Association

I had been careful to take my time and not allow her to come. Leaving her there for another hour while I finished setting up her room would give her plenty of time to cool down, at least physically.

The mechanic arrived to fix the tires while I was checking the final results of Sabrina's auction. Luckily, my seven-digit bid had survived a last-minute flurry from someone in Russia. I wasn't thrilled about sharing ten percent of the total with Iwata, but it was a small price to pay to maintain my credibility.

"To live outside the law, you must be honest," as Dylan wrote, but Jason and the Scorchers sang it better.

I poured three fingers of Veliky Novgorod vodka over chipped ice to celebrate my victory over the remnants of communism, then returned downstairs.

I dearly wanted to tell Sabrina what I planned to do with her tonight, and the next, and the day after that, and in the weeks and months to follow. I wasn't sure if knowing what was coming was worse than the ongoing surprise. I also wanted to get to know her better, but not at the expense of the current positive state of our delicate partnership. Train first, enjoy later.

Besides, I had waited a long time for this. No sense in conjuring the old dysfunctional habits so I could muck up another one.

I untied her legs from the slats, then swiveled her around on the floor until the top of her head was pressed against the wall. After tying the cord still knotted between her eyes to a board overhead, forcing her to stare at the ceiling, I secured a long piece of rope around one ankle, then pulled it up and back toward the wall, repeating the process on its partner, and then her knees.

It didn't take long to remove all the wax once I switched from the crop to a thinner lash. But she didn't know that, so I kept going until I was sure she was ready to melt herself.

After another hour's rest, I freed her from the wall, removing everything but the mittens. After giving her some water, I put the blinders back onto her equestrian trainer and re-gagged her. She would have to wait for the bathroom, although I reminded myself that she wasn't quite ready to have her elimination needs reduced to twice- daily trips.

I left her lying on the ground as I picked up one of her feet and slipped it into the ballerina boot with a curved heel a good two inches longer than the tip of the toe. I buckled it tightly, then threaded the tiny padlock between the hasp that connected the straps.

When the other foot was finished, I slipped black elastic pads around her ankles and pushed them up her legs until they were around her knees, then encircled her neck in a stiff discipline collar that kept her nose raised high in the air like a haughty housefrau walking past a gaggle of goths. Around that went the Elizabethan collar that had more recently adorned Brenda's neck. Designed so animals couldn't gnaw at wounds on their bodies, it also prohibited the wearer from seeing anything below the neck.

"Hands and knees," I barked. After she rolled over and repositioned herself, I reached under her chin and clipped a leash onto her collar.

I tugged my end and started toward the stairs. When she hesitated, I picked up the crop and gave her ass a powerful swat, then spun on my heel and proceeded to the landing with her crawling tentatively behind me.

Once upstairs, we passed through the kitchen to the back door, which I opened and held wide.

"Outside," I said, pointing toward the lawn.

--SABRINA--

I was getting nervous. Badly nervous. Not the kind of happy trepidation preceding an entertaining scene, but rather the rumbling of mounting anger.

Since Geoffrey and I had returned from town, I had spent all my time in bondage, struggling against the pain, then trying not to get too excited about it, and waiting for a relief that never came. The candles had been fun, thankyousomuch, but after fleshing me alive with the whip, I would have hoped a little reward was in order. Instead, all I got was more pain, more excitement, more waiting, more frustration. He had left me ponder over my fate for longer than I could bear; when he finally came to release me, I dearly expected him to end the game for the day.

So why was I outside, on all fours, forced to stare at the sun slowly diving down into the blackening shapes of the trees? This had better be worth it, I muttered to myself. I certainly didn't want to fail--fail him, fail myself--but we were dangerously close to my limits here.

Obviously, my limits were of little concern to Geoffrey. Or perhaps he placed them much further than I did.

I shivered from the cold. And from what was to happen.

He led me further on the lawn and stopped in the middle.

"There's a slight breeze blowing," he said, rather redundantly. Then, he bent down to remove my gag as he continued. "Don't want you to get a bad cold. So you'd better be moving. There!"

I saw a red flying object cross my limited field of vision from right to left.

"Go get it!," he commanded.

I froze. Which of course cost me a sound thwack on the ass.

Mumbling all sorts of curses in my mind, I crawled towards the spot where I figured the object had landed.

"Faster, damn it," he yelled. "Run!"

Oh sure, like I'm a dog? Well of course, I finally realized as I tried to run on my hands and knees. If he could train me like a pony, he could just as well train me like a dog. Lord, was there absolutely no decency left in my upside-down world?

I found the red plastic ball, a typical dog toy, and grab it firmly between my teeth to bring it back to him. As soon as he held it, he threw it again, further.

I sighed and hesitated one second too many--thwack--before running to it. I hated this. I would rather stand the pain of burning wax than such a degrading show.

By the time I went searching for the ball for the tenth time, I was crying my rage out. Why was I doing this? Why did I let it happen? I could just stand up, stop the game, and leave. But I wouldn't. He wanted me to do this, and that was all the reason I needed to keep going. Obey and submit, not only my body, which was fairly easy, but also my mind.

Soon, all I could focus on was running, finding the red target, bringing it back, and running again. My legs were tired, my knees were sore despite their protection, and my breath was turning into a low whistle. But I had to get that ball.

When I thought I was going to collapse from exhaustion, Geoffrey placed his hand on my back, just below the collar, and gently pushed me down.

"Easy. Take a rest. You've done very well."

Those were the words I needed to hear, and I welcomed them with more tears. My anger had melted, replaced by a contradictory blend of sorrow and joy, despair and pleasure. Confused, but comforted by his presence, I knelt down, placed my mittens on my thighs, and tried to appease my lungs with long breaths of fresh air.

Night had fallen. The world was suspiciously quiet.

--GEOFFREY--

Pleased with Sabrina's performance, I stroked her hair for a moment, then picked up the ball and stuck it back into my pocket.

"I'll call when dinner is ready. In the meantime, I'd strongly suggest you take care of your needs before coming back inside. An indoors accident involving your bladder or bowels would be most unfortunate."

I left her kneeling in the middle of the lawn and walked back to the house.

While preparing our meal, I resisted the urge to look outside the window to see if she was taking this rare opportunity to pleasure herself. I would easily find out when she came inside with a simple sniff of her mittens.

The iron cross with the cuffs for her wrists and thighs was still sitting in the living room in front of the couch where I had left it the night before. Perfect. I went downstairs to find a few more implements, including the leather hood and her earplugs. No matter what, she would spend the bulk of the evening on her hands and knees, her ankles splayed wide between a spreader bar. I fingered the fat plug I had chosen for her ass, then selected another thick vibrator for her sex with a little bird figure sticking out of its base that would press directly against her clit.

Clamps, weights, some extra rope to tie her hair to the ceiling so her head would be properly positioned to service me orally if I chose. I walked back upstairs to the kitchen, spooned our pasta into a plate for me and a bowl for her, and poured myself a glass of wine.

"Sabrina! Dinner!" I yelled out the back door, squinting into the darkness to see if her hand was between her legs. Not as far as I could tell, but she couldn't escape her own scent.

Regardless, her fate was sealed. The only question that remained was the number of minutes. Not to mention lashes.

When she crawled up the steps to the door, I opened the door and spoke to her directly.

"Did you just come without permission?"

--SABRINA--

Offended by his lack of trust, I told Geoffrey I didn't. The only organ I had cared to relieve was my bladder. He asked to smell my mittens and seemed disappointed by their innocuous leather fragrance. Poor man. There goes his dream of punishment, I grinned to myself. In all honesty, the thought had indeed occurred to me, but I would have been foolish to pleasure myself with him looking outside the window.

Leading me to the kitchen, he removed the large collar around my neck and pointed at the bowl on the floor before sitting at the table to eat his own pasta. When we were both finished, he let me sip wine from his glass, all the while suppressing a smile at the sight of my tomato-smeared cheeks. He cleaned them with a wet towel, cleared the dirty stuff into the sink, and led me to the living room.

Fifteen minutes later, I was all set for the evening. Still on my hands and knees, legs spread out and fixed to the ground, and completely deprived from two of my basic senses: sight and hearing. But other senses largely compensated for the loss, such as pain in my breasts, discomfort in my anus, and buzzing in my sex. When I thought he was done, he came in front of me to tie my hair up to a rope hanging from the ceiling, and gave a finishing touch to my predicament with a ring gag that kept my mouth open wide.

Working along with the dildo, my ass was slowly circling the air even though it increased the traction of the weights on my nipples. But I instantly stopped when I felt a cold and damp touch on my back. I guessed he had laid down his glass on what he assumed was his new coffee table, and I certainly didn't need to be told that one spilled drop would be very ill-fated.

As I was trying to get used to being perfectly still, another vibration did its best to distract me, this time right on my clit. I clenched my muscles, bit on the gag, and struggled to accommodate the pleasurable sensation.

Although set on a low setting, the double vibrator took little time to build on a day's worth of arousal, and sent me straight to lust land. Completely isolated from any sight or sound, I drifted off, opening myself to the most perverse hallucinations. This was dangerous, I knew, for I would soon forget my duties and let me body react freely, but I was beyond caring.

I hardly felt the cold liquid when it splashed on my back. However I did feel the first whip lashes when they began to decorate my ass, thighs and back. They didn't feel like punishment at all. He meant them for pleasure, and I took them as such, each bite sending a burning wave rolling down to meet the vibrations of the dildo and merge with them.

When I was on the verge of coming, the whipping ceased. Two seconds later, I almost choked when Geoffrey forced his engorged member way down into my mouth. Yet I welcomed the chance of transferring some of my excessive desire onto him, and started to tame my mad impulses to pleasure him as long as possible.

It didn't seem long enough. He came, then withdrew, leaving me panting for a few more rounds.

--GEOFFREY--

After Sabrina's stellar performance, I removed my member from the ring in her mouth, replaced it with a rubber dildo, then let the vibrators rumble for another hour or so, immensely enjoying the way she twisted and thrashed as her orgasms finally arrived, growing exponentially both in duration and intensity. Feast or famine, I thought to myself as I watched her spine buckle under the strain of the convulsions. But the hour was getting late, and I had much to accomplish in the real world tomorrow.

I removed everything but the mittens and the collar, untied her from the iron cross, then led her on hands and knees to her room, which I had redecorated slightly since her last visit. All the furniture was gone, replaced by the cage from the studio, which hung from a large metal pulley in the middle of the ceiling. I lowered it to the floor, opened the door, and gestured for her to enter. Not wanting to cause too much more stress, I simply padlocked her wrists behind her back, then attached a short chain from the top bars of the cage to the collar.

"One peep, and I'll be back with the pump gag," I muttered as I secured the door and began hoisting the structure a few feet off the ground. But my threats fell on deaf ears, as Sabrina appeared to be asleep before I finished locking down the links holding the cage to the ceiling.

"Good night," I said softly as I closed the door, resisting the urge to add "sleep tight." That was a given, I smiled to myself.

***

DAY 14--GEOFFREY

The next morning kicked off crisp and clear; hard to miss, actually, since we were in the ring exercising just as the sun crept over the horizon.

After a thorough workout, I led Sabrina into the barn, removed most of her gear save her boots and her headgear, then pulled out a second pair from the tack box, only these had much longer leather tubes connected to the horse hooves on the end.

"Hold out your hands," I instructed.

She didn't look too surprised when I slipped the end of one of the new boots over her arm, and began lacing it up past her elbow almost to her shoulder. After the second one was properly fitted, I helped lower her hands to the ground, then took the reins from either side of her head and slowly led her off on all fours to a stall at the end of the row.

She couldn't help but notice the "Sabrina" nameplate I had installed on the door.

Once inside, I positioned her next to a hitching post, and wrapped the reins around them. Next, I crawled under her with two long pieces of twine in my hand, tying one set of ends around her nipples, and the other around her ankles. Then, I removed the bit from her mouth and replaced it with a feed bag full of breakfast cereal.

I left her for maybe half an hour while I attended to the other horses. When I returned, I removed the almost-empty bag and held a bucket filled with fresh water under her mouth. Once she seemed satiated, I replaced the bit in her mouth and gave her a swat on her rump.

"Be good," I said as I closed the stall door, only to return a minute later.

"I almost forgot," I said as I moved around to Sabrina's head so I could show her the thick black plug festooned with what appeared to be thousands of strands of chestnut brown hair.

"Your new dress tail. Hmmm, looks like it needs to be brushed."

--SABRINA--

Geoffrey took his sweet time brushing the tail, and by the time he was finished, I hoped the pain in my ass was worth it. This had to be the most beautiful equestrian appendage ever.

When he was gone again--I had a hunch he wouldn't be back for a while--I inventoried my accessories, and found out I could move my knees forward and squat down. The reins on either side of my head forced me to stay near the post, but a few twists of my neck and shoulders...should allow me...to turn around, and...there. As I slumped on my thighs, I remembered the plug and moved my feet a few centimeters apart to avoid any additional pressure where I didn't need it.

Kneeling with my head facing the stall entrance, I wondered how I was going to spend the time. I looked at my hands, rendered pretty useless by the hooves. There was no way I could think of unlacing the gloves without the use of my teeth. Sigh. What had I gotten myself into?

My thoughts traveled back in time, until early that morning. What a shock it had been to wake up in the cage. I didn't remember entering it, but the marks left by the bars and the numbness in my muscles indicated I had spent most of the night in it. Why hadn't he let me sleep in his bed? Had I done something wrong? I couldn't quite remember.

And now, what? How long would I be left in this barn? If only there was some music; at this point, even commercials would be entertaining.

While musing, I started to draw shapes in the dirt with my right hoof. First some lines, then weird geometrical forms, then letters. I wrote my name. Then Geoffrey's. Then erased them. I decided to play with numbers. I wrote two of them. Made mental calculations. Checked the result. From two-digit numbers, I went on to three digits, then four, forcing my brain cells to shake off their apathy and get to work. When I was tired with numbers, I played letter games such as anagrams.

For the first time, I realized I would like to put my thoughts on paper; relate my journey into these dark, weird territories. Perhaps he would let me, if I had a chance to ask. I couldn't let myself become a stupid sex toy, even if that's what he meant to turn me into.

But did he really want this? Was it the reason behind the "Sabrina" nameplate on the door? Did he expect me to become a brainless pony, trained to obey his orders blindly, without any personal thought, without any desire beyond sexual satisfaction?

I decided I wouldn't. I greatly enjoyed all the challenges, but the thrill would fade and eventually disappear if I were to lose my identity. I was afraid of waking up one day so completely broken down that the game would no longer excite me. Even an occasional fight was not out of the question. I would have to make sure he didn't turn me into a sexual robot. I needed to keep my spirits high.

However, when I heard Geoffrey's heavy shoes shake the earth outside the stables, any idea for a fight automatically vanished and I quickly contortioned to return to my initial position, on all fours. As he stepped inside, I tried to wipe off any trace of my mental games on the ground but when the door opened, I could still make out a couple of letters from his name. A "F," an "R" and an "E." Free.

--GEOFFREY--

Walking back from the barn, I knew I was in too good a mood, which was often dangerous. When I arrived back at the house, a large parcel festooned with overnight-delivery labels was waiting on the front door. About time, I thought. My latest assignment. I brought the box down to the studio and decimated the wrappings with a knife. Out popped the latest in portable inkjet printers from my friends in Palo Alto. My job was to photograph the sucker from every conceivable angle, including a full 360-degree digital drill so it could be viewed in 3D by those whose browsers wanted to be a PlayStation when they grew up.

Yeah, it wasn't exactly a glamour gig, but technology product photography gave me a degree of legitimacy and paid the bills, and they were assignments I could accomplish in the privacy of my home. Plus, I usually got to keep what I shot, which kept the local electrical utility very, very happy.

Besides, my white slavery days were most likely coming to an end. Thinking like a proper criminal--i.e., one who doesn't get caught--I knew it was high time I went legit, before Interpol finally figured out the intricacies of the Internet. Fortunately, I had invested my scurrilous profits for the long term, with plenty of dividends churning out monthly residuals that would comfortably support a family of four, if not 40 or 400.