Looking back toward the house and barns from the grassy infield it seemed as though the numbers had been arranged incorrectly. The numbers ran backward, starting from 1 on the right, to 12 on the far left. The brown, crudely painted, wooden plaques bearing yellow numerals hung on a curved wooden fence that swept a broad convex line, bowed around a flagstone terrace. At a glance the arrangement appeared all wrong, jumbled and disconnected. It was a strange, unsettling sight.

From the other side of the fence, however, the matching set of placards, now facing inward, looked just right, arranged from left to right as they were supposed to be. For anyone standing within the concave terrace there was an easy view of all the positions. Even from the raised portion of the terrace, nearer the house, it was all easily accessible to the eye. And that was also as it was supposed to be, a feast for the eyes. The spectacle was carefully arranged not only for the enjoyment of the riders, although that was crucial, though equally for the gratification of the spectators.

At this early hour there were neither spectators nor participants at the fence or out on the terrace. The few onlookers lounged at the side of the house across from the barns, close to the small corrals, awaiting the initial preparations. Most stood together easy and relaxed, drinking coffee from cardboard cups and eating donuts. Two riders, awaiting their rented mounts, paced nervously.

The door to the barn swung open and the first one was led out, a lovely, tall, long-legged woman in her mid-twenties, her thick reddish blond hair done up in a long ponytail. She walked, head lowered, several feet behind the scruffy young man holding the lead rope. Her hands were bound behind her back and, except for a pair of large, dangling, silver earrings she was barefoot and naked, wearing nothing at all. The handsome woman looked straight ahead, as though she were not there, pretending to be unaware of the dozen or so men scrutinizing her naked body. Without exception they were fascinated by the woman’s full breasts and by the long, dark brown nipples contrasting sharply against her otherwise pale skin. “That’s a good start,” one of the men whispered to his friend. “She’s a real honey,” the friend murmured in reply.

The man leading that honey pulled open the gate to one of the small enclosures. “This here’s Alicia. Who gets her?” A short, balding man with dull reddish hair and a thin mustache stepped toward the open gate. He ran a hand nervously across his forehead and in an effort to steady his nerves, stroked his little mustache. “Here,” he managed. “Me.” He combed his mustache several times with the back of his index finger, a long-standing habit he had developed to calm his nerves.

“Name?” The handler shortened his grip on the woman’s line. The small man didn’t answer. “What’s your name?” The handler said again, this time louder.

“Arthur.”

“Okay, Arthur. I’ll help you get her rigged out. Alright?”

“Sure,” Arthur answered, a bit uncertainly.

“Close the gate.” That simple act was more difficult than it should have been because Arthur kept turning his head to keep the naked woman in his sights, as though she would disappear and the whole scene evaporate if he looked away. When, at last, the gate was closed, the handler told Arthur to retrieve the belt. “It’s hanging right there, next to the gate.” Tightening his hold on the rope circling the woman’s long neck, the handler moved close behind her. The brown leather belt was blotchy and discolored from long use. The blond woman tried to shy back as Arthur slid the belt around her waist. The handler, accustomed to such behavior, pushed his knee into the back of her leg, which immediately buckled. He swung the free end of the rope and it slapped against her soft belly. “You behave,” he hissed at the woman. “Just take it easy,” he said in her ear. “It all goes so much easier if you’re a good girl.”

“Really tight,” the handler said to Arthur. “Really tight. Everything else hooks on to that belt, so it’s got to be firmly in place. Come on. Pull it. Don’t be afraid. She won’t break.” The belt must have been almost six inches wide and stretched from the top of her hips to just below her ribs. “Take it in one more notch.” She exhaled with a grunt when Arthur tugged the belt that little bit further. Next the handler had Arthur attach the bungee cords that stretched from opposing sides of the corral to rings on her belt, effectively keeping her fixed and still in the center of the small enclosure. “One more thing before we start. See the small straps there. Fasten one to each wrist and as I untie her hands you attach the other end to the lowest ring on the belt.”

Alicia glanced down at the leather cuffs. In a moment one of them closed around her right wrist. A moment later the other was fastened. Arthur snapped the leads holding the cuffs to the belt. Then it was done. Though Alicia’s hands were no longer fastened behind her back, she couldn’t move them more than a few inches back and forth. “Beside the obvious, they’re for balance, when she’s moving,” the handler explained, slipping the rope from Alicia’s neck. Relieved, she twisted her neck back and forth. “That’s better, isn’t it darlin?” He threw the rope to the ground and patted her rump.

Arthur, mesmerized at what was just in front of him, didn’t hear the man. “Arthur,” he repeated. “Take that tube from the box. Sunscreen,” he said, when Arthur held it up. “We don’t want her to get sun burnt, do we?”

With exquisite care, Arthur squeezed a small amount of the lotion on his finger. He began by spreading the thick, silver white gel on one brown nipple. Moving outward, he worked his fingers slowly around Alicia’s firm breast. After covering her other breast, Arthur rubbed her neck, her face, her stomach, finally ducking under the cords he started on her back, to spend a long time on her buttocks before leaning down to rub the backs of Alicia’s legs. At last he was finished and Alicia’s skin glistened under the lotion.

“Put the shoes on. You can use the stool.” Arthur preferred to kneel as he strapped up the canvas topped, baby blue canvas sneakers, wedged to raise the heel. The design made it possible for her to run over the rough ground. More importantly, like high-heeled shoes, they enhanced the shape of her legs, stretching the calf muscles so they made a more elegant line. As he wound the straps above her ankle, Arthur pressed his face into her pubic hairs, kissing her pudenda.

“Now, the halter, the thing that looks like suspenders. That’s right. Fit those straps through the brass colored rings at the back. See there, the rings are all either brass or silver. The brass ones fit other parts of the apparatus. The silver ones are for reins or traces. Got it?”

Alicia stood unmoving as he slowly tightened each of the straps at her back. If she could have, she would have tried at least to make it more difficult for him, only her flashing eyes and wiggling fingers showed her displeasure at what was happening and neither of the men were paying the slightest attention to her eyes or fingers. “Pull the halter over her shoulders. Okay. Come around to the front. Watch the cord. Cross the halter between the tits and fasten the front straps just as you did with the ones in the back, making sure of each one.”

“Alicia,” Arthur whispered as he pulled the straps snug and tight. “Alicia. I like that name.” He rubbed his mouth against her breast, taking a nipple between his lips. She tried to back away, but only the minutest movements were possible.

“This one is the bridle. Fasten it to the halter on the back, just at her shoulders. Right,” he encouraged. “Now pull it over her head.” The metal pieces clanked at the sides of her face as Arthur pulled the strap across her forehead. Like two fighters at the start of a heavyweight bout, they stared into each other’s eyes. “Put the bit into her mouth.”

At that Alicia decided that she’d had enough. They might have gone this far with her, she told herself, this was the end, no further. They had reached the end of the line. He swiveled the round chrome bar until it pushed up against her lips. Alicia kept her mouth resolutely shut. She let them harness her and she would even pull a cart if she was forced to, but she wasn’t having that metal thing shoved inside her mouth. She was determined. Frightened yet adamant, she waited for the blows. Nothing happened. She looked at the men who seemed neither surprised nor concerned.

“Alright. Go ahead. Do what I told you.” Alicia braced for the blow but none came.

Arthur stroked his mustache and with his thumb and forefinger, clamped on to her nostrils just below the bridge of her nose. For the first minute or so nothing happened. At last the burning in her lungs was overwhelming and she could hold out no longer. Alicia gasped for a breath. The air tasted sweet and good as she gasped to fill her screaming lungs. But immediately as she took the saving breath he shoved the silver bar into her open mouth until it rested on top of her teeth. He jerked it backward so it pulled against her cheeks. There was a snap and a click and the bit was firmly in place.

She tried to curse, either the men or the gods. But all she managed were some inarticulate, animal-like sounds. Frustrated at her inability to speak, she tried even harder, making louder though less coherent noises. The men watched her without comment. At last she was silent. The handler checked the apparatus, made one or two small adjustments, and pronounced himself satisfied. “Good job.” Arthur was greatly relieved to have the man’s approval.

Only now, immobile, unable to speak, did she notice Jonathan, the college boy who controlled so much of her life, standing quietly at the side of the barn, scrutinizing her with a fierce intensity. Alicia Brix was a junior college mathematics teacher. Several years ago, Jonathan had been her student. It was her first year as a full time teacher. She found a darling little house, just across from a park, not far from school, on a quiet street, a cul de sac, without close neighbors. The large bay windows looked out on trees and trails. Alicia couldn’t have been happier. It had been a lucky find. Driving around in search of the school, she had taken a wrong turn and ended up in front of a house with its small For Rent sign.

Alicia was pleased with her new teaching job. The students, sons and daughters of professors and doctors and engineers, were smart and attentive. Her colleagues seemed pleasant and helpful. Alicia thought, for the thousandth time, that she should never have been in this situation. What had she been thinking? How did they get her to go along? Was she drunk? She didn’t think so. How had they drugged her? It had to be something like that or else none of it would have happened. It was several years ago, during that first year of teaching at the junior college. She hadn’t planned on being a junior college mathematics teacher. She only took the credential to have something to fall back on while she was deciding what she did want to do. After four years away at college, a year traveling, some time near home seeing her father, helping him around the house and assisting with his church work, seemed like a nice idea. She had the credential.

Things were going well and smoothly, though she was learning how to teach mathematics and working quite hard. On a weekend morning in late winter, Alicia was distressed to find that her car had a flat tire. It was a cold, grey day with a bitter wind and some snowflakes in the air. She wished that she had one of those services that came out to wherever you were and changed the tire or started up a dead battery. A young couple passing by stopped and greeted her by name. The girl, who Alicia recognized from school, was small and thin with long, straight, red hair. She immediately offered her boyfriend’s services. Alicia, whose hands were already cold, accepted. The two females, teacher and student, retreated inside the little house Alicia rented, while the boy set about changing the tire. After that, things were a bit of a blur in Alicia’s memory. There was coffee. She offered the girl, whose name was Lucille, a cup of coffee. Alicia brought out cream and sugar. They sat in Alicia’s living room, drank their coffee, and made halting conversation. Everything seemed to go pink and relaxed. Lucille asked if there were some liquor in the house, to help against the cold, she said. Amazingly, Alicia poured the girl a drink and, more amazingly, took one herself.

The next thing Alicia hazily recalled was Lucille telling her, or maybe just asking her, to stand in the middle of the room. Lucille nodded her approval and told Miss Brix to put her hands on her hips. When Alicia complied she was rewarded by a big smile, which, Alicia remembered, she found quite reassuring. “Very good, Miss Brix,” Lucille said encouragingly. It seemed so important to have the girl’s approval. “That’s a good girl,” Lucille said softly. The girl sat in one of the ladder back chairs regarding the blond schoolteacher, a satisfied smile in the girl’s eyes as they darted up and down.

“What shall I do now?” Alicia asked hesitantly, completely unsure of herself.

“You must speak only when spoken to, Miss Brix. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lucille.”

“If you don’t do everything I tell you, we will have to punish you. We don’t want that. Do we, Miss Brix?” Alicia shook her head. For what seemed a very long time, Alicia Brix stood almost motionless, her hands on her hips, the subject of Lucille’s intense consideration. Even when the door opened, and the cold made her shiver, she didn’t move. At last Lucille said, “turn around, Miss Brix, all the way around.”

What was the red-haired girl saying? Why did she want her to turn around? Alicia squinted at the girl, trying to understand the order, trying to fix on what she was supposed to do.

Lucille jumped from the chair. Grabbing the teacher’s earlobe, Lucille pulled her around in a full circle. “Do you understand now?” The girl’s voice was harsh and grating. Alicia Brix trembled. The girl raised her hand and there was a loud, flat sound as her open palm crashed against the teacher’s cheek. Alicia’s first reaction was to lift up her own hand, to ward off another blow, to rub the painful spot. “Hands at your sides, Miss Brix,” Lucille hissed. Alicia obeyed.

“Let us try again.” Lucille moved back. “Turn in place, Miss Brix.” Alicia began a slow, flat-footed pirouette. “That’s a good girl,” Lucille cooed. “Very good.”

Puzzled by a sudden burst of activity, Alicia squinted at the two young people in confusion. “These are the cameras, Miss Brix. We want to photograph you. Won’t that be nice?” When the tripods and cameras were in place, Lucille told Miss Brix to start undressing. There was something wrong about taking off her clothing in front of two students but Alicia couldn’t figure out what it was. She hesitated.

“Miss Brix.” The girl’s voice remained sweet and cajoling.

“What?” she asked.

“You have to do as you are told.” Lucille rose from her chair and raised her hand as though to strike the teacher. Alicia cringed. The lesson had been learned. Lucille regained her seat. “Now, please take off your sweater.”

Alicia Brix was rewarded with a bright smile as she pulled the blue, woolen sweater up over her head.

“Now the bra.”

Jonathan looked up from what he was doing, amazed and fascinated by the mathematics teacher’s breasts. Barbara Larimer, the other teacher he was involved with, had puffy ones, like balloons or melons. Lucille’s little ones were like a pair of fried eggs, with wide bright yolks in the center. He glanced over at Lucille but her attention was focused on the teacher. Miss Brix’s breasts were shaped like torpedoes, not round but elongated, jutting aggressively from high on her chest. Her nipples were long, thin pipes extending from surrounding aureoles darker than her breasts themselves. Her nipples were brown. An odd, interesting contrast, he thought, as pleasurable as it was wholly unexpected.

“That’s very good. Very good indeed, Miss Brix. Isn’t she being good, Jonathan?” Without waiting for an answer Lucille turned back to the school teacher. “Remove your shoes. That’s right,” Lucille said when Alicia Brix obeyed. “And the slacks. Okay. Now the panty hose, and the panties.”

Alicia Brix frowned. Something wasn’t right. She shouldn’t be doing this. Alicia shook her head. “Miss Brix, you have to do what you’re told. You don’t want me to have to punish you again, do you?” Lucille moved next to the teacher. “Miss Brix,” she said sharply, “do as you are told.” Clamping her thumb and forefinger on to Alicia’s long nipple, Lucille squeezed until the teacher cried out. Obviously frightened and in pain, Alicia hastily removed her panty hose and her panties.

She stood in the middle of her living room, silently scrutinized by two youngsters who seemed to be lost in contemplation of her naked body. The girl gently rubbed her bare shoulder. “That’s good. You’re doing just fine.” Lucille stepped back.

“Hands on hips. That’s right. Now push those hips forward. Now round and round. Slower, Miss Brix. Slower. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of girls performing. You need to do it like that.”

Alicia Brix frowned, feeling a terrible sense of unease. She looked to the young man fitting a camera on top of a tripod. No, she couldn’t let them do this. It was imperative that she tell them to stop. “Bump and grind, Miss Brix. Bump and grind. You can do it. That’s right,” the girl said sweetly as Alicia Brix pressed herself back and forth.

Lucille turned to Jonathan, “almost ready?” she asked.

“Those two are recording. I’ll have this other one up in a minute or two. You can keep going just with those.”

“Keep those hips moving, Miss Brix. Round and round. That’s right. Just like that. Round and round. Now lean forward. Shake those boobs for us. Good, Miss Brix. Very good. Isn’t she good, Jonathan? Hold your boobs up for us to see them. That’s right. Now altogether. Hips moving, boobs shaking and a nice pouty mouth.” When Alicia Brix managed the performance, Lucille clapped her hands in appreciation.

Alicia Brix glanced about, trying to make sense of her surroundings, to understand what these young people were saying, and why she was naked and acting this way. “Alright,” the young man announced, “all three cameras up and going.”

Alicia Brix froze, dreadfully aware of her peril. She felt herself right at the edge of a precipice, dangerously close to something horrible. Once, in high school, she had been in an accident. She was in the passenger seat when the car she was riding in skidded out of control, careened across the grass and slammed into a tree. She was bruised but not seriously hurt. But that feeling had been indelibly etched in her mind. Here was something terrible and she was clear headed enough to see it coming but unable to change the course of events. Alicia Brix stood absolutely still. She had to retrieve her clothing and dispatch these two youngsters.

‘Miss Brix!” the voice was sharp and angry. Alicia felt her heart race, her scalp tingled. There was the recollection of fear and pain. “Miss Brix,” Lucille repeated, “look over here.” Alicia’s eyes found the girl with the long red hair and bright green eyes whose approval seemed so important. Alicia felt much calmer, reassured. There came the moment when the car stopped moving. She looked over at the boy who was driving. “Are you okay?” He shook his head. Alicia felt a great relief. “Put your hands back on your hips.” Alicia did as she was told. “Open your mouth just a little and lick your lips. That’s perfect, Miss Brix. Just right.” Alicia received the praise gratefully. “Thrust your pelvis forward. Shove it out there. Splendid. Splendid.”

“That’s fine, you can stop now. Lean forward a little. Just like that. Stroke your nipples.” Alicia looked down at her bare breasts and began caressing them gently with the tips of her fingernails. “Take one hand and stimulate yourself. Like you meant it, Miss Brix. Smile. Look pleased. You are enjoying this, aren’t you? Yes. It feels good.” Alicia Brix had not masturbated often and when she did it was always with a feeling more of dread than guilt, dread that she would be punished for such behavior. And yet here she was, her left hand stimulating her nipple, her right stroking between her legs. She slowed her activity and looked around, feeling uncertain but slightly less lost. It was impossible. She couldn’t be doing this.

Concerned that the drug was wearing off, Lucille gave Alicia Brix another drink. When the teacher became woozy again, they took pictures. The session lasted for more than two hours, posing her first with one while the other moved the cameras, later they alternated roles. There were pictures and videotapes of simulated sex and actual sex with Lucille, with Jonathan and sometimes both together; pictures of Alicia on her knees, tongue extended, her face pressed between Lucille’s legs, or taking Jonathan in her mouth. They attached manacles to her wrists, chained her ankles and made her crawl across the floor. Stimulated, Lucille played horse and rider, straddling the teacher’s back, using her blond hair for reins with one hand and slapping the woman’s rump with the other. “Yahoo!” Lucille shouted as she rode Miss Brix from living room to dining room and back again “Ride ‘em cowboy,” she shouted urging Miss Brix to try to buck her off.

“I’m sure,” Jonathan said the next day as he walked unannounced and uninvited into her small office at school, “that those pictures would prove to be an embarrassment at school and, even worse, at your father’s church. The police, too, would be interested to see how you instruct your students.” He sat on the edge of the desk in her small office. “Oh, here. I made you some copies.” He handed her two videotapes. “You might want to watch these at home some time, since you probably don’t remember too much of what went on.” He glanced around. “Don’t you think you should close the door?”

When she turned back from the door, Jonathan was sitting at her desk, leaning well back in her chair, his hands linked behind his head. “Roofies,” he announced. She looked at him uncertainly. “That’s what they’re called, the drugs we gave you. They’re called roofies. Real name, Rohypnol. Causes loss of inhibition, relaxation and amnesia. Y’know the kid they call `Farmer Ed’? Always wears a bright plaid shirt. Got nothing to do with farms or farming. He’s a walking pharmacy. So, Farmer Ed. Get it.” He leaned toward her to pat her stomach. “Stand still,” he snapped when Alicia started to back away.

In college, Alicia heard about date-rape drugs and the warnings to avoid situations in which something might happen to her. At the time, the possibility seemed so strange and distant that she never thought about it again.

The demands, he made clear, would not be too awful. After all, it was in their interest to be sure that going along would always be preferable to the alternative. Discrete visits to her house. Yes, of course, Lucille would sometimes visit. They shared the conquest and were going to share the rewards. Sure, they would sometime be there at the same time. Alicia would learn to please them both at once. Not knowing how to refuse, worried about what the publicity would do to her father, Alicia agreed. The job, even the police, she could deal with but not the pain it would cause her father, the Reverend, to see those pictures and videotapes.

Jonathan looked her up and down, pleased with his new acquisition. It was still too soon, he decided, but before long he’d take Miss Brix right here in her little office. Let her get accustomed to her new role and more habituated to submission. “I’ll be over tonight and we can watch the tapes together.” She would be amazed, he thought, if she knew half the things that Jonathan had in mind for her.

For almost three years, they had used her. Alicia really believed that once Jonathan and Lucille graduated it would be the end of her servitude. But they had no desire to end the relationship and it continued though Jonathan was now in college. This morning Jonathan bundled her into the car and they had driven out here, far away from the city. Brought back to reality with a violent jerk, Alicia watched helplessly as Arthur attached the double sets of reins, on opposite sides of the bit in her mouth and one each at the shoulder blades. “Walk her out,” the handler said, opening the gate to the corral. “Walk her out.” When she didn’t move, Arthur, now standing behind her, flapped the reins. She still didn’t move, that is, until the whip cracked across her back. Alicia started forward. “Trot her over there,” the handler pointed to a spot at the other side of the house. He slapped a large, round sticker on her hip. “You’re number 3, okay?”