatiable fervor.

He wore the silken robe with the insignia of the Bondagers, and rubber-soled sandals. Noiselessly he went back to the main building and to his quarters. His slave-bitch slept at the foot of the bed on a thickly carpeted floor. She was naked except for black opera-length nylon hose, held tightly and without wrinkle on her lusciously rounded, plump thighs by a purple satin-elastic garterbelt, and there were high-heeled purple leather pumps on her dainty feet. She lay on her side, he right cheek curled in both hands, her body curled in the fetal position of classic repose. Her pussy fur, having been short for the whip duel in the Arena, had just begun to grow back, but it was still straggly and soft and it could not hide the fleshy pink lips of her cunt, presented like a ripe fig between those voluptuous thighs. The shadowy, ambery groove between her juttingly rounded asscheeks, suggested its own lascivious mysteries. He flung off his robe, his prick massive and aching with pent-up lust. Then, arming himself with the broad black leather strap which had a loop for the wrist as grip, he applied a sonorous whack against both naked upturned bottom summits.

The sound of leather against naked woman flesh

was salacious and satisfying.

Myrtle Talmadge awoke with a cry of pain and fear, and, seeing him glowering over her, scrambled at once to her knees and clasped her hands, her eyes huge and questioning, anxious tears already blurring them.

"F-forgive me, M-master, I guess I fell asleep. Please don’t punish me for that."

"So long as you are awake now, Myrtle, it’s of no matter. I want to whip you first before I have you. Very severely, though I shan’t draw blood as your sister did in the arena," he told her.

The naked olive-skinned brunette uttered a stifled gasp, then lowered her head meekly. "1.. .1 am your slave, M-Master," she quavered.

Granville Tomlinson shuddered with ecstasy at hearing this abnegation. For him it was almost as if Sheila Andrews herself had uttered these fateful words. And the knowledge that it would take exquisite time and torments to compel his fiancee to mouth that very same formula, filled him with a rapture that only the true sadist can experience, a kind of glorified power that is limitless, that knows neither time nor realm but is consummate and all-omnipotent in its very self.

"I’m pleased with you, Myrtle," he said roughly. "One word of comment about your future, you lovely big-tittied bitch. I plan to marry a girl who will share the slavery that you now have to endure. But she will be very much like you as a slave and I shall expect both of you to obey me implicitly. There will be times when I shall command you to make love to her. Have you ever made love to another woman?"

"N-no, M-master," she stammered, blushing violently.

"You will learn how to do it. And of course if your service has flaws, they will always meet the whip to teach you improvement. Perhaps one day, knowing your background, I may let you gamble for your freedom. But not quite yet, not until I have enjoyed my purchase of you to the fullest."

A look of desperate hope rose to her dark, troubled, humid eyes as she stared at his handsome, flushed and tauted face. Passive by nature, aside from the compulsive gambling urge which had ruined both herself and her sister and brought them both to Borchardville, Myrtle Talmadge had already begun to apply herself to this enigmatic, young and superbly virile man’s will, much as a chameleon takes unto itself the pigmentation and coloring of its setting.

As for Granville Tomlinson, he stared greedily down at her, his eyes feasting on the ripe round melon-like globes of her swelling titties, on the dusky aureolae and their tumescently ripe nipplebuds, and on her warm satiny olive skin. The fact that she was petite and Sheila tall by comparison delighted him for he would thus have a ready made harem to his will. And though he planned to have Sheila trained to such a pitch of perfected humility that she would without hesitation yield her body to any other man or woman who lusted for it, he knew all the same that first and foremost she would belong to him, that he would master her first revolts, teach her her very first descent from the pinnacle of arrogant virginity which she had assumed back in Chicago on that night when he, professing love and marriage, casually asked if she would like to join a secret club where there were no inhibitions and where sharing was the law and the pleasure of the membership.

He asked himself now what he would have done if she had confounded him by replying in the affirmative. Considering his own nature and his idealism which was combined with a passionate and optimistic sadism-such as is found in the temperament of many aggressive, intellectual men-he believed that he would have been disappointed. He did not want Sheila Andrews quiescent and yielding from the start. He wished to dominate and master her, to see her flesh marked and torn by the lash, to see her tears, and to feel her fingernails and her teeth tearing him in savage defiance against her punishment. Thus, only by conquest, by the right of the survival of the stronger, could his sadism find its unchecked outlet and fruition.

But the image of that beautiful nakedness he had just peered upon through the one-way glass panel in her incarceration came back to him now, and before him was the lush, succulent nakedness of this slave-bitch whom he had bought and whom he owned body and soul. His prick ached torturingly as he stared down at her, a cruel little smile playing on his lips until she shivered with the presentiment of what it foreboded for her.

"A severe whipping," he repeated meditatively. "But I want you posed in the most enticing way I can think of. Suggest something, bitch!"

Myrtle Talmadge shuddered, put her hand to her mouth, her eyes very wide and anguished. "I I don’t know, M-master," she faltered, "whatever pleases you, "I - I am your slave."

"Yes, I know that! You shall have some extra cuts for being so stupidly uninventive," he told her. His eyes searched the room and found at last the way to display her for the flogging. For each of these guest rooms was well equipped with torture and flogging devices so the occupant might take his or her leisure in the utmost privacy without stirring from the spot. It was one of the many reasons why members of the Bondagers paid such exhorbitant annual dues beyond their initiatory fee and did so uncomplainingly.

At the far corner of this huge salon, next to the bay window which was covered with a luxurious red velvet drape, there was a shining steel apparatus, a round, squat metal post fixed into the floor, circled with a shining steel plate at its base. Fixed at its top was a mushroom-like dome with several rings soldered into the shining, apparentlv. thin surface. It was a whipping dome, and could also be used for torture, or for fucking or buggering as desired.

Bending to the trembling brunette, Granville Tomiinson grasped her by the elbow and, applying his right palm to her jouncy, ripely rounded naked ass, made her march quickly over to it and then mount on it on all fours. Terrified that she might slip, her big dark eyes fixed on him with terrorized supplication, to which he was quite impervious.

Like a connoisseur admiring the works of Manet or Picasso, he now prepared to fetter her.

From a tabouret near this dome, he picked up a wrist-gyve made of gleaming brass, which opened by springlock and which had soldered to it a short chain with a locking hook. The hook was sprung, set into the metal dome, and then locked, after the gyve itself had been fastened around the victim’s wrist. In a moment he had Myrtle Talmadge hopelessly and helplessly pinioned. Her right wrist was drawn ahead of her and far to the right, engaged in the gyve which hooked to the metal ring in the dome. Her left wrist, however, was drawn behind her at about the edge of her hip, and then fixed to a similar gyve in a similar ring. Her ankles were spread apart about two-and-a-half feet, clamped by similar ankle-gyves whose short chains hooked into the solidly set rings behind her.

Rumpling her jet-black hair and making it fall over her face, he now took a thin cord and wound it around the ends, then fastened the free end of the cord to a ring at the very rim of the dome which was about two-and-a-half feet from the floor. Thus she was presented, legs straddled with access to cunt and asshole, bowed forward. The slightest movement of her head would send burning pangs through her tender scalp. In this position, her bottom jutted out in the most lascivious way possible, and the spasmodic muscular contractions in those rounded, provocatively thrusting hemispheres had begun to spasm and ripple, letting him see from moment to moment the exquisitely libidinous shadowy cleft which led to her pink, plump-lipped asshole (virgin except for her buggering by the Negro guards in the arena), and, lower down, the gaping pink fruit of her tempting, fleshy cunt. Because of her crouching, bending-forward posture, he could even see the dainty nodule of her clitoris at the top of that delicious slit, a love-button to be titillated and thus ring the bell to her innermost nervous system.

Myrtle Talmadge had begun to whimper and sob a little, her apprehension obviously getting the better of her. Granville Tomlinson glanced at the tabouret on which lay several flagellatory implements.

"Now then, you pretty bitch," he commanded. "I’ve really neglected you this past week, thinking about my pretty future wife and how to bring her here. From now on I promise you, you’re going to be kept quite busy. But I want to know more about you. I understand that you and your sister were quite rich and that you spent all your money in gambling. That’s correct?"

"Y-yes, M-Master, it-it is. Oh please, not-not too hard. I promise you, I’ll do anything you want."

"I know that in advance. But understand this, Myrtle, a slave’s feelings are of absolutely no consequence to her master. Even if you were without a single fault, which I doubt that you ever will be, if it pleased me to whip your naked ass, I still would do so. You may wriggle and cry all you like, but you will not talk me out of thrashing you right now. But to continue. Until you were brought to this place and had that whip duel with your sister, you were a virgin weren’t you?"

"Yes, I was, Master."

"And you say you’ve never been with a woman. Haven’t you ever kissed one or felt one up or been felt by her?" he pursued, passing his right palm over the shuddering asscheeks. Then his left forefinger delicately traced the rims of her tender cunt and Myrtle Talmadge caught her breath and gasped.

"Well-yes, a little, but I’ve never-never done the whole thing."

"Very good. To all intents and purposes, I’m going to be the first man you really ever had, and I’m going to train you to my likes and dislikes so you will know how to anticipate them. Now, tell me, does this please you?"

With this, he began to touch her clitoris very lightly with the tip of his forefinger, brushing it back and forth, from side to side, then flattening it back into its protective little cowl of pussyflesh.

Myrtle Talmadge gasped and squealed. "Oh yes, Master, y-yes. Ooooh, it tickles so! Ooohhh ahhh-" and she so forgot herself as to try to raise her head, only to be painfully reminded by the tractioning cord which yanked at her bound sheaf of black hair and drew a cry of pain as she was forced to lower her face again.

"And this-tell me about this, too," he insisted. His right palm was moving over the lushly curved, juttingly spacious summits of her olive—skinned ass, while his left forefinger now began to teasingly tickle a:id tease with lustfull pleasure, and sensual delight the inner edges of the bottom globes along that smuous crease. Myrtle Talmadge squirmed and gasped more and more now, the muscles in her calves and thighs and bottom jerking fitfully. At last he reached the crinkly rosette of her asshole and began to prod it very gently, then again frictioned it in a circular, lingering movement.

"Well?"

"Ohhh, y-y-yes, it-ohhh, yes, it-it tickles too-ooh ohhhuuu!"

He had just edged the tip of his little finger inside the contracting lips of her protruding bunghole, just inside the ring of the sphincter muscles. Her eyes were widened, very misty, and her nostrils flared and shrank. Her big melon-like titties, which dangled like ripe fruits for plucking, heaved violently as shudder upon shudder overtook her crouching, kneeling, pinioned form.

One of the delicious facets of his membership in the Bondagers was this ability to prolong the moment of emprise. As Clement Borchard had so well expressed it one night when Granville Tomlinson had flown out from Chicago to this desert retreat and made his first determined plan to have Sheila Andrews kidnapped and brought here to become his wife-slave bitch "Anyone can lust for a woman and take her, that’s pure mechanics and chemistry. The trick is, to be sure, in making your victim absolutely overwhelmed with the notion that you have nerves of steel and that you can go on forever, long after her own resistance has given in. So the more you can control yourself, the more delicious torments you can think up, the more nuances of pain and humiliation you can inflict upon her before you take her, the more you show yourself to be a genuine master of the art of subjugation.

Understand this, Grandville, even the lowliest slave has a secret moment of triumph all her own when, in her suffering, her master deigns to use her body as a release for his sexual needs. During that moment, she is compensated and thinks erro1

ou

:5 that it is she, not he, who has won. You will savor your triumph all the more if you deny her this illusory pleasure."

It was a credo which Granville Tomlinson now decided to adopt, particularly with so passive and yet tempting as Myrtle Talmadge. Moving again to the tabouret, he chose first a long white, very fleecy bald-eagle’s feather and began to waft it delicately along the shadowy crease that separated the plump, jutting, round olive-satiny globes of her satiny ass.

He heard her catch her breath, whimper a little, almost try to turn her face as much as the cord which bound her hair permitted. Then her body began to shiver and he could see the lovely muscular interplay along her calves and thighs. Her toes twisted and curled, and he also began to see beads of sweat glistening on her sides, oozing from her furry armpits.

Delicately he pushed the feather down until it touched her asshole, and a low, moaning "Aahhh!" was rested from the naked young woman.

Swiftly then he drew the plume along the inner thigh, first along the thigh to the knee, then along the other knee and back along the thigh to the crotch. Several sweeping times he deliberately pursued this pattern, while the naked brunette captive anticipated the tantalizing tickling of her cunt hole, so vulnerably presented in this pinioned posture.

Then at last he touched the rims of her cunt, circling them, and prolonged gasps and sobbing little sighs attested to the diabolically enervating Tantalus which this feather-frigging procured for this helpless, naked young woman.

Now moving to her left, he began to tickle the nipple of her pendant left tittie, brushing it until it was darkened and rigid with tumescence. Sweat rivuleted down her sides, and her body shook and trembled constantly, while whimpering gasps exuded constantly from her parted lips.

"This moment just before dawn, as the great Dutch sexologist, Van de Velde had written in his famous book, was indeed," Granville Tomlinson concluded, "the perfect moment for subjugation." The world was still asleep, and yet he and his slave-bitch ruled the world between them and all the life and death of the world was in this luxurious room, with this naked girl on the mushroom metal dome, enduring what she must because it was his whim and pleasure.

Now he passed to the other side and began to tickle her right nipple and trace out the aureole until again her sobs and groans were delicious music to his eager ears. But these were groans not of pain but of a kind of frustrated pleasure, as her wakening lust

motions began to churn within her.

Well roused from sleep by now, all her nerves stressed and tautened and the more sharply keened by not knowing exactly what and how and when he proposed to torture her, Myrtle Talmadge shivered and squirmed restlessly on her precarious metal perch.

Then he moved over to the tabouret. Transferring the feather to his left hand, he picked up a curious little whip. It looked at first like a part of a little girl’s skipping rope, with an oblong, thin wooden grip about four inches long and perhaps an inch wide; at its end was a six-inch4ength of thin matted hemp, an ideal pussy or asshole whip, or for that matter, capable of inflicting exquisitely stinging pangs on the erogenously sensitive tidbits of the victim’s nipples.

Lowering the cord between her straddled thighs and taking a step back, Granville Tomlinson now swept the whip upwards so that it stung on impact right into the gaping pink cunt. Instantly Myrtle Talmadge shrieked aloud, jerking up her head only to shriek again as the tractioning rope binding her sheaf of tautly stretched hair punished her for that spontaneous movement.

Two more similar sadistic flicks made her shudder at the lascivious sound of the cords thucking into the fleshy, moistened membrane of her twat, and produced ear-shattering shrieks and babbled entreaties for mercy: "EEEEYHHHOOO

WW! Oh please, M-Master, oh not there, not between my legs, I’ll do anything you want, but please not there. Eeeeeeouuuu-oh my g-goodness, please not between my legs, I’ll do anything you want, anything, only not there!"

He was shuddering now as he gloried in these frantic, heartfelt cries, drawn from her very soul, knowing them to be desperately sincere. This was the true meaning of servitude, the bondage female beseeching her master’s mercy at any cost.

This was the very epitome of life itself, and this was what he had in mind for Sheila Andrews.

Now once again the feather coaxed gently along the inner left thigh of the whimpering naked brunette, rising along the muscle cord towards the gaping crotch, entering between the plump lips of that vulnerable cunt, brushing the clitoris, then moving along down the other inner thigh to the knee.

Then, even as Myrtle Talmadge squirmed and sobbed, her senses roused anew, Granville Tomlinson lowered the knotted cord between her straddled thighs and flicked it up, once, twice, thrice, with all his strength to bite against the unprotected twat.

Her maddened, hoarse shrieks rang out frenziedly now as she threshed and dragged and squirmed in her bonds, even forgetting that her hair was bound. Tears rolled down her contorted cheeks and her titties rose and fell violently and her body quivered and jerked from the maddening shock against the tenderest spot of all.

Now once again the feather glided down her asshole crease, tickling the pink rosette of that puckering rosette, then down still more to find the cunt, then playfully whisking along each cheek of the shuddering, gapingly distended ass cheeks. Once again her sobs and groans subsided.

Then quickly moving to her right, he lashed at her dangling melon-tittie with a knotted cord, drawing wild plaints and sobbing entreaties from the naked, brunette sufferer. Disregarding these, he went around to the left breast, which he decorated with half a dozen stinging cuts that made her jerk her shoulders wildly, while her raucous cries rang out piteously.

In all these cries, all these maneuvers under the lash, all these salacious squirmings under the cruel stimulus, there was created in his mind’s eye the image of red-haired Sheila Andrews, and his control was no more.

He dropped both feather and scourge, stepped upon the footstool, yawned open the cheeks of Myrtle Talmadge’s twitching ass and crammed his aching organ into the dainty rosette of her bunghole. A maddened cry, "Awwwwrrr! Not there, oh please, master, not there! You’ll tear me to pieces-Yeeeohhhhh!" rang out. But ruthless, shuddering in his rut, the young advertising executive forced himself home inside her tight, humid rectal sheath to the balls, and then began to bottom-fuck her with a savage intensity.

And only when he had at last burst out his torrential gism deep into her bowels, sagging over her, his fingers digging into her bottom cheeks, did he know surcease, and the obsessive, demon-driven lust which the image of his fiancée had evoked, disappeared.

CHAPTER SEVEN

His night of overpowering lust with Myrtle Talmadge, whom he had used to represent his abducted fiancee Sheila Andrews, made Granville Tomlinson sleep until noon. He was awakened, indeed, by a deferential knock at the door of his quarters and it was lovely Myrtle herself who succeeded in rousing him fully by dint of crawling to him on her knees and placing a kiss on the top of his prick, which instantly hardened in spite of the tributes to Venus which he had paid her so recently.

He sprang to his feet with a bound, donned the silken robe which bore the insignia of the Bondagers, and went to the door.

When he opened it, he saw that it was Laura Haggerty, the trainer of slaves at "Borchardville." She was dressed in black leather boots ascending high on her thighs and in gloves of shoulder-length snug fit, but the rest of her costume, though also of leather, was even more provocative. A sort of half-jacket took her from the top of her chest to the middle of her waist, but it left completely bare her jutting titties, though the leather clung along the valley between them. Similarly, around her hips and over her crotch was another kind of cutout leather garment, which exposed the base of her buttocks and, in front, a triangular flap had been removed to show her cunt so boldly and obscenely that the young advertising executive gasped and stared as if magnetized by that amorous orifice.

"Good morning, Mr. Tomlinson," she greeted him nonchalantly, without the slightest indication that she was observing how very obviously he was affected by her daring costume. "I thought you might like to give me some orders regarding the new slave who is in our isolation dungeon. This redhead of yours, Mr. Tomlinson. As you know, you have purchased her outright and paid Mr. Borchard a very handsome fee which includes my services as trainer. Have you any special or particular whims regarding her? And also, can you tell me anything about her personality, her physique, which might help me perfect her for you?"

"You’re most considerate, Laura. I find myself in a somewhat singular position. Come in, and do sit down. You’re extremely attractive."

"Thank you. I might tell you, however, that I do not have the same status as the slaves here. I should very much regret to have to tell you ‘no’ if you wished to, shall we say, fuck me," she calmly remarked.

He found it unusually stimulating to be seated opposite to so superbly formed and mature a woman, so poised and sure of herself, whom he had seen dominate the Talmadge sisters as well as Dorothy Selmers-to see her naked titties and her cunt and yet to find her casually chatting with him as if she wore a very formal, long evening gown and were discussing the global news. "I think she’s a virgin, but I can’t be sure," he began.

"There I can be of help to you, Mr. Tomlinson. When we abducted her, I made a quick examination. She still has her hymen. Yes, she’s a virgin. Of course, I have no way of knowing what sexual experiences she may have had until you met her. It is also possible that she has had an affair with a woman. She’s quite sensitive and reacts quickly and violently. This shows me a certain sensual temperament, and my judgment is rarely wrong, especially regarding a woman."

"I bow to your judgment. I have seen your handiwork and admire it. But on the assumption that she is a virgin, I wish to prolong the ultimate moment of my congress of that virginity. And if it should occur that-well, let me put it another way, Laura."

"You mean to say that if you find she has all three virginities rather than the one of which men usually think," Laura smilingly interposed. "Well, what then?"

"I want her ultimately to yield herself to me, even against her own will, against her pride and even her hatred for me. At the same time, I think that she should be humiliated and yet not dominated."

"That is my own opinion exactly. For an amateur, I must compliment you on your imagination, Mr. Tomlinson."

"You’re very generous, and I regard you as an expert in the matter. Clement and Jane have told me a great deal about your capabilities. But back to the subject of Sheila Andrews. You have her naked in the cell, and I think that keeping her naked for a time will make her very conscious of her fall from grace, to speak."

"Exactly again what I was thinking. You see, Mr. Tomlinson, the Nazis used this method in order to break down the pride and the ego of their captives. It is one thing to question a fully clothed man or woman, who may prepare himself or herself for stronger interrogation. But when one is naked, locked in a cell, when one has the feeling that one is under constant observation through peepholes and other devices, then one’s self esteem and assurance begin to waver. When one learns that one’s interrogators emphasize this nakedness, call attention to it in every possible way, devise painful and humiliating little nuances which make the captive conscious of his or her most intimate parts, then there is the beginning of true degradation. I myself employ this method with some of the most indomitable cases. There is, for example, a very famous wornan who for three years was regarded as one of the most potentially exciting movie stars ever to come to Hollywood. All of a sudden, at the height of her career, even before her very first picture was released with a great deal of fanfare, she disappeared from sight and hasn’t been heard of since."

"I think I know whom you mean."

"Yes. She was abducted by a member of our society. The two of them had grown up in the same small town somewhere in Oregon, I believe. He went his way and she went hers. And at one point in their lives he was madly in love with her and wanted her to marry him. She naturally refused, because she was ambitious, vain and selfish. And so, when he became rich, his first thought was to have her brought here and subjected to shame and degradation till she was willing to accept even him, whom she had rejected about ten years before, to save herself. And he took her with the understanding that she would be the lowliest of slaves."

"Yes, that is perhaps what I want of Sheila. And yet, if she could come to share my views and enjoy the uninhibited pleasures which come from having no inhibitions, if she could make love with another man and watch me making love to that man’s wife, I should be willing to give her a kind of equality with me, which of course is much better than the status of a slave."

"You are in the odd position of, to use a very trite expression, wanting to have your cake and eat it too, Mr. Tomlinson," ‘aura Haggerty laughed, showing superb white teeth. "If you conquer her, there’ll always be a certain spiritual bondage which she cannot help but remember in all future relationships with you. You may raise her up again to what former esteem she had, but she will not forget-or rather her subconscious mind cannot forget-the depths to which you plunged her. You must make up your mind whether you want a slave or a wife. But I can help you in either regard, you have but to tell me your specifications for her."

"I should be very anxious to see how she would react to taking orders from a woman," he said slowly as he lit a cigarette, offering her one which she declined with a polite shake of her head. "I have always thought that when two women make love together, it is particularly exciting for a man. Don’t ask me why."

"That is a rather common phenomenon. I think it stems, if you’ll pardon my expressing a kind of pedantic opinion-"

"By all means," he smiled with a wave of his cigarette.

"Well, then, what I am getting at is that a virile and assertive man always has the somewhat ingenuous belief in his own powers that if a lesbian were turned over to him, he could force her to yield to him and to derive pleasure. This is the male ego, the power of the penis, to put it bluntly. Psychologically, it is totally unsound. The decided lesbian has no use for men, and finds the thought of sex with a man abhorrent to her. She herself has penis envy and wishes to supplant him. The aggressive lesbian believes that no man can possibly bring the joy to a woman that she can."

"This I have heard."

"And it is true. But to continue my point. A man wishes to see two women make love together, because he has the overpowering notion that simply because he is there and with his penis available, these women will succumb to him. It rarely happens. Oh yes, there are bisexual women as there are bisexual men, to be sure. It is even possible that your Sheila is one of these. If you wish me to find out, it is quite simple. I have but to confront her with a series of gradually increasing punishments and penalties which will at last lead her in self-defense, to accept the caresses of a woman, or to yield them to a superior woman, which would be myself as her trainer and dominatress."

"That I should very much like to see. I should like to see her spanked, as if she were a little child."

"And that is an excellent method, too. She is haughty, she feels herself quite mature, and perhaps she had never been spanked. It is a humiliation and it is still more of a humiliation when she is kept stark naked and must submit to it."

"I would much prefer that you subjugate her yourself without using the Negro guards."

"I should be very happy to do that. I am well trained in judo, karate and jiujitsu, Mr. Tomlinson. But let me ask you one final question: how long do you wish this preparatory training to last?"

He took another puff at his cigarette, examined the stub, then crushed it out in a copper ashtray on the little table beside his bed. He glanced over at the lovely naked olive-skinned brunette whom he had bought as a slave, and she flushed and lowered her eyes before his steady gaze. "let us say a week."

"That should be enough Another thing, would you like to see her in bondage? By that I mean, the use of certain costumes, awkward and stressing poses, tied in such ways that the slightest movement only serves to remind her all the more of her comedown from freedom?"

"Yes, some of that as well. But no brutality. I don’t want her marked badly."

"Are you planning by any chance to appear to her as her savior?"

"That would be deceptive. No, I want her to know why I have had her brought here and what I intend to do with her. Then I want there to be a struggle between us, in which I shall conquer. You will already have planted the seed of wavering conceit in her, so she won’t be quite so proud and arrogant. When I proposed that she marry me and become a member of the Bondagers, she thought I was insane."

"This may be simply a puritanical reaction, Mr. Tomlinson. I still have the feeling that she has a great deal of passion latent within her system. Even though she is a virgin, she strikes me as being tense and emotional. Well then, she may have had such a strict upbringing that to express outwardly to you, even though you were to marry her, her secret passions, would be unthinkable. Perhaps she could do this only once in bed with you, once the two of you were married and she would have the assurance of legal sanctity in which all things would be proper and pardonable."

"You reason magnificently. You ought to have been a man."

"Please, I do not consider that a compliment," Laura Haggerty’s face hardened. "I was a fool for a man once, and whenever I think that I’m very clever, I think back to those days from which the Borchards saved me. Well, with your permission, then, I shall begin her training just before supper. I shall make her earn her supper."

"I should like to watch."

"Of course. I shall have her transferred to a cell further down the corridor, and beside it is a room with a one-way glass wall through which you will be able to see everything, because there is an intricate public address system hooked up to most of those special traIning chambers."

"You think of everything. I thank you for your interest and I shall look forward with great enjoyment to your procedure."

Laura Haggerty rose, smiling. She glanced over at Myrtle Talmadge, who blushed and again lowered her eyes humbly. "You have a very attractive slave here, Mr. Tomlinson. Has she behaved herself or do you wish to send her to me for a little brush-up course m discipline?"

"I think not. I myself can punish Myrtle suffidently, can’t I, slave?"

"Oh yes, master!" Myrtle Talmadge blurted. But she cast at the handsome young executive a secret look of almost adoration. Decidedly, in the three weeks that he had possessed her, this beautiful young woman who had given up everything because of her obsessive compulsion for gambling had come to admire and even be secretly grateful that her slavery had brought her to becoming his property. He had mastered her, he was handsome, virile, and he had awakened in her such emotions such as she had never dreamed of having. Now she even found herself jealous at the thought that he was about to forget her and think only of that red-haired girl whose name so often he mentioned even in the throes of his most passionate fucking trysts.

"I’m glad to hear such good reports of you, Myrtle," Laura Haggerty smiled. "Stay out of mischief and obey this man implicitly. You are very fortunate to have a handsome and intellectual young master. You might easily have become the slave of Magnus Fowler. I do not think you would envy Dorothy Selmers her present life with him who was once her lover and is now her owner and master." And, so saying, she inclined her head respectfully toward Granville Tomlinson, and left his quarters.

Indeed, Dorothy Selmers had already discovered to her anguished dismay and shame that she no longer held any influence over the West Coast’ industrialist as she had once done when she had been his mistress and gloried in the financial security of that role.

She did not know that he had already hired a Mexican woman, Inez Castillio, to take charge of a secluded little house isolated from any neighbors for several miles near Lake Arrowhead. Inez Castillio was thirty-two and a dominant Lesbian sadist. Her two brothers, Ignacio and Esteban, twenty-six and twenty-nine respectively, had also been hired as guards. Magnus Fowler had flown back to Los Angeles with the unfortunate young woman, there taken her down to the subterranean garage beneath the building in which his luxurious condominium apartment was situated, bound and gagged her and placed her in the trunk of his Cadillac. Then he had driven to the little house in Lake Arrowhead, left her under the charge of Inez and her two brothers, and proceeded on an important merger of corporations in which he held a majority of stock. Some four days later, after the business had been concluded to his great profit and satisfaction, he drove back to the house.

Dorothy Selmers had been kept in a storage room in the basement, stark naked, blindfolded, her hands tied behind her back. In order to earn her food and drink and toilet privileges, she had to gamahuch Inez or French either Ignacio or Esteban. The two brothers had, to be sure, been warned not to fuck or bugger her, since she was the property of the wealthy Gringo who paid them and their sister such a handsome fee for guarding the girl.

Magnus Fowler had stripped naked except for a bathrobe and sandals, gone down to the storage room with a dogwhip in his hand, and locked himself up with poor Dorothy. He had told her that he was going to marry and that she had best forget forever any notion of being Mrs. Fowler. Then he had whipped her across the titties and belly until she had licked between his toes and then, crawling behind him, whimpering with pain, opened his bottomcheeks and licked his asshole humbly.

And then at his command, she had opened the cheeks of her behind, and submitted to a vicious buggering, after which she had had to clean his organ with her own tongue and lips. Thoroughly satisfied, he had smilingly told her, "I’m going to keep you here for the summer, bitch, and Inez and her brothers will look after you. If you’re a good girl, maybe you’ll get a nice present. But once I get married, you can forget the idea of a nice apartment and a wardrobe and being my mistress. You’ll continue to be my slave, and of course I’ll keep you out of sight from my wife. She wouldn’t understand such things. Now just behave yourself till I get back."

Granville Tomlinson had no such intention of rendering Sheila Andrews into such a denigrated humbled and debased slave-bitch. Curiously and paradoxically for all his intellectual interest in the code of the Bondagers, he was still a romantic idealist at heart. It was only that an unexpected legacy from an elderly aunt, part of which he had parlayed into an amazing coup on the stockmarket, had overnight given him the chance to lead the life that most men only dream of. But it was not so easy to change his own personality or his own code. He had been in love with Sheila Andrews, and even now though she was actually his slave and possession, he could not yet bring himself to watch her being fucked by the Negro guards, or give her to any of the Bondager members. In this there was hope for her, and there was also great danger.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Since her incarceration in the isolation cell, Sheila Andrews had seen no one. A special slide away section at the bottom of the door enabled the Negro guards to shove in trays of food and drink to her, and it was exactly two days before at last the cell door opened and Laura Haggerty entered. Sheila’s cell had a tiny toilet at the rear corner, and this was the only hygienic facility, there being neither washbasin, shower or tub. And in these two days and nights, the coppery-redhaired young woman’s anxiety had naturally been augmented.

Hence when the trainer of slaves of ‘Borchardville’ entered the cell alone, dressed exactly in the provocative costume in which she had presented herself to Granville Tomlinson the day before, the captive uttered a cry of stupefaction at the sight of those proud naked titties and the obscene exposure of Laura’s furry cunthole. But her eyes fixed also and most of all on the wicked-looking brown leather riding crop with a short three-inch oval-shaped flap at the end, used to impart additional sting to tender, vulnerable womanflesh.

"Where am I?" Sheila Andrews exclaimed in a tone of anger, pressing her left hand over her cunt in an instinctive gesture of modesty.

"You are in a cell, obviously, Sheila," Laura Haggerty airily replied. As she had entered, she had touched another button on the left side of the door which at once activated the ceiling fixture and flooded the cell with brilliant light. It would remain on until she left and turned it off, to plunge the captive once again into Stygian darkness.

"I can see that," the redhaired beauty testily countered. "But I demand to know where I am and why I have been brought here. Who are you?"

"You will call me Mistress Laura. That is all you need to know for the moment. You are here to begin your training as a slave."

"Oh come now, this is ridiculous!" Sheila Andrews cried exasperatedly. "This sort of thing is impossible. I suppose next you’ll be telling me you’re the head of a white-slave organization."

"I am not the head of it, but I suppose in a melodramatic way you might be led to call it thus was Laura Haggerty’s taunting answer. "And now I think you have had enough questions and you will begin to accept the first stage of your training. Get down on your knees and call me Mistress Laura."

"You can go to hell!" Sheila Andrews flashed.

The cold, classically chiseled features of the light brown-haired trainer hardened at this insult. "You will apologize for that very shortly, Sheila."

"By what right do you call me by my first name? I’ve never seen you before in all my life. I have a right to know why I have been brought here and by whom!"

"A slave his absolutely no rights, save which those her master or mistress condescends to grant her. Understand that at once, and you will be on the way to preparing your insolent personality for the acquisition of humility. That is a trait which is very essential to the well-being of any slave. I can assure you," was the calm, infuriating answer.

Sheila Andrews clenched her fists, her magnificent titties rising and falling quickly now as anger and shame and indignation boiled within her. "But at least, if I am supposed to be a slave, I ought to know to whom I am supposed to belong, wouldn’t you say?" she tried to keep her voice casual, to show this unknown woman that she had perfect self-assurance.

"You’ll learn in due time, Sheila."

"I suppose you’ll hit me with that silly whip," Sheila Andrews interrupted with a nervous little laugh. "I’m not afraid of you, in that silly getup. Only I’d think you’d have more modesty than to go around showing off everything you’ve got."

Laura Haggerty’s lips tightened, and her eyes glitteringly narrowed. These were menacing signs, but Sheila Andrews ignored them. "You know of course there’s a law against kidnapping. I don’t know what state I’m in, but you and whoever else did this could go to jail for life and maybe even get the death penalty," Sheila angrily went on.

Laura Haggerty smiled then, moved forward, and, before the astonished redhead could divine her intent, drew back her right hand-as she swiftly transferred the riding crop to her left-and slapped the fuming, naked beauty.

Sheila Andrews uttered a cry, her eyes very wide and incredulous, as she put her hand to her flaming cheek. "How dare you!" she gasped.

"And how dare you be so insolent, a naked slave," was Laura Haggerty’s contemptuous mocking answer. With the crop still in her left hand, she flicked out the flap to sting Sheila right against her bellybutton, wide and shallow, a delicious kiss-nook in that creamy flesh. Hating the effrontery of her tormentress, Sheila Andrews sprang at the brownhaired dominatress, momentarily taking Laura Haggerty by surprise. But the struggle was certainly unequal. Naked and without a weapon, Sheila was hardly a match for an imperatrix who was acquainted with karate and judo and all the scientific holds. Though she had her hands round Laura’s neck, she suddenly uttered a shriek of pain as the dominatress briskly drew up her booted right knee and brusingly thudded it against Sheila’s cunt. Releasing her hold, the naked redhead staggered back, bending over and rubbing herself, and Laura Haggerty at once began to rain down on her back and shoulders whistling, smacking lashes from the riding crop.

"Stop it-damn you anyway-you’ve no right to do this-you coward-throw away that whip and fight fair-oww-that hurts-stop it!" Sheila Andrews cried as she twisted this way and that to avoid the avalanche of strokes which left fiery red lines on the creamy glory of back and shoulders. Once again, goaded by the pain and the indignity of this treatment, she lunged at her tormentress somewhat like a football tackler and her arms wrapped round Laura’s waist. In her momentum, Sheila forced the older woman to sprawl back on the cot, but Laura kicked up with her booted right foot and struck Sheila’s shinbone a glancing blow that drew a cry of pain.

Immediately, the naked redhead hobbled back, wincing with pain, tears glistening in her dilated eyes. She was really magnificent thus at bay her coppery-red tresses disheveled and falling over one flushed cheek, her magnificent round titties pantingly in upheaval, and the marks of the lash-the first that had ever stigmatized that voluptuous virginal, creamy flesh-emblazoned on her soft, satiny, finely-grained bare skin. Laura Haggerty righted herself from the cot, and cast away the crop. "All right," she snapped, "I’ll give you a fair fight if that’s what you want, you redhaired bitch. And when I’ve finished, you’ll pay the forfeit if you lose-do you know what I’m going to do to you, Sheila Andrews?"

"You just try it!" the redhead panted, moving back towards the door, her fists clenched, like a boxer ready for action.

"I’m going to take you over my lap and smack your big naked ass for you, my dear," Laura taunted. "I’m going to spank it until it’s so red and hot that you’ll be crying like a little girl and begging me for mercy. And maybe I’ll give it to you and maybe I won’t. And when I’ve finished with you, you’ll go down on your knees and kiss my boots and call me mistress, just the way I told you to."

"You can go to hell before I’ll ever do that," Sheila flashed.

"We’ll see about that, bitch," Laura laughed huskily. She rose now, moving warily under the brilliant light from the ceiling fixture, studying the panting naked younger beauty, who watched her with a kind of hypnotized fascination such as a bird within the baleful aura of a serpent. Laura feinted to the right, and Sheila lunged forward, her hands trying to clutch her adversary. At the same moment, the dominatress moved swiftly to the other side, caught the naked young woman round the waist and flung her down on the floor. Then, twisting and wriggling over her naked prey, the dominatress slipped her gloved right hand under Sheila’s neck, feeling for a sensitive nerve center which training had taught her could be activated to paralyze the foe. Meanwhile Sheila tried to wriggle out from under the dominatress; clenching her fists and striking out at Laura’s face. Then suddenly she shrieked as Laura’s fingers found the exact spot and pressed. Sheila’s eyes bulged, her mouth gaped, and her arms fell limply at her sides.

Swiftly straightening, Laura Haggerty retrieved her riding crop and, squatting down, lifted it and brought it down viciously over the naked belly of the prostrate young woman. The sickening crack of leather against womanflesh resounded, and Sheila’s body arched and twisted, but she could not cry out and she could not move her arms. Her eyes, huge and glassy with tears, fixed on Laura’s mocking face as she forced herself by sheer strength of will to regain her senses.

"Come on and fight, you’re the one that wants to, dear" the dominatress mocked her. And then again she cast away the riding crop and stood up hands on her hips, insolently parading her naked titties and cunt before the fallen foe.

Slowly the circulation returned to Sheila’s body, as she wanly rolled over onto her side, got onto her knees, and then frantically flung herself again at her tormentress. Once again like a football tackler, her arms locked round Laura’s booted calves, and as she forced herself forward, she toppled the dominatress onto the floor. Clenching her right fist, Laura Haggerty brought it down with an expert angling blow on the back of Sheila’s neck, again finding the exact nerves she withed. Sheila moaned and sprawled, inert, panting and shuddering, releasing her hold, and once again Laura scrambled to her feet. She looked down at the captive, who lay on her belly, one knee drawn up under her, her arms outstretched along the floor. "That’s a perfect attitude, that’s just the way I want you, butch," she taunted. "You can start by kissing my boots and calling me mistress now. Or do you want some more?"

"You go to hell," the valiant redhead breathed. She turned her face from side to side, gingerly testing her sore neck muscles And then again she made a grab at Laura’s legs, but this time the dominatress swiftly stepped to one side and laughed at her for her clumsy efforts; "If that’s the best you can do, dear, you’d better gat that big white ass of yours ready for a good sound spanking," was her gibe.

Again by dogged will and furious determination, the naked redhead stumbled to all fours, and then slowly rose to her feet, blinking her eyes and painfully rubbing her sore neck. She saw the crop lying to one side of Laura, and tried to pretend she hadn’t noticed it. Then moved in a kind of arc to Laura’s left, fixing her adversary with an angry, determined glare. But at the last moment, just as she was about to lunge for the riding crop, Laura swiftly stopped, retrieved it, and cut Sheila across one of her creamy, delightfully rounded bare calves, drawing a wail of pain and making the naked redhead ludicrously dance from foot to foot, her big round firm virgin titties jiggling lasciviously.

"I’ll train you to be a ballet dancer yet, you stubborn bitch," Laura mockingly laughed and then again she threw away the crop, but this time behind her and onto the cot. "Now come and see if you can get the better of me. I promise I won’t use the crop until you finally say uncle. And when you do, Sheila Andrews, you may as well get that big ass of yours ready for the first sound tanning it’s ever had. It’s a beautiful ass, just made for whipping and spanking. And you’re going to get your fair share of it in this little episode today, I can promise you. Now come on!"

This taunt enraged the beautiful naked captive. Casting caution to the winds, she rushed at Laura who promptly stepped to one side and let Sheila bang herself against the door with a brusing shock and a cry of pain. Swiftly twisting round, she lunged once more at Laura, who this time caught her by one wrist and bent it behind her, till with a cry of pain, Sheila Andrews was forced to bend forward to ease the terrible traction. "Are you ready to give in now, bitch?" Laura panted.

"No. I won’t ever. You can kill me but I won’t. I won’t kiss anybody’s boots, and yours especially not. Oww-you’re breaking my wrist! let go-owww, ohhh!"

Keeping her victim still bent over and with her left wrist drawn high on her back and bent torturingly, having used her left hand to secure that painful hold, Laura Haggerty now reached forward and with her gloved right palm began to slap Sheila Andrews’ face resoundingly. Cries of rage’ and pain rose as the naked young woman frantically put out her freehand and tried to catch Laura’s wrist. But the blows were lightning-like, and Laura laughed merrily at Sheila’s awkward and futile attempts to seize her.

Laura wasn’t even breathing hard.

"This is just a sample of what I’m going to give your other set of cheeks, bitch," she laughed. "And I’m going to pinch you too, until you feel it, just like this?" So saying, with gloved right forefinger and one thumb, she pinched Sheila’s nose, while at the same time jerking up the young woman’s left wrist. Sheila was thus forced to bend her face down and her bottom lewdly up, helpless to move. Her free hand tried to strike away Laura’s pinching fingers, but in vain.

"Now will you give up, bitch?" Laura laughed.

CHAPTER NINE

Laura Haggerty smiled down at the helpless, fuming Sheila Andrews, whose left wrist she continued to pull high on the naked redhead’s back to force her to bend over, while her right gloved thumb and forefinger retained a cruel pinching hold of Sheila’s dainty, somewhat uptilted nose.

"Well?" she repeated mockingly, "do you feel like saying uncle yet, you stubborn redhaired bitch?"

"You can kill me, but I won’t ever do that," the captive panted. There were tears in her eyes, but they were tears of frustration and rage rather than of suffering. Nonetheless, the throbbing agony of her wrist which Laura Haggerty so expertly twisted in a jiu-jitsu hold, began to exacerbate her. Suddenly, sucking in her breath, she tried to butt Laura in the belly with her head, like a goat, but the brown-haired dominatress had anticipated just such a move,

Again she stepped to one side, suddenly releasing Sheila’s wrist and kicked out with her right booted foot, catching the young woman squarely at the fleshiest inner curve of both creamy asscheeks. With a shout of pain and rage, Sheila Andrews sprawled flat on her belly in front of the door of the cell and then rushed back a hand to rub the injured place, while Laura tilted back her head and burst into a peal of mocking laughter.

"You should see yourself, Sheila dear. You might as well give up now, because I’m much too practiced for you, and the longer you make me fight you, the more severe your bare-ass spanking is going to be."

"Ohhha, y-you-" the redhead gasped, choked by her fury. She scrambled up from the floor, her eyes blazing. Granville Tomlinson had often looked into those gray-green orbs and tried to read their enigmatic meaning, but now there was no doubt of what Sheila Andrews’ emotion was: pure, unadulterated fury and hatred. She rushed pell mell at the booted and gloved dominatress, and like an agile wrestler, Laura Haggerty stepped nimbly to one side while Sheila’s momentum carried her on to sprawl in a most undignified way on her own cot, her knees scraping the floor, her titties mashing against the sheets. When she turned her face to look upwards at her tormentress, she saw that Laura Haggerty was again laughing, gloved hands on hips, flaunting her naked titties and her cunt in that scandalously fabricated leather outfit which was both bizarre and inexplicable. For Sheila Andrews could hardly be expected to know that she was in "Borchardville," a luxurious and very secretive realm whose only law was that of pleasure for the members who ruled like despots over women like herself.

"This has gone quite far enough, Sheila," Laura’s lips were now tight and cold again. "You haven’t an earthly chance of beating me, unless you find a sledge hammer or a gun. And I think I could even take those away from you, because you’re furious now and your judgement is lacking. Give up and accept your spanking humbly."

"You shan’t do that to me-nobody ever has-not even as a child, do you hear? I won’t be treated like a child, I won’t, and I demand to see the person who owns this place. I want to know exactly why I was brought here!" the words came tumbling out.

"You’ll see no one until you have been trained for the person who bought you."

"B-bought me?" the redhead echoed, drawing herself up and painfully sitting on the edge of the cot, not without wincing because of the throbbing pain which Laura’s boot had inflicted right in the crease which led to her tender virgin asshole. "That’s impossible in this day and age."

"Not at all, for those who have money and influence. I will tell you only that you are far away from Chicago, in a place which is owned by the members here, and which is quite isolated from any prying intrusion. I do not think that your employer back in Chicago will know where to find you, and you appear to have no living relatives."

"That’s none of your damned business!" Sheila Andrews again flashed in a renewal of her furious bravado.

"I admire spirit, bitch," Laura said patronizingly as she leaned forward, disregarding her fallen riding crop. "I had it myself finally, and it changed my life. The only difference between us is that I am the trainer and you are the slave, and there is no possible way you can reverse our roles."

"But just tell me who bought me, who had the monstrous notion that I could be purchased and turned into a white slave-the way it would be, I suppose, in the Far East

"

"Or in Arabia or in Lebanon, or in parts of Europe," Laura Haggerty agreed with a soft laugh. "That too I cannot tell you, and I would not anyway. For a full week, Sheila Andrews, you and I are going to be together, and I’m going to learn everything about you. I’m going to know how often you have to piss each day, how often you have to shit. You’re shocked? I’ll learn more than that about you. I’ll find out just how sensitive your pussy is and whether you can be brought to come by rubbing your tickler. You may even be very sensitive in your little asshole, and I’ll find that out too, I’ll know more about you than the man who has bought you!" With this, Laura grimaced, for she had not meant to reveal that secret face, but Sheila Andrews had caught that last phrase, and seeing Laura’s face contort with self-anger, took her up on it.

"So it’s a man who bought me! And now I think I can guess who-the man who wanted me to join a wife-sharing group where everything went-yes, I can see it now. Oh, that filthy, contemptible coward, to do this to me. It’s Granville Tomlinson, isn’t it?"

Laura Haggerty bit her lip, perplexed and furious with herself. Indeed, if word got back to the Borchards that she had thus let slip the identity of Sheila’s purchaser, she might well be subject to a very severe punishment. The secrecy and prolongation of that authority which forced a captive into tremendous emotional stress were facets of the dominational training that had been so effective in the past and made the Borchards so much money in the sale of slaves selected and brought here for presentation, properly disciplined, trained and ready to service.

‘You’re making accusations without proof," she said lamely. "Even if you are right, it does not alter things between us. I’m still going to spank your naked ass, Sheila Andrews, and then I’m going to put you into bondage and let you spend the night reflecting on your obstinacy and impertinence. Come here to me at once and put yourself across my lap."

"You think you can make me?" Now it was Sheila Andrews’ turn to laugh.

Muttering imprecations under her breath, Laura Haggerty suddenly seized the startled redhead, her left hand cupping Sheila’s right tittie and squeezing viciously while her right hand applied a series of stinging, noisy slaps first on one cheek and then the other, buffeting the young woman’s head back and forth as she cried out under the bruising pain. She tried not to cry out, but Laura’s gloved fingers pinched her nipple so violently that she could not help shrieking in pain and struggling to displace those black-gloved fingers. And by that time, she found herself seized by the hair and dragged unceremoniously over to the cot on which Laura Haggerty planted herself, then flung down across the dominatress’ lap. She uttered another cry as she felt Laura Haggerty’s right booted leg clamp across her naked calves to pinion her into position.

"I’ll kill you for this-you shan’t do it, you shan’t-no, stop it-OWWWW!" she wailed.

The dominatress had agilely grasped the redhead’s wrists in her left gloved hand, twisted them high on Sheila’s back, and now had the redhead completely at her mercy. Panting with exertion, her eyes sparkling with sadistic triumph, she stared down at the creamy bottom cheeks of the squirming captive, and she announced in a voice that trembled with lustful anticipation, "And now you’re going to get spanked on your bare ass until you scream for mercy, until you’re willing to go down on your knees and lick my boots and call me mistress, do you understand me, Sheila Andrews? Get that ass of yours ready, because it’s going to be scorched before I’m done with it."

With this, raising her right hand high, she brought it down with all her strength on Sheila Andrews’ right bottomcheek. A cry of indignation and rage was at once wrested from the captive, who silently tried to jerk her wrists free, to squirm off Laura Haggerty’s lap, but in vain. A second slap followed, on the other bottom globe, flattening that creamy ronduke and decorating it with a sharp red outline of the gloved palm of the dominatress. Sheila’s head tilted up, her gray-green eyes wide and glistening with fury, her mouth gaping in an indignant cry: "Oww! Stop that, or I’ll kill you when I get loose. I’ll do it, I swear I will!"

"You’ll pay homage to me, bitch!" was Laura’s answer. Then, tightening the clamp of her leg and her grip of her captive’s wrists, Laura began to spank in earnest, with intervals of about four seconds between spanks. Her hand rose and fell repeatedly, alternating on the upturned, squirming asscheeks, starting at the tops of Sheila’s upturned asscheeks and working down to the tops of her thighs, then back again. Setting her teeth, closing her eyes, stiffening all her muscles in a useless defense, the intrepid young beauty tried to remain impervious to this avalanche of stinging blows which flattened the curves of her ass and let it spring up in the most salacious way. In about five minutes, that once creamy bottom had been turned to a dull scarlet, and the cheeks were convulsing and yawning in spasms which showed the efficacy of this manual correction.

"I could use my crop on that ass of yours, but this gloved hand will do very nicely to start. But I warn you, in the week that you and I are going to spend together, you’ll taste not only my hand, not only the crop, but many other delightful little inventions especially designed for insolent, impertinent, stubborn little slave-bitches such as you, and you’re going to take back the insults you’ve been giving me when I’ve been spanking you. Don’t forget that. Yes, by the time I’m through with you, I’ll know more about you than you do yourself!"

With this, reasserting her cruel hold on the young woman’s wrists and making certain that her booted leg clamped securely over Sheila’s creamy calves, Laura Haggerty resumed the spanking.

Once more she followed the same pattern, from the tops of the hips to the creamy thighs, marring their satiny escutcheon with flaming splotches that outlined the pattern of the gloved palm. Setting her teeth, Sheila again tried to remain stoic, but now each new blow was torment. Moreover, from time to time, her tormentress added the sadistic fillip of yanking her wrists still higher, and causing her to cry out and to twist feverishly as she sought to ease the agonizing strain on all her muscles.

She began to cry out now, raucous, unintelligible cries, still more of rage than of shame and pain, frustrated at her helplessness. her mind still refusing to encompass the torment and its reason.

Then again, after Laura had paused, she removed the glove on her right hand and, leaning over the shuddering, panting, groaning captive, she purred, "Still defiant? Let’s see if this little dose doesn’t bring you to your senses, you stupid redheaded bitch!"

Now, using the fingers of the glove like the thongs of a whip, Laura Haggerty began to direct vicious downward angling flicks of the leather right along the sinuous, ambery crease and into Sheila Andrews’ virgin asshole.

Hysterical, piercing screams were torn from the courageous young woman who found this difference almost impossible to bear.

Nonetheless, Laura continued, her eyes blazing and narrowed, her nostrils flaring, her titties rising and falling in the full flower of her own sadistic triumph.

She watched the glazing, swollen hips turn and twist, arch and swerve over her lap, and she felt the thick dark-red pussy bush grind against her knee, as, frantic with the growing pain that seemed never to subside, Sheila Andrews struggled to break loose, emitting all the while frantic, piercing and agonized cries of pain.

Finally, putting the glove back on her right hand, Laura Haggerty reached between the victim’s straining, naked thighs, caught hold of the soft pussy lips and pinched them savagely.

"EEYAHHRRRROUUU! Oh don’t-take your hand away-oh for goodness sakes don’t-I can’t stand it-I can’t stand it, I tell you-PLEEEESE! Oh stop it, stop it, for heaven’s sake!" Sheila shrieked.

"Are you ready to obey me now? Because this time, if you don’t, I’ll have you tied up by the ankles, upside down, with your legs stretched widely apart, and I’ll take my glove and I’ll flick it right between your legs, right where I have my hand now. Do you understand me? Do you?"

Once again she reiterated the pinch and Sheila Andrews could not endure the torment any longer. "EEHHHRRREEOOOWWWWWWOOUUUU! Oh yes, anything, but please, for the love of heaven-stop it-I can’t stand it-you’re killing me-oolahhhahhhrrrr!"

With a mocking laugh, Laura Haggerty released her hold of the young woman’s aching wrists, drew away her clamping wrists and ignominiously rolled the weeping, hysterical naked redhead off her lap to tumble to the floor on her bottom.

A wild shriek of pain attested to the agony of that bruising impact, and Sheila at once arched her body up, rushing her hands back to the swollen globes of her ass and began to rub them rolling over onto her side and moaning and sobbing as if her heart would break. The first phase of her subjugation had been completed.

CHAPTER TEN

Laura Haggerty leaned down, seized the riding crop and now, pointing it like a scepter, commanded, "Quickly now! Unless you want this used, and you know where, crawl on your knees over to me and lick my boots!"

Sheila Andrews groaned, still on her side, with her hands continuing to soothe her swollen posterior. Her mind was reeling, after thinking by the wildest conjecture (and also through Laura’s momentary lapse of vigilance) that it was her rejected fiancé who had brought all this about.’

But even in the tiny span of time which it took for the dominatress to issue her order and for Sheila’s perceptive mind to receive it, the redhaired captive understood at last how she had fallen victim to that singular abduction back in her own apartment.

For now she had fully recognized the woman who had accompanied the tall, wiry Negro and who had been waiting for her as she entered the kitchen. Also, it dovetailed with what Granville Tomlinson ,himself had told her... he was coming into a great deal of money, he had planned to leave the agency within a short time, and finally he had asked her if she would join with him in a special kind of club where sharing and the experimentation in sexual games and in bondage were practiced.

Meanwhile, the brown-haired dominatress coldly stared at the redhaired young woman whom she had so ignominiously spanked and pinched into submission. She did not for a moment believe that Sheila’s capitulation was at all complete.

In her estimation, Granville Tomlinson’s "dream girl" had simply experienced a hitherto unknown peak in her pain threshold and had professed surrender in order to halt what for her had been intolerable suffering.

Moreover, from her own expert knowledge as a trainer of slaves, Laura knew that it was never wise to inflict a truly maximum torment upon a new slave-candidate. Depending always on the sensitivity and personality of the victim the effect of too much brutality would be to dull and deaden the keen anguish and mental impetus of the sufferer to the point that it might thereafter be difficult to lead her through calculated and intended phases of subjugation.

And since she perceived that Sheila was high-strung and imaginative, it suited her purpose better now to leave much unsaid and to end this very first training session with the imponderable dread of what would happen in this week of seven days and seven nights of which she had already spoken.

Left to herself to contemplate that uncertain and surely terrifying future must needs lead the beautiful redhead to an unbearable anguish of soul which would in turn intensify all the emotional and physical sensations to which her voluptuous young body would in due course be subjected.

Laura reflected also that the very next morning, as she had promised the young advertising executive, she would have this naked beauty transferred to a better equipped training room adjacent to which would be the spying room in which he could follow the further domination of his arrogant and stubborn fiancée.

And so, making the crop whistle in the air, she sibilantly repeated her command, "This is the last time I shall tell you, Sheila! Do you hear? Bow down your head and lick my boots!"

The naked redhead had by now painfully got to her knees, and she stared at the dominatress, her creamy round titties rising and falling with erratic tempo, her face contorted and stained with tears, her fists clenched in an obvious sign that revolt still fought against the natural primitive instinct to escape more punishment.

But having already been painfully bested in her attempt to battle with Laura Haggerty and overcome her, and seeing the vicious-looking flexible leather crop menacingly gripped in her tormentress’s hand, she conquered her pride and, biting her lips, slowly began to crawl towards the cot.

Arrived there, she stared once again into that cold, cameo-like face, her lips trembling, on the verge of bursting out with all the suppressed hatred, rancor and indignation seething within her psyche.

But at that exact psychological moment, the brown-haired imperatrix reached out with her left hand, twisted her gloved fingers in Sheila’s tumbling coppery-red hair and forcibly dragged down her face, while at the same time she applied a light flick of the crop across the beautifully sculptured creamy back of the captive.

"Put out your tongue and rub it over the toe of the boot nearest you, bitch!" she commanded. And she chose precisely the tone that would impress her victim with the knowledge that she was absolutely certain that Sheila could not disregard such an order, no matter how unthinkable the task.

For a moment Sheila Andrews remained motionless, her body cringing as if in expectation of another lash. But the fingers of the dominatress twisted her hair even more perniciously, and at last with a sobbing little cry, she thrust out her soft pink tongue over the toe of the gleaming black leather boot.

"Now the other one, bitch!" Laura Haggerty ordained. "I’ll help you move over to it!"

Viciously, her gloved hand yanked Sheila’s hair and with a piercing cry, the naked young woman edged on her knees over to the other boot and performed the same grudging office.

"And now," Laura Haggerty said in an inflexible and cold voice, "you will call me Mistress, and thank me for having spanked you. Say it, or you will feel this riding crop a dozen times over those big titties of yours!"

As she spoke, her left hand dragged up the agonized, flushed and tear-stained face, and with her right hand she lightly tapped each of those panting loveglobes to signify her meaning.

Sheila Andrews could not suppress an involuntary recoiling of her torso, nor a horrified grimace of disgust as Laura lowered her head, extended her cat-like tongue and began to lick and suck the rosy pink nipples that stuck out from her soft, supple breasts.

"My... my.. You are a tasty little tart, you fucking slut," chimed in Laura with a tone of great menace. Although Shiela began to sob uncontrollably, the Mistress forced her to her knees before the threatening black boots.

"And now for some beautification and another lesson in obedience, my little one," sneered Laura. The haughty wanton belted a harsh backhand slap into Shiela’s tear-stained face and then presented her reddening neck with a terrifying karate chop. For a finale, ‘aura’s pointed blacked boot landed in Shiela’s bloodied mouth, where it proceeded to knock out several pearly white teeth by their roots, causing little rivulets of scarlet blood to spurt across the floor. Shiela was now wailing for mercy, but Laura Haggarty was not one to be easily moved by such meager protestations.

"Now you fucking cunt, let’s rearrange those delicate pink nipples." Ruthlessly, Laura’s spiked boot landed with the utmost sadistic care precisely on Shiela’s breast.

"Argg... please no, no, Mistress. I will lick your boots as often as you wish," screamed the bloodied young wench.

"You’re damned fucking right you will, bitch!" retorted Laura as her riding crop thrashed again and again across the young captive’s back.

The riding crop came crashing down again and again - - mercilessly as Shiela’s semi-conscious form writhed and convulsed in the pool of blood, spit, and shredded flesh in which it lay.

Regaining consciousness after several minutes, Shiela struggled to move from the ground, but screamed in agony as she looked down in horror to find her once ripe full breasts, now conveniently nailed to the ground with rusty iron spikes. With a final scream of terror and pain, the young innocent sprang to her knees convulsively, almost tearing the nipples from her body. They remained nailed to the ground beneath the ominous metal spikes. Laura cackled from across the cell as she saw the crumpled form of her victim grasp her breasts, thankful that at least they were still attached.

"And now you must thank me for such a merciful spanking," intoned ‘aura.

Helplessly, Shiela gave a glance down at her breasts which the black gleaming leather implement so pitilessly menaced And thus she gasped out,

M-m- n-don’t-I-l’ll say it, m-m-mistress, th-thank you for sp-s-spanking me."

At once the dominatress contemptuously released Sheila’s twisted, coppery-red tresses, rose from the cot and strode to the door. Turning, she smiled mockingly at the young woman, down whose cheeks great tears of shame were trickling "If you will think about it after I have gone, bitch," she drawled, "you will realize that you did exactly what I promised you would do and, in turn, that I also kept my promise. And now that you have been spanked and called another woman mistress and been obliged to lick her boots to humiliate yourself, occupy your dreams tonight in speculating what I have in store for you tomorrow."

Pressing the secret spring of the lock, she opened the door from the inside and disappeared. Sheila Andrews, still on her knees, uttered a heartrending sob and, covering her face with her hands, burst into a crisis of agonized weeping.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jane Borchard had decided to take a hand in training a slave herself, and after lunch on the day after Sheila Andrews had experienced the humiliating meeting with Laura Haggerty, gave orders to the negro guard John to bring Mona Williams to one of the training cells.

The cell which the tall lanky negro selected was, as it chanced, exactly next to the one to which, this very morning, Laura had had Sheila Andrew transferred. Curiously enough, Sheila’s cell had the additional feature of a one-way glass wall, a broad rectangle which would be to her left and through which she would be able to see Jane Borchard at work on Mona Williams. It had not been planned that way, but as it was to turn out, this voyeurism would be one of the most important influences in converting the lovely coppery-redhaired young woman to the will of her vigorous, handsome young master Granville Tomlinson.

He himself, after spending a passionate night fucking Myrtle Talmadge, had slept late, had breakfast served to him in bed by his adoring brownette slave-bitch, and then, after a shower and shave, put on his robe and went directly to the watching room which would be at Sheila’s right. Here, in a deep armchair, he would be able to sit at his leisure and watch Laura disciplining his beautiful and arrogant fiancee, and hear as well everything that went on in the adjoining training chamber. He impatiently looked forward to this, and when Myrtle timidly offered to accompany him so that she could service him if he grew excited, he irritatedly remarked, "At least you’re showing some interest in my welfare, slave, and that’s very good. But this is one time I don’t want you around. This is the woman I’ve waited for, the one whose name I’ve called out when I’ve been fucking you. And now at last I’m going to see her without being seen, and study what she will be like when at last I take possession of her."

His words were cutting and cool, for the docile masochist had already conceived a great desire and passion for him. He had brought her to orgasm and made her aware of her womanhood as had never before been done. She had even forgotten the impulsive gambing mania which had led her and her sister Susan to this secret realm of uninhibited lust. And there were tears in her eyes when she bowed her head humbly and, kneeling before him, kissed his hand to signify her willingness to do whatever he desired.

Mona Williams was a thirty-one-year-old divorcee who had, about two years ago, been a brief weekend guest at "Borchardville," at that time was a member of the Bondagers. She had created quite a scene then. The rest of the guests were not aware of it. She had antagonized blackhaired Jane Borchard with some of her catty remarks about the eccentricity of Jane’s garments, and the "kookiness" of the disciplinary methods used on young women presented in the arena. Her lover had flown her to the Arizona state line in his private two-seater, then blindfolded her and driven her on by a circuitous route to the isolated buildings which formed the little world of bondage and subjugation where there was no law except that of the masters and the mistresses. This was so that Mona Williams would not be able to reveal where she had been, and the real names of the guests she met-including Jane-were kept secret from her.

But she had fallen out of favor with the Seattle industrialist, who had callously offered her as a slave to Clement Borchard in return for two years’ free membership at "Borchardville." He had been hesitant to accept this, but Jane had urged him, for she had a score to settle with the chestnut-haired beauty.

Just two days ago Mona’s erstwhile lover had delivered her, bound, gagged, and chloroformed, having induced her to meet him for a reconciliation in San Diego, overpowering her and drugging her in their hotel suite, and then having her hidden in a trunk which two bellboys took down in the freight elevator and placed in the back of his station wagon, which he then drove on to "Borchardville."

Mona had awakened to find herself stark naked, In a cell very much like that which Sheila Andrews had first occupied after her own induction. Food had been passed in to her on a tray through a sliding panel at the bottom of the door, and it was only this noon that the two Negro guards had entered the cell and dragged her out, amid her wild protests and frantic appeals for mercy.

Meanwhile, Sheila had been removed to the adjoining training chamber by the two Negroes, and to begin with, had been stretched out on what Laura Haggerty humorously called "the rubberized rack." In the center of this training chamber, whose walls were made of stone and where there was no window and the floors were thickly padded with two-inch-thick carpeting, there stood a rectangular apparatus. It was about three feet high from the floor, and about eight feet long. The top comprised about a dozen round wooden rollers covered with thick rubber, and the outer surface of this rubber roll was studded with tiny whorls, spikes, protuberances of all shapes and kinds so that the naked flesh of a woman’s body would be gouged and probed and excruciatingly prodded when she was strapped down either on her belly or back on this rack.

At each end of this curious device was a pair of thin upright metal shafts that conveyed waxed cords which were tied round the victim’s wrists and ankles. The other ends were fastened to a kind of windlass connected between the uprights, rising to the height of a man’s neck. Thus at will either the ankles or the wrists might be stretched and pulled by winding the wmdlass at either end and tightening the cords and drawing them towards this central focal point. Sheila Andrews unceremoniously was forced down on her back on this series of rubberized rollers, and one of the Negroes tied her wrists while the other fettered her ankles. The windlasses were turned until she felt as if her limbs were stretched to maximum and that another fraction of an inch would actually dislocate her. Her body was dripping with sweat and her eyes were huge with terror as she saw the two men leave the chamber. When she turned her face to either side, she saw other forbidding devices placed there for the subjugation of a slave: a pillory, a saw-horse, a whipping stool, a set of parallel bars, and a whipping ladder in one corner. But inadvertently the two Negroes had tied her so that if she lifted her head, she would stare at the wall in which was set the one-way glass rectangle that would allow her to look in on Jane Borchard and the divorcee.

It was necessary to push a certain button just inside the door to slide back the section of wall and allow the one-way glass panel to be available to the occupants of this chamber. Both Negroes had been so excited by Sheila’s creamy-nude beauty that they had forgotten that this chamber had already been used on the previous week and that the panel had been left bare without concealment. Hence when they left, it was still visible.

Meanwhile, Granville Tomlinson had already seated himself in the comfortable armchair, found on the tabouret to his right a box of Havana cigars, a humidor of fine Turkish, Egyptian, Russian and American cigarettes, and a bottle of very excellent sherry and a glass. Lighting a cigarette, he poured himself a glass of sherry and sipped it appreciatively while his eyes feasted on the body of his fiancee who, in this pose, had her head towards him and her body on a horizontal plane which he could see but not quite so closely as he would have desired. On his left, was a curious little radio-like device perched on another tabouret. But turning this, he activated the public-address system which was connected in this room and the adjoinlng one, and thus he could hear every sound which would come from his beautiful fiancee’s lips, and he would hear as well the smack of the whip on naked womanflesh.

Mona Williams had been dressed in a one-piece red leather sheath, which took her from neck to ankles, left her lovely pale-white skinned arms bare, and there was also a red rubber helmet which fitted over her head and face, with slits for the eyes and two tiny holes for the nostrils, as well as a wide hole at the top through which her hair had been drawn and coiled. The mouthpiece conveyed an oval-shaped leather gag which effectively silenced her. But the costume itself had several interesting features. For example, there were four buttons placed around each of the canteloupe-like titties in their rubber encasement, and, through opening, these, the rubber flaps could be lifted to expose the naked breasts themselves. Similarly, in front, a curious zipper-like device could be drawn down and the flaps widened to expose the victim’s cunt

The two Negroes had led in the gagged, sheathed divorcee, whose thick chestnut hair had been wound round the top of her head in a kind of coronet braid. They had placed her standing astride a metal sawhorse, and cords had been tied to her big toes and thence to floor rings, while her beautiful bare milky arms were drawn up high above her head, and her thumbs tied with cords connecting to a pulley set into the ceiling. The sawhorse had an infernally sharp ridge, that pushed against the crotch of the victim. In terror and pain, Mona waited until at last the door opened and beautiful blackhaired Jane Borchard entered.

At first glance, one would see in Jane’s face a kind of sweetness, with the full ripe lips, the rounded and dimpled cheeks, the wide, dark-blue eyes. But she did not seem sweet now, as poor Mona was about to learn. Her black hair was closely cropped, almost like a man’s. She wore red leather boots to mid-thigh, boots with narrow, sharp heels. Her arms were sheathed to the shoulders in matching gloves. And otherwise she was naked.

The halo-like aureolae of her tits were lovely. Her skin was tawny, rather unusual for a brunette, and there was an exotic quality to her. The halo-like aurolae of her titties were narrow brownish-coral, and the nipples extremely large and crinkly-sensitive. She had a long white feather in her left hand and a short-handled three-thronged black leather martinet in her right. She strolled towards the captive, and when Mona Williams perceived her through the eye-slips in her helmet, she writhed and moaned, jerking at her updrawn wrists till the pulley creaked its protest.

"Yes, darling, it’s I, Jane. You didn’t like some of the costumes the last time you were here, as I remember. So I thought I would give you something really original to parade around in. Do you like it? Nod your head if you do, bitch," Jane’s tone was mocking, her voice a husky contralto, full of bedroom-nuances. "No? Cat got your tongue? Oh I forget, you’re gagged, aren’t you, dear? Well, I’ll make you express yourself. There’s a universal language which I’m sure you’ll find when l get to work on you."

Again there were faint moans through the gag, and again Mona Williams jerked at her wrists. She teetered perilously, and the sharp edge of the sawhorse right up against her crotch brushed the rubber.

"I’d be careful if I were you. That’s extemely sharp there, and if you keep wriggling around, you naughty girl, you’ll cut through the rubber and that might just slice your pussy a little. Of course, it won’t matter to Max anymore. He’s done with you, you know. He’s turned you over to us, and I asked. Clement especially to be assigned to you. You know what’s going to happen to you, Mona? First I’m going to punish you for your nastiness in being such an inhospitable and uncongenial guest. Then I’m going to train you to be a slave, and I’m going to sell you. Maybe to a woman. You’re so vain and selfish, Max tells me that you never really gave him a good fucking. You were much too interested in making sure that he was wild about that lovely body of yours. Frankly, darling, you’ve put on a few too many pounds. But this rubber suit of yours will help sweat some of it off. And I’m going to help you, too. Now let’s see, how shall we start?"

Thus tauntingly, Jane Borchard played on the growing fears of the beautiful chestnut-haired divorcee. Calmly and greedily, Jane reached out her hand and unbuttoned the four buttons around the leather sheathing which covered her victim’s left tittie.

The flaps opened and could be rolled neatly, such was the ingenious quality of this particular made-to-order latex material. And there appeared the wonderful canteloupe-lke jutting round globe, the skin a pale milky quality that was absolutely ravishing. And by contrast, her wide pale-pink aureole and dainty bud in its center seemed the more obscenely naked and salaciously suggestive.

Granville Tomlinson half-rose from his chair, for because he was able to see into the room where his beautiful naked fiancee was stretched out on the rubberized rack, he could by the same token see the one-way glass panel exactly opposite him on the other end of her chamber and thus behold Mona Williams astride the sawhorse and with the magnificent, almost naked, Jane Borchard about to begin the role of executioner-dominatress.

Having bared her victim’s left tittie, Jane now smiled sweetly at the shuddering, squirming captive and lifted the feather in her left hand to tickle the dainty nipple back and forth, lingeringly, until it began to swell and darken.

Whimpering gasps exuded from the gag forced into Mona’s mouth, and her fingers clawed the air as she tried to jerk her wrists loose of the tractioning cords. But now, after having lulled the victim by this feathering, Jane Borchard’s lips tightened and she stepped back.

Slowly lifting the short-handled martinet, whose leather thongs were each about a foot long and only a quarter of an inch wide, she slashed that naked love-globe viciously from right to left, and a wild, choking groan was torn from the victim whose body jerked violently over her straddled and perilous metal ridge.

"Careful, darling, or you’ll really saw through that rubber right into your cunt," Jane hissed. "My, what nice red marks the martinet makes on your big fat bubbie! Can you see mine? I’m all naked, and when I get through with you, Mona, you’re going to gam me. Not only that, you’re going to lick my asshole and stick your tongue way inside, do you hear? Nod your head three times and answer me. What, you’re sulking? We can’t have that, can we?" And once again the martinet whistled through the air and the three thongs clacked wickedly as they spread out fantail over that naked love-globe.

This time poor Mona Williams’ squirming was even more visible, and her weaving of her loins rasped the rubber coating which covered her cunt against the very sharp ridge of that metal saw horse over which she perched.

Now, crouching, Jane very carefully drew on the specially fabricated zipper at the crotch of the rubber sheath, and thus exposed the dark chestnut fleece of Mona’s cunt. Because of the distention of her legs, the fleshy pink lips were exposed at once, and now the cruel, gleaming metal ridge was only a fraction of an inch away from those tender love petals.

"You’d best be careful how you wriggle about now, my darling. Max isn’t here to be captivated by you, you know. I’m going to tickle your cunt with the feather first, then I’m going to give you a few little spanks on it," Jane crooned lasciviously. "But I’d advise you to stay as motionless as you can, or you might just give yourself an operation. What a shame it would be not to have a pussy, greedy little rutting bitch that you are!"

And in a vindictive fury, she straightened, stepped back, and applied three whistling lashes of the martinet over that now cruelly striped milky tittie.

Wild with pain, the divorcee wrenched at her updrawn arms, squirming and twisting, and for a brief instant her cunt lips brushed against the cold sharp metal ridge of the saw horse over which she straddled.

Her eyes were drowned in tears, and now she began to squirm involuntarily. For inside this rubber suit, the surface of the latex that pressed against her skin was coated with a very special irritant, not unlike an itching powder. And the warmth and perspiration of her bare flesh began to turn this compound into action.

Her groans now filled the air, even exuding through the gag which bulged her cheeks.

Delighted with the effect produced, Jane contemplated her victim for a moment. Then, moving behind the unfortunate divorcee, she unbuttoned the left bottomcheek’s rubber flap. Then, turning quickly to a footstool on which lay several implements and devices, she took a safety pin and very deftly and carefully secured the loose rubber so that it would stay out of harm’s way and leave the jutting, rounded ass cheek totally bare.

Then capriciously she began to tickle the milky flesh with the feather, while poor Mona wriggled and moaned, shuddering as the cruel itching powder began to work all over her tenderest regions, her titties, her armpits, the insides of her thighs, even to the crease of her bottom.

She was now bathed in sweat, and at times when her movements became too sporadic, she could feel the cold, chill brush of that infernal saw horse ridge against her gaping cunt hole.

Now Jane drew back her right hand and slashed the martinet over the bare bottomcheek with all her strength. With a muffled cry, poor Mona lurched forward, once again almost chafing her cunt against the ridge. Her head tilted back, she yanked at her arms, but in vain. Whimpering piteously, she teetered there, her legs astraddle, her body stretched and shuddering in its rubber garmenting.

Granville Tomlinson unbelted his robe, spread the folds out on either side of his knees, and his naked prick was massive and throbbing with lust at what he saw. But his eyes also laved the horizontally placed, racked body of his creamy-skinned red-haired fiancee who was now his slave and possession. Now for the first time truly, he knew the joy of being a Bondager!

Jane Borchard now began to tickle the naked, welted ass cheek of her helpless victim with the gossamer feather, till the unfortunate divorcee moaned and squirmed. "Careful, darling," the dominatress cooed, "you’re really going to cut your pussy to pieces if you keep that up. But I suppose that’s the way you got Max randy from the start, just waggling that big ass of yours around. Well, darling, I’m not a man so it won’t excite me-except to punish it for such impudence and indecency, like this, and this!" And then, moving back, she once again drew back the three-thonged whip and made the leather lashes smack noisily against the pale-white-skinned bottom globe. Frantic with pain, poor Mona Williams lunged forward, bending at the waist, trying desperately to arch her loins away from the fiendishly sharp metal ridge so close to her exposed cunt hole.

Granville Tomlinson had put his left palm against his throbbing prick, and his forefinger pressed against the lips to hold back the flow of gism, for this scene was maddening. And all the while he could see his beautiful Sheila lying stretched on the rubberized rack, awaiting her own moment of truth with Laura Haggerty.

Laura, indeed, had been somewhat delayed because Clement Borchard had summoned her as she was about to go to the training chamber, to ask for her aid in undertaking the special subjugation of two new victims who had just been flown in and had to be presented to a special buyer within ten days.

As a result, Sheila was left to lie there and reflect with growing terror on what would happen to her. And now, the long suspense enervating her, she suddenly lifted her head and she beheld through that glass panel precisely what her fiancee, behind her, had been watching. Her eyes widened, an incredulous look congealed her lovely, arrogant face.

She could not believe the testimony of her own eves. Although there was no sound emanating from the chamber ahead of her. what she saw was plain enough: the beautiful black-haired wife of the founder of the Bondagers moved around now to face that helpless creature in the rubber sheath, whose cunt was plainly visible and perilously near the sharp metal ridge of the saw horse placed just between her legs. Her naked tittie bared the darkening marks of the martinet.

And Jane’s own lascivious nudity, set off by boots and gloves whose red, gleaming luster accentuated the exotic, tawny texture of her naked body. He saw how Jane held whip and feather as she contemplated the divorcee, and at last Sheila Andrews began to understand what orgiastic and hitherto undreamed-of acts of sadism and unleashed lust could take place under the auspices of a secret cult such as Granville Tomlinson had cited to her on their final date back in Chicago.

"Oh, you poor thing," Jane’s voice was dulcet, dripping with honeyed sarcasm. "Your pussy must be sore from that nasty sore horse. I’ll make it feel better, you’ll see. There now, isn’t that nice?"

And with this, she directed the white feather against the gaping pink cleft of Mona Willlams’ twat and began to frig the outer rims, causing the unfortunate divorcee to squirm and groan, to jerk convulsively in her bonds.

The stress of this exaggerated straddle of her legs and the terrific traction exerted on her arms had already made her muscles ache atrociously. And to all this was added the infernal torment of the itching compound well at work now over every part of Mona Williams’ nakedness inside that hot, clinging rubber bondage sheath.

"My, what a randy bitch you are, dear," Jane laughed huskily. "I can see now why Max had some fun with you, after all. But you oughtn’t have been so obvious about it. And I think you should have been more discrete and not cheated on him. At least not with a bellboy in the same hotel, my dear. Even a whore would know better. And then you had the audacity to complain to me about-what was the phrase you used?-oh yes, how kooky things we were doing here were.

"Well, Mona darling, before you leave this room, because it’s here that you’re going to have all your training, you’re going to do more things than you ever dreamed possible. You’re going to find new uses for both your holes, take it from me. Oh my, I can see that you’re almost getting ready to cream, you naughty little bitch you!"

It was true. The constant, repeated feathering against so sensitive and distended a lovegape had begun to make poor Mona Williams squirm and moan and also to bring about a visible moistening to those fleshy pussy lips.

Now Jane Borchard diabolically directed her feather against the nodule of Mona’s clitoris, and began to frig it with the same insistence. Frantically drawn towards hot pussy juicing, the divorcee tilted back her head, moaning frantically, crawling the air with her slim jeweled fingers; and the naked tittie with its whipmarks standing out in bold relief against the pale milky skin, rose and fell tumultously.

But then, just as she had lulled the unfortunate woman before, Jane Borchard now halted the feather-frigging. Slowly lowering the martinet, she flicked it deftly right into the gap left open at the crotch of the rubber sheath, and the tips of the thongs smacked wetly into Mona Williams’ gaping cunthole.

The shriek was harrowing, prolonged, and though the gag muffled it, there could be no doubt of the unspeakable torture which the unfortunate woman was suffering. Even if that was not enough, the convulsive jerkings of her body told the story.

And as she twisted and jerked to and fro, her cunt at last rasped against the viciously sharp metal ndge of the sawhorse between her legs. Then with all her might, uttering another shriek, she seemed to try to arch herself up on tiptoes, to avert the disaster.

"Oh my, after all my warning, too!" Jane chided. "You’ve gone and rubbed yourself right against that sawhorse, haven’t you? Well, if you’re so hot that you just have to jack off, you should have told me. I don’t want you to cut your pussy off, I’m going to use it in many lovely ways, you know.

"Like sticking pins into it, and like maybe taking a paintbrush and dipping it into turpentine-oh, now, I’ve made you frightened, haven’t I? You poor darling. And all Max probably ever did to you was give you a few lovespanks on that big ass of yours."

Jane Borchard’s voice was greedy with lust, as she reveled in her role of dominatress4orturess. And all this while, forcing herself to keep her head tilted up so that she could watch this incredible scene, beautiful Sheila Andrews observed with mouth agape and dilated eyes the exquisite joys of sadistic subjugation, the very credo of the Bondagers.

And perhaps in her own mind then, there came the growing, darkening fear that these things might well be done to herself, naked as she was and stretched out upon a rack. The prodding of the rubber spikes and whorls with which the rollers were studded had begun t9 exacerbate her tender thighs and bottom her beautifully sculptured back, and the stress of keeping her head erect while she was stretched by wrists and ankles out along the rack accentuated the discomfort.

At last she let her head fall back, but she was breathing quickly, and long twitching spasms surged along her velvety inner thighs.

Granville Tomlinson watched his sweetheart’s reaction, his finger-tip pressed hard against the tip of his prick as the urge to spurt grew more and more intolerable. He was grateful that Laura Haggerty had not yet come in, because now he knew that Sheila had at last discovered for herself something of what he had intimated to her, the exquisite pleasure or pain of awaiting a moment of torment, and yet not knowing precisely what it would be or when.

"Would you like me to take you down or move this saw horse away, darling?" Jane was asking her whimpering victim. And Mona Williams promptly nodded her head three times, groaning through her gag.

"I see," Jane went on. "Well, you won’t get it for nothing. That’s the rule of life, something for something. Tell me, darling, if I spare your pussy from being cut to pieces, will you gam me nicely and lick my asshole and stick your tongue deep into my little brownie too?"

And when Mona could not answer because sobs and tears choked her, and because the gag bulged out her cheeks and because her body was a fiery torment now from chest to calves because of the itching compound, Jane Borchard lifted up the martinet and applied two whistling lashes over that naked tittie, and then a third which darted downwards to flick the tips of the thongs right into that gaping cunt hole.

"Speak to me when I talk to you, bitch," she snarled. And Mona, frenzied with with terror, tried her best: ‘mmfagghh

aghhh-ou

ih!", she cooed: "I just don’t understand you, dear. You’re going to have to be trained how to talk to your mistress. Or maybe it will be a master, I’m not sure yet. But anyway, I think you’ve had enough of the sawhorse. Now if you’re not a good girl and do everything I tell you to, I’m going to take off that rubber sheath and strap you down on that sawhorse and it will cut your titties and your pussy to pieces. Just remember that."

With this, Jane Borchard crouched and pushed the metal apparatus beyond the strapped rubber-sheathed thighs of her victim. "There now, we are all comfy again, darling. And now I’m going to have a big strong nigger come in and cut you down from there. I know how you hate niggers, because you were originally born in the South, weren’t you? But if you show that you don’t like him, I’m afraid that Bud will want to whip you or else maybe fuck you. So just be nice, you hear?"

Stepping to the closest wall, Jane Borchard pressed a button, and a moment later the cell door swung open and the heavier, older Negro entered, wearing only sandals and a jockstrap. Jane gestured to the straddled, tractioned, leather-sheathed victim: "Would you mind awfully taking her down, Bud? And while you’re at it, unbutton the flap of her rubber panties so I can get at that other ass cheek of hers. If you like, you can give them both a good sound slapping with the flat of your black hand. You know, she doesn’t like niggers."

"That’s a shame, Mrs. Borchard, a real shame," Bud grinned and winked salaciously. Quickly he lowered the pulley cords, then untied the cords around poor Mona’s toes, and laid her down on her face on the floor.

Unbuttoning the other flap, he exposed her right buttock, taking a safety pin to keep the rubber folds pinned away from the quivering flesh.

"Look like she don had a purty good spanking already, Mrs. Borchard," he chuckled obscenely, and he ran his pudgy black hands over the shuddering flesh. It was the itching compound naturally, which had discolored both globes, but the one just bared the most of all. They were flushed and the skin seemed to be prickled as with goose flesh.

"Go ahead, warm her up a bit, Bud," Jane Borchard enjoined him.

Nodding, he gleefully began to smack both naked ass cheeks with the flat of his palm, sometimes first one and then the other, sometimes both at once, while poor Mona wailed and groaned through her gag, trying to roll over but in vain, weakened by her long ordeal.

"You may go now, and thanks very much, Bud. Tell my husband I’ll probably stay here most of the aftemoon. I might even have supper sent in here, because I wouldn’t like to leave poor Mona all by herself," Jane giggled. And when the Negro guard had gone, she herself rolled the rubber-sheathed divorcee over onto her back, and then squatted over her face, hissing, "In just a minute I’m going to take off your punishment helmet and then you can gam me. I just want you to get used to this position, because you’re going to have it all the time I’m training you. I might even teach you to drink my piss, dear. I want to humble you, so you won’t ever dare to make an ungracious remark ever again about our hospitality in Borchardville."

And then, unfastening the helmet, removing the gag, she stared down triumphantly into poor Mona Williams’ flushed, tearstained face.

"Ohhh -p - please-for heaven’s sake have m - m - mercy, J-Jane," Mona Williams panted hoarsely.

"You’re not to call me by my first name ever again. You’re to call me mistress. Say it!"

"M-M -Mistress -oh please-don’t-don’t hurt me anymore-don’t make me a slave, I’ll do anything, please get me back with M-Max!" the divorcee pleaded.

"It’s too late for that, dear. He’s turned you in for credit. Oh yes, credit on his membership. He’d much rather fuck a lot of other girls than spend all his time with you, conniving slut that you are. If only you hadn’t fucked that bellboy in Miami, pet. That was very untactful of you. And now you’re going to gam me. And if you don’t do a good job, I’m going to give you this little whip on your titties twenty times. That is, twenty on each of those big fat globes of yours. Now get ready."

And then at last Jane Borchard lowered her furry cunt against Mona Wilfiams’ panting mouth, and with a whimpering groan, tears running down her red cheeks, the divorcee began to gamahuch the brunette wife of the founder of this unusual bondage and lust club.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Exactly at that moment, the door to Sheila’s training cell swung open and Laura Haggerty appeared. Granville Tomlinson, who had ground his teeth and pinched the head of his prick to hold back the pulsing urge to burst forth all his essence, sat on the edge of his chair, his eyes burning with expectancy.

The brownhaired imperatrix wore leather boots to her knees and the gloves sheathed only as far as her elbows. Her lithe, beautifully muscled body was provocatively clad in a red leather bolero jacket cut with a wide V at the front to show off just the tops and the valley of her titties, while her loins were snuggly encased in red leather pants so supple and clinging that they seemed a veritable second skin.

As she entered, she quickly observed that the rectangular panel to her right allowed a view into the room where Mona Williams was gamahuching Jane Borchard, and swiftly strode to the wall and flicked off the switch, rolling the covering panel of the wall back over the glass. She frowned as she turned back to the naked redhead stretched out on the rubberized rack, glanced back at where the panel had been, and then moved slowly towards Sheila Andrews. It was evident that she was mulling over the possibility that her new candidate for subjugation might well have seen all that had been taking place. And she herself was curious, if that had really occurred, as to the psychological effect it would have on this spirited and obstinate young beauty.

"Well, here we are again, Sheila," she said pleasantly. I trust you had a good night’s sleep. You will need it, because today you are going to be somewhat more strenuously exercised. I think at first I’m going to give you a toneup which will put your blood into good circulation, and you will feel delightful new sensations."

She looked at Sheila.

With this, she squatted to one side of the apparatus, turned on a metal switch set in a little generator box on the floor, whose wires connected with the rack. Instantly the several horizontal rollers began to turn, and Sheila Andrews instantly cried out and tried to lift her naked body up from them, her eyes widening and shadowy with distress. The numerous tiny rubber spikes and whorls with which these rollers were studded all over their outer surfaces naturally rasped against her naked body in a constant and rhythmic motion whose friction chafed and sensitized the fine creamy skin.

As she arched herself, the magnificent round turrets of her titties seemed to be chiseled out of marble, and Granville Tomlinson’s eyes blazed with passion. He could see also the thick dark-red curls which framed her virgin cunthole, could see the straining round lovely thighs and observe the muscular play of their reaction to the painful friction.

Turning her face to the left, Sheila groaned and closed her eyes. Sweat began to ooze onto her forehead and under her armpits as the rollers pitilessly circled round and round, scraping their persistent studded surfaces against her bottom and thighs and calves, her back and shoulders. Her toes curled and twisted, as did her fingers, and now her head began to turn restlessly from side to side.

After about three minutes of this torture, Laura Haggerty squatted down and flicked off the switch. Sheila Andrews moaned and exhaled a sigh of relief, then slowly turned her face to stare up into the cold cameo-like features of her tormentress.

"You had quite a wait for me, and I’m sorry. But Mr. Borchard had need of my services," Lara Haggerty smilingly explained. "Meanwhile, I’m sure you must have had a great deal of time to study your surroundings, Sheila. Were you able to look into the next cell?"

"Yes, oh my goodness, that poor woman-how it was horrible!" Sheila gasped, her face turning scarlet as she saw Laura’s lips curl with a mocking smile.

"Before I’m finished with you and this week is over, you are going to pay homage to me just as that slave did to Mrs. Borchard," the imperatrix assured her. "But now, I want to study your reactions and learn which parts of your body are the most sensitive and which give the best erogenous responses."

Sheila gasped and caught her breath, staring questioningly at the leather-sheathed trainer. Laura Haggerty lifted a long white feather in her right hand, showed it to the young woman, and then lifted her left hand also. In this there was a kind of large square of extremely fine sandpaper, but closer observation showed that it was saturated with a sticky, yellowish substance. Without explaining either device, Laura Haggerty at once began to glide the feather, starting at Sheila’s throat and devoting much time to her titties, especially the nipples. Stifled little gasps escaped the young woman, she closed her eyes and stiffened herself, but she could not prevent vivid blushes from suflusing her cheeks and throat and forehead and she was made aware of her lush nakedness.

As the feather caressed the nipples, they stiffened and grew dark, and Sheila opened her arms and groaned as she saw the face of the dominatress hovering over her. "You have beautiful titties, and they are also very sensitive. My, how hard your nipples are getting. Now if a man were to suck and lick them, I think you would respond, judging from the way you are reacting to this feather," Laura Haggerty didactically explained. Next, moving the feather downwards, she fleeted it about Sheila’s navel, and then descended to the basin of the lower abdomen and where the pussy hairs began to grow. Again, the sharp intake of breath from the captive told the absorbed and fascinated Granville Tomlinson in the watching room that his beautiful fiancee was becoming titillated and aroused by this delicate frigging.

And then the feather moved down to the thick bush, framing the soft pink cunt lips disappearing through the fronds and tickling the rims of those sweet portals of pussy-passion. Sheila’s head tilted back, the cords of her throat standing out against the creamy skin and her nostrils began to flare and shrink. Granville Tornlinson could see her toes curl and twist spasmodically and from time to time, she uttered a stifled: "Aahhh!" which testifled to her mounting exacerbation.

Now Laura Haggerty drew the feather down along Sheila’s left inner thigh and to the knee and back again, then paraded the plume over the other thigh in the same manner. Then, once again, the feather returned to the soft twitching cunt, tickling the fleshy rims, and at last, finding the clitoris. Sheila’s body started convulsing from the rack, her head lifted, her eyes glazed and widened: "Oh, don’t! .... . oh ....... stop it... don’t do that! I can’t stand it!" she moaned

Granville Tomlinson was damp with lust-sweat, and his fingers pinched his prick head so hard that it hurt, but that was the only way he could keep from bursting. There before his eyes was the proof that the beautiful haughty aloof Sheila Andrews was truly passionate. It remained only to bring her to the crux.

Laura Haggerty paused, staring mockingly into Sheila’s flushed face. "Well, the ice princess is thawing out, isn’t she?" she mocked. "For a virgin, Sheila, you’re quite hot. I imagine that if one of the Negro guards were to come in right now and give you a good fucking, you would really be in ecstasy."

"Oh my God! Oh, don’t talk like that, please! Oh stop! Don’t do this to me. You’re a woman. How can you be so cruel to me!" the naked redhead whimpered.

"Well, for the time being, you won’t have any more of the feather. But now I’m going to give you a little rubdown."

With this, the dominatress left the feather lying along the valley of Sheila’s heaving titties, and taking the square of sticky sandpaper, began to rub it gently over Sheila’s inner thighs, working insistantly back and forth until she reached the young woman’s gaping cunt hole. Then she moved it to the belly, and to each of the nipples, rubbing lightly. Sheila sucked in her breath and lifted her head to stare with fascinated, tear-glazed eyes at what was being done to her. And then she began to moan and squirm, and for a very good reason: the yellowish sticky substance which coated the sandpaper was a chemical compound formulated in the private laboratory of the Borchards, devised by a member of the Bondagers who was a world-famed biochemist. It was nothing more than a powerful cantharide which could be infused like osmosis, through the pores of the skin. It produced an attunement, a titillation of all the nerves, a sensuality, while not dangerous, would nonetheless rouse the victim to a feverish pitch.

Calmly and silently Laura Haggerty continued, rubbing each nipple in turn, till these delicious love buds became dark and swollen, palpitating with a life all their own. Sheila’s moans and sobs and whimpers became more pronounced, more anxiety-ridden. Her fingers and toes curled and twisted, and long shivering spasms seized her naked, stretched body on the rubberized rack. Her head began to turn restlessly to and fro, her lips trembling, her nostrils twitching and shrinking. And Granville Tomlinson drank in all this with an agony of Tantalus that knew no bounds.

Then at last, Laura Haggerty moved the curious square of treated sandpaper down against the dark-red muff of Sheila Andrews’ cunt and began to rub very lightly.

"Ohh! Please stop it! . -. you’re driving me crazy . - it’s tickling, I’m burning all over. Oh, ....... Laura, have mercy on me! Ohh, I can’t stand it, I’ll do anything, only stop it!" Sheila wailed.

"You forgot to call me mistress, you bitch! I’m afraid I’m going. to have to punish you for that, Sheila the dominatress purred. Leaving the sandpaper square placed right over Sheila’s cunt, she turned to a panoply on the wall and took down a curious little whip. Its wooden handle was only three inches in length, and from it was fixed a thin silken scourge not more than a foot long, studded with little knots, and whose tip had been split into three strands all with large knots on them. Returning to the shuddering and groaning captive, she put her left palm on Sheila’s forehead, lifted the scourge and brought it down with a flick of her wrist so that the silken whip hissed and kssed the young woman’s left tittie.

Sheila Andrews uttered a shriek, lifted her head, and her body jerked on the rack: "Awwoohrrr, oh my God, not there, not there!" she wailed.

But pitilessly, Laura Haggerty applied a dozen more cuts to that same luscious love-globe, each of which drew frenzied cries and babbled tearful entreaties. Damp with sweat, Sheila’s lovely creamy body jerked and squirmed repeatedly. But now Laura moved to the other side of the rack and directed twelve equally stinging, flicking cuts of the scourge over the other globe. The unfortunate beauty, beside herseff with pain, arched and writhed, jerking so madly at her ankles and wrists that Granville Tomlinson was afraid the cords would leave angry chafing marks on the creamy flesh. Inarticulate, incoherent, babbling plaints poured from those trembling lips, and Sheila’s head turned back and forth, her eyes exorbitant and glazed and blinded with tears.

"Now then, are you sorry you forgot to call me mistress?" Laura demanded. lifting the scourge, and at the same time pushing away the square off the exposed cunthole, she directed it down with a wicked little flick that sent the tips directly into that pink gape.

"Awwoohrrr! Oh yes, oh my God, mistress, oh have pity, oh please. I’ll do anything, oh, no more!" Sheila shrieked as her body again arched and squirmed and twisted violently on the rubberized rack.

"All right. I will pardon you on one condition. You will gam me. Do you know what I mean, Sheila?" the dominatress hissed as she leaned over that flushed, tear-bathed face.

"Oh please... anything... oh please!" Sheila repeated as if she did not understand.

"listen to me!" Laura Haggerty’s voice cut like a whip. "I’m pretty sure you saw what happened in the next training room. Well, what that naked bitch was doing to Mrs. Borchard is what I call gamming. In other words, you’re going to suck, lick and kiss my cunt until I come. Do you understand that? Because if you don’t, I’m going to use the scourge again on that cunt of yours until you think you’ll go mad. And then I’m going to turn you over and give you the same treatment, but with a good hard strap on your big bare ass. Now, what is your answer?"

With this, her gloved thumb and forefinger reached out and pinched one of the woman’s swollen, darkened tittie buds and Sheila capitulated with a wild agonized cry of: "Oh yes, oh please don’t, let go, mistress, I’ll do it, I’ll do it!" With a mocking smile, Laura Haggerty unfastened the clinging leather pants, dragged them down and exposed herself. Then, mounting on a stool, she stood astraddle Sheila’s flushed contorted face, lowering her furry cunt down to that trembling mouth and ordered: "Begin!"

Granville Tomlinson who could not believe his eyes, trembling with frustrated lust, watched as his beautiful fiancee began to suck and lick Laura’s cunt, and did so until at last, the dominatress cried out in bliss!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

While Granville Tomlinson stared ecstatically at the astonishing spectacle through the one-way glass panel in this peeping salon, seeing his aloof sweetheart for the first time display sexual reaction by performing the most intimate and lewdest of caresses on Laura Haggerty’s cunt, the door to this soundproofed luxurious little chamber opened, and the enchanting young slavegirl Cleo entered. He started glancing at her, and then frowned: "What are you doing here, Cleo?"

"Mrs. Borchard suggested that I might be of service to you, master," she demurely responded as she sank down on her knees besides his armchair.

This fifteen-year-old cupbearer-that was the name by which they were referred to by the members of the Bondagers-had already exquisitely serviced him the evening when he had watched the sport in the arena and seen Dorothy Selmers disciplined and the two Talmadge sisters fighting the blindfolded whip duel. It was the evening he had bought Myrtle Talmadge, the loser in that fray. And Cleo had been offered to him before. Now was a magnificently propitious moment. First of all, the astonishing sight of Sheila’s capitulation to the brown-haired imperatrix had so aroused him that he had actually thought of demanding entrance into the training chamber and then and there fling himself upon the redhead’s creamy naked body and fuck her violently to express once and for all, the pent-up lust he had conceived for her. But he had reasoned that this would be to undo all the purpose of the carefully planned and very skillfully perpetrated abduction from Chicago as well as to abort the psychological program of conditioning which Laura Haggerty as well as Jane Borchard had outlined to him as being the ideal way to break down Sheila Andrews’ aloof and snobbish reserve.

So he smiled at the golden-haired young charmer, so piquantly attractive with her hair cut in helmet style. Her pink-skinned body was delectably developed, considering her age, and surely, there was no more tremulously appealing face in this entire realm when it came to the expression of pure femininity.

Cleo was, moreover, excitingly costumed. She wore a red satin brassiere, cut daringly low at the front in a deep V which exposed almost half the inner curves of her pink-sheened titties, and there was only a narrow matching belt circling her supple waist; at the middle of the belt a silver mesh chain conveyed a circular rhinestone brooch which placed exactly over her soft cunt, and then continued upwards, gusseting her.

Around her lower torso she wore skin tight shorts, cut so they left her bottom superbly bare. Her only other adornment was a pair of red satin high-heeled pumps.

"It’s very thoughtful of you, Cleo," he said gently. come, kneel between my legs and do for me what you did that night in the arena. I will prepare for it."

"At once, master, in all haste," the charming golden-haired girl replied. Promptly she moved between his straddled legs. As he had already drawn back the folds of the robe, his massively swollen prick thrust out, aching and throbbing with pent-up rut. Leaning slightly forward, her soft little fingers caressing the insides of his thighs, Cleo began to mouth the tip of his cock, without taking it in between her lips. She sent warm gusts of breath against it, till the glans vibrated and quaked and shuddered with the frantic urge which her delightful titillation procurred.

"You are really an expert, Cleo, and amazingly young. Who trained you?"

Cleo paused.

Granville’s eyes remained fixed on the panel, which looked into the other room, and there he saw Laura Haggerty step down to the floor and take up the feather again, and begin to direct it over Sheila’s quivering naked belly and thighs and edges of the young woman’s delightfully rounded hips.

"Mrs. Borchard trained me ftom the start, master," Cleo looked up with a most attentive expression

She paused again

"I hope that you are pleased with me, master."

She awaited an answer.

"Extremely pleased. I suppose that you aren’t a virgin anymore, Cleo?"

"Oh no, master," the golden-haired girl gasped, blushing slightly, as she continued to caress his inner thighs with her soft little fingers. "Mr. Borchard had me the very first night I was brought here, so then he turned me over to his wife for most of my training. He had me in my bottom hole too, master. He does that to all the new slave girls, the cupbearers, I mean. Shall I go on now?"

"By all means! Then, if I wanted to fuck you, or simply take you over my lap and spank your pretty bottom hard, you would have to submit, wouldn’t you?" his thighs. Cleo began to mouth the tip of his cock, without taking it in looked up, but this time with a frightened expression on her sweet face. "Every girl who works here to please the members and the guests must do what she is told, or she will be punished very severely. I know I was."

"So I heard. But I think today I shall content myself with having you use your mouth on my prick, Cleo. Try to make it last as long as you can."

"That is what Mr. Borchard taught me, master," the girl said very simply. Then forcing her head down again, she began once more to breathe against the tip of his aching prick, and now, her soft fingers glided to his balls and began to tickle them ever so lightly and evanescently.

He could hear Sheila’s groans and gasps, as once more, Laura resumed the infernal tickling with the feather. By now, the chemical compound with which that piece of sandpaper had been smeared, had permeated the redhead’s nervous system, and her body kept twitching and squirming ceaselessly on the rubberized rack. Once again, her face began to turn from side to side, with a restless and feverish kind of anguish. Slowly and deliberately, Laura Haggerty pursued her titillatory work, walking the feather now over the belly button, then upwards to the titties, each of which

Laura continued by running the feather slowly circles in which centered the sweet nuggets of Sheila’s nipples.

By now, Cleo had taken just the tip of his prick between her soft lips, and then he groaned as he felt her sharp little white teeth brush against the puckering lips. Now the tip of her tongue added new agony to his Tantalus-torture. He closed his eyes a moment, pretending that it was Sheila. If only she could be brought to doing this most intimate love act with him of her own accord, glorying in her submissive role as whore-slave-lover, then this would be the epitome of all womanhood, for him. And yet, part of his intellectual mind found him wishing that she would still be rebellious, so that he would have to master her, to take the whip to her, to tie her up and make red lines leap upon the creamy splendor of her bare ass and legs and titties and belly until sobbingly she would beg him for the privilege of showing how well she could obey. And then, he would know that even as she did obey, even as she degraded herself by sucking his prick, despite all her revulsion for the act, she would have a smoldering hatred for him which he could stamp out repeatedly by bondage and the lash. This, he knew, was the very heart of sadism and it was why no master who had once tasted the pleasures of subjugation ever wished the slave to be fully submissive, so docile and humble that there was not always the possibility of incipient revolt to give him the pretext for punishing her. That is why eventually, he would tire of Myrtle whose almost bovine acceptance and adoration of him would in time prove tiring and unimaginative.

Cleo’s soft fingers were now tickling his scrotum as she had taken all of his glans inside her mouth and had begun to suck it with tiny rapid suctional movements of her mouth and gums. To this, she added the occasional brush of her teeth and the prodding of her nimble little tongue, until it was all he could do to keep from exploding. By sheer strength of will, digging his nails into the arms of the chair, tilting back his head and closing his eyes to blot out the scene between Sheila and Laura, did he succeed in quelling the urgent agony of ejaculation.

And Cleo seemed to understand his overwrought condition. She now paused and got up, her hands stroking his hands and knees, studying his handsome face, flushed and tauten with passion. "I want to make it last for you, master," she murmured huskily. "You’re very nice. You’re much nicer than most of them who are here. I know I shouldn’t say that and you can whip me, if you want, or report me to the Borchards, but I have to tell you that I like you a lot."

He paused.

"Have you ever thought what it might be like to away from here, in some city, with your own apartment, and when you grow up in a few years, have a man to love you, really love you?" he found himself asking.

Her lovely sky-blue eyes widened, as she looked up and then frowned, pondering his question. At last she answered, "Of course I would like that. Though I’m an orphan, and they are my guardians. There’s nothing I can do about it, and I’m not of age yet. Besides, it isn’t so bad if one obeys. The food is wonderful, I have all the clothes I need, and sometimes the guests are very generous and leave gifts for me. The Borchards are saving these things for me, they say."

He could not reason or argue with such an elemental philosophy. Since her twelfth birthday, this charming child-who was already a woman-had learned more of the world and of passion and lust than most grown women had in a lifetime. And by acquescience, she had discovered the easier way to survival. Was that not true of all of us, in one sense?

"If I can, Cleo, I should like to try to buy you. Then I would set you free one day," he said softly.

She looked up, startled, her eyes questioning: "Do you really mean that, master?"

"Very much. I’m not sure they would sell you, but I can at least find out. And now, take care of your master and show him how you would take care of him if the day comes when you will be my own personal slave and have no other man to service," he ordered.

Cleo again bent her head but further towards him this time. Now her nimble pink tongue was stuck out and she began to scrape the scrotum, and then, lick his balls. Her hands feverishly and quickly moved, gliding evanescently like a feather indeed, over his hairy thighs and knees, and back again. He ground his teeth to hold back his gism wanting to prolong this to the ultimate moment and even beyond that, if his flesh could stand the agony

Now Cleo’s soft pink tongue grasped lingeringly along the shaft, nudging the dark blue veins which stood out against the tightly drawn skin of his whang At the same time, with the right thumb and forefinger, she delicately pinched the head of his prick as if realizing that her tantalizing maneuvers would otherwise bring him soon to a gushing point before he wished it. With her left hand, she continued to fondle his sides and hips, the insides of his thighs and knees, just under his scrotum.

She was eager and extremely anxious to know whether she was pleasing him. He had his right hand caressing her head, and his left hand gripped the arm of the chair, sinking in his nails to feel the soft upholstery heeled as he watched what was taking place beyond him.

Once again Laura Haggerty, by means of feather-frigging, had drawn her naked helpless, racked slave-candidate towards the pitch of pussy juicing. Whimpering gasps and groans exuded constantly from Sheila’s gaping mouth, as her face restlessly turned from side to side, her eyes rolling, humid and glazed. He could see how Sheila’s round full luscious creamy titties rose and fell spasmodically. How the nipples had darkened and stiffened from all this erogenous play. Ingeniously, Laura had brought her to that point just before, only to hold it back while she herself exerted power over his naked fiancee by making Sheila gamahuch her to her own orgasmic joy. And thus Sheila herself was learning what Tantalus could be, but in a different sense from his own masterful enjoyment of having a young naked girl attend him while he watched the helpless struggles of his naked sweetheart in the room beyond.

He could hear Sheila’s sobbing breath, hear her suck in her breath as the feather now halted in one particularly sensitive spot, tickling the rims of her pussy, and delving inside to find the labia minora which led to the sheath of passion into which soon his own prick would so gloriously be housed. Then the feather lifted again, but this time to dart back to the swelling button of Sheila’s clitoris, to waft over it glidingly, touching every tiny spot on that sweet lodestone which was the very key to his red-haired fiancee’s deepest-rooted emotion.

"Ohhh! please, m-m-mistress, don’t-oh, don’t tickle me there-I can’t stand it-oh please don’t, you’re torturing me! I’ll go crazy, I can’t bear it any longer, I’m begging you!" Sheila’s voice had almost reached a whinning pitch. She jerked her wrists and ankles on the rack. She arched and squirmed. At that moment, desisting, Laura moved away and turned on the electric generator which rotated the rubberized rollers under Sheila’s stretched body. Once again the profuse studding of rubber spikes, foils, prods and studs, were striking everywhere from shoulder blades to calves, rotating at a moderate speed to rasp and friction Sheila’s shuddering flesh.

"Oh not that again! It hurts, please, dear mistress, I’ll do whatever you want, but please turn it off! I can’t stand the rubbing and scraping!"

Laura was silent as she resumed tickling Sheila’s titties with the feather. By now, the young woman 5 teeth were chattering, her nostrils flaring and shrinking uncontrollably. The cantharidic compound which had saturated that piece of sandpaper had absorbed through the pores of Sheila’s skin, and now raced through her nervous system and feverishiy excited her. Her body was bathed in sweat and her toes and fingers curled restlessly.

"You’re really boiling, you pretty bitch," Laura mouthed while leaning over the woman’s tortured face. Their two lips almost touching.

"How would you like to have that handsome, special boyfriend of yours here to relieve you of your cherry? I’ve never seen a hotter pussy than yours, not with a virgin, I haven’t. You’ve been pretending all this time to be so high and mighty on your pedestal, Sheila Andrews. You’ve forgotten how to be a woman, but right now, I’m discovering what you really are, aren’t I?"

"Those awful rollers, oh please, whatever you want, I’ll do only stop... I can’t stand it a minute longer! Please turn it off! I beg of you mistress!" Sheila wailed.

"I’ll turn it off on one condition only. I’m going to lower myself down over you, Sheila. You’re going to lick my asshole, to prove that you’re obedient."

"Oh no, not that, don’t make me do that!"

"Suit yourself. The rollers will go on for a good hour."

"Oh my God! No! Please no!" Sheila yelled out, lifting her head up to stare imploringly at her tormentress.

"Besides which," the inflexible dominatress added, as if she had not even heard the victim’s plaint, "I think I shall give you a dozen good strokes with a hard leather strap on each of your thighs, right along the front near your pussy, where it’s very tender. And then, of course, there’ll be a good whipping on your pussy itself."

"Oh my God! I can’t stand such pain, let me go, I’m going to die, I’m so feverish . . . it rubs and hurts me . . please don’t!"

"Will you lick my asshole then?" Laura insisted.

"Yes! yes! Anything but this, it’s driving me mad, it’s hurting me so awfully! Yes! I’ll do it, but hurry and turn it off!" the redhead wailed hysterically.

Cleo’s soft little mouth had once again taken the tip of Granville Tomlinson’s prick, and now she had began to absorb all of his cock that she could, until her soft cheeks bulged from the hard, obdurate, aching rigidity. Her fingers tickled his balls, and he began to pant and groan as he felt the onrushing gism come to the surface. "Now, now, suck hard, drink it all down, you sweet little golden-haired bitch, now!" he cried out in a hoarse bellow.

He felt his body explode, and Cleo’s soft mouth received the full shattering drench. Her lovely Adam’s apple moved up and down as she hastily swallowed every drop, sucking dutifully until she had milked him dry. He laid back panting, spent and completely vitiated.

His ears still heard the whimpering groans and sobs of his naked fiancee in the room beyond, thanks to the extraordinarily sensitive public address system which had been hooked up in this subterranean corridor through ail the cells and could be controlled individually or by some master switch as desired.

As he opened his eyes, he could see Laura once more standing on a stool, but this time with her hottom turned and lowered over Sheila’s face. He saw Laura reach behind her with her gloved hand and yawn open the cheeks, and then press down, mashing Sheila’s mouth and nose. "Suck me, lick me, slave." There was dripping contempt in the dominatress’ voice.

He heard Sheila’s muffled gasps and heard the slurping and suction of her mouth and tongue, and he knew that she had submitted to this supreme degradation out of the turmoil which the dominatress had wrought in her virginal emotions.

He could also see how Sheila’s body quivered and vibrated, still in the throes of near-pussygush. He comprehended how expertly the beautiful and cold imperatrix had brought his naked fiancee twice to the abyss of orgasm only to deny her fulfillment. And this was the true meaning of bondage and servitude, and that Sheila Andrews was learning it swiftly, he rejoiced to know.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

That night, after joining the Borchards and Laura Haggerty for dinner, as well as a stunningly exotic black-haired, olive-skinned exotic dancer named Elena Montiaverde, who had just become a Bondager and whose benefit Laura was preparing the training, Granville Tomlinson went back to his luxurious quarters, reflecting on what he had seen and heard in the training chamber.

There could be no doubt that Sheila Andrews was extremely passionate and high strung and that she would be an ideal mate for him once she had accepted the desperate and of course criminal impulse which had led him to have her abducted and brought here as if she were an actual white slave to be sold to the highest bidder.

But could she be converted into the kind of wife who would be not only mistress, companion and concubine, but also uninhibited and joyous partner in the game of sharing, in the games and practices of bondage and exquisitely sadistic foibles?

Could he take her back to Chicago as his wife, outwardly living the normal life of a conventional husband, and expect her-once removed from the aura of Borchardville-to continue within the privacy of their quarters the lascivious and orgiastic experiments which he would demand of her?

He did not ‘try to find the answer that night, for lovely brunette Myrtle Talmadge humbly awaited him. She had made herself particularly presentable, anticipating his return. She had bathed and perfumed herself, and she had put slave bracelets and anklets on, tinted her nipples purple, and shaved away the black pubic hair which hid the delicate lips of her soft pink cunt.

She wore the filmiest black nylon shortie nightie she could find in the elaborate wardrobe which was provided for every guest so that he might bedeck his slave or concubine or mistress or wife to rouse his desire to the utmost, and she put on a pair of red leather high-heeled pumps so that when she stood next to him, her bottom undulated and her melon-like titties jiggled in the most enticing way imaginable.

Without even asking him, she came to him untied the belt of his robe and slipped it off him, and he was at once ready for her, his prick hard and swollen and aching. She could tell from his face that he had come to her remembering what he had seen this day, and she knew it must be the woman he had spoken of always, that red-haired Sheila Andrews whom he meant to make his wife.

But she was his slave, and she was here and now and Sheila was not yet upon them, and from this she took joy, for her masochistic nature was now fully roused to yearn for him, even if it meant the lash, the cruelty of punishment devices and costumes. She sank down on her knees, cupping his balls in her soft palms, and deposited a kiss upon his prick, then looked up at him with anxious eyes.

"Do you want me now, master?" she huskily questioned.

"Yes, but for your impertinence in taking the initiative without consulting me, you deserve a good sound spanking first," he told her. He would test his own mental reaction to the possession of a slave, still so new to his thoughts. He wanted to know if it changed his psyche to feel that when he returned to his room Myrtle would be there, ready to be flicked or buggered, to French him or to cup her titties around his prick and rub him off to gism point.

He might place her in a rubber sheath, gag and blindfold her, tie her upside down and whip her between the legs. She was his, body and soul, for that was the law of servitude.

And yet her very compliance and her humility had already blunted the fierce edge of his virility, had already dimmed the glory of being a master. Would it be thus with Sheila, he wondered.

"Yes, master, I know, I shouldn’t have been so bold," she murmured, her face downcast and not looking at him as she knelt before him. "How does my master wish to punish me?"

He lit a cigarette and deliberated the master. There could be no doubt that to have so opulent, so lush a young woman kneeling at his feet, in the gauziest of nighties, waiting to be naked and to submit to any whim of his, was like drinking a heady champagne.

But champagne could go flat once it had been opened and left standing. A slave bitch, no matter how beautiful, no matter how talented, would one day sate him, make all his lusts seem mere mechanical perversions. Was it always thus with passion?

Could it not be roused from day to day, eternally, like a living flame, dwindling by day and burning with an incandescent glow at night?

"I think I shall spank-fuck you, Myrtle," he at last decided. Her eyes widened, for she did not at once comprehend his meaning. "Go find that leather sole on the top shelf of your closet," he commanded. She at once scrambled to her feet and hastened to bring it to him, once more kneeling and offering it up, her eyes filling with tears.

The look of adoration and submission on her face belied those tears; they were rather in anticipation of punishment and the joy of it. And if Sheila, so obstinate and aloof and headstrong, were brought to this same pass of submission, would he not lose interest in her?

That was to be considered. For to him, an intelligent voluptuary, there was nothing deadlier than the mere mechanical performance of an act which would lose its meaning if there was no emotion, no involvement, no tomorrow for it.

Naked, he kicked off his sandals and walked over to the huge, wide couch and stretched out on it on his back. He held the sole in his right hand and looked to her.

"Come over here to me, get on top of me, and put my prick into your cunt, slave," he ordered. Myrtle at once obeyed, with an alacrity which made her titties jiggle. She blushed furiously as his eyes met hers and she knelt upon the couch and lowered herself over his prick, one hand taking hold of his ramrod and the other opening up the sweet pink lips of her shorn pussy.

When he felt himself fitted inside that humid and still deliciously narrow love-temple, he ordered her to sink on down and merge with him. As she did so, she gasped with pleasure, her eyes rolling, until her big titties mashed against her chest and he could feel the warm pulsations of her naked body in cohesion with him.

Then, clamping his legs over hers to pinion her, and with his left palm pressed hard against the middle of her naked, olive-sheened back, he raised the slipper in his right hand and brought it down with a sonorous crack over her left bottomcheek’s plumpest curve.

She uttered a stifled cry and squirmed, stirring his cock inside her, giving him a thrilling sensation. He applied a second spank to the other buttock and Myrtle closed her eyes voluptuously, flattening herself as if she were trying to get inside his very skin.

He could feel his prick dig as far as it would go, and he felt the warm contractions of her cunt walls kissing his cock. He did not think that a woman could be more compliant than this to the lusts of any man.

Now he began to spank her slowly, haphazardly, in order not to give her any pattern of anticipation, applying a glancing blow to the base of her right buttock, only to follow it with another to her right bottomcheek.

Then might follow two quick, stinging swats on the left, then perhaps a heavy; resounding blow to her right bottomglobe, a pair of quick, stinging thwacks on the inner flesh of the left thigh, followed by five or six light blows on the right bottomcheek.

Her gasps and sighs and groans excited him. He could feel her heaving and squirming under his restraining palm. The enclaspments of her convulsively quivering, quaking cunt hole maddened him as he slowly and carefully began to push in and out. Myrtle Talmadge followed him, cueing herself to his pace.

Then as he felt his juices rise within him, he began to quicken the spanking, ordering her to put her arms under his shoulders and to put her mouth tight up against his and to use her tongue. Myrtle moaned and sobbed deliriously as the leather sole crashed down over her big olive-sheened bottom, turning it a violent red and leaving not an inch of olive skin amid the flaming hue of chastisement.

Her hands clenched and squirmed under his shoulders, her hips weaved and swayed, her legs kicked up one by one, sometimes both at the same time, and the maneuvers of her body upon his rubbed his prick back and forth along the tender volutes of her cunthole till he could no longer bear it. With a cry he felt himself explode inside of her and with the last three or four hard, loud spanks came the intense gripping which her awakened cunt hole applied against his limpening prick.

And he was not yet certain how this imponderable question would be solved. All he could do was follow the progression of Sheila’s training day by day till he would decide what course to take with this new possession, this fiancee who had rejected him, his wife-to-be who wanted no part of his sexual idioms and whom he had seen gamahuching and ass-licking the indomitable Laura Haggerty.

So it was with a feeling of mounting excitement that he took his place in a luxurious armchair in the little watching room whose one-way glass panel permitted him to see the continuation of Sheila’s subjugation.

This time, his pulses quickned at the very start when the door opened and Bud and John, the two Negro guards of "Borchardyille" entered with his Red-haired dreamgirl between them and Laura Haggerty followiring behind.

He could not recognize Sheila at first, for a very good reason. She was completely swathed in black latex, like a one-piece costume, though the boots and the punishment helmet were actually fitted on separately. So ingenious was the fabrication, however, that she looked as if she had been dipped in black rubber and then it had been allowed to dry into a second skin.

And the mirroring reflections, the gleaming facets of light from the ceiling fixture, playing upon this rubber bondgge costume, embellished her excitingly and made her an unknown female, the more desirable thereby.

How well the rubber followed the proud jut of the titties, the superbly firm hillocks of her ass cheeks, and now even the punishment helmet seemed to shape out the firm mouth, the uptilted nose, the cheeks and the forehead, to epitomize what he had known and remembered as Sheila Andrews.

There were slits for the eyes and the nostrils, but none for the mouth. He suspected that, like Mona Williams, a pear gag had been thrust into her mouth, and in fact this was exactly the case.

The Negroes led her to a curious kind of treadmill, operated by an electric generator. It was a continuous rotary belt stretched horizontally between a wooden frame with an upright round post.

On the top of this post a si1ver chain, fixed by a ring, was connected with a simillar ring at the very top of her punishment helmet. She was placed upon the top of the belt, her arms drawn out in cross and her little fingers corded, the ends of the cords tying to rings set in the opposite walls.

This bowed her head forward and at the same time stretched her. Her legs were left free. Now a belt was put around her waist, a belt of chain links, which in turn was wound around a windlass fixed at the side of what looked to be an upright rotary device on wheels, which the guards pushed up behind the treadmill belt.

Staring at it closely, he could see there was a series of leather paddles fixed to the wheel, and he at once divined the idea. The treadmill would be put into operation and Sheila would be forced to walk steadily at a certain gait.

If she faltered or slackened, the paddling machine would be activated by the belt at her waist and the paddles would swing around and smack her rubber-sheathed asscheeks.

It was done exactly this way. Laura Haggerty now commanded, "Get ready to walk and keep walking steadily. If you don’t, you’ll be in for a very unpleasant surprise, bitch. Now I’m going to begin. You’ll be here for exactly forty-five minutes. After that, we’ll have a lesson in submission and in conquering your arrogance and snobbery."

With this, she touched the spring at the side of the post and the treadmill began to move. Adjusting this spring to a certain tempo, she moved back and watched. Sheila was forced to walk at a pace which would equate a normal tread, not too slow and not too fast.

At first the young woman seemed to adjust herself, but the tension drawing her head forward and bending her body over countered her natural inclination to use her arms, which was abetted by the cording of her wrists, and made her slacken for a moment.

Instantly there was a whirring sound, and a row of paddles began to move in a circle, gathering momentum until suddenly there was a series of loud "Smack-Thwack

rack" as the leather implements smacked wickedly across both bottom cheeks.

Muffled groans and cries were heard at once, and Sheila stumbled and tried to quicken her gait. That didn’t work, for the treadmill was set for a certain pace, and that pace only, together with the activating belt around her waist, adjusted to the spanking machine.

It was a few minutes before she realized this and, sobbing, at last managed to regain the original tempo of the normal stride. And endlessly the belt went on. The Negroes watched for a few minutes and then left the chamber, which Laura Haggerty had already quitted a few minutes before.

Granville Tomiinson studied his beautiful fiancee aloft upon the spanking treadmill. He could also see from her violent squirmings that the same irritant powder had been applied to the inside of the latex sheath she wore as poor Mona Williams had herself experienced.

It was a masterful stroke, and it was one which certainly left Sheila in the atrocious anxiety of not knowing how long this ordeal would go on. It was true that Laura had said forty-five minutes, but for a prisoner who was both gagged and incarcerated in rubber, endlessly walking with the occasional bursts of ferocious smacking pain as the paddles landed solidly across her ass, time would really be incalculable until it seemed an almost endless ordeal.

He heard her groans and sobs as now again she lost pace, stumbled, regained her footing, only to set off the paddles which whirred to and fro, relentlessly smacking the solid summits of her jutting ass cheeks. Her head tilted back, or tried to, and again she missed her footing and again the paddles started up. The loud smacks of those leather implements against her rubberized ass cheeks could not drown out the wails and groans which even the pear gag did not entirely stifle.

He glanced at his wristwatch and saw that she had endured only about fifteen minutes of this torment. She would be bathed in sweat, and he could imagine how her nipples would look, dark and puffed and firmed as if just removed from the pussy juicing ecstasy of flicking.

Now once again she had regained the normal tread, and he could hear her gpsps and moans as she fought for breath. Her legs must be aching intolerably, he thought to himseff. He wondered if now, were he to confront her, would she be willing to grovel and suck his prick as Mona had.

Or to merge over him, impale her cunt on his prick, while he spanked her big bottom with a leather sole as he fucked her, as he had done with Myrtle.

These thoughts made his prick ache and strain with savage lust and he yearned for Cleo, but this time she did not enter the peeping salon.

He watched, his eyes fixed to that black, gleaming body. It was as if she were not Sheila at all but a new woman he had not met before, being subjected to the most rigorous bondage and humiliation for the purpose of being his bitch, to do with as he would.

Now he could understand the credo of "Borchardville" and how the anticipation often surpassed cogent reality. So long as imagination reigned, he understood the passion would be constantiy incited. Where It was lacking, there the most beautiful concubines, the most willing and passive beauties-like Myrtle-would have no luster for an imaginative and virile cocksmith. And this, too, was a lesson he had to learn.

Again he had to pinch his prick head to keep from spurting, watching her on the treadmill, seeing the instinctive way she tried to turn her face back as if to beg the paddles not to resume their inexorable movement.

But move they did, and soon the "Thwack-Smack-Thwack" of their stinging caresses on the rubberclad summits of her globes drew new cries and sobs and whimpering moans, inarticulate plaints which the pear gag could not quite suppress and yet which, exactly because of that, were more exciting to him than if he could have heard the words of entreaty that were formulating deep in her throat and in her anguished brain.

And then at last the time was up, and she almost sagged in her bonds, held up of course by the pitiless traction which kept her arms in cross. Laura Haggerty entered the room with the Negro guards. They were stark naked except for their sandals, and their pricks were already in full erection.

Laura made a sign and the two of them removed the moaning captive from the spanking treadmill, then began to remove her rubber sheath, first the punishment helmet and then the boots, then drawing an almost invisible zipper at the back and front, husking her as one husks an ear of corn.

Granville Tomlinson uttered a stifled groan of wild lust. Her body was flushed and bathed in sweat, and there were red abrasions on the belly, titties, thighs and calves.

But most of all, the two creamy cheeks of her shuddering ass were an angry, swollen red. The paddling had been intensively severe and she was sobbing as if her heard would break, rubbing her flaming ass as if to ease the burning heat.

"And now for the lesson, bitch," Laura’s voice was triumphant. "You are going to ask each of the guards here, whom you have called niggers in the past, I know, to grant you the honor of kissing their pricks. You will use exactly those words, and you will beg as humbly as you can."

"Oh please-please don’t-oh I couldn’t-I’ve never done that to any man-"

"Yesterday you gammed me and licked my ass," Laura went on pitilessly. "The difference is not only in sex, but for you, so snobbish and so aloof, it is a matter of discrimination. I will tell you this, you will be expected to do that for your new master.

"There is no man who does not wish to feel the lips and tongue of a slave-bitch caressing his prick. And to prepare you for it, you will ask them to grant you this favor. Either that, and quickly, or you go back on the spanking machine, this time without your costume. We will put some gravel on the treadmill itself, and I think your tender feet will know the difference at once, to say nothing of your big red ass. I think an hour would be about right."

"Oh no! I’d die-don’t do it to me, please, for pity’s sake!" Shiela wailed.

"Well then?"

Granville Tomlinson saw his beautiful fiancee clench her fists, bow her head, grind her teeth and then shamefully, huskily, reluctantly, word by word, the bitter formula of self-degradation emerged: "Please, do me-do me-do me the-the h-h-honor to-let me kiss-kiss-kiss your-"

"Go on. Kiss what?" Laura Haggerty insisted and she reached down, caught one of Sheila’s nipples. in her thumb and right forefinger and pinched it viciously.

"EEEEOWWWUUUU! Your pricks! Your pricks! Oh please, let go! Your pricks! Please let me kiss your pricks!" Sheila shrieked, both hands trying to dislodge Laura’s grip.

"That’s much better. John, do her the honor first. Then you, Bud," Laura Haggerty chuckled.

And Granville Tomlinson saw his humbled, naked, weeping, red-bottomed dream girl crawl forward, put her hands on the thighs of the tall, light-colored, wiry Negro and hesitantly press her lips against the tip of his massive whang, while a violent shudder ran through her entire body. Then she was obliged to do the same thing to Bud.

"Tomorrow," Laura promised, "you will wear a bondage costume and parade, with a book on your head to learn proper balance. You have been a snob and you have tilted your nose in the air, but this time you are going to learn how to poise yourself like a woman.’

Time passed.

The week was up. And that night, at dinner with his hosts and the other members (two men had flown in from San Francisco to enjoy a weekend of orgy and perhaps purchase new slaves), Granville Tomlinson lifted his champagne goblet and clinked it against that of Clement Borchard who had just proposed a toast: "To the fulfillment of all your hopes tonight, with a wife who will also be your slave." He could hardly wait to get back to his chamber, clad only in the Bondager robe and sandals. When he opened the door, he gasped to see Sheila Andrews kneeling side by side with Myrtle Talmadge at the other end of the room. Their heads were bowed, their hands clasped in a kind of petitioning entreaty.

And he knew that all his dream of possessing the unattainable might at last have come true. This week of torment and subjugation and bondage had not entirely quenched the spirit of revolt in Sheila Andrews.

"That’s a good beginning," he said curtly. "Put out your tongue and lick my prick from tip to balls now, and tell me that you’re ready to obey me, Sheila."

She shuddered then. She looked up into his face, her eyes narrowing, but as she saw his lips tighten and his eyes met hers with an unwavering, compelling look, she shivered again and once more bowing her head, she protruded her dainty pink tongue and he felt the exquisite rasp of it from prick tip to balls and back again, and then her faltering, husky voice intoned the exquisite formula of submission: "I-I am your slave, m-master."

"And so you shall be. And now we shall punish Myrtle together," he told her. He took her by the hand and lifted her up, and then, cupping her titties in his hands, kissed her hotly on the mouth. Sheila gasped, her cheeks turning scarlet, and then impulsively she flung her arms around his neck and pressed herself tightly, whispering brokenly, "Oh Granville darling, oh my dearest, I do-I do want you to love me-I don’t care if I am your slave-it’s all so crazy and I’m so mixed up-but that girl, that awful week-I would myself wishing it were you doing all those awful things to me instead of that awful woman-do you still want me?"

"I think my prick is giving you the answer, darling. Can’t you feel it up against your cunt?"

"Oh yes-yes I can, and I can’t wait to be f-fucked by you, Granville," she breathed. "But first-"

"Well?"

"Couldn’t we-that is, don’t you want to punish Myrtle first? I’m jealous of her, Granville, because she’s told me how you screwed her and did things to her that I wish you’d done to me. I want to spank her big bottom until she howls. Oh darling, won’t you let me?"

"Will I!" he boyishly exulted.

And a few minutes later, on the huge luxurious bed, Myrtle Talmadge lay across Sheila’s lap, wriggling and squirming and moaning as the redhead energetically spanked her big bottom with a hairbrush while Myrtle in turn Frenched her reclining master who lay on the bed, his thighs spread, his head resting on his arms, and watched his two beautiful naked slave-bitches disport themselves for his pleasure.

And thus it was that Sheila Andrews became the willing slave and, two weeks later, the legally wedded bride of the man she had spurned. It is too early yet to say whether Granville Tomlinson intends to share her with any other man or woman member of the Bondagers. Thus far, he is quite content to have his own little harem where Myrtle often gamahuches Sheila, who in turn reciprocates in the most loving and expert way until their adored master deigns to take one or the other-or sometimes both!-to fuck or to bugger.