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From: "Adrian Hunter & Chelsea Shepard" <adrian_hunter@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Association - Day 3 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard (bd, Mf, nc)
Date: Mon,  7 Oct 2002 10:10:03 -0400
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Association (a serial bdsm novel)
By Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard


DAY 3--GEOFFREY

Looks like another warm one, I mused absentmindedly as I checked the clock.

Six a.m.  Time's a-wasting.

Sabrina wasn't amused to be rousted out of bed so early, but I wasn't in the 
mood to be charitable.  Minutes later, she was following me down the dirt 
trail toward the barn, naked and groggy and trying to shield her eyes from 
the rising sun.  We went past the barn and into the woods, finally stopping 
in a clearing.

I reached into one of the duffel bags I had brought along and pulled out 
something light and brown.

"Here, put these on."

I didn't think she recognized the suede apparel.  Elaborate symbols and 
ornaments were embroidered into the leather with colored beads.  Fringe hung 
down from the hems.  Moccasin-style boots complemented the matching top and 
bottom.

"They're now referred to as 'original Americans,' which replaced 'native 
Americans,' which replaced 'Indians,' not to mention 'redskins,' 'braves,' 
'chiefs' and other colorful team mascots," I explained.  "But for this 
morning's session, we're going to be quite politically incorrect in our 
portrayal of the noble savage."

Sabrina stepped into the bottom part of the get-up and pulled them around 
her hips.  Somehow, I doubted that Sioux and Cherokee women dressed in 
buckskin hot pants, but historical accuracy was far down my list of 
important elements for this shoot.

I helped her knot the leather lacings that held the skimpy top against her 
chest, and then busied myself with my camera equipment while she sat down to 
tie the straps around the moccasins.

"Are you ready?" I inquired redundantly, as she looked absolutely ravishing 
in spite of her disheveled state.  I produced a black wig from the duffel 
bag and positioned it on top of her head, helping her tuck the stray strands 
of her own hair under the scalp covering.

"Perfect.  Now, you need to look authentic."

I reached down and grabbed a handful of loose dirt, then smeared it against 
her thigh.

"Like that.  Dirty yourself up.  All over your body.  Try not to get any on 
your face though."

When I was satisfied with her grime quotient, I pulled out the makeup kit.

"Now we'll add some war paint, and you'll be all set."

After I finished applying the various colors to Sabrina's cheeks and around 
her eyes, I wrapped a beaded band around her head and handed her a quiver, a 
tomahawk and several long leather straps.

"We'll pass on the feather, but that just about does it.  Put the bow and 
arrow over your shoulder, and stick the axe and the straps into the side of 
your pants.  Now, here's what I want you to do.  You're a fierce Indian, er, 
original American warrior.  You've spotted a paleface snooping around your 
territory.  I want you to pretend you're tracking her.  Hide behind those 
trees over there."

The shutter clicked like a machine gun as we progressed through the woods.  
After an hour of stalking, I directed her to pretend that she had caught her 
prey.  She looked confused, so I tried to explain.

"Just imagine there's someone else in the picture with you.  I'll combine 
the images in the darkroom.  Take out the bow and arrow.  Pretend to be 
aiming it at someone.  Good, excellent, now take out the tomahawk.  Look 
menacing.  Pretend your captive is in your face.  Now, get down on the 
ground.  That's it, perfect.  Okay, now you're taking your captive back to 
your camp.  Follow me."

We walked a short distance to another clearing with the trunk of an old 
tree, stripped of its bark and most of its branches, standing in its center.

"You're doing great, Sabrina.  Pretend you're tying someone to the post.  
That's it, a little higher.  Use all the leather straps.  Toss them out of 
range over there.  Almost done.  Take this..."

I reached into my backpack and pulled out an old-fashioned bullwhip.

"Your captive was stupid enough to be carrying this when you caught her.  
Use it.  That's right, I want you to whip the post.  As hard as you can.  
Get your arm into it.  No, like this."

I took the handle from her hand, reared back and gave the post an enormous 
whack.

"See, you want it to snap.  There, that's better.  Harder.  Meaner.  You 
don't like this paleface.  She wants to take away your land.  And...stop.  
That's a wrap.  Good girl.  Great stuff.  I'm starving, aren't you?  Let's 
go back to the house and get you cleaned up and into your cowboy clothes for 
this afternoon's shoot...well, who did you think was going to play the 
paleface?"

--SABRINA--

While trying to finish at least half the salad on my plate, I turned to look 
at the quiet surface of the pool with envy.  I sure could've used a dip.  
The cool water might have silenced the millions of thoughts in my mind.

Geoffrey's last words certainly hit their target.  How had I not seen this 
one coming?  Of course I would play the cowgirl.  And he was giving me 
enough time to consider our forthcoming session, with the post and the whip 
to look forward to.  Was I supposed to get worried, possibly scared?  This 
was obviously the price to pay for his lost wine.

Well, I had screwed up marvelously last night, but he had given me no time 
to apologize and try to make up.  At least I could have cleaned up the wine 
cellar.  Playing with jagged glass would have been better than the awful 
night I had spent tossing and turning.

I laid down my fork, unable to swallow another green leaf, and raised my 
glass instead.  A glance at his face proved he was still mad at me.  
Alright, Geoffrey, I thought to myself, I know what it would take to get 
even.  Once I played prey to his satisfaction, he would insist on tying me 
to the tree.  "For effect.  Honestly."  I would struggle and argue, but 
eventually, I'd give in, because I knew this is what he wanted and, okay, I 
owed him one.

I sipped more wine as I continued my silent confrontation with him, creating 
a strategy while my thoughts were still clear.  I knew how easily he could 
bring me to a state of confusion, and I wanted to make sure I'd be in 
control at all times, even when he would think otherwise.

Being bound should make him happy, I reasoned, but that wouldn't be enough.  
When both of us knew I was helpless, he'd try to scare me with the whip, 
maybe wait until I screamed in protest.  And maybe I'd give him all that.  
But that's as far as the payback game would go.  If he even dared to brush 
me with the tip of the whip...

"Are you finished?"

His interruption startled me, and it took me a couple of seconds to admit I 
couldn't eat more.  I declined his invitation for coffee--my nerves didn't 
need more stimulation--and helped him clear the table.

Then I waited for him to take us back to the woods.

--GEOFFREY--

As expected, the leather chaps looked stunning around Sabrina's slender 
legs, as did the matching vest around her chest.  She probably hated the 
fact that her ass was uncovered, to say nothing of the lack of buttons or 
snaps for the front of the vest.  But her opinion would be the only negative 
once the film was developed.  A most suitable model.  Her board of 
directors, to say nothing of the adult paysites on the Internet where I 
planned to sell the pictures, would be very appreciative indeed.

I accessorized her with a leather thong, a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots, a 
black Stetson, and a red bandanna for her neck that eventually wound up in 
her mouth when we returned to the clearing.  As usual, she kicked up an 
awful fuss as I lashed her to the tree in the center.  I ignored her and 
concentrated on the tasks at hand.

Once Sabrina's wrists and ankles were bound behind the back of the post, she 
seemed unusually nervous, even though we were clearly just working.  I 
wondered if she expected me to actually use the bullwhip on her.  Silly 
girl.  That's much too clumsy a weapon.  A crop, or perhaps a flogger; those 
were suitable for human flesh.  Plenty of time to try the entire collection. 
  Later.  But not too much later, as customers who paid handsomely for flesh 
generally preferred to receive their purchases in pristine condition.

After I finished the tree shots, I took her to the side of the clearing 
where I had planted five stakes in the ground.  At first, she protested 
mightily about lying on the dirt spread-eagled, but when I threatened to gag 
her again, she calmed down and allowed me to bind her outstretched wrists, 
ankles and neck to the short wooden posts.

"Be thankful there isn't an anthill underneath you," I joked as I poured a 
jar of honey on her exposed parts.  "Don't want to be too authentic."

Speaking of which, I actually kind of liked the way her face contorted when 
she yelled at me about getting her all sticky and messy.  Again, I went 
about my business, even encouraging her to scream and thrash as if she 
really were being devoured by tiny insects.

When I was satisfied with the shots, I sliced away the leather straps and 
helped her to her feet.

"We made a lot of progress today.  Thank you for being so co-operative."

While I began packing my equipment, she turned on her heel and started 
marching back toward the house without a word.

"Sabrina?  Come back here!"

Models will be the death of me, I decided as I watched her storm away.  But 
such a necessary evil.  Tomorrow, I planned to spend the morning in the 
darkroom while giving her some down time.  Then, in the afternoon, we would 
run through the rock-star scenario on the stage in the studio; she was going 
to look smashing in tight leather pants and stiletto heels with a guitar 
strap pressing against her breast.

And after that...I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled piece 
of paper covered with the calculations I had scribbled while talking to my 
wine broker this morning about the current price for three cases of premium 
Merlot.


(To be continued in Association - Day 4. Please visit our web site to join 
our mailing list to receive update information)


***
Copyright (C) 2002 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard. All rights reserved. 
Please do not repost nor repurpose without permission.

***
"Crash Your Party Dress," a collection of our bdsm short stories and 
novellas, is now available from Renaissance Ebooks

bttp://www.renebooks.com

***
AdrianHunter.com
Superlative bondage fiction by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard

http://www.adrianhunter.com



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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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