“Beautifully functional, Mr. Assad, I’m not going to look at those objects hanging on the wall over there. If I did I’d probably turn and run.”
“You are not the running kind, madam.” Assad’s regard paid sparkling tribute. “May I say how much I admire our President’s choice of attire for you.”
“Oh, my ball gown!” Caroline giggled. “It’s symbolic, y’know. The President felt it added a little flair.”
“It adds more than that. I find it highly erotic. Do you wish now to commence our proceedings?”
“If I don’t I’ll tremble myself to bits. I expect those straps up there are intended for my wrists?”
“You are most perceptive. I am grateful for your approach to this adventure. If you will position yourself I will use this bench . . .”
The height must have been measured. She could just reach. But then—there were her high heels . . . ? As the soft leather possessed her wrists she exclaimed: “Assad, my gloves!”
“On this occasion we will leave them on, madam. They achieve a certain effect . . . !”
Another giggle. “Are you sure you’re not a dirty old man?”
“All men adore beauty, Mrs. Dowling. You are beautiful.”
It was of the utmost simplicity. A strap round each slender wrist, tightly buckled, the end neatly looped. Mrs. Caroline Dowling would have to stand there forever, with arms high and wide, unless someone chose to free her.
“Oh gollies, I’ve sort of had it, haven’t I!”
“You have indeed! You are most exquisitely available. I am powerfully affected.”
“So I notice,” Caroline said drily. “Are you going to use that in me too?”
“You belong to our President.” Assad’s tone held reproof.
“The faithful steward! I suspect you’re a good man, Mr. Assad. Now! What about clothes? I’m curious.”
“You lose them.”
“Oh oh, the maximum shame!” The strapped girl chuckled. “Well, anyway I sort of guessed. I’ve put on all I can for you—it’s not much.” Caroline wished she was maiden and innocent, her flesh virgin to the sight of men. This moment, then, would be excruciatingly shivery, her blush a crimson cowl of cringing mortification. Inured as she was to nudity, some impact was lost. But not all! The choice of gowned elegance, her strapped wrists, the glowing regard of the dark eyes, now so close, and the deft dexterity of dark hands upon feminine fastenings was potent. Her pulse raced. She wished Khalief was present to witness his masterpiece. And yet! Alone with Assad—alone—!
The gown fell away, revealing the erotically teasing trifles she had deliberately donned. Mr. Assad stepped back in homage. He was in no hurry.
“You don’t think them a bit trite? I mean, they’ve been used so much in magazines.”
“They make you more than heart’s desire.”
“Thank you.”
“You do not mind if I—admire?”
“I’m afraid I like it. I’m thoroughly naughty. And isn’t this one of the reasons I’m strapped up nice and tight? I mean, I just have to stand here, don’t I!”
“I’m afraid so.” Assad had the absent air of an artist gauging perspectives with his model. “I will leave upon you the garter belt and nylons . . .” He gestured resignedly. “Trite perhaps, but on you a beauty to clutch the heart.”
Caroline was afire with sensation. She twisted ecstatically against the bands about her wrists. “See, I cringe before your lustful eyes,” she said demurely. “Isn’t it delightful! Oh, and the shoulder straps of my bra unhook . . . But tear them away brutally if you’d enjoy.”
Assad tore them from her in a sudden sweep of powerful fingers. The tiny panties followed. To sunder them took a wrench hard enough to hurt her crotch. She gasped, breasts heaving, hips swaying. More femalely nude than nakedness. “Mmmmmm! Oh—oh, you did that wonderfully . . .” She was breathless.
“And now I must thrash you, madam.”
“Yes! Oh yes!”
“You like it?”
“I don’t know. I—I—oh, I’m so silly! I have liked—. What are you going to use on me?”
“The President’s orders, ma’am. A strap.”
“Yes, of course. It won’t cut—?”
“Among those who deal in such matters it is considered mild.”
“Look, Assad, if I make a noise—”
“You are not to be gagged, madam.”
“Oh shit! I hate yelping. I’ll never manage to keep quiet.”
“You may surprise yourself.” Assad was fondling two feet of supple leather that looked somehow lethal. He smiled with a flash of white teeth. “You are in the enviable position of being completely uninhibited within the limits of your restraints.”
“Uninhibited, my Aunt Fanny! All I can do is kick and howl.” She wrinkled her nose at him provocatively. “Why don’t you tie my feet?”
“The rope would ruin your nylons and spoil the aestheticism of the femininity you wear.”
“Dammit, Assad, you’ve done this before—?”
It was a shock to discover that to use the strap on her there was no need to go back out of sight. The sweep of his arm was an instant flash. The impact of the leather on her skin began past one hip and cracked noisily across the near cheek of her rump. She squealed in shock.
“Ow, ouch! I wasn’t expecting—!”
He was behind her now. The air snickered. The strap splatted resoundingly across both curves. Fire exploded beneath the blow, but the willing victim had clenched her teeth and emitted only a muted moan.
“Oh wow! I say, Assad, give me a minute—”
“The executioner changes side after each infliction, madam. He will do this slowly, but these are the only pauses.”
“Oh jeepers! But this is just the first—!” Number three made the loudest sound of all. Beneath its scald Caroline raised her nudity from the stone by her strapped wrists, kicking wildly. “Dammit, man!” she gasped. “Can’t you start me a bit easier?”
“There is an element of shock in these first blows, Mrs. Dowling. One of the purposes of this exercise is to accustom you to this natural response so you can settle down to the main portion of your punishment with equanimity.”
“That fool word—! I’ll never manage—oh, wow! Ahhhhh—!”
Caroline managed. In fact, she managed very well. As she wryly told herself, she damn well had to! When it was done, her bottom burned but she was elated. When her wrists were released she kissed a startled Assad on his forehead and fled in search of a mirror in which to assess her bottom’s response to the leather.
It took only three days for her resilient flesh to ready itself for the next.
“The strap is dramatically noisy, its sting shocks, but the marks it leaves upon your skin are superficial, madam.”
“My bottom agrees with you, Assad,” Caroline admitted wryly as she inserted her hands within the waiting loops and felt them draw tight. “But I’m trembling almost as much as last time.”
“No one expects an instant adjustment, Mrs. Dowling. What you are undertaking is really an heroic progression to something most women would see as fearful beyond words.”
“Don’t think I don’t sometimes see it like that. What awful step am I promoted to today?”
“Complete nudity, Mrs. Dowling, and a greater number of strokes with the same instrument.”
“All hard, I suppose? And for Pete’s sake don’t call it an instrument! It sounds awful.”
“All hard, madam—harder—!”
The marks upon her scarlet bottom sped the days. The whipped girl knew them happy. Her hours with Khalief drove Assad and his straps into the mists. Caroline learned the lessons of her flesh in a steady advance to the day she dreaded.
“The strap is dead, madam. Long live the whip.”
“Oh, Assad, don’t joke! I suspect we’ve just been playing. Now I’m going to scream.”