Kit and Dana sat side-by-side on a wooden bench facing a golf simulator, which looked much like the ones in which they had spent many hours over the previous few days, but it was somehow different. Although Kit could not put her finger on the precise nature of the difference, the device had an ominous air about it.
“Feast your eyes on the Traynor Digital Swingmaster, girls,” he said, resting his hand on a large video monitor projecting from one side of the assemblage of metal poles and nets, surrounding an Astro-Turf tee box, and a large, complicated-looking control panel. “It’s my own invention, and it is going to revolutionize the way golf is taught, when I allow some lucky manufacturer to start producing it.”
“Modest, isn’t he?” Kit whispered to Dana, who was just able to stifle a giggle.
Traynor glared at the two girls for a moment, evidently trying to decide whether their conduct deserved a round of discipline, and then he made a sour face and continued. “A computer breaks down your swing into 560 individual components, and …” he pushed a button on a computer keyboard which was attached to the control panel, “…voila! It creates the perfect swing for you.”
On the video monitor there appeared a pair of three-dimensional computer images representing female golfers. One was somewhat taller, and the other a bit more muscular. The first was evidently intended to be Kit, and the second was Dana. As they watched, the two images drew back simulated golf clubs and swept them down again to strike simulated balls, while columns of numbers denoting clubhead speed, torque, flex, timing and dozens of other measurements came and went so quickly that they did not have time to read them (not that the information would have meant anything to them anyway).
It was easy for Kit to see that the idealized swings were flawless, smooth and perfect. What she did not understand was how Traynor intended to turn her into that computerized golfer.
As if he had read her mind, Traynor said, “This is just the first step. Over the next few months, we are going to use modern technology and behavioral psychology to not merely teach you these swings but to inculcate them, so that you will never, ever forget them.”
He reached into his pockets and brought out a double handful of small, shiny objects, then walked over to the two girls and handed each of them three of the things. “These little gadgets are the keys,” he said.
Kit examined the objects dubiously. They were identical. Each consisted of a small saw-toothed spring clamp, which resembled the sort generally used to hold a ball marker and clip onto the visor of a hat. However, where the magnetic ball-marker would normally go, there was instead a little disc with a pair of tiny LED lights built in.
“They’re another invention of mine, called Stimulaides ,” Traynor said. “Let me show you how to use them.” He stooped over Kit, and casually took her left nipple in his fingers. With a few squeezes, twirls and tugs, he soon had the little nob standing tall.
Kit watched with widening eyes as he took one of the Stimulaides from her hand, opened the jaws and…
“Hey! What are you going to put that thing?” she demanded, pulling away from him. “Not on my nipple.”
Traynor sighed, rolled his eyes, and placed the little clamp on the bench. “Youngsters… Why did I let myself in for this?” he asked, looking up and shaking his head. Suddenly, he grasped a handful of Kit’s hair, jerked her upright and, with his free hand, smashed her in the belly with a fist that felt like a sledgehammer.
All the air was driven from her body and her midsection became a frozen ball of agony, keeping her from drawing a breath. She fell to the floor, clutching herself and trying to tell Traynor that she was going to die. Dana was alarmed. She jumped up, and began to go to Kit’s side, but stopped suddenly when Traynor stepped in the way, shaking his head.
“Do you remember when I warned you the other day not to interfere?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, sir, Mr. Traynor, but…” Dana began.
“You have exactly five seconds to sit down again, or you will be joining her,” he said.
Dana hastily resumed her seat, saying, “Oh Kit, I’m sorry. I wish I could help you.”
Traynor had Kit’s ankles in his hands and was dragging her across the room on her back. “Don’t worry,” he said. “She’ll be fine. She just had the wind knocked out of her.”
As he tied her feet soles-up to a pair of vertical metal posts, Kit discovered that he was right. The agony in her abdomen had lightened enough to allow her to take a shallow, ragged breath. For the next few seconds she was too preoccupied with respirations to worry about what Traynor was going to do to her.
“See? I told you,” he said to Dana. He opened a cabinet, withdrew a slender wooden switch, and returned to stand over Kit. “Now, Miss Thayer, it is past time for you to learn that when I give you an instruction or I want something done to or by you, the word ‘no’ is not applicable.”
Kit, whose attention had been elsewhere, suddenly realized that Traynor was about to punish her with the little rod he held. But where? She tried to say something, to reason with him, but her breath was still so limited that all she could do was whisper so softly that even she could barely hear her own words.
Traynor snapped the switch down to strike across the arch of her left foot. Kit had never thought of the sole of her foot as being especially sensitive, so she was shocked by the extraordinary bolt of pain that shot through her. She tried to scream, but she was still so short of breath that the sound she produced amounted to no more than a quiet “Huhh!” The sudden jolt of the unexpected agony inflicted by the slender wand sent her into flopping contortions, somewhat like a newly caught fish.
“No more!” she finally managed to gasp in a voice not much louder than a whisper. “Please, no more!”
Traynor ignored both her words and her futile attempts to protect herself with her hands. Kit realized that in this position she was quite as defenseless as if he had tied her hand and foot. As the bastinado continued, Kit recovered her ability to breathe and, by the end, she was screaming lustily as Traynor nipped her feet with the switch, alternating left and right with each stroke during an unendurable quarter-hour of agony.
“Are you ready to start following instructions now, bonehead, or do you need another fifteen minutes of this?” Traynor asked, holding the rod up in position to strike again.
“Ahhh, ahh, hahhh! I… I’m… ready… to… to listen,” Kit panted.
“If you keep wasting my time like this at every training session,” Traynor grumbled as he untied her feet, “I might just lose my temper.”
Kit exchanged an alarmed glance with Dana. She could not imagine what an angry Traynor might be like, and she emphatically did not want to find out. “No sir, it’ll never happen again,” Kit promised.
“Yeah, right,” he answered, skeptically. “Now get your tits over here, so we can get down to work.” Kit gingerly made her way to his side on throbbing feet, and then she sat quietly as Traynor aroused her nipples and closed the little spring clamps around the inflated knobs. Kit hissed as the metal teeth bit into her flesh, but she neither moved nor spoke during the process.
“Now open your legs,” Traynor commanded. “I have one more.”
Kit stared at him, then down at her crotch, then back at Traynor again. She opened her mouth, studied the dangerous expression on his face, and closed it again. Then she sighed, and obediently spread her thighs to allow Traynor access.
He nodded. “That was a very smart decision, cunt,” he said. His fingers began to expertly fiddle with Kit’s sex. As he manipulated her, he said, “Your sister and Littlefeather trained with the Stimulaides, you know. They all did, going back to when I invented the prototype, 10 years ago.” He lightly pinched the now-stiff button of flesh in his fingers, and pronounced Kit ready. She fought the urge to clamp her legs together when Traynor brought the third clamp down between her legs and inserted it.
“Don’t get used to the personal service. You’ll be putting these on yourselves starting tomorrow,” h
e said. Then he closed the jaws of the Stimulaide.
“Errr!” Kit growled through clenched teeth. “Son of a bitch, that hurts!”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Traynor said dismissively. Kit suppressed an urge to suggest that he clip a pair on his balls and then see what he had to say about it. “Your turn now,” he told Dana.
After seeing the way Traynor had reacted when Kit failed to cooperate with him, Dana thought it the better part of wisdom to sit passively as he aroused her nipples and love button, then clamped the sharp teeth of the vicious little gadgets around her tender flesh. However, she could not help making soft sounds of suffering “ahh, ahh, ahh”, nor control the tears that gathered in her eyes after the vicious little gadgets were clamped onto her body.
“Now, let me show you how they work,” Traynor said when he was finished with Dana. He pointed at Kit. “Get up on the tee and grab a club.”
Trying to ignore the feeling that a rodent was gnawing on her private parts, she obeyed, selecting a 3-wood, and then she stood waiting for the next order.
Traynor flipped a switch on the control panel, and said, “Now, take a swing.”
Kit set her feet, waggled the club a couple of times, and then hit the ball she had placed on the tee.
“Look at the monitor,” Traynor said. Both girls looked at the screen. “The red line with the gray borders represents your opti-max swing. Keep your swing inside the gray zone, and you’re doing it right.” A black line had appeared, the product of the swing she had just taken. This line was either above or below the red-gray one for most of its length.
“Not very good,” Traynor commented. A moment later, the lights of the Stimulaides lit up, and Kit screamed and clutched herself between the legs with one hand and her breasts with the other. She fell to the artificial grass mat, writhing in pain. “When you take a bad swing, one that’s outside the gray zone, you get a shock…” He pushed a button on the control panel, and the pain was gone, as suddenly as it had appeared.
Kit sat up and stared at him. As she considered exactly what she wanted to say to him about his insane training methods, she noticed a warm, wonderful feeling growing in her nipples and in her sex.
“…on the other hand, if you make a good swing,” Traynor continued, “you get a nice reward. These methods have been proven over the course of many years, and they will work with you too. Now, do you have any comments or questions before we get started?”
It sounded to Kit like a way to teach rats how to run mazes, not how to teach humans to swing a golf club, and she started to say so, then stopped. This was evidently how he had taught Emily and Shelly and all of the others before them, so it obviously worked. She shook her head. “No, sir,” she said. Traynor looked at Dana, who also shook her head.
“Good, then let’s get to it,” he said. He stepped up into the tee box and made a few minor adjustments to Kit’s set-up, touching her on the hip, shoulder and leg, and then he returned to his place in front of the control console. “All right, you take twenty swings, and then you’ll switch.”
Kit looked over her shoulder at the video monitor and the narrow curving band that represented the swing she had to learn, and thought about how painful this process of learning it was going to be. She hesitated, reluctant to risk the terrible shock to her delicate tissues again.
Traynor seemed to sense the reason for her hesitation. “By the way, if you don’t hit within 45 seconds, you automatically get a shock,” he said. “You have about 25 seconds left.”
Hastily Kit took a ball from the basket on the mat, and placed it on the tee. She set herself and swung the 3-wood, sending the ball to smack into the simulator screen. It showed a good result, or at least what she would have thought of as one, as the simulated ball was shown flying 220 yards to land on the left half of the simulated fairway.
Traynor’s Swingmaster was more particular than she, however. When Kit looked up, she saw that her stroke had created an arc that was almost entirely outside of the red-gray line of the opti-max swing. An instant later, she was rolling on the mat again as electric shocks lit her up. After that, it seemed to take roughly forever for her to complete the remaining 19 swings, none of which met the machine’s exacting standards.
After she was done, Kit sat on the bench crying and shaking from the effect of the electric charges. She was so lost in her own misery, that at first she hardly noticed her new friend Dana shrieking and dancing madly around as the Stimulaides punished her when her swings also failed to meet Traynor’s requirements.
After a while, she was able to restore her spirits by reminding herself that her sister and all of Traynor’s other clients had survived this treatment. She told herself again that she was just as tough as any of them. It was just at this point when Dana finished her last shot and collapsed to the ground. Then Kit’s jaw dropped in disbelief when Traynor beckoned to her and said, “All right, Thayer. It’s time for your second set.”
Kit did eventually return to her place in Traynor’s machine, but only after he threatened to install the Stimulaides in her permanently by means of piercing. The second round was a nightmare worse than the first, as the shocks and the agony they inflicted exhausted her reserves. After the fifteenth stroke, she was weeping like a child and begging Traynor to excuse her from the rest. “Boo-hoo, you’re making me cry,” he answered sarcastically. “If you don’t have any more guts than you’re showing right now, you can forget about ever being a pro, girly. Your sister never wussed out on me. Now stop blubbering and swing the club!”
Dana completed her forty swings as well, somehow managing to perform one well enough to suit the finicky Swingmaster and earn a nice jolt of pleasure. She also held up emotionally better than Kit, to the latter’s embarrassment, continuing with the punishing exercise and never once asking Traynor for a break. Kit’s humiliation became even more acute when, after the session was over, Traynor praised her classmate for her effort and toughness, while he pointedly said nothing to Kit. To add a cherry on top of Kit’s bitter sundae, Traynor told Dana that she would be his playmate that night after dinner, even though they had been alternating ever night up to now, and it should have been Kit’s turn.
At dinner, Traynor seemed to concentrate more than usual on Kit, arousing her until she was squirming in her need, and then, instead of bringing her off, caning her ass with a length of bamboo. On the other hand, he fondled Dana’s breasts and pussy until she was mad with desire, and then he brought her to a huge climax while she sat in his lap French-kissing him over dessert. Kit could do nothing but glare jealously as she overheard Traynor whisper his plans for the mocha-skinned beauty. Although she had been under Traynor’s control for less than a week, Kit already found herself looking forward to her evenings of rough sex with him, and being cheated out of her turn (as she saw it) was terribly frustrating.
Back in her room after dinner, Kit tried to masturbate but was frustrated by intrusive thoughts about what Traynor and her roommate were doing. After three maddeningly unsuccessful attempts, she gave up and flopped back on the bed. Her failure that day did not make her discouraged, however. On the contrary, it made her more determined than ever to succeed. Kit was the most competitive person she knew, and she had never yet failed at anything she had set her mind to.
“Tomorrow night will be different,” she promised herself. “Tomorrow will be my turn.”
* * * * *
At that moment, a nude Dana Watson was bent over a tripod wooden frame, awaiting Traynor’s pleasure. The two rear legs of the frame were three feet apart, and Dana’s trim ankles were strapped to the base of each leg. The legs of the device angled together three feet above the floor, where they met to support one end of the crossbeam. The beam slanted down to the floor where, at the front base, Dana’s wrists were tied to the frame. As a result, the dusky young beauty was bent forward at the waist, her bottom cheeks raised and spread, her head down, her legs open and her sex and her rear in plain view.
; Traynor stood behind her, a leather paddle in his hand, admiring the view. “Legs straight,” he said, reinforcing the command with a swipe of the heavy paddle, which left an oblong of pink imprinted on the firm flesh of Dana’s rear hemispheres.
The girl squealed (she could not speak, as her mouth was filled with an oversized ring-gag) and she hastily locked her knees.
“You can do better than that,” Traynor said, slamming the thick leather into Dana’s ass two more times. She shrieked and did her best to obey, straining her legs to their maximum and standing on the tips of her toes.
“That’s a little better,” he admitted grudgingly. He reached up between her legs to cup her sex in his hand. “Are you excited, bitch?” he asked, although from the moisture on his hand, he already knew the answer.
The blindfolded girl turned her head as if to look back at him, and nodded vigorously. Her heart was racing, she was breathing as rapidly as if she had just completed a mile run, and her entire body was tingling. She had never been so excited in her life. A small part of her wondered why, but her mind was too distracted and feverish for her to be analytical about it.
Bound For The Tour 2: Inside The Ropes Page 6