artists & models
		by Van ©2012
		Chapter 7

Erin stared up at the all too familiar ceiling of her cell.  How many days? she wondered.  How long have I been Lyndal's prisoner? ...Crystal's plaything?  ...Beverly's slave?

Last night, Lyndal had left her on her back in a very loose spread-eagle.  She's slept with her mitten-encased hands and leather cuffed ankles attached to chains at the head and foot of her mattress-on-the-floor "bed" with each limb allowed about a foot of slack.  If she wanted to, she could actually touch her face with her mittens, but she couldn't really roll onto her front or side, not comfortably, anyway.

How long?

Erin had been a captive for at least twenty days, but it may have been more, possibly as much as a month.  She'd tried to keep track, but some nights she was so exhausted from a particularly arduous workout and/or yoga session... she forgot.  The evening "entertainment sessions" didn't help her concentration, either.

Before being allowed to sleep, Lyndal would make her cum, sometimes with a vibrator (or vibrators), sometimes with her tongue, and once with a compact machine with an attached dildo that actually fucked her.  And no matter how Erin resisted, no matter how she tried to think of anything other than what Lyndal was doing to her, Erin did cum.  Lyndal was as expert at expediting the entertainment process as she was at yoga.

Since their enslavement, Erin had only seen Madison once.

Lyndal had taken Erin to one of the mansion's subterranean chambers and tied her in a hideously tight position.  Her hands still encased in their ubiquitous mittens, Erin's wrists were lashed behind her back and to her upper torso in a stringent reverse-prayer.  Her ankles and thighs were bound in a full lotus, something Erin would have found to be instant torture before Lyndal's yoga lessons, but now found to be only gradual torture.  Ropes linking her leg bonds, her upper body bonds, and passing behind her neck were tightened, pulling her into a full crunch.  Her hair was then braided and tied back to her crotch rope, lifting her chin and forcing her head back.  Next, several ropes bound around her bent knees, waist, and upper bonds, were stretched up to pulleys in the ceiling, and she was hoisted into the air and left in full suspension, floating in a cradle of rope on her back with her ring-gagged face staring at the ceiling and her rope-cleaved crotch at waist height.  Finally, Lyndal used thin hemp cords to link her nipple rings to her big toes.  This final arrangement was fiddle-string taut, stretching her nipples and forcing her to remain perfectly still.

Lyndal left the chamber and Erin suffered, the position growing more painful with each passing minute.  Minutes passed... and the pain continued to build.

Finally, the door opened.  Erin couldn't see who had entered, but she did hear a gagged cry of alarm.  "NRRRF!"  Then, Crystal and Madison came into her decidedly limited range of vision—their heads and shoulders, anyway.

Madison's upper body and shoulders appeared to be bound, like Erin.  A leather collar—a dog collar—was around her throat, and its attached leash was in Crystal's hand.  A steel ring-gag with four curved flanges was strapped in Madison's mouth propping her jaws at full stretch.  Erin had endured ring-gags, herself, but not this particular model.  Madison's red hair was in a braided ponytail and her brown eyes wide with concern.

"Well, Fire," Crystal said, "I hope you're happy."  She was addressing Madison, of course.  The Evil Pixie was wearing her usual Equestrian Bitch attire, what Erin had come to accept as the slave handlers' working uniform.  "Are you sorry you made me have to ask Lyn to do this to poor Ice?"

Madison's eyes welled and she nodded her ring-gagged head.

"She's going to stay like this for half the day, missing her yoga class,"  Crystal continued, "and it's your fault for being disobedient, Fire."

A tear rolled down Madison's cheek.

"And you were doing so well, Fire," Crystal sighed.  "Would you like me to make things a little easier for Ice?"

Still crying, Madison nodded, again.

"I will," Crystal promised, "but you have to promise to be a good slave from now on, and do everything Mistress tells you to do."

Madison nodded.  The tears continued to flow, as did drool from her ring-gag.

"What a mess you are, Fire," Crystal cooed.  She produced a white lace handkerchief from somewhere and patted Madison's face.  She then released the slip knots in the cords linking Erin's nipple-rings and toes.

Erin sighed with relief.  She was still in pain, but it wasn't the worst ordeal Lyndal and/or Crystal had inflicted on her... not yet.

"Allrightiethen, Fire," Crystal chuckled.  "Now, I want you to lick your fellow slave's pussy, and don't stop 'til I tell you to stop."

Madison blinked in surprise and tried to take a step back, but the leash snapped taut and Crystal jerked her back to her former position.

"So soon, Fire?" Crystal sighed.  "And after you promised Mistress.  And after she accepted your promise."  She drew her mini-prod from its holster and clicked it to the second setting.  With slow deliberation she poised the business end of the punishment device above Erin's splayed and helpless crotch.  "One," she announced, and tapped Erin's labia, over her clitoris.

"Mrrrf!"  Erin flinched in her bonds.  Her suspended body began to squirm and sway, but the taut ropes pinned her in place, vulnerable to the sting of the wand.

"Two."

Another tap landed and Erin's body went rigid and she squeezed her eyes tightly closed.  "Mmmmf!"

"Nrrr!"  Madison lunged forward, extended her tongue through the ring, and slid it across Erin's labia.

"There's a good slave," Crystal purred, and returned the mini-prod to its holster.  "Keep that up 'til she cums.  Of course, that may take a while, now that you made me spoil the mood, but keep it up."

And Madison did continue to lick and probe with her tongue, and it did take a while for Erin to cum, as Crystal had predicted.  Eventually, however, Erin experienced an orgasm.  Not her most memorable, other than the fact that it had arrived on the tongue of her best friend, but it had been an orgasm.

Crystal led Madison from the chamber, the door closed... and the rope-enforced bondage ordeal continued.

That night, Lyndal had been unusually kind, hand-feeding Erin an actual meal of salad, chicken breast in some sort of salsa-like sauce, a sliver of cheesecake, and white wine.  Afterwards, the blond Mistress had stripped off her clothing and made love to her brown-haired slave.  It wasn't the "orgasm extraction" Erin had experienced up until then.  Erin could only call it lovemaking.

Lyndal was gentle, through, and generous.  Erin remained a helpless prisoner, her mitten-encased hands locked together behind her back and her ankles hobbled, but Lyndal had cuddled and caressed her entire body, toyed with her nipple rings— the piercings had long since healed—and gently squeezed her breasts.  She also licked and nibbled her thighs and pussy—and made her cum—then cuddled with her, again—then made her cum, again.

That had been three days ago... or was it four?

Suddenly, the key rattled in the lock and the cell door opened.  This time, it was Lyndal and Crystal, both in Equestrian Bitch mode, and they were moving in an unusually purposeful manner.  Lyndal's morning routine was to take her time releasing Erin from her bondage-of-the-evening, taking the time to caress and "inspect" her body, but not today.

"Wha—mmmf."  A two-inch ball-gag was stuffed into Erin's mouth, buckled tight, and padlocked.  Her mittens were released from the chains and locked behind her back and her ankle cuffs released and locked together.  Then, Lyndal hoisted her onto her shoulder and they were out the door.  Erin lifted her head, shook the hair from her face, and focused on Crystal.  The pixie was smiling at her... of course.  Crystal always smiled, even when she was doing something cruel.

Their immediate destination was the shower room.  Lyndal planted Erin's feet on the tiles and locked her neck in the slave-handling frame's collar.  The blonde held Erin steady as Crystal went to work with a comb and brush.  She divided Erin's hair down the middle, then braided the brown locks into two long, tight pigtails and secured the ends with narrow, black silk ribbons.  The collar was released, Erin was back on Lyndal's shoulder, and they were out the door and walking down the corridor, once again.

Beverly Adair's subterranean realm was big and none of the doors and corridors were marked, but it wasn't an actual labyrinth.  Erin had been her captive long enough to have discerned its basic floor plan.  That said, she estimated she'd "visited" far less than half of its many chambers.  They paused before yet another ubiquitous door, Crystal stepped forward and opened the heavy portal, and Lyndal carried Erin across the threshold.

Erin was lifted off Lyndal's shoulder and planted on her feet, again, then spun around.  She found herself in a large chamber with a high ceiling.  Near the far wall was a framework of steel rods or pipes in the form of an armchair without a seat—and bound to the terrible thing was Madison!  The redhead was naked, of course.  Will either of us ever wear clothing again? Erin wondered.  Madison was strapped in place at the ankles, thighs, waist, upper arms, throat, and left wrist.  Curiously, her right wrist was not strapped down, and under her right hand was a tablet computer, mounted at the proper angle for writing.  In front of the tablet, mounted at about ninety degrees, was a small, flat-screen monitor.  Finally, Madison was ball-gagged.  From her expression, she was obviously very worried.

Beverly Adair, dressed like her staff in Equestrian Bitch costume, stood next to Madison's "chair"—and that was all Erin had time to absorb before Lyndal and Crystal hustled her to the center of the chamber.  Her mittens were released and reattached to chains dangling from the ceiling.  Erin looked up and followed the chains through a series of pulleys and down to an electric winch off to one side.  Meanwhile, her ankle cuffs were separated and locked to rings set in the floor, splaying her legs about three feet apart.

Crystal strolled to the winch, turned and smiled at Erin, and thumbed a switch.  The winch hummed to life and began to turn, drawing the chains onto its drum.

What had been a loose, standing spread-eagle quickly became a stringent standing spread-eagle.  Crystal didn't turn off the winch until Erin's heels left the floor and she was up on her toes with her body at full stretch.  The Evil Pixie-Bitch then strolled to Erin, threaded the ends of her pigtails through her nipple rings, pulled them taut, and tied the end ribbons together with a decorative bow.  Now, if Erin turned her head or lifted her chin, her hair tugged on her nipples.

Erin's bonds positioned her facing Madison's seat-less chair at an angle of about forty-five degrees.  She could see her fellow slave without turning her head and stressing her nipples.

Beverly stepped forward until she was equidistant from the two captives, then addressed Madison.  "It was a simple request, Fire," she sighed, shaking her head with disappointment.  "Write your name 100 times, then write whatever words appear on the screen until I tell you to stop.  A simple request."  She turned to Erin.  "Don't worry, Ice, you'll have a chance to train the software of my auto-scribe machine as well; but not today.  Today, you suffer because Fire has decided to be willful."  She nodded at Crystal and returned to her former position.

"Nrrrrf!"  Madison was squirming, tugging on her bonds, and reaching towards Beverly with her right hand.

Beverly pulled a stylus from behind her right ear.  "You want to use this?" she asked Madison.  "You've decided to be a good slave and follow your Mistress' orders without question?"

"M'mmfh!"  Madison did her best to nod, despite the strap buckled across her throat.

Beverly slowly shook her head.  "I'm afraid it's too late, Fire," she sighed.  "I don't make empty threats.  You should know that by now."

Meanwhile, Crystal had sauntered to a cabinet against the far wall, in the range of vision of both Erin and Madison.  She opened its double doors, revealing dozens of whips, crops, canes, and multi-tailed floggers hanging from hooks.  She unbuckled her corset-belt and hung it from an empty hook, then unbuttoned and removed her sleeveless, V-neck blouse and hung it from the same hook.  She pulled on a pair of thin gloves of black kid, then lightly ran her now leather-clad fingers over the many instruments for inflicting pain.

Erin hung in her inescapable bonds and watched.  Her heart was pounding, but she remained silent.  She didn't struggle and didn't even attempt to plead for mercy.  Her captors would do whatever they'd decided to do, and she was helpless.

Crystal settled on a flogger, twenty or more three-foot ribbons of chamois-thin leather braided together to form a stiff handle at one end.  Its many loose tails shook and rattled as Crystal took it from its hook, slipped the handle's loop over her right wrist, and gave it a shake.  She then began a series of torso twists and arm stretches.  Her toned muscles slid under the pale, smooth skin of her diminutive form.  Her brown eyes sparkled as she smiled at Erin.

Madison was sobbing through her ball-gag and her eyes welled.

Erin steeled herself for what was to come.

Lyndal stepped to Beverly's side and took her hand.

Crystal strolled behind Erin, leaving her field of view.  Seconds passed as Madison continued to cry.

Finally, Erin heard a whistling noise—and her back exploded with searing pain!

Erin's head had lolled forward and her drool-wet chin was on her chest.  Her back, butt, and thighs felt like they were on fire, and her entire body was dripping with sweat.  She hung in her bonds, her breasts heaving and nostrils flaring as she panted.  It had been bad, very bad.  How long Crystal had worked her over with the flogger, she wasn't sure.  It had been several minutes, possibly more than ten.  Pinioned with her arms and legs outstretched, all she could do was take it as blow after lashing blow landed.  And then, finally, mercifully, it was over.

Madison was still sobbing, her cheeks flushed and wet above her ball-gag.  Her right hand was busy, writing her name over and over on the tablet with the stylus.

Beverly was looking over Madison's shoulder, smiling and nodding.  "Good, good, Fire," she cooed.  "Take your time and write naturally."

Erin didn't blame Madison for her ordeal.  She knew why her friend had refused to cooperate.  Unless she was mistaken, an "auto-scribe" machine mechanically reproduced handwriting.  Properly programmed, it mimicked the pressure and speed of a person's handwriting, and Madison was training the software as she wrote, providing the required data.  Eventually, the device would be able to produce a perfect replica of her signature, good enough to fool even a handwriting expert.  And Beverly had promised Erin a chance to train the machine as well.

Beverly's plan was obvious.  Powers of attorney, postcards, even entire letters could be produced, as needed, to satisfy legal requirements or answer the inquiries of their friends and relatives.  Erin knew she didn't have a lot of either, friends or relatives, that is—not close friends, anyway.  Most if not all of her acquaintances in the art scene would probably forget all about her when they stopped seeing her at Starbucks or at parties, especially since Beverly had spread plausible rumors to explain her absence.  And as for relatives, there were a few living across the country, but they didn't even exchange Christmas cards.  As for Madison, she had an aunt living in the city, but they'd had some sort of a falling out.  The bottom line was, no one was likely to inquire about either of their whereabouts.

Lyndal stepped in front of Erin, untied the bow linking the ends of her pigtails, and gently pulled the braids free of her nipple-rings.  "Poor Ice," the blonde cooed.

Erin lifted her head and stared at Lyndal with tear-stained eyes.

"That's twice you've been punished for Fire's disobedience," Lyndal continued.  She cupped Erin's breasts and gave them a gentle squeeze.  "Let's hope she's finally learned her lesson and we don't have to do it again."  She glanced at Madison, still crying and writing on the tablet.  "I guess it's true what they say about redheads and their tempers, but she does seem sorry."

Erin wasn't buying it, but she kept her feelings masked.

That night, Lyndal led Erin to what the brunette took to be her handler's own bedroom.  The decor was spartan, modern, and tasteful, and was dominated by a giant framed photograph of wild horses running across the plains.  The lead horse was a palomino.  Whether it was a stallion or mare, Erin couldn't tell, but it was a truly magnificent animal, as were the horses running behind.  Morning or evening transitional light flooded the foreground, highlighting the horses' exhaled breath and their flying manes against the darker background of the rolling hills and distant, purple mountains.

It was a beautiful photograph—and Erin was suddenly devastated by the loss of her art—and her freedom.  She stared at the thundering horses—and tears trailed down her cheeks.

"Poor Ice," Lyndal said as she led Erin to her bed.  "I'll put some ointment on your back and make you feel better."

It's not my back, Erin thought, but she didn't try and speak.  The ball-gag was still strapped and padlocked in her mouth.

Lyndal spreadeagled Erin on the bed, face down, and rubbed ointment on her back as promised, as well as her butt and thighs.  "You're striped like a zebra," Lyndal told her prisoner, "but your skin isn't broken.  Crystal is quite expert with the whip.  You'll feel much better in the morning."

There was another special meal—several savory, salty, and delicious courses hand fed to Erin by Lyndal—and it definitely wasn't monkey chow—but she didn't really care.

Later, Lyndal made love to her, several times, taking care to avoid the now mildly sensitive skin Crystal had punished.

This, Erin did care about.  The gentle caress of her handler's strong hands, the feel of the muscles gliding under the blonde's skin as their bodies rubbed together, the way she toyed with Erin's nipple-rings and stroked her breasts, and above all, the wonderful things she did with her fingers, lips, and tongue...  Erin writhed and tugged on her loose but implacable bonds, relishing the waves of pleasure washing over her body as Lyndal gave her orgasm after orgasm.

It was Erin's only escape—her only escape.

Ten more days passed.

Yoga in the morning, gym in the afternoon, sex with Lyndal at night—Gym in the morning, yoga in the afternoon, sex with Lyndal at night—it was an endless cycle.

Nine out of ten of Erin's meals were monkey chow, with the tenth taking the form of a randomly appearing breakfast, lunch, or dinner, each a shining example of Alison Devereaux' gourmet cuisine.

Erin saw neither peach-pink hide nor ginger-red hair of Madison.  Apparently, "Fire" had decided to become an obedient slave and there were no further requirements to punish "Ice."  Erin remained alert, but no opportunities for escape presented themselves.  She was constantly bound and usually gagged and her handlers made no mistakes.

Twenty more days.

Thirty more days.

Then, one morning, the door of Erin's cell opened and instead of Lyndal—Beverly and Ali appeared.  The Mistress-of-Mistresses was in equestrian drag and Ali was in her usual sandals, jeans, and blouse.

Erin was still only half-awake as Ali buckled and padlocked a ball-gag in her mouth, locked her mittens behind her back, and hobbled her ankles.  She was then lifted to her feet and they were out the door with Beverly in the lead.

Their destination was upstairs and out of the mansion, the first time Erin had left the main building since her capture and enslavement.  It was a clear morning, but it appeared to have rained during the night.  The path under Erin's bare feet was cool and damp, and the grass was wet.  They entered a barn-like building and passed door after door, all tall and with small, barred windows.  The stables, Erin remembered.  Beverly mentioned she had stables... before.

Erin was led to what was unmistakably a tack room.  Straps, bridles, and other leather and steel accouterments hung from hooks and wooden cabinets lined the walls.  Curiously, there were no saddles or saddle stands.

Beverly watched as Ali buckled a leather collar around Erin's throat, positioned her in the center of the room, and made sure she stayed there by stretching a chain from either side and snapping them to rings in the collar.

Next, a corset of thinly padded black canvas was wrapped around Erin's waist and buckled tight.  This was followed by a corset of brown leather.  It had steel rings on either side, solidly stitched to the outer corset, and the pair, canvas and leather, were obviously a set.  The straps and buckles of the inner corset slid into channels in the outer corset's interior lining.  When Ali was finished, Erin's ribs, tummy, and lower back were squeezed in a business-like but not actually punishing grip.  At least there aren't any laces, Erin mused.  Leather shoulder straps anchored the top of the outer corset, but there were no lower straps passing through her crotch or encircling her thighs, nor were any needed.

An arm-binder followed.  Erin's mittens were passed through the opposite ends of a leather tube and buckles tightened around her upper arms, just below her armpits.  The terminal rings of her mittens were snapped to rings in the tube's interior, zippers were closed, and Erin's arms were now sheathed behind her back in a U-shaped manner.  There were more snaps and tugs, and the center of the binder was attached to the back of the outer corset.

A wooden stool was positioned behind Erin's back, the collar chains were slackened, and Ali plunked the naked captive's rump on the seat.  Erin watched as Ali went to a cabinet and returned with a pair of boots—a very strange pair of boots.  They were knee-boots, with integrated, cuff-like straps at the tops and ankles.  That was unusual, but it wasn't the strange part.  Instead of normal soles and heels, the boots ended in what Erin could only describe as hooves, and they were "shod" with steel horseshoes!

"Point your toes as Ali fits your new boots," Beverly ordered.

Erin did so, as much curious as fearful of punishment.  Her feet slid into close-fitting, padded channels.  Ali zipped the boots closed, tightened the buckles, and Erin found her feet would now remain on point.  She had no choice in the matter.  A double-ended steel clip was snapped to rings in the boot-top straps, and Erin knew her steps would now be hobbled—assuming it was even possible to take steps in such absurd footwear.

Finally, Erin's ball-gag was removed and immediately replaced by an elaborate head-harness that anchored a red rubber bit between her teeth.  Again, Ali accomplished the task with deft, practiced fingers while Beverly smiled and watched.  A horizontal band encircled Erin's brow.  Additional straps stretched from the steel rings at either end of the bit, crossed her cheeks, met at the bridge of her nose, and continued to a steel ring just behind the crown of her head.  Her brown hair was passed through the ring, enforcing a ponytail, the many buckles were secured, and the harness was uniformly snug and tight.  Erin knew herself to be not as well gagged as she had been before, but the thick, stiff bit trapped her tongue and tugged at the corners of her mouth.  She was gagged.

"Beautiful," Beverly sighed.

Ali unbuckled the collar and helped Erin to her feet.

"Mwrf!"  The horseshoe-boots were precarious.  Their insteps provided even support, but there were no actual heels.  Erin was tottering on her toes.  She had always had a little height on Beverly, but now, up on her toes and said toes balanced on the horseshoe platforms, she felt like a giant—a naked, corseted, arm-binder bound, bit-gagged, and knee-hobbled giant.  The boots weren't exactly stilts, but the top of Beverley's head was now even with her chin.

"You can handle her?" Ali asked Beverly.

"Of course," Beverly answered, looking Erin's leather-bound body up and down with a broad smile.

Ali turned and left without another word.  Not for the first time, Erin noted the difference between Ali's attitude and the other staff.  She was respectful and attentive of her Mistress, but never subservient.

"Come, Ice," Beverly said, pulling the riding crop from her right boot and slipping its thong over her wrist.  She gestured towards the open door and Erin staggered across the threshold, encumbered by the boot's unfamiliar design and the knee-hobble.  Beverly led her to one of the stalls.  Erin watched as she unlocked and unbolted the stall door and rolled it aside on its overhead track.

The space beyond was small, too small for a horse, and waiting inside was Madison.  She was restrained in an identical manner to Erin: bit-harness, double corset, arm-binder, and horseshoe-boots.  In terms of tack, they were a matching pair.  The only exception was the color of Madison's canvas inner corset, which was white.

Beverly beckoned with her crop and Madison lurched forward to stand beside her fellow slave.  "Such a pretty pair," Beverly sighed, then reached into her pocket and pulled out four small, tinkling jingle-bells.  She snapped their attached clips through each of Madison's and Erin's nipple-rings.  "Delightful.  So pretty."

Erin and Madison stared at each other... and sighed through their bit-gags.

Beverly waved her crop towards the large double-doors at the far end of the stables.  The roommates lurched and staggered towards their new goal.

"Congratulations are in order," Beverly purred.  "You've done so well in your training, I've decided you're both ready for promotion."  They'd reached the doors and Beverly's hand was poised at a panel with a pair of buttons.  "You are no longer slaves, but are now ponies."  She thumbed the "OPEN" button and the doors parted and began to swing open.

Erin and Madison exchanged confused looks.  Their thoughts were the same: 'Ponies?'

Beyond the doors was a running track.  Beverly led her "ponies" into the sunshine.

They heard an approaching jingling and whirring noise, turned their heads—and something truly remarkable came into view.

Erin and Madison's eyes popped wide and they stared in amazement.