East Coast Slaver Organization Story - IV

Chapter 03 – The Doctor's Vacation (or Yes, What a Rush)

Aaron Clarke, sole owner and chief executive officer of the East Coast Slavers Organization (ECSO), pulled his spent dick out of the tight, clasping pussy and rolled over with a groan. He had just finished a marathon fuck session on his sailing yacht Destiny's king-size master bed with the luscious Doctor Rachael Patricia Quaid. Aaron, known to Doctor Quaid as Robert Morgan, had called her just hours before to let her know he would be arriving at her clinic's pier located not far from Fort-de-France, Martinique. He had a set of favors to ask.

After Robert had tied off a mooring line to a cleat on the clinic's dock, he had been immediately surprised by her passionate squeal of welcome and the sex that followed within minutes. Despite keeping in touch over the last few months, Robert knew well that the last time he had seen her, she was intentionally left in a precarious position; bound down while a tattooist and a doctor prepared to make bodily modifications on her unwilling form. Robert had forced her to participate as a submissive in a celebratory fuck after picking out her new clinic site. Then, he had left her bound while a tattooist sunk his cock into her just fucked twat as partial payment for placing a tattoo over her pussy and giving her some piercings. A west coast doctor stood nearby, getting his equipment, and his dick, ready for additional surgery and a chance to try out her tight ass.

Robert's critical eye admired the trim redhead's new C cup breasts. He remembered making a comment to her in a goodbye note that whenever she had sex and her new tits jiggled about, she would think of him. "Her tits really did jump around like Jell-O on a hotplate," he thought, the idea making his dick jump. He still thought it was funny that the pretty redhead kept her hair blonde. His eyes looked to her single pierced nipple, with a small gold ring and a short golden chain dangling from it. "She never took off her nipple ring and her clit ring is still there too, along with the identical golden chain. Good thing it's too short to get caught in her pussy when we're fucking. I'll bet it pulls the clit about nicely though!"

Just above Rachel's pussy was a tattoo that proclaimed her 'Roberts Slut Toy – Kitty' reflecting her pet name when acting the submissive . Robert's fingers traced the tattoo's pattern through her matted pubic hair. "I'll have to get her to shave this properly. After all, I can't have my property hiding their brand," Robert muttered with a grin.

Rachael groaned and rolled over onto her tummy, next to him. "Oh, God," she thought. "I remember how perfect his cock was. Eiii, I needed that fucking. It was way too long since, …" and her inner voice stopped as she remembered the last time they had sex at her clinic. She came up on all fours and scooted over his body. She licked his sweaty chest and said, "You better be careful around me stud, just in case I've not forgiven you for what you did to me."

Robert brought his hands down to her luscious ass cheeks and squeezed her butt hard. "Remember what I did? Kitty, I kept you alive, … I kept you from whoring in a mining camp, … I negotiated a deal that left you rich, independent, and with the clinic of your dreams. That's what you better remember."

A moan of lust escaped Rachael's throat as he recapitulated his deeds on her behalf. "Well," she purred, "all that's true, but maybe you went a little overboard with your insurance program." Then she pouted, "But I am upset that you let those little toads have me as part of their compensation."

Robert laughed and then suckled at her salty throat. "I thought you would have complained about the breast implants, the two piercings, and the watchdog in your ovaries. Women are so funny. If I remember right, you exploded in passion at the thought of being used. I bet you've masturbated often thinking about that night and the note that I left you."

A hot wave of humiliation flushed through her body at the truth of his statement. "You really do know me," she whispered huskily. "Oh, God! You're hard again." She grabbed the head of his cock and thumped it across her clit chain; she arched her head back and moaned at the wonderfully enhanced stimulation from the ornament. "You're dick head is so big," she groaned as she poised the fat head at her drooling pussy.

Robert groaned and rolled off the horny doctor. He yanked off the bulging used condom and wiped himself clean with a handy damp washcloth from an ornamental plate on the nightstand. Without losing a second, another condom foil was stuck between his teeth and he ripped it open. Fresh condom on his fat cock, he grabbed his lover and yanked her atop his body again. "Put it in, you little cock hound," he ordered.

"Oh, I follow your orders so happily," she said in fake subservience while she eagerly stuffed the dick back against her cunt lips. "Eiii," she howled as she sank down hard on the big pecker. "Yes, fuck me," she said with satisfaction as her hips started to rock against his pelvis.

"No!" Robert commanded in an emotional voice, "In this position, you fuck me!"

--L--A--T--E--R--

Robert sat in a beach chair and admired Rachael's luscious ass. She was wearing only the bottom half of a blue thong and was sunning herself, topless, on her beach next to the pier where Destiny bobbed gently on the calm bay waters. She reclined on her elbow, head cocked back to listen to what he had to say.

"So that's why you sent me the specifications for modifications you have been doing on your latest victims," she said. "Yes, I'll do what you want and then come to Miami for at least the next three weeks. This is rather delicious isn't it?"

Robert held his cold Pacifico Beer up in a toast to the helpful doctor. "Yes," he said, "it is rather ironic; after all, the little slut volunteered."

"Remind me not to fuck up and volunteer like that," she said with all seriousness. "I know you won't lie in a deal and would never renege on an agreement. But your version of an honorable contract can have hidden thorns. You are, after all, a scoundrel at heart."

"Ummm," Robert agreed. "That's business. Both parties better pay attention during negotiations. If people focus too much on what they want, then often they end up agreeing to be screwed in the deal without knowing all the consequences." Robert took a final sip of his Pacifico Beer and muttered, "You finish sunning here and I'll get the package set up for you in the clinic."

Robert threw the cover off a bench seat in the dining room of Destiny. A sweaty and bedraggled slave was bound tightly within. A harsh gag and bondage hood with eye patches covered her head. The long ponytail of a brunette stuck out an opening at the rear of the leather hood. Other than the bondage gear, she was naked. Robert reached in and picked her up. "Time to start your adventure, Little Ponygirl," he whispered.

The slim woman on his back was an easy carry. The problem was the long hill leading up from the pier to the clinic's main building. By the time he reached it, Robert was sweaty and regretted drinking the beer. Inside the clinic, he knew his way to the operating theater. After all, he had tricked Doctor Quaid in that very room the last time he was with her.

Robert strapped the slave's torso down onto an operating table and pulled her legs open wide to attach them to the table's leg extensions. He ran his fingers through the brunette's hairy bush and slid two fingers into her moist pussy. She moaned through her harsh gag and thrust her hips up to his fingers, attempting to fuck herself. Robert stopped teasing the helpless slave and thrust his fingers in deep, paused, twisted his fingers, and gave the now drooling pussy about twenty energetic fucks with his hand. His other hand mauled her tight B cup breasts. The rippling across her belly heralded her climax. "That's it, cum for me," Robert coaxed as her hips shivered out of control.

Doctor Quaid came into the operating theater and looked at her patient humping herself up onto his hand. "OK, Robert let's start with the easy stuff. Clean her tits off with Betadine and we can get the nipple rings in. We'll skip the pussy rings completely and do the clit ring after her pubic hair is burned off. The tongue ring, breast implants, and the nose ring will be saved for last."

The patient stiffened and then began to fight against her bonds. Robert put his hands on her brow and whispered, "Relax, it's all part of your Ponygirl training. I'll let you keep your hair though. The rest is mandatory to enjoy your special vacation. It's what you agreed to after all. Trust me, it'll be the most unique vacation of your pampered, high-society life, Doctor Joan Miller."

Robert pulled a rubbery nipple out from Joan's chest and Doctor Quaid deftly ran a piercing needle through it. The second nipple was finished in a matter of moments. The slave jerked again when she felt Doctor Quaid checking out her pussy and pubic area. Robert grinned when the slave arched her back in helpless protest when the buzzing clippers started removing her brown pubic hair. "Put a numeral zero on her bush before you start the laser burn Rachael," he said.

The laser's buzzing every few seconds triggered a spasm of protest from the gagged slave. Robert ran his hands across her brow and said, "Lucky Zero, you'll get your wish to play as a Ponygirl soon. I will tell you that we had to change the plan somewhat. This will last longer than you thought because of some requirements set by the Ranch's staff. You're lucky though, Doctor Rachael Patricia Quaid has agreed to take over your medical practice in Miami until you return. The program will be one week of preparatory training hauling manure as the lowliest of Ponygirl livestock, … followed by a week of training on a surrey as a pampered Ponygirl just as you wished, and a week of learning how to be a Trainer. Well, … the kicker is that you only get to be a Trainer if you pass your Ponygirl time acceptably. The men at the Ranch are pros and while you are in initial training they have the option to keep you forever if you don't pass their various Ponygirl exams, the same exams that all my girls undergoing training have to take. Remedial training is very tough and not fun. So, I advise you to put forth every ounce of effort you can find in your body." Robert grabbed her tit and squeezed it hard. He raised his voice and added, "That's three stages and you will never progress unless you pass each stage. I'm serious, Joan. Work hard and you will love this, I know your personality, it's my specialty."

Doctor Quaid bobbed her head further down Robert's massive cock. Her moist lips left a trail of saliva on the hard rod as her head pulled back up. She kept peeking over at the video monitor with the live feed from Doctor Joan Miller's recovery room. The woman's awakening would be delicious to watch. Doctor Miller had been so proud of her version of Spanish Fly that she had eagerly provided the specific formula to Robert for use at other slave modification facilities. Steve Austin and Aaron Clarke had paid her a liberal bonus for the development and quickly put the formula to work at various west coast and east coast medical facilities used by the slavers.

Earlier, after the other operations, Rachael Quaid had opened Joan's pussy widely and injected her inner vaginal walls and labia lips liberally with Joan's poisonous concoction. When Joan woke up, she would be ready to fuck an army of mannequins to ease the itching. Rachael thought it especially humorous that the doctor was caught in her own trap.

Doctor Joan Miller lay unconscious on a bed in a tightly secured room of the clinic. All her bonds had been removed following her surgery and she had been dressed, in a manner, for bed. Rachael and Robert had put a black Lycra bodysuit over her torso, covering her breast bandages and attached hose to the built-in garter straps of the snug bodysuit. Otherwise, Joan was naked. Her now hairless cunt was adorned with a single gold clit ring and a jet-black numeral Zero of close-cropped hair was all that remained of her pubic hair above her pussy. The bandages and the bodysuit covered her now full C cup tits. Joan's beautiful and fine-boned face was now marred with a heavy ring dangling from between her nostrils. The ring hung heavily down to the bottom edge of her top lip.

On the monitor, Joan Miller stirred, and in Rachael's bedroom, she rolled over so she could better watch the coming show.

Dreams of lust, sex, and endless fulfillment provided needed and satisfying sleep to Doctor Joan Miller. Her body somehow ached from the dream sex and Joan groaned with dismay when her last dream ended. Her body rolled over and caught the fluffy comforter, capturing herself in a warm and cozy prison of blankets. "Mmmm," Joan whispered in a husky morning voice as she wriggled her toes and feet under the covers. "Morning is my favorite time." Her hands wandered down to her groin to find her sex, part of every daily morning wakening ritual. Bleary-minded, her fingers found the slick lips of her pussy and dove in deeply without noticing the absence of her pubic hair. Joan's only thought about her sex was how amazingly wet she was and how much she needed the fingers inside her. "Ahhh," she moaned in lust as a first, small climax hit her groin. Fingers from each hand were now inside her sloppy pussy; rubbing, massaging, thrusting, and pulling at herself. "Eiii, that's nice," she muttered and then was amazed that her fingers kept masturbating. "Oh, you are horny this morning, you bitch," she told herself silently.

The wriggling, moaning roll of blankets containing the aroused slut abruptly stopped moving and then a wildly contorting woman crawled nakedly out of the covers. Joan fell off the bed and landed on her ass on the bedroom's carpeted floor. Howls of dismay and anger echoed through the speakers and Doctor Quaid stopped fingering herself and crawled up her lover's body. "Robert, … fuck me! This is too delicious to watch without your big cock in me," she whispered and then added in a more needful voice, "Fuck me!"

In the nearby room, the camera showed Doctor Joan Miller standing hunched over in the middle of the room staring at a fat black, glistening dildo mounted on top of a low wooden stool. Her hunched posture was due to the hand still buried in her itching pussy and her other still slimy hand was exploring her pubic area. Joan already knew what her fingers would find and mesmerized, couldn't have looked away from the cock if she wanted. Only two thoughts ran through her mind: First, that this was her fault entirely. Second, that if she didn't get fucked soon, she would go out of her mind. She took a hesitant step toward the massive fake cock and then practically leapt upon it.

"Ahhh," she shrieked as the fat head slipped halfway into her vagina. The dick's movement over the pussy walls soothed the tiny blisters caused by the poison ivy and bee venom solution. She held her position over the stool to enjoy the feeling of being stuck on the too-dry shaft. She cautiously wriggled, letting the dry dildo pull and tug at her itching insides. Too soon, she gave in to the sensations and pulled out far enough to let her natural pussy lube grease the dick. Down she plunged, hard, and buried its full length in her needy pussy. "Eiii, you fucker, Robert!" she screamed. "Oh, fuck me Robert, you asshole. You bastard, … ahhh! Fuck, what have I done!"

Joan's body and mind became totally focused on the rapid fucking of her body upon the never softening cock that caused unending waves of relief and climax. When Rachael finally collapsed in sweaty exhaustion across her lover from the passionate sex with Robert, the lust crazed Joan was still feverishly humping up and down the now froth covered cock.

Joan slowed to still her racing heart; it was beating so fast she imagined she could see its thumping reflection on her own chest. Her eyes swept up and she was horrified anew. Unnoticed but directly in front of her position on the stool, was a full-length mirror showing her sweaty form crouched like a possessive lioness above a recent kill. A feminine part of her brain acknowledged that she looked hot and sexy despite her very bedraggled appearance. Her medical background wondered that her heart could have withstood the equivalent of sprinting for hours. The still wildly heaving chest in the mirror bespoke of her exertion. The last thing that horrified her was the video camera sitting on a chest next to the mirror. A red blinking light indicated that it was recording and the small antenna unit beside it told her that the camera was broadcasting to a receiver close by. She hung her head in shame at her whorish behavior, even if it was induced by her own poisonous concoction.

Temporarily satiated, Joan crept back into the bed and covered her entire body with the covers. She needed some quiet time to replay how she came to be in this position and to try and figure out what would happen next. The next round of itching would overwhelm her within the hour. She spurred her memory and recalled phoning Robert Morgan at one of his contact numbers and leaving a message that she wanted to meet him for a combination business and pleasure meeting over dinner. It was several days before his response came, in the form of an email.

Joan:

Thank you for your invitation to meet over dinner. Since you mentioned both business and pleasure, I have planned an evening accordingly. I want you waiting curbside outside your home at 8:00 pm on Thursday. My limousine will pick you up, be prompt. Dress for elegant dining at La Lupa di Roma where we will take care of the business part of our evening and get to know each other a little more intimately; I warn you, on my terms of course. If you wish, pack a small bag that you can leave with the limousine driver. I have a room reserved through the weekend at the Ritz Carlton South Beach.

Looking forward to a fun and challenging evening,

Robert

"The Ritz Carlton!" she muttered, "he is a presumptuous bastard, isn't he? And he wants me waiting for him outside for the ride, ridiculous!" The outraged romantic nature of the female doctor was taken over by her lustful side as she thought of his gigantic cock. "I've seen that monster dick of his at the B&D club. He looks to be a great fuck. Why not? And, … maybe I can talk him into setting up that vacation I thought of, becoming a Ponygirl Mistress."

As directed, Doctor Miller wore a black sheath dress that both clung to her slender frame, and hung enticingly. Her narrow waist was accented by the dress' snug fit across her hips and breasts. Too fine a material for a bra, Joan had forgone that necessity and even donned one of her few thongs, a particularly wispy black one that left her pubic hair visible under the sheer crotch panel. "What little there is of the panel, that is," she had thought with satisfaction upon seeing her thong-clad reflection in her bathroom mirror. She also packed a small bag with essential toiletries, a couple of sets of racy lingerie, a single set of casual daytime attire, and a few of her bondage items. Joan chanced putting in her personal bondage cuffs, a set of nipple clamps and chains, and a strap-on dildo of normal proportions. "Hope he doesn't see what I've packed until I make sure this is going well," she thought. "After all, I don't want a slaver to think I'm a submissive little slut all the time."

Promptly at 8:00, Joan glanced out her window where she sat reading 'Scientific American' and watched a long limousine pull up to the curb outside her townhome. She returned her attention to the article she was reading and with a wry grin decided to finish the article and be fashionably late. The ringing of her doorbell ten minutes later interrupted her reading. "Oh, well," she giggled, "guess I won't be arriving fashionably late after all."

A slim, dark-haired woman wearing elegant black slacks, a starched white shirt, a black dress jacket, and a chauffeur's cap stood on the entry. "Doctor Joan Miller?" she asked with in a businesslike tone.

"Yes, I'll be ready momentarily," Joan answered back with a grin and feeling on top of the world.

Surprisingly, the woman abruptly pushed past her, strode into the entry, and picked up the overnight bag without invitation. She turned and walked back out into the humid night, pausing only to throw back over her shoulder, "Your date will be waiting at the restaurant and I wouldn't suggest starting off the evening on the wrong foot if I were you. I've seen firsthand what comes from that attitude."

A little shocked and mentally off balance, Joan followed the saucy driver, almost forgetting to lock her entry door. She judged the woman as about her own age of thirty-eight, or perhaps a few years younger. Hesitantly, she asked the woman her name.

"My name is unimportant. We will be formally introduced if Master decides it is necessary." In an abrupt change of subject, the woman said, "You do know that you were late for a meeting you asked for. He considers that a lack of respect, and perhaps worse, poor manners."

Joan was speechless. She was a respected member of the community, reasonably wealthy thanks to hard work at medical school and her medical practice. Unable to reply, she sputtered before falling silent. "I'm not used to be being ordered around," she finally got out. "And, especially not by what is apparently either a servant or a slave," she added in a haughtier tone. "After all," she added with a flip tone, "I've seen you as a submissive at the club."

The driver ignored her comment and instead pulled out a small cell phone. Despite Joan's attempt to eavesdrop, the small opening in the partition that separated her from the driver's area effectively blocked the quiet conversation. Apparently finished with the call, the driver signaled for a right turn and pulled into a convenience store parking lot. Once halted parallel to a row of cars, the driver turned back to face Joan. "I'm to take you home Ma'am, Master has decided that you have ruined his mood with your attitude. You can contact him about regular business affairs through your normal channels."

Speechless, Joan sat in her seat.

Unrelenting, the driver added, "Ma'am, if you don't cooperate, I'll drop you off here and you can catch a cab home."

Doctor Miller was stricken. Not only had her romantic evening been destroyed, she had no cash in her small clutch purse, only her identification card and a single credit card. Even her debit card was at home.

The driver stared boldly back at the doctor, a strange glittering gleam in her eyes scaring Joan a little. "Ma'am, I … a simple slave, … have been empowered to make this a salvageable evening if you wish. Though, knowing Master as we both do,… it might be dangerous to take me up on my offer, … especially given your insulting attitude. You must weigh your own goals for the evening and decide if your 'penalty' will be worth it."

Joan knew that she had lost the initiative with this striking woman the instant they met. Her bungling was going to spoil her evening. "I can make this situation better once I sit down with Robert," she told herself fiercely. She attempted to control her voice and decisively asked the driver, "What can we to do to get back on the right footing and make this evening work the way I intended?"

"Hmm," the driver responded with a thoughtful voice. "It doesn't work that way, Doctor. If you want Master to meet you as planned, you have to agree to follow my orders and accept your penalty. Oh, and the agreement is binding. As in all deals with Master, reneging is not an option." Before the doctor could respond, she quickly added, "A final warning, Master sets rigid standards and failure or disobedience is met with dire consequences. Somehow, I don't think you are up to the challenge. Perhaps you should do this on another occasion."

The doctor was ready to call off the entire evening until the woman made the added warning note at the end, as if she was an unschooled novice. Joan Miller was outraged and with renewed certainty that she could set things right at the restaurant spitted out, "OK, I agree. Let's get this over with!"

"Close, Doctor Miller," the woman said holding a small voice recorder toward her passenger. "Please repeat in several concise sentences your errors of the evening and your agreement to accept my directions; specifically turning yourself over as my slave until your punishment is completed."

Joan audibly gasped. She knew full well the consequences of her recorded statement to a slaver like Robert Morgan. A scoundrel with a strong streak of sexuality and honor, he would consider her promise binding. She thought to herself with horror, "No telling what this will entail. I can't leave this woman with absolute control over me." Aloud, she sputtered, "Bbut, … wwhat, do I have to do?"

The driver put away the recorder with a clear sigh of regret and the limousine abruptly pulled away from the curb. "Ma'am, we'll be at your home in a few minutes," was her only comment.

Within seconds, Joan blurted out, "No! Please, get out the recorder. I'll do it the way you demand."

A quiet, "OK, … as you wish, Ma'am," came from the driver's compartment. "I'll pull over again at the next convenience market and 'you will get it right this time;' else by Master's rules, you belong to me anyway for either being deceptive or too stupid to wander around free."

The last was given in an ominous tone that chilled Joan's heart. "It's too late now, you silly slut," she told herself with alarm. "Now you can't back out and have to proceed, hoping for release from the driver and a reprieve from Robert Morgan at the restaurant."

"I, Doctor Joan Miller, understand that I failed to follow directions tonight and rudely kept Robert's driver waiting at the curb, despite specific instructions to be waiting for the Limousine's arrival," Joan started as tears of fear pooled at the corners of her eyes. She continued speaking clearly into the recorder, "Further, I was unnecessarily rude to the driver and agree to a penalty for these errors in return for getting my evening with Robert back on track with my original expectations. Therefore, if Robert Morgan agrees to these stipulations, I turn myself over fully as slave to the driver until such time as she and Robert Morgan agree that my penalty is satisfactorily completed." With wide-eyed dismay, Joan fell back against the smooth leather of her seat in drained, emotional exhaustion.

The driver smiled back and reflected that the woman had ended up making some smart provisos in her statement. "Guess I don't get to keep her long," Ingrid Gaviard thought with some reluctance. "It would have been fun to make her grovel for a week or so until she gets off her high horse." Turning to Joan she softly asked, "Do you have panties on, slut?'

Recognizing the reversal of their roles, Joan choked back a sob and answered, "Yes, Mistress, I do have panties on." Within seconds, Joan was following specific directions and pulled her dress up above her waist to yank off her thong panties before jamming them into her own mouth.

"OK, slut, since you are so eager to get my Master's cock, I suggest you go into the convenience store and get three dozen condoms of several brands, sex lube if they have it, and a bottle of the cheapest champagne you can find. Oh, and if they have those edible panty roses, … get three of those as well. Hurry, Master is waiting."

Joan moved to remove the damp panties from her mouth when a signal from her Mistress made her stop. Humiliated beyond belief at her barked command to leave the panties in place, she strode into the cheap corner market with her expensive evening clothing and chewing her tasteless panties while she searched about for her items. Given that she had no cash, Joan used her credit card and had to prove her identity with her driver's license. Finally finished shopping, she nearly ran out of the market clutching her items in a flimsy plastic bag. She sat back in her seat, chest heaving and looked to her Mistress for guidance.

Ingrid hissed back at her, "What the fuck are you doing back there, you stupid slut. Nobody invited a whore like you to get in. Leave your purchases on the seat and run around to the trunk, you'll know what to do."

Indeed, Joan instinctively knew what to do. When she heard the metallic click of the remote lock, she raised the trunk lid and hesitantly crawled within. She slammed the trunk shut above her with a sound like the doors of hell locking her inside for eternal torture. Joan whimpered in the dark and tried to keep her dress from wrinkling and her mascara from smearing due to the tears welling up in her eyes.

While Joan was tearfully curled fetus-like in the trunk, Ingrid dutifully updated her Master about the latest developments with her cell phone. She smiled, happy that her Master was pleased. Ingrid unbuttoned her slacks and slid one hand down to her crotch. Her fingers slipped smoothly between the silk slacks and her pubic mound. She was never allowed to wear panties, an unchangeable decree from Michael Moore, the name her Master was using when they first met. At his command over the phone, she pinched her clit and then started fucking herself with her long slender fingers. When he told her that her actions that night and her loud pants of arousal had earned her a reward, she exploded in ecstasy, glad that she was still parked in the convenience store's lot; else, she'd have likely wrecked the limousine.

Ingrid parked the limousine at a special area of the five star Italian restaurant's parking lot reserved only for limousines. There were several drivers lounging about, most waiting for paid fares to finish eating. The La Lupa di Roma was an expensive restaurant located in the six hundred block of Lincoln Road, South Miami Beach. Ingrid pulled on her cap and pawed through the woman's overnight bag. She grinned at its kinky contents. "And I was worried Master wouldn't be pleased with my improvisation with his victim," she told herself as she held up the bondage cuffs and nipple chains.

Joan remembered how the limousine trunk had opened slowly to reveal the face of her temporary owner and tormentor. Even now hiding under a thick comforter in the bed at the Caribbean clinic after exposing herself to humiliation while fucking the black dildo mounted on the stool, Joan had another flush of shame left as she recalled her brilliant response to the woman outside the trunk. "Hmmph," she had started to speak involuntarily before she realized her self-gagged state. Drool and a corner of panty escaped her mouth before she could suck the black silk back in. Deft fingers had opened the front of her favorite dress, exposing her braless tits to the hot Miami evening air. Joan recognized her own nipple clips as they swooped down, each stingingly capturing a tender nubbin. When one nipple was yanked painfully toward the other, she realized that the interconnecting chain had been drastically shortened. The result was that each nipple was tugged tightly toward the other. "Oww," she moaned through her panty gag.

"Shut up you little slut," came the instant, harsh response. "Your arrogant attitude and horny pussy got you into this mess. Use your brain to follow orders and earn your way out of this mess." With that, Ingrid pulled the disheveled slave out of the trunk and thrust her to her knees.

Ingrid saw the woman driver undo her slacks, dropping them around her ankles while her ass plopped down on the limousine. In clear view of at least three male limousine drivers, Joan's face was pulled into the dark-haired woman's cunt and after a pinching yank on her ear, Joan spit out the damp panties and went to work. Joan remembered the pretend gusto with which she attacked the aromatic pussy. She remembered thinking that the woman had obviously just masturbated, "No way a woman has a pussy this wet unless she's just climaxed."

As the woman above her shook in clear climax, she heard her voice ring out, "Boys, you want a blowjob? This bitch is doing it for twenty bucks a pop. The best part is, she doesn't want to, I'm blackmailing the haughty slut into doing it. She's some rich man's personal fucktoy."

The woman's hands above her head exchanged twenties for condoms. Then, unceremoniously, her face was thrust into a hairy male crotch. The lubricated condom made her face flinch at the foul taste, but her face was yanked hard into the cock, burying the stiff dick in her throat. The man skull-fucked her without mercy. Vaguely, she remembered the brilliant flash of a camera only inches away from her distorted face. Joan's knees ached in remembrance of crawling around the warm pavement going from one stiff limousine driver's dicks to the next. Doctor Miller rolled herself up tighter in the bed's comforter and cursed her whorish nature, especially that awful night. Altogether, Joan sucked off five limousine drivers and earned a total of one hundred dollars for her temporary owner.

Later in the restaurant, her limousine driver set the crumpled twenty dollar bills down on the white starched linen tablecloth. By then, the driver's cap and black jacket had been left in the limousine and the two women entered the restaurant hand in hand. Joan remembered standing dully as directed before Robert Morgan, her dream date for a expected weekend of romance and sex, and the dark-haired woman that had played her so well.

Robert stood up and unexpectedly greeted her with a hug and a kiss, on her cheek. His welcome of the driver was a little more passionate, including a slightly lingering liplock. She remembered how Robert introduced them. "Your driver of the evening has already met you, Joan, but let me more formally introduce you. Joan, this is Ingrid, one of my top trainers of sluts, whores, and slaves. Ingrid, I understand that this is your slut for part of the night, Doctor Joan Miller." Robert reached down and waved the twenty dollar bills in the air, pointed to the front of her dress distorted by her obvious nipple ornaments, and added, "Joan, I can see you are being an obedient little slut. See that it continues. I understand that you already know full well that the consequences are extreme for people reneging on deals with me or my staff."

Joan sat down and noticed that the table was set for three, with a glass of white wine already in place. She remembered blushing and lowering her gaze before asking in a hushed voice, "Robert, I understand our deal is that our planned evening goes on as normal except for my 'penalties.' Is that so?"

Robert ignored her question and instead picked up his glass of wine and after swirling it about, drank deeply of the aroma. "Yes, Joan," he said in a normal voice, "that's correct. You and I will interact as peers tonight. However, whenever Ingrid addresses you, your response will be as her obedient little pussy slave. Enough of the rules, your instincts will lead you through this. Ladies, to a beautiful evening and beautiful company."

Somewhat relieved, Joan had quickly picked up her glass to gently clink with her two dinner companions. She relaxed a little to be on more familiar ground. Doctor Miller then explained her latest development, the special combination of poison ivy extract and bee venom. She remembered being pleased at how appreciative Robert had been when she offered the formula for him to use. After Robert got her to explain the specifics of how and where to apply the syringe, he had chuckled at the irony of a woman needing to fuck herself or go mad from the itching. "After all," Joan had explained, "it's not too different from the maddening itch that irritates you from under a cast." "Except," she added with a grin, "it's much more sensitive flesh we are talking about."

The three diners shared a sophisticated laugh at the expense of the two sets of Ponygirls that had experienced torment and humiliation at her clinic. "My only regret," Joan said, "was that I never got a chance to use the potion on the first two sluts you sent me, Carolyn White and Rosella Koch."

Robert smiled in remembrance of Carolyn White the ex-real estate agent and Rosella Koch the ex-prostitute. "Carolyn learned that being a bitch was dangerous and Rosella learned not to blackmail my friends," he thought. Both slim, beautiful women, Robert paid Doctor Joan Miller to enhance their breasts from B cups to full D cups. Robert added aloud, "They were the ones that gave me the idea for making Ponygirls, you know. I still haven't decided on their final disposition, it's most likely that they will end up as sex slaves in a whorehouse or bordello since they now look like porn stars with their huge breasts." Then he laughed softly, "If I'm lucky, I'll find someone that wants to buy some topless dancers; after all, it'll probably mean more money in the sale."

The conversation that followed gave Robert some things to mull over regarding his future plans for Carolyn and Rosella. The fact that Rosella was a natural redhead spurred the thought in his mind of converting Carolyn from a blonde to a redhead herself. "Hmmm," he thought, "it might just work out. Their fat D cups might be a problem though." Robert decided to make a final determination about their status soon.

Later, over her second glass of the Viognier, Ingrid had asked Doctor Miller, "Well, Joan, did you experiment with the concoction on yourself?"

Joan had blushed at the verbal image of herself masturbating wildly to relieve her endless itching and retorted, "Of course not! That's obscene, Mistress."

Ingrid had raised an eyebrow and added, "Hmmm, Master, I find it interesting that the horny little slut was so adamant about meeting you tonight. The Ponygirl situation and the artificial Spanish Fly are delicious, but both could have waited until later." She fixed her temporary slave in a penetrating glance and asked, "Did you want to meet my Master for sex or did you also have something else in mind? Remember, honesty is the only path to freedom, my little slutbunny."

Joan's mouth had fallen open at the question and then the direct admonition afterwards. She gasped, gulped for air, and then swallowed a deep draught of cool water before she answered. "Uhhh, uhhh, no" she stuttered, "I did have sex in mind, … and several other things." She blushed again and looked down at the table before her head snapped back.

Robert's hand had shot across the short space and painfully grabbed her neck in a choking hold. "You forgot to add Mistress at the end of that sentence, Joan, he hissed and then added, "and, I don't expect my trainers to have to drag answers out of slaves either. Please explain in more detail."

"Rrobert, Mmistress," she stuttered and fought to get her intellect fired up again to rescue her from this situation. "I hoped to have sex with you tonight Robert. I'm ddominate with the slaves, but do have some thoughts of a submissive nature."

She noticed that Robert and Ingrid exchanged glances as everyone took a short break to sip the wonderful wine. Robert waved off the waiter and said, "Well, thanks for the truth, Joan. What else did you have planned for this meeting?"

"I already told you that I wanted you to sexually dominate me at the hotel after our romantic dinner. At least only a little bit of domination, nothing with any real pain. Then, …" and Joan visibly hesitated before continuing in a weak voice, "then I wanted to ask him a favor." Joan hesitated in real fear of exposing herself to the Slave Mistress but forced herself to continue. "I wanted Robert to get me an invitation to be a guest Mistress at the Ponygirl Ranch and, … let me spend a day pulling a surrey like a real Ponygirl." She shriveled at the glances she was getting and quickly added, "It would give me a better understanding of them, after all." She smiled and waited for their agreement.

Instead, Robert took another sip of wine and addressed Ingrid, "I fully understand what your little slut wants, Ingrid. Do you?"

Ingrid reached over to Joan and gently clasped her hand and said, "Yes, Master. I understand that the horny slut likes topping males and females and wishes for your help to determine if her submissive nature is worth developing. She wouldn't have asked about the Ponygirl training unless she liked your treatment of her though."

Robert nodded sagely and responded, "Hmmm, all that's correct. Good job Ingrid! But, she lied at the end about wanting the experience to better her handling of our slaves. No, Ingrid, the horny doctor is submissive curious." He turned his attention to Joan and added, "You just earned an extra punishment from me. Quibbling is not allowed, ever; whether it is among friends, or between Master and slave."

Joan blanched. They had read her like a book. She knew better than to respond with anything except barely nodding her head as she stared down at her lap.

Luca, their waiter took that moment to interrupt, smoothly asking if they were ready to order anything else. Robert told him, "Three salads, bread with olive oil, and an order of antipasto for now. Later, we'll decide on our dinner entrée." He looked around the table and added with a smile, "We are in no hurry, Luca, we wish to enjoy the evening."

Robert later told Joan that as the waiter walked away, he noticed two young girls whispering together at the distant bar, across from his dining room. He was pretty sure that they were having some kind of contest or bet. They kept huddling together about every few minutes, apparently comparing notes about something. He thought maybe it was a treasure hunt of some kind. It was intriguing.

"Joan," he said after returning his attention back to his table and breaking a ciabatta roll in half. "I value your work for my organization. The amazing potion you have created is an example of your dedication. You will receive a substantial bonus, much of which you have earned by freely offering it to me to use. Also, I will grant you the favor you have just asked of me. You will get an invitation to the Ponygirl Ranch and get a chance to train Ponygirls, probably the same four girls you have modified and sent on their way. The free session as a Ponygirl is a little more difficult, and had things gone differently tonight, I'd have been inclined to refuse it. Marshall Thompson, the owner of the Ponygirl Ranch will have input into that request and you will be bound by his stipulations. I will not attempt to influence them beyond explaining your status with me and your request. Again, they will fully control any session you participate in as a Ponygirl. Is that fair enough?"

Doctor Joan Miller had agreed; half certain it was what she wanted, and half certain it was a dreadful mistake. In either event, she was positive that things had proceeded so far out of her control that she had no choice but to accept Robert Morgan's offer. Even now, laying in bed with the beginnings of the urge to go fuck the black dildo some more, Joan knew she had brought it all upon herself. If she had been more cautious that entire night, Joan knew that Robert Morgan would have refused the Ponygirl request. From bitter experience, she also knew that her evening that night had not ended at all on the note that she wanted. "Robert Morgan and his slut, Ingrid, are tricky bastards," she thought. Even so, she knew that she would continue to work with Robert and looked forward to a private session alone with him. "After all," she thought with rising passion; enflamed partially by the poison eating at her pussy walls, but mostly by the thought of Robert Morgan's big dick and masculine manner, "He made me hornier than I've ever been in my life. What a cocksman!"

She shook herself free of the future imagined sex with Robert and focused again on the events that closed out that night. "My biggest mistake," she thought ruefully, "was telling that half-truth about wanting the extra experience with Ponygirls. Shit! He knew right away I was only doing it for the thrill and sexual satisfaction. He knew how to make me pay, …"

The remainder of the dinner at La Lupa di Roma proceeded more or less normally until just before desert. Robert's cell phone rang, after listening for a moment, he motioned Ingrid to leave.

Ingrid returned to the table with two packages, each a simple brown paper sack. Wordlessly, she took Joan's arm and led her toward the ladies' rest room.

Ingrid and Joan were unaware that as their drama was unfolding in the ladies' room, Robert noticed the chunkier brunette of the pair he had seen at the bar earlier approach his table hesitantly. She introduced herself as Megan and asked, "Can I sit and talk for a few minutes while your friends are gone?"

Robert was now sure his earlier hunch of the night was correct. The two women were clearly playing a game that he might be able to use to his advantage. "Sure, Megan," Robert said with a grin, "I'm Robert. What can I do for you?"

Megan blushed and stuttered, "Wwell, my roommate and I are having a contest. It's something we started last month." Then with a little more reassurance, she added, "You see, we've just started working after college and we've been having trouble getting all of our rent and utility money together on time for the first of the month. Anyway, … in our contest, we have to collect the most money at a bar or restaurant. Kate, my roommate won last month and I would like to beat her tonight. So, …"

Robert interrupted her long-winded explanation with, "Stop, Megan. I'll be happy to help out if I can. What do you need in order to beat Kate?"

She blushed furiously and shyly looked down at her lap and pausing before stuttering, "Wwwe are t..trading k..kisses for twenty dollars each."

"This might be fun," Robert told himself. "Their game might have potential for fun on another occasion as well," he continued. "Megan," he said aloud, "what if I guarantee that you will win tonight as long as you focus on raising the money?"

"Hhow?" she responded.

"Anytime she gets too far ahead, just come by my table and we can work something out. Oh, and Megan, what are the penalties you two have worked out?"

Megan answered quickly, "Oh, … it's not much. What we decided is that the loser has maid, cook, and personal servant duties depending upon how much cash the winner brings in. Just for fun, we've been thinking of adding additional penalties if the winner brings in more money; but, … it's too much. We'll never get past the smallest amounts."

Megan Dietz and Kate O'Rourke's Friday Rent Contest Rules:

Winner 'earns' up to $250 - Loser is the maid for a week

Winner 'earns' over $250 – Loser is the maid and cook for a week

Winner 'earns' over $500 - Loser is the maid and cook for the month

Winner 'earns' over $750 - Loser is maid, cook, & servant for the next month

Robert smiled as he read the card containing the young women's contest rules and their signatures below. "Looks like I know who you two are now," he thought. Aloud he asked, "How much did you two 'earn' last month on your Friday Night Contest?"

"Oh," Megan squeaked before continuing in a normal voice, "Kate got over one hundred dollars and I only got sixty dollars. We each sold some kisses for twenty dollars each." With a rush she added, "She's prettier, so it's easier for her to get men to play the game."

"Here's my starting offer, Megan," Robert leaned forward and continued, whispering in her ear.

A few minutes later, Megan was gasping for breath as Robert slowly brought his passionate kiss to a lingering conclusion. Robert walked away, back to his table from their quiet spot leading into a darkened private dining area, leaving the woman leaning open-mouthed against the doorway arch, sixty dollars clenched in one sweaty palm.

As Robert Morgan, sex slaver, sat back down at his table, he was amused by the naïve young girl's responsiveness. "Guess she's just plump enough that the guys have always ignored her. With her inexperience, Megan is doomed to always lose the monthly contest. Maybe I'll ratchet up the pressure."

Megan drifted out of the alcove, passing near Robert's table, heading back to the bar.

Robert knew that she would be back. He had promised to always keep her ahead of her roommate during that night's contest. His only warning, that she stay focused on her task for the night, winning the contest.

While Robert was amusing himself with the contest among the two twenty-four year old girls, Ingrid and Joan were still in the bathroom, crowded into a single toilet stall; Ingrid had locked the door behind them. "Strip," was her only comment to her slave for the evening. Joan remembered that her brain had shut down entirely and she had numbly followed Mistress' directions. The return to her table would be a low point in her life; she had been outfitted in clothing a common street hooker would have worn.

In the tight confines of the stall, Ingrid put a gaudy belly chain around Joan's trim waist and applied a large faux tattoo above a breast and down one shapely thigh. Joan's new skirt was a garish red spandex that, even lowered below her hipbones, barely covered the bottom swell of her ass cheeks, fully exposing the tattoo on her thigh. For a top, Ingrid gave Joan a bright green spandex tube top that left most of her ribs below her breasts bare, a swath of at least a foot of flesh. The tight top was creased over the pointy nipple clips and their connecting chain. Cheap hoop earrings replaced her tasteful gold studs inlaid with Colombian emeralds. A magnetic, fake nose stud completed her jewelry. Tasteless whore's shoes completed her clothing, neon pink 'fuck-me' heels with five-inch stiletto heels.

Joan was pushed back against the wall of the stall while Ingrid tongue-raped her mouth and her hands fluffed and yanked at her hair. Ingrid stuck a finger into Joan's easily accessible cunt and after finding it wet and sloppy, wormed more fingers in until only her thumb was outside the drooling pussy. When Joan's feet left the ground, her body hoisted on the cruel hook of Ingrid's hand and the sharp thumbnail pinching against her clit, Joan's feet started to twitch in orgasm. Overwhelmed with passion, her feet involuntarily kicked at the stall walls, creating a beating crescendo that echoed out into the nearby dining room.

Minutes later, she meekly followed the elegantly dressed form of Ingrid, looking like a cheap hooker brought to a fine restaurant by a gentleman with poor taste. Joan had been given the additional indignity of having her own leather bondage cuffs attaching her wrists behind her back, captured hands that felt only of the bare skin of her back. Sitting was another experience in humiliation. The act of leaning over to sit let her stretchy skirt pop up around her hips, letting her bare ass and sloppy pussy hit the fine leather of the chair.

Robert had witnessed the clumsy act of Joan's seating. He subtly caught the waiter's attention. The waiter came over and stood between the well dressed gentleman and lady, looking directly at Joan with a clearly disapproving glance. "Luca," Robert addressed their waiter, "the lady has made a dreadful mistake tonight and wishes to earn her clothing and former status back. She has acted the lying slut and now must play the role. Can you help her become the lady she was?"

"Why certainly, Mr. Morgan," Luca responded with a bow. "What can I do to assist her out of this situation?" he added with a leer toward Joan.

Ingrid simply threw a large handful of the condoms that Joan had purchased earlier in the evening onto the table. "The slut has to earn five hundred dollars before we leave in order to redeem herself," Ingrid added in a quiet voice.

Robert added in a reassuring tone, "Luca, you of course are welcome to either take the hundred dollars she earned on an earlier penalty, one-third of her earnings under your tutelage, or rely upon our generosity after dinner. It is your choice."

"Oh, … and Luca," Ingrid added sweetly, "the little fuckbunny is cuffed so you will have no problem with her and she's obviously naked under her skimpy attire. Just roll the top down to her waist and the skirt will join it of its own accord. You can certainly take her for a test drive to be sure she'll perform up to your expectations. I think you'll find her an 'E-ticket' ride."

Robert added, "When you have her situated, please come back so we can decide about dinner."

"Certainly, sir," the waiter responded while he tugged Joan's skirt back below her ass, exposing more than a hint of pubic hair below her belly button in getting the outfit somewhat presentable.

Joan didn't like to dwell much on what followed. The waiter had not quite followed Ingrid's directions; he had taken off her top and skirt and ravished her on a long bench seat in a private dining room. Then, leaving her naked with wrists still bound, he had ordered her to stay in place while he brought her first customers in. The waiter had been smart enough to remove any linens from the room along with Joan's clothing. Her first customer was surprisingly the somewhat fat female chef from the kitchen. Dressed in crisp white, the woman had thrown a fifty dollar bill on a nearby table beside the condoms already strewn there and pulled a squealing Joan over to an overstuffed chair. Her ear still throbbing from its use as a handle, the woman had slapped her across a taut breast and in a heavy Italian accent demanded, "Eat me, you slut!" Joan's fear for what she had gotten herself into at the Ponygirl Ranch grew as the chef used her ears freely, much like a rider uses reins on his horse. "Oh, God! What a fucking mess!" she moaned into the salty and hairy pussy she was sucking on.

While Luca was getting a freebie fuck by pumping his cock into Joan on the couch in a distant private dining room, Robert and Ingrid continued to sip their remaining Chateauneuf du Pape from their dinner. Ingrid arched her eyebrows and Robert sensed someone coming up to his shoulder. He turned and saw a blushing Megan. "Megan, meet one of my dates for the evening, Ingrid. Ingrid, meet Megan. Megan and her roommate are engaged in a contest similar in many ways to what you and Joan are doing. Joan and Megan have a lot in common, … they keep losing contests."

Megan stood there, uncertain what was going on, and blushed when Ingrid laughed deeply; she thought at her expense. At Robert's direction, she found herself kneeling on the soft carpet beside his chair. She took some comfort in his shielding her from Ingrid's imposing form. "She's beautiful," Megan described Ingrid while whispering into his ear. She continued, "You told me you'd help. Wwell, she's ahead now by eighty dollars. The slut just got four businessmen to give her big sloppy kisses at the bar. I've got one-hundred twenty, sixty from you and sixty I earned by myself. But, she's already at two hundred; I need help."

Robert smiled over at Ingrid as he heard Megan's comments. As before, Robert made Megan a proposal. Her face clearly showed her dismay at what he said, she blushed, and then she scurried away. "Ingrid, she'll be back. I guarantee it."

Ingrid purred audibly and said, "Master, you're always right about sluts. When can I play with them?"

Luca brought over their deserts on a small tray. While Joan was munching on the chef's pungent pussy, Luca had returned to Robert and Ingrid's table with a sample tray of delicious Italian deserts. After they made their desert choice, along with an after dinner liquor, the removal of the second tray's cover revealed Joan's tawdry top and skirt, openly displayed on the silver.

Robert shook his head with a grimace and said, "Luca, please! Ensure that these are put in the trash bin immediately. We will dress the whore in her previous clothing when we leave. Thank you."

"Yes, sir, of course. Please enjoy your deserts and kindly accept all your post dinner items as my treat, madam and sir."

The rest of that horrid evening passed like a blur to Joan who was forced to repeatedly engage in every possible sex act. Hours passed while most of the restaurant employees used her services. By the time Ingrid came in to set her free and slide her expensive gown over her sweaty body, she was exhausted but had earned an even one thousand dollars. After Luca's cut, her clutch purse bulged with fat condoms of jism and both her one-hundred-dollar cocksucking earnings and her six hundred and seventy dollars from whoring. Only as Joan staggered to her feet did she realize that Ingrid had left her with the whore's pink 'fuck-me' heels. When she opened her mouth to protest, Ingrid jammed her thong panties back into her mouth. Dried and crusty from her saliva earlier, they were worse tasting the second time around.

Waddling like a duck, she left the restaurant, looking exactly as a woman who has been recently butt-fucked. Joan grimaced under the covers at the clinic, thankful that Ingrid had not filmed her whoring in the private dining room as she had the cocksucking episode in the parking lot.

At the Ritz Carlton, Joan had been forced to check into her room and pay herself, going through the indignity of identifying herself to the clerk and using her own charge card while her mouth was again bulging from her thong panty. "Next time," she had vowed, "I'll wear regular silk panties, at least they form a tiny ball in your mouth, unlike that awful, thick thong that ran down hugging my own asshole."

As her uncomfortable whore's heels clacked loudly across the polished granite of the lobby flooring, Robert and Ingrid followed her discretely into the elevator, keeping well away from the disheveled woman as the mirrored elevator rose high above the lobby atrium. She recalled trying to stay far away from the two as Ingrid told her, "Little slutbunny, you did well tonight. Master's penalty is over with and you will be finished with mine at dawn. Then, if you dare, you can go to breakfast alone with Master and discuss the remainder of your date."

Doctor Joan Miller spent the rest of the evening and long night bound naked in a strict hogtie on a blanket thrown in the spacious Jacuzzi tub. Ungagged, she listened quietly to sounds of wild sex and joyous shrieking of orgasms through the long night. Each time Ingrid's pussy was loaded with Robert's copious jism, Joan was forced to suck Ingrid's gross twat clean when she crawled naked into the Jacuzzi and yanked her face into the stinky mess. At every episode, Ingrid whispered the same thing, "If you had controlled yourself, this could have been your pussy getting the fucking of a lifetime. Thank God you were such an arrogant slut!" Admonished to cry quietly, her body shook with silent sobs during much of the night.

At dawn, Ingrid came in and removed the blanket from the tub in order to draw a soothing bath for the two well-fucked women. Still bound at ankles and wrists, Joan was at least able to stretch out in the bubbly water of their bath. Ingrid acted the part of a loving sister as she soaped a cloth and gently rubbed her aching muscles and sluiced away the filth. Shortly after, Ingrid gave her a long kiss, thanked her again for her wondrous night with Robert, and strode purposefully out of the suite.

Joan had nearly sobbed with relief when she saw her overnight bag and wholesome daytime wear. She remembered Robert watching her from a comfortable chair as he sipped coffee, already showered and dressed, as she ran, naked across the room and grabbed her bag before running back to the bathroom. She almost forgot her panties in her haste to get some clothing on. Her padded bra felt wonderful as the cups supported her aching tits. The breasts ached from being bitten and mauled the evening before and her nipples still throbbed in pain from the hours she wore her own nipple clamps. The hateful thong and nipple clamps were thrown into the trash container beside the toilet. With a final smoothing of her blouse and skirt, she walked in to talk with Robert Morgan.

To her surprise, he stood up as she approached and gave her a heartfelt hug and a deep kiss. Already aroused, she felt his hands grab her ass tightly before he motioned her to a seat. "Good morning Joan. I hope we start afresh this morning," he said cheerfully. "Are you a good sport about loosing?"

Already deciding the entire debacle of a night was her fault, she nodded and tried to put on a cheerful look of her own. "Yes," she said quietly, "and I think I've learned some lessons as well. I have to admit, I'm a little scared of what I put in motion last night about the Ponygirl training."

Robert passed her a bowl of fresh fruit and a basket of bread before responding. "Well, so am I. You didn't know what you were asking. In any event, it's too late; I've already contacted the men at the ranch and they've agreed, with some provisos of course. We can speak of those later, after dates are selected and final preparations are made. Let's focus on the rest of our day instead."

Not relieved at all by his reply, Joan Miller resolved to get what enjoyment she could from the remainder of her date with this unique man. Her final thought on the matter, at least during that day, was that sometimes life really sucked. "Yes," she thought again, "life can be a true bitch sometimes. I just wish my body didn't like what happened last night so much. Fuck! How I wish last evening could be replayed the way I dreamt it would be. Fuck!"

--- To Be Continued ---