The Gambler

"I feel sorry for you, Howard," she said, still hiding her fear. I recognized the sincerity in her comment and wondered again if I could actually pull this off.

"That's five extra strokes," I replied. She just looked at me. I stepped back into the shadows.

Max's electric whip was a single-tail horror with copper wire woven through the braid. That morning I whipped her for half and hour strokes with the setting on #1, the lowest. It was as if she were being shocked with a cattle prod and touched with a red-hot iron at the same time. She screamed and thrashed wildly after each stroke, but I was patient, waiting until she was fully recovered and calm before delivering the next. Near the end, she was fading in and out of consciousness. To be sure that she felt the last few strokes, I wet her down and brushed her skin with the whip. The shock of it revived her enough to allow me to finish. When it was over, I lowered her arms about a foot and gave her some water through a straw.

I waited ten minutes for her to rest then I collared her and attached a four-foot chain which I attached at her feet. The chain forced her to bend at the knee with her arms extended overhead. The only way to give her straining leg muscles some relief was to either bend at the waist, which caused a terrible back pain, or to hang by her wrists. I wanted her to spend the day shifting from one agony to another. I also wanted to strengthen her muscles especially in her legs; she would need them later.

Without a word, I turned off all the lights but one and left, locking the door behind.

That evening, I returned. She was crying softly from the pain of her crucifixion. From the peephole, I knew that her back and legs had given out two hours earlier and that she had been hanging by her arms since then, pushing up periodically with her trembling legs to keep from strangling. (An arms-high crucifixion usually kills by slow strangulation as the victim's chest muscles weaken to the point where they can no longer take sufficient air into their lungs.)

She looked at me and started to cry in relief; all she could think about now was the pain. I was her salvation. I unhooked the chain from her neck collar and watched as she tried to stand straight. She didn't have enough strength left in her legs. After a minute, I lowered her to the ground and fed her water, a baloney sandwich, and two protein bars.

She ate slowly, mechanically. I locked her wrists behind her back and hooked her collar to the short chain in the floor. Her face was lying in the wet spot where she had peed during the day. I closed the lights and left.

The next morning I returned at the same time, increased the whip's setting to #2 and whipped her for another half-an-hour. Afterwards, I shortened the neck chain by one link and put her back in position. I knew that her tolerances would increase and I wanted to be sure that each day's pain was just about the same.

This went on for five days. I don't know if Max would have whipped her for seven; I didn't care. I was now in charge and I had decided that she had had enough.

As far as Jesse was concerned, it didn't matter either. Her life was now defined by a morning whipping, a day of excruciating pain, and a long uncomfortable sleep in the tomb-like darkness. She didn't know if this had gone on for five days or fifty.

I moved her to the soft bed upstairs where she slept for 36 hours. When she woke, I shackled her hands and gave her a bath; then I fed her a hot meal and put her back to bed. She was as weak as a kitten and never looked at me directly or said a word. She slept for another 24 hours and I repeated the bath. Again she was silent.

If nothing else, I now had her attention.

IX

I was waiting the next morning when she opened her bedroom door just as I had been a week before.

Again, she was barefooted, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, with wet hair. She stopped when she saw me waiting. She still looked weak, but surprisingly healthy.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Fine Master," she answered head down. I looked her over. My arms were crossed and I was leaning against the second-floor railing.

"Strip," I said quietly.

Moving quickly, she removed her clothes, leaving the thong in place without being told. I was amazed at her instantaneous, unquestioning response. Obviously, there was fear involved—she didn't want to go back to the safe-room—but there was something more, much more. She had obeyed me without thinking...instinctually. I was beginning to understand what she meant by a "power relationship."

I circled her in the wide hallway, reaching out to feel the new muscle growth in her arms and legs. I was especially impressed with her flat stomach and abs, which showed just a faint hint of the hardness underneath. I had the distinct impression of velvet-covered metal, yet nothing was bulging. Her torments had been designed to harden existing muscle rather than build ugly bulk. Silently, I congratulated myself. I didn't think it was possible, but she looked even better than before, even more desirable. I could feel myself getting hard.

"Dress," I ordered. Immediately she put her clothes back on. "You look even more beautiful," I said. I could see a faint smile cross her face. I returned to leaning against the hallway railing with my arms crossed. She stood barefooted, very straight with her head down and her hands at her side.

"I'm going away on a business trip for a few days," I said in a conversational tone. "I'll be back late on Friday. I've left you some money on my desk. There's plenty of food in the kitchen."

I waited a minute and then continued. "You can come and go as you like until I get back. You're free to use anything in the house, including the computer, just don't touch anything in my desk. I've added you as a guest on my system, Jesse...Jesse."

She remained silent. "On Saturday morning, we'll be driving upstate. I've arranged for you to get some specialized training. You'll be gone for two weeks."

She raised her head and looked at me curiously, but just responded with a quiet, "yes, Master."

I guess I had hoped for a change in attitude, sadly I realized that that was asking too much. She could not act respectfully and with familiarity at the same time. Being a real master was going to be lonely.

"I left you some coffee downstairs if you want it," I said. Then I turned and went back to my room, closing the door. The first thing I did was jerk off; abstinence around her was going to be hard, I thought. Then I finished packing. When I came out, she was gone. What did I expect, a good-bye kiss? I carried my suitcase downstairs.

She was waiting for me by the front door, naked except for the thong and kneeling, with her head down. She looked incredibly luscious and it took all the willpower I had not to nail her right there on the floor. Instead, I stepped around her kneeling body to get my jacket.

"May I speak, Master?" she asked. This was the first time she had asked to speak since the basement.

"Yes," I replied.

Then she looked up at me and said simply, "Please fuck me before you go." It was the genuine sexual hunger of a 22-year old girl, but there was something more. Behind the sex was a barely hidden plea to give her back some of the control she had lost, to restore her ego.

After a week of manhandling her naked body, there was nothing, literally nothing that I wanted more than to fuck her, but I knew that giving in now would be a step back. I was resolved to stick to the plan which meant no sex for a while. Luckily, I had also just jerked off.

"No, not yet," I said in a matter-of-fact way. Then, without looking at her, I said, "Please be ready to leave at 10 on Saturday;" then I left.

X

The drive upstate took three hours plus an hour for lunch at a little restaurant just off the Taconic Parkway. I had given her permission (ordered her actually) to speak freely and we talked—nothing important or intimate, but it was a start.

She asked me again how I knew so much about the bastinado. (It was clear that she was fascinated with this general subject.) I told her that I had studied a lot of history, both in school and on my own.

"Who were the cruelest people?" she asked innocently, chomping on a carrot.

"The Romans," I answered without hesitation. "They institutionalized cruelty. Before them it was all about people—good people and bad. After them, it became a government thing. It wasn't personal anymore and people absolved themselves of responsibility.

"Remember Spartacus and the slave revolt?" I asked. She nodded, but her eyes urged me to continue. The Romans crucified 6,000 slaves and no one batted an eyelash. Do you know how much organization it took to get 6,000 strong men nailed to a cross one at a bloody time? Imagine waiting for your turn; imagine thinking about the horribly painful death that was coming.

"I know how they felt," she said half joking. I looked at her sharply; I didn't want her punishments to be taken lightly.

"We can do that again when we get home." I said seriously. There was real terror in her eyes. "Do you want that?" I asked.

"No Master," she replied, cowed. I hated to bring that tone to our civilized lunch, but I knew that she needed to respect the pain that I gave her, not diminish it once it was over.

"The Romans were especially cruel to their slaves, especially the girls," I continued. She looked at me with some interest, still wary about saying the wrong thing. "The most beautiful became a secondary form of money and were traded all the time. It actually resulted in better treatment as marking a female slave reduced her value. They still practiced corporal punishment, but carefully, always looking for new ways to hurt the slave without damaging her. It became a hobby for some."

She looked at me and then screwed up her courage and spoke. "It sounds very much like a CELT contract. Men trade the girls and try to find inventive ways to keep them in line without any visible damage." She was staring at me directly. There was no disrespect, but she stood her ground. Once again I admired her courage.

I was also glad to see that she had not lost her spirit, but I just looked at her evenly and said, "There's one important difference Jess—a CELT's bondage is consensual."

"Yes, you're right," she said, "consensual." Then she stood up and walked to the car. I paid the bill and followed.

XII

The sign read Bitter Wells Horse Farm. It was remote, at least 20 miles off the main road. This was horse country and I was sure that by now Jesse had guessed the nature of her training. She didn't say anything, just continued to stare out the window. What could she say?

We drove up the farm road until we came to a collection of buildings, including a well-kept barn. A small group of men were gathered around something that I couldn't see. One of them broke away and walked over to the car.

"Mr. Lowe?" the man asked in a friendly way. I nodded and we shook hands. "Jack Warden," he said. "Welcome to Bitter Wells. I got your check and the paperwork last week. We're all set for you. He ignored Jess, who had walked over to us from the other side of the car.

"Is this the girl?" he asked nodding in her direction.

"Yes," I said.

"Do you want to turn her over now?" he asked. I nodded yes.

"OK, well you just need to give her the order and we'll get started," his friendly attitude was comforting.

I turned to Jesse and said, "I want you to obey this man and his associates."

Immediately, he stepped over to Jesse, turned her around, and cuffed her wrists behind her back. Without a single wasted motion, he pulled a bridle from his belt and fit it over her head, pushing a hard-rubber bit between her teeth. Quickly he tightened one bridle strap behind her neck, another under her chin, and a third at the side of her head then he clipped two short reins to the metal ring on one side of her mouth bit. Two leather flaps near her eyes prevented any side vision.

Jesse stood motionless as the bridle was strapped on, staring at me. I stared back, betraying nothing of what I was feeling inside. In truth, I was terrified of leaving her. I could sense that she was afraid as well. She had never been to a horse farm; I could see it in the way she responded clumsily to Jack's manhandling.

Then he unbuttoned the front of her shirt and pulled it down to her waist. "We'll get her stripped down and prepared later," he said. "Right now I need to attend to one of our ponies. Want to watch?" I nodded, not really understanding what he meant by "attend to." He led Jesse away by the reins and I followed.

When we got closer I could see that the crowd was gathered around a horizontal wooden rail maybe eight feet long, set on two thick posts. A tall Asian girl, completely naked and absolutely gorgeous had been stretched over the rail on her stomach and her wrists and ankles secured by thick leather straps on the sides of the posts. Her head was pulled back by the hair with a rawhide cord that was tied to the top of a silver hook, which had been inserted in her ass.

The straps, which were near the bottom of the posts, pulled her long body taunt and motionless. She glanced over at me, the new arrival in the circle. I could see that she was straining to hold her head up and keep the hook from penetrating farther up her ass, but her eyes were still blazing with fury.

Jack continued walking to another hitching rail and pushed Jesse to her knees, tying her reins around the rail so that she was forced to look at the Asian girl. At least five other girls were tied to the same rail in a similar fashion. All of them were naked. A second rail nearby held anther half a dozen "ponies" tied in the same position.

Jack addressed the small group of men. "Thank you all for stopping bye. Let me introduce Mr. Lowe here," He pointed at me; I nodded. "...our newest member." Several of the men glanced over and nodded.

Then he walked over to the punishment rail and rested his hand on Asian girl's bare ass. "This here's Ming," he said, as he unhooked a mean looking whip from his belt and shook it to allow the lashes to untangle. The were made of rawhide.

"Yesterday, she pushed one of our stable boys. We don't tolerate behavior like that around here. Her punishment is to be whipped for ten minutes. The girl remained perfectly silent and still. She reminded me of Jesse in an obstinate mood.

He directed himself to the two hitching posts. "I want all you other ponies to watch this and remember it."

He stepped behind the girl and exercised the whip. For some reason the girl looked at me again, there was terror in her eyes. Jack started slowly, moving the whip from one ass cheek to the other. I could see that each rawhide lash left a small red line in her skin. After a few more strokes, he shifted to her legs, working the tips of the lash into the tender inside of her thigh. Patiently he moved from one leg to the other. The girl screamed and jerked now with each stroke hopelessly trying to free herself from the rail. I glanced at my watch...one minute. At the two minute mark, her ass and back were bright red and she was hysterical with the pain. She screamed for him to stop and surprisingly he did.

"I'll give her some time to calm down and then start again on her back," he said. "This break won't affect her whipping time; around here, ten minutes means ten minutes."

The girl's body was shaking violently and tears were flowing down her face in a steady stream. I could see her hands desperately opening and closing and her bare feet arching as she tried to shake off the pain. Her face contorted in agony as another blow landed and realized, surprisingly, that I was rock hard. She was suffering for me; I found that idea pleasing.

In about a minute Jack started again. The girl was moaning and screaming again within a few strokes. I could tell that he was adjusting the force of the whipping so that she was in a fairly constant and intense pain, but not in danger of passing out. Strangely, her screams seemed almost natural out here in the open air with the mountains in the background. Most of the men were looking on with interest; obviously, this was nothing new, but I got the sense that a whipping was something they liked to discuss at the bar.

I looked over at the pony-girls strapped to the other rails. Some had their eyes closed, but some were watching intently and breathing heavily. I realized that they were as turned on as the men by the show,

Jesse most of all.

By the end of her ten minutes, Ming was only half conscious. The hook was fully up her ass now and her head drooped a little as a result. Jack coiled his whip and reattached it to his belt then he adjusted the rawhide strap on her hair so it was tight. He turned to the men. "Thank you for coming. It's good for the girls to see the membership working together. We'll take her down in a few hours," he said, pointing to Ming. I like them to think about what they done while the hook is still inside and their backside is still burning."

The men started walking away. I took a final look at Ming. She was in a painful stupor, almost a drugged state, but her muscles were contracting as she squeezed the wooden rail with her legs. Was she having an orgasm, I wondered?

Jack came over and started walking me back to my car. "We'll see you in two weeks, Mr. Lowe," he said. "Don't worry; I'll take good care of your girl." I glanced over at Jesse; the wounded look in her eyes followed me all the way down the path.

The next two weeks were the longest of my life. I realized two things: first, that I wanted her more than anything I had ever wanted before; and second, just how dangerous it was to feel that way. It was a classic case of obsession. Fortunately, I was smart enough to recognize the symptoms; it was even more fortunate was that she was 150 miles away.

The drive back to Bitter Wells was filled with fear and uncertainty. How had she responded to the training? The farm was all about humility; could Jesse learn humility...really learn it in her heart? I didn't know; what I did know was that the next few days would define our year together, if we had a year together.

After registering at the farm's guest quarters, I wondered over to the clubhouse. Jack was seated at the bar drinking a cup of coffee.

"How are you, Mr. Lowe," he said cheerfully, getting up to shake hands, signally me to sit in the stool next to his. "Good trip?"

"Fine," I said. "How's my CELT?" I wanted to get down to business.

"A little anxious to get back to your filly, huh?" he laughed. "Don't blame you none, that's one incredibly beautiful girl you got there. And she's strong too, I wouldn't have believed it, but under that skin she's got some hard-assed muscles. You better watch yourself around her, especially now that we've been running her for a couple of weeks."

I smiled and nodded. Actually, I was jogging a lot farther than usual and playing tennis every day now. My forearms were like steel. I wasn't worried about being able to handle her.

"We did have some trouble with her at first; got kind of an independent streak. Most of the time, we encourage that; spirited ponies are much better runners, but she just wouldn't obey. I had to put her on the rail a couple of times." I frowned. "Don't worry, I didn't make any marks," he said quickly. "She settled down a little after that, but I really couldn't tell if she was just going along to avoid the pain." He took a few sips from his cup. "You want some coffee... breakfast? I indicated no to both.

He continued, "Once we paired her up though, she calmed right down." I could see that he enjoyed giving this detailed explanation. "Around here, when one member of a pair acts up, they both get whipped. We tie them to the rail, one on top of the other and face-to-face. I guess she didn't like seeing her partner screamin' for her badness."