The Green Door

By Bishop

A green door. The silent man led her to it. He held her gaze as he produced the key that apparently fit the substantial lock. "This room isn't for everyone. Do you understand that?" She nodded transfixed by his eyes and the firm grip on her arm. He put the key in the lock, an obviously familiar action for him. The tumblers clicked, he paused with his hand on the knob.

"Upon entering here you will be required to relinquish a part of yourself. But in doing so you will gain much more in return. Do you understand?"

She nodded, though she would have agreed with anything he said at that moment. He produced a pair of shiny steel handcuffs, holding them to intersect her gaze. He released her arm, "Turn around." She noticed her feet complying with his command. Her pulse racing, slightly muffling the sound of the cuffs ratcheting closed around her wrists. Now she understood! Yet her apprehension was stifled by the intensity of her excitement, "This can't be happening!" she thought. Her attempts to separate her wrists convinced her that it was indeed happening.

The man was adept. He had rotated her wrists so that her palms faced outward. Her fingers found only empty air, the cuffs prevented her from moving her hands to any useful position. His hand was on the knob again, his eyes on hers. "Do you still wish to enter?" She nodded. The door opened to reveal a dull amber light, a sourceless glow of a hundred candles. The carpet was thick and warm. The green door closed, and the world that she knew disappeared at the same moment.

A single chair afforded the only furnishing for the room. He left her standing near the door and seated himself facing her. "You will speak only when asked to speak. You will follow all orders without hesitation." He pointed to a spot two feet in front of the chair. "Come here and kneel."

She complied quickly, not wanting to experience the result of disobedience, at least not yet. He gazed down at her approvingly. From behind the chair he produced a black leather strap about two inches wide. He grinned as he placed it on her. The purpose of the strap revealed itself as he threaded it behind her neck and under her arms, buckling it firmly against her upper back. Her shoulders automatically moved several inches closer together. But he wasn't through yet. A second strap attached to the first behind her neck. He watched her face as he used the second thinner strap to hoist her wrists upward via the short chain connecting the handcuffs. He stopped just short of pain, judging expertly by the expression on her face. He sat back in the chair now looking rather contented as he watched her attempt to adjust to her new arrangement.

"Your breasts look lovely that way." She stared back at him, feeling her breath coming quicker. "I have a task for you my dear. A simple one, I don't want to be unfair. Your task is to undo my pants for me." She looked at his pants now for the first time. A comfortably worn pair of 501 jeans. "My god, how am I going to undo a pair of button fly jean without my hands?" The question burst to her mind. His grin faded, as she spoke, "I can't!" He leaned forward, very close to her, "You can, and you will. And if you speak again you'll be punished." He sat back again waiting. She edged closer to him, still kneeling. The only means freely left to her were her teeth.

Carefully she grasped the flap that extended beyond the first button hole. A slight tug produced the desired effect. She was elated! She ventured a glance upward: He sat still grinning like the damned Cheshire cat. She renewed her grip and the remainder of the buttons released easily.

"You learn quickly. That's good. I don't deal well with stupidity. Now complete your task." Returning her gaze to the project before her it became apparent why the buttons released so easily. A full eight inch erection greeted her, separating the fly of it's own force and diameter. Inching still closer she took his cock slowly into her mouth... He took advantage of her thick head of auburn hair by grabbing a substantial amount of it in a tight fist near the back of her head. As the tip of his cock touched her soft palate he leveraged her head back so that he could look her in the eyes, "If I feel so much as one of your teeth touch me... Well let's just say it won't be pleasant for you." He smiled at the look of apprehension on her face and using his hold on her hair guided her head downward. She fought valiantly to overcome the inevitable gag reflex, but found herself using all her strength to pull her head back. She didn't succeed until he let her, but he didn't let her back far enough to remove his still enlarging shaft from her mouth. He smiled down at her, "not too experienced at this are you?"

She tried to communicate with her eyes alone, being fearful of moving her head and touching him with her teeth. Her jaw ached as he controlled the movements of her head, sensing when he had forced her head down a bit too far. After what seem a very long time she heard him making the ecstatic sounds of an orgasm. She had never felt hot cum explode into her throat before. She liked it very much and swallowed all of it gladly. He released her head now and she sat back thankfully on her heels feeling triumphant. In her excitement she spoke before thinking, "I do learn fast, don't I?" His eyes opened slowly, and she was frightened at the cold glare that came from under his perfect brow.

"Some things perhaps, but not others." He rose from the chair and retrieved a thick leather strap from his seemingly endless supply behind the chair. He stood behind her now looking down at her imploring face.

"I'm sorry... please..."

"Too late. Open your mouth." He had bent down now, grasping the slim strap holding her cuffed wrists in one hand and a threatening looking contraption in the other. The strap was nearly 5" thick at it's widest point and was fashioned from very sturdy leather. A leather pear shaped protrusion attached at the center was poised before her full lips. He was speaking again, "Open your fucking mouth!"

"That won't fit in my...." A sharp pain in both shoulders interrupted her. He was pulling her wrists up toward her shoulder blades by means of that damned strap. She opened her mouth to both comply and release a sharp squeal of pain. The leather pear did indeed fit in her mouth, but barely. She had no idea her jaws could stretch that far. He carefully pulled up her long flowing hair to buckle the gag snugly at the back of her neck. She could make absolutely no sound. The pear forced her tongue to the bottom of her mouth, and the 5" strap sealed her lips and trapped them against her teeth. "That should remind you not to speak without permission. How are your shoulders doing?" It was a rhetorical question of course. He tightened the wrist strap two notches and stood back. "On your feet, now!"

She struggled to comply and maintain her balance at the same time. He assisted her by placing his right hand in her crotch from behind. His long strong finger slipped easily into her moist pussy. She stood at attention now, her eyes wide with the new sensation. he placed his face alongside hers, working his middle finger farther into her most private place, while his index finger searched out her clitoris.

"You feel so fucking good!" She pressed her face against his and managed a muffled groan by way of her nasal passages. She longed to feel his gorgeous cock deep inside her. She was roused from this reverie by his thumb. It was pressing now against her anus, gently teasing the sphincter muscle into contraction. She ventured a look at him, that Cheshire grin even wider now, then she went weak in the knees. She could feel her juices literally gushing! This had never happened to her before. What did it mean? Somehow she managed to stay on her feet.

"You haven't seen the rest of the place, have you my dear? Allow me to show you around." He coaxed her forward with the hand that now felt as though it was a part of her. He lead her toward the back of the room. Another door faced them. She was afraid to imagine what lay behind it...

The door opened silently and her nostrils were filled with the delicious odor of patchouli incense. He closed the door and locked it, all the while adeptly controlling her motion with his hand buried in her crotch. Her shoulders ached and the steel cuffs pressed annoyingly on her wrists. To this came the sudden realization that she was going to have to swallow without the use of her tongue. By tipping her head back slightly and exercising great effort she was able to empty her mouth of most of the surplus saliva.

He has moving her down the hallway now, toward still another door as his middle finger absently messaged her cervix. The third door opened into a very large room. Not quite a bedroom though it had the largest bed she'd ever seen, it seemed more like a recreation room. There were large cabinets along one wall. Another wall was bare except for eyebolts placed at various intervals and heights.

The bed was closest to the third wall, opposite the wall filled with eyebolts. This was the wall that shocked her senses. It was one continuous mirror. But that wasn't the shocking part. It was the woman staring back at her. The leather gag held her jaw to it's maximum extension, frozen in the pose of a silent scream. Her shoulders were arched back like the proverbial soldier at maximum attention, while her forearms disappeared upward and behind her back at an impossible angle. This woman looked beautiful! Could it be her? He let her stand there for some moments knowing full well what was going through her mind. She was coming along beautifully. But Tara would be her real test.

They were both pulled from their reflections as the door burst open. Tara made her entrance. Tara always made an entrance. She was completely incapable of simply walking into a room. She was dressed for the occasion: Five inch stiletto heels, all leather made in Italy, black leather mini-skirt with zippers on each side, also from Italy, and a custom made glove leather bodice held in place with gold plated buckles. A riding crop, made in England, completed the outfit.

"Oh, she's darling Robert. Quite darling. What's her name?"

"Haven't the slightest."

"Well take that nasty gag off and we'll find out."

Robert removed the gag. Tara stepped close to her and tucking her crop under one arm gently massaged the girl's aching jaw muscles.

"That's better now isn't it?"

She nodded. She was learning.

"Now what might your name be?"

She spoke only after a nod from Robert, "Betsy. Betsy Loveforce."

"Why that's a lovely name, isn't it Robert?"

"I prefer Elizabeth."

"You're so contrary Robert. You'll find, Betsy, that Robert is really quite contrary." Betsy fought the urge to reply and won.

"I don't suppose Robert offered you any refreshments."

"She just ate, Tara." He almost laughed.

"Would you like something to drink dear?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Well you just have a seat there on the bed and I'll get you something."

Betsy eased herself down at the foot of the bed. Tara returned with a tall glass of cranberry juice, of all things. There was apparently a refrigerator concealed in one of those cabinets. Tara held it for Betsy to sip from. It tasted fantastic.

"Is that better?"

"Yes thank you. But my shoulders sure ache."

Tara looked for the first time at the cuffs and harness, "I'm not surprised. Robert really is quite the bastard isn't he? But my you are lovely Betsy, you really are. I wish my hair was your color."

Betsy had been struck by Tara's long raven black hair and had had the same thought about it.

"And your breasts are so perfectly shaped. Robert isn't a breast man, are you Robert? I happen to like them."

Tara's hand lightly traced the outline of Betsy's breasts, as she let each thumb linger on the nipple of each.

"Do you like breasts, Betsy?"

The implication of the question dawned on her slowly. She looked to Robert, still perched quietly at the other side of the bed, the ever present grin still in place. Tara used her crop to turn Betsy's face back to face hers.

"Didn't you hear me?"

"I'm not gay."

"That's not what I asked you now is it?"

"Oh my God! This woman is a lesbian." The thought bolted now to Betsy's mind.

"I... I don't know."

"I see." Tara smiled, a cold meaningful smile. "You have lovely feet as well. In fact I think I have a pair of shoes that might fit you." Tara rose and crossed to one of the cabinets.

She returned with a pair of the highest heels Betsy had ever seen. She had something else in her hand, two long white strips about a half inch wide. Tara helped Betsy into the shoes. Despite their height, she judged them to be at least six inches, they were nice. All leather in a classic pump design.

"These will take a little getting used to dear. Do they fit?"

"They're a bit snug."

"Good." Tara has kneeling before Betsy admiring the graceful arch the shoes gave to Betsy's foot. Now she took one of the long white strips in her hand. "These will keep them on for you."

The white strips were cable-wraps used by electricians to bundle wires. They worked similarly to the cuffs on Betsy's wrists, being held in place by a ratchet closure. Tara brought one around from behind Betsy's ankle, crossed it at the front and brought one end around and under the shoe where the top inner part of the heel attached to the bottom. She then threaded the free end through the ratcheted closure and cinched it tightly. The other foot was done identically to the first, with the excess length snipped off with a wire cutter. Betsy inspected Tara's handiwork: She was right, the shoes were on to stay. It has now impossible for her to withdraw her heel from either shoe. But they did look lovely.

"Now stand up."

Betsy complied immediately. Tara was right again. They would take some getting used to.

"Nothing more feminine that high heels is there?"

"No, I guess not."

Tara took Betsy's face gently in both hands and kissed her on her full pink lips. This time Betsy didn't try to consider what her reaction should be. She pulled back and turned her head away.

"No please, don't!"

Tara turned Betsy's face to her. "Now Betsy, now you've really pissed me off. Kneel!"

Betsy lowered herself quickly to the floor and stared a spot in the thick carpet just in front of Tara's feet. Tara stood very still for a moment, then spoke to Robert.

"I'm going to need a pole, Robert."

Robert rose and opened yet another of the many cabinets. Betsy ventured a look as Robert removed a three foot chrome plated pole. It had threads on one end. He walked near to the wall with the eyebolts and screwed it into a plate counter-sunk into the floor. Meanwhile Tara had made a trip to the supply side of the room herself. Stood behind Betsy now and went about her task. The first implement was as the others, leather. A four inch wide collar was buckled around Betsy's neck. It was designed to keep the head erect, and the slightly wider parts on the left and right sides made turning her head nearly impossible. With great relief Betsy felt Tara remove the strap holding her arms in their now painful position.

"Go over to the pole." Betsy began to rise in obedience but Tara's hand on her head prevented her. "On your knees!"

Robert guided her to the desired position. Her back was placed firmly against the pole. A second pair of handcuffs were placed around her ankles. A padlock secured the pair on her wrists to the pair on her ankles. Tara stood before Betsy now with a second padlock. Gently now Tara reached behind Betsy's head to secure a grip on the 'D' ring at the back of the collar. She smiled brightly in to Betsy's face as she forced her head back and down to meet with the eyebolt welded to the top of the pole. The padlock clicked into place.

Tara stood back and inspected the girl. "I love that position. Take a look, dear."

With some effort, Betsy inched her head around to see herself in the mirrored wall. She could see why Tara liked her this way: her arms were taut by virtue of being attached by the wrist to her ankle cuffs. She was forced to bow her back considerably to afford her neck being attached to the pole with no leeway. Her firm breasts jutted up toward the ceiling and her beautifully proportioned pelvis was now the forward most part of her body. She looked back at Tara now with a little trepidation. "She's going to beat me! My God, I can't take that! This has to stop..."

Tara stands before her now, freezing her thoughts. She clinches her eyes shut waiting for the first blow. Nothing. She ventures a breath, two, three, four. Nothing. Silence. Now a scent. Now a bit stronger. Her eyes open to a wall of leather one inch from her nose. Tara's skirt. Tara's grin looks A lot like Robert's from Betsy's perspective. Now Betsy realizes what Tara plans! Without a word Tara unzips first the right zipper then the left. Another step places her over Betsy's upturned face. "Now my dear, you're going to make me cum."

Betsy knew that struggling was useless, but she struggled anyway. The scent of leather was replaced now by the faintly musky odor of Tara's womanhood. Betsy opened her eyes and was confronted with a perfectly trimmed pubic mount of jet black hair. Tara's thighs, firm and strong closed on each side of Betsy's head preventing even the modicum of movement allowed by the collar. She felt something firm, thin and cool rub her inner thigh and Tara's voice. "I realize you haven't done this before Betsy, so I'll coach you a bit. When you're doing well you'll feel my crop where it is now. When you're not doing well.."

Betsy's inner left thigh felt the end of Tara's sentence. A sharp rap, just enough to sting on her inner left thigh. Tara moved forward again and in straddling Betsy's shoulders lowered herself onto Betsy's mouth. Betsy felt Tara's outer lips separate along her chin and the warm juices now lubricate her mouth, which was still tightly closed. Another sharp sting on her inner thigh convinced Betsy to begin her task. Cautiously she opened her mouth just enough to allow her tongue egress to Tara's inner lips. To her utter shock she didn't find the taste unpleasant. Her ex-fiancé Bill, had always made such a fuss about "eating" her she had assumed the taste of a woman to be far less than pleasant. She could feel Tara respond, and again o her surprise she was pleased at the effect she was creating. Betsy opened her mouth wider now, and put her tongue farther into Tara. Tara responded by sliding a bit backward to allow Betsy access to her clitoris. Betsy's instincts carried her forward. Tara moved forward as well. She began moaning and actually dropped her crop as she reached forward with both hands to take hold of Betsy's hair. "Sweet Jesus... Yes... Oh God... Yes, yes..."

The stiffening of Tara's body and her scream of passion pleased Betsy very much. She greedily licked and sucked as Tara released the flow of her orgasm onto Betsy's face. Tara nearly fell backward, but Robert was there to keep her up. He picked Tara up easily and laid her on the bed. As he stood before Betsy she could see by the lump in his jeans that he had enjoyed the performance a lot. "You prove my excellent judgment, Elizabeth. You learn quickly indeed."

He to steps to her and with his skilled right hand anoints his palm with the result of Betsy's excitement. He holds his hand to her face. "You're a fucking natural, Elizabeth."

"I just didn't want to be beaten."

She nearly convinced herself, but Robert seemed nonplussed. "You're lying."

"I'm not!"

"You're a natural slave and you like eating pussy, admit it."

"Fuck you!"

It had happened to her only a few times in her life, but always with these dire consequences. The realization that her mouth was far ahead of her brain always came too late to do her any good. The last time it happened was with Bill, and he had left her for it. Robert had remained silent and motionless since Betsy's insult. he squatted there studying her, now he nods. "I guess I'm going to have to make a very strong impression on you Elizabeth. A very strong impression..."

Tara had regained her composure now and was sitting propped up against the pillows observing the exchange. "You're in some deep shit now Betsy, his temper is far worse than mine."

Betsy managed to rotate her head far enough to see Tara's mocking smile. She glared at both of them, but managed to remain silent. Robert had made his way back to the cabinets. He produced yet another pole, but this one was different than the one that Betsy was locked to now. It was about four feet long and had a knurled cylinder about a foot from the end. A narrower section protruded from with the first. It reminded Betsy of a microphone stand. Robert placed the threaded end into a second plate about two feet in front of where Betsy kneeled now. Robert observed Betsy studying the new implement. "Any questions?"

"No."

Another trip to the cabinet produced something Robert placed in his back pocket, and a set of keys. He released Betsy from the three foot pole, and freed her wrists from their attachment to her ankle cuffs. That was all. He forced her to her feet and let her stand teetering on her six inch heels. "What do you think Tara, can she take it?"

"Like you said Robert, a very strong impression is in order."

"Tell us about Bill, Elizabeth."

Betsy was taken aback. Robert waited. "Do it today!"

"There isn't much to tell."

"You dumped him didn't you?"

"No, he left me."

"Why?", this question came from Tara. "Because... I don't really know."

Robert laughs, "I think you do. Wasn't it because you didn't think him a strong enough, shall we say, personality?"

"No."

"I don't think you understand the question well enough yet. But you will. Yes indeed, you will."

The cabinet yielded a third pole. Like the first it was three feet long, but its major feature was handcuff welded to each end. The chain links had been removed from the swivel that extends from the case and a thick ring had been inserted, the opposite end of which was welded to the pole. Robert lifted Betsy and stood her very near the "microphone stand", as she thought of it now. He quickly removed her ankle cuffs and replaced them with the third pole. This made Betsy's balance even more precarious as the height of her shoes, combined with their snug binding to her feet left her little room to compensate on the thick carpet. She reached back with one cuffed wrist to balance herself on the microphone stand. Robert rotated her ninety degrees so that she faced the mirrored wall. She was again shocked to see the pseudo stranger staring back at her. She able to observe fully now the effect the collar had on her features. It elongated the line of her neck, and gave her a regal stature. Robert read her thoughts and pulled her thick auburn hair into a ponytail for her to see the collar better. They stood side by side admiring the display. Betsy spoke in a nearly confidential tone to Robert. "What do I have to understand?"

"I can't explain it to you. When you realize it you'll know. Until then keep your fucking mouth shut unless your spoken too."

Robert's grip tightened, Betsy winced as he formed a fist with her hair as its center. Tara looked on silently. Betsy's eyes were closed when Robert gave her the most arousing kiss of her life. Her eyes were still closed when he inched her over the top of the pole. The end she was gripping for balance had moved. Robert secured something to the top of the narrow tube. Betsy's hand explored its surface. It was a cylinder, about two inches in diameter, but not metal. A dense plastic perhaps. It tapered very slightly toward the top only to widen into a egg shaped tip. She couldn't shift her position to see it in the mirror, but the implications both frightened and fascinated her. Now Robert was behind her, bending to his task. The knurled cylinder is loosened, lowered, now she can see the device occupying the end of the tube! "For the love of God, you're not serious?!"

Robert was at her hair again. This time a rubber ball with a strap running laterally through it was forced behind her teeth and buckled at the nape of her neck. Their eyes met in the mirror. "You must be a fan of Poe, Elizabeth. That was Fortunado's line in A Cask of Amontillado. And how did Montresor reply? I believe he said, 'Yes Fortunado, for the love of God.'."

With that Robert raised the pole until the dildo was at the entrance to her vulva. I don't think we'll need the KY Jelly, do you Elizabeth?"

Not too much to her surprise the dildo entered with little difficulty. Two, three, five inches. Her fingers reflexively curled, then groped uselessly for the pole. Six, Robert was transfixed by her expression, seven inches. Betsy began to moan, a little saliva works its way around her gag. Just short of eight inches of penetration Robert secured the pole into place. With his index finger he collected the drop of saliva from her chin and watching her in the mirror licked it from his finger. "My, but you are lovely, Elizabeth."

As unbelievable as it seemed to her Betsy had never felt lovelier. The dildo filled her maddenly! The combination of the sight and the sensation nearly drove her mad with desire. Her clitoris throbbed, time seemed to slow. Sights, sounds and sensation had no separation. She heard Robert's voice. Tara was kneeling before her. "Here's your chance, Tara. Show Elizabeth how pussy should be eaten."

"You can push a point, can't you, Robert? Feeling a bit threatened?"

Robert stood behind Tara, facing Betsy as Tara did though kneeling. His knee made contact with the back of Tara's neck, forcing her into contact with Betsy's pubic bone. "Go on Tara, give Betsy something she's never had before. I'm trying to be generous here. Think about the question, Elizabeth, and quit dribbling."

He wiped the saliva from her chin with the palm of his hand. Betsy took the opportunity to rub her cheek across the back of his hand. She wanted contact with him very much, but he seemed the master of aloofness among other things. They locked eyes, and for an instant his sardonic grin seemed to soften. A smile crossed his lips. It transformed his features considerably . He was even more attractive. She tried to remember the question, and tried to imagine what it was that he understood so well. The warm electricity spread quickly up from her groin. It was Tara. Her tongue more specifically, and her lips. They sought and found the most sensitive part of her, the center of her universe, the Alpha-Omega of her existence. Tara's hands caressed each breast and the circuit was complete. She had heard women talk about it. She had read articles and listened attentively to Dr. Ruth explain the physical/emotional factors governing the experience. She had talked to Bill at least five thousand times about it, or the lack of it. He tried to understand at first, but quickly became disinterested and finally very defensive. She even attended a seminar. Nothing had prepared her. Not even her own furtive self manipulations. She stepped to a new echelon, the proverbial pinnacle. She had gained the summit of summits. Every nerve of every fiber of every sensory channel in her body filled beyond any capacity she had ever dreamt of. All driven by the tiny nuclear pile just above her urethra. She wondered if it might kill her where she stood. Impaled as she was with her legs locked in a three foot stance and her mouth filled with a rubber ball. She didn't care. It would be a very nice way to shed this lifetime. She let her body do as it willed. She really had no options. She screamed against her gag, disregarding Robert's admonishment about dribbling. She strained against the dildo to gain a millimeter's width toward Tara's mouth, the God of this fantastic genesis. Her vagina sprang to life, seeking to crush its occupant.

Failing, it tried again and again. Betsy forgot about the cuffs on her wrist and attempted to reach around to grasp Tara's head. Even the resulting pain in her wrists felt wonderful. her clenched eyelids became a screen. Three dimension, full color, stereo hi-fidelity sound ebbing and flowing to the rest of the experience. She guessed that it lasted days, or perhaps minutes, perhaps weeks.

Einsteinian space/time lost all significance. This was a whole new continuum. She didn't remember Robert holding her up. Or he and Tara gently removing her from the pole and placing her gently on the bed. She was in Other wheres and Else whens. A cosmic mote blown by the solar wind. She slept the sleep of the utterly exhausted.

Betsy awoke from a dreamless sleep. The initial moment of disorientation surrendered to the memory of her passion and joy. She was in a different room, smaller and like all the others she'd seen, without windows. She was curious about the lack of them, among many other things. The sheet covering her was silk and smelled of jasmine. The sourceless light was low and held the same amber color of the first room she'd entered here. How long ago was that? How long had she been sleeping? Where was this experience leading, and why had it begun? What was it that drew her to Robert and Tara? How had they been able to manipulate her so efficiently? A lot of questions and absolutely no answers. She thought back to her decision to spend some time out of town. To get away from her disappointment in Bill, and in herself for letting a relationship [line deleted] dissolve. This retreat had been highly recommended by several people on Compuserve. She wondered now if there hadn't been an ulterior motive to their recommendation. "Jesus, here I am imagining a conspiracy. Time to get a grip on myself, and get some answers."

Since her awakening she had laid completely still, feeling very warm and perfectly comfortable. Now she needed to find a bathroom. Another surprise greeted her as she sat up to get a better look at her room. She was clinking! Throwing back the sheet revealed the source of the sound. She was completely nude save for a set of tailored chains. The one inch links were welded and chrome plated. The two foot length connecting her wrists terminated at each end with a stainless steel manacle. She admired the workmanship. Both manacles were nearly form fitting. She could barely squeeze her index finger underneath them, yet they were so well shaped and their one and a half inch width flared outward slightly that she was able to move her wrists freely, or very nearly. Nothing so garish as a padlock secured them. They were held closed by a steel rivet through the hole in the hasp at the top of her wrist.

A second length of chain descended from the center of the length at her wrists and through a welded ring attached to the stainless steel belt around her waist. The belt was constructed of two half ellipses. A hasp and rivet secured it at the left and right. Additional rings adorned the belt in front and back. The second chain continued downward to its end at a third length that connected her legs at the knee. These manacles were form fitted as well and made their home just below the knee joint. As she stood and took her first step she realized Robert's sardonic sense of humor was at work. The length of the chain at her knees just barely prevented her from taking a normal stride. A second doorway across from her bed opened to a bathroom.

The medicine chest was well stocked, including a toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, aspirin, etc. A hairbrush lay on the counter near the sink. She made use of it gladly. The 25 year old woman staring back at her from the mirror was more that slightly tussled from her recent adventures. She considered the shower stall. It too was well stocked. Soap, expensive shampoo and rinse, thick cotton towels. The chains would make it a bit awkward, but it she couldn't go another minute without a shower! Thankfully the length of chain connecting her wrists to her knees could slide through the ring on the waist belt. By crouching a bit and bending at the waist she was able to get her hands up high enough to wash her hair. She hated nothing more in this world than to have the pride and joy that was her thick natural auburn hair that now reached easily to the center of her back to be in any way soiled. She had been that way since an early age. Her mother would have to coax her out of the bath rather than into it and she had always taken joy in maintaining a body that both men and women had admired all her life. She had been spared the trauma of pimples as a teenager and she believed her cleansing rituals were a major factor. She felt a thousand percent better when the emerged from the bathroom, but hungry. She attributed the odor of toast and coffee in her bedroom to imagination. When had she eaten last? The memory of Robert's contribution on to her nutrition flashed up. Reflexively her hand sought out her sex and her eyelids dipped in reverie. The odor of breakfast was stronger now. She noticed a vent near the ceiling on the far wall. Yes, the smell was stronger here. Somewhere food was cooking and she decided to find where. The door to her bedroom was locked. The hallway lead in two directions. The door at the right end was locked. The door at the other end wasn't. It lead to sixty foot circular atrium. The walls her stacked granite boulders, mostly overgrown with ivy, and rose a full twenty feet to support a geodesic glass dome. A fig tree occupied the center of the room. The reddish morning light glowed from the ripe figs. Betsy couldn't help herself. She promptly picked a low hanging fruit , (her chains allowed her to raise her hands only to the height of her breasts) and began eating greedily. She found a second fruit within reach and picked it as well. She examined the room as she ate. The granite and ivy made the room pleasantly and naturally cool.

The earthy scent of the ivy brought back a memory from childhood. Laughing and screaming she and her friends would roll in the ivy fronting the library in the early days of summer. It was where she first kissed a boy. He wasn't expecting it at all. Poor Peter, he didn't know what to do. She was elated. She was elated now. She curled up against the cool/sweet granite and serenely ate her stolen fruits. Her questions and concerns were forgotten. Any introspection on Betsy's part would have given her pause. There she sat, locked in steel manacles, less than eighteen hours after her first orgasm, (and induced by a woman at that!) completely nude save for the chrome chain, eating figs in an atrium. Definitely not the way she had planned on spending her summer vacation. She watched the cotton ball clouds pass across the hemisphere of the dome as the morning light edged toward gold. "Good morning Idyll!"

It was Robert. He wore a thigh length silk robe. Betsy liked his legs. She looked to him, then away, suddenly feeling shy. She licked the remnants of fig from her fingers and studied the terra-cotta floor. "You've stolen my figs."

Betsy glanced up. A smile, like the one yesterday, replaced the sardonic grin. "Forgive me... Master."

This time she was the one grinning. Robert walked to her and stood in the spot on the floor she gazed at. "Fig stealing is a serious offense. But you are so incredibly, starkly beautiful sitting there..."

Betsy leaned forward and caressed his calves, letting her cheek press against the hem of his robe. He ran his hand through her still damp hair. Her hands rose to the limit of their chain reveling to the feel of the firm muscle beneath the smooth skin. She grew excited kneeling there. Robert's breathing, deep and rhythmic, rose slowly above the quiet clink of chain. His hands held her head against him. She felt the beautifully sculpted shaft that was his passion force the silk against her face. Now he knelt down to face her. He wiped a bit of fig from her lip. His hands were hot and soft on her face. "You've captured me haven't you?"

A second of irony gave way to a glimmer of understanding in Betsy. But it was fleeting and temporal. They kissed. He pulled her gently to the floor. She lay on her side. A cloud crossed the sun as he entered her. She thought that somehow fitting. He murmured to her. She had never known a man to be so intensely gentle, so responsive to her body. It was as if he truly shared it with her. His only wish was to give her pleasure. Two as one nestled like spoons. Laying there on the terra-cotta floor of the atrium she experienced the second orgasm of her life. Tara seemed in a pensive mood during breakfast, making only the minimum replies to Robert's small talk. Betsy was content to listen and watch the way his mouth moved when he spoke. He had a lovely mouth. So did Tara. I occurred to her as they sat there eating breakfast together on a sun filled deck some time in the late morning on some day of the year somewhere in the world, that they all looked like an animated version of a photograph in Sunset Magazine. She smiled to herself as she tried to imagine how her set of chains might fit into the caption. She reveled in feeling the passing of moments unconnected by any significance. She was in her element and out of it at the same time. The deck looked out on a large park like setting. Old growth oak, birch, poplar and holly juxtaposed among morning glory and ferns. Robert had stopped talking. He had returned to reading a copy of Faust. Tara had finished her cursory perusal of the New Yorker and chin in hand, stared out toward the park. She turned to Betsy quickly with a bit of a glimmer in her eye. "Do you like blueberries, Betsy?"

"Very much."

"There's a big bush full of them just over that hill."

Tara pointed straight out the sliding glass door. The ground did rise noticeably. Betsy could make out what seemed to be a path leading to it. It must have been over half a mile away. "Do you want me to go pick some?"

"We'll both go. But you'll need some shoes. I'll be right back."

Robert watched Tara leave, then smiled at Betsy. "Shoes. I can just imagine what they'll be."

Robert's grin grew broader. "No, you can't, Elizabeth. Not at all."

Tara was not gone long. She returned with a Gucci shoe box and handed it to Betsy. "I hope they fit, dear."

The first thing Betsy noticed about the box was its weight. It must have been over five pounds. She removed the top and for a moment had absolutely no idea what she was looking at, except that they were metal. "Well, they seem to go with my outfit, what ever they are."

Tara took the box. "Here, I'll show you."

Tara took one of the twin objects from the box, and in a manner very reminiscent of a shoe clerk bent down to fit Betsy's foot. The objects truly bore little resemblance to a shoe as such. The were made of steel. The body of each was comprised of a piece six inches high and one inch thick. One side was straight and ended at a right angle. The other side was curved to the contours of the foot's natural arch when the heel is raised and the ball of the foot is on the floor. That was the sole intent of the "shoe", to raise the heel to such a height as to put the instep perpendicular to the floor. They were held in place my a hinged steel band that fastened around the instep and secured by a hasp like to ones on Betsy's wrists. The "sole" of the shoe was made of a quarter inch steel plate welded to the arch port. Apparently, Betsy thought, some care had been taken in shaping the band that surrounded her instep. It was very snug, but didn't pinch or bind. The last feature of the she was a metal ring welded to the sole plate. It was just large enough for her big toe to fit into. It prevented her from rotating her foot side to side, and once the instep band was secured helped make them impossible to remove. Tara locked each into place with a hand rivet gun then stood back. "Stand up."

Betsy rose carefully. She felt a bit like an acrobat trying to balance. Her heel was now raised the maximum possible distance from the floor, Her big toe sat at a right angle to her instep. A very strange feeling. She had to bend a bit at the knee to keep from falling forward. "I don't know about this Tara."

"Well they look fantastic, don't they Robert?"

"Very nice work. You've succeeded."

"Nice of you to admit it."

"Have I missed something?"

Robert explained patiently, "Those shoes are the result of a conversation Tara and I had about a week ago. She was saying that anything could be reduced to a functional essence or simplicity. The simpler the form, the more powerful. It's concentrated that way. Isn't that right Tara?"

She nodded. Robert continued. "In a subtle way it's a study in power and control. As our whole experience here has been. Power and the control of power. The same thing Faust was seeking. He wasn't really interested in God at all. He wanted power and the ability to control it. He wanted the upper hand. The fact that Mephisto was the only one to come through for him was Goethe's way of being sarcastic and pious at the same time. We're taught from the time we learn to crawl that power is bad, dangerous and harmful you see? It's the grand illusion, and a way to gain power over another. If you want to control someone, just convince them that power is naughty. From there on out you got them in a bag."

Betsy thought on this for a moment. She looked from Tara to Robert then at herself standing there as she was, ostensibly enslaved. She recalled Robert's earlier remark about her capturing him. The concept began to firm up in her mind, but it was like trying to pick up a tomato seed. "C'mon dear, lets go pick berries."

Betsy began to get the hang of her new shoes by the time she and Tara reached the door leading to the park. It stood immediately below the deck at ground level. Tara stopped suddenly, "I think I'd rather ride. Wait right here--I'll be back in a jiffy."

Tara hurried back through the door. Betsy took the opportunity to rest against a granite boulder nearby. The shoes didn't hurt, but the bones and tendons in her feet and legs weren't used to their extreme position. The late morning was so beautiful. Hundreds of birds contributed to the collective chorus. The breeze was light and warm and scented with jasmine. Betsy thought about Robert's little monologue. There was a simple, essential concept behind his remarks but he was leaving it to her to discover. She had read Faust in college, but never attached much significance to what she believed to be the work of a neurotic German. Thinking back on the story now she could see Robert's point. It did revolve around power. Yes power and control, and something else, something that brought it all together. Tara returned in a new outfit. Betsy was honestly shocked. Tara wore nothing but a pair of chaps! She carried a large armful of leather contraptions and straps. "Here we are dear."

Tara was full of mischief. "Turn around."

Betsy obeyed but looked over her shoulder. Tara dropped her load on the ground and picked out the largest item. It bore a vague resemblance to a saddle, but closer to human proportions. The broadest part of the saddle was placed against Betsy's back. The opposite side was shaped roughly like a contoured stool seat. Stirrups hung from each side. Betsy turned away as Tara threw the first strap over her shoulder.

"Hold on just a minute Tara. This is too much."

"Look Betsy, this can be easy or this can be difficult. It's up to you."

"You can't be serious. I'm not a damn horse."

Tara stepped close to Betsy's face and spoke intently. "You my dear, are any damn thing I want you to be. This is lesson two. Removal of options."

With her final sentence Tara placed a booted foot on the chain connecting Betsy's knees. Betsy promptly assumed a kneeling position. Tara buckled the "saddle" onto Betsy's back. Two straps went over her shoulders. Like a backpack. A third buckled just below her breasts. A fourth just above her steel belt, and a fifth pulled the shoulder straps closer together across her breasts. Next Tara padlocked Betsy's wrist chain to the ring on the steel belt. Now she couldn't reach the buckles. The excess chain leading down was pulled up through Betsy's crotch and locked to a ring at the back of the belt. "This isn't going to work, Tara."

Tara made no reply . Instead she placed a steel bit between Betsy's teeth. It buckled behind her head. Another "Y" shaped strap came up from each side of the bit-bar to a ring just above the bridge of Betsy's nose. A third strap at the top of that ring went over the top of her head and buckled to the one holding the bit in place. Leather reins hung from each side of the bit-bar. "I think we're ready for a ride now dear. Hold still."

Carefully Tara mounted the seat that protruded at a right angle from the base strapped to Betsy's back. Betsy was surprised at how evenly the weight seemed distributed. The fact that Tara only weighed one hundred and five pounds helped too. Tara placed a boot in each stirrup and settled herself in the saddle. "Get up! Let's go."

Betsy hesitated a little too long for Tara's mood. She felt Tara last toy before she saw it. The tip of a quirt landed on her left thigh. Betsy rose unsteadily. The additional weight made itself know on her feet immediately.

Tara pulled the reins to point her in the direction on the path. It looked a hundred miles long to Betsy now.

"Giddyap!"

Again the quirt slapped her thigh. Just enough to be annoying. Betsy had no choice but to begin her trek. Tara's remark about loss of options became quite clear now. At that point Betsy would have liked nothing better that to use that damned quirt on her. Betsy leaned forward and began moving slowly up the path. Despite her predicament the chain through her crotch began to work its magic. By the time they had gone one hundred yards she was breathing harder from excitement than from exertion. Tara must have sensed something. She dropped the reins and reached around to grasp Betsy's nipples between thumb and forefinger. Betsy halted and moaned. Now Tara made use of her booted feet to goad Betsy forward. She leaned forward to whisper in Betsy's ear. "C'mon horsey, just a little farther. Good horsey, keep going, don't stop."

Somehow she managed to continue. The path curved ten yards ahead. Tara pulled on the corresponding nipple to guide Betsy toward it. They reached the edge and Betsy fell to her knees. Tara dismounted and stood before the girl. She ran a hand through the auburn hair. "I should have given you a pony tail."

Betsy pressed her face against the leather chaps and reveled in the scent. Tara unbuckled the bit straps, letting it fall to the grass. "You are so God damned beautiful Betsy. I get wet just looking at you. And I'm not gay either."

Betsy looked up to the woman with a start. Their eyes met. Betsy smiled. Soon they were both in the throws of laughter. Tara knelt to face Betsy. The glow of friendship touched them both. "You understand now don't you?"

"I understand. Thank you."

Tara allowed Betsy to walk back to the house unridden. The saddle was removed upon their return, and Betsy was led to a room she hadn't seen before.

The ceiling rose twenty feet to a domed skylight. White marble covered each wall, but was visible only above the ten foot high bookshelves that surrounded the room. The titles ranged from mathematics to philosophy to science fiction to classic literature. A grey marble desk dominated the room with its twelve feet by six austerely reflected in the black marble floor. Betsy's shoes rang out brightly as she paced along the books. Robert entered at the opposite end of the room through a door concealed by the marble. He was able to slip into the glove leather executive chair without Betsy noticing. She turned sharply at the sound of his voice, nearly losing her balance on the slick marble. "So, you think you've learned something."

"Yes."

"Come over here where I can see you better.", he pointed to a spot a few feet in front of the desk. She covered the distance gingerly as her shoes afforded little traction. Robert examined Betsy while she studied the swirls of the marble floor at her feet. He like what he saw very much. Her deportment contained much dignity considering the chains and manacles on her wrists, knees and waist. Her balance had improved since her walk Tara's diabolical "shoes" complemented Betsy's slim ankles and excellent legs perfectly. "So tell me what you've learned.", he sank back in the chair, gently interlacing his fingers. He reminded Betsy of a school principal, albeit a rather kinky one. "It's hard to explain."

"Do your best, but do it now."

She regarded Robert. "I've learned that I'm a source of power and control."

"Go on."

"Go on?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the grey marble, "You seem determined to drag this thing out. Assuming you have indeed learned something, you need some incentive to explain it. Kneel."

The unyielding marble made an immediate impact on her manacled knees. She couldn't stay that way long. "Now, go on."

She smiled up at him, "It revolves around appearances. By appearance I am subjugated, and you are the one with power. In reality it's the reverse. I've seen the way you've looked at me, with respect, even awe. I felt it when you made love to me. I'd never experienced that before... It took me by surprise. I gain power by submitting, by the effect I create on you... Tara too."

Robert smiled down at her. "Arise, oh learned one. It's nice to know my efforts haven't been wasted. Heaven knows they have been in the past."

"I'm glad I didn't disappoint you."

"There is one more thing to accomplish, if you want to graduate."

Tara didn't hear Betsy enter the bathroom, partly due to the fact that the shower was running, and partly due to the fact Betsy no longer clinked or clicked. For the first time in over forty eight hours Betsy was wearing clothes and enjoying full freedom of movement. Quietly, Betsy laid out the contents of her arms on the counter. Her supplies consisted of a tapered leather "glove" two and a half feet long. The narrow end was sealed. The wide end was open and straps were attached at each end of the opening. A leather gag and an assortment of straps completed her kit. Betsy waited patiently while Tara finished her shower. Finally the water was shut off. Betsy backed further against the wall, a two foot leather strap in her hand. Robert told her Tara liked to struggle, so Betsy hoped the element of surprise would work in her favor. The glass door of the shower enclosure opened suddenly toward Betsy. Tara stepped out and reached for the robe hanging from the hook opposite Betsy's hiding place. Betsy pounced. In one swift movement she pinned Tara against the wall. "What the hell?"

"The worm turns, Tara dear."

Tara's struggles made no progress against Betsy's full weight pressing her against the wall. Betsy pulled first one arm then the other behind Tara's back. The strap pulled them together above the elbow. Betsy held Tara by the dripping hair with one hand and grabbed the "glove" with the other. Slipping onto Tara's arms was quite easy. The straps criss-crossed over her breasts and buckled securely under her armpits. Three more straps attached laterally along the glove. One above the elbows, one below, and a third just above the wrists. Betsy cinched these as far as she could. Tara's elbows touched within their leather confines. The gag was next. She held it up to Tara's gaze.

"Forget it Betsy."

"Oh come now, be a good girl."

Tara turned her face to the wall. "Fuck you, dear."

With no hesitation, Betsy spun Tara around, back to the wall, and smiling grabbed a handful of her dark pubic hair. The leather pear slipped easily into Tara's mouth. The tapering strap was just narrow enough in front to let Tara's lovely lips protrude over the top and bottom. She moved Tara to face the mirror. Betsy wiped the steam away with her hand. "Now tell me you don't look lovely." Tara didn't say a word. Betsy placed a wide strap around Tara's waist. A second strap hung from the back of the waist strap, which was threaded through Tara's crotch and buckled firmly in front. A leash was attached above Tara's mound, and she was led to Robert in this fashion.

Robert still sat behind his desk. He looked up from his book when the two women entered. "Tara, is that a new outfit?"

"See, I told you he'd like it. Now kneel for him."

Tara shook her head adamantly. resorting to the pubic hair again, Betsy coaxed her into a kneeling position. She treaded a long strap through the back of Tara's gag and secured it to a strap at her ankles. Another strap went through the ring at the base of the glove and then around her knees. Tara knelt obediently, her face toward the ceiling.

Robert came around the front of the desk. "This is quite an occasion, isn't it, Tara? How long has it been since we've had an advanced graduate? A long time. I know it's been along time because I can't remember the last time I've seen you like this, Tara my love." Robert bent down and kissed her.