artists & models
		by Van ©2011
		Chapter 4

Erin followed Beverly through the house.  Her hostess (and, she hoped, soon to be patron) was dressed in jeans, white cotton blouse, and a pair of Mexican sandals.  Her long, brown hair was plaited in a loose French braid.  Erin was still in her borrowed robe (with nothing underneath) with her hair loose about her shoulders.  They passed through a sitting room, and then, judging by the walls lined with bookshelves, what must be the library.  Finally, they came to a locked door.

"I don't know why I keep the studio wing locked," Beverly said as she pulled a keyring from her pocket and unlocked the door.  "I guess it just makes it feel more like my private retreat."

"I can understand that," Erin responded.  "Madison knows I feel the same way about my darkroom in the townhouse basement."

"Darkroom?"

"Digital darkroom," Erin clarified.  "It's really just workspace—my computer, printer, and a long table."

Beverly nodded.  "I'm still old school, working mostly with oils and canvas."  The door opened onto a hallway with several doors on either side and straight ahead.  Beverly opened the first door on the left and led Erin into a comfortable sitting room.  A window wall looked out on the gardens, with a pair of comfortable wing chairs positioned to exploit the view.  Off to one side was a drawing table and a high stool.  There was no sign of an easel.

"You paint here?" Erin inquired.

"No," Beverly explained.  "This is where I sit, think, and sketch."  She gestured towards one of the chairs.  "Sit."  She walked to the drawing table and returned with an artist's pad.  She flipped it open, handed it to Erin, and settled into the other chair.  "This is what I have in mind."

Erin beheld a pencil sketch of a nude female figure, a figure that could easily be Erin, herself.  She was sitting on a stone floor and a modest pile of straw with her back against a stone wall.  Her knees were bent and legs tucked together and to one side.  Her arms were raised and her head lowered with her chin resting on her chest.  Her tousled hair half-obscured her features and draped across her breasts, just covering her nipples.  The folded leg pose preserved her modesty, allowing only a peek of pubic curls.  One final detail: her wrists and ankles were in steel cuffs attached to heavy chains.  The wrist cuffs and a pair of taut, vertical chains enforced the position of her arms.  The details of the ankle bondage were unclear, depicted simply as a partial view of one cuff and a tangle of steel links in the straw.  Additional chains dangled in the foreground, on either side of the helpless figure, and cast shadows across her languishing, nude form.

"I think this canvas will be the last of my 'Princess in Chains' series," Beverly explained as she sat in the other chair.  "The play of light and dark, especially the shadows of the dangling chains as they follow your curves, should be quite interesting.  Do you think you can help me with this?"

Erin swallowed, nervously.  "Uh, okay, I guess."

"Good girl," Beverly smiled.  "It won't be difficult, I promise.  I'll make you comfortable."

Erin lifted her gaze from the sketch to Beverly.  "Uh, we will take breaks now and then, won't we?  I mean... as you paint."

Beverly continued smiling.  "I'll take care of you, Erin, and we can chat about your photography while I work.  Let me see your wrist."

"Huh?"

Beverly took Erin's left hand and examined her wrist.  "Hmm...  A number three, I think," she said, then stood.

Erin watched as Beverly walked to a cabinet and opened its doors.  'Number three?'

Beverly returned with a wooden box with the designation in question, "No. 3," engraved on a brass plate.  "These are custom made for me by a dear friend," she explained as she opened the lid.  Inside, four stainless steel cuffs nestled in velvet-lined cavities.  They were thick-walled and about two inches wide.  All of their edges were rounded and each bore a heavy ring on a swivel mount.  Two were oval-shaped and two round.  Beverly plucked one of the oval cuffs from its velvet nest.  It opened on a cunningly concealed hinge and closed on a set of interlocking flanges.

Erin watched, still nervously, as the cuff closed around her left wrist.  The flanges met and snapped together with an authoritative click.  The cuff was tight and snug, but not too tight.  The hinge and flanges were visible only as hairline seams in the polished steel.  Erin guessed the weight to be something like a pound.  "Wow... I mean, these things are impressive."

Beverly opened the drawer of a side table and produced an electric driver, a battery-powered hand tool roughly the size and shape of an electric toothbrush.  She fit a stainless steel screw to a hole in the edge of the cuff, seated the driver over the screw-head, and thumbed the switch.   Whirrrrrt.  The screw disappeared into the hole, leaving the head flush with the edge of the cuff. 

"There," Beverly said with a smile.  "The screw prevents the internal, spring-loaded clamp from disengaging."  She picked up the remaining oval cuff and opened and closed it twice, for Erin's benefit.  Each time, the flanges snapped together, then parted with only slight resistance.  "It really is a clever design.  Don't you think?"

"Uh... yeah," Erin agreed.

Beverly clicked the right cuff in place and set the locking screw.  Whirrrrrt.  The cuffs followed the contours of Erin's wrist with anatomical precision.  The rings rattled and flopped from side to side as she turned her hands to examine her new bracelets.  The ring mounts were on the backs of the cuffs, on the sides opposite her palms.  "Wow."

Beverly knelt, lifted Erin's right foot, and rested the sole on her denim-clad thighs.  She then clicked the first of the round cuffs around her ankle.  "You can see why the shapes are different," she said, reached for the tool—Whirrrrt—and locked it closed.  She then reached for the remaining cuff.

"They fit perfectly," Erin acknowledged, watching as Beverly exchanged her right foot for her left, then snapped on and secured the last cuff.  Whirrrrrt.

"There," Beverly said as she gracefully climbed to her feet and smiled.  "Let's move on to the studio, shall we?"

The studio in question was at the end of the hall.  It was quite large and rather dimly lit.  There were no windows, just an extensive system of track-lighting.  A few spots in the center shone down on an easel cradling a large, cloth-covered canvas.  Next to it was a padded stool and a side table with jars of various upended brushes, large and small, with bristles in the air.

Erin frowned.  "You don't use natural light?"

"Artificial light frees me from the sun's schedule," Beverly explained.  A computer workstation was positioned near the door and she began tapping its keyboard.  The screen cleared and text and icons appeared.  She continued tapping and the spots over the easel brightened and a group over the far wall began to glow.  "Compact florescents," she explained.  "They mimic sunlight perfectly.  Or, in this case, sunlight shining down a narrow shaft and into a dungeon cell."

Erin nodded, but her attention was on the tableau beneath the brightening pool of light.  A platform roughly the size of a king-size bed rested about a foot above the main floor.  It was half-covered by a pile of straw and appeared to be clad in a veneer of large, rough, blocks of gray stone, as did the attached, vertical partition flush against the wall.  Steel chains dangled from the ceiling or lay in pools of gleaming links on the platform's floor.  The hanging chains originated from some sort of winch and track system mounted above the lights, but the glare prevented Erin from examining the arrangement in any detail.

"The 'stone' is actually medium density foam," Beverly explained.  "Crystal did the sculpting and painting.  Very realistic, don't you think?"  Again, Erin nodded.  "And much easier to move around and store than the real thing," Beverly continued.  "There are actual stone venues on the estate, of course."

Erin nodded, yet again.

Beverly tapped a final key and the computer monitor went dark.  "The straw is also synthetic, sewn to a foam mat.  Again, for the sake of practicality.  Visually, it's more than adequate for my purposes."  She took a step towards the platform, then turned, smiled, and extended her right hand.  "Come.  Let's get you comfortable."

Erin swallowed nervously, then forced a sheepish smile.  She stepped forward, took Beverly's hand, and allowed herself to be led to the platform.

Beverly smiled and waited as Erin stood and gazed at the platform and dangling chains.  Erin noticed her amused expression and raised an eyebrow in question—then her lips curled in a chagrined smile.  "Oh, the robe."

"It's okay to be nervous the first time, Erin," Beverly chuckled.  "Crystal couldn't stop chattering.  Lyndal couldn't decide what to do with her hands."

Erin opened her robe and pulled it off her shoulders.  Beverly extended her hand and Erin pulled the robe completely off and handed it to the artist.

"You have a beautiful body, Erin," said as she folded the robe lengthwise and draped it over her left arm.  "Please, turn for me."

"Uh, okay."  Erin did a slow, shuffling pirouette.  Her cheeks burned with what she hoped was the merest hint of an embarrassed blush, but she could do nothing about it.

"Beautiful," Beverly sighed, then turned and walked to the door.  "Have a seat on the straw, please," she said as she hung the robe on one of several wall-mounted hooks, then returned.  "The same pose as the sketch."

Erin knelt on the platform, placed her back against the wall, and folded her legs under her body and to the right.  The artificial straw was a little stiff, but nothing she could call prickly.  The faux-rock covering the vertical partition was firm but comfortable against her back.

Meanwhile, Beverly had opened a cabinet drawer, selected some items, and was approaching.  "These were made by the same artisan that manufactured your cuffs," she said, handing three of four identical metal objects to Erin.

They appeared to be steel shackle-bolts.  Their finish and scale matched the rings on Erin's wrist and ankle cuffs and the gleaming links of the dangling chains.  "They're actually barrel-type padlocks with spring catches similar to the cuffs," Beverly explained, opening the lock in her hand.  She slid the barrel through the ring of Erin's right ankle cuff, through the terminal link of one of the chains on the platform, and clicked it closed.  She then pulled a key from her jeans pocket.  It was a flat, simple key with a groove along its length.  Beverly slid the end into a matching slot in one end of the barrel, pressed a finger against the opposite end, and gave the key a full turn.  There was an audible click, and she withdrew the key.  "These locks are impossible to unlock with one hand.  The stud at the opposite end of the barrel has to be depressed while the key is turned."

Erin gazed down at the final result.  The cuff, padlock, and chain were obviously all of a set, but the style was undeniably modern, polished steel crafted to machine tolerances.  "Wouldn't hammered iron with a hand-forged look be more, uh, authentic?"

Beverly smiled as she secured Erin's left ankle to another chain.  "I have historical hardware that's very medieval in appearance, but this time I'm going for a contemporary ambiance."

"Contemporary?"

Beverly lifted Erin's right wrist and secured the cuff to one of the dangling chains.  She grinned at Erin.  "I apply the 'Princess in Chains' theme rather loosely.  You're a modern day damsel languishing in inescapable bondage, held captive by person or persons unknown, for unknown purposes."

Erin nodded as her left wrist was secured.  "So, I'm to pretend I've been kidnapped?"

Beverly smiled.  "Yes," she answered, then pocketed the key.  "Pretend you've been kidnapped, stripped naked, and locked in chains.  Tug on the wrist cuffs for me."

Erin pulled on her chains.  There was a dull chime as the links rattled and snapped taut.  The hanging chains not directly attached to her wrist bonds began to sway, disturbed by her efforts.  "Uh, that feels solid," Erin muttered.

Beverly stood and walked to the easel.  "I assure you, my chains are very solid."  She picked up a wooden palette, opened a drawer in the side table, and began rummaging through tubes of oil paints.  "Let me prepare, then we can set your final pose—position your head, hands, feet, and hair—and I can begin."

Erin's hands were just above her head and about two feet apart.  Her forearms were vertical and upper-arms more-or-less horizontal.  She was still more-or-less comfortable.  The fake straw and its underlying mat and the faux-stone against her back were all about as pliable as an exercise mat.  She sighed, tugged on her wrist cuffs, again, then let her arms hang.  Holding still was going to be the greatest challenge.  I'll give her a while, she resolved, maybe as much as an hour.  Then, if she hasn't brought up the topic of a one-woman show, I'll do it myself.

An hour passed... then, two.  Thankfully, Beverly did bring up the topic of a one-woman show for Erin—and it seemed to be a done deal!  They agreed to start going through Erin's portfolio that very weekend, together with Marta, Beverly's assistant.

"It will take us some time to set it up," Beverly explained.  "The gallery is booked for the next several months."  She paused in her painting and smiled.  "But that gives you plenty of time to make your selections, doesn't it?  Even shoot some new material."

"Yes," Erin agreed.  Her heart was pounding.  My first show!

Holding the pose was getting old, as she'd feared it would.  The pull of her arms against the wrist cuffs was beginning to tell, a little, but it was not moving that was becoming an ordeal.  If she'd been able to fidget, squirm, and flex her fingers at will, it might not be so bad, but she had to remain frozen in place, a living snapshot of a languishing damsel.  Thankfully, Beverly was allowing two or three minute breaks about every half-hour, during which Erin could stretch and move, while maintaining the basic pose, of course.  Erin could tell the breathers were as much for Beverly's benefit as her model's.

Then, early in the third hour, Beverly set down her palette and brush, stood, and pulled an iPhone from her jeans pocket.  She gazed at the tiny screen, then smiled at Erin.  "I'm afraid I must take this.  Be right back."

Erin watched Beverly stroll out the door.  "Uh... okay."  She took the occasion to stretch, tugging on her chains and leaning forward to arch her back.  She didn't dare move her legs, as much as she longed to.  It would almost certainly disturb the chains and straw, but she did point her feet and wiggle her toes.

Beverly returned in less than a minute.  She walked to the easel and gazed at the canvas, then glanced at her watch and smiled.  "I think this is enough for our first session, Erin."  She cleaned her brushes, then folded them in a paint-stained cloth.

"I can't wait to see what you've done," Erin said.

"Oh no," Beverly chuckled, then draped the covering cloth back over the canvas.  "No one sees my works-in-progress, not even the model."  She gazed at Erin with her arms folded across her chest.  "Hmm...  Maybe this won't be my last 'Princess in Chains' canvas.  I've had an idea for something that would be truly dramatic.  But not for you, perhaps for Lyndal.  I think she'd be up to the pose.  Mind if we give it a try, just so I can see how it will actually look?"

"Uh, I guess so," Erin shrugged.  "What do you want me to do?"

Beverly moved the stool, the side table, and finally the easel and canvas against the wall.  "All you need do is stand, Erin," she said.  "I'll take care of the rest."  She walked to the computer and began tapping the keys.

Erin stood, glad for the chance to finally move her legs and let her arms drop.  Her chains were still securely locked around her wrists and ankles, of course, but were now hanging slack at her sides and in a tangle to either side of her bare feet.  Her self-consciousness had long since evaporated, and finally being allowed to really move and stretch was glorious.  A mischievous smile curled her lips and her blue eyes sparkled as she gazed at Beverly and struck a pose.  She covered her crotch with her right hand, turned her head to the side, raised her left arm, and placed the back of her left hand against her forehead.  Standing on her left foot with her legs together and her right knee slightly bent, she pointed her right foot.  "Is this what you have in mind?" she inquired, batting her eyes for added effect.  "One of those Neoclassical Roman slave-girls the Victorians liked to leer at and pretend it wasn't porn?"

"No," Beverly chuckled as she tapped a final key, "something more stringent."

Erin looked up.  Something was humming above the glaring lights, and at the same time the dangling chains began clinking, swaying, and moving towards the center of the room.  "Uh, you want me to follow?"

Beverly smiled.  "It really doesn't matter, Erin.  The motors are easily up to the challenge of dragging several times your weight.  But by all means, follow."

Erin chuckled politely at what she took to be Beverly's attempt at dark humor as she shuffled away from the wall and stepped off the platform, then continued forward, dragging the ankle chains after her.  She realized her wrist chains were attached to a winch assembly that was not only rolling towards the center of the room, but was also turning and reeling the links onto a pair of simple drums.  The assembly reached the center and locked in place with a solid thunk, but the drums continued to turn.  By the time Erin reached the center, her wrists were well above her head, and were still rising!  "Beverly!" she complained.

Beverly tapped a key and the motors locked.  "There.  One more thing."  She walked to a cabinet, opened its door, and produced a steel rod with a ring dangling from each end.

Erin's nervousness had returned.  "What's that thing?"

Beverly smiled as she strolled back to her model (prisoner) and pulled the padlock key from her pocket  She knelt at Erin's feet, unlocked the padlock securing the ring of her right ankle cuff, freed it from the trailing chain, then locked it to the ring at one end of the rod.  "It's called a 'spreader bar', Erin," she finally answered.  She unlocked Erin's left ankle chain, then pulled her feet apart until she could secure the lock to the ring at the other end of the bar.

And Erin let her do it!  Not that she was sure she could have stopped her if she'd tried.  Her ankles were now about eighteen inches apart and she was in a standing spread-eagle.  Her feet were flat on the floor and the pressure on her wrists wasn't any greater than before, when she'd been "comfortably" posing on the platform, but it was a more stringent position, as Beverly had said.

Beverly stood, took a step back, and smiled.  "Excellent."  She then turned and strolled to the door.  "I have to check on something before we can complete the tableau.  Won't be long."

"Damn," Erin cursed under her breath as the door closed.  She then sighed and settled in to wait, her only real option.  She might have an agreement for a one-woman show at the Adair Gallery, but she didn't have a signed contract.  Okay, so Beverly had a dickish sense of humor.  She didn't have to like her, just put up with her... for now.

Several times in the next hour, Erin seriously considered screaming her head off, demanding Beverly's return and immediate release from her chains... but she didn't.  It was as much a matter of pride as not wanting to anger her new patron and sour their deal.  However, the urge to make a ruckus was growing, and hang the consequences!  Then—Finally!—she heard approaching footsteps and the door opened.

She glared at Beverly as she entered the studio, not even trying to disguise her anger—then her eyes widened and she blushed in embarrassment.  Ali, Beverly's housekeeper and cook, was with her.  Beverly headed for the same cabinet where she'd kept the spreader bar currently holding Erin's ankles apart.  Meanwhile, Ali was heading for her.

"Look," Erin huffed.  "A joke is a joke, but—Mrrrf!"

Ali had stepped behind, grabbed a handful of Erin's tousled hair, and had her other hand over her mouth in a tight hand-gag.  "She has a nice body," the cook said in her lilting, alto voice.

"Which will be ever better," Beverly chuckled, "once she starts Lyndal's exercise program."

Erin's eyes were wide as she tugged on her bonds and tried to struggle.  "M'mmpfh!"

Beverly had returned from the cabinet.  There was something in her hands, but Erin couldn't determine exactly what it was, other than a roughly spherical network of steel bands.  Beverly set whatever it was on the floor, then stood erect and smiled.  A crumpled cloth was in her right hand.

Retaining her tight grip on Erin's hair, Ali released her hand-gag, and Beverly began stuffing the wad into Erin's mouth.

"M'mpfh—No—Nrrrrf!"  Erin tried to fight, to prevent her mouth from being stuffed to capacity, but Ali pulled her head back, sending pain shooting through her scalp and causing her to gasp.  That was all it took.  Now, the cloth was in, Ali's hand was back over her lips, and Beverly had retrieved the steel object from the floor.

"It's called a scold's bridle," Beverly said, turning the object for Erin's benefit.  It was a cage—a head cage—of shining steel.  "Historical models were used to punish 'uppity' women.  Some had in-the-mouth plugs or prods, even spiked plugs or prods.  As you can see, this model does not, and it matches your other accessories, carrying forward the sleek, contemporary theme."

With Ali continuing to hold Erin's hair and shifting her grip on the squirming, mewling captive's mouth as required, Beverly proceeded to apply the scold's bridle.  Soon, smooth, horizontal bands of shining steel encircled Erin's brow and lower face, while vertical and diagonal bands completed the cage.  A hinged panel, sculpted to follow the curves of her stuffed mouth, replaced Ali's hand-gag.  Ratcheting clicks sounded behind Erin's head as the bridle tightened.  She couldn't see exactly what was happening, but a key turned, then Ali and Beverly released her head and stepped back.

"M'mmpfh!"  Erin shook her caged head.  The bridle wasn't what she could call comfortable, but she had to admit it was well designed.  The cage squeezed her head, but not as tightly as Ali had gripped her hair.  She had no idea what it looked like in place, but she knew she would never get the damn thing off her head, even if her chains and cuffs were unlocked and she was otherwise completely free.

"Simply beautiful," Beverly purred.  "I love her pale, blue, frightened eyes."

Ali had joined her employer in front of Erin's spreadeagled form.  Her expression was neutral as she shrugged and checked her wristwatch.  "I have a marinating pork loin I must remove from the fridge."

"I can handle it from here," Beverly said, continuing to gaze at her captive.

"And I'll help," a new voice announced.

It was Crystal.  The diminutive pixie was wearing tan, skintight riding pants, black knee-boots, and a sleeveless, white cotton blouse with a plunging neckline that showcased her pale, toned arms and full breasts to great effect—if Erin had been in the mood to give a damn about such things.

"Perfect timing, Pip," Beverly smiled.  "I believe you know what we need next?"

"Yes, Mistress," Crystal answered, a leering smile on her face as she surveyed Erin's stretched, pinioned curves.

Ali spun on her heel and headed out the door, pausing only to whisper something in Crystal's ear, kiss her suddenly blushing cheek, and deliver a resounding slap to her tautly covered rump.

Crystal giggled, went to the cabinet, and started gathering some things, things that involved a great deal of metallic clinking, clanking, and rattling.  She turned and stepped forward.  In her arms were a steel collar, more chain, and a steel bar about a foot in length, a shorter version of the spreader bar splaying Erin's legs.

Crystal dropped the chain and bar at Erin's feet, then locked the collar around her throat.  Erin tried to fight, but Beverly took Ali's former role, gathering a generous handful of tousled hair and taking a firm grip.  The shiny steel choker was wide, thick, and heavy.  It restricted Erin's head movement almost like a neck brace, or so she supposed, not having any real experience with such things.

Next, Crystal picked up the bar and locked it to the back of the collar.  The cool, rounded steel hung against Erin's back, its terminal ring rattling against her spine as she squirmed and struggled.  Then, Crystal took hold of Erin's right forearm and Beverly unlocked the right cuff's ring from its vertical chain.  Together, they muscled Erin's wrist behind her back and locked the cuff ring to the bar's terminal ring.  Her left wrist followed, and Erin was free of the chains but still totally helpless.

Well, not quite.  She shuffled to the side and shoved her shoulder against Crystal.  It was a futile gesture, but enough was enough!

Crystal giggled and took a step back, then smiled at Beverly.  "Permission to begin training, Mistress?"

Beverly smiled, locked eyes with Erin, and nodded.

Erin watched Crystal step to the cabinet and return with a riding crop.  "M'mfh!"  A truly evil smile on her pixie face, Crystal seized Erin's right nipple between her left thumb and forefinger, and gave it a painful twist.  "Nrrrf!"  Then, a serious snap from the crop landed on Erin's left thigh.  "Mfffh!"

Crystal placed the business end of the crop against Erin's left breast.  All the while, she maintained her squeezing grip of Erin's right nipple.  "A slave doesn't squirm or fight," she said, locking eyes with her prisoner.  "Unless she is ordered to do so, for the entertainment of her Mistress.  And under no circumstances does she attack her Mistress, not even in jest."  She tightened her grip.  "Understand?"

Her eyes wide in distress, Erin stopped struggling.  In fact, she stood stock still, frozen in place.

"Nod your head if you understand," Crystal said, and Erin did so, or tried, anyway.  The collar was tight and heavy, and the added weight of the attached bar was no help.  "Your first lesson as a slave, and an important one," Crystal continued.  "Important lessons must be reinforced."  She released Erin's nipple, then put her left arm around Erin's waist.  "You do not have permission to move."

Whack!

"Mrrpfh!"  Crystal—the little bitch!—had delivered a stinging blow to Erin's left butt cheek.

"One," Crystal announced.

Whack!

"Two."

"MrrrNRRF!"

Crystal released her embrace and took a step back.  An evil, gloating smile curled her lips as she slowly shook her head, causing her straight, short, pageboy-cut hair to sway.  "Oh, Erin," she sighed, "you moved.  Now I have to start all over again."  She placed the tip of the crop to Erin's left nipple and firmly pressed, creating a veritable crater of a dimple.  "And we'll start over as many times as it takes.  Do you understand, slave?"  Eyes locked with Erin, she slowly eased the crop.  "Blink your eyes twice if you understand."

What the hell is this?  Erin stared at Crystal.  Do they think I'm enjoying this?  Do they think I won't go to the cops?

"Answer your Mistress," Crystal purred, "or do I need to punish you for insolence and then return to Lesson One?"

Erin blinked, twice.  I'll play along 'til they let me go.  Then, I'll find Madison and we'll get the hell out of this madhouse.  And Beverly Adair can shove her gallery up her ass!  No show is worth this shit.

"All right, then," Crystal chuckled, and embraced Erin, again.  "Here we go."

Whack!—"One"—Whack!—"two"—Whack!—"three"—Whack!—"four"—Whack!—"five"—Whack!—"and six."

Tears were streaming down Erin's cheeks and across the shining steel of the bridle's gag-panel.  She was crying.  She couldn't help it.  You little bitch!

"She marks beautifully, Mistress," Crystal sighed.  The crop was dangling from her wrist and she was caressing Erin's pink, flushed butt cheek.

"The contrast between marked and unmarked is quite compelling," Beverly noted.

Crystal stepped back, slid the thong from her wrist, and presented the crop to Beverly with both hands, her head bowed.  "If Mistress would care to mark the virgin cheek?"

Beverly chuckled as she took the crop from Crystal.  "Only if she gives you trouble while you get her ready to move, Pip," she answered, then smiled at Erin.  "You won't give your trainer any trouble, will you slave?"

Erin was trying not to sob.  They're sick, both of them.  She blinked, twice.

"Good slave," Beverly chuckled.

Crystal proceeded to release Erin's ankle cuffs from the spreader bar and re-secure them to a "Y" shaped chain, three chains of equal length attached to a central ring.  Now, two chains hobbled Erin's ankles while the third, vertical chain lifted the other two off the floor and linked to the ring locking Erin's wrists behind her back and to the bar dangling from her collar.  Next, a thin, light chain was clipped to the ring on the front of the collar.  At its other end was a loop of brown leather.

A sob forced itself past Erin's gag.  It's a dog leash, she realized.  It was humiliating.  She glared at Crystal through tears.  Damn you!  Damn you both!

"Beautiful," Crystal sighed.  "Isn't she, Mistress?"

Beverly stepped forward and kissed the top of Crystal's head.  "As were you on your first day, Pip.  As you are, every time we play."  She handed the crop back to Crystal.

Crystal blushed as she slid the crop's strap over her right wrist and the leash's strap over her left.  "Mistress," she sighed, then actually purred when Beverly kissed her forehead.

"My little Pip-kitten," Beverly chuckled, then turned and left the room.

Erin turned her head to watch Beverly leave, as far as her collar would allow—then turned her head back when Crystal gave the leash a firm jerk.

"Don't worry, slave," Crystal purred.  "You'll have many, many opportunities to leer at our Mistress."

Erin would have loved to have expressed her growing anger at the way she was being treated—perhaps a pointless stamping of her shackled feet—but Crystal stepped off after their "Mistress", the leash snapped taut, and she had no choice but to stumble after her "trainer's" diminutive form.  In seconds they were out the door and in the hallway.

Beverly was some distance away, having nearly reached the door that led back to the main house, but instead of following, Crystal led Erin to one of the side doors.  She opened it, revealing a set of descending stairs.

"Be careful, Erin," Crystal said as she started down.  "You're not yet used to being hobbled."

Not yet??

The stairs led to another hallway, this one dimly lit by industrial fixtures set in the ceiling.  Erin clinked and shuffled after her tiny handler, staring at the iron gate ahead.  Its bars were thick and closely spaced.  Its lock and hinges were quite substantial, as in keep-out-the-hungry-grizzly-bears substantial.  It opened with a key and a cipher-lock code.  Crystal used her body to shield the key-pad from Erin's eyes.

The gate opened and Erin shuffled through, reluctantly obedient to Crystal's leash.  The hallway continued and they passed an array of identical wooden doors, on either side.  They paused before a door, identical to all the others as far as Erin could tell.  Crystal used her key, then opened the door.

The space beyond was large, and—"Mrrf?  Nrrrr!"—contained a tall, narrow, vertical cage of steel bars.  Its most compelling feature was its shape.  To put it simply, it took the general form of a standing woman.

There were other objects in the room, some big and some small, some rectangular and come of uncertain shape.  All were shrouded by stained dustcovers.

"Took you long enough," a new voice noted.

It was Lyndal.  The blond beauty had been leaning against the wall beside the door.  She was dressed like Crystal.  Apparently, "Equestrian Tart" was a staff uniform.  Lyndal eyed the still vivid marks on Erin's left rump, a smirk curling her lips.  "Taking a time out to indulge yourself?"

"Taking time out to begin Slave Erin's training," Crystal answered with a self-satisfied grin.

Lyndal shrugged.  "Let's get on with it.  I want to get in a little yoga before dinner."  She walked to the standing cage, threw a lever in the back, and the front half opened like a clam shell.

Erin shook her head, as best she could.  "Nrrf!"

Crystal giggled as she led Erin forward, despite her struggling, clinking, shuffling resistance.  "Will she fit?  I know I fit, of course."

"You fit in my pocket," Lyndal chuckled, "when I have pockets."  She stepped behind Erin, took hold of her arms, and pushed her forward, towards the open cage.  "Anyway, I also fit in the thing, as you damn well know."

"She's taller," Crystal countered.

"She'll fit," Lyndal stated, then spun Erin around.

"Nrrrrrf!"  Erin could do nothing to prevent Lyndal and Crystal from shoving her inside the cage.  "Nrrrf!"  The front closed—Clunk!—and Lyndal's judgement was vindicated—but only just.  The cage pressed against Erin's hips on either side and squeezed her breasts between two of its horizontal bars.  She had an inch or less clearance at the thighs, waist, and shoulders, but the top of the scolds bridle clacked and clattered against the inner dome of the cage when she tried to move her head.

"What a drama queen," Crystal chuckled as she threw the latch.  Several flanges slid into matching sockets with authoritative clicks, and she snapped a hefty padlock through the closed hasp.  She then stepped beside Lyndal and the pair stood, hands on hips, smiling at Erin's twisting, squirming form.  "She acts like she's never been gagged, chained, and locked in a gibbet-cage before."

Lyndal shrugged, still smiling.  "Let's go."

The pair headed for the door, then Lyndal paused and snapped her fingers.  "Almost forgot."  She grabbed the dustcover atop a steamer trunk sized object near the door, and gave it a firm tug.  She was out the door and it was closing by the time the cloth finished sliding to the floor.

"M'mmpfh!"

Erin heard the click of the door lock turning, then focused on what the removal of the cloth had revealed.

It was another cage.  Its base was about three feet wide and between four and five feet in length and its height about four.  The bars were thick and closely spaced, like Erin's cage, and its hinged top closed on a hefty bolt secured by a high-security padlock.  And inside the cage—

Erin's eyes popped wide and she screamed through her gag.

"NRRRRRF!"