Town and Country Ch. 11

Friday brought a storm of wind and rain. Anne watched it beat against the basement windows and the furnace ran continually. That afternoon after classes Francesca gave Anne a light lunch; she went upstairs and returned wearing her long rose-colored raincoat.

"Mr. Schuyler is sending his car around for us," she said; it's much too cold to walk there today." Anne followed her outside and waded though half-frozen puddles in the parking lot. The chauffeur in a gray slicker awaited them. Anne shivered as her owner bundled her into the back seat and fastened her in place.

She felt the leather against her skin. "A touch of leather"; that was what the trainers at St. Agnes said when she needed their attention with the crop or the long braided bullwhip that left V-shaped marks on her.

She winced at the memory, and other incidents of her education there came pouring back to her mind. The damp earthen odor of the cellar where she was put in solitary confinement for three days, the stake in the exercise ground she was chained to overnight, the instructor who used the half-tightened garrote to chastise her when...

The limousine pulled into the garage beneath Mr. Schuyler's townhouse and stopped. She heard the door slide closed behind them. Francesca helped Anne to her feet before leading her to the locker room.

Mindful of how she disgraced herself last time, Anne studied the floor while Francesca removed her clothes. It was hard to avoid listening to the rustle of her owner's garments; she gritted her teeth and examined the newly painted cement.

The walls were freshly painted too; Mr. Schuyler kept his house in good order, his business must be prospering. Anne had served numberless clients when she was his and hoped she played a small part in his success.

At a tug on her leash she stood with downcast eyes and followed her owner to the gym. Only Frieda was there today; she had done her hair up and her smock was freshly pressed, held in by a belt at her waist. She looked ten years younger.

With a start Anne realized the woman was no more than fifty, maybe less. Her gray hair and measured pace were deceiving.

The belt emphasized the curve of her breasts. They were larger than Anne expected and swayed gently as she approached; she was not wearing a bra under that smock.

Frieda had "seen to" over a dozen girls for Mr. Schuyler, terminating them when they were no longer of use. But for Francesca, Frieda might have done her as well. She wondered how Frieda dressed on those occasions - like she was now maybe. Anne became wet at the idea of this bare-breasted peasant slipping a noose over her head and tightening it slowly.

Francesca held Anne by the collar while Frieda tied Anne's wrists and ankles to the corners of the frame. She always drew the ropes so taut Anne felt she would be pulled apart; Mr. Schuyler once joked to a client that his girls were very "high-strung".

The two women stood before her and conferred in low tones. Anne's thoughts lingered on the change in the older woman; she was actually rather attractive...

She patted Anne on the face before reaching for her crops and Anne was awash with desire.

But her authority was still iron. She demonstrated a few methods that soon had Anne in tears, then turned to her "Russian" technique. Before Anne knew it, she was responding to questions; she could hold nothing back from her interrogator.

Then Francesca took over. She was a quick study; she struck lighter but more rapid blows with the irregularity that unnerved Anne. Though less experienced than Frieda, she knew her subject better and probed for weakness in ways only she was aware of.

All her composure gone, Anne moaned at every stroke.

Francesca suggested they put a gag in her mouth. Frieda disagreed; it was more natural this way and it helped them judge the effectiveness of their work.

Francesca had a technique to show Frieda. It was Turkish she said, though Anne never learned where she picked it up. It was a favorite of the harem masters to warm a girl up for her lord.

She did not take Anne over the top but held her just short for stretches of time, then abated until Anne was left begging for more. Finally she resumed a slow climb right to the edge where she stopped abruptly. She leashed Anne and walked her up the stairs to Mr. Schuyler's penthouse.

He greeted them, taking Francesca's outstretched hand and gallantly placing a kiss on it. Then he bent Anne over a padded chair, spread her open and used her. He chatted amiably with her owner as he did, then motioned for Anne to kneel beside him. She was grateful to Francesca who prepared her for him by leaving her unfulfilled and receptive.

The group looked out in silence at the violent weather. The wind drove freezing rain almost horizontally against the windows. He stroked his chin for a moment and made a suggestion.

"According to her record, the trainers at St. Agnes found it useful to chain her outside in a storm. I think she would benefit from a similar treatment today."

Anne looked up in mild alarm; surely her owner would refuse.

Francesca gestured at the window. "Yes, but those were spring rains, not this--."

"That is true. I do not propose that she be left out for hours - when I was younger I lost a valuable girl that way, an expensive lesson to me - but for a short time only, under supervision."

"You really think it would help with her training?"

Anne started to panic. _Please ma'am, don't,_ she thought.

"I am sure of it. And I believe she is afraid of lightning, is she not?"

"Very."

"So much the better; it will be most useful for addressing that obstinate cerebral spirit you have found in her."

"All right, then."

Anne began to whimper. _No, no, please, no._

Mr. Schuyler spoke to an aide. "Ask Frieda to come upstairs for some outdoor work." Anne crouched on the floor shivering with fear. A few minutes later the servant appeared in a dark hooded cloak. Anne saw only her face and a few strands of hair beneath the hood.

He pointed to Anne. "We would like you to tie it to the stake outside. Remain with it until I signal you to bring it in."

Her face an impassive mask, Frieda shook Anne's leash. Anne stood at the command. She looked toward her owner, but Francesca had turned away in conversation with Mr. Schuyler. Frieda pointed to the door and she walked out into the gale.

Outside the penthouse lay a stone-floored patio with a large wooden stake to one side away from the wall. Briskly Frieda backed Anne against the stake and tied her waist to it with a wide strap; Anne struggled to breathe as she tightened it. She wrapped Anne's leash around the pole to hold her neck upright.

When that was done and she was sure Anne could not slide down, she retreated to a sheltered area protected by a corner of the roof. There she watched her subject, her face expressionless.

The bitter wind and needles of sleet tore at Anne's naked body. Instinctively she brought her legs together for warmth before remembering this was forbidden; she quickly opened them again. She did not see how she could survive another minute.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning struck the top of an adjacent building, followed by a clap of thunder that shook the walls.

Anne's mind gave way; she began to scream. It was coming closer, the next bolt would strike her and she would explode in a thousand pieces. It was too much, she could not bear it, her head swiveled about madly. Frieda remained motionless and silent.

This happened again and again. By then Anne was hysterical, raving with terror, more animal than human.

The lesson continued for several minutes until Mr. Schuyler gestured through the window. At his signal Frieda stepped forward and struck Anne in the face, hard.

She stopped screaming and looked up. Frieda stood with her arm cocked to hit Anne again if she made a sound.

Pressing a hand on Anne's chest to keep her from falling, Frieda released her from the stake and led her back inside. She pulled sharply on the leash, causing Anne to stumble at the threshold and fall to her knees.

The two women stood over her. Water ran from the tips of her hanging breasts and steam rose from her thighs. Her mouth hung open and she stared at the floor with unseeing eyes. Her breath came in ragged gasps and she could not remember where she was, only that she was someone's property.

Francesca took the leash. "I hope you did not get too wet," she said to Frieda.

"Thank you; is nothing."

Mr. Schuyler spoke. "I am sure you all noticed that before the lightning flashes disturbed her she closed her legs; she recalled herself after a moment, but that is not acceptable. Correct behavior must become mandatory with her, not a thing to be cast off when inconvenient."

"Yes," said Francesca. "It must." At once Anne spread her knees further apart.

"However, I think today's lesson has been of benefit to her. You should find her more malleable for a time, and with repeated applications the effect may become permanent."

Slowly Anne became aware of her surroundings. She saw that tea had been served inside during her absence; Mr. Schuyler was a gracious host.

He bid Francesca farewell ("The same time tomorrow? I shall send the car for you.") and she led Anne downstairs to the garage. The chauffeur spread a towel on the back seat and Francesca stowed her.

No one spoke during the short journey to the apartment building. Anne was still unhinged; she shook with fear at every noise or bright light on the way home. But she recollected herself enough to curtsey to the chauffeur when he opened the car door and let her out.

Francesca gathered her things while Anne stood whipped by the icy wind, freezing.

Soon she would die. If that is what they wanted of her, if it pleased her masters, it was good.

The storm had passed and stars shone like diamonds in the sky; Anne did not notice them as her owner drove her ahead across the parking lot.

Inside, Francesca chained her next to the warm furnace and went upstairs. Perhaps her masters did not want her to die tonight, that also was as it should be.

A minute later the younger woman returned and took up a comb.

"Let's get you looking pretty again." She eased the snarls out of Anne's matted hair.

Anne began to recognize her owner, and her heart fluttered with devotion.

"You're really quite good-looking, you know. Now we'll set the dinner table." She led Anne to the coal bin and chained her, then poured out a bowl of feed.

A few minutes later Anne lifted her head and sat up feeling warm and comfortable. Francesca looked her over closely and asked her a few questions. What was her name, how old was she, what day was it.

Anne answered them all, she was back in her right mind, so Francesca proceeded.

"While you and Frieda enjoyed your little picnic today, Mr. Schuyler and I discussed your education. He has years of experience in training difficult girls like you. He says you need strong measures if we are going to cure that independent streak. The exercise on the roof was good for you, especially when the lightning struck, but he was right; you need more organized lessons, rigorous ones. I have to make a decision about this."

For no reason that she knew - a delayed reaction to the ordeal, or joy or gratitude - Anne burst into tears and began kissing Francesca's wet shoes.

Her owner patted her on the head, turned out the light and went upstairs.

Anne crawled over to the mattress and lay down. For an hour she was jolted awake by nightmares that left her disoriented and afraid, but they passed and she fell at last into a peaceful sleep that restored her spirit. With Mr. Schuyler's help Francesca would eliminate her "independent streak" somehow, she was sure of it.

The next morning Anne wondered what sort of lessons Francesca was planning; they would be hard ones, and that was what she needed.

The bruise that Frieda left lasted several days. She was sorry to see it fade; it was a badge of her condition that she wore with pride.

The exercises settled into a regular pattern. Between them, Anne spent long stretches of time alone in the coal bin. She knelt for hours trying to develop the habits of obedience Francesca wanted her to acquire. But her mind continued to wander in hazy paths and ask questions she knew were forbidden. It was hard to tell if she was making progress; her thoughts grew vague, she could not remember them.

Each afternoon Francesca took Anne to Mr. Schuyler's townhouse, where she and Frieda alternated on her. Mr. Schuyler's servant demonstrated techniques used by medieval inquisitors, while Francesca showed her the Turkish warm-up and Oriental uses of bamboo.

She was not gagged, and the gym rang with her cries. When they were satisfied, they led her up to the penthouse. Mr. Schuyler assessed their progress after he took her.

He turned her over to Frieda who - in rain or shine or bitter cold - led her outside to the stake, sometimes with a flick of the whip to speed her progress. Frieda strapped her in place and watched her closely; any breach of discipline was instantly dealt with.

Once Anne started to gasp at a sudden noise; Frieda stepped forward, her arm raised to strike. But Anne swallowed hard and took a slow deep breath; Frieda lowered her hand. She even placed it between Anne's properly outspread legs until Anne began to breathe normally.

Or perhaps a touch faster than normal; Anne found herself warming toward Frieda. She blushed to think of it, and Frieda patted Anne's cheek with her free hand.

Mr. Schuyler started to call them back inside, hesitated, and gave them an extra five minutes together. By the end of it Anne was in love.

Sometimes Frieda suspended her by her wrists from a hook near the top of the post. Anne liked that; it raised her breasts and stretched her belly, opening and making her - she hoped - more attractive to the older woman. Maybe that was why she did it.

In any case, she was sure on such occasions to caress Anne's breasts and the sensitive folds between her legs. Anne felt them swell and throb in return; her eyes closed and she gave herself to her master of the moment.

One day Anne did a thing she never intended. Somehow Frieda's attentions touched her soul and made her pour it out as the woman questioned her in measured tones.

She even spoke of her desire for Francesca, then lowered her head and waited for Frieda's reaction.

There was none. The woman's hand did not waver or her expression change. She had extracted Anne's confession with no visible effort; perhaps she learned this from Russians too.

Back inside, Frieda took Francesca to a far corner of the room and the two women talked. Her secret was out. She crouched on the doormat until Francesca led her downstairs and back home to the coal bin.

After chaining her up, Francesca observed Anne was much quieter today. The lessons were beginning to have an effect; she was glad to see it.

Tears rolled down Anne's cheeks.

Francesca spoke sharply. "Stop crying." Anne sank to her knees.

"Here, have a cookie." After a last very quiet sniffle, Anne took up the treat.

She kissed Anne on the forehead and turned to go. Halfway to the stairs she paused.

"I'm going to ask you this only once, Anne. Supposing I let you go, found you a job, clothes, a place to live, would you leave me?"

"If you told me to, ma'am."

"You can stay then. I'll see you tomorrow morning; good night."

"Good night, ma'am."

Often as she awaited sleep in the cellar she tried to understand Frieda. The enigmatic trainer handled Anne for only a short period at Mr. Schuyler's estate before Francesca's arrival, so Anne knew little about her. Though not cruel by nature she was methodical and she knew many ingenious techniques for applying discipline. She could reduce Anne to a state of mindless terror, but only when it served a purpose.

After one of the lighter sessions Anne remembered her manners and thanked Frieda. The older woman said nothing but bowed slightly, and Anne thought she detected a fleeting smile.

But she was severe the next day and Anne was glad of it; she deserved no lenience where it interfered with her training. That led her to wonder if she could hold out till the recital. If she became unhinged to the point where she could not appear, Lise would have to take her place and Francesca would be at a disadvantage.

No, surely the older woman knew the limits of her girls. She would not push Anne over the edge.

At least not before the event. She recalled Mr. Schuyler's advice to "traumatize" her and shivered.

She dismissed the thought of events over which she had no control; but what of her fate afterwards? Francesca's reward for her performance would cover only a few weeks of expenses, and then she would be scraping again. Sir Nigel's proposal would free her from money worries forever.

Francesca would do well to rid herself of a foolish creature that had thrown away a successful career to become a plaything. She could get on so much better without Anne, whose mind never rose above her next beating or the violation of her body.

If only she would sell me and take the money, Anne thought. I would be all profit to her; she got me for free from Mr. Schuyler.

She might miss me for a few days, but she would get over it. Anne drifted off to sleep with a vague plan to ask her owner - after the fete - to accept Sir Nigel's offer.