The Summer of Francesca

Once a neighbor asked to borrow Anne for a party he was giving his employees. That day after her workout she was lubricated and leashed to the back of the cart. Francesca drove it over country roads to the neighbor; a farmer on a tractor waved a greeting to them, and a car full of tourists nearly ran into a ditch as the driver swiveled her head around for a better look.

They arrived at the garden of the neighbor's estate with Anne dusty and disheveled. This was good; it made her more approachable to his guests. It must have worked, since nearly all of them made use of her; while the catering staff, students recruited from the area, looked on wide-eyed.

Anne was so weary from her labors at the end of the evening that Francesca bundled her into the back of the cart for the return trip (to use the passenger seat would have left stains) until they were within sight of Mr. Schuyler's buildings. By that time Anne was sound asleep, curled up like a big shrimp. Francesca prodded her until she woke and took her place behind the cart on her chain.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The season was wearing on, and it was time for Francesca to think about school and her career. Anne wished she could somehow remain a part of Francesca's life, but there was no way; the phrase "summer romance" caused her grief as though they were on a ship approaching the dock, where its passengers would disperse and retain only memories of their brief relationships.

Did it have to be so brief, she wondered as she lay in the darkness of her cell. She tried to imagine other ways they might have met; but Francesca would not have liked the selfish young career climber she was a year ago. Nor could Francesca once back at the university have any use for her as she was now.

Her training carried her through the days, and Francesca either failed to notice or more likely did not comment on her mood. But chained alone after dark in her cell she gave way to desolation and despair.

The nights were turning cool, and the stone floor was cold under her. It would get colder and she did not know how she could manage it.

She would not need to. Already she had remained on Mr. Schuyler's estate longer than most girls; when the time came for her replacement she would be garroted or given away to Sir Nigel. However much Mr. Schuyler and his friends liked her services they liked novelty more, and she felt her inadequacy: that was the one thing she could not provide after all these weeks of attending to them.

And she knew too much about her owner's clients. At the least, their names and which end of a woman they preferred, but also trade secrets and business plans they discussed as they used her. Mr. Schuyler could not let her fall into the hands of a rival. Yes, it was time for her to go.

Francesca had taken to exercising her with light strokes that left no lasting marks, and her skin now showed little sign of the beatings she received since the ordeal. Anne found this disturbing; it meant Mr. Schuyler wanted her in good shape before handing her over to another master.

She reviewed her prospects. If she were sent to Sir Nigel's estate the best she could hope for was a few weeks in his service, followed by a merciful strangulation rather than being given to his dogs. She could ask Mr. Schuyler to have Francesca put her down before leaving for college, but he would not want to deprive Sir Nigel of his pleasure and she had no right to ask. He had housed and fed her, supplied all her needs for the time she was in his care; he would determine her end.

Instead she would concentrate on making a good finish like several she had witnessed at St. Agnes; without Francesca it could not be too soon. She had always known it would come to this and resolved to accept her approaching fate dry-eyed. If she could just avoid thinking of her mistress, she could manage. It would not be for long.

One afternoon Francesca led her back from the library to her cell. She had just served five of Mr. Schuyler's clients in rapid succession and she was tired. He was right to replace her; he needed someone fresh. She limped inside and stood while her collar was attached to the ceiling tether.

Francesca poured out Anne's dinner and said she had some news.

Before she returned to school, she was by Mr. Schuyler's request to display her skills at a fete for his associates and a gathering of local citizens. Anne grew skittish on hearing she was to be whipped naked in front of half the town; Francesca had to bend her over and stroke her haunches for a minute to calm her.

"And what will - happen to me - afterwards, ma'am?" she asked hesitantly.

"Don't think about that, Anne."

Anne knew. She pushed it to the back of her mind and soon became enthusiastic at the chance to promote her young mistress. It would be her final goal, the crowning achievement of her short existence.

The audience was too large to fit inside, the outdoor frame on the lawn would be used. Rain was unlikely though possible; they would just have to take that chance.

Practice began at once. Francesca arrived early each day in Anne's cell, sometimes before it was fully light outdoors. She fed Anne a light breakfast, then put her over the sinktop for lubricating. It was always a sacred moment when her mistress's gloved hand entered her; sometimes it lingered there, or Anne imagined it did, and tears started to her eyes.

Anne's service to Mr. Schuyler's clients in the library continued as before, but other tasks made way for exercises on the frame. Her owner attended these rehearsals, looking pensive and solemn. This frightened Anne; plainly he was meditating on his options for her disposal.

Francesca's lessons had paid off in the pacing and control of her subject. She took Anne emotionally where she wanted with little visible effort. The exercise of the first day which seemed like a symphony at the time appeared now like a child playing scales. Anne was astonished at her mistress's development from gifted amateur to virtuoso and wondered how long she would be privileged to witness it.

She cooperated to the best of her ability, adapting herself to each stroke. She was determined that Francesca would shine at this her own first and last public appearance under the lash. She hoped Francesca would remember it with fondness.

Soon reports of the upcoming event became common within the household. The mayor of the town had been invited, with her husband. Members of the council and prominent citizens likewise, with their spouses or lovers (but not both; besides the potential for embarrassment, the lawn was only so big). Carol had prevailed on Mr. Schuyler to invite many of Anne's former friends and acquaintances. Rain was not forecast.

And Francesca was to depart for her distant university town the following day, and had not said a word to Anne about it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the morning of the event - her last full day on Mr. Schuyler's estate - exercises were called off to let both parties rest. Francesca let her sleep in; after feeding her she leashed Anne and walked her around the estate. Anne had never been to several of the rooms, but the staff knew her well; some of them had used her repeatedly. Everyone greeted her by name; they kissed her or squeezed her breasts. There was a tinge of sadness on some faces; they knew they would not see her again.

As she passed by the library, Anne looked through the open door. In the center of the desk lay a garrote. So, Mr. Schuyler would not send her to Sir Nigel's estate after all. She shivered and looked aside. Francesca said nothing, but shook the leash and told her to move on. In a way, Anne was relieved; it meant her troubles would be over soon.

Leading her to the front hall past the drawing room, Francesca observed that Anne had played a part in promoting her owner's business, making Mr. Schuyler's task easier in dealing with his clients. "Or should I say friends?" she asked, and Anne laughed despite herself. Francesca took her to the lawn where a team of caterers was setting up folding chairs before the frame, and practiced tying her to it before returning Anne to her cell.

After lunch Anne even managed to take a nap until Francesca came for her, accompanied by a young red-haired Irish servant Anne had not seen before. Anne knelt and kissed her hands. Maeve watched as Francesca poured a small measure of pellets and a bowl of water for Anne; at Francesca's direction she attached Anne's leash and removed her ceiling tether before leading her to the latrine.

Francesca instructed her in lubricating Anne. "It's not difficult and they're all the same down there, you'll pick it up with a little experience." Maeve had slender fingers; Anne began to moan as they entered her. She opened at once to her new trainer, who spent some time inside her before withdrawing for Francesca's inspection.

Maeve told Anne to stand and led her out to the frame; she held Anne's leash and watched while Francesca secured Anne's wrists and ankles. She drew them so tight Anne felt her limbs were being pulled apart and sighed; Francesca looked around at her and loosened one of the wrist ropes slightly. Anne smiled back in gratitude, but she had turned away. Anne saw that tents and tables under them with refreshments had been set up at the far end of the lawn; about two hundred chairs covered the rest of the area, with standing room behind.

Francesca left to change into an outfit for her performance while Maeve stood by the frame. After a moment, she approached and stroked Anne's breasts to raise the nipples. Anne submitted quietly, glad of the care she received from the new trainer. Maeve had talent; in time she would be a good addition to her owner's staff.

Thirty minutes before the hour, guests began to arrive. At first no one spoke to her, but she was examined by everyone either openly or furtively.

Anne was startled to see her parents appear, and a servant escort them to seats in the front row. How much did they know?

She could not bring herself to look in their direction, but it was good they were here. They had always urged their daughter to "be the best she could be", and her highest ambition was about to be realized tonight. The town would witness her declaration of love to Francesca in complete and public submission to her.

Her mind wandered. Madame Byrne would probably not be here today. What if she had bought Anne at the auction, how different life might have been. Rumor had it the madam began as a whore and rose to head a house of her own. Anne with her knowledge and professional skills could have become a valued assistant; maybe even a partner, or head of her own establishment with a dozen girls under her.

A respected businesswoman in a tailored suit, a pillar of the community; but then Francesca would never have met her. No, this was better. If she were allowed to choose, this is the way she would have it.

Carol approached with some of Anne's former colleagues. She knew three of them. Louis, about her own age, was already a junior partner; she had slept with him several times in hopes of a promotion, but without success. Charles was a high-ranking senior partner who could have helped but had rebuffed all her advances. Alice's gray hair was in a crew cut; she looked like an aging marine commandant. Roxane was new to her; she was a young clerk who had been hired to replace Aurore.

Carol managed to spill a glass of wine on Anne's breasts; Alice wiped it off with a little more care than it required. Anne smiled warmly at the older woman who produced a small pair of scissors and took a lock of Anne's hair; Debbie asked for it to remember her by. Her former secretary had quit her office job and was now a trainer at Thorntree.

Doing quite well there, Alice said. Anne was delighted; again she was of use to someone in her new life. Alice tied the lock with a ribbon and handed it to Roxane. Then she cut a second one for herself, which pleased Anne even more.

Carol began to grill her. What came after her workout under Francesca's lash?

"Mr. Schuyler will offer me to his guests, ma'am."

Where?

"In the main house, ma'am; I don't know which room."

Would she be offered to all the guests, men and women?

"My owner didn't say, ma'am, but I'm sure he would." Alice raised an eyebrow and listened more intently.

And tomorrow, what would happen to her then? Carol knew but wanted to hear Anne say it.

Anne told her.

Roxane said "Maybe we should send flowers." Alice thought that would be inappropriate, and besides where would they send them? Charles looked disapproving and the idea was dropped.

"And she was a whore," observed Louis; "no one liked her except in bed." Anne cringed at this. "I'd come and watch tomorrow if I had time, but I wouldn't send anything," he added, as Charles nodded in silent agreement. This led to a lively discussion of her faults, which they carried on as though she were not there; everyone she knew was glad to be rid of her. They spoke of Anne's unsuccessful campaign against Yvonne, a rival for promotion. All but Roxane who stood silent and thoughtful could recall some misdeed of hers.

She was ashamed of what she had been in her old life before she gave herself to Paul. She broke down and began to cry softly, repeating "I'm so sorry ... for everything ... I'm so sorry". No one paid any attention to her.

As talk of Anne's character wound down, Alice noticed the fleece between her widespread legs was beginning to glisten. "Enjoy it while you can, dear," she said; "you don't have much time." This reminded Anne that she had only a few more hours, and her condition grew as the group watched.

After enjoying the spectacle for a minute, Anne's interlocutors took their seats in the second row behind the mayor and the city council. Anne was glad that Carol did not know of her love for Francesca; she could not have borne it.

Shortly after they left, a slender woman of about twenty with long straight hair and a pale, slightly sad face like a medieval Madonna stepped out of the crowd and approached her. Speaking low so as not to be overheard, she asked Anne if she was happy. Anne said she was, more than words could describe; but if she had to explain why, she could not. The young woman said that was not necessary, then hesitantly asked Anne how she began the journey that led her here.

Anne directed her view toward Paul, who was standing with a group of men laughing and talking; she recognized Frank among them. The woman started to say something, thought better of it, thanked Anne and went over to them. Anne saw Paul detach himself from the group and speak privately with her while Frank sized her up, then enter the house with her following a short distance behind. About the length of a leash, Anne observed; silently she wished the young woman joy in her new life.

Francesca arrived a few minutes later wearing her dark bodysuit with a pastel tunic over it. Anne's heart beat a little faster just as it had on the day they met. She carried a case with the instruments she would need, and as the guests were ushered to their seats she spread out a variety of whips and crops of various sizes.

She glanced at Anne who smiled demurely, then turned and faced the audience.

Mr. Schuyler gave a brief speech of welcome to the guests and of introduction to the talented youth who would be displaying her skills tonight, asked Francesca if she desired to add anything (she did not), and stepped away to the Reserved section of chairs. A hush fell over the audience as she selected a pair of implements, tested them in the air, and moved into range.

Beginning with a simple warm-up series to Anne's breasts and thighs, she used a light but rapid and varied pattern of strokes that seemed to come from everywhere at once. (The Eastern texts call it "raindrops".) It was for the most part gentle, tender even, but highly stimulating.

The audience, larger than any Anne had seen before, watched her lose her self-possession and start to whimper and cry, then to moan. Roxane began to envy Anne. She looked over at Paul, whose eyes met hers and he nodded. They agreed to meet afterwards. Later he would regard the evening as one of his most profitable.

Anne hoped her mistress would leave some new mark on her today that she would carry to the last like Chloe's, but she was disappointed. Francesca was mindful of the damage she had done to Anne in the examination before Sir Nigel, and she had the right to choose for herself this time. She refrained entirely from heavy strokes and reserved even moderate ones for punctuation.

After their season of training together, the two showed themselves to the assembled guests as a virtual unity. She directed Anne with perfect control, like a conductor moving her baton before an orchestra. Anne opened to her as a rose to the sun.

The evening's theme and variations followed the flow of the exercise on the day they met - up to a climax, repeated with varying fast, slow, fast, repeated again with changes, then to a crescendo and over the top - though it is unlikely anyone in the audience but Mr. Schuyler recognized it. Anne did, and was touched to see Francesca remembered so well the details of their first meeting.

At the end Anne was physically and emotionally drained. For a time her hips continued their involuntary thrusts as though in the grip of some unattainable dream before slowing to a stop.

By prearrangement, Maeve stepped forward; she grasped Anne's hair and held her head up while Francesca took her bows. Those in the audience who appreciated Francesca's artistry gave her a standing ovation. Those who expected something coarser applauded politely and headed for the drinks table; but they had little potential as investors or clients and were of no interest to their host. Several business and government figures whom Mr. Schuyler hoped to impress came forward; the event was as productive to him as to Paul.

Dimly Anne heard the applause, and Mr. Schuyler's congratulations ("a truly outstanding performance; you have outdone yourself tonight") and Francesca's gracious reply. As she hovered on the brink of consciousness her parents approached and shook Francesca's hand warmly but she was unaware of it.

After a moment more to recover she was let down and Francesca led her into a windowless room off the library. Several guests had already gathered by the door. Frank was at the head of the line; good, she would be clean for him.

Over the next hour or two, or maybe more, Francesca held her leash and instructed her when to kneel and offer her mouth and when to bend over a padded chair to make her rear available.

Anne lost track of how many men and women entered her, or how or where, or who they were, or what onlookers stood by to watch or record the proceedings. After a while she even ceased to cry out when she was penetrated. Mechanically she did whatever she was told, over and over again. She did not know it was done until Francesca led her out of the room and under a night sky filled with stars back to her cell.

Francesca removed her tunic before bathing and cleaning Anne, then put out water and feed pellets without a word. The end approached and Francesca was surely right not to make matters worse for either of them with goodbyes.

Anne received the traditional kiss on her forehead, then dared to blow Francesca a kiss as she turned away. Did her step falter for a fraction of a second? In any case she continued to the door and turned out the light.

Anne cried for most of the night and slept little. Besides the exercise and her use by a crowd of strangers, her mind was in turmoil. She knew this would be her fate ever since she gave herself to Paul; but now that her time had come, she was not ready for it. Carol and Louis reminded her of what she would undergo today; and Francesca, what she was losing.