Town and Country Ch. 07

By the next morning she felt a little better. She deserved her punishment - she loved Francesca all the more for it - but she was glad to get a night's sleep. Francesca came to her early and poured her a bowl of pellets. Anne knelt and thanked her owner for walking her through the park, and apologized for her misbehavior.

They went upstairs to Francesca's apartment. At once her owner pulled off her sweatshirt and jeans; Anne was to help her into a flowered dress with a zipper in back. Anne struggled to contain herself at the sight of her owner's muscular figure in bra and panties, but desire overcame her and she had to ask for a towel to sit on in the car. Francesca put her hand between Anne's legs, which only made matters worse, and agreed.

She took Anne outside to the parking lot behind the apartment building. A sharp morning breeze was blowing; Francesca led her to a sunny spot by the street which warmed her a little. Cars on the avenue slowed as their drivers took in the sight.

Marc and Berenice arrived in an old sedan a few minutes later. Francesca handed Anne to Berenice while she and Marc discussed the route to St. Agnes over a map. As he stood behind Anne he saw the back of her legs and gave a low whistle. Anne bent forward a little to give him a better view.

He raised an eyebrow and looked up when he saw the monogram carved into the side of Anne's breast - a souvenir from her scourging at a brothel last winter - but Francesca did not explain.

Berenice whispered in Anne's ear "Take good care of my young man" and kissed her on the cheek before spreading the towel and stowing her in the back seat.

The rough surface of the cloth chafed her bruised and tender skin. But when Francesca laid a hand on her thigh, and let it linger there, she was glad to have it under her.

The car sounded like it might have trouble getting out of the parking lot; it managed coughing and sputtering to take them to their destination.

Once at St. Agnes, Francesca and Berenice went ahead. Marc walked Anne on her leash to the main hall. She wondered if he would like to whip her and how he would be; very good she imagined. Then she realized he had gotten Francesca to do it for him. He viewed the results as he walked behind her now. Her wounds blazed in the sunlight; she hoped he enjoyed the sight. The stripes were a gift of homage, marks of her submission to him.

And she was afraid. Afraid she would make another mistake in his presence, or that he would find a fault and denounce her to Francesca. Her mind had not yet recovered from yesterday's punishment. She must learn to please him.

Despite her fear, or maybe because of it, Anne was happy to be under his control again. He guided her with a sure sense of command down the corridors. She was conscious of authority communicated through her leash as they walked. He was so unlike Francesca; different with a kind of uncompromising sternness she could not identify, not just because he was a man, that Anne's nature required.

Berenice showed no sign of jealousy and Anne knew why. Berenice was his chosen partner while she was no rival, just a thing, a possession of Francesca's; an attractive possession she hoped but nothing more. Marc might use me for recreation or exercise, but he would return to her as soon as he was done. Berenice mattered to him.

Anne burned with desire for the youth to possess her in some way; to use her, even abuse her to his satisfaction. She was deeply ashamed of herself. Her heart belonged to Francesca, but her body yearned for him to be in it. She blushed from head to toe at the thought; and then again on realizing how visible her response was to him, a leash length behind her.

The sight of the familiar halls put Anne in a reflective mood. She was nostalgic when she remembered her training here, being "beaten into shape" as her first owner put it. She considered how far she had come since the start of her education less than a year ago. How she had gotten used to, and even to crave so much she would have thought impossible once: being someone's property, following directions - no, she needed more work on that - her nakedness at all times, sharing her food with ants and rats, the whippings, living with her hands bound. She would never sit in a chair or use a knife and fork again.

There had been more recent changes as well. The brief mealtime experiment in which Anne knelt on a cushion with her bowls on the table and her leash coiled around her neck was over; since the reconciliation when she was allowed to dine with Francesca - and that was rare now - she knelt beside the table with her bowls on the floor and the end of her leash attached to the wall.

Her owner was learning to be hard on her and that was good; it kept her conscious of what she was, in Francesca's words. It was too easy to speak without being spoken to, or entertain the doubts that led to her chastisement. A child of privilege, she was prone to forget her place if not constantly reminded of it and Francesca had seen the danger in time. Berenice was right that she would require severity for the rest of her life.

She recalled the looks of contempt she got in the park yesterday. She was glad the marks on her flesh were so obvious; they proclaimed her condition to the world. And at the moment to Marc, as she exposed the back of her thighs to him.

A sharp tug on her leash caused her to stop abruptly. They were in an unfamiliar part of the building near the end of a deserted corridor. Marc pressed her against a wall and kissed her open mouth.

The moment his tongue reached hers she was lost. She felt him rising and gave in to his embraces. He asked her when she was alone, and she whispered to him which days her owner was at the university and she was by herself in the basement. There; she had betrayed Francesca's trust, she was a weak and worthless creature. She would have volunteered the information if he had not asked. A wave of shame overwhelmed her.

He said nothing but led her back to the visitors' gallery where Francesca and Berenice awaited them. She knelt beside his chair, still breathing heavily. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the two women exchange a significant look.

Obedience training was underway, and for an hour or so the four of them watched inmates put through their exercises, occasionally chastised with the whip for slowness or failure to execute an order properly. Cecile was among them and received her share of discipline.

Anne thought Cecile was very pretty. Her breasts were firm, slightly pointed with small rosy nipples. A tight little behind like a teenager's but well rounded, the kind that made you want to open it up and explore inside. The academy must have put her on a diet; her waist was small and her belly flat, but she was healthy with warm pink skin that showed only light marks. She would bring a good price if Jules weren't keeping her.

Since this was Sunday, the branding of inmates and the public display known as "witnessing punishment" were not scheduled, though one girl was spread beneath an oak tree for disobedience as a warning to others.

Toward the end of the training period Marc went over to Francesca. She left for a few minutes, returning with an academy director. The group followed him to the branding block where he told Anne to bend over. Marc stood beside her holding the end of her leash while trainers, aides, and club members inspected her. Several of them parted her cheeks for a better view, or praised the even spacing of her bruises and their lovely dark color beneath her unbroken skin. Francesca acknowledged the compliments with a nod.

Anne's heart swelled with pride in her talented owner. Once she looked up at Marc and saw an unmistakable sign of desire; but he did nothing, she would have to wait.

After the viewing, Marc told her to stand and the group went to the members' dining room for lunch. Anne saw several men staring at her and smiling. She knew what they were thinking; nearly everyone here had her at least once when she was an inmate earlier this year.

She knelt beside Francesca, who fed her nutritional paste with a spoon from time to time while chatting with her table companions. Francesca had graduated first in her class as an academy apprentice; she described the customs of the place for her friends, skipping over some of the details they might be uncomfortable with.

At a gesture from Marc she handed him Anne's paste bowl. He stood over her and fed her slowly, watching her take a spoonful and swallow it before giving her another. With each one she felt herself falling under his power. He patted her on the head like a dog and she responded in kind, looking up at him for another spoonful.

Francesca had arranged for them to meet Cecile after lunch in a private room. She was brought in by an attendant and shackled to a bolt low in the wall. She sat next to Anne on the floor, their legs outstretched with the others in chairs around them.

Cecile was submissive, even to her own sister. Puzzled, Berenice asked her what the matter was but she just shook her head and looked down. After a moment Francesca asked Marc a question and the three resumed their conversation.

Cecile quietly moved her hip against Anne's, who responded to the invitation by pressing her side against her companion's. She kissed Anne on the ear; when Anne turned her head she kissed Anne on the mouth. They grew warmer and more passionate, oblivious to the fact that the conversation had ceased and the other three were watching them.

Eventually an attendant came for Cecile; the two girls stood up, leaving a pair of wet spots on the floor. Cecile continued to look away as he led her off to service the members that evening.

The four visitors piled into Marc's borrowed car at the end of the short autumn day. It promptly broke down and had to be towed to a garage.

As the four stood in the small office, Anne heard Marc whisper something to Francesca who shook her head. So did Berenice; none of them had any money. Francesca handed the leash to Berenice and asked her to take Anne outside. She led Anne to a weed-strewn field and let her squat, then walked her around the block.

Berenice's hold on the leash was light and tentative. She was probably not used to being a master, it was thoughtful of Francesca to provide this opportunity for her to learn. She was very intelligent; Anne was sure she would pick it up with a little experience.

When they returned she marched Anne into the work area. A minute later Anne was beside a workbench on her knees with the garage owner in her mouth, Berenice still holding the end of the leash and Marc beside her.

The owner was an older man with silver hair, very handsome Anne thought as she knelt at his feet. She looked forward to the encounter. When he came in her she was surprised at his vigor and strained to keep up.

The assistant was next; Marc bent her over the workbench for him. Her stripes stung as the youth spread her open to lubricate her with a gun of axle grease, but once he was in her she felt only his violent thrusts. He rode her hard for she did not know how long and she moaned helplessly after he was done.

She lay on the bench, her cheek pressed against its surface, breathing the odors of motor oil and stale cigarette smoke. The taste of the garage owner was in her mouth and the axle grease left a sensation of heat within her that made her long for more but no help came.

The mechanics worked on the car while Marc explored the surface of her back. In a dreamlike state she imagined belonging to him and Berenice.

A few minutes' work got the car going again. The assistant took several photographs of Anne bent over the workbench displaying her stripes, to share with his friends. She told him her name, which he wrote down on a small notepad.

Marc stood her up and slapped her behind; it began to sting again, but pleasantly. Anne wondered if she would ever come here again and be offered to the gentlemen.

Outside, Francesca fastened her in the back seat and stroked her breasts on the journey home until she almost purred. After chaining Anne in her basement cell she poured out a large bowl of water. Anne slept well that night, basking in Francesca's approval. And Marc's.