by Emily Tilton
The Guard had installed a perineal sensor between Rhonda’s thighs just as they had done for Sally, weeks ago in the planning stages of Operation Snowbird. They had with equal assiduity analyzed Rhonda’s dataset both from the sensor and from her hacked social media activity. The chief of staff did not possess the same repressed-but-seething submissive sexuality as the young governor, but like the vast majority of healthy human individuals, Rhonda Mayfair’s erotic proclivities had an important element of power exchange.
Among other things, the plan to control Governor Sally Donaldson as an asset of the Groupe Synergistique clearly sprang in large part from Rhonda’s desire to claim the lovely young redhead and to teach her to own her taboo needs. Rhonda had joined the cabal of European energy-policy operatives during a postdoctoral year in Belgium, before she had launched her career as a political consultant on the American scene. When Sally had crossed her path, Rhonda had offered the ambitious young lawyer to the Groupe herself, and they had risen together with the chief of staff, the assessors had concluded, still looking for the right moment to try to seduce her boss.
“Michael,” Eric said to the nymphobus on his other side when the van had pulled into the warehouse and come to a stop, “go ahead and put Rhonda’s collar on, please.”
“Oh, no,” Sally said, turning to look up at Eric. “Please.”
Eric smiled down at her, running his thumb over her cheekbone and feeling with satisfaction the shudder that went through the naked girl at the tiny caress. Sally had clearly begun to figure out that her chief of staff had possessed hidden motives, but the idea of Rhonda being made to wear a shock collar like the one she had worn at New You distressed her greatly.
“Ten for Sally,” Nora told him, as he had rather expected she might; a good deal of the distress Sally felt resulted from how the thought of Rhonda in a shock collar had aroused her, through the erotic sympathy felt by so many submissives. To watch Vic spank another girl, and fondle another girl’s well-disciplined bottom, had quite obviously gotten Sally a good deal hotter than she felt comfortable with admitting.
“Shh, sweetheart,” Eric said. “Rhonda has to learn just like you did.”
Michael had risen from the bench seat, now, and moved around Eric and Sally with the black webbing collar in his hand, the oblong electrical device hanging visibly from it so that the naked girl between Eric’s thighs shuddered at the sight of it. Rhonda tried to twist around, clearly uncertain of what would happen now, deeply divided in her mind between wanting to see Sally and wanting to see the collar.
“Sally,” Eric said, “you may tell Rhonda about the collar Michael is going to put on her now.”
“Oh... please,” Sally pleaded. “Please... I don’t want to, sir.”
Rhonda struggled, now, but Vic held her firmly, his caressing hand now used to lock the naked woman’s hands in place so that Michael could fasten the Velcro around her neck.
“Do you want another shock in your anus, Sally?” Eric asked sharply. “Tell your friend about her collar, and then tell her about the controller you’re wearing now, to make sure you’re a good girl for me.”
Rhonda had emitted a little cry of fear when Eric had spoken the frightening phrase shock in your anus. With exquisite timing as always, Vic let go of her hands at the same moment, and Rhonda’s hands of course flew to the collar. Michael had control of that collar, however, and his hand had gone straight into the pocket where he had the wireless device, simpler than the phone app but just as effective. The naked chief of staff cried out, her fingers trying to scrabble faster at the stout Velcro, her still pink bottom squirming over Vic’s hairy knee.
“Don’t!” Sally cried. “Rhonda... don’t try to take it off...”
Michael shocked her again, and Rhonda jerked her hands away. She heaved a sob from her chest.
“Sally, sweetheart,” Eric said in a voice that mingled severity with a patronizing this-is-for-your-own-good tone, “tell your friend about her collar, and your controller.”
Sally closed her eyes. “The collar is to make you behave.”
“To help you behave,” Eric corrected mildly. “Only you can decide to be a good girl, Rhonda. And, Sally?”
The naked girl’s brow furrowed. “And I have a... a controller between my legs. It does...”
Eric thumbed the vibrator to life with his left hand, and Sally gasped.
“What?” Rhonda said, turning around as Vic allowed her to climb off his lap and kneel on the floor of the van facing Sally and looking at her friend’s pink face with wide eyes. Sally’s hands clutched Eric’s denim-covered thigh convulsively, and she gave a sharp cry of pleasure as he raised the intensity of the controller a little. The buzzing emerging from between the governor’s thighs, from her smooth little pussy, rose unmistakably into the silence.
“It helps Sally behave,” Eric said, and abruptly turned it off, so that Sally whimpered, then opened her eyes and stared into Rhonda’s face with a red-faced expression of abject embarrassment. “It’s time to get out of the van, now. You girls are going to different rooms, but you’ll see each other very soon.”
* * *
The two rooms to which the men led the naked girls adjoined one another and were of identical size, but the Guard had prepared them very differently when they had constructed the ad hoc facility intended securing the state of Madison as an asset for the foreseeable future. Rhonda Mayfair, following Michael and in front of Vic entered an interrogation room of the kind often used by the Guard for women they deemed in need of correction as well as questioning. Sally Donaldson walked through the door of a special sort of bedroom—a reasonable imitation of a Pretorian Guard initiation cell.
Each room had a large view screen, disguised as part of its wall, which when activated would show one room’s occupants what took place in the other room, as if through a window. Neither of these screens was currently operating, and so each of the naked girls could only wonder what would now befall the other even as she underwent the start of her own ordeal.
Eric entered the bedroom behind Sally, and closed the door behind him. “Go kneel between the posts,” he told her. “Face the wall.”
Like every Guard initiation cell, this facsimile featured, in addition to the bed with its red covers , two five-foot-high wooden posts, from which hung long, adjustable leather straps at two levels. Hooks on the posts held leather restraints, too: a belt for a girl’s waist, a collar for her neck, cuffs for wrists, ankles, and thighs, all for use by her master as he chose. Sally turned to him with a frightened look on her face, but when she saw the expression on Eric’s face—the visual equivalent of the vocal tone that she had learned always preceded a punishment—she went quickly to the thickly carpeted spot between the posts and knelt there.
As soon as she had assumed that submissive posture, Eric activated the view screen, and Sally gasped to see the wall in front of her transformed into what seemed a transparent window showing the next room over, where Rhonda found herself confronting a wooden punishment bench of the type favored by the Pretorian Guard, fitted with webbing restraints for her knees, her waist, and her wrists. Vic held the naked chief of staff firmly from behind despite Rhonda’s struggles, and drew her steadily toward the bench. Michael had taken his seat at a table to the side, where another empty chair awaited Vic.
Sally turned her head over her right shoulder to look at Eric, eyes wide and troubled.
“Watch, Sally,” he said. “Rhonda is going to get what she deserves, now.”
Though the Groupe Synergistique had something of their own tradition of sexual discipline, Rhonda Mayfair had, Eric knew, experienced none of it. Since the forced defection of Jules Herrier, the Groupe leader possessed of the most interest in dominating young women, to the Guard, recruits to the European cabal had undergone a more practical induction. In Brussels Rhonda had met, as far as the Guard had been able to determine, with Groupe leaders about energy policy and market manipulation, and then been well funded to launch her consultancy.
> She had also, however, almost certainly heard about the more hidden aspects of the Groupe’s practices. When Vic led her to the punishment bench and made her kneel on it, she had very clearly made up her mind about the answer to the mystery of Sally’s unusual behavior: Eric and his team, Rhonda obviously felt certain, belonged to her own masters of the Groupe Synergistique. They had decided to take the matter of the governor of Madison into their own hands, and they had decided to punish Rhonda for her mishandling of it.
“Please,” Rhonda said as Vic, with one hand holding her down, bent over the wooden slats of the bench’s top, fastened the restraints around her knees. “I was going to get the legislation through.”
“What?” Sally said, giving another look over her shoulder at Eric. “What is she—”
“We don’t care, Rhonda,” Michael said calmly. “You failed, and we secured the governor ourselves.”
Vic had the broad strap across Rhonda’s waist now, and the dark-haired chief of staff could only twist her shoulders a little, trying to turn her frightened face to the man at the table.
“No!” she cried, but Michael shocked her with the collar. Sally shuddered as she saw it.
“Ten for Sally,” Nora said over the comm link, not at all to Eric’s surprise. “Six for Rhonda.”
Rhonda’s hands had flown to the collar, and now Sally whispered, “Oh, no,” even as Michael shocked the chief of staff again. Sally turned again to Eric. “Please, don’t.”
“Sally,” Eric said, advancing to lay his hand on her shoulder and rub it gently, “you know it doesn’t harm her. And I think you’ve already understood that she betrayed you.” With his other hand on the phone in his pocket, he activated the vibrator inside her at the lowest level. Sally emitted a little whimper, and turned back to the wall screen, her hips bucking with a delicious little squirm of need.
On the screen, Vic had secured Rhonda’s wrists to the sides of the punishment bench. The nude dark-haired woman sobbed atop the wooden top, still struggling a little as if she might be able to get up and run away.
“Be still, Rhonda,” Michael said, and gave her another shock, though this one was clearly much more mild. “You’re going to learn to behave yourself in this room.”
As Sally watched, clearly unable now to turn away, Eric reached for the collar hanging on the post to the right, and gently put it around his bed girl’s slender neck.
Chapter Nineteen
The collar Master Eric put on Sally’s neck felt very different from the shock collar she had worn the previous day—the same kind Rhonda wore now... perhaps the very same one they had put on Sally. The length of leather in Master Eric’s hands had an old-fashioned buckle in the back, and it seemed older and somehow more formal. It had rings on it, too, at either side, and Sally shuddered as Master Eric clipped long straps to them, leashes that bound her to the posts between which he had made her kneel.
What was this place? Who were Master Eric and his henchmen?
On the screen that showed every shameful thing that happened on the other side of the wall, the door to Rhonda’s interrogation room opened, and Judy stepped through, without her white coat but carrying the pink strap with which she had whipped Sally—or one identical to it. Judy wore a black tank top, now, which showed how very toned her muscles were, and a slim leather collar around her neck. She had black stretch pants on, too, with running shoes, and she looked so businesslike, so much like a secret agent, that it made Sally’s eyes go wide.
Rhonda, on the strange, frightening bench, turned her head to the right and to the left to try to get a look at the newcomer, but the strap across her waist didn’t allow her enough range of motion, Sally supposed, to see Judy. The blonde woman with the strap advanced three steps, as Vic walked around to the side of the table with the other big man, the one Master Eric had called Michael, and sat down.
“Wh-what’s happening?” Rhonda asked in a fearful voice, as if the words had torn themselves from her chest against her will.
“You’re about to be punished, Rhonda,” Michael said. “Judy here is going to whip you.”
Sally could tell, now, that her chief of staff had some secret, that it must mean that she had lied to Sally about something important. About the pictures? The reaction in her body to seeing Rhonda restrained naked over the bench, though, didn’t seem to Sally to have anything to do with that—whether with regard to discovering the truth or to exacting retribution for Rhonda’s betrayal.
Part of her felt wild to do anything she could to stop the pink strap, which Judy had raised in her right hand while she put her left on the belt that crossed Rhonda’s waist, from coming down across her chief of staff’s pretty rear end. She found herself whispering, to the screen, as Master Eric put a leather belt, its buckle in back, around her own waist, “No... please, no.”
She wanted them to stop in the other room, however, not because she wanted Rhonda to escape punishment but because another part of Sally felt a terribly shameful, overwhelmingly urgent need to watch Judy whip her friend the way the woman had whipped Sally. No—in a worse way: bound to a special bench, a bench these people obviously used for whipping bad girls when they had done naughty things.
Rhonda must have sensed that the woman behind her, whom she couldn’t quite see, had taken up a position to deliver the discipline Michael had just promised.
“Please,” she cried. “Please! I... I was going to get her to sign the legislation, like I said I would.”
Sally turned her head, seeking Master Eric, who had just put cuffs on her wrists and clipped them to the belt. She found that the leads attaching her collar to the wooden posts kept her upper body almost still, and she gave a little cry of alarm as she realized how her master had bound her while she watched the scene in the other room.
He put his hand on her back, though, and stroked gently there with his fingertips, and he stepped forward so that she could look up at him.
“Why did it take so long, Rhonda?” Michael asked. “We authorized this project on a certain understanding.”
“Sally... she has strong feelings about... about nature.”
“Is this about the mining legislation?” Sally asked, frowning. “I thought it was... you said... about St. Hillary.”
“It’s about both things, Sally,” he said. “Rhonda thinks she’s fallen into the hands of her own people, but that’s not who we are.”
Sally’s eyes went wide. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to understand,” Master Eric said. “Just watch, for now.”
She saw him take his phone out of his pocket, and caught another glimpse of the app on it, with the sliders and the buttons. She bit her lip, feeling her forehead crease, and a tiny whimper escaped her mouth as Master Eric’s thumb raised the intensity of the thing inside her. Her hips bucked, and she felt the leather around her waist and around her wrists, around her neck tying her to the posts like a horse in crossties.
Master Eric had come around behind her, now, and for the first time she felt her master’s hands on her in earnest. Stooping down, he put his right hand on her pussy and his left hand on her bottom, as if to remind Sally that the device she wore there belonged to him. She cried out, and she heard him say again, in her mind, You don’t have to understand.
Just watch.
On the screen, Judy brought the strap down across Rhonda’s naked backside. Rhonda screamed.
Just watch.
Sally Donaldson, governor of the great state of Madison, had tried to understand everything: about the law, about politics, about the environment. Ambitious and brilliant, she had risen to high elected office. Now she belonged to a master who didn’t care whether she understood what had happened to her. Master Eric owned her pussy and her bottom, and he was having another girl, Sally’s traitorous best friend, whipped in front of her, because he had decided it should be that way. Soon he would enjoy her young, nude body just as he chose.
Judy whipped Rhonda’s bottom over and over
, now, and Sally could not have helped it if someone had thrown a tub of ice over her: she started to come, squirming desperately in Master Eric’s hands, and she came and came and came at the sight of the little cheeks clenching and unclenching as Rhonda got what she deserved. She came at the reddening of her chief of staff’s naughty backside, at the little glimpses of Rhonda’s dark-furred pussy that the slightly angled view gave her, at Rhonda’s piteous sobbing atop the bench as she received her just punishment.
Just watch. Sally Donaldson didn’t wear pants anymore, and she only wore panties when Master Eric allowed it. Her pussy was kept bare for him, and her bottom belonged to him. He had his hands down there, and his controller vibrated inside her, the probe that could punish her intruding into her virgin anus and making her think about what he had promised to do with his cock.
On the screen, Vic rose and began to take off his running clothes.
“Oh, God,” Sally whimpered at the sight of the big man’s enormous cock, as Vic stripped off his shorts. “What... what is he going to do?”
“You’ll see,” Master Eric murmured in her ear. His right hand left her pussy for a moment, and the vibration of the toy inside her pussy lessened. When he claimed her again with his fingers on her clit and her pussy lips, the caress between her thighs and on her bottom became gentler.
Vic went around to the front of the punishment bench. Rhonda had her eyes closed, crying out at each lash across her backside but quieter now atop the bench, as if she had accepted the discipline she had earned. Judy stopped whipping her when Vic stood in front of Rhonda’s face, but for a moment the chief of staff kept her eyes closed, her back heaving against the waist strap that bound her to the device for punishing naughty girls with their clothes off. Sally couldn’t suppress a whimper of her own at the sight of the naked man calmly pumping his cock in front of Rhonda’s bent head, mere inches from the mouth that the girl who had to watch wanted, so shamefully, to see her traitorous friend made to pleasure.