The Gambler

I looked down at her legs which seemed to go on forever in the heels. Thankfully, they showed no marks. Her feet, however, were beat red.

I took a breath and once again promised myself not to weaken. I must talk and act as if I were a real CELT owner, not just a lucky kid. "Walk down this hallway and back," I ordered. She obeyed immediately. Each step seemed painful, but it she was steady and not in any real danger of falling. Perfect, I thought, just enough pain to remind her that I could be harsh as well as kind.

I took her arm and led her to the front door where I helped with her coat. Then I held out my arm and she took it without hesitation.

"Outside this doorway, you will speak and act like my girlfriend. Inside, you will do nothing without my permission. Is that clear?" She smiled contentedly and nodded her head in understanding. I waited for the proper response, knowing that she was still testing me.

"Yes, Master, I understand," she replied politely after a few seconds. I nodded and carefully walked us outside to the waiting cab.

After giving instructions to the driver I turned to her and asked, "Where did you get the clothes?"

"Two different shops on Fifth, Mas...," she stopped and looked at me with a small smile, "Howard." I smiled in return. I was amazed at her recuperative ability; an hour ago she was incoherent with pain.

"...and the bastinado?" I whispered.

"From a dealer I know in the village," she replied, surprised that I knew its name.

"That's an excellent piece," I said. "You'll have to give me his name. I may want to buy others from him."

"I will," she said. "I'm happy that you were pleased. It's actually somewhat rare, 18th Century he said."

"Yes, the bastinado was popular at that time in Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Did you know that it was primarily used in the home to train sexually repressed young girls?" I was speaking too softly for the driver to hear. She shook her head no and looked at me directly for the first time.

"Sometimes men wanted more from their women. Girls in those days were often too shy to even raise their nightgowns," I explained. "Proper young ladies of the day, even mistresses, were programmed to resist as long as they could. They were actually a lot more comfortable being forced to submit, especially for "despicable acts." You could say that the bastinado was making things easier for everyone. Judging from the stains, I'd say the one you bought has been in steady use since it was built."

"Stains?" she was openly curious.

"Yes, the dark area where the feet are tied; I'm sure that they are blood mixed with sweat. In the old days they used a cane and they weren't too worried about drawing a little blood. Probably hundreds of girls have bled on that wood." I could see that she was listening intently.

"It took a long time for women to get some rights," she said softly.

"Yes it did," I replied sarcastically, "then as soon the CELT laws went into effect, thousands of them sold those rights off to the highest bidder." I could see that she wanted to respond, but held it back. I stayed quiet as well. The last thing we needed tonight was a political debate.

"Did you spend all the money?" I asked casually.

She looked at me. I could see that she was trying to think of a "right" answer. Finally, she just said, "Yes," and looked down guiltily. In a few seconds she added, "...and more. The owner of the shop said I could pay him the rest later."

I looked at her and nodded, "That's okay. Let me have his name, I'll send him a check for what we owe. Please don't spend my money again until you ask." She looked at me and nodded, relieved.

In truth, this was not acceptable behavior for a CELT. Most owners would have severely punished such irresponsible buying behavior, but I let it drop. There were things I need to learn before exerting real authority here. There was also a more serious issue in her hesitation.

I looked at her with a hard expression, "Don't ever think about hiding something like that from me again, OK?"

She nodded again and smiled. Then, impulsively, she grabbed my hand and held it against her silk-clad chest. I could feel her hard breast and nipple on the back of my hand. Clearly, I had passed another test. We didn't speak for the rest of the short ride.

I had selected a quiet Italian restaurant on the lower east side. I knew they had great food and secluded corner booths for couples...lovers. I asked for one of these. Once seated, I took her through the menu in detail, explaining the special way in which many of the dishes were prepared. I had been here many times, mostly with friends and business colleagues.

"I'm not that hungry, Howard," she said. "In fact, I'm pretty full." She looked at me playfully and grinned, licking her lips. I laughed, knowing exactly what she meant. That broke the ice, and we started talking again like friends; it was a repeat of the prior evening. I marveled again at how quickly she had recovered from the cropping.

She steered most of our conversation back to life in the 18th Century, specifically how men treated their women. I was no expert, but I knew a lot and she seemed happy with the information. I was also happy—she was intellectually curious. That was important to me. I wanted to be with someone smart; stupid girls, even if they were gorgeous, turned me off.

Once the meal was served, I broached the delicate subject of our relationship... "What was that about tonight, Jess?" I asked.

She didn't try to deflect the question, but her smile faded and she starred at her plate. "You told me to act like a CELT, Howard. That's what I was doing." The open friendliness was gone; she was back in role. I had a flashback to the way she had spoken about Max. It was the same tone.

"That's not good enough, Jess," I replied. "I'm not interested in having a CELT whore or a B&D freak on my hands; I want us to have a relationship, at least until we get you emancipated, if that's what you want." She looked at me with a strange expression and nodded mechanically, but didn't say anything.

I have to admit that I was hurt by her silence and it showed. "Let me ask you a question," I said. "Do you feel anything for me?"

"Look, Howard," she said more warmly, "why can't we just let it rest. I'm here as your CELT. We both know that that involves sex. I'm not a whore; I'm only with one man at a time. And I'm not sure about emancipation, but until we work that out I'll abide by the terms of my contract. There's no rush, is there? I love the time we've spent together...on both sides of your doorway. And no, I'm not an insane B&D freak; I hate pain just like any normal person. In fact, I'm terrified of what is in store for me with you, but I'm a CELT and I've agreed to this...this arrangement. Can't we just let things stay as they are for a while?" She reached out for my hand and squeezed it.

Her touch seemed mechanical as if this was the right thing for an escort to do at this moment. For some reason, this enraged me. "No," I hissed, "I don't accept your explanation or this situation." She continued to hold my gaze, but withdrew her hand. "I know part of this has been a game. You're not the kind of person who throws a fit and smears a waiter with pie." She lowered her eyes and blushed. "You're also not the kind of person who pisses on a rug when you're angry." Her blush got even redder.

We were both quiet for a minute. Then she leaned back and started talking in a totally different voice, her real voice. "OK, Howard, you want the truth so badly, here it is. Yes, I did manipulate things. That's what powerless CELTs do—we manipulate things. You helped me with Max and I wanted to repay the favor. I knew that you were too nice a guy to do it on your own so I helped you out a bit to get us started. We both know that you did great. But the hard truth is that it was just part of the game. How could it be anything more? We've only known each other for three days."

She stopped for a minute leaned back in and again took my hand in hers. "I like you, Howard... a lot, but were not in love," she continued. "Good men like you fall in love with their CELTs all the time." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "It's understandable, I've sucked your cock for heaven's sake. You've come in my mouth and fucked me 'til I was sore. Tonight, you whipped me...as hard as I've ever been whipped before. Those are intimate acts, Howard, they make people think strange thoughts, but in truth they are just part of our game, and frankly part of our business relationship. We can both get badly hurt by thinking that they are something more." She paused and looked around to be sure that she was not being overheard.

"This is what most CELT arrangements are like. They are not about real love or subjugation or dominance. They are fantasies. A power-relationship, a real one, is dangerous. There are so many emotions and feelings involved—pain, fear, love, hate, sex, desire, jealousy—that it takes someone with real experience to pull it off, someone with a stone heart."

Then mercilessly she delivered the coup de grâce, "You still want to emancipate me, dear Howard... how hard is your heart?"

I was devastated. Despite the craziness of the last three days, I thought we actually had developed some kind of closeness for each other. I knew it wasn't love, but maybe it was... well I don't know what it was. I only knew that I felt something and I didn't want it to end. I also didn't want us to mutate into a man and his beautiful CELT whore.

But what she said about the reality of our situation had the ring of truth, and that hurt. "I need to think about this, Jess" I said honestly. "Let's go home."

We rode home in silence then I walked her to her bedroom.

"Maybe we could sleep together tonight, Howard?" she asked in her little girl voice, obviously upset over the night's turn of events. "That was nice last night and I really don't want to be alone now."

"Tomorrow, Jesse," I answered. Then I kissed her gently on the cheek and walked off to my own room feeling a little like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca. She stood in her doorway until my door closed then I heard hers shut softly. It was all too sad.

I didn't sleep much that night or the next four. Each morning, I left early and returned very late, working hard to avoid any real contact. A number of times she tried to initiate conversation, but it was obvious that I was sulking and after a while she just stayed away.

The sixth night I made preparations and on the seventh day I called the bank to say I was sick with the flu.

VIII

I was waiting for her when she opened her bedroom door. She was barefooted, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. Her hair was wet and she had a wonderful, just-showered smell.

"Howard, I..." she started when she saw me waiting.

"Strip," I said.

"Howard, I think..." she tried again.

"STRIP," I said in a voice that would have made a marine drill instructor proud.

She looked at me for a second and pressed her lips together hard, then she obediently pealed off her sweater and stepped out of her jeans. She was wearing the black leather thong that she had worn in the airport. "Leave that," I said as she started to remove it. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back." I was surprised at how steady my voice was.

She turned around and placed her hands in the small of her back. I quickly cuffed her wrists with leather shackles and pulled the loose leather hood over her head. I buckled the hood behind her neck as I had seen Max do. She stood there naked and tall—an obedient CELT—no sound, no movement, no false modesty. I took her arm and led her down the steps, past the library, and down more steps to the cellar. There was a faint hesitation in her body when we started down the rough cellar steps, but no resistance.

In front of us was the house's safe-room—a concrete chamber about twelve feet square. It had been used during the food riots of the 2080s. Except to make this morning's modifications, no one had been in this room for years. I led her through the doorway and stood her in the room's exact center. There was total and absolute silence. It was a tomb and even the invisible sounds of everyday life didn't penetrate these walls.

Leaving her hood in place, I moved her wrists to her front and tied them to the climber's rope that was hanging from the ceiling. It ran through the eye hook that I had installed last night. I pulled her arms up until her hands were just above her head. Then I attached leather ankle cuffs to her feet and snapped them on to a short chain which I had bolted to the floor.

I removed her hood and sat down in the corner. She looked around the room, giving her eyes time to adjust to the light. The track-mounted spotlights in the ceiling were all centered on her naked form. I could tell that there was something different in her behavior. For the first time since we'd been together, she was not controlling events; somehow she seemed more relaxed because of it.

"It's called a safe-room," I said from the dark corner. "It has one foot of reinforced concrete all around with a 4-inch-thick steel-core door. There's a small bathroom in the back. It was built during the food riots for protection against home invasion. In case you're interested, these walls also support the fireplace and the stone table you like in the library."

She looked around the empty concrete room, but didn't say anything. "It's completely soundproof, of course," I continued, "like the library. I guess my Grandfather really liked his privacy."

She remained silent, waiting.

"I decided that you were right last night, Jess. Everything that's happened in the last few days has been basically a game. You played a little; I played a little; we had some fun, but it's certainly not the basis of a relationship...of any kind." She was looking in the direction of my voice now, shifting her weight from one foot to another...unconcerned. "It did however give me a taste for the power you mentioned. I've decided to explore that a little."

"Howard, can I say something?" It was the tone of a wise friend about to give advice. It was rather annoying.

"No. You can't speak right now, Jess, but I'll give you some time in a few minutes," I was trying to sound equally reasonable and mature. "In fact, let's start with the rules for this room. You may not speak in here except in response to a direct question. That applies to the rest of the house as well, but every word you say in this room will cost you one stroke of the whip. Please don't test me on this; I'd hate to lose a day of my program whipping you for a speaking violation. Second, in this room you may not ask for permission to speak. You will be permitted to do that respectfully in the rest of the house, but not here. Third, just for your information, this room is only for discipline, we will never have sex in here."

She was looking a little bored, but I suspected this was more CELT psycho-manipulation. I waited a few minutes before continuing. I needed to learn her tricks if I was to really master her.

"I've also decided that you were right about my lack of resolve. I knew exactly what I wanted from the moment I laid eyes on you; I just couldn't admit it even to myself." She looked even more bored; now I was sure that this was manipulation. It's rather good, I thought, designed to evoke anger and poor judgment.

I ignored the subtle provocation and continued, "I want you, Jess. I'm not totally sure what that means right now, but I know that I don't want to free you. I never really wanted to do that; I just thought it was the right thing, something that I was expected to do. I also have no intention of selling you...your contract that is, and I certainly have no intention of allowing you to run my life."

I stopped and waited. "But this conversation is for later; right now all you need to know is that I am exercising my legal right under our contract to use corporal punishment to correct your behavior, behavior that I consider unacceptable. As per the contract and the laws governing CELT arrangements, there will be no lasting affects, physical or mental, from this discipline. I've written this down and mailed it to my lawyer along with a copy of our contract. You have the right to notify your lawyer independently if you want."

"Do you understand this right?" I asked. She looked amused and nodded, yes. "Do you want to call your lawyer?" She nodded, no. Despite my new understanding that this was all part of her act, I was getting annoyed with the smartass smirk on her face.

This legal formula was just a formality, but it was necessary before any serious long-term disciplinary action could take place. My lawyer would send a notice to hers, or at least the lawyer identified in her contract, who was supposed to file a watch-notice with the police. It was intended to prevent abuse, but it was never enforced. It just made me feel a little better to be complying with the law.

"Do you want to say anything for the record before we start?" I asked.

"Howard, our contract doesn't require me to fuck you and it certainly does not require me to love you; we both know that's what you want." She was wrong, I thought; last night's discussion had shown me that love was much too ambiguous. Right now all I wanted was respect.

But all I said was, "Should I write that down?" She shook her head no, still wearing that maddeningly condescending smile.

I was now convinced that she was putting on an act. In fact, it occurred to me that her attitude was getting tougher as she become more frightened. I almost lost my nerve with that realization.

Instead, I tried to explain, "Despite my ineptitude over the last few days, Jess, most of what I did was driven by an honest desire to show you kindness, even friendship. You basically dismissed that as weakness and manipulated me into becoming your partner in a sex-and-bondage game. I admit that I was a willing participant, but I deserved more; I deserved some genuine emotion from you."

Her smirk disappeared. "Since you place so little value on what I did, I've decided to carry out the punishment Max had set for you, which I'm sure you remember."

Her eyes widened and she for a second I could see that I was right—she was terrified, but disciplined enough to remain silent. I remembered her words from the other night, "...powerless CELTs manipulate things."

"You may speak now if you want," I said.

"It won't work, Howard," she said calmly in the grown-up voice that I had come to recognize as the real Jesse. The mask was back; she was desperately hiding her fear. "You don't have it in you, and when you discover the truth of that, you're going to be scarred for life." She was using her most convincing and persuasive tone.

"You call it a game," she said, "but it felt good to me and I know it felt good to you. Let's just start with that. I don't care about being emancipated. I never wanted anything from you that I didn't deserve. I still don't. Take me upstairs, whip me then fuck my brains out. I know you like it that way; it's your right. A lot of things can happen in a year." She stopped; there were no tears in her eyes and no fear in her face, but in the harsh light I could see her breathing hard.

I got up and stood in front of her naked body. "You're wrong, Jess," I replied gently. "A whore is just a whore, no matter how beautiful or smart. Believe me I know a lot of them. Most of my friends are married to whores. You're better than that. I know it and I'm going to prove it."

She looked at me with pity.

"Anything else," I asked. Defiantly, she nodded her head no. I knew she wanted to beg me not to hurt her, but was too proud. I admired that. I walked over to the rope and lifted her arms until she was on her toes. Then I stood in front of her again, we were eye to eye.