Association

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--SABRINA--

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you finished?"

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

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

--GEOFFREY--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sabrina? Come back here!"

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

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

***

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 FIVE--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.