Friday brought a storm of wind and rain. Anne watched it beat against the basement windows and the furnace ran continually. That afternoon after classes Francesca gave Anne a light lunch; she went upstairs and returned wearing her long rose-colored raincoat.
"Mr. Schuyler is sending his car around for us," she said; it's much too cold to walk there today." Anne followed her outside and waded though half-frozen puddles in the parking lot. The chauffeur in a gray slicker awaited them. Anne shivered as her owner bundled her into the back seat and fastened her in place.
She felt the leather against her skin. "A touch of leather"; that was what the trainers at St. Agnes said when she needed their attention with the crop or the long braided bullwhip that left V-shaped marks on her.
She winced at the memory, and other incidents of her education there came pouring back to her mind. The damp earthen odor of the cellar where she was put in solitary confinement for three days, the stake in the exercise ground she was chained to overnight, the instructor who used the half-tightened garrote to chastise her when...
The limousine pulled into the garage beneath Mr. Schuyler's townhouse and stopped. She heard the door slide closed behind them. Francesca helped Anne to her feet before leading her to the locker room.
Mindful of how she disgraced herself last time, Anne studied the floor while Francesca removed her clothes. It was hard to avoid listening to the rustle of her owner's garments; she gritted her teeth and examined the newly painted cement.
The walls were freshly painted too; Mr. Schuyler kept his house in good order, his business must be prospering. Anne had served numberless clients when she was his and hoped she played a small part in his success.
At a tug on her leash she stood with downcast eyes and followed her owner to the gym. Only Frieda was there today; she had done her hair up and her smock was freshly pressed, held in by a belt at her waist. She looked ten years younger.
With a start Anne realized the woman was no more than fifty, maybe less. Her gray hair and measured pace were deceiving.
The belt emphasized the curve of her breasts. They were larger than Anne expected and swayed gently as she approached; she was not wearing a bra under that smock.
Frieda had "seen to" over a dozen girls for Mr. Schuyler, terminating them when they were no longer of use. But for Francesca, Frieda might have done her as well. She wondered how Frieda dressed on those occasions - like she was now maybe. Anne became wet at the idea of this bare-breasted peasant slipping a noose over her head and tightening it slowly.
Francesca held Anne by the collar while Frieda tied Anne's wrists and ankles to the corners of the frame. She always drew the ropes so taut Anne felt she would be pulled apart; Mr. Schuyler once joked to a client that his girls were very "high-strung".
The two women stood before her and conferred in low tones. Anne's thoughts lingered on the change in the older woman; she was actually rather attractive...
She patted Anne on the face before reaching for her crops and Anne was awash with desire.
But her authority was still iron. She demonstrated a few methods that soon had Anne in tears, then turned to her "Russian" technique. Before Anne knew it, she was responding to questions; she could hold nothing back from her interrogator.
Then Francesca took over. She was a quick study; she struck lighter but more rapid blows with the irregularity that unnerved Anne. Though less experienced than Frieda, she knew her subject better and probed for weakness in ways only she was aware of.
All her composure gone, Anne moaned at every stroke.
Francesca suggested they put a gag in her mouth. Frieda disagreed; it was more natural this way and it helped them judge the effectiveness of their work.
Francesca had a technique to show Frieda. It was Turkish she said, though Anne never learned where she picked it up. It was a favorite of the harem masters to warm a girl up for her lord.
She did not take Anne over the top but held her just short for stretches of time, then abated until Anne was left begging for more. Finally she resumed a slow climb right to the edge where she stopped abruptly. She leashed Anne and walked her up the stairs to Mr. Schuyler's penthouse.
He greeted them, taking Francesca's outstretched hand and gallantly placing a kiss on it. Then he bent Anne over a padded chair, spread her open and used her. He chatted amiably with her owner as he did, then motioned for Anne to kneel beside him. She was grateful to Francesca who prepared her for him by leaving her unfulfilled and receptive.
The group looked out in silence at the violent weather. The wind drove freezing rain almost horizontally against the windows. He stroked his chin for a moment and made a suggestion.
"According to her record, the trainers at St. Agnes found it useful to chain her outside in a storm. I think she would benefit from a similar treatment today."
Anne looked up in mild alarm; surely her owner would refuse.
Francesca gestured at the window. "Yes, but those were spring rains, not this--."
"That is true. I do not propose that she be left out for hours - when I was younger I lost a valuable girl that way, an expensive lesson to me - but for a short time only, under supervision."
"You really think it would help with her training?"
Anne started to panic. _Please ma'am, don't,_ she thought.
"I am sure of it. And I believe she is afraid of lightning, is she not?"
"Very."
"So much the better; it will be most useful for addressing that obstinate cerebral spirit you have found in her."
"All right, then."
Anne began to whimper. _No, no, please, no._
