Chapter 7

Sydney spent countless hours during the following weeks in Stacy’s cell, with Helen kept in stasis, sleeping the time away.

Pleasure, obedience, teasing, binding, restraining and pleasantly tormenting, borderline torturing the poor woman into acceptance of her new fetish.

I believed that the only pain inflicted during the week-long training sessions were from the light application of Sydney’s favorite instrument, a soft riding crop. Aside from when the pleasure became unbearable to the bound woman, edging into exquisite pain.

Stacy was given very little time to rest; my student had a plan with a time table that she meticulously followed. When I demanded that the overworked fifteen-year-old rest herself, she would frown and place her training ‘partner’ in stasis or set the woman in denial mode for the hours of separation, watched over by a diligent Boris.

I also insisted that Sydney eat better, and in larger quantities than she had been. Sex required calories and she was a growing girl.

...

“Morning, Helen. Morning, Stacy.” Tired, but in good spirits, Sydney followed Boris and the breakfast cart to the card table placed between the two cells.

In silver slippers and another of her countless high-cut, white, sleeveless bodysuits, Helen inspected the changes to her new boss. That she had spent her time fucking with the bound Puma didn’t surprise the woman in the least.

I noticed the tall blonde’s eyes evaluating and conclude that more time had passed than her mind realized, when Stacy exited the bathroom barefoot, clad in black lace panties and a white leather corset, proceeding to give Sydney a demure, yet wary, smile.

Her brown leather collar had also been replaced in favor of a white one with a golden D-ring in both front and back.

Stacy no longer seemed to be terrified of Sydney or the predicament she found herself in, setting Helen’s hackles on edge.

“Both of you are quiet this morning. Shall we eat?” My student inquired.

“Good Morning, Miss Sydney.” The curvy brunette replied with a soft, yet normal tone.

“Looks like you had fun.” I wasn’t sure who Helen was addressing, maybe both.

Sydney gave off a slight blush. “We did. And ‘yes’, to your question from earlier.”

Helen gave a slight nod on sitting. Stacy ignored the interplay; she was deferential to their hostess, but not overly solicitous. The taller blonde did not know quite what to make of the changes in both of her table mates. The twenty-minute breakfast was too short of an interval to accurately evaluate their new relationship. But, I noticed a hint of understanding beginning to form in Helen’s eyes.

...

“Today’s contest is one where luck will matter a great deal.” The hostess of the games opened.

Setting an 8”x11” sheet on the now cleared table, courtesy of Boris, Sydney went over the rules.

“You each take turns rolling five dice. Each turn has three possible throws of any combination of dice that you choose to use. For instance, if your first roll is three-fours, a five and a six, you can stop there and fill in the three of a kind spot. For the three of a kind, all five dice added are together to determine your score, which would be twenty-three points in this case. A decent score. But you would probably be better off trying for four of a kind or even Yahtzee. If you roll something that has no place in the list, you must enter a zero in a category of your choice.

“There are thirteen categories and thirteen turns. You both use the same dice and must roll from the cup and into the box top.”

She then went on describing the finer points of the game that both women were familiar with from their childhood.

“This is a best-out-of-five games contest. Are there any questions? No? Roll a die and see who goes first.” Giving each a pencil and a printed notepad, Sydney backed off and watched the game, interested in how it would play out.

I was more interested in Helen’s handling of her proposition, than the game itself.

Stacy won the roll and the first and second games by a comfortable margin. Helen won the third with an opening roll of five fives. Pressed, Stacy never caught up and made a couple tactical errors along the way.

In the fourth game, two poor choices to go for a five of a kind by Helen, prevented the blonde in white any chance of winning.

“Stacy won three games to one. Congratulations, Hun.”

The woman, who had come to embrace bondage and Sydney over the last two months, beamed at the endearing term.

Somberly, Helen remained quiet, waiting for the cards which she felt would change her, but hopefully not too drastically.

Fanning out the cards after a good shuffle, Helen carefully chose three from the middle, spaced well apart.

“Led Astray.”

“Sharing is caring.”

“No. Just no.”

Sydney glanced at Helen in concern. Something about that second card, struck a hard, negative chord. With a stern look, Helen waved Sydney to continue.

“Rubber Maid.”

Suddenly pushing her chair back, Helen stood and retreated to her bed to sit and consider. Stacy was shushed by her new mistress when she went to add her two cents. Five. Ten. Fifteen minutes passed...

Taking a deep breath, the tall athletically slim woman stood and chose a card.

...

“My freedom.”

“I give my word that you will be released from any and all obligations the day after my eighteenth birthday.”

“Fine. Do what you need to do.”

“Take off your boots and gloves please. Boris will be here with the cases in ten minutes.”

“At least tell me if I chose right?”

“Both of the other two cards were as you suspected.”

“Anything else?” Helen stood before Sydney in her thin white leotard and piercings, and nothing else.

“Just wait a couple minutes. Boris is almost here.” In silence, the pair waited for Boris to enter the room with a large chest and a small silver suitcase.

“Put that cushion on the floor and kneel on it, lean over the bed with your elbows resting on the mattress, please.”

Finding a pair of opaque swimmer’s goggles, Sydney affixed them over the tense, yet unresisting, older woman’s eyes.

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah,” replied a very tense former Villainess.

“I need to give you three injections. Normally I do this after I put you to sleep, but in this case, I cannot. Please, bear with the pain, the second shot will hurt quite a bit. The first is a local anesthetic which helps to reduce the burning a great deal, but the second injection will still be painful. The third injection you won’t be able to feel at all.”

“Let me guess, in my ass, right?”

“Correct ... you will feel a small prick. I will rub it and count to one hundred before administering the second injection. Ready?”

“Yes ... Damn, that stings.”

“You will feel your body heat up. That’s natural. Just try to relax now. There will be no more pain.” Sydney narrated as she massaged the out-thrust muscular derriere of the unwilling, yet compliant, older blonde woman.

...

“Warm...”

“Helen are you still with me?”

“ ... fuzzy.”

Sydney signaled to Boris for him to open the chest.

“That means the medicine is working. Can you lift your left leg for me, please? Thanks ... Point your toes, better ... Now push, a little more. Good girl.” zip. “Now the other leg ... Point your toes, good girl. Push, a bit more. Good girl.” zip.

“Sit back on your ankles and hand me your left hand. Good girl. Keep your fingers pointed. Like that. Thumb too. Good girl. Now your other hand... Good girl.”

“Open up and say ‘ah’. Yes, like that. You are such a Good girl. You are doing so well. Now bite down, not hard, just relax and let it be natural. Loosen your grip. Let me straighten this for you. Better. Now bite again. Good girl.“

“Is this too tight?” Speaking was mostly impossible with the wooden bit in place, so Helen shook her head.

“I’m going to put an outfit on top of the one you are wearing. Let me know if any of the buckles or straps bind. Okay?” Helen replied with an unsure nod.

“Spread your knees further apart. A little more. Good girl. I need to make sure this is centered.”

Moan.

“I need to separate your cheeks some. The ring might be a little cold. It’s okay. It will warm quickly ... you are such a Good girl. That wasn’t bad now, was it?” Disregarding the negative response, Sydney continued on with the suppression of the older woman.

“I need you to stand. Your boots will be a little odd, they don’t have a heel, but the arching sole has enough strength to support you ... Let me give you a hand... Good girl. ... Yes, I know you are still blindfolded. Let me tighten these buckles.”

“Oof.”

“Too tight? Twist your body, yes like that. Good girl. Does anything pinch? No? Good. What about this ring? Is it centered?”

Moan.

“Yes, I know you like it. Is there any pinching or pain? Such a Good girl.”

“What about this one? ... No? Spread your legs apart. Further. Good girl. You don’t like me playing with your butt?”

A gagged Helen could only shake her head to the negative. Sydney had reduced her options for responding to a yes or no.

“No? Does it feel bad?

“No? Does it hurt or pinch?

“No. Good girl ... You have been such a Good girl. Do you want a reward?”

Moan.

“I can continue. Would you like that?”

Moaann.

Sydney rewarded her new ponygirl with two finger-driven climaxes. All the while speaking instructions to the restricted woman.

The RNA addition to Helen’s biological structure ensured that my student’s instructions would be permanently internalized into the former Villainess’s physiological makeup.

Administering the fourth shot brought Helen out of her fugue.

“Gently, gently,” Sydney coaxed.

Stumbling, the much larger woman started falling after trying to move in the unfamiliar heelless ballet boots. Barely catching her in time, Sydney used all of her slight strength to keep the woman upright.

“At da ell?”

“Shhh, it’s okay. Let me take off your blindfold.”

Helen tried to do that herself, but discovered her wrists chained to her waist. Even with sudden jerks, she was unable to move her hands more than a few inches in any direction, but doing so had the side effect of tugging the straps that went down and under her groin from each side of the hips, pulling the silver rings taught, digging into her vagina and, worse I believed in Helen’s opinion, the one encircling her anus.

“EEP!“

“Quit thrashing. I can’t reach your blindfold. Girl, Stand Still!” Physically Helen froze, all except for her head which thrashed in the hopeless attempt to dislodge the modified swimming goggles.

Stroking the panicking woman’s back, Sydney continued speaking in a low, steady voice with the intent of sharing her calm state with her new girl. Eventually, Helen gave up on her efforts to resist and hung her head in defeat.

Slowly, Sydney removed Helen’s vision-nullifying goggles, while praising the blonde girl, explaining that cooperation works better than resistance.

Taking her new ‘Good girl’ by the arm, Sydney said, “the mirror is over here. Don’t you want to see your new outfit?”

A single unsure step forward led to another. The former B-Rank Villainess stared at her reflection in horror. Her whole body started shaking, followed by her head, vigorously willing herself to deny the situation she found herself in.

PONYGIRL!!!

The x-crossed belted harness supported her taut breasts, similar to cup-free leather bikini tops. The mid-waist belt locked both wrists to the outside and out of reach of the rest of her exposed, lean body.

And finally, a pair of straps extended from the waist to meet at the base of the opening to her vagina where a decent-sized silver ring was located. The large, at least in Helen’s perspective, ring centered between her asscheeks was out of sight, but not out of mind. A pair of straps encircled her upper thighs connecting to the waist band. Small D-rings were strategically located on the harness and the bands. The new collar also matched the straps in color and texture. D-Rings included.

Both of Helen’s hands were encased in fingerless, closed gloves, complete with straps buckled tight around the wrists that secured them in place, such that they could only be removed by someone else.

The matching boots had the already-tall woman stand on the balls of her feet with arched six-inch metal bands for extra support, forcing her heels completely off the ground.

The black bridle with silver hooks, which were adjusted earlier by Sydney, silenced the woman with a leather-wrapped piece of darkened hickory.

“You look great. Don’t you think?”

“Ooooo.” Shaking her head to the negative, there was no way she thought she looked good.

“Trust me, you look good. But...”

A vast range of emotions flashed across the blue-eyed, bound woman with no means of expressing just how wrong this was. Nor that statement. That Sydney thought it needed more seemed to blow quite a few internal fuses in the captive woman.

“I know what you need, but first I think you need reins. Don’t you agree?”

Shaking her head no, again, the poor woman’s head was about to fall off if she kept that up. Sydney fetched the two-pronged leash that was coiled up in the large case, waiting for this moment.

“You are too tall. Bend over ... yes. Bend over girl, or do you want me to get my crop?”

Still refusing to be leashed, Helen stood in the door to her closet, unmoving and unwilling to bend.

“Here you were doing so well ... Maybe a crop would work better than a carrot? Stay there, I’ll be back.”

Hooking a silver case to her belt, and bringing her crop along, I wondered how my devious student would play this out.

For the breaking of Stacy, Sydney had applied copious amounts of pleasure. When the golden skinned brunette tired, even more pleasure was applied in interesting and creative ways. Withholding release worked well too after the woman became accustomed to orgasming whenever either of the pair wanted the bound woman to do so.

With a practiced, light touch, Sydney used the crop, as a lover would, to explore, touch and tweak all of Helen’s six-foot three-inch height in her new ‘boots’.