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From: "Adrian Hunter & Chelsea Shepard" <adrian_hunter@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Association: Day 10 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard (bd, Mf, noncon)
Date: Wed, 29 Jan 2003 11:10:03 -0500
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Association (a serial bdsm novel)
By Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard


Note: past episodes can be accessed at
http://www.adrianhunter.com/association_about.htm


DAY 10--SABRINA


My third day of training started with the same familiar pattern.
After a shower and a full breakfast, we headed to the training ring;
me fully harnessed, and Geoffrey following me with the crop, although
my perfect obedience didn't give him much opportunity to use it.

I must have walked, cantered and trotted for about two hours; a long
time for someone who had never been an exercise fanatic.  My muscles
were crying for mercy when he finally ordered me to stop.  While I
drank water from the bottle he held to my lips, I realized my spirits
were high, and I was oddly satisfied, especially when I saw he was
pleased, too.

And there was something else: the comfortable assurance that
everything was in its place, as it should be.  After the training in
the ring would come the pool, followed by lunch, and then whatever
Geoffrey planned to do.  My day--my life--was under his control, and
I trusted him to lead me in the right direction.  All I had to do was
follow.

Or precede, as it were, when we walked back to the house.  Once he
had unbuckled my harness, leaving only the gag and simple cuffs for
my hands behind my back, I entered the pool and he continued his way
to the kitchen.  Exactly as it should be.  Could life be really so
easy?


--GEOFFREY--


"I really don't feel much like cooking," I announced when I came
back outside a few minutes later.  "Why don't we head into town and
grab a quick bite at the bistro?"

I loved watching Sabrina's reactions, and trying to guess what she
was thinking.  "Are you nuts?" was probably at the top of the list,
with "are you going to bind and gag me?" a close second.

"Let's go downstairs and find you something appropriate to wear."

"Appropriate" was definitely in the eye of the beholder, and I
certainly enjoyed beholding her, especially when she was decked out
in a leather micro-skirt that just barely concealed the chastity
belt.  For a top, I selected a long-sleeved, scoop-necked blouse made
out of a tight-fitting black mesh that hugged her curves and revealed
every detail of her breasts.  I accessorized her very high heels with
special straps that wrapped around the soles and her ankles, locking
them firmly to her feet in case she got any silly ideas about making
a run for it.  I topped off the outfit with a thin silver chain
around her neck.

"Very rock and roll," I said as I admired her.  "Obviously, the gag
has to go."

I unstrapped the rubber ball from her mouth and stuck it in my
pocket for insurance.

"And so do we.  Forward."

I directed Sabrina out the front door and into the passenger seat of
my car.  It was a short drive into town, maybe ten minutes.  I
couldn't tell if she was being quiet out of obedience, or shock over
my gesture.

I was grateful the small restaurant was pretty much empty after the
lunch-hour rush.  Once parked outside the entrance, I walked around
the car and opened the door for her, secretly enjoying her struggle
to get out of the car without showing the entire world her chrome-
plated underwear.

When we walked through the door, I was immediately hailed by the
maitre d'.

"A table in the back, s'il vous plait."

"Oui, but of course, Monsieur Sorenson.  Après vous, madame."

The maitre d' pulled out the chair facing the wall for her, leaving
the one looking into the restaurant for me.  After ordering two
glasses of wine, I leaned forward and motioned her to do the same.

"Don't even think about dashing out of here, Sabrina.  Even if you
make it to the police station and send someone out to interrogate me,
I'll simply show them copies of our correspondence, and maybe a few
of the pictures we've already taken.  Don't forget, no one's called
in a missing-person report, much less a ransom demand, so you really
haven't been kidnapped.  As to why your car's parked at the train
station, I really couldn't say, as you arrived at my house in a taxi.
Don't think Brenda will back up your story; if anything, she'll be on
my side, given the way you whipped her, not to mention her seething
jealousy of any women I fancy besides her.  Or maybe I'll just say
that you're my nymphomaniac girlfriend who needs to be kept under
lock and key.  And speaking of keys, you're going to have one hell of
a time getting that chastity belt off without one."

I sat back and took a sip of my wine.

"Remember, being kinky isn't a crime, and I'm quite respected in
town, given my ongoing generosity to the re-election efforts of
various public officials.  Now, you can stare at me like a goggle-
eyed lunatic for the rest of our meal, or you can try this delicious
wine and let me recommend something from the private menu for our
lunch.  Agreed?"

"Yes, please," she said coldly.

"Don't be so irritable, Sabrina.  It doesn't become you in the
slightest."

I picked up my glass again, and gestured for her to do likewise.

"What do you say we drop the restrictions on your vocabulary for the
rest of the meal?"

I reached across the table and clinked our glasses together.

"To beauty, especially yours.  And to truth."


--SABRINA--


"To truth," I echoed hesitantly when our glasses clinked.

While he perused the menu, I realized this was my big chance to
question Geoffrey.  I could start with why he had to humiliate me in
public, too, but I supposed that could wait.  At least he let me sit
with my back to the room, which, after the short walk through the
restaurant, was a huge relief.  Dressed in clothes that made me look
and feel like a prostitute, I had the terrible impression that a
hundred eyes were staring at me.  However, failing to hear the sounds
of cutlery clicking on plates and the muffled cacophony of various
conversations, I realized the place was practically empty, and my
discomfort was caused exclusively by my vivid imagination.

So I did my best to calm down.  He was right.  Let's enjoy the
break.  And the wine.  After sipping some, I began to inventory the
questions and doubts I had pointlessly raised to myself the night
before.  I wasn't sure of what I would tell him first.  Besides the
fact that I had no intention of going to the police, now or later.
Better for me if he believed the potential threat.

"Well, is there anything you want to tell me?" Geoffrey asked when
the waiter left our table with the order scribbled on his notepad.

"Yes, please...I mean, yes," I repeated with a semblance of
assurance in my voice.  Well, talking to him freely wasn't going to
be so easy.

Searching for the best approach, I kicked off with a first question.

"Why...why are you doing this?" I vaguely asked, immediately
regretting the absurdity of the question.

"For the same reason as you are," he retorted quietly, obviously
enjoying my startled look.

"I...I'm not doing anything.  You force me to."

"You've always had a choice, Sabrina.  You could leave if you really
wanted to."

"But I tried to escape.  Remember?"

"Sure.  But a real kidnap victim would have immediately picked up
the phone in the living room and dialed 911.  You went to the kitchen
to eat cookies.  Why?"

I blushed at the recollection.  This wasn't good.  I was making a
fool of myself.  Deciding it was best not to answer his question--I
really didn't have an answer anyway--I tried to push him further.

"What about my car?  Why is it at the train station?"

"I needed an alibi for your association.  You haven't called them
for several days.  Don't you think they'd be worried?  But you don't
seem to give a toss, do you?"

No, I hadn't given the geriatric fuckwits at the International
Fashion Council much thought at all, save their betrayal.  Otherwise,
my issues with the board and the chairman's idiot nephew had vanished
from my mind.

I began to feel uneasy.  This wasn't the conversation I expected.
Geoffrey was supposed to feel guilty, to apologize.  Or at least give
me clarification.  Instead, he was leading me towards a confession I
wasn't ready to make.  Not to him.  Not yet.

He was still waiting for me to answer, or move on to the next
question, but I had lost my train of thought and no longer knew what
to ask him.

Fortunately, the waiter arrived.  For the next ten minutes, we ate
our appetizers in silence, save a few gratuitous comments about the
food, which was lovely.

When we were finished and our dishes had been cleared away, Geoffrey
leaned forward.

"Anything else, Sabrina?" he whispered mockingly.

"Well, yes," I started slowly, buying time.  Then I remembered one
of the questions I had meant to ask him.  I doubted he would answer
it, but it was worth trying.  "This threat of selling me to the
highest bidder...is it real?  Would you really sell me?"


--GEOFFREY--


"It's weird, isn't it?  The first time you realize you like it?"

Sabrina stared at me mutely, her darkest secret exposed.

"You do, you know.  Maybe not every minute, maybe not when you're
mad at me.  But more than enough.  Now, to answer your question, let
me phrase it another way."

I waved away the waiter approaching the table with our main courses.

"If you choose to leave, I don't particularly care what happens to
you."


--SABRINA--


Like a bomb, Geoffrey's last words exploded in my deepest core,
leaving me stunned with the realization that he would indeed sell me.
I was no more than a toy, an investment.  And he had the nerve to ask
me to stay with him?

I kept silent in case I blurted out something outrageous.  The
waiter finally brought our dishes, and I ate like a starving dog.
Didn't even taste the food.  Nor the wine, which I gulped down like
water.

When our plates were empty, the demon asked the waiter to bring us
coffee.  I needed a moment to myself, so I could stop the madness in
my mind and the twist in my stomach.

"Can I go to the bathroom, please?" I asked him as politely as I
could.

Geoffrey hesitated, then probably remembered the bathroom had no
exit access, and allowed me to go.

I stood up.

"Hold on.  Come here," he said, motioning me to his side.  "Put
these on.  Tight."

I hid the clamps in my hand and walked away, feeling increasingly
sick.

Before entering a stall, I splashed water on my face a couple of
times to chase away the nausea.  I shouldn't have eaten, let alone
drunk wine.  I swallowed cold water directly from the tap, then
entered a stall with the intention of staying there forever.  Did I
really have to get out of here?

Peeing through the mesh in the chastity belt was not a pleasant
experience, but it was better than holding it.  After wiping it, I
tapped the shiny device in various places and tested the lock.  I
would indeed have a hell of a time getting it off without a key.

When I couldn't learn anything new about the belt, I studied the
nipple clamps.  Despite their dubious purpose, I had to admit they
were both elegant and beautiful.

Mesmerized by the idea that they were jewelry, I rolled up my blouse
and began to twist my nipples until they were stiff enough for the
pincers to get a proper grip on their sides.  The clamps were set as
loose as I could manage, and I considered leaving them in this
comfortable position.  But he had said "tight," and I knew I better
stick to my involuntary vows of obedience if I didn't want to wind up
in a big box stamped "Contents Under Pressure."  So I pushed the tiny
rings up until they almost touched the imprisoned nipples.  The pain
was building.  So was the heat in my crotch.  I closed my eyes and
sighed.  Yes, I liked it.

But Geoffrey doesn't need to know that, I decided when I left the
stall after tugging the blouse back into the leather belt that
qualified as a skirt.  I took a look at the mirror and saw my nipple
jewelry glitter through the black mesh.  It was hardly perceptible,
but it was undoubtedly there for someone who knew to look for it.
The blush on my cheeks was revealing, too.

I strolled back into the restaurant with as much self-control as I
could muster under the circumstances.  Reaching our table, I sat down
and began turning the spoon idly in my cup of coffee.

Geoffrey grinned.

How dare he laugh at me?  Is there no way to please this guy, if not
get on his good side.  Fuck him.


--GEOFFREY--


I could hardly restrain a smile when Sabrina returned, adorned as
requested, her clamped nipples straining at the mesh like small
volcanoes.  All her anger was simply a mask to hide her fear of the
truth.  Well, if she wanted to put up a fight before surrendering, I
was certainly willing to make it a battle royale.

"Let's go," I said brusquely.

She let her spoon drop listlessly into her coffee.

"Okay, whatever," she replied, not bothering to look up.

"What was that?"

"Fuck you."

"Come again?"

She pushed back from the table and glared at me.

"Yes, pleeeeeeeeassssssse," she hissed before raising her hand to
flip me off.

"That's what I thought you said.  Turn around with you hands behind
your back.  Now."

Somewhat amazed when she complied, I unbuckled my belt, pulled it
off, and wrapped it tightly around her wrists.

"Good thing I remembered this," I said as I reached into my pocket.
"Open your mouth."

I forced the ball deep into her mouth, secured the strap, then
pushed her toward the rear of the restaurant.

"Garçon!  S'il vous plait."

I whispered to the waiter and handed him the keys to the car.

"This way," I said as I pushed Sabrina through the door into the
kitchen and past the cooking staff, who averted their eyes toward
their dishes and pans.  When we reached the back door, I hesitated
until I heard the sound of my car parked on the other side.

"Forward.  Quickly.  Now!"

I opened the exit to reveal the rear of my car facing the
restaurant, the lid to the trunk gaping open like the entrance to a
cave.

"Get in."

When Sabrina hesitated, I scooped her up in his arms and lay her on
the floor of the trunk.  Reaching underneath her, I found the bungee
cord I used to hold down the lid when carrying oversized loads, and
snaked it around her ankles and through the hinge so she couldn't
kick.

"You're in enough trouble, so don't make it worse," I snarled before
slamming the lid.

I wasted no time in getting home, but as soon as I carried her
through the front door, I threw her down face-first onto the floor,
lashed her ankles to her wrists with the bungee cord, and left her
hogtied and squirming for more than an hour while I made preparations
in the studio.

I stripped Sabrina of everything save the clamps before taking her
downstairs, where she was greeted by the sight of a sawhorse in the
middle of the room, a variety of cuffs, straps and whips laid out on
a table next to it.

I led her to the wooden structure and pushed the top of her body
lengthwise against the crossbeam, then pulled her feet apart so I
could attach her ankles to the support legs.  I unbelted her wrists,
only to cuff them in front of her and stretch them to the opposite
end of the sawhorse, followed by a long belt around her arms and the
beam, plus another one around her torso.

Her ass stuck out so enticingly, I was tempted to take her right
then and there.  Instead, I found a short plug, nothing more than a
wooden golf ball on a base, and forced it into her resistant hole.

"I've forgotten what number we're up to, but I'm sure it's more than
you're going to get now, so we'd best compensate quantity with
quality."

I picked up a thin wooden cane from the table and brought it down
hard against one of her thighs.

"I expect you to keep separate count of each different lash," I said
after a dozen strokes.  Nine later, I picked up the crop, then the
paddle, the cane again, the flogger, his hand, the paddle, the crop,
the hairbrush, then the flogger, until I finally lost track.

When I could restrain myself no longer, I pulled out the plug in her
anus and replaced it with the erection I had been nurturing since
driving home from the restaurant, slapping her cheeks with every
thrust until I collapsed against her welt-covered back in a
shuddering heap.

Exhausted, I pulled out and plopped into a nearby chair to
contemplate her fate for the remainder of the afternoon.


--SABRINA--


Why on earth did I provoke Geoffrey the way I did?  Why, when I knew
so well what his reaction would be?  The cane hit me before I could
come up with a plausible reason.  Then, the strokes came down in such
quick succession that all I could do was focus on the pain and how to
deal with it.

But you don't deal with pain.  You just take it.  Until you can't.
First you scream and try to hold on.  Then you surrender, lose the
ability to utter more than a heartbreaking moan, and wish to die.
The portion of time between them hardly matters, because time becomes
an irrelevant notion.  The only reality your mind can focus on is how
much more it will take until the rush of adrenaline protects you from
further suffering.

At first, I held on by counting the hits, but once I felt the cruel
bite of leather, then wood, then flesh, then leather again, red
lights began to flash in my mind, signaling a dangerous overload.
Time to shut down the circuitry.

When I returned to consciousness, I didn't even open my eyes, lest
they should burn like the rest of my body.  I was broken in a
thousand pieces, and a single move might be enough to shatter the
puzzle.

And yet, terrible as it was, the physical pain was not the worst
part.  The worst part was to face the truth.  I had provoked him
because I knew he would punish me if I did.  And I wanted him to.  I
needed it so I could come face to face with myself.  Rip me open so
that I can see who I really am.

I felt like a newborn baby who's just taken a long and painful
voyage to flee the darkness and enter a world of bright lights.  I
let out an anguished wail and began to cry like I was breathing air
for the first time.  The life ahead of me looked terrifying, but I
was eager to explore it.  Only I hoped I'd find a helping hand along
the way.  Would Geoffrey, in his uncompromising pursuit of
perfection, lend me his?  Or would he tire of me and find a more
compliant candidate for partnership down the road?

When I heard him move behind me, I tried to guess what he would do
next, and how I should respond.  And fear took a new face, too.  The
fear of not being up to it.  Of not deserving the prize I was running
for.


--GEOFFREY--


Listening to her sob, I almost felt sorry for Sabrina; as much for
her confusion as her pain.  For if she had really despised all the
afflictions I had visited upon her, she would have screamed bloody
murder at the restaurant this afternoon.  Instead, she not only
remained quiet, she willingly clamped her nipples in the bathroom.
Remarkable.  Perhaps even a keeper.

It was never easy to come to grips with the hunger.  The disease was
the same as the cure.  Only the symptoms never went away.

It was time to test her, to find out if she really understood the
changes that had been branded on her soul; the difference between
getting and wanting, having and needing.

"Up you go," I said as he unlocked the last cuff.  She pulled
herself off the sawhorse and stood shakily.

"Over here."  I pointed to the center of the studio.  "On your
knees.  Spine straight.  Head down.  Hands behind your back.  Now."

While she quivered on the floor, I opened one of the trunks and got
out several thick hanks of rope, then pushed the box next to her.

"Up on top of it.  Same position."

I started with her wrists, then kept going up her arms to her
elbows.  Next came her breasts, squeezing them flat, then rounding
them into tiny melons with knots along the sides.

I saved the longest lengths for her legs, lashing each ankle to its
respective thigh, the rope pressing deeper into her flesh with every
coil, knotting it off with three meters to spare.

I climbed up and stood next to her, threading the ends of the thigh
ropes over the top of the scaffold, then jumped down and tied
whatever was left to the strands behind her back binding her breasts
and elbows.

With a grin, I reached around Sabrina's waist, pushed the box aside
with my leg, and let go.  The ropes running up to the ceiling went
taut, spreading her legs out wide.  She moaned loudly into her gag as
she hung suspended in midair, her breasts and still-clamped nipples
straining mightily with every futile twist of her torso.

"Struggling only makes..." I started to say before realizing she
would figure out the physics soon enough.

I reached around her head and removed her gag.

"How many?" I asked, picking up the wooden cane.

After a few seconds, I knew she didn't know.

"I asked you a question, Sabrina."

Several more seconds passed before she finally opened her mouth.

"Yes...please."

I brought the switch down hard on her inner thigh.

"How many?" I repeated, this time holding the flogger.

Her response was the same, as was mine, only this time, I snapped
the leather strips against her pussy.

After we worked our way through every whip used earlier, I picked up
a new one, a single strand of the thinnest cowhide mounted on a long
wooden handle.  I held it in front of her eyes, then smacked the lash
like a firecracker against my open palm.

"How many?  And this time, I want a number."


--SABRINA--


A number...did Geoffrey really want me to give him a number?  It
sure sounded like he did.

I took a look at the thin whip.  That one would hurt.  Bad.  And I
was supposed to tell him how many times he'd have to hit me?  Well,
once would be more than enough, thank you very much.  And yet, I knew
the signs now.  My sex getting wet at the thought of what was to
come.  My heart pulsing madly in anticipation.  I would take as many
hits as I needed to come.  I felt like telling him that, but I was
not totally sure of what he expected from me, so I opted for a more
reasonable, yet foolish enough, answer.

"Ttt...twenty, please," I stammered, hoping I was close enough to
his expectation.

"Twenty it is," he said as he moved behind me.  "Count the strokes
for me."

"One."  I silently cursed at my own stupidity.  After the thorough
whipping he had already administered me, one more welt would tear me
apart, and that was precisely how this one felt.  And twenty?

However, things progressed differently this time, and by the time I
counted "fifteen," pleasure had come alongside the pain.  I was no
longer thrashing to avoid the stroke--which in any case made my
predicament worse by adding breast torture to it--instead raising my
ass to meet the whip and opening myself to welcome its burning caress.

As soon as "twenty" came out, I heard Geoffrey pick up a new tool
and repeat his question.

"How many?"

"Twenty, please," came my immediate, breathless reply.  Oh please
don't stop, I wanted to add.  Don't stop.

The next strokes felt different.  The strands didn't cut so deep,
but they covered a wider area of flesh, dissipating the heat, making
it last forever.  Pleasure mounted.

I must have pleaded for another series before he even asked for it,
because he hardly paused between the flogger and the paddle.  By that
time, I was in my own world, oblivious to anything beyond the
sensations on my flesh and body.  And I still wanted more.  The pain
was pure pleasure now, and I knew it would bring me to ecstasy if it
kept on going for a while longer.  Don't stop.

After the paddle, I heard a voice I didn't recognize as mine ask for
twenty more.  I was addicted, running high on pain, adrenaline and
whatever hormone made my sex so hungry.  And as I heard "sixteen"
weakly whispered in the outside world, I knew something was about to
happen.  Something I hadn't experienced yet.  Oh, yes, please keep
them coming.  I'm almost there.

And then nothing.  No more strokes.  I arched my back, clamoring for
attention, but nothing came to satiate me.  I opened my eyes,
wondering what had gone wrong.  Had someone interrupted us?  Had
Geoffrey hurt himself?  However, when I saw him in front of me,
panting a little, but with no mark of concern on his face, I realized
I must have missed his question.

"Twenty, please" I said raucously, yet eagerly.

"Really?"

Oh, maybe that was the wrong answer, I thought as he kept his eyes
on mine.  I hesitated half a second but, not knowing any better and
desperately wanting to return to the beautiful world his interruption
had pulled me back from, I tried again.

"Thirty...please."

The extremities of his mouth slightly curved upward, and I froze
when I imagined the burst of anger that would follow.

But he smiled instead.

"Thirty?  You are tougher with yourself than I am, dear.  I think
you've been sufficiently punished.  Besides, I--"

I never heard the end of his sentence.  My mind refused to register
anything else beyond "punished."  Punished?  I was being punished?  I
couldn't believe it.  How could he think he was punishing me when I
took so much pleasure in...oh, God.

I rose up my eyes to meet his again, but he was already climbing on
the box to untie me.  Noooo...my flesh, my sex, my soul, my heart,
everything that was me wanted to go on.  I had been so close to...I
was about to tell him, beg him to whip me again, when he seemed to
change his mind and jumped back onto the floor.

"Unless"--he watched me intensely as he spoke--"you need me to go on?"

I sighed, my hopes rocketing high again.  I took a deep breath and
surrendered the last thing I had yet to give him.

"Yes, please."


--GEOFFREY--


"Since you're showing such resilience, maybe we should change
targets."

I put down the paddle and picked up the thin leather whip again.

"Officially, this is called a cock whip, but I think it will be
equally effective on its female counterpart.  What was that number
again?  Oh yes.  Thirty."

I raised my hand and took aim at the front of her crotch, then
reconsidered.

"For once, I think I can forgive a few extraneous words," I said as
I placed the whip back down on the box.  "But a ball gag simply won't
do."

I disappeared into the shadows of the studio, only to return
brandishing the harness with the rubber penis jutting out from its
faceplate.

"Always good to stay in practice," I said as I pushed the rubber
plug between her teeth, then buckled the half-dozen straps across her
cheeks, under her chin and around her head.

"Now, where were we?"

The leather strip disappeared in a blur of motion that stopped
suddenly against her open sex.  I waited a good minute before
administering the second blow, but the third came almost immediately
thereafter.  By the tenth, I was getting good at snapping the lash in
the vicinity of her clitoris.  By the twentieth, I was scoring a
bulls-eye every time.

Judging by her eyes, she was deep into her third or fourth climax
when I finally stopped somewhere in the thirties.  Close enough for
horseshoes, hand grenades and "dirty" weapons of mass destruction.

"You like that?" I asked unnecessarily, "yes, please," being the
more than obvious, yet silent, response.

So I decided to make it exponential.  I put down the whip,
repositioned the box, lowered her, and retied the ropes so she was
lying on her back, the two long ends from her doubled-over legs
stretched wide to opposite ends of the scaffolding, her arms pinned
painfully and permanently behind her back.

I wanted to tell her how being allowed to come was a great
privilege, a rare treat, something to be savored.  But I knew my
words wouldn't carry nearly the weight of my actions.

So I left her lying on the box, her body ravaged from my beatings,
and dug through the other containers until I found the perfect
device: a dual vibrator that filled her pussy and pressed a second
nubbin against her clit.  I thrust it deep into her hole, then
secured it inside her with short pieces of tape criss-crossed against
her shaved crotch.  A twist of the base, and the mechanics began to
sing their toneless drone.  It wouldn't be long.

Until what?  Until I recreated the absolute frenzy of the second
round of whipping?  After all, she had begged me to continue.  And
the last thing I wanted to do was...

Give her what she wanted?  Could I?  Really?  Despite all my efforts
over the years, finding a girl like her had been pretty much a Don
Quixote drill: the impossible dream.

But not tonight.  Not this time.

"Don't fuck it up, Geoffrey," I yelled at himself.  After all, she
could walk out of here tomorrow, or right now, if she had an ounce of
sense.

I smiled.  No time like the present to make life clean like tomorrow.

The candle was long and narrow.  I taped it against the base of the
dual dildo in her crotch so it stuck out from her crotch at a 45-
degree angle, the wick somewhere above immediately south of her navel.

Five...six...the vibrator was nothing if not relentless.

I found a pack of matches and lit the black thread.  Within seconds,
droplets of wax splattered against her groin.  As it burned, the
residue would drip, drip, drip, down to her...

And the closer it got, the hotter the wax would get.

I thought about leaving her to her fate, but I couldn't bear to miss
it.  So I found a second candle, sat down on the side of the box,
fired it, and held the end over one of her nipples.

And when they burned off, I promised himself, I could remove the wax
with the cock whip.

It would take forever.

Which wasn't nearly enough time for me.


--SABRINA--


How could I begin to describe what happened to me that night?  How
could words reproduce the feelings I surrendered to?  "Arousal?"
Hardly enough.  "Ecstasy?"  Not even there.  "Blissful torture?"  A
contradictory, yet appropriate concept.  Again, not quite what it
really was.  By the time I was able to think, my mind had little
recollection of the whole sequence.  My flesh remembered heat and
pain and spasms of pleasure.  A never-ending cycle, feeding itself
continuously.  And my soul was branded with a dark, yet shiny mark
that would alter my life forever.

I couldn't remember when the wax, hotter by the minute, reached my
pubis and continued to drip closer to my clit, the little bud so
stimulated by the mechanical vibrator that it seemed to shake of its
own accord.  Or when my breasts appeared as glittering red rocks, a
lunatic vision I could scarcely believe.

Nor could I say how many whip strokes were needed to scrap the wax
off my body, nor how much time it took, whether they landed in a
continuous flow, or whether pauses allowed me to breathe again.

I could only recall a few snapshots.  A flame fiercely glowing
against the dark background.  A drop of red wax suspended in mid-air.
A hand holding up the wooden handle.  Flashes of white and holes of
black.  I must have fainted a dozen times, or maybe I only shut down
my mental capacities: so cumbersome, so heavy, so useless.

However, I remembered one instant vividly.  Before embarking on this
dangerous journey into the badlands of sexual depravity, I needed to
believe someone would see to my safety and bring me back.  And that
someone could only be the one holding the candle.  So I gave Geoffrey
the last shreds of control I had, and trusted him with my life.  When
I did--despite the fact that it was all happening in my mind--I felt
light as the air, empty and free.


--GEOFFREY--


I left Sabrina lying on the box for maybe an hour while I caught my
breath.  Such strength.  Such endurance.  Such willingness.  Not only
was she a keeper, but I was quite sure we'd only just begun.  The
challenge now was, how to keep her without her having to concede that
she was being kept?  I pondered this question in the shower, then
over a glass of cognac as I decided what to cook for dinner.

Was she unconscious, or just sleeping?  I decided the difference
wasn't worth debating as I untied her, then carried her up to her
room, where I lay her bruised body on the bed and tied her to a post
with nothing more than a chain trailing to a thick leather collar.

Let her rest, I said silently.  There was plenty of time to have my
way with her.  In fact, if events continued on their current
trajectory, she wouldn't have to worry about anything beyond our
mutual pleasure.

But that, I conceded, was ultimately up to her.  All I could do was
fulfill.  Not decide.

I pondered the term "submissive" for a moment.  Some thought it
meant a person who put aside his or her own desires for someone
else's.  But I knew better.  In this case, it meant both of us
getting what we wanted.  She was "submissive" the same way I was
"perverted," but those were loaded words, fraught with misguided
interpretations.

For the true submissive got what she wanted, even though someone
like me was calling the literal shots.  It might look like slavery,
or even torture, but not when it was willingly sought and accepted.
And she had certainly been a positive partner tonight.

Tonight, I scoffed.  It was only seven o'clock.  I wondered if she'd
sleep the rest of the evening away.  I stared at her body,
unencumbered for the first time in days without any bindings beyond
the collar.  My primal self said now was the time to take her, to
make love, to fuck her silly.  But I was no fan of necrophilia.  She
would have to wake up first.  Better yet, she would have to ask me to
do her.

Maybe even beg.

But that might not happen tonight, I reminded myself.  No matter.
Tomorrow was an endless vista of opportunity.  And we would start, as
always, in the ring.  I smiled when I thought of the caviletti.  The
ultimate test of a show horse's skills.

"Yes, please," I whispered into her ear as I pulled the blanket over
her.


--SABRINA--


I woke up feeling wonderful and terrible at the same time.
Wonderful because I felt satiated and at peace.  For the first time
since I arrived here, I had known what I wanted, and received it,
too.  Getting what you need is the ultimate happiness, I decided with
a huge smile on my face.

With the exception of a thick collar around my neck, I was free of
any bondage.  After hours in confinement, the basic freedom of moving
my hands or bending my knees was an indulgence I savored.

The chain holding the collar to one of the bed posts was too short
for me to leave the bed, but once my eyes got accustomed to the
darkness, I was able to sit, which I did.  And that's when I realized
I was feeling terrible, for my body was a surrealist painting of red
welts and bruises.  Now that my sexual hunger had been more than
thoroughly quenched, pain was just pain.

I winced as I extended my arms as wide as I could.  They had been
restrained behind my back for so long, my sore muscles launched a
signal that enough was enough.  So I spent the next half hour working
the atrophy out of them, starting with my arms, then my legs--which
felt even worse--then trying to massage my other body muscles softly
without touching the wounds.  But the welts were everywhere, and the
only thing that would bring me some relief was a long warm bath and
lots of cooling potions.  However, that particular option was sadly
unavailable right now.

Out of curiosity, I checked both extremities of the chain.  Securely
locked.  No surprise there.

As I carefully sat back on the pillow, I thought of calling
Geoffrey, but instinctively knew that was the wrong move.  Restless,
I strained to hear sounds outside the room, and perceived familiar
movements in the kitchen.  At the same time, as if my nose had been
waiting for my attention to get to work, a wonderful smell reminded
me that I was hungry.  Starving, actually.

I wondered if I should try to get Geoffrey's attention.  He might
think I was still asleep and leave me alone until tomorrow.  Tired as
I might be, I couldn't go back to sleep before eating something.  And
drinking.  And washing.  And going to the bathroom.  Funny how basic
necessities always returned to remind me of real life.

Well, let's hope he doesn't forget that, either, I thought,
nervously tapping my fingers on the bed.

After what seemed like forever--or at least long enough to prepare
dinner, eat it and digest it--I gave up all hope of dining that
night, and tried to force myself to sleep, dismissing the groans from
my stomach and the welts on my skin.  Just as I started to count
sheep, I heard footsteps climb up the stairs, move swiftly in the
corridor, and stop at my door.

Worried that Geoffrey would pass without coming in, I squirmed in my
bed, hoping the faint squeaky sounds would draw his attention.  They
did.  The door opened.

I didn't move, but kept my eyes wide open and watched his shadow
move forwards.  One cautious step, two, then he turned around and
walked back to switch the light on.

I blinked while he strolled across the room and came to sit on the
bed.  Before he was able to ask any questions, my belly produced such
a roaring sound that he knew he didn't need to say anything.  Without
a word, he left the room, only to return five minutes later with a
tray which he placed on the bedside table.

Cold turkey, salad, bread, water, cuffs, leather straps.  Oh well, I
thought while he was locking my hands in my back, then my ankles to
opposite bedposts, as long as I get to eat, I don't care how the food
travels into my mouth.

Wrong.  First, all I could think of was to chew and swallow and
bring my energy level back to an operational limit, but when I was
able to slow down the pace, I became acutely aware of the powerful
meaning of the scene.  I had been through this humiliating feeding
process before, but there had always been anger or fear to keep my
thoughts busy.  Tonight was different.  I had surrendered myself to
him and enjoyed it.  And he knew that.

Geoffrey won, I admitted while taking in another forkful.  Yet, he
didn't look like he had, nor like the game was over.  Was there more?
What did he want from me that he didn't have already?


--GEOFFREY--


When Sabrina was finished eating, I unlocked the ankle cuffs from
the bedposts and attached a long lead to her collar.

"Follow me," I said with a tug.

We walked down the hallway to a set of double doors that led to the
master bedroom suite.  A place rarely visited by anyone but the maid.

I pushed a key into the hole beneath the massive brass doorknob and
twisted it open with a barely audible click.  The doors whooshed open
like something from a science fiction movie.

"Makes your typical safe look like a child's piggybank," I said
nonchalantly as I led her into what appeared to be another hallway
shrouded in darkness.  At the second door, I stopped and turned to
address her.

"These are my private chambers.  I expect them to be treated with
the utmost respect.  Otherwise, I'm sure I can arrange alternative
accommodations for you, starting with the cage downstairs."

I pushed open the door and turned on the light to reveal what looked
like a miniature swimming pool surrounded by a wooden deck.

"Sit on the edge."

I took the cuffs off her wrists, then removed the collar, only to
replace it with one made of metal.  Reaching into the water, I fished
around until I found a long chain, which I padlocked to a ring in
front of the band around her neck.

"Get it."

Sabrina slipped into the pool, and discovered it was maybe a meter
deep.

"There are seats along the side if you'd prefer," I said, pointing
to the opposite side of the pool.

"Here are the controls," I continued, pointing to a large knob.
"You can adjust the jets from here."

After I touched it, the water in the pool began to churn and boil.

"Some visitors have become very intimate with the nozzles, but I'll
leave that up to you...this time."

I left her alone with the recuperative powers of the Jacuzzi for
maybe half an hour.  When I returned, I found her sitting on the
bench half asleep, her head lolling back against the side of the pool.

"Hate to wake you, Sleeping Beauty, but...well, this is going to
sound redundant, but it's time for bed."

She climbed out of the pool groggily, and could scarcely stand as I
removed the metal collar.  Sensing she was about to collapse, I
picked her up in my arms and carried her to my bedroom.

She was sound asleep before her head hit the pillow.

I sighed.  I had planned to spend the rest of the evening discerning
her most erogenous zones; the ones that made her crazy at the
slightest touch.  For some women, it was their ears.  For others, the
nape of their necks.  Some went nuts when their toes were suckled.
Others lost it when their knees were caressed.

It often took a lot of trial and error to find the very best spot.
But once successful, I could practically induce madness with my
fingers, and especially my tongue.  And such a fun voyage, too.  But
that pursuit could wait for the morning, I decided as I cuffed her
wrists and bound them over her head to one of the massive posts
holding up the canopy over my oversized bed.

I knew I was close.  But I had to be sure.  More importantly, so did
Sabrina.  If she harbored the slightest doubt, I wanted to know
before I shared my secrets, and my trust.  But tomorrow would tell
all.

In more ways than one.


(To be continued in Association - Day 11)


***
Copyright (C) 2002, 2003 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard. All
rights reserved. Please do not repost nor repurpose without
permission.

***
"Something Just Clicked," a new 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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