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.

Ind