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From: "Adrian Hunter & Chelsea Shepard" <adrian_hunter@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Association: Day 4 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard (bd, Mf, noncon)
Date: Thu, 31 Oct 2002 09:10:06 -0500
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Association (a serial bdsm novel)
By Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard

(Note: previous chapters can be accessed at 
http://www.adrianhunter.com/association_about.htm)


DAY FOUR--SABRINA

When Geoffrey announced I would have the whole morning to myself while he 
worked in his darkroom, I felt like applauding.  It was the best news I'd 
heard since my arrival five days ago.  I asked if I could call the 
association's director to update him on our work, expecting a polite, but 
firm refusal.  Instead, he led me upstairs to his study and pointed at the 
phone on his desk.

"There.  And please, do not touch anything else," he warned.

"Am I allowed to sit in the chair?"

He didn't bother to answer, and stomped back downstairs.  I hoped I wouldn't 
see him again until lunch time.  Good riddance.

I sat, or rather slumped, in his leather chair, taking off my ridiculous 
heels and putting my bare feet on his desk.  Every time I thought I had 
sussed out Geoffrey's game, he unleashed another surprise, always a bad one.

So he didn't use the whip, but he gagged me, which was even worse.  And what 
about tying me to the ground, coating me with honey and 
joking--joking!--about ants?  Was it my lack of an appreciation for 
verisimilitude, or was this guy insane?  I didn't know how many bottles of 
his precious wine I had broken the other night, but the price I'd already 
paid seemed sufficiently high.  In fact, I would have told him so, if my 
anger hadn't reached a level of intensity quite beyond the capacity of 
speech.  No words could have expressed my indignation better than the 
stubborn silence I maintained until bedtime.  Not that it seemed to bother 
him.

I dialed the director's number and, after updating him on the sessions, 
tried to get more information on Mr. Sorenson.  Apparently, his reputation 
was irreproachable, and no one had ever complained about his work.  His 
artistic ideas were praised by his many clients; working with him was 
considered a privilege.

Oh, it was my privilege for sure, I grinned as I put down the receiver.  
Well, if he gave up on his bondage madness, I might even get to see what the 
fuss was all about.

I left the room and decided to go outdoors.  After a long and peaceful walk, 
wandering everywhere but near the stables or that fateful clearing, I 
returned to the pool and spent the rest of my free time in the water.

The solo stroll restored most of my confidence and self-control.  However, 
the minute Geoffrey reappeared, I fretted over what his next "artistic" idea 
would be.

As it turned out, this one had been fun.  I got to play rock star, and that 
was an old fantasy I enjoyed acting out.  He asked if I knew any Joan Jett, 
and my rendition of "I Love Rock and Roll" almost brought a smile to his 
face.  Almost.  But at least I knew he was pleased, and I began to relax.  
Surely the wine cellar disaster was forgotten now, and our future photo 
sessions would be as entertaining as this one.

Dinner was implausibly enjoyable; our discussion centered on music, and we 
discovered we had at least one interest in common.  When I went to bed, I 
was convinced I had gone through the worst and things could only brighten 
up.  I slept like a baby.



Day 5--Geoffrey



The day dawned red and promptly reversed, growing progressively darker as 
the weather took a turn for the wetter.  After a hearty and strangely 
pleasant breakfast, I led Sabrina downstairs to the studio.

"Indoor sports today, I'm afraid," I announced in what I thought was a 
cheerful tone of voice.  "Looks like this could last through the weekend.  
Good thing we're on schedule."

Stop chattering, you asshole, I almost said out loud.  To distract myself, I 
walked to the edge of the room and pulled out a rack laden with fancy 
leather outfits, elegant European designs suitable for a cocktail party at 
Versailles or a disco on Capri.

Let her go to the ball for a while.  Plenty of time before the clock strikes 
midnight.

And I already knew the shoe would fit my Cinderella's foot, not to mention 
her ankle, calf, knee and thigh.

I let her have fun playing dress-up, her demeanor becoming less inhibited as 
the hours rolled by like minutes.  After a glass or two of wine at lunch, 
she became positively saucy, then borderline obscene, flashing various body 
parts in perfect time to the lights triggered by my shutter.

I realized this particular session would give me more than enough naughty 
pictures for the association's stupid little annual report.  If they even 
bothered to use them.  But I could probably sell several thousand copies 
myself after she's safely transported to the other side of the planet.  
Maybe they could be used as bait for new subscribers to bdsm-vixens.com or 
whichever porn site offered me the most money for the proofs.

Not that I was going to need the extra dough, according to the most recent 
telegram from Hong Kong informing me that her auction was progressing 
splendidly.  But fresh pictures always helped spur reluctant bidders.

I waited until Sabrina tried on the micro-miniskirt, then suggested she put 
on the thigh-high boots from the day before.  Giggling, she agreed.  She 
even let me help her squirm into a leather bustier that covered her torso 
from her navel to just barely over the top of her nipples.  Opera-length 
leather gloves, complete with laces, soon ran up her arms to her shoulders.

"You look like a gorgeous sex kitten," I noted with a smile.  "Maybe a 
kitten with a whip?"

"What is it with you and this bondage stuff?" Sabrina asked with the 
slightest of slurs in her voice.

"Curiosity killed the cat," I replied with a wink.

She giggled again while I unlocked one of the trunks and pulled out a 
flogger with long leather strips hanging down from a stout handle.

"Hold this like you mean it," I said, handing it to her.  I lowered his 
voice into a make-believe villain.  "Make me suffer with your gaze."

She burst into laughter and started pretending to be a world-class 
dominatrix, snarling and sneering and cracking the whip.

"Hurt me," I cried as I snapped picture after picture.  "Make me your slave. 
  C'mon, show me what you'd like to do to me."

After several poses, I signaled for her to stop.

"I hate to waste the outfit," I said as I reloaded his camera.  "Are you 
game to keep going?"

"Sh-sh-sure," she replied with yet another giggle.

I returned to the open trunk.  "Let's try the other side of the equation.  
Put your hands behind your back."

I walked toward Sabrina holding a pair of handcuffs.



--SABRINA--



I swear I was ready for him.  When Geoffrey whipped out the whip, I knew we 
would revert to his favorite sport: tying me up and pretending it was all in 
a day's work.  Same old story, same old song and dance, my friend.

Only this time, I was in the mood to play along.  I had fun.  I was slightly 
drunk, too.  I wanted a taste of danger, like I did when I was younger and 
hitchhiked with my best friend; two schoolgirls, pretty and insolent and 
shouting it to the world, more terrified of our parents than any dastardly 
fate that might befall us.  Nothing bad ever happened, except the one time 
when the driver started masturbating as he headed out of town.  We literally 
jumped out of the car at the first traffic light, and tried to laugh to 
forget how scared we had been.  We were kids, and danger was fun.

That day, danger was fun, too.  Without hesitation, I put my hands behind my 
back, and I felt the same thrill as climbing in the car of a random 
stranger.  When I play with fire, I occasionally forget it can burn.

I felt the cold metal on my wrists at the same time as I heard the "click" 
of the lock.  He was fast, as always.

Geoffrey took something out of his pocket, brought it up close to my face, 
and--yikes!  Darkness.  Total.  Very, very total.  I didn't like this at 
all, but I bit my lip.  This is just a game, I told myself.  Let's see how 
far you can go.

He led me toward the back of the stage and fumbled with something.  After 
the noisy photo session, the silence around us was almost surreal.  I felt 
him attach what sounded like a clip to the chain linking my cuffs.

"I'm tired of these standing shots," he said.  "Time for something 
different."

His last words echoed in my ears when my arms suddenly shot skyward.  To 
keep my balance, I had to bend forward.  When the pulling stopped, I found 
myself in such an awkward position, my insubordinate nature spurted back.

"Hey, not so high.  I can't keep my balance.  C'mon, bring it down."

"Hold on.  Let me deal with that little balance problem," he said as he 
walked back to his trunks.

While I was trying to find a more comfortable position--lifting my head, 
bending my knees, trying to turn around, none of which really worked--he 
grabbed my hips to straighten me up, and asked me to spread my legs.

"Wider.  Much wider.  There." As he spoke, he clutched my leather-clad 
ankles and connected them to something.

When I heard him turn away, I tried to move, but discovered I could no 
longer close my legs.  Oh, good, he had me grounded, too.  I conducted a 
rapid survey of my situation, and decided the game was not turning in my 
favor.  Yet, despite the obvious discomfort, I was still more thrilled than 
upset.

Funny what a mixture of wine and adrenaline will do to you.  Two days 
before, I had kicked up a fuss about being lashed to a tree.  And there I 
was, doubled over, with my ass not even covered by the almost-nonexistent 
skirt.  My hands and feet were useless, and I was completely in the dark as 
to what was to come.

Then, quite unexpectedly, I burst into laughter.

"Now, this is quite a situation you've put me in, Geoffrey," I managed to 
splutter.  "And tell me, what do we do now?"



--GEOFFREY--



"I want you to hold this for me.  But if you drop it, I'm going to use it on 
you.  Open your mouth."

Before Sabrina could react, I wedged the handle of the flogger between her 
teeth, then stood back to watch as she struggled between the desire to spit 
it out, and the consequences if she did.

"A very wise choice," I commented once she calmed down.  Not that it would 
last.  This one seemed to think that fighting me was a winning strategy.  I 
needed to take advantage of it while I could, capture her aggression and 
make it come alive on film.

Several rolls later, I decided she could use some accessories.

"I'm going to give you some more things to hold until I need them."

I placed a leather gag with a thick rubber penis jutting out of the mouth 
plate into one of her hands bouncing behind her back.  The other soon 
received a sizeable plug for her ass.

As I reloaded his camera, I watched her fingers twitch and claw as she tried 
to deduce what they were clutching.  She looked so marvelous when she got 
agitated.  But such a pity to lose the eyes.  I would definitely take some 
pictures without the blindfold.  To see and be seen, to scream and be 
screened.

I pulled some clamps out of one pocket and fingered them appreciatively.  
They were the kind that looked like little presses, the kind used to crush 
grapes.  A single turn of the screw could create entire new dimensions of 
distress.

And if that didn't work, there was always the weights.  Eventually, the whip 
would be on the floor, then in my hand.

I reached over to one of her breasts that had popped free of the bustier and 
positioned the two thin brass bars around her soft, pink nipple.  Holding it 
steady with one hand, I began twisting the serrated knob with the other.



--SABRINA--



The regular "click" of the shutter was the only thing that kept me close to 
a semblance of reality.  Beyond that, nothing made sense.

My attention was centered on my jaws and teeth.  "Don't drop the handle" was 
the only thing that registered.  I had no doubt that the thing in my mouth 
was the lower half of some kind of whip, and I wasn't going to let Geoffrey 
use it on me.  I wasn't sure he would, but I didn't want to learn otherwise.

My hands, still wrapped in the long leather gloves, had stopped their futile 
maneuvers to deduce what they were holding.  The phallus-shaped object had a 
square base that disqualified all the items I could think of.  And the 
smooth conical form of the other had me completely confused.  Whatever they 
were, I knew I should hold onto them for dear life.

The handle seemed increasingly heavy, and I clenched my muscles one more 
time to steady my grip.  At that moment, I felt him place something hard and 
cold on my nipple.

Then it went tight.

I moaned under the sharp pain, but bit harder.  Don't drop it, I told 
myself.  Just don't drop it.

The other nipple.

Oh, Lord.  Focus.  Bite.  Hold it.

When the pain suddenly grew exponentially, and I felt my breasts sag as if 
stones were hanging from them, I let out a cry.  I took a couple of long 
breaths and tried to accommodate the pain.  When I came back to my senses, I 
realized my mouth was empty.  I had also dropped one of the objects in my 
hands, but at the time, the fact barely registered.

"Shit."  My voice was a coarse whisper.  "You're not really going to use it 
on me, are you?"

I heard his voice close to my ear.

"Sabrina, it's about time someone whipped that pretty ass of yours."

Before I could utter a word of protest, he filled my mouth again and, in 
doing so, gave me the final clue about the cock thing.  A gag.  Shaped like 
a penis.  No home should be without one.  Nor your friendly neighborhood 
lunatic asylum.

He lifted the micro-skirt up my hips to expose my ass.  Fear built up.  He 
wouldn't.

A short whistling sound.

He did.

Hurt.  Anger.  Shame.  I didn't know which was worse.  I thrashed in my 
bonds, but it only increased the burning sting on my breasts.

"One," he counted.

This was a nightmare.  He just couldn't...

"Five."

To hell with humiliation; all I wanted was for him to stop.  I was 
frenetically jerking my head around, moaning as loud as I could.

"Twelve."

I dropped the other object as the biting straps landed on my right thigh.  
The pain was unbearable.  My ass, my thighs, my breasts were on fire, to say 
nothing of the strain on my neck and shoulders.  There didn't seem to be a 
single part of my body that didn't ache.

"Twenty-five."

Can't breathe.  Stop.

"Thirty-six."

He paused.

I prayed to all deities that he would leave it there.  My face was wet with 
tears, the blindfold stuck to my swollen eyes.  If only he could take the 
gag off, I would beg.  Anything but the whip.  Please.



--GEOFFREY--



"Fifty."

I placed the whip on the floor and bent over to whisper harshly in Sabrina's 
ear.

"From now on, you will do exactly as I tell you the second I tell you.  Any 
hesitation will result in more of the same, only doubled.  Do you 
understand?"

She nodded her head vigorously.

"I'm going to remove your gag, but you are not to speak unless I ask you a 
direct question.  In those rare instances, the only words you are permitted 
to say are 'yes, please.'  Do you understand?"

I reached around her head, unbuckled the strap and pulled the plug out of 
her mouth.

"Yes...please," she rasped.

"Would you like some water?"

"Yes, please," she replied, this time with more energy.

I found a bottle of Evian and positioned the opening against her lips, 
allowing her to take as much as she wanted.

When she was finished, I began unlocking her cuffed ankles from the spreader 
bar, then untied the rope keeping her arms aloft.  I had to hold her steady 
while she regained her balance.

"You did very well today, Sabrina.  And I am confident you'll do even better 
tomorrow."

I left her swaying in the center of the room while I procured a few 
necessary items from one of my closets.

"But there's going to be a slight change in your accommodations here for the 
remainder of your stay."

I placed a posture collar around her neck and buckled it, forcing her chin 
upward.  A leash dangled down between her still-clamped breasts.

Next, I took the butt plug and ran it back and forth between her legs.  When 
it was thoroughly lubricated, I pushed it slowly into her anus, savoring the 
tight resistance and her plaintive squeaks and squirms.  Then I did likewise 
with a vibrator, slipping it between the folds of her very wet sex until 
nothing remained visible but its control knob, which I twisted to its 
slowest setting.

Finally, I wrapped a leather belt around her waist, buckled it, then 
padlocked a second strap securely around her crotch.

"This will help prevent any accidents.  In that unfortunate event, you will 
clean up your mess with your tongue."

Every slaver needs a proper cage, and mine was custom-built to enclose a 
kneeling female with handy openings to access her unprotected assets.  
Reinforced steel bars and three separate locks on the door, including one 
with a combination worthy of a bank vault, ensured it was inescapable unless 
I decided otherwise, as its many occupants over the years could attest, 
presuming their current owners still allowed them to speak in public.

I lugged the black mass onto the stage, then used a ladder to thread a chain 
through a pulley hanging from the scaffolding.  When I was finished, I 
picked up the end of her leash and led her to the open door.

"Get down on your knees.  Good.  Now, move forward.  That's it.  Bend your 
head down."

When Sabrina was all the way inside the structure, I padlocked her ankles 
together and did likewise to the door behind her.  With a few hearty tugs on 
the chain, the cage was soon hanging at eye level.

I wrapped the end of her leash around the bars lining the bottom of the cell 
so she couldn't move her head.  The weights, still hanging from her nipples, 
swung gently beneath her as she struggled in her new position.

"If I hear a single sound...100."

I clicked off the lights and climbed up the stairs to cook myself a 
well-deserved celebration feast.  But first, I would check the mailbox for 
any recent deliveries from Western Union.



--SABRINA--



Abandoned in total silence and darkness, I surrendered to the flood of 
confusing emotions.  Anger.  At myself, for playing a game with someone who 
won every time.  Fury.  At him.  For so many reasons, I couldn't think of 
one in particular.  Incomprehension.  What did Geoffrey want?  Why was he 
doing this to me?  Utter distress.  For there was nothing I could do but 
wait until he chose to free me.

And the waiting would be long and painful.  My ass still burned from the 
whipping; the slightest touch from my hands, still cuffed behind my back, 
was unbearable.  The awful plug he had forced into me made it all the more 
humiliating.  The pinching on my breasts had weakened somewhat; I figured 
the blood had been squeezed out of them, but I sighed as I imagined what was 
happening to their pretty round shapes.

Trying to find a more comfortable position, I managed to kneel completely 
and lay my chest on my knees, which also alleviated the strain on my neck.  
However, the weight of my whole body was now centered on my folded legs, 
cruelly cut by the bars of my cell.

And there was the constant buzzing in my pussy.  I thought I'd be able to 
ignore the slow vibrations, but the throbbing between my legs proved 
otherwise.

To distract myself, I concentrated on what I would do once I got me out of 
the cage.  Call the association.  No, they wouldn't believe me.  Reason with 
Geoffrey.  Probably pointless.  Escape.  Barefoot, naked, whatever it took.  
Just leave this hellish place.

Soon enough, the insidious humming inside me did its job, and rank arousal 
overwhelmed my thoughts.  All I could think about was the irksome intruder, 
and how I could stop it.  Or make it faster.  I squeezed my thighs tighter 
and moved my hips up and down, but that made things worse.  Increasingly 
frustrated, I felt like yelling at the top of my lungs, but sobbed quietly 
instead.

After a long spell, I calmed down and tried to will myself to sleep.  But 
even that relief wasn't allowed.  At best, I would doze off, only to wake up 
shortly later, feeling worse than before.

I began to hallucinate.  I thought I heard him come in and check on me 
twice.  I also dreamed that a black horse was licking my bare ass, cooling 
the wounds with its huge tongue.  My reality was one of distress and chaos, 
and I couldn't even trust the few senses I had left.

Eventually, after what seemed like the longest night in my life--or had it 
only been two hours?--the vibrations stopped, and sheer exhaustion let me 
sink into merciful oblivion.

(Continued in Association - Day 5)

***
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

http://www.renebooks.com

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

http://www.adrianhunter.com


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-- 
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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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