“Let’s go, kiddies,” he said, shaking the reins, which pulled painfully on their already sore nubbins. “I don’t want to miss my tee time.”
As they rode to the first tee, Traynor said, “Why don’t we place a little wager on the match, just to make things interesting?”
“If you wish,” Carole said. “How much do you want to play for?”
“I was thinking of something besides money,” Traynor answered. “Suppose we say that if you win, I excuse you from the little party I was planning for you tonight. I’m sure our ponies will be disappointed, but I imagine you would rather spend the night watching television or doing almost anything other than amusing me in my room.”
“And what will my stake be, Mr. Traynor?” she asked, her calm gray eyes searching his. “You already have the power to do whatever you wish with me.”
“Ha! Whoa!” he called as they reached the tee-box. He pulled on the reins hard enough to make the girl’s breasts stretch to the sides.
“Oww! Please, Master!” Shelly called. “You don’t need to yank so hard!” Emily cried.
“What I need is quieter transportation,” he said. He opened a little compartment built into the front of the cart, and removed a pair of red foam rubber gags. The balls were as big as apples. He approached each in turn and worked the balls, with some difficulty, into the mouths of the unresisting girls, and then he closed the straps tightly behind. “Now we can play a little golf in peace,” he said. He went to the back of the cart and pulled out his driver from his bag. Carole was already waiting for him on the tee.
“Now, about our wager,” he said. “I didn’t have another student during the time you were here, so I always fucked you alone. I have heard that you are monogamous, that you have never strayed from your girlfriend, what’s her name? Inga…”
“Inga is my wife,” Carole corrected. “We have been married for twelve years.”
“Your wife, then,” Traynor agreed. “So, let’s make this your side of the bet. If you lose, you will star in a video making out with our pretty, young friends here…” he motioned at Emily and Shelly, “and we’ll send it to dear Inga as a Christmas present.”
Emily had admired the way Carole had endured Traynor’s taunts and humiliations with courageous dignity up to now. For the first time, the Frenchwoman’s impassive mask slipped when she heard the terms of his wager. She paled, and a look of compounded horror and panic crossed her face.
When she spoke, her voice carried an undertone of fear. “Please, Mr. Traynor, you do not want to do this,” she said. “Inga has nothing to do with this. This is about my career, not my personal life. You have no right to bring her into it, to hurt her in this way.”
Traynor smiled. “The other alternative would be for me to sell the videos of you and me together, you on your knees with my cock in your mouth or up your tight little ass. Aside from the embarrassment, it would probably blow all your endorsement deals. I don’t imagine you would prefer that, would you?”
Her head dropped in despair. “No, I would not,” she said.
“It wouldn’t be much of a bet if the stake didn’t mean something,” he continued. “So I guess you’ll just have to beat me, won’t you?”
Carole raised her head. The muscles in her jaw twitched and her eyes were smoldering with determination. She stared at Traynor for a long time. “Yes, I’ll just have to beat you, Mr. Traynor,” she echoed grimly.
The match was close throughout. Neither player was able to get ahead by more than one hole, and when one of the players did take a lead, the other immediately tied the match up. Emily had expected Carole to win easily. After all, she was a champion, one of the greatest female players ever to pick up a club, whereas he was just a swing coach. Then she recalled that Traynor had been a promising Tour professional in his youth until back problems had forced him into early retirement.
The match was so exciting that Emily and Shelly almost forgot the burning stripes on their bottoms inflicted by the whip and the sharp bite of the nipple-reins as they watched Traynor and Carole locked in competition.
On the eighteen hole, with the match all square, Carole caught an unlucky break. Her drive took a bad bounce into a deep pot bunker in the fairway and she was forced to hit a short shot out to the middle, instead of reaching the green with her second shot as Traynor had done.
She hit an excellent 7-iron to within twenty-five feet of the cup on her third. She conceded Traynor’s tap-in par after his first putt stopped four inches from the hole. She needed to sink her long downhill putt to avoid losing the hole and the match.
She lined up the putt, took two little practice strokes, and then struck the ball. Emily forgot to breathe as she watched her ball reach the steep undulation in the middle of the green and pick up speed, heading straight for the hole.
“Get in the hole!” She tried to root Carole’s shot home, forgetting about the mouth-filling gag, and producing only an excited “Ggggg!” Unnoticed beside her, Shelly was also making inarticulate, agitated noises.
The ball caught the lip of the cup, spun all the way around, and then spilled out. Carole’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Nice try, Carole,” Traynor said cheerfully. “I really thought that was going in. Good match,” he said, extending his hand.
After dinner, all three of the women were summoned to Traynor’s room. He had set up several cameras around a huge bed and lit it with powerful overhead spots. A boom microphone hung down over the bed.
“I want to make this a real, high-quality film,” he said. “It isn’t every day that I have a chance to make a porn movie starring the great Carole Duvet.”
Carole opened her mouth, as if to ask him one more time to relent, then closed it, as if realizing that any plea she might make would simply heighten Traynor’s sadistic pleasure.
“Let’s start with Carole leading Shelley to the bed, and making out with her,” Traynor directed.
“I’m so sorry about this, Carole,” Shelly said. The pain she saw in the older woman’s eyes as she looked down at her was almost unbearable.
Carole forced a smile. “It’s not your fault, dear child.” She took Shelly’s hand in hers. “In other circumstances, I would have thought myself lucky. You are the most beautiful young girl I have ever seen.”
“Start kissing and fondling each other,” Traynor said. Obediently, they sat on the bed, mouths pressed together. Shelly’s hands slid lightly down Carole’s shoulders and waist, then found the way to her tight, round breasts. Carole seemed hesitant at first, but before Traynor could order her into action, her hands began to roam over Shelly’s smooth skin of their own accord.
They lay on the bed together, Traynor’s cameras seemingly forgotten, kissing and caressing. They continued for a long time, their delicate fingers and lips arousing each other until both women were burning with desire.
“Please Carole, let me,” Shelly begged, her voice husky with lust. She slid down her companion’s taut belly and fastened her mouth over the French woman’s sex. Carole had the habit of shaving her mound, so Shelly enjoyed a new experience when her mouth brushed the older woman’s smooth, hairless delta. She gently spread Carole’s thighs apart, and probed in with her tongue. During the course of her relationship with Emily, Shelly had come to look forward to pleasing her friend with her mouth, and under Emily’s guidance had become expert in stimulating her mistress. In a very short time, she had Carole moaning with pleasure under her enthusiastic tongue.
Traynor got a close-up of Carole leaning back, her eyes closed, her back arched, her hips high as the young Indian girl nibbled and sucked. “Oh, sweet girl, please do not stop,” Carole begged in a strange, throaty voice. Her hands rested lightly on the back of Shelly’s head, pressing down lightly and rhythmically. She seemed to forget where she was when she climaxed, softly murmuring, “Oh my dear Inga, I love you,” as she moved sinuously in response to the girl’s tongue.
“Very good. Excellent, in fact,” Traynor said
approvingly. “I’m sure Inga will be glad to see what a good time you had here on your visit.”
Carole sat up suddenly, a stricken look on her face. “Inga…” she said and stopped. “Inga, I never wanted to…” she began again, as if she was speaking to her beloved wife, then trailed off. She began to cry soundlessly.
“Why so sad, Carole?” Traynor asked sarcastically. “Maybe you should do something to take your mind off whatever’s bothering you. Let’s see you make Thayer come. Littlehawk, get over here and sit on me. I think you need a little relief.” He gestured for Emily to go to the bed, and gathered Shelly onto his lap.
Emily looked uncertainly at the older woman. Carole Duvet had been her childhood idol. It was hard for her make her hero suffer for Traynor’s sadistic pleasure.
“Carole, I feel terrible …” she began.
Carole stroked her hair and kissed her on the cheek. “I know, dear. I do not blame you for anything. You are his victim as much as I.” She wiped her hand across her eyes and smiled. “Let me pleasure you. At least he will not be hurting us for a while.”
Emily sank back and let the older woman push her thighs apart. She felt so sorry for Carole that she did not see how she could possibly enjoy sex with her. She did not realize how aroused she had become watching Carole’s body writhe on Shelly’s eager tongue until Carole began to work on her. She gasped in surprise.
Carole was a veteran Lesbian who had spent many years learning the secrets of the female anatomy. Emily would not have thought that anyone could have given her greater ecstasy than her sweet, submissive Shelly, but she now discovered that Carole knew tricks that neither she nor the eager but inexperienced Shelly Littlehawk had never dreamed of. With subtle movements of her fingers and clever dartings of her tongue, the French woman quickly brought Emily to the edge of a climax then kept her there, teetering deliciously until she thought she would die from pleasure.
Her hips bucked wildly and she jammed Carole’s head down on her mound. “Please, Carole, please!” she mumbled. She released the other woman’s head, clutching her breasts in her hands, rubbing and tugging at the aroused nipples. When Carole finally obliged her, Emily’s body twisted in uncontrollable spasms as she came, moaning in exquisite sexual delight.
While the lovely blonde girl was receiving the attentions of the French champion, Traynor was making full use of the highly aroused but unsatisfied Shelly. He had the slender brunette kneel facing him astride his lap on his chair, with her firm, pointy mounds level with his mouth. One touch of his hand between her legs told him that her session with Carole had brought her to a boil; she was already highly aroused.
Traynor eased himself into position, took his erection in his hand and rubbed the head against Shelly a few times until the girl panted in her need.
“Put it in, Master,” she begged, pressing her hips down against his stiffness. “Fuck me, Master, please fuck me!”
“Slowly now, you little whore,” he warned her as he gave her permission to impale herself on his manhood. With agonizing deliberateness, fighting her impulse to jam herself down onto it as hard as she could, Shelly obediently lowered herself. As she did, Traynor busied himself by sucking and nibbling on her long, tender nipples.
Soon, the beautiful Indian girl was close to exploding in excitement. She continued to ride him at the maddeningly slow pace he required, overriding her every instinct to drive herself onto him with all the strength in her young body.
“Oh Master!” she cried out piteously. “Won’t you let me fuck you? Just let me fuck you!” she repeated.
“Not yet, slut,” he told her. “I’ll tell you when.” He smiled as her nails dug into the thick muscles of his shoulders and she chewed on her lower lip in her need. At last, he seized her by her slim hips and drove her down on his rod so that her thighs smacked against his. “Now, you little bitch!” he shouted.
Shelly came volcanically, bouncing on him and screaming gibberish. Almost before her last spasm of lust was finished, he popped her off him and turned her to face away from him, still astride him.
“Let’s finish off in the rear,” he said, positioning himself carefully again. She shrieked as he drove into her with a single powerful thrust, cramming half of his length at once into her narrow passage.
“Please, Master, be gentle,” she wept. “Please don’t go so fast.”
“Fast, slow, you can’t make up your mind, can you?” he asked. “This will distract you,” he said. He reached around to take the girl’s nipples in his fingers, and then pinched them viciously between his fingernails until she screamed.
Now he drove the girl to bounce relentlessly up and down on him like a maddened carousel horse. “Harder, bitch! Faster!” he urged. “Fuck me harder!” He groaned as he climaxed, but then he remained motionless for a long, agonizing time before he withdrew. “Not a bad fuck,” he told the tearful girl.
After he had disengaged himself from his beautiful partner, Traynor sat down at a console and spent a few minutes reviewing the video footage from the various cameras. “There are some great shots of you coming with Littlehawk’s face in your box,” he told Carole, “and some very sexy ones of you getting Thayer off. Once it’s edited, with sound and music, it’ll make a great present for dear Inga. She probably wonders what you do on these business trips. Now, she’ll know.” Carole listened, her face a blank, tears tracking down her cheeks to drop unheeded to the ground.
After he shut down his film equipment, Traynor prepared his three slaves for a session of painful torment. He placed Shelly and Emily facing each other atop a metal horse. Their arms were tied painfully behind their back, elbows touching, and their wrists pulled up over their heads, forcing the entire weight of their bodies down on the sharp metal wedge that ran along the top of the horse that now pressed painfully between their legs. The girls’ lower legs were doubled on either side of the horse, with the ankles tied closely to the thighs, their feet facing up. He fitted tight leather gags over their chins and mouths, so that neither Shelly nor Emily could so much as open her mouth to scream in agony, something they soon needed to do.
Traynor took advantage of the vulnerable position of their feet to introduce his two young students to the bastinado. Shelly and Emily stared wide-eyed as he held up a very slender plastic rod and bent it double to demonstrate its flexibility. “Now, I could use this on your asses all day and you would hardly notice it. I could even whip your tits with it and you would be no worse for the wear. But I’m going to let you feel this on the soles of your pretty little feet. I have been told by my other students that the bottom of the foot is quite sensitive to pain, maybe more than any other part of the anatomy. You can tell me after we’re done. Are you ready?”
Emily and Shelly both shook their heads frantically and made soft whimpering noises, trying to communicate that they were emphatically not ready.
“Good,” he said, smiling. He raised the little rod and whipped it down to draw a pink line directly across the arch of Shelly’s foot. She reacted to the blow by seeming to attempt to launch herself off the horse and into space. Her eyes bulged from her head in insupportable agony. She bent her head back to stare at the ceiling, as if praying for some relief from above. A thin, horrible keening sound emerged from her gagged mouth.
Emily, looking at her lover’s distress, was terrified. She had seen Shelly suffer through all the torments Traynor could devise for nearly six months, but she had never before seen her in so much pain. After all he had done to them, she thought she was hardened enough to pain to handle anything he could do to her. Could it be that the stroke of that little stick on her foot would be worse than everything that had come before?
Traynor waited patiently until Shelly’s contortions had ceased. “So what do you think?” he asked the weeping Shelly in a chatty tone. “Pretty bad, wasn’t it?”
Shelly nodded her head rapidly and with great sincerity.
“Now, let’s see what your friend thinks,” he said, turning to look at
Emily.
“I don’t want to know! Don’t hit me!” Emily screamed in terror, but only a weak “Mmmmm!” came out. She stared in helpless fascination as the rod cut through the air and slashed across the sole of her foot.
There was a blinding explosion of pain, like a sun going nova in her head. For an unknown time, Emily’s universe consisted entirely of the indescribable burst of pure agony that came from below. When the sensation faded enough for her to return to the normal world, she discovered that her body was plunging crazily against the horse, causing the wedge to press agonizingly into her already sore sex. It was not as bad as she had suspected after seeing Shelly; it was very much worse. She was certain that she would die from the pain if he did it again.
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