Bound for the Tour

by Commander James Bondage

  “I… I’m afraid,” she said.

  “Of what?” he asked. She felt his big hand moving over her face.

  “Of what you might do to me,” she said. “I’m helpless and I’m afraid you are going to hurt me.”

  Suddenly, there was a blinding shock of pain on her cheek and her head was knocked sideways by a heavy slap. Her face throbbed from the blow.

  “Quite right,” he agreed in a mild tone. “I am going to hurt you. What else do you feel?”

  “I… I… feel…” Emily said slowly, uncertainly. Before she could say more, she felt his hand between her legs, cupping her sex.

  “Excited?” he inquired. “Aroused, perhaps?”

  The touch of his hand turned Emily mad with desire. She was ready to explode after a week of increasing frustration.

  “Yes! Yes, sir! I am so excited, I can’t stand it!” she gasped.

  He took his hand away and held it to her face. “I believe you, Thayer, I believe you. You are already aroused and we haven’t even started yet,” he said. “You have to learn to pace yourself, or you’ll never last through the night.”

  She heard the sound of wood scraping the floor, and she guessed that he was pulling the chair he had been sitting in closer to where she was confined. In a moment, she felt his legs pass between hers, and then she felt something brush against her.

  “Did you feel my cock, Thayer?” she heard him ask, his voice now coming from below, at about the height of her chest.

  “Yes, yes please, won’t you take me? Won’t you fuck me, sir?” Emily quavered. Whatever was holding her from above had enough slack to allow her to lower her hips by bending her knees, as she sought about for him with her body.

  There was a sharp snap, and something cut a burning line of pain on her armpit.

  “Not so fast, Thayer,” he said. “We’ll do this my way. First, I want you to call me ‘Master’ from now on when you are serving as my sex slave. Understood?” The whip cracked again, this time etching a sinuous welt across Emily’s pert buttocks. She screamed and jumped.

  “Yes, yes, Master, I understand,” she half-sobbed.

  “Good. Stand still now.” She felt his hand between her legs again, then his fingers pressed into her and rubbed at her. Her hips writhed sinuously at the touch, and a low moan came from deep in her throat.

  “I told you to stand still,” Traynor said. An instant later the whip burned a path across her left breast. Again, Emily cried out in pain. With a great effort, she brought the movements of her lower body to a stop. “I… I’m sorry, Master,” she breathed.

  “You will do nothing without my permission, understood?” he asked as he resumed manipulating her.

  “Yes, Master, I understand!” she shouted. Emily was finding that the agony inflicted by Traynor’s whip was easier to bear than the ecstasy supplied by his hands.

  His mouth fastened on her nipples, one after the other, sucking and licking, then gently nibbling between his teeth until Emily thought she would go mad with the frustration. Then his cock was rubbing between her legs again, this time more insistently. “Now, do you want this inside you?”

  “Yes, Master!” Emily could not help but scream this time, so great was her need. “I beg you to put it in me!”

  “Lower yourself two inches, no more,” he warned. He pressed the end of it into Emily and she carefully lowered herself onto him. She moaned again, more loudly.

  “How does that feel?” he asked.

  “Oh, Master, it’s good, so good,” Emily gasped.

  Traynor’s hands were now holding Emily’s ass cheeks from below. “You may lower yourself further on me, slowly,” he said. She sighed deeply, and bent her knees a little more until the insides of her thighs were pressed against the outsides of his and she was spiked on his manhood.

  Traynor’s hands pulled her buttocks apart and his fingers began exploring.

  “You may fuck me now, Thayer, slowly, “ he said, emphasizing the last word. A finger shot knuckle-deep into Emily’s rear. She yelped, but did not interrupt her deliberate sliding up and down on him. “Did you wonder why I didn’t fuck you again after that first time?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master,” Emily answered. “Ohh, it feels so good… yes, Master, I thought, thought… uhh! I thought that you didn’t want me,” she sighed.

  Traynor had worked another finger into Emily’s behind while she was talking, and he now started to twist the fingers about as if trying to loosen and stretch her. Emily’s protests were confined to quiet cries of “Oh! Oooh! Ahh!” and she continued unchanged the leisurely pace of her ride atop him.

  “You were wrong,” Traynor said. “I know you would have been happy to come to my room any night I asked you. It was pretty obvious you wanted to be fucked. But you had to come to me, and that was what I was waiting for.”

  “Oh Master! I’m going to come!” Emily moaned, throwing her head back.

  “Not yet, bitch,” he said, lifting her buttocks until only the very end of his cock was still inside her. “You will come when I give you permission, not before.”

  “Yes Master, I’ll obey you, but please won’t you let me?” she begged, her fingers clutching at nothing, her hips twisting from side to side.

  He now had three fingers inside Emily’s rear and was thrusting them in and out, plunging knuckle deep into her. “Have you ever been taken in the rear, Thayer?” he asked.

  “Ah! Ah! No, Master,” Emily yelped, suddenly alarmed. “Please don’t put it in there.”

  He pulled out of her, and then positioned Emily’s buttocks over him.

  “Now beg me to fuck your hot little ass, Thayer!” he ordered harshly. “Beg me!”

  “Oh! Oh!” Emily exclaimed. How could he tell her to do that, and how could she ask him? She opened her mouth to refuse, but found herself shouting instead, “Fuck me, Master, please fuck my ass!” She allowed his hands to guide her body into position, and then she lowered herself against the stiffness that jabbed at her.

  For a while, her body resisted but did not give way. It stretched, and then at last could withstand the invader no more and he entered her.

  Emily screamed. “Ah! It hurts, Master! Please no more!”

  He worked further in. “Don’t worry. You’ll soon get to like it. Christ, you’re a tight little bitch. Now fuck me with your hot ass, bitch. Fuck me!” He pulled down on her hips.

  Weeping, Emily lowered herself on him. It was not merely painful; there was a terrible feeling of fullness inside, almost as if she was going to explode from the pressure.

  “All the way down, until you feel my balls on your ass,” he ordered. Groaning, Emily obeyed.

  His hand seized her face on either side of her mouth and squeezed, making her lips bulge out grotesquely. “Who is up your sweet little ass, Thayer?” he demanded.

  “You, Master,” Emily sobbed. “You are up my ass.”

  “And the next time I tell you I want your ass again, what will you do, bitch?” he growled.

  “Oh! I’ll let you do it like this, Master,” Emily cried. “I’ll beg you to take me, to take me any way you want to take me.”

  “That was why I waited for you to come to me,” he said. “Because now I own you, you little cunt, every bit of you. Now start that ass moving. I want you to fuck me!”

  Emily wailed brokenly as she submissively rode him up and down. It was true, she realized. He had beaten her utterly and was now the master of her will. She had no strength left to resist him. For all practical purposes, she was Traynor’s slave.

  Traynor had phenomenal endurance. As Emily continued to drive down onto him, Traynor resumed kissing, sucking and nipping her nipples while his fingers were busy with her sex. While she was still being rudely penetrated in the rear, Emily erupted in a huge climax.

  Even Traynor’s control had limits, although he had been stroking her for so long that Emily was beginning to wonder if he was even human. He roared like a lion, seized both her breasts in a crushing grip, twi
sting them viciously and making Emily scream and beg for him to stop as he climaxed. Soon afterward, his fingers brought Emily to an orgasm, the second of the night but far from the last. Emily’s education as a sex slave had begun.

  Chapter Five: The Breakthrough

  As the weeks went by, neither of Traynor’s students seemed to be making any noticeable progress on the Swingmaster. They both achieved a rate of between fifteen and twenty percent successful swings, and could not improve on that. Their evident lack of improvement did not seem to bother Traynor. He sat and watched both Shelly and Emily struggle, saying little or nothing as they repeatedly dropped to the ground clutching themselves and screaming out their distress after failing to satisfy the inhumanly demanding machine.

  Emily became increasingly frustrated and anxious. She asked Traynor repeatedly what she should do, and his answer was always the same: “Keep reading the book I gave you,” he would say. “Don’t study it or memorize it, just read it for an hour before you come to the Swingmaster.”

  The book was a thin volume entitled Golf in the Kingdom by somebody named Michael Murphy. It was a novel about the experiences of an American traveler in Scotland who meets a Scottish golf pro with the unlikely name of Shivas Irons. Most of the book consisted of what Emily considered to be New Age mystical mumbo jumbo about golf being symbolic of life, finding one’s energy center, and other such foolishness.

  Her breakthrough came unexpectedly one day, after an abysmal week of punishing outings on the hated Swingmaster. Emily was dutifully re-reading the book but only paying attention to the words with part of her mind. The rest of her consciousness had drifted elsewhere. She wandered into the training room absent-mindedly, donned her golf shoes, clipped on the Stimulaids and went straight into the tee area, all the time moving at the same unhurried, dreamlike pace. She placed a ball on the tee, settled her feet, took the club back and swung. The ball clicked off the club head and slammed into the back screen. She looked up at the video readout with mild curiosity, expecting to see the black line representing her shot deviating from the gray opti-max swath, and expecting the usual shock afterward.

  The read-out indicated that she had put the simulated shot out 275 yards in the middle of the fairway and, more importantly, the black line representing her stroke was so perfect that it nearly obliterated the thin red line in the center of the optimal band. It was the very best result she had achieved in six weeks on the machine, almost a perfect swing. Shelly, looking at the result gasped in surprise.

  Over the next few minutes, Emily’s performance on the Swingmaster was nothing short of miraculous. Out of the twenty swings in the set, eighteen were optimals. By the time she stepped out of the cage for Shelly’s turn, a powerful warm glow had spread over her body as the Stimulaids rewarded her by arousing her pleasurably.

  Traynor sat down next to her. “You have it now. Just relax and let it happen. Don’t get excited,” he said quietly.

  But of course, she could not help but get excited as she watched Shelly struggle in the tee box. She had learned the swing at last!

  After Shelly had completed her swings, Emily rushed into the cage, snatched up a club, settled in place, and took a swing. She looked up at the read-out expectantly.

  A moment later she was dancing madly around the tee box, shrieking in pain. Her swing had been terrible: almost the entire path was outside the gray opti-max zone. The remainder of the Swingmaster session was a nightmare for her. Emily was as bad as she had been for the previous weeks, and worse. Drained, defeated and confused after the last round of shots, she slumped on a chair, holding her head in her hands, too mentally exhausted to even remove the clamps from her tenderest parts.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up at Traynor. “You figured out how to do it. You’re on your way,” he told her.

  “I thought I did, but then I lost it,” Emily replied.

  “You have learned how to let your body take over, and get your mind out of the way,” he said. “That’s what you needed to learn. That’s what the book is supposed to help you to achieve. When you were fucking me last night, riding on me, did you think about how to move your hips or count out the rhythm of the strokes? No. Your body knew exactly what to do. This is the same thing.”

  Emily’s progress began from that day forward. She did not improve every single day, but as days, then weeks, passed, she became far more proficient at pleasing the finicky Swingmaster. Her confidence soared as she mastered her ability to control her emotions and thoughts on the golf course. Shelly, however, did not enjoy any similar success, but continued to struggle painfully along.

  One night, three weeks after Emily’s breakthrough, she entered Traynor’s room prepared for the usual night of wild sex. She was surprised when she found him fully dressed instead of in the robe he always wore during their sexual encounters.

  He motioned for her to come over to the desk where he sat looking over files.

  “I hope you won’t mind missing one night,” he said, “but I need ask you for a favor.”

  This took Emily aback. This was the first time the all-knowing, perfect golf instruction robot named Roderick Traynor (at least that was the image he projected) had ever asked her for a favor. As far as she could tell, all he needed was to be dusted off occasionally and have his oil changed every 5,000 miles.

  “Well, yes, of course… Master,” she said, a little uncertain how to address him in this situation.

  “Forget about that for now,” he said, waving a hand impatiently. “I want you to do something for Littlehawk. She’s in a funk, and frankly I’m not quite sure what to do about it.”

  Another first! thought Emily. She had never heard him admit that his omniscience did not have the solution to any problem.

  “Yes, Mast… sure, I’ll be glad to,” Emily said. “She needs something to snap her out of her mood. She’s really down on herself.”

  He nodded. “Right. Now here’s what I want you to do…”

  * * * * *

  Shelly was sitting up in bed, watching a video of Bobby Jones, the great champion golfer of the 1920’s. Traynor had ordered her to, “…look at his swing. Don’t try to study it, don’t analyze it, don’t try to imitate it, just look at it.” And so, every night when she was not being sexually dominated by Traynor, she sat in bed and watched Jones’ impossibly long, fluid motion.

  She was surprised when there was a knock on her door. Since she had come to Traynor’s house, she had not had a single visitor at night. She clicked the remote control, pausing the video.

  “Yes, who is it?” she asked.

  “It’s me, Emily,” came the answer. “May I come in?”

  “Oh, sure,” Shelly replied. She pulled her bed sheet up to cover her breasts as the door opened and the blonde girl entered.

  “I thought this was your night with the Master,” Shelly said.

  “He said he was busy with paperwork,” Emily said. “He told me he would make it up to me by whipping my pussy with a bamboo cane before he fucked me next time. So, I thought I would just come down the hall and see what you were doing. May I sit?” She gestured at the edge of the bed.

  “Oh, sure, of course,” Shelly answered, edging over to make room for her. “I wasn’t doing anything special, just watching this video for, like, the hundredth time. It hasn’t helped me at all, and neither has anything else.”

  Emily settled on the edge of the bed. “I’m sure it will all come together for you. You have so much natural talent.” She paused. “So why are so shy, all of a sudden?” she asked, gesturing at the sheet Shelly still clutched up at her neck. “It’s not as if I haven’t seen you naked every day for the last four months.”

  Shelly looked down as if noticing for the first time how she was hiding her breasts from Emily’s gaze. “Oh, it is silly, I guess,” she said, releasing her protection and letting it slither down to her waist, revealing the high, tight cones of her breasts. “I suppose it’s because this is the first time you’ve be
en in my bedroom. I’m not thinking straight about anything right now, Emily. I’m so upset about my swing, and I’m so lonely.”

  In an instant, her dark, almond shaped eyes were welling up with tears. “I’m a complete failure here, and I have no one to talk to,” she said. “The Master, the way he makes love, drives me crazy… well you know, but he’s so hard, and you can’t really talk to him and I miss my family and my friends… oh Emily, I’m so unhappy!” she said, bursting into despairing sobs.

  Emily instinctively reached out and enfolded Shelly’s head in her arms, stroking her silky black hair as the other girl’s hot tears splashed onto her shoulder. Although Shelly was only two years younger than she, the Native American girl was far less mature emotionally and much more vulnerable than the more worldly Emily. She found the girl’s childlike innocence arousing somehow. Emily became increasingly aware of the way Shelly’s warm, satiny flesh felt as her firm breasts pressed against hers. The heat in her body rose as Shelly responded to her caresses, stroking Emily’s head and back with gentle fingers.