Bound for the Tour Read online

  Traynor’s finger flicked a tear away from her cheek. “That’s a nice offer, but I can fuck you whenever I want, anyway,” he said. “Don’t worry; I have every intention of enjoying you tonight, I promise.” He moved his hand over her breasts, giving each of the firm globes a little squeeze. “But right now, you had better concentrate on getting your thinking straight, instead of trying to bribe me. Do you want to be a professional golfer, or don’t you?” He turned and walked away, not waiting for an answer. With the tears still dripping from her lip and chin, Emily followed.

  * * * * *

  Shelly Littlehawk joined them at dinner. She and Emily, both still nude, waited on Traynor, bringing his food from the kitchen, pouring wine for him and standing by his chair. Traynor amused himself during the meal by fondling the girls intimately with one hand while continuing to eat with the other.

  “You may be wondering what Baby here was doing all day while you were working so hard,” Traynor said to Emily, his hand resting in the valley between the beautiful Native American girl’s plush bottom-cheeks. “She was watching videos of some of her worst collapses in tournaments while she was hooked up to a training machine. Every time it showed the point at which she just gave up on the round, the trainer gave her a nice electric shock where it would do the most good. Isn’t that right, little girl?” Traynor asked.

  A tear trickled down the side of Shelly’s face and the corners her mouth curved downward dolefully. “Yes, Mr. Traynor, sir, that’s right,” she replied.

  “Liked it did you?” he asked mockingly. “Listen girly, you have a lot of growing up to do, and just a few months to do it. Once I’m finished with you, you won’t dare to quit on yourself, do you hear me?” He spanked her firm, round buttock sharply twice for emphasis.

  The girl scarcely moved under the sharp blows. “Yes, sir,” she replied miserably.

  After Traynor had finished his meal, he allowed his students to eat. “Make sure you have a good, filling meal,” he advised them. “You both have a long, strenuous night ahead.”

  Emily was summoned to Traynor’s room by a silent female employee. The woman was about thirty, pretty but not beautiful. She looked very strong and competent however. She made certain that Emily’s hands were secured behind her back by the magnetic bracelets, and then silently led her through the halls. She stopped in front of a door identical to many others they had passed, opened it and gestured for Emily to enter. A strange reluctance came over Emily, and she stayed in place outside the room.

  The woman gestured again, this time brusquely. Emily shrugged. It was not as if she had any choice, she thought. She had already given up her right to control what happened to her. She entered, and the door clicked shut behind her.

  The first thing she saw was Traynor. He wore a green silk robe embroidered with golf clubs, and he held a short, black, three-bladed whip in his hand. His back was to Emily when she entered. He was facing Shelly Littlehawk. The former prodigy was tied in an “x” shape between two metal poles by her wrists and ankles. A thick band of silver tape covered her eyes, and another swathe of tape ran over her mouth and all the way around to the back of her head. Her cheeks bulged in a way that suggested something bulky had been stuffed into her mouth before it had been sealed shut. She was nude, and the spotlight that illuminated her outstretched body showed a crisscrossing pattern of welts across her thighs, stomach and breasts. Beads of sweat glittered like diamonds on her flesh under the bright light.

  Shelly’s fine, black hair had been collected in a ponytail, about which a cord was tied. The cord was attached to a bar directly overhead and pulled taut, holding her head erect. To Emily, it looked as if that cord was the only thing keeping Shelly’s chin from flopping forward onto her chest, just as the ropes on her hands and feet were all that kept the Native American girl from slumping to the floor.

  “Oh! Oh!” Emily exclaimed, rushing into the room. She ran right past Traynor to the side of the beaten Shelly. “What’s happened to her?” she asked half-hysterically. She turned and shouted at him. “What have you done to her, you bastard?!”

  “I think you’re a little out of line, talking to me that way,” he said. He quickly stepped close to Emily and punched her hard in the solar plexus. She was unprepared for this sudden blow. His fist knocked the air out of her body and she dropped to the ground as if she had been pole axed. It felt to Emily as if her chest and abdomen had been turned to stone. She curled in a ball on the floor in agony, trying to draw in a breath. Traynor looked down at her dispassionately.

  “There’s nothing wrong with her, you simpleton,” he said. Without dropping the whip, he cupped both of Shelly’s cone-like breasts in his hands. “You’re fine, aren’t you, Baby?” he asked, flicking at her stiff nipples.

  Shelly made a soft groan and nodded her head as much as the rope pulling her hair would allow. “You see?” he asked. “We were just warming up a little while we waited for you.”

  Emily, on the verge of panic at her inability to breathe, finally made her paralyzed midsection relax enough to allow her to draw in a ragged breath.

  “In fact, our little Shelly-girl here is feeling well enough to put on a show for us, while I take you up on that offer you made today. Aren’t you, Honey-bun?” he asked her, slapping her roundly across her face. The girl limply nodded her agreement.

  Traynor now slid his hand down between the Native American girl’s thighs, casually fiddling around with his fingers. “Thayer, get up,” he ordered. “You see that little rolling desk over there? Go over and push it up next to me in front of Baby here.”

  Emily discovered that the pain in her midsection had settled down to a dull ache. Slowly she rose to her feet and walked over to the desk. It was about three and a half feet tall, with a slanted oak top set on four metal legs that were in turn mounted on casters. It looked like nothing so much as an old-fashioned classroom desk from elementary school, except for the casters. Emily pushed the desk ahead of her with her thighs until it was in position next to Traynor.

  “Now lie down on it, with your head out over the front, feet out to the sides,” he ordered.

  Emily complied. Traynor pulled his hand away from Shelly. He unclipped a yoke that was attached to the front of the desk, swung it up on a pivoting hinge, and closed it over Emily’s neck so that she was fixed in a vulnerable, position, bent over with her naked bottom in the air. He locked the casters with his foot so that Emily could not move the desk.

  He knelt at Shelly’s feet, untying the cords that held her ankles. With both hands he reached around to caress her buttocks while he raised his lips to her ear. “Are you going to put on a nice show for Thayer and me? Hmm?” His lips brushed her earlobe.

  Again she nodded and made a few soft noises, like the mew of a half-drowned kitten. “Good, that’s a good little Baby,” Traynor said.

  He walked away, then quickly returned, pushing something that resembled a child’s wooden hobbyhorse. The top was a cylinder with a simple caricature of a horse head at one end and a carved tail at the other. The padded body was supported by four wheeled legs. In one respect, however, it differed from a child’s toy. In the center of the top, where a rider would sit, were two rubbery-looking dildos, the front most one about eight inches long, and the rear one perhaps half as long and thinner.

  Traynor positioned the horse between Shelly’s legs, with the two artificial phalluses touching her front and rear. The girl stood on the tips of her toes when she felt the objects press against her, shaking her head and softly mumbling something incomprehensible.

  “Do you feel those dildos, Shelly?” Traynor asked. She nodded. “Well, I want you to fuck them for me until you have an orgasm. I have cameras all set up and rolling, so that we can preserve your performance for posterity.”

  Again she made the faint sounds and shook her head.

  “So, you’re a big girl now and you’re not going to do what Daddy tells you, is that it?” Traynor asked. He rose to his feet and walked around
behind the defenseless girl. “I wonder if I can persuade you to change your mind?”

  He raised the whip and slashed it into the soft flesh at the base of Shelly’s bottom globes. She jumped forward and made a sound like “Ummph!” Traynor now began to whip the girl’s back methodically from the middle of her thighs to her shoulder blades. Shelly twisted this way and that, turning her head blindly as if trying to see where the next blow was coming from. She made desperate sounds that the watching Emily interpreted as surrender, but Traynor continued the flagellation until there was no area larger than two square inches on Shelly’s back that had not been marked by the Traynor’s whips.

  By the time Traynor lowered his arm, the girl was hanging limply by her wrists. “Are you ready now?” he asked. She nodded.

  Traynor shoved the horse out of the way. “I want to make sure we don’t have this problem again down the road. Spread your legs.”

  She opened her thighs, and Traynor took the opportunity to slash the leather blades upward. She jumped straight in the air and squeezed her legs tightly together.

  “No, I want you open for five strokes, to help you remember,” Traynor said. He reached up and pinched the girl’s nostril tight between his fingers. Almost instantly, Shelly began to toss her head frantically side to side, trying to pull away from his fingers.

  As she watched the slender girl struggle frantically, Emily very nearly called out to Traynor to stop. She restrained herself, however. She realized that her reaction when she first saw Shelly was foolish in retrospect. Whatever else he was going to do, it was a pretty safe bet that Traynor was not going to risk doing any serious damage to either one of them. He was having way too much fun with his sex toys to risk anything like that.

  “Now, will you open your slutty legs for my whip?” he asked. Shelly’s head bobbed rapidly up and down. “Excellent,” he said, releasing her nose. Shelly’s dainty nostrils flared as she gasped for breath. She opened up her legs again, and kept them open while her tormentor delivered four upward slashes of the whip. Tears running out from beneath the blindfold traced silvery trails down her cheeks as he whipped her tender regions.

  Traynor rolled the horse back into position between the bound girl’s thighs. “Now, lower yourself onto both of these,” Traynor said. “You need practice at fucking, and this is the ideal way to do it.”

  Slowly and unwillingly, Shelly impaled herself on the front dildo. She tilted her hips forward, however, so the rear dildo did not penetrate her at all. Seeing this, Traynor placed his lips to Shelly’s ear, lightly touched his fingertips to her charming little nose, and whispered something that Emily could not make out.

  Shelly nodded violently, and immediately she jammed her bottom down onto the rear dildo until her shapely posterior landed on the padded top of the horse. She made a soft squeak as she was now fully penetrated her fore and aft.

  “Good,” Traynor said. “Now, keep up a good, steady rhythm, and don’t stop until I give you permission. Understood?”

  She nodded and made noises of agreement.

  Traynor now walked slowly around Emily, stopping behind the blonde’s temptingly ripe ass. Emily followed him as well as she could with her eyes, but with her head in the yoke she lost sight of him when he stood directly behind her, his hand resting on her posterior as if he owned it.

  “Now, what would get the aristocratic Emily Thayer fully aroused, I wonder?” Traynor asked. He cupped the golden-haired triangle at the junction of her legs in the palm of his hand and felt the obvious signs of arousal already. “Other than watching Shelly Littlehawk fuck herself crazy on that horse, that is. Would you like me to whip your pussy for you, the way I did for your classmate? Would that get you nice and hot?”

  Emily knew he was toying with her, hoping to get her to react in some way, to protest or beg. She did not want to give him the satisfaction of succeeding, but she found herself saying, “No! No, please don’t whip me there!” in a hoarse, panicky voice.

  “Do you want a spanking instead, sweet Emily?” Traynor asked in a mocking tone. “If I turned your little ass bright red, would that make you all hot for me? Hmm?”

  “Yes, yes,” Emily said. She knew that she was not brave enough to risk a whipping on her private parts. She would say whatever he wanted and do whatever he ordered her to do to avoid that.

  “Then get down on the floor on your hands and knees and beg me for a spanking, Emily Thayer,” Traynor said. “Bend your back and stick your ass in the air, then tell me why you deserve to have you bottom spanked until it’s as red as an apple. Tell me how excited a spanking will make you and what a cheap whore you are, unless you’ve changed your mind and want me to whip your more sensitive places, of course.”

  “Please, sir, I’ve been a bad girl,” Emily said. She racked her brains for more, trying to think of what a man like Traynor would like to hear. “Please give me the spanking I deserve. Spank me ’til my ass is raw. It will excite me so much, and I might come just from that.”

  “All right, if you insist,” he said. Emily released a tiny sigh of relief. She could not imagine how much that whip would have hurt, and how bad could a simple spanking be? She had been bent over her father’s knee a few times as a girl, and she was sure that now she was an adult she could withstand any spanking Traynor could dish out. Anyway, she planned to start crying well before it went too far. Men, even men like Traynor, had a soft spot (in their heads, Emily thought), for a pretty, crying girl.

  “Keep your legs wide apart,” he told her, and then he began by smacking her left bottom cheek, making a loud report and causing very much more heat than Emily had anticipated. His hand was big and hard, and his arm was as strong as a pile driver. “Oh!” she exclaimed. This was nothing like the spankings she had received from her father as a girl.

  Traynor pounded away at Emily’s obligingly exposed ass-cheeks, alternating one side to the other like a machine. Emily’s plan to pretend to be in more pain than she really was quickly fell by the wayside. After only ten strokes, her bottom felt as if it had been sitting on a hot stove. Tears came unbidden to her eyes. She yelped in pain. Soon, she was pleading for him to stop, to give her mercy. She promised to be good, to obey, to do anything to stop him.

  “But we only just started,” Traynor protested. “I haven’t spanked you nearly long enough to get you ready for a really good fuck. I want you to be as excited as your friend there. Just look at her go.”

  Emily looked up at Shelly and stared in awe and amazement. Until now she had been concentrating on her own problems too much to pay any attention to the tall Native American girl.

  Shelly Littlehawk, a virgin until yesterday, a complete sexual innocent until she had arrived at Traynor’s school, a girl raised in the most straight-laced Puritanical tradition, had gone completely off the reservation. She rode the horse wildly, skewering herself front and rear on the rubber cocks with amazing gusto, pumping her hips like some kind of exotic sex machine, wagging her head from side to side and emitting soft, high pitched sounds of ecstasy. Sweat droplets glittered on her heaving body and flew sparkling through space from her face and off the tips of her firm breasts as she plunged madly up and down on the dildos.

  The sight was the most sexually exciting that Emily had ever witnessed. She suddenly realized that Traynor had been right all along: the spanking and the sight of the rampaging Shelly Littlehawk had aroused her. In fact, it had excited her incredibly. Her body was demanding his cock. She writhed.

  “Please,” she said, turning her head to look back as well as she could. “I need… I need you to… ah!”

  “To keep spanking you? Is that what you mean?” he asked, following the word with the deed by resuming the beating at a faster clip. Emily screeched with each blow. This was worse than the caning she had received the day before, far worse. It was as if a red-hot waffle iron was being applied to her bottom.

  “Now beg me to fuck you, little bitch!” Traynor demanded. He struck her fire-red bottom cheeks with the
hardest strokes yet, to punctuate his command, and then he opened his robe and flopped his stiff rod out to rest in the vale between Emily’s bottom globes.

  “Ahhh! Yes! Please, take me! Fuck me, Master! God, just fuck me!” Emily screamed, hardly knowing what she was saying. She was being driven nearly mad by simultaneous sensations of arousal and pain.

  £££Taking this as his cue, Traynor grasped his rigid organ, pressed it firmly between the girl’s legs and pushed forward firmly in a single smooth motion. Emily was eagerly waiting for him and she gripped his rod in a firm, velvety embrace. The sensation was almost more than she could bear; she felt her heart beating so hard that she was afraid it might explode from the pleasure.

  “Jesus! Why don’t you fuck me, fuck me harder!” she tried to cry out, but she had temporarily lost the ability to form words and had nearly lost the ability to form thoughts as she was blown away in the hurricane of a tremendous orgasm. All that came out was an inarticulate shriek of “Aaaaaaah!!”

  Perhaps a minute later, Shelly Littlehawk, still bouncing up and down on the horse like some berserk rodeo cowboy, came for the third time. Exhausted and replete, she sank down motionless on the two dildos that had provided her with so much pleasure, drawing deep, rapid breaths through her distended nostrils, her body shiny with sweat.