She stood with her back to us on a small low round rostrum in a corner of the room, legs
together as if at attention, her body unnaturally erect because of the bondage. She was
naked from the waist downwards, and my eyes flew to a pair of nice plump buttocks. She was
brightly lit, as if she were a statue on display. Late teen or early twenties, I guessed,
petite, curvy in the right places. The thick rug upon which the rostrum stood made it look
like a tableau from the Arabian Nights or something.
The bondage jacket had a fringe at the bottom that only accentuated the nakedness below
it, as did the high-heeled red shoes she was wearing. A book was balanced on her head, and
on the book a slim little flower vase with an orchid in it. And she was standing very
still. Beside her, on a chair, there was an alarm clock she could not see, and a riding
crop.
"Ah, you have noticed Erica, I see," said my host. An understatement if ever
there was one! "She does not like this exercise... Be quiet," he said to her
quietly, as does one who knows he will be obeyed. "We have company." The
distressing sound ceased immediately, and he turned to me. "Allow me to introduce
myself. I am Rex, Rex Saviour, her stepfather - I call myself Saviour because the Lord has
called me to be the Saviour of the poor sinner you see there, unwillingly improving her
deportment. Responsibility for her is a burdensome task that the Lord has laid upon me,
and to a stranger such as you I may seem harsh towards her at times. Unfortunately,
however, a certain degree of discipline is required."
I remained speechless.
"I give her a variable time period for this exercise," continued Saviour.
"She seldom drops within the time, she once went two hours, but the real test is when
the bell goes. Tends to makes her jump, you know." He stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Her self control is improving, I rather fancy. I used to have to beat her every
session, but now it is only perhaps three times out of five. We have sessions twice a day.
Repeated, of course, after failures. At any rate, it is doing wonders for her deportment.
What do you think?"
Fortunately he seemed to need no reply. He was already pouring two glasses of whisky
from a cabinet in the background. "Let us sit over there, and I will explain how you
can help," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Do you
like ginger?" He indicated a pot of sweets on a small table beside us. "Stem
ginger," he said, "It goes nicely with whisky, I find. Quite a bite to
it."
I took a stick and chewed on it. I needed something to distract me
Saviour pointed a small remote control at the rostrum, and it turned slowly, until the
girl was facing us. From the front the view was far more erotic than from behind, however
much one might appreciate twitching buttocks that absolutely invite the strap. She
appeared to be absolutely armless, and two perfect breasts jutted through holes in the
jacket, high and firm, pert, neither too small nor too large, with tiny rings in the
upturned pink tips. The lower halves of the breast holes were lined with some tinselly
silver material, or kind of furry perhaps, at any rate it looked very scratchy to me - but
the breasts did not touch it, and would not so long as she carried herself upright, as the
jacket ensured that she must do. So the trimming there was decorative only, but there was
a high collar with similar trimmings at her neck, and I was not so sure about the comfort
of that. At any rate she did hold her head up very well.
The jacket ended in a small fringe at the waist, or rather a little higher up than the
waist, just below the breasts. That showed how high up the arms were bound at the back.
The red tassels matched the shoes and seemed to emphasis the nakedness between, and the
fact that she was shaved rounded off the whole picture in a most delightful way. Rex was
quite an artist, I thought. Or maybe he was just mad. He was certainly a fanatic of some
sort.
When we were settled in deep easy chairs, he offered me a cigar, and, when I refused,
lit one up himself and began under cover of a cloud of blue smoke. "Erica was very
badly abused as a child," he said. "It went on for several years. She has a lot
of hang-ups because of that. My mission from the Lord is to cure her of these. The Lord
has spoken to me of desensitisation therapy. He whispers in my mind, you know.
Desensitisation is a medically accepted method of treating phobias. It means exposing the
patient in increasing doses to what she fears most." He paused. "I have studied
the textbooks on this practice. But so far," he admitted, "it is not succeeding
as well as I had hoped."
He paused, brooding over his failure. "Fear of being beaten is one of her worst
hang-ups," he said, "and therefore needs working on constantly." He went
over and rested a hand on her buttocks, at which she stiffened even more. He was holding
the cigar, and perhaps she felt the heat of its red tip, which he had just blown on.
"Oh yes, she is frightened of the cigar," he chuckled, "but the scars she
once had are gone and I would never mark her. This is my favourite part of her," he
added, "the best part for treatment. Do you like the colour of her skin? More golden
than white, is it not? We think she is Argentinean, really. She has become my property
recently, you know."
"How - what - why - why doesn't she run away?"
"Ah well," he said, "she can't open doors without arms, can
she?"
"But when you release her arms -"
"Release her arms? Why would I do that?"
"Well - well -"
"It isn't much trouble, really," he said, "keeping her like this.
The gardener hoses her down in the yard from time to time, so hygiene is no problem. Well,
I suppose keeping her bound is not strictly necessary. I have evidence that could send her
to prison for a very long time, though. She killed her father, you know. What a monster he
was! Her very biggest fear is of being locked up because of that. Yes, I think
claustrophobia may be her worst problem, even worse than snakes touched. I haven't
dared to tackle it yet. You would need to read the book I wrote to understand how she came
to be mine. We have no time now, because we must take advantage of this opportunity the
Lord has so conveniently provided. One of her hang-ups is fear of being touched, so you
shall work on that, if you don't mind?"
"No-no," I stuttered. "I suppose I don't mind - if it will help
-"
"We can but try," he said with a grim smile. He unbuckled a broad leather belt
from his waist, revealing a slimmer belt beneath it. The one now in his hand was a heavy
studded one with an elaborate silver buckle, a formidable weapon indeed. When he was sure
she was aware of what he had done, he revolved the rostrum so her buttocks were towards us
again.
He doubled it up the belt to hide the studs and slapped the smooth side of it into the
palm of his other hand as he walked towards her. "Three strokes is my code for
'attend to me'," he said, taking hold of the handle of her hair, as I had
wanted to do and standing back to raise his other arm with the belt at the ready. She must
have been used to this routine, judging by the way her whole body stiffened and shrank
from him. "As you know, being beaten is one of the principal things desensitisation
therapy will cure, so it is prudent to take every opportunity to apply it, don't you
think?" He released her hair and turned to me. "More whisky, my dear fellow? Why
rush? We have plenty of time, unless you are in a hurry to leave?"
I shook my head. Leaving was the last thing I wanted to do. He came back to refill my
empty glass, and then refreshed his.
"Anticipation is good for her," he said. "Oh yes, I am a great believer
in anticipation. It shows her that I really care about her cure. I love her very dearly,
you know. I keep the room nice and warm for her - yes, do remove your jacket and loosen a
few buttons, my dear fellow. Isn't she a pretty picture like that? Her father was a
pimp in Argentina you know, and she is said to be his daughter by one of his women.
Personally I am not so sure. It would have been easy and profitable for him to procure a
girl child in those days. He came to England as a refugee from Peron, and married to
acquire English nationality, and went into the dirty movie business with her most
unpleasant step-mother. Ah well, back to business, I think. Now, Erica, are you ready? Nod
for yes."
She remained motionless and he smiled. "Just my little joke!" he said.
"It used to catch her out, but now she realises I would punish her more for dropping
the book than for disobeying a command." He walked behind her, held her firmly by the
hair again, and lashed at her twitching buttocks with the belt, somewhat harder than
strictly necessary I thought. "One, two, three!" Then he returned to his chair
and took another sip of whisky. As did I - I surely needed it! I was bulging at the
crotch, as he obviously noticed and apparently approved. He seemed to have forgotten his
cigar.
He pointed the remote and the rostrum revolved again, giving us my favourite full
frontal view. He waited a few moments to admire her, then. "Come!" he said
Miraculously, the book had stayed on her head and still remained there as she stepped
delicately down from the rostrum, ever so slowly and gracefully. That was a masterpiece of
erotic balance in itself. Then she came sinuously towards us, elegant in her high heels.
With her arms strapped behind her back, her shoulders held back by the rod in the jacket
and her head held up high by the collar, and shaven as she was, she was very very exposed
and very very erotic. She could not have been more vulnerable if she had been born without
arms.
"What is your name?" Saviour asked me, as she stood before us, close enough to
touch.
"Smith," I lied.
"No, no, your Christian name."
"Donald." I decided another lie would do no harm. "Sir Donald,
actually." I said it as modestly as I could, wishing to impress him. This was shaping
up to become a relationship I would wish to cultivate.
"Now, Erica dear," said Saviour, slapping the belt into the palm of his other
hand in a very menacing way, "are you attending?"
"Yes, Uncle Rex." Her voice was low and seductive, very pleasing, I was
relieved to note. Anything else would have been most unwelcome. The faint tremble in it
was perfectly understandable, given her unfortunate predicament.
"She calls me Uncle," Saviour said to me. "It is a matter of convenience
you understand." He turned to the girl. "Is your bottom burning?"
"A little, Uncle Rex."
"Only a little? Dear me! Show us."
She turned her back to us, slowly and carefully, and Rex reached out to finger her. He
added a couple of pinches. "Yes," he said approvingly, "quite a pretty
shade of pink, and that was only three, quite gentle. I fancy we can improve upon
that."
He made a circling movement with his fingers, at which she turned round again, careful
as ever. When she was fully facing me I saw tears rising in her bright blue eyes as she
gazed out over my head, and she bit her full bottom lip as Rex moved behind her with the
belt. He was slapping it into his other palm again, something he seemed to delight in
doing.
"That is not just a book upon her head," he observed. "It is the Good
Book." I saw that it was indeed a beautifully bound Bible with gilt lettering and
brass hasps. "It has been in my family for several generations. She would not dare to
desecrate that by dropping it on the floor here, where there is no rug to save it."
He paused. "I do not always say how many," he said to me. "I feel it make
the treatment more beneficial if there is uncertainty in her mind." He stroked
Erica's haunches again. "Are you ready, girl?"
"Yes, Uncle Rex." There was a more distinct quiver in her voice now, and it
was very low.
"Speak up, girl. Are you or are you not ready?"
"I am ready, Uncle Rex." A firmer voice this time, but tears were coming.
"Sir Donald shall signal the strokes and decide how many," he said. "Just
raise your hand every time I should strike. I will decide how many seconds the pause shall
be."
I raised my hand in front of her and watched as she tensed. Rex counted "One and
two and splat!" The effort she made to keep her balance was a real joy to see. I
raised my hand again. "One and two and three oh I forgot, Sir Donald, the longer the
pause the harder the stroke, and four and five and six and seven and SPLAT!"
That one nearly broke her. So did each of the next five. Then he said, "Enough -
she has a fine colour now. Turn round my dear, and show Sir Donald."
Indeed her buttocks were more fiery than pink. "Excellent!" I said. "A
credit to you, Rex." The whisky was helping me to get into the true spirit of the
evening, which boded ill for Erica.
"Why thank you... now Erica, are you attending to me?"
"Yes, Uncle Rex."
"Leg astride - jump!"
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