0 comments/ 23276 views/ 5 favorites The Lady is a Champ Ch. 01 By: Stultus Summary: Sparks fly when the youngest General Manager in professional football meets the new even younger and even more ambitious executive of an arch rival team. All is fair they say in love and war… but perhaps not in professional football! A romantic story of ambition - and firm but loving revenge and submission! Codes: Slow, MF, FF, D/s, Bondage, Toys, Exhibition, Watersports, S&M? Theme: Romantic Revenge Sex: Moderate Sex (mostly towards the end) Originally Posted on SOL: September 25, 2009 ************* The Lady is a Champ Ch. 01 Bracing myself up to my most confident mood, I made a vague effort to chat-up the lovely young lady but she shot me down fast and cold, with a dismissive sniff that would have better suited a college lesbian lady from Smith College, instead of one of the loveliest coeds to ever grace LSU. She pointedly ignored me for the rest of the weekend, which was too bad since we were the only two young folks around under the age of thirty. We ought to have been dancing the night away somewhere, or at least enjoying a pizza together… but it was not to be. She smoldered in my dreams for the next year or two. Now that I was a full General Manager and quite resplendent with tyrannical powers and chock-full of manly authority, one of my first phone calls was to the Coyotes and no one was more surprised than I was to find that Margot answering the phone instead of their own GM. Since her graduation from LSU she had mostly worked over in the sales and marketing side of things, but she was apparently now doing a rotation over at the player development side so that she could learn every part of the business. She was acting as the assistant GM that summer, to nearly everyone else's amusement. This provided my first hint that our lovely Margot, albeit smart as a whip, was just a tad bit lacking in her communication and interpersonal relations skills. "Hello Margot! This is Jeff Leeds of the Toro's, I was wanting to talk to Frank about a minor trade deal. Can you speak for him or do I need to call him back later? I'd like to get this deal done fairly fast and get my roster finalized before training camp starts up in three weeks." "Oh. Well I don't think we are interesting in doing any trades." Her voice was so bland that I'm not sure she hadn't stifled a yawn. Besides, everyone was always looking to do a trade or two this time of year! "What? Nonsense, of course you are. It's right there in the Assistant GM job description in the handbook I'm sure they gave you. You're supposed to find under-evaluated talent on other teams, jewels in the rough waiting to be plucked, and finding ways to steal them to make your own team better. If you're not already plotting one of twenty different ways to rob my team blind, then you're sleeping on the job and you'll never make a good GM!" "I don't want to make GM. I'm going to be the next Executive Vice President of the club in a couple of years." "That's nice. Today, and we are talking about today, you're dipping your big toe into the wide and deep world of player development. Yes, I know… it's dark and scary and it's a lot easier to shut your eyes and just say no. But sometimes, when you say yes, and the right sort of yes, good things can happen… for both of us." "Meah." She mumbled while trying to get her thoughts organized. "Jeff Leeds… didn't you just become GM of the Toro's? Awful young for that sort of job." She muttered, more to herself than to me, as if she was thinking out loud. "You should talk! I'm a full three years older than you are, and I was offered my job out of ability and as the result of over a hundred thousand hours of hard work when I should have been sleeping, or annoying pretty young women… not as a graduation gift from PawPaw. Shall we discuss players now or would you rather that we continue to discuss each others inadequacies?" "Ok, I'll play. What players did you have in mind?" She sounded confused and off of her script… now I had her! "Great. The deal I have in mind is trading your Tight End Eric Rogers in return for my Offensive Guard Adam Winstead. It's actually a good deal for both of us if you think about it. Both players are fairly low on our own depth chart, but fill in for weaknesses on each others rosters. I need a Tight End that can come in from off of the bench and you need at least one more offensive lineman for your rotation to replace injuries. I predict that when you open the binder with your latest depth chart you'll see that Rogers is ranked at least third for his position, and he might later drop to fourth if Lenny Lewis, your 6th round draft pick has a good training camp. In other words, your boss Frank probably has a written comment in ink or highlighter mark notation written next to Rogers name to remind him to get rid of him, ASAP. So this is your lucky day, what do you say?" "Well… I don't know. I'll have to get back to you." "I thought you were the 'go-to' woman, ready and able to make an instant decision? Ok, you drive a hard bargain… how about Henri LaCross instead of Winstead? As an extra added bonus, he's from LSU too, so he has some of that homegrown Cajun flavor Frank is always looking for marketing games in your Louisiana network affiliates." "Well… maybe. Let me think about it for awhile." "That means no, sweetheart. You know you're getting the better of this deal, robbing me blind in my weakness to get a backup player that might not even touch the field this season, except during garbage time, so put on your big-girl panties and make an executive decision! Make Frank proud of you!" "Well… ok, I guess." "Nicely done! You'll become the terror of the ownership meetings yet! I'll fax the paperwork right away! And I still think we should have nipped out from the league meeting a few years ago for that pizza." So much for my first professional dealing with Margot. I didn't quite rob her blind, but in my evaluation Winstead was a better player than LaCross. Eric Rogers was exactly what I needed, a veteran guy who was an above average blocker and who ran exact precise pass routes and had good hands. Despite less than stellar speed he was wily, and often managed to find a way to get open and catch the ball. Last season the Coyotes used him nearly exclusively for run-blocking, but I was pretty sure that he'd be an asset in our more pass heavy offense. He wasn't a starter for us that season but he performed a very valuable role off of the front of the bench, backing up our more talented, but young and inexperienced starting Tight End. LaCross got some playing time for the Coyotes too, but only due to several injuries to better linemen. Frank cut him from the roster at the end of the season. I'd like to think that Margot learned a lesson about player evaluation, the give and take of good old-fashioned horse trading, but she probably didn't. The next year she was back in charge of sales and marketing, and doing an outstanding job by all of the accounts that I heard. Still word slowly spread through the league grapevine that she was 'very challenging' to work with and that she didn't manage people very well or make any friends with her counterparts at the main league office or the other thirty-one teams. Still two years later she got that expected promotion to Executive Vice-President, managing all non-football operations for the team. She was now virtually the owner of the club in all but name. Time Magazine ran a cover story on her, discussing her youth, business and management strategies, her youth, and her love of color-coded notes in her monstrous sized daily schedule organizer book. Oh, and they discussed her youth some more. Aged twenty-seven and the world (or at least the Coyotes) was her oyster. The news story also made it rather clear that the lovely and talented Ms. Margot was a serial first dater, rarely if ever giving a man a second chance with her. Her philosophy was clear; work came first in her life and romance fell somewhere around 29th place. I felt a bit left out that the Time article had made no mention of me whatsoever, but then again I had just turned thirty, so I guess that meant that I wasn't a wonder-kid anymore. Sigh. Still this was a bit of a wakeup call for me as well. I started to hit the player's gym everyday to work out until I was nearly as buff as they were. I also made a mental note to start doing some more dating myself and found a few worthy of regular attention, but none of them were quite Ms. Right. At least I was now having some fun for a change. ******* This fourth season was my make-or-break year. We had been awful my first season (as expected) and used our plethora of nice high draft picks at the next draft to start loading up on skill positions, including our quarterback of the future. We kept him on the bench all of the next season so that he could slowly learn the faster pro-style game without being tossed to the wolves right off the bat. Besides, I still hadn't forged an offensive line skilled and tough enough to keep him alive and healthy yet. Our owner had a few white knuckled moments, but he kept his word and his hands off. We only mostly sucked that next year, but I could tell that most of the main pieces were now assembled, we just needed time, training and experience. Now it was up to coaching. The players hated my disciplinarian slave-driver, but they either learned to execute the system or else their folder appeared on top of my desk to be traded off… usually for someone at least as good and talented. Last season we nearly made the playoffs, but our inexperience hurt us in several ways. Too many penalties and dumb rookie mistakes, but at least these were only mental mistakes that coaching can eventually correct. After yet another promising draft of youngsters to provide more bench depth and plug a few last remaining weaknesses, I felt that we were about ready to contend, and be a force to be reckoned with for years to come. This was my final promised fourth season to rebuild the team and it was going to be playoffs or bust this time around! The Lady is a Champ Ch. 02 With the start of pre-season training camps, I was spending a lot of time working the phones to find trades to package off a few fairly promising non-roster players that had looked good in practice but couldn't win a roster spot with us for this season. I'd found a deal that I thought I could live with but I was still frankly hoping for something a bit better when I decided to give Frank in San Antonio a last minute call one Monday morning to see if he was interested in putting in a counter-offer. Instead to my surprise I found that I was speaking with Margot again. "Hello Margot, nice to hear from you again. When are we going to do that pizza? Is Frank out of the office today? What about his assistant Toby?" "Neither Frank nor Toby are with the Coyotes anymore. I discharged them both after a meeting on Saturday night." Her voice sounded a little cold but with more than a hint of satisfaction. I got that little warning tingle down the back of my neck that something was terribly wrong with the universe. Frank was fired? Since when did a VP of Operations have control over the football side of things? Obviously since the owner's grand-daughter was now running things… namely everything at the Coyotes now. She was apparently the acting owner in all but name. The Czarina of all that she surveyed. I wasn't at all sure that she was ready (or suited) for that sort of power. "Discharged? I've always disliked that term… too Dickensian. It makes me think of poor huddled workers in rags being forced to stick their fingers repeatedly into electrical sockets. Zap! Kind of like a giant electric bug-killer, except for getting rid of unwanted employees. Messy… not the way my boss does things around here, although he does get a bit free with his use of cattle prods occasionally, but that's why we all have lawyers and secrecy clauses in employment and termination contracts." "Well… what did you want to call Frank about?" Her voice sounded bored already, or maybe she was worn out already from wearing every management hat in the company. "A trade offer my dear. I have a couple of fine young fellows that won't quite make my team but I promised to help them both find happy homes. White picket fences optional." "Not interested." She was abrupt and her tone suggested she meant it. I tried my best wheeler-dealer spiel but she wasn't buying. "Not a chance. You've already screwed me over in a deal once – not again." "Once? In over four years? That's a great average. I'd take that in a heartbeat! Ned Phillips in Kansas City has gotten the better of me lately three deals in a row and I don't know how he does it? My reject ends up going to the Pro Bowl with him and his player promptly busts up a knee for me on his second day of practice. But do I hold that against him? Of course not! The next time we deal, I'll have my revenge and the tables will be turned. If you're holding a grudge that a single simple deal went south on you years ago then you'll never be able to work deals with anyone ever again. That's being a bad GM and that's not at all in the interests of your team." "Not a chance in seven hells." She firmly reiterated, already quite bored with our conversation. "Fine, I'll take my deal elsewhere. I just thought that you needed more bench depth in your defensive secondary, and I'm looking for a raw but speedy wide receiver that needs more development time than you're probably willing to give him. Honest, it looks like a good honest deal to me, but then again I'm biased. I operate in a world of facts and figures, and the applied use of logic. There is no place for raw emotion behind the desk of a GM. Quit your little emotional snit-fit and play hardball… or at least come out to play. I'm going to work the phone for the next two weeks to make my team just a little bit better, because I think, with a little luck, we're going to make the playoffs this year. Your team almost made the playoffs last year, but you've lost a few of your better folks to free agency and your rookie draft frankly confuses and frightens me, and not in a good way. You've got issues with both your starting position players and your bench and I'm not sure I'd take even money on you to even have a winning season this year. So, if I were you, I'd go swing your ass out there in the wind and start making some deals or your season is going to be virtually over before it starts." A nice sermon, but the audience wasn't going "Amen". "You go do your job and let me do mine… and your team has no prayer of making the playoffs." "Ooooo, a challenge! Are you ready to throw down? What do you want to bet?" "I don't steal money from the terminally stupid." Click. With that she hung up on me. What a total bitch! One of the secret rules for being a good GM is to never get too far down emotionally or too exhilarated. Keep it all on an even keel. Never get mad… just work harder to get even the next time around. I worked the phones like a madman and eventually a few days later found a deal that I was more than happy with. I ended up trading three fringe players to Cleveland, getting back in return two players that I felt had long term potential, including my raw but talented speedster wide receiver and a very unrefined defensive back that had every skill to be a starter, if he could be coached up. Both made my season starting roster and gradually worked their way fast into our substitute rotation. The young defensive was starting every game of us before mid season and ended up winning the Defensive Rookie of the Year trophy. One man's trash in this business is very often another team's treasure. ****** Right from the beginning of the season our team was kicking ass and taking names. We were an undefeated 5-0 and a heavy favorite to win this Sunday on our home field against San Antonio. The Coyotes are also in our division and we play them twice a year, every year, both at home and away. In past years, the Coyotes had ravaged our dead carcass; repeatedly. We split the series with them last year, but both were hard games and there was a decent amount of luck involved with our sole victory. This year I felt more confident that we could take them, at least on our home turf. Mentally I'd penciled us in to win at home but to just barely lose in our later match-up in San Antonio. Home field advantage sometimes makes the difference between two good teams. Margot suddenly now had different ideas about wagering with me and called me up to make me a bet that I couldn't refuse. The Coyotes weren't having a very good season so far, having won just two games so far, but she thought it would be a sure thing that her team would beat us again as usual in Houston this coming weekend. "Jeff? This is Marguerit in San Antonio. I've got an offer for you that I'm certain your adolescent mind can't resist. I'm so confident that we're going to whoop your butts this weekend that I'm willing to wager mine against yours. If I win… and I will, you get to become my office boy for a day running all of my pointless little errands while I berate your stupidity, often and loudly, to my entire staff. On the other hand, if you win, I'll let you take me out for that pizza." How could I refuse? Even if she was using her full name, as I apparently was unworthy of the simpler Margot now. This should have been an omen that something wasn't at all right and that the terror of the Coyote front office (and coaching staff) was up to some sort of trick, or now ready to exact her long sought after revenge, or both. ****** To put it mildly, something did go terribly wrong that next Sunday, or rather it seemed from the start of kickoff, absolutely nothing at all ever went right for us. It was the longest and worst sixty minutes of football I had ever watched in my life! By half-time, I was joining the owner in drinking heavily. Everything went wrong, from start to wretched finish as they utterly shellacked us 37-3. Only several miscues on their part prevented the score from being even higher. Watching from high up in the owner's box I could tell that we were really the better team, but somehow we were always in the wrong position or calling the wrong plays at the wrong time. The coaches down on the field were equally confused and frustrated. It was a debacle from start to finish. It wasn't until about three o'clock in the morning the next day while I was lying wide awake in bed that I finally figured out what had been bothering me. The Coyotes seemed to know about every play we were calling in advance, and they were ready for it. If we called a running play, they loaded up the line and had their linebackers ready. If we called a passing play their defensive backs had exactly the right defensive coverage planned. When we were on defense, they seemed to know exactly what defensive coverage plan we were in and expertly exploited every gap for big plays. This wasn't just a better team outplaying or outcoaching a rival, this was something more… apparently a very clearly marked line of competition zeal had been crossed and I intended to get to the very bottom of it. First thing Monday morning, I called a major meeting of the top officers of the team, starting with the owner, the senior coaching staff, our VP of Operations Bill Nylan, the head of security Ryan Masters, our Operations IT Manager Jeff Scanly, and our chief corporate lawyer Desmond Hopper. I skipped the trivialities and jumped to the meat of the matter. "Gentlemen… we've been scammed, and by professionals. We were set up to deliberately fail and I want to know exactly who did it and how it was done! Somewhere there is a traitor in our midst." "Ryan. You've got 48 hours to completely take apart our stadium if necessary and review every single inch of stadium security, jumbotron and network film footage until you have an answer for me as to how the Coyotes were able to intercept our coaching signals and rebroadcast them to their QB and defensive team captain. If you can't do this job I will expect your resignation on Bill's desk on Wednesday morning and we will find someone who can get us these answers." "Jeff. Likewise. My guess is that somehow one of our playbooks has either gone missing or has been scanned and emailed. The coaching staff will check and verify the whereabouts of every single playbook and you will scan every single email and fax that has left our offices this season. Every single fucking one. Get with the Office Manager and obtain the receipts of every single mailed package or FedEx just in case our spy did it the old fashioned way." "Desmond. You will grab every single personnel file and review every single employee and intern that works in either the front office or has contact with the coaches or the players. By tomorrow morning I want a listing of suspects that warrant a complete and thorough investigation." "To repeat myself, we have a mole somewhere in our organization and I will fire people, starting at the top, until the leak has been found and isolated. No one will take any direct action upon this individual until I give the word. Furthermore, I do not want any leaks of this spying to reach anyone outside this room, including our office manager. Tell whatever lies you like but I do not want the slightest hint to leave this room that we've been the victims of a complete communications exploitation. Now, go find my spy!" Technically, I had way over-exerted my authority and stomped all over Bill Nylan's prerogatives at least half a dozen times during that meeting, but I had the owner's support for this witch hunt and he was gracious enough to not make a departmental war over this issue. Frankly he was just as horrified and scared about this security breech as I was. It took everyone nearly the two full days but they did solve the crime. The culprit was one of our starving unpaid interns who upon further investigation ended up having ties with the Ross family, her brother worked as a Sales Manager for one of the Ross auto dealerships. She had obtained a copy of the playbook from an unlocked desk in the front office, scanned it into pdf file and then emailed out to a private investigation firm located in San Antonio. She had also obtained our top secret master listing of the radio frequencies that we used for our on-field communications and she had faxed that page to the same firm as well. Those frequencies covered the coaching staff, the assistant coordinators higher up in the stadium, and the senior coaches who called the plays in to the field. Needless to say we changed all of these frequencies immediately and fired the assistant security supervisor that our intern had gotten flirty with and who talked about things that he definitely shouldn't and had give her unrestricted access to most of our security secrets. All of the network and stadium TV and the security camera footage took longer to review, but in the end we found a convincing set of four suspects who were all sitting together near the 50-yard line right behind our bench up about ten rows in the stands. Each was wearing Motorola professional style headphones and upon further magnification, lapel microphones could be barely detected. Once we had their seat numbers we tracked the tickets for these seats as having been sold by a local Ticket Exchange store. The buyer paid cash and used a fake nane. Going through a stack of 60+ thousand used ticket stubs we did find all four used stubs and managed to extract useable fingerprints from two of them. Using contacts at the HPD (and with a bunch of free game tickets for the crime lab folks) we had them run those fingerprints and received hits on both suspects, both San Antonio residents. One of the fingerprints belonged to a licensed private investigator in San Antonio, who I assumed was one of the technical brains of the spy group. The other, upon further investigation, ended up being a low level front office employee of the Coyotes. Bang. Now we had our smoking gun and it was time to have an unpleasant little talk with the Commissioner of the League, Terrance Jefferson. ********** "Mr. Jefferson? Hi, this is Jeff Leeds, GM of the Toros. Are you busy right now? I mean really really busy right now? I've got some news that you won't want to hear… and certainly not over your official league executive office phone. Can you please give me your private personal cell phone number so that I can have a frank person to person chat with 'Terry', rather than the Commissioner? And you'll want to be somewhere out in the middle of Central Park too, preferably with something alcoholic in your hands as well." He was a bit flabbergasted but I stuck to my guns. If I told him what was going on 'officially' he would be absolutely forced to act, and not in the way I would prefer. My way at least gave him a tiny amount of deniability. An hour later, I gave my new best friend a call, told him the bare facts of the situation and then waited for the loud screaming to end. "Fuck! You have to be joking… the Cajun Ice Queen hired rogue PI's to intercept your game communications and bribed an intern to steal playbooks? That's a firing offense, for everyone in their front office… including ownership. Does Archie know about this? I'm going to have his balls! Plus there will be a loss of draft picks, insane fines and lots of noisy stories on ESPN. After that will come angry speeches and phone calls by congressmen and senators, followed by committee meetings in Congress as they investigate us for months to see if they need to appoint a government Czar over us to ensure that there is 'competitive balance'. We don't need another scandal right now – this one would nearly kill us!" He was right. It had been a bad year for player scandals; guns in bars, drug related shootings, domestic violence calls and plenty of cases of player entourage posses gone wild. The scandal concerning another team illegally videotaping the practices of their opponents just last year had only barely died down. This situation was far, far worse. If even a hint of this scandal got out the ramifications could cost the league not just millions, but billions of dollars potentially. It would be just like the 1919 Chicago 'Black Sox' scandal all over again. Professional football would soon have the respect and trust accorded to professional wrestling, and that couldn't be allowed to happen. "That's why it's just Jeff and Terry talking hypothetically right now. I'm as mad as you are, but this is so far just a single isolated incident. I don't think that Archie knew anything about this, Margot seems to be calling all of the shots over there right now. She probably did this in revenge for me getting the better of her in a trade deal a few years ago. Apparently her holiness doesn't take a tiny loss of face well. We can take advantage of this, use her vanity against her and teach her a lesson. If it doesn't work, we can have a more official conversation later in your office, call in the lawyers and break out the bigger sets of spanking paddles… and then we get our best suits nice and laundered for a long and unfriendly trip to Congress." I told him my plan and he didn't like it… at all. On the other hand he didn't have any better (non-official) ideas and in the end he decided that we had never had this conversation and that he was going to go and drink lunch at his favorite uptown martini bar and probably not return for the day, unless he ended up throwing himself off of the Brooklyn Bridge into the Hudson River instead. This was about what I had figured. Still, it amounted to a 'go' and I was now set to exact my revenge and paybacks can be a bitch! ****** First, for my plan to succeed I needed my resident spy Marcie firmly back on our side and I had just the tools to make sure that I would have and keep her complete undivided attention. I couldn't trust her with so much as a burned out match, so she was going to need constant 24/7 babysitting until this whole sordid affair was over, but that's why there are security companies in the yellow pages, complete with ex-military mercenaries willing to skirt the fine edges of the law for a fat paycheck. Our Marcia Adams, starving unpaid intern and amateur spy, was more than a little surprised to find herself in our largest conference room with our owner, our entire legal staff, plus another half dozen grim looking attorneys from another law firm we had an outstanding retainer for services with. Not to mention the glaring of her future handlers who were all hard men bulging with muscles and mostly had no necks. The wolves began to circle and recite their growls of implacable legal actions against her, and nearly immediately our little lamb began to bleat. When we scared the poor girl enough that she had wet herself right down her legs, we harnessed the sharks and clearly informed our little ungrateful guttersnipe about how she had one chance only to avoid decades in federal jail, with quite unambiguous promises of further future unpleasantness while incarcerated within. She bobbed her head pathetically eager to make any sort of deal that she could and we laid out our plans for her. She bleated once or twice but in the end she agreed to be a good little girl and obey, and she signed every piece of legal paper we put in front of her. Even her frightened mind could tell that the alternatives were far too nasty. She agreed to be held 'in protective custody' for a few weeks under the thumb of our hired thugs and would jump through any and all hoops that we put in front of her. At the end, if everything went to plan, she'd sign some more paperwork that promised that she'd be a good girl and never even hint that any of this unpleasantness had ever occurred, and she'd be free to go… someplace out of state until she found a large enough rock to crawl under and stay. The Lady is a Champ Ch. 02 Yeah we did lay it on a bit thick with her but I've never had the slightest respect for turncoats and traitors. Besides this was child's play compared to what the Commissioner, or Congress would have done to her if this had been 'official'. Under our constant direct supervision, Marcia was going to contact Margot again, as if she were still her spy, and report that we'd had a bit of a panic after our big loss and that we were in the process of changing up our playbook. However, our on-field communication frequencies were going to remain the same for our later rematch game. Would Margot like a copy of the new playbook as soon as she could lay her hands on one, in return for another ten thousand dollar payment? Our recording of the conversation clearly and distinctly showed Margot saying "Absolutely!" Our double-agent assured her that we had made no other changes to our security and we had just assumed that the Coyotes knew our playbook a little too well due to our rivalry experience. We were scheduled to play the Coyotes again late next month and already Margot was full of confidence that she could pull off the same trick again, even easier this time in the comfort and security of her own stadium. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. This time we were going to be ready for her and the paybacks were going to be a bitch! ********* "Double or nothing?" Margot offered me, when she called me a few days later to make me another bet. A week as her personal unconditional slave? Sure, I'd take that bet… but only if she would do the same in return. Unconditional surrender, I believe was the phrase she then used and I couldn't have put it any better myself. "Done deal! Slave for a week. Nothing blatantly illegal or dangerous to life or limb, otherwise it's all on. You are so going to be my bitch!" Yep, I was a tad excited, but I was going to nail her frozen Cajun tits and ass to the wall! Besides, even with 'illegal or dangerous' removed, that still left 'immoral', not to mention fattening left over. First things first. Now that we had her spy under control, it was time for planning how to start spreading some misinformation… nice and thick. ******* The rematch between the Toro's and Coyotes in San Antonio, if anything, was an even bigger lopsided scoring game than our previous encounter. It was a brutal vicious clobbering as we deliberately left in all of our best players for the entire game and firmly told them to run up the score as much as possible. We didn't need to tell our players a thing about how we wanted revenge – their pride had been hurt as well by our earlier terrible loss and they were more than motivated to kick some Coyote butt. The final result was a resounding Toro's victory to the tune of 56-6. The Commissioner even attended, watched the game from the San Antonio owner's box where Lloyd Ross and Margot were increasingly appalled by our atrocious stomping of their team. It was far too pathetically easy. We had contacted the exact same PI firm that Margot had used, and with the help of our cortège of lawyers, convinced them to turn tables against their own team… the alternative being jail and forfeiture of their PI's license. They didn't like the meeting with our lawyers any better than Marcia had. They had already been contacted by Margot and had been prepared to run the exact same communications interception, the same as our last game. This time, they would be working for us feeding misinformation instead. Naturally we changed our real play calling radio frequencies right before game time, but we left the old frequencies open for use by our misdirection crew. When we (using our secure line) called for a pass play, we used the old frequency to appear to call for a running play from the 'new revised playbook'. They never caught on that we knew that they were listening in and sabotaging them. Once we'd run up a good lead in the score we'd let them 'win' a play or two, bringing back their confidence a little so that we could then burn them bad with another long unexpected pass play a little while later. Right after the game, now that we had obtained our 'revenge', the Commissioner went into a long private meeting with Lloyd Ross, after which it was announced the next day that his grand-daughter Marguerit "Margot" Millet, was taking a leave of absence from the daily operations of the Coyotes to do some traveling and perhaps attend graduate school in the spring. Undoubtedly with a heavy course load of ethics classes. Allegedly, the Coyote's head coach and his two top coordinators both figured out the next day what had happened and both submitted their resignations, but not before they fired the handful of assistant coaches and staff that had been in on the cheat. The Commissioner called them up to New York for a very private meeting after which the resignations were temporarily withdrawn (until after the season was over). Everyone wanted to keep things as 'business as usual' until the whole ugly mess had some time to start to be forgotten. I didn't blame the head coach or his coordinators for wanting out, fast. No one blamed them at all for the illegal tactics, but they didn't want to get their good names tarred by the scandal. The coaching assistants and coordinators had been aware and involved with the signal stealing plot, were also invited to an unfriendly league meeting after which they were fired a second time and bluntly told that they all no longer had any future with any team in professional football. As the word slowly crept out among the football grapevine, most of these fellows now found that they were unwelcome back in college football coaching there as well. Inevitably, rumors began to sweep the league that some 'undisclosed' team had been stealing signals and that if it ever happened again, anywhere, under any circumstances, the ownership would be stripped from the team and all of the coaching staff would be fired and placed on a 'death penalty' prohibition from ever working in the league again. Privately I was told 'well done', but to never ever do anything like this ever again. Fortunately for everyone, the rumors remained rumors… albeit well founded ones. The scandal never made the newspapers or ESPN and we all took a long deep breath of relief. ******* As for the season, we had our first winning record and made the playoffs only to lose in the second round facing a team that was used to playing in sub-zero temperatures in a slurry of ice and snow. We weren't, unfortunately. That's ok, it was a start. In the words of Saint "Bum" Phillips, "This year we knocked on the door but next year we're going to kick the sum'bitch in!" Oh yeah, I got a nice contract extension and an absurdly fat end of season bonus, not to mention the added bonus that the Commissioner agreed to pay all of my expenses, outrageous or not, for my fun-filled week with Margot! ******** Now that the season was over and the winter league meetings were done, it was about time to take a little early spring vacation and clear up my little debt of bondage with Margot. It took me awhile to get a hold of her and I soon became pretty sure that she was ignoring the messages I had left with the front office and eventually her father. Finally she called me back and in a very sullen conversation she danced the hardest she could to get me to 'forgive' her bet. No dice. I thought at first that she would completely refuse to honor her bet, but after a little reflection she gave me a deep sigh and asked me when and where I wanted her to be. "Five minutes ago, in my office in Houston, with your week beginning the moment you walk submissively into my office wearing a short skirt with at least five inch high heels and then kneel at my feet in supplication." "When pigs fly!" She snarled and slammed the phone down on me. I didn't bother to call her back; she'd reconsider and submit to me all on her own. I had more than an inkling that both the Commissioner and her father were not at all happy with her and that our little side bet was very much a part of her penance, assuming she wanted to ever be allowed to return to football in any capacity other than a roving stadium vendor hawking popcorn, drinks and hot dogs. She was going to have to put up and shut up… and no one cared in the slightest if she liked it or not. I could hardly wait. ********** Three weeks later, on a Tuesday evening a rather subdued Margot presented herself to me in my office and down upon her knees. I'm entirely certain that she was muttering an entire wealth of obscenities under her breath. I pretended to barely notice her and left her in silence quite long enough for her to get a good look at my Executive of the Year trophy that I had received from the Commissioner at the winter meetings. I was hoping that would sink the spur in a little bit. Dinner with a spirited woman is so much more enjoyable than with a sullen one. "Your appearance is marginal but adequate for this evening. In the future I will expect your heels to be at least another inch longer and your skirts another two inches shorter. You have good legs and ought to show them off more often. I will also expect to see much more cleavage, or at least undo another two buttons so that I can tell what brand and color your bra is and exactly how much lace or padding it contains. A good slave should have no secrets from her Master. You're also a little late, but we can still make dinner. You were promised a pizza quite some time ago, and better late than never!" Her pizza in fact was quite good, in a superb Mediterranean style. I was going to join her in sharing a larger one but at the last moment I couldn't resist the chief's seafood special. A plate of shrimps is the food of the Gods, second only to the hallowed sacred goodness that is bacon. The view from the top of the hotel was fabulous. Houston doesn't have many eye-dropping views of international style and culture, but in the opinion of the immortal Bob Hope, the view south of the old fabulous former Warwick Hotel across the Mecom Fountain down the tree lined boulevard next to Rice University is one of the five best jaw dropping views in the world. Even my unwilling guest had to admit that the scenery was very special, but she remained surly all evening. We couldn't dither all night over desserts prepared by one of the world's greatest master bakers, even when I was almost getting her into a civilized and conversational mood. We had a plane to catch. It was off to San Francisco for the next week, a city inundated with style and culture… and wonderfully appalling dives of dubious character perfectly suited for making my proud icy princess squirm in discomfort. Win-win-win, I thought as I smiled in anticipation. The charter flight was quite fast and we made it into our hotel suite at the Fairmont just before midnight. I toyed with the idea of dragging my hapless charge right off into the bright nightlife, but in the end I decided to take pity on her for at least her first day or two. Our suite had two bedrooms, but she was instructed not to leave the suite or even call room service without my consent. Like a good little obedient slave girl she nodded in agreement. I didn't bother to mention that there was a security guard down the hall waiting in anticipation for her first jailbreak. I was pretty sure we wouldn't have to wait too long! Hehe… her training, and my fun was just getting started. The Lady is a Champ Ch. 03 Actually my wicked plans for dominating and oppressing Margot were actually extremely minimal. I was going to make her dress up nicely for me and then, like candy under my arms, I was going to take her about to all of the 'can't miss' places I knew of in San Francisco, and I knew hundreds just off the top of my head. In actuality, getting to even the top layer of good stops was going to take much longer than my allotted six days, but I thought it would be a start. In the spirit of Taming of the Shrew, I had decided that she needed some actual human contact with the lower classes and I thought that making her interact with some of the wonderful flakey characters found plentifully here in Sodom-by-the-Sea might bring her out of her pampered princess shell a little bit. Or else it would give me the excuse to start abusing the heck out of her. Either option was perfectly fine with me. The sub-part of the plan was that I was going to wine her and dine her and be such 'a great guy' that she would undoubtedly soon wonder why she ever held a grudge against me in the first place. Yeah right buddy… dream on. The worst part was that with each minute I was spending with her I was becoming alternately increasingly attracted to her - and even more pissed off at her attitudes and snooty behaviors. From the very start of breakfast the next morning, I learned quickly not to let her talk whatsoever to any of the serving staff. Polite requests for assistance seemed to magically morph in her mouth into bluntly barked demands for instant deference and obedience. After a second semi-polite rebuke to her, and after repeatedly explaining that this sort of New York style rudeness is not tolerated well in this more enlightened city, I had to issue General Order #3, in which, after making her desires and wants known to me, she was to keep her pie hole firmly shut in the presence of her 'lessers', which seemed to include just about anyone and everyone she met… including me. "Gawdamnit Margie!" I bellowed, nearly splashing a bit of the precious nigh-irreplaceable treasure that is double-cream whipped Ghirardelli hot chocolate onto the breakfast tablecloth. "You're not back home on your little antebellum plantation, complete with house and field slaves and your Archie Bunker mentality father. In most parts of the county these days, and especially here in the Bay Area, the hired help don't like to be talked down to as menials! Besides, the smarter and meaner ones might spit something nasty into your order. It's a more enlightened world these days; it's long past time you learned that despite having a dungeon full of money, you just can't lop off the heads of uppity peasants anymore. I know it's sad, but there are laws against that sort of thing now too. It will be hard, but just try to be nice to people for a change! It won't necessarily poison you if you do it for a week, besides then you'll have lots of vile stories about the lot of the working wretches that you can tell to your mother's blue-blood friends in 'Nawlins'." She flinched. I don't think anyone had ever called her Margie in her entire life… and lived to repeat that same mistake twice. Well it was going to be a long week of firsts for her. She grumbled, a lot, so I grabbed back the initiative by making her take a long walk down Powell Street towards Market, stopping in most of the shops along the way. Naturally she liked the designer shops in and near Union Square, but I didn't find much there that I liked or wanted her to wear for the week. "Not on my nickel, cupcake. You can come back here on your own dime next week and play the snooty fancy piece all you want to. You're on my meter today and I'd like you to look much more casual, flitty, flirty and sexy. I did weaken and allow her one off-shoulder designer frock for a fancy evening do. I did have Sunday night tickets for the San Francisco Opera House, but alas no grand opera was scheduled. I had to settle for a special production of an old Broadway musical, 'South Pacific'. Better than nothing I guess, and I did want a better look at those nice alabaster white shoulders. Early spring in San Francisco is usually rainy, or foggy, or misty, and/or just plain wet and cold. A piercing sort of miserable wet-cold that you can feel all of the way down your spine. Today it was just cold, wet and misty, with no actual rain yet, but the day was young. This doesn't stop the wonderful young ladies of the city from showing off their shapely figures. There is sort of an eccentric art to tastefully layering clothes enough to stay sort of warm but yet display their charms and hotness. This was what I wanted, at least for a start, for Margot to be wearing. If she pissed me off later, I could still drag her around to freeze in a mini-skirt all day. In the end I found just the sort of shop I was looking for a few doors further down the hill. Trendy and with just the right touch of urban hipness that radiated fun rather than industrial moroseness; the perfect place to dress up my reluctant naughty librarian in training. I bought her six sexy but functional (and mostly warm) outfits and would had gladly bought several more if I'd thought she would have had time to wear them all properly. I even allowed her a nice pair of black walking boots that were comfortable but still had a good bit of lofty heel; she was going to need them. I selected one of the outfits for her to wear today and she stomped off in a fit to change. The shop was delighted to accept the Commissioner's black AmEx card (I have one of my own but this vacation trip was all on his dime) and they even offered to deliver all of our purchases up to our suite in the Fairmount. Ok, life at the top is sometimes pretty good, but remember the folks you meet on the way up are sometimes the same people that you meet on the way down. I had started a good ways down the ladder so I had a pretty good sense of this. Margot, having started at the very top, was now in unfamiliar territory at her fall from the height of social and business power. Frankly, she wasn't adjusting very well at all. I had to kick Margot in the shins twice to get her to thank the sales ladies for their time and effort. In fact, I made her repeat her thanks twice more, to the gals genuine amusement, until she sort of vaguely muttered something that almost resembled sincerity. I opened up my little pocket day-timer and started to make a note of Margot's current offenses so far today while she looked herself over in the mirror. Secretly, I think she liked what she saw; it showed off her figure well in a nice combination of sexiness and practicality. The v-neck thin black sweater showed off her chest nicely, and the warm hose kept the legs comfortable despite the fact that her new black leather skirt just barely covered her pert ass. A black leather raincoat (mostly) covered the ensemble with her new boots making the perfect accent piece. Very nice! I was so pleased with the appearance of my new dress-up doll that I allowed her one last stop in another designer shop on Union Square where she found the perfect Italian leather shoulder bag that I had to admit did perfectly fit her ensemble. The Commish would squeak at what that bag cost… but it did add to the decoration. Now it was time to get down to some serious walking and sightseeing. So far she had only walked a couple of blocks today, but when she realized she was about to now walk the full length of Grant Avenue through Chinatown, she began to squawk. "Where is our car and driver? I know that you have one on call for the week. Why do we have to walk?" "Because sunshine, the streets in Chinatown are small and narrow and it is impossible to ever find a parking spot, let alone a good one. We are going to take the air today and you're in need of some good exercise anyway. Besides we're going to stick our nose into nearly every shop and you can't experience the local flavor behind a pane of window glass. Be a good obedient girl and I'll feed you the best real Chinese luncheon in the city." That mostly soothed her nerves. I learned long ago that women think about food the same way that men think about sex… roughly about every eight seconds. ******** She was mostly good as gold the rest of the afternoon. We worked on her 'please' and 'thank you's' all afternoon and if I hadn't known better I would have believed that some of them were even genuine. She really enjoyed her lunch in one of the best hole in wall restaurants in the city, down under street level where the menu was completely in Chinese and we were the only occidentals out of the near one hundred other diners there. I ordered the garlic chicken pot for each of us and we noshed together in warm contented bliss. I think Margot knew that this was the wrong place entirely to raise any sort of scene and was cowed into her best behavior. Some people say that Stockton Ave is a better walk instead for more of the real authentic Chinatown experience, complete with open air seafood, produce and herbalist shops, but I've always loved Grant, even if it is a bit touristy. It took us the rest of the afternoon to make it to the end, right before the crossing at Columbus Ave for the long walk (slightly downhill) through North Beach with its Italian cafes (and the occasional remaining beatnik coffee shop). I think, left to her own devices, she would have bought out half of the jewelry shops. One place had some cloisonné that she badly coveted, another had set pearls, another with antique carved ivory, and yet another displaying magnificent old pieces of jade. Not today, at least not on my dime! I told my increasingly unhappy slave girl that I wasn't buying bangles or trinkets today. She howled a fit; mostly because I had made her leave her wallet, credit cards, ATM card, checkbook and her cash all locked up in my desk back in Houston, and I had to yank her, kicking and screaming, out of more than one shop. More notations for my notebook. Thoroughly exhausted from the most walking she'd probably ever done in her life, I had to let Margot rest a couple of times at a few outdoor cafes along Columbus, near Coit Tower. That was fine with me; I've never needed an excuse to stop to enjoy an Italian Orangina, or two. It was sunset by the time I had dragged my knackered and more than annoyed, and very unwilling tourist to the very end of Columbus, right near the start of Fisherman's Wharf. The view of the sunset with the Golden Gate Bridge is always lovely, especially with the fog rolling in. Even my panting lady guest had to admit that the walk was worth it. Absolutely true. I rewarded her with a pair of take-away Dungeness crab cocktails as a reward for uttering some sense for a change. We walked along the wharf until it became dark and after towing her away from the shopping perils of Ghirardelli Square (damn, I missed the old chocolate factory and the huge multi-story original Cost-Plus building!), I decided that I'd abused her enough for now and treated her to a first rate seafood dinner at one of the famous restaurants right on the pier. I toyed with the idea of telling her that we were going to do the walk all over again (mostly uphill) all the way back to the Fairmount, but I decided that would be just too cruel. Besides, she was armed with a sharp knife and fork and probably knew how to use them as weapons. Instead we took the cable car ride over the hills which took us right straight home in front of the Fairmont. She kicked off her boots and flung herself into her bedroom and only half-heartedly slammed the door on me. I think she was snoring less than five minutes later. A few minutes after that, so was I. ********** Thursday we spent in Golden Gate Park, complete with my hired car and driver, as I took her through the museums and the aquarium at the California Academy of Sciences and the De Young Museum of Art. She had been a bit tired still from yesterday and had been mostly on her best behavior until she had a bit of a relapse to old bad habits. We had stopped for tea in the Japanese Tea Garden to enjoy some nice hot Jasmine green tea while waiting out a brief rain shower before tackling the nearby botanical gardens, when Margot's nerves snapped. The seating in the Tea Garden is fairly cozy, with not a lot of room between tables. Seated in the chair behind her was a rather ill-attended to youngster who was amusing himself by rocking his chair – banging Margot's in the process. Upon the second bang, she became unglued and launched into a tirade at both the kid and his hyper-protective parents. A lot of bad language got used on both sides and several statements were made by an increasingly incensed Margot that could have been misconstrued as verbal terroristic threats. Abandoning all hope of defusing the situation, I just gave up and grabbed her hard by an ear and tried to tow her out of the Tea Garden before she did something to get us all arrested. When she struggled loose, I just seized her roughly and tossed her over my shoulder. I then carried her out kicking and screaming, hopefully before someone phoned in the disturbance to SFPD. Fortunately, I had already paid our tab. She wasn't terribly appreciative of my rescuing her from a night spent in city lockup as we sped away in our waiting car. "You spineless bastard! Why didn't you let me finish dealing with those Midwestern pieces of tourist trash. I was handling myself just fine!" "Fine my ass. That magnificent specimen of corn-fed womanhood had you out-weighed by nearly two hundred pounds. Your first punch would have been lost in one of her fat folds and then she might have sat on you and probably broken you. I couldn't allow that to happen to anyone… even you." "I was telling her to keep her little bastard by-blow under control. I should have just smacked the little punk!" "For starters, it's not polite to call a woman's child a bastard, especially in front of her husband. I've got as good eyes as you have and while I might agree that boy probably has zero genetic association with his father, it is very impolite to mention that fact. Nearly as impolite as just turning around in your chair and grabbing some other woman's child by the throat and shaking him while screaming at the top of your lungs! I swear… I can't take you out anywhere!" ******* She screamed and protested, loudly, all of the way out of Golden Gate Park and she was still giving me excuses at the top of her lungs when we pulled in front of a small shop on Haight Street. One of the interesting things about San Francisco is that you often don't have to go very far to find a world class sex aid or fetish shop. In this case, one of the best ones in the city was located just a few blocks north of the park right on Haight, in the heart of the old former hippie Haight-Ashbury district. These days, real estate in the Haight-Ashbury was high priced and rather snooty, but it kept a faint glow of its old counter-culture heritage. Dragging Margot inside, it didn't take us long to get down to some serious business. "Maggie, General Order #6. Since you definitely can't be at all trusted to speak or behave like a proper lady while out in public, we're now going to have to take some firm prophylactic measures. Since I know this gentleman standing before us rather well, the owner of this fine facility of many long-standing years, I'm now going to allow you the privilege of making a suitable acquaintance with him as well. Properly! Bitch get your knees on that floor and say 'hello' to Mr. Blackstock… appropriately. He prefers to be called Sir… and you'd better mean it!" When she didn't kneel fast enough I gave her a helping hand downwards, by knocking her knees out from underneath her. Somewhere about this time, she began to get the idea that I was in dead seriousness, and she lowered her head a mumbled some sort of vague greeting to my old friend Mr. Blackstock. He's not as patient as I am and he made her do it seven different times until he accepted it. Garth was a local fixture of the local B&D/S&M community and bosom buddies with my old boss and owners of the local San Francisco team. We weren't pals, mostly since I wasn't much involved in the lifestyle in those days, but we'd stayed friendly and I often visited him whenever I was in town. "Garth," I asked him. "I'm babysitting a mouthy and rather nasty bit of work this week while I'm on vacation and I'm tired of hearing all of the stupid crap that tends to flow from her fancy, and under spanked, piece of ass. Do you think you'd have something that would fit right in this bitch's pie hole that would shut her up for awhile?" "Sure thing old buddy!" And indeed he did. It nearly took both us to get her stupid mouth open and the leather ball gag and bit inserted as we fastened the restraining harness firmly around her head. It was complete with a small but strong lock that would prevent her from being able to remove the gag harness on her own, but I could loosen it or remove the gag at meal times when feeding her. Margot was horrified. I'm glad that I had now finally gotten her complete attention. Soon a high quality pair of wrist restraints and a black leather leash and neck collar joined my pile of purchases, but I wasn't done yet. My ire was up, and I was done trying to treat her with politeness and civility. I whispered to Garth that he had my permission to give her a complete make-over and dress-up. Understandably, Margot was less than excited about these new acquisitions, but with a snap of his fingers, Garth summoned two determined female assistants that pretty much stripped the crying and struggling Margot down right on the spot to just her boots and her panties. Garth then appraised my nearly nude slave-girl who was shivering with fear and cold on her knees on the floor in front of us. "Not bad!" He decided and signaled for his staff to take Margot to a back room to take her full measurements so that we could speak in private. "She'll need a lot of work," He said, "but the spark is there, plain to see. The little slag obviously loves to manipulate and rule people and enjoys belittling every man she meets, but she's really just looking for a man strong enough to tame her and make her beg for his attentions. Give the cunt all of the humiliation that she can handle and then give her some more for good measure, and it looks like you're doing a great job so far. I thought you weren't into the scene, but I have to admit I like your increased confidence. Being the big boss in Houston has been good for you! Should I tell Rick and Pat and the others that you're back in town for bit?" "Sure, go ahead. That will fit into my plans nicely. Tell them that we're staying at the Fairmont and that I hope they've got some sort of party going on this weekend, if so; we'd be delighted to attend. If possible, I would love to do dinner with all of the old gang tomorrow night, you included, my treat. This circus is all going on someone else's expense account so we won't be drinking the cheap stuff either. I'm still not really into the scene, but this is a gal that has really pissed me off nine ways to Sunday, and if she doesn't leap when I say jump, I've got the goods on her so to speak to send her cute fuckable ass off to federal prison and make her rich family name poison in upper-crust society for good. With far more training time than I've got allotted to me, I could probably train her ass enough that I wouldn't be ashamed to want to stick my cock into her, but it would probably take way longer than I've got. Speaking of that, I'd welcome your attire suggestions for my 'date'. She has lost her right to appear as an equal out in public with me, so from now on she's just going to be a piece of very decorative luggage." The Lady is a Champ Ch. 03 "Would you like to control her bodily functions as well? What about plugs or vibrators?" He asked. "Sure, that sounds like a good idea. It's going to horrify her beyond words that she'll need to beg permission from me in order to piss, but it will be nice and humiliating for her. Go ahead and use a harness that would allow toys but don't fit any yet. I couldn't care less if the stupid twat cums this week or not. I'm not entirely sure she knows how anyway and I'm not really in the mood to teach her." ********** It took most of the rest of the afternoon to complete our shopping here as Margot was made to helplessly model innumerable outfits for my approval. The theme remained black leather, namely tit-lifting corsets with built in wrist-restraints, a fabulous leather bodysuit complete with a full head hood and built in six inch heels that she could barely stagger upon, and short fetish leather skirts complete with lockable under-harnesses. She looked delicious in all of them. She was dressed now for the remainder of the day in a corset that held her breasts and nipples firmly (but barely) in place underneath, but displayed the tops of her pale white breasts to their fullest advantage. I smiled an especially evil grin at her as she burst completely into tears, but her words were stiffed by her gag. All was now well with the universe. In the interest of complete and brutal honesty with her, while Garth was ringing up my purchases (full price – I declined the offered discount), I took this moment while we were alone to finish reading her the riot act. "Mags, frankly I don't give a fuck what you are thinking or care the slightest to hear what you want to say. That gag is staying on all day – all night, until your ass goes on a plane back home. As far as I am concerned, there isn't a single thought in your stupid arrogant head that I even want to know about, let alone be bothered to hear. I don't need to remind you of what your cleverness ended up doing to the Coyote's… it should be very clear in your haughty little mind what you did and what the consequences will be the moment that you decide that you don't want to honor your foolish little bet anymore. Since you were incapable of enjoying a quiet week as my guest, playing tourist, or showing any semblance of civility to anyone else around you, we're now going to play things a bit rougher and harder. Don't worry; I haven't the slightest ambition to lay a finger on you inappropriately. We don't have the time for me to whip you into anything resembling the minimum sort of behavior that I require from my girlfriends, but for the rest of the week I am going to embarrass and humiliate you in every single way I can possibly find." She began to look pale and audibly choked behind her gag. New Rules Princess Cupcake. You will never speak without first being spoken to. If I do direct you to speak the first and last words out of your mouth will be either Sir or Master. You will walk two paces behind me and when I stop you will drop to your knees, thighs spread apart, and eyes to the ground while waiting for me to start walking again. You will eat from my fork, drink what I put into your mouth, piss when and where I tell you to piss, and follow my every command no matter how distasteful, discomforting or even outright painful. If I order you to serve hors d'oeuvres while naked at a party of five hundred strangers with nothing but a horsetail butt plug up your ass then that is exactly what you will do, and with a smile. If you fail to please me for any reason you will know pain and you will know fear. Do you understand me completely?" She nodded her head weakly. Just so things were completely crystal clear I took out my cell phone and typed in the Commissioner's office phone number, which she undoubtedly knew from memory, and showed it to her. "This is your moment of truth, cupcake. I can press Send and dial his phone number and you can make any complaints about me that you wish to him. I won't deny a thing. You've got your choice… to confess your crimes to the Commissioner or else be a good little obedient slave-girl at the knees of your Master for the next five days? What is it going to be?" I took the gag out of her mouth and waited for her response. It was quiet but quite sincere. "Sir, I will be good… Master." She said, with her eyes looking down at the floor. "Yes, you will!" I replied, and lifted up her chin so that she could meet my eyes using an especially wicked looking riding crop made from polished walnut and reindeer hide that I had selected to use on her, if the need for chastisement arose. ********** With our purchases put away in the car, I decided that now was as good a time as any to put my lovely slave-girl out on public display. The Haight is always changing and it's a pleasant walk with all of the shops, restaurants and stores, and with Margot on her leash with her hands bound behind her I took her for a nice long walk for some exercise. You might think that this was a little over the top, even for San Francisco. Nope, not really. Admittedly, I didn't see any other Masters taking their slaves out for a walk in the cool mist, but there was a lot of fetish clothing to be seen, and openly worn by more than a few obvious submissives. Even a local beat police office driving by gave us a laugh and a smile. Every couple of blocks I'd stop for an ice cream or a drink, and each time I'd order a large glass of water with a straw and after loosening her gag, I'd direct her to drink it all. Soon she wasn't at all thirsty, but I wanted a different sort of affect anyway. A few blocks later I began to detect that Margot wanted to ask me something, fairly badly, so we stopped to get her another water. "Sir, I really must go to the bathroom soon, Master." "Certainly not! It's not quite time to turn around and do the other side of the street yet. Besides, you need at least two more waters and then I'll give you a nice relief break in about an hour." She whimpered, but I was implacable. We finished our walk and she drank her next two waters and then we set off for a short but near vertical climb up the hill to the top of Buena Vista Park. When I found a semi-private place with a nice view of the Haight and Golden Gate Park down below I sat myself down before her and unlocked her vaginal harness. "Alright, you may ask for my permission to relieve yourself now." Yep, Margot was absolutely and utterly horrified all right. She had been mostly stripped in front of total strangers a few hours ago but this was nothing compared to the distress she showed on her face now. "Go… Now! A slave girl is not permitted any modesty or privacy. You will squat right in front of me now and piss, but in short bursts of only one second each as you start and stop your flow. This is a good pelvic muscle exercise for you that you should keep doing later anyway, but for now this is a command. Piss!" She delayed just enough in starting her urine blow that I was just reaching for my crop to encourage her just a little bit. She kept her eyes shut but she pulsed her urine flow on and off for nearly five minutes, exactly as I had directed until she was done. There were definite tears in her eyes, but I was pleased with her and told her so, giving her a pat on the head before I refastened the harness around her groin and we resumed our walk. ******* For tonight's dinner, I knew of a little hole in the wall restaurant in the SOMA that was friendly and popular with the fetish and kinky set, and no one blinked an eye when I brought in Margot now dressed in her head to toe leather bodysuit. Since the hood came with a zipper, I skipped the gag as unnecessary. The only part of her body that could be seen was her brown ponytail coming out of the back of the hood and her eyes, which were mortified with terror. She hated being fed her dinner one spoon or forkful at a time, but the life of a professional and dedicated slave girl is a hard one, or so I reminded her. She squawked just enough that I zipped her mouth back up for the night just as the dessert cart arrived. I tried to pick the two that I thought she eyeballed the most and ordered them for myself, eating every crump. If looks could have killed… Returning to our suite, she was astonished to find that I would not be releasing her arms for the night. 'Deal with it'. I told her and semi-slammed her bedroom door on her. About an hour later, I heard Margot trying to make her escape (rather clumsily without her hands free) but she finally made it out the door… and less than a minute later was in the hands of my security goon, who soon returned her back to me. Ten minutes later, wearing nothing but her ball gag and a set of wrist restraints, I had the Lloyd Ross's lovely daughter nude across my lap while I was whipping her virgin ass with my formerly virgin riding crop. Apparently this was her first ever spanking and I remarked that it was long overdue and that if she ever took a personal fancy to me, then spankings would become a regular part of our courtship. This just made her squirm harder… but utterly in vain. I couldn't help but notice that as I whipped her, her bare crotch was starting to rub hard against my knee. The little vixen was actually trying to masturbate! I let her get nice and hot and then I gave her a fast series of very hard strokes across her ass cheeks that opened her floodgates and she began to cum, trying to scream in vain behind the firm and secure gag in her mouth. When her tears were done falling, I fastened her up for the night attached to my footboard so that she could sleep on the floor, still nude by my bedside. I thought about giving her a blanket, but the carpet was pretty deep and soft, and besides it would only spoil her. Needless to say I slept like a baby. I didn't bother to ask Margot how she slept. ****** In the morning, I unhitched her from the bed and directed her to go piss. Nice and slow, just like last time, and I watched her obey in the mirror with some amusement while I shaved. When she was done I unfastened her arms long enough for her to take a long shower (by herself) while I laid out today's fetish wardrobe outfit for her to wear. She dressed on her own without incident and was kneeling outside the bathroom for my approval inspection and for her hands and mouth to be refastened while I showered. I wasn't sure I particularly wanted to allow my slave to see me hot, naked and wet, just out of a nice shower, but I decided that I didn't have anything to hide. I'd been very good about working out every morning in the player's gym with our team trainer and I also had more than enough love muscle to be worth showing off. Besides, that sort of opinion from a slave should mean little to a proper Master. I did notice that her eyes kept drifting up to look at my muscular physique and especially my firm ass and my cock and balls while I dried myself, instead of keeping them demurely on the floor as she had been instructed. A minor fault, but I decided to be merciful… it was still early in the day. The Lady is a Champ Ch. 04 Downstairs I was delighted to find a message at the main desk from my old football owners here in town that they would be delighted to join us for dinner tonight, along with a few friends. They had suggested an excellent Italian restaurant, one of the best on the downtown side of North Beach and I called them back to confirm that we would be there. Also, in a message that was too delicate to be left with the hotel staff, I was told that they were looking forward to meeting my slave girl in training, and perhaps even broadening her horizons a little bit… well maybe a lot. It seems that this was one of their party weekends and I was invited to bring my new girl along to watch the professionals in action on Saturday at their mansion on Pacific Heights. Well, I did warn her that things could get ugly. ********** As I mentioned earlier, my old bosses here in San Francisco, especially the owners of the team Rick and Pat, and their college friend and General Manager of the club Doug McAllister, were all a rather kinky lot and very active in the local B&D/S&M community. Rick handled all of the ownership duties of the franchise and his Pat handled the charity events of the team. Her photo was often in the society pages of both newspapers, but no one knew that for her 'day job', Pat was one of the top professional dominatrix's in the city, with a client book full of names of the rich and famous. Once she had been a Doctor of Psychology, but now her practice was of a rather different sort. About once a month, Rick and Pat hosted a 'play party' at their mansion where just about anything went on. I'd been a few times in the past and had admittedly had a bit of fun, but I just hadn't found the right partner to make it a lot of fun. I wasn't quite as confident then and wasn't really a very good Master figure. Now, I was fairly sure that I could do a much better job, especially with my current slave girl. Today's fun was going to be a bit more casual. We would start with a drive around the city with stops at all of the better hilltop vantage points, Mt. Sutro, Bernal Heights, Coit Tower, etcetera. Then visits to the Presidio, Fort Point, Baker Beach, Seal Rock and then the zoo. Everywhere we went, Margot was a subject of considerable interest, dressed in her corset and short skirt. She was wet, cold and soon rather miserable. No raincoat for her today. The life of a disobedient slave girl is an uncomfortable one, I reminded her. With the wet and cold, we nearly had Baker Beach, the cities best 'clothing optional' beach all to ourselves. Still, out of principle, I ordered her to strip for the relatively short naked walk on her leash from the parking area to the frontal beach view of the Golden Gate Bridge. Well, at least a few folks got to enjoy the view along with me. She wasn't as appreciative. I toweled her off and redressed her and then fed her lunch at Cliff House, which slightly improved her mood. After another short walk on the beach further south near Taraval (I've always liked the old WW-II beach bunkers there), we enjoyed an afternoon at the zoo before we returned to the hotel to shower and get ready for dinner. Margot needed a long hot shower to warm up after a long day in the drizzling cold while being rather underdressed. For her dinner attire, a one-piece black leather corset dress plus a pair of seven inch spiked heel 'Ballet' boots that required her to walk on tip-toes more than suited our needs for her introduction to my old friends. Some other diners might gawk, but her outfit was relatively understated and suitable, despite being terribly sexy and provocative. It took me a while to dress and lace her up and we were nearly late getting out the door because she was having definite trouble walking in her new boots, but the way they made her ass swing was worth every minute of the trouble. I was having so much fun watching her that we barely made it to the restaurant on time. ******* To say that Rick and Pat took to Margot at first sight would be an understatement. Pat nearly immediately demanded to switch seats with our old fetish friend Garth and his longtime girlfriend (and submissive) Linda, just so that she could sit next to Margot and help me feed her. I should have started to worry right about then. She was looking at my helpless slave girl the exact same way that a dog looks at a steak. When Pat gets an idea into her head, it's there to stay and she'll stampede forward no matter what obstacle gets into her way. Clearly, Pat was itching to get her hands… or her whip, on my hapless charge. We were all, about twenty of us, piled into a private dining room so the abuse of Margot actually could have gotten rather severe. On the other hand, nearly everyone (except for Pat) wanted to talk football and that is what we did for hours, racking up a wine bill for two full cases of some rather tasty but horrifically expensive Northern Italian Cabernet's that we were guzzling down like mineral water. Pat was even pouring the stuff down Margot as if she were trying to put out a fire. After awhile, I'm not sure if she noticed that her corset top had become 'adjusted' so that her breasts were now fully hanging out, lovely nipples and all. Pat's doing of course, but I had to admit I was admiring the view. When Margot needed a bathroom trip, Pat snatched up her leash and speedily marched off to the ladies room almost before I could stop her to give her a few necessary instructions. 'Damn it Pat, take it slow and careful with this one! She a temporary loan and not a long-term project either of us can mold to suit our whims! I need to return her in a couple of days in more or less in the same condition I received her. As far as I know, she's a virgin and it's not my responsibility to correct that problem at the moment, or introduce her to lesbian watersports. So don't do anything exotic, and that definitely includes your usual messy bathroom fun. Just let her piss, and make sure she does her Kegel exercises – that's all!" Still, simple instructions notwithstanding, they didn't return to the table for nearly forty-five minutes. I was about to send a rescue party after Margot when they finally returned, both appeared in about the same condition in which they'd left. "Your slave's Kegel's were extremely sloppy and irregular." Pat announced, with a good bit of satisfaction. "So I had to explain and then show her, repeatedly, how they were to be properly done. You should never accept any form of sloppiness in a slave, especially when they piss!" "So, by properly 'explaining and showing her', you actually mean you stripped the wench naked at your feet and then firmly ground her face to within an inch of your hairless and massively pierced and tattooed cunt and then pissed to within a millimeter of her nose and mouth?" "More or less. I've got extremely well controlled bladder muscles, so I didn't splash her… well not much anyway. She soon got the right idea of how I expected it done. I warned her the next time she didn't clamp off her flow firmly that I was going to make her drink every drop of mine. Fear makes for a very productive teacher sometimes!" Pat giggled. "Besides," She added, "I wanted to give her a good bit of my mind. I deal with fancy rich cunts like her nearly everyday that pay me a fortune to drink my piss like it's the finest champagne and eagerly beg for the caress of my whip. I told your girl that I could read her like an open book; I've seen hundreds just like her. I warned her that she would continue to fuck up her life repeatedly until she admitted to herself that she needed a strong Master or Mistress to obey and kneel before their feet. She's given the orders most of her life, but she won't find a day's happiness until she find someone that can order her about. She knows this already, but hasn't come to accept it yet. She's a stubborn one, maybe she never will get it and she'll make everyone's life a living hell. I just encouraged her to pull her head out of her ass and told her that if she didn't get her shit straight then eventually someday she would be paying me, or someone like me, for our professional services." "Ah, the things that women talk about when they're alone in the ladies room. Us guys have always wondered!" It wasn't much of a retort, but I wasn't sure I wanted to hear any more of the technical details. ************ If I thought that the evening was over once the dinner had finished up and the horrific restaurant tab was paid, I was surprisingly mistaken. Pat grabbed my arm, and Margot's leash, and announced that the party was moving down to lower Broadway, to make a full tour of the district of live-sex clubs. Now New Orleans has a seedy underside with some of this sort of thing, but our former LSU coed had undoubtedly never seen this sort of uninhibited wildness before. The highlight was a little club off on a side street called 'Toots', which featured an astonishingly talented (and flexible) gal called Toots in her early forties and who was the co-owner of the joint. She was an exhibitionist extraordinaire who used and abused an extraordinary collection of sex toys, some of which were of gargantuan proportions. She started off by demonstrating how she could completely deep throat and increasingly large selection of lighted dildoes, up to and including the final monstrous twenty-four inch one straight down into her stomach. Then she began to fill her other orifices with other suitable and increasingly large objects. Finally, near the end of the show, she requested the assistance of a volunteer, and we volunteered Margot… enthusiastically. Moments later, Margot was on the stage and somehow assisting Toots at inserting a huge butt plug that looked like it was larger than my thigh. How she managed to take it I'll never now. Then, after it was fully inserted and shown to the applauding audience, Margot was make to assist in taking the object out, to our further applause. When a beaming Toots asked the audience if her able assistant ought to be rewarded or not, we all stood and cheered. Poor Margot had the proverbial deer in the headlights look and was standing there in shock, but before she had a clue what was going on, her leather dress was at her feet and she was nude before a live audience, mostly of strangers. Toots had her frightened captive well in hand. She called for the "Comfy Chair" and a padded body harness apparatus was lowered from above the stage. Carefully placing Margot's feet and hands inside, the harness was raised up lifting Margot from the stage a few feet. The webbing of the harness was fleece padded for comfort, but also firm enough to keep Margot's legs spread in a very wide 'V' pattern that also tilted her back so that her cunt and ass were fully displayed to the audience. Now, with a virgin clean canvas for the artist to work with, Toots began to play Margot's innocent body like a concert violinist. She applied baby oil and other lubricants all over Margot's body slowly and sensually, then she began inserting smaller dildoes and butt plugs, slowly and erotically. Nipples were teased with feathers and then clamps, and the toys started to become larger and more forcefully applied. Margot had a loud orgasm but Toots wasn't done with her yet and she brought her stage captive off to two more screaming orgasms, once with her fingers and the other with the help of a large vibrator. With her captive exhausted and limp, Toots concluded the show and let us release and redress Margot, who was a happy but whimpering near boneless heap. Apparently Pat, Sam and Toots were old friends and they were chatting away merrily on stage while I redressed Margot. I took the vibrator out, but Toots told me to keep the butt plug that was still inside her. It was an old favorite of hers that she was delighted to give away to make someone else's life happier. Besides, she joked; her current favorite plugs were all much larger nowadays. I was tempted by the offer of some late night dancing at a new local fetish club I'd never been to, but Margot was all worn out. I declined and we caught a cab back to the Fairmont. Still in a bit of a daze, I helped Margot get undressed and I put her to bed, nude but still wearing her butt plug. It looked good in her and since it was only barely smaller in circumference than my cock, I thought it would be an excellent part of her training. Sadly, I was already beginning to resent that I only had a few more days to spend with her. I was beginning to think of her as 'my' slave and not just an object to be used and humiliated. ********** I didn't sleep all that well that night. I was having trouble turning my brain off so that I could sleep and it just looped on me most of the night. I got a few hours of rest but I was wide awake at about 5 a.m. when I heard Margot opening my bedroom door and felt her snuggling up on top of the covers next to me, still nude. Oh, the dilemma. I ought to have pulled off the covers and invited her to join me. We could have talked, snuggled, maybe even fooled around a bit. In fact the odds were next to unanimous that once she was under the bed sheets pressed nude against me, we wouldn't have managed any talking at all and done some other more interesting things instead, like finding out how tight her cunt was after last nights workout and if my cock was indeed now a near perfect fit inside her ass. We'll never know. I chickened out and pretended I was still asleep. Yeah, this was a pretty stupid decision, but if I had had sex with her that would have changed our entire current slave-master relationship. We'd have had some fun, probably a lot of it, but I'd still have to send her home late Monday night and then there would be an empty lonely place left inside us both. Maybe we could work some sort of relationship out, but I somehow doubted it. Some very stupid but persistent voice in the back of my head was telling me that she wasn't ready for this sort of bond right now. Later maybe, but not now. Damn killjoy… the problem was I knew that my little voice was right. She was still one seriously messed up young woman, albeit now highly stimulated and aroused from being exposed to some interesting and rather peculiar new philosophies, and a world of fetishes that she'd never even heard, read or dreamed about. She needed time… and I really needed sleep. I think I eventually got some just around 6 a.m. ******* I reawoke rather later in the morning and my resident suite guest was rather annoyed with me. She was hungry; but not quite starving enough to actually directly prod me awake. Instead she played the more subtle routine of being rather loudly restless upon my bed, rolling over and making loud sighs of boredom. Note to self: always gag and tie your helpless slave girls up securely at night no matter how tired you are or how well-behaved she had otherwise been. Especially if you want to have a night (and late morning) of restful sleep. Since we were rather late this morning, I decided to forego the pleasure of instructing her how to remain still and obedient on a bed instead of thrashing about like an over-sized and underfed wild animal. Instead I sent her off to her shower and I ordered room service breakfast for us both and phoned in to my on-call driver my plans for the day. An hour later, we trudged downstairs into our waiting car and started the days little adventure barely before the stroke of noon. Originally the plan for today had been a long excursion up across the Golden Gate and up into Marin County to sightsee the redwood trees in Muir Woods, a brief stop at Point Reyes Lighthouse and seashore to, hopefully, see migrating whales, then a longer drive up to the Russian River for lunch followed by a return trip via Napa Valley for a winery tour or two and a nice dinner. Well, we got much too late of a start for all of that. Instead, our abbreviated grand tour of the area would just consist of Marin and that was really more than enough for a full day's work. The weather wasn't too terribly cooperative and I had to provide my increasingly wet, cold and miserable slave girl with her warm leather jacket and frequent stops for hot tea. The next time the Commissioner is feeling generous, I'll accept the offer of a full sized limo instead of just a nice big luxury sedan. I figured that the limo would be more of a liability driving around in the city than the associated pleasures would be worth, but right now a hot tea machine and a suitably stocked bar would have been worth a great many of the inconveniences. Margot was really on her absolutely best behavior, I started her off complete with her gag and wrist restraints but somewhere along the way, probably at Point Reyes, both got temporarily taken off and never return. Sloppy slave management, but she was actually a delight to be with all afternoon, and the rather cross mood I started the day in gradually became much more pleasant. The combination of fog, rain, mist and high surf made it nearly impossible to see much of anything out in the Pacific but Margot swore that she saw a whale briefly surface far off-shore. I didn't see it, I was probably too busy looking at the way her eyes were sparkling or the way that her mouth smiled. It was one of those moments that body language tells you to reach out and grab your partner and give them a hug and big kiss. This was very much in fact what I very badly wanted to do but somehow I controlled myself and looked away from her until my urge to ravish her had somewhat faded. Sometimes, the hardest lesson that can be learned in a Dominant/submissive relationship is where the line needs to drawn, and firmly stuck to. Contrary to the belief of most would-be Masters, the needs of the slave sometimes are more important than the random urges of the Master, especially in the early training stages of the relationship. And especially if the inexperienced slave girl isn't actually really yours. I would only have two more days with her and then her penance will have been served. She'd go home to whatever new life she was going to make for herself... and adding a new sexual relationship to her heaping mound of internal confusion wouldn't benefit either of us. Or at least that is what I kept telling myself all afternoon long, like a mantra. ******** For tonight's party at Rick and Pat's house, I decided to keep things very much on the defensive. I like and trust Rick, but his wife Pat is just plain incorrigible. She feels a need to control everyone and everything around her, especially at her parties, which have a well-deserved reputation for getting quite wild at times. The difficulty was how I was going to protect Margot from some of the nastier things that can happen to unprotected innocent slave girls, while still giving my Cajun princess a rather suitable shock. So, for her wardrobe for the evening, I selected the full leather bodysuit. I thought this presented the image of 'look but don't play' quite well, even if just standing was a balancing act for her on those deliciously high ballerina boots. Just for fun, I put her butt plug back in. I loved the way she walked with it inside her. Naturally, Pat didn't at all see it my way. She clapped her hands and two of her house-slaves collected Margot and sent her off to be 'more suitably dressed'. "Damn it Pat. Stop pulling this shit! She's not a 'real' slave and doesn't need any introduction to any of the more refined and sordid acts that you consider 'fun'. I promised that nothing illegal or dangerous would happen to her… and that definitely includes most of what occurs in your private dungeon and bedrooms at your parties." "Relax Jeff, I understand and hear and obey your orders for your 'temporary' slave girl. She does look like she needs a good gangbang, but it won't be in my house, tongiht… unless it's her idea. You want her to be humiliated, and so she shall be! I'm going to let her join my house slaves in playing hostess for the evening. The word will get out fast that she not for 'play' and anyone who bends any of my house rules gets thrown out on the street, fast. Happy?" The Lady is a Champ Ch. 04 Probably so. Pat was a stickler for the rules and tossing any players who wouldn't follow hers. There was even a persistent rumor than an especially brutal master who didn't respect safewords was chucked over the cliffside terrace of her house and into the Bay, onto an area with lots of sharp rocks. No one ever fucked with Pat, especially on her home turf. I had to admit that I liked the view when Margot was shortly returned to me about half an hour later. She was wearing a tightly laced white leather corset that covered just her waist, a brief white leather thong that just barely covered her now smooth vaginal lips, white lace thigh-high stockings, and an interesting pair of clear acrylic six inch 'stripper heels'. Her full breasts and ass were very much on display and the butt plug was still in her tight ass. Lovely! "Nicely done, I approve!" I told Pat. "Her crotch was rather a mess but I didn't have the ambition to deal with it yet. Shave or wax?" "Full Brazilian. I wanted her to feel nice and naked out there while she's serving drinks and snacks. The white leather will mark her as off-limits. Guests can pinch or pat her ass, or fondle a tit, but anything else is forbidden. My head-girl Alana can 'motivate' her and smack her ass a bit, but she has to request permission from us in order to perform any other more exotic disciplinary punishment. In fact it would be good for her to hear the limitation instructions from you. I'll call her over." "That will do!" I nodded approvingly. "She's had a rather lazy day so bit of brisk hard work should suit her fine, besides I think I'll rather enjoy watching her run back and forth… she's got a rather nice tit bounce I think." "Quite so, but the rest of her needs a little firming up. Excellent starting material though, it's a pity your going to lose her in a few days. She has some… potential." I quite agreed. Soon enough another corset wearing woman (and wearing nothing but the corset and stiletto heels) appeared before Sam and knelt in fealty to her. I grabbed Margot's arm and directed her to also kneel and await her instructions. "This girl's name is Cupcake and she will be assisting you this evening with any and all service duties you might have, in fact the more menial the service the better. She's had a soft lazy day so don't be afraid to keep her hopping and running. She also has a rather nasty ill-tempered mouth and is prone to having a most objectionable disposition, especially where it concerns menial laborers. If she gives you the slightest hint of any lip you may gag her. If she is lazy or disobedient you may perform reasonable and appropriate chastisement. If she decides to be thoroughly naughty, you may bring her to me and I'm sure some suitable and painful punishments can be arranged." With a final nod, I released a very frightened Margot off into the not so tender hands of Pat's top house slave. I was more than certain that to become promoted to this important position she was more than capable of handling truculent slave girls. In fact, she was probably a terror with a whip just like her Mistress. I didn't have to wait long to see Margot running about, bearing champagne trays and serving platters of finger food. Her temporary mistress was right behind her constantly chastising her for sloppy presentation and ungraceful movement. Pat did like things just exactly so. While her ever movement was being coached her overseer's hands, complete with a small whip, were never idle for long. The view was quite delightful as her whipped ass and bouncing soft white breasts made for a magnificent view. Several times over the length of the evening, I was commended for my trainee, with numerous hints that other Masters and Mistresses would have enjoyed some quality training time with her to improve her skills. Fat chance. If I could somehow wing it, I was going to find a way to put my brand on Margot. Figuratively only. Rick and Pam did use hot irons to brand some special slaves, but it was very much the exception to their normal rule, although I had to admit that just the thought of imagining a hot iron being pressed firmly against Margot's ass with my mark on it gave me a huge raging hard-on in my black leather pants. Watching the rest of the scenery didn't help much. There was rather a lot of swaying boobage on display as more guests arrived later in the evening, ready for a long night of fun with their favorite slaves, or arranging temporary swaps for some new fun. The real fun never started until after midnight, when the hoists and whips started to get put to use and the more sexual slaves also started to get put into frequent use, to their delight. *********** By midnight, Margot was getting quite an eyeful of things, but it was Pat's ever-sharp eyes that gathered the tiny details that I had mostly missed. "Jeff, if you don't find a way to put your collar around her neck I swear to God that I will. That girl is a born submissive and natural pain-slut! Have you seen the way she looks at the other girls being whipped? It's not curiosity or revulsion… it's jealousy and longing! I can see it right in her eyes and her body language; she wants to be the one strung up and whipped. She's all-but masturbating while watching them!" "Really? It's that bad? I knew she took hard discipline well but I haven't had enough of that sort of private time with her to tell. Damn… that's a rare prize that I'd really hate to just give away. Are you certain of this?" "Do you trust me?" She asked with a gleam in her eye. "Sort of," I sighed, "and much more than I ought to." Ouch… that was pretty close to giving Pat carte-blanche. Still, I could stop things if I thought they got out of hand... maybe." Pat beckoned over her head girl and gave her some quick whispered instructions and soon I had a pretty good idea about what she had in mind. Soon, Margot discovered that in the eyes of her supervisor she could now do absolutely nothing right and a few minutes later she caused a significant enough offense that she was brought over to us for more significant correction. There was worry and a little fear in Margot's eyes, but Pat was right… there was also something else. Expectant anticipation. She wanted to be disciplined. Pat and I looked each other in the eye and our glances spoke volumes. I knew what I needed to do… or else Pat would do it for me. "Lazy slave girl! Why can't you follow simple instructions? I see that your ass is already a bright fire engine red due to your slovenly disobedience. No one cares here about how much money your mommy and daddy have – your only thoughts should be how to please your overseer mistress and the Mistress of this house in which you are a guest. You are going to get eight hard stokes with my crop unless you can very convincingly grovel and make your apologies to the Mistress here. Now!" Margot fell to her knees and kissed Pat's magnificent black leather boots blubbering something that was probably an apology, but still quite inadequate. "Feeble. Still for a spoilt little princess from 'Nawlins' that was a decent start. You will still receive four strokes, now rise and bend over!" She did, and I could tell instantly that she was quivering with anticipation rather than fear. Damn, why did Pat nearly always have to be right? I guess that was a product of her misspent youth when for eight years right out of college she was a practicing Psychologist in confidential practice before she decided that becoming a professional dominatrix cured more patients, was more personally satisfying, and not to mention it actually paid better. As Margot bent over, I gave each of her ass cheeks a single very hard whack that she wouldn't soon forget. Then with my crop lifting her chin, I bid her to kneel in front of me with her back and shoulders arched high, lifting her breasts. Her tearful eyes met mine and she knew in a instant where the next two blows were going, but there was no hint of withdrawal. The pain must have been sharp but she hardly moved a muscle as I gave the top of each breast a sharp blow. I might have misjudged the slight smile on her face but Pat, the consummate professional hadn't. "The little pain slut loved it and wants more! Go back to your duties and serve Mistress Alana well and if you're good, I'll let you watch a little bit of fun later." I nodded my approval to Margot and she was off like a jiggling and bouncing shot to resume her menial duties. The fun Pat had in mind was a monthly little contest where slaves volunteered to be spanked and whipped in order to determine who was the most obedient… and who had the highest pain threshold. The slightest wiggle, moan, cry or squeak disqualified the participant. Considering the guests at the party included several hardcore submissives that loved pain and treating it as pleasure, the contest sometimes lasted for quite awhile, stopping at first blood or other sign of injury. The contest then ending with a vote. Margot would certain get an eyeful at this. A little after midnight, right before the contest was to begin, Pat asked if she could borrow my slave for about half an hour for a little private tour of the premises. I could tag along, but she asked for me to try and stay a bit out of sight, but within hearing range. "It should be very educational!" She assured me, and it definitely was. The Lady is a Champ Ch. 05 For the grand tour, Pat fastened Margot's hands and attached a leash to her collar, but removed her ball gag for now. "You show interest in becoming a well-behaved and obedient slave, submissive to the needs of your Master. You body yearns for the whip and for the submission of kneeling abjectly before him, willing and eager to perform any duty or indignity on his behalf. In your case I approve of this decision, but still it is an important one that should never be taken lightly or in any sort of haste. You need to know exactly what sort of fate you might find yourself in, and in this instance it might be for the best to see some of the worst than can befall you. The Master you choose might not be as considerate of your interests and well-being as he ought to be, so let me show you a few more extreme examples of what your Master or Mistress might consider as playtime fun. The tour began with a quick view of some of the more private rooms. Submissives, both female and male, were strung up, tied or bound for various enjoyments of pain or pleasure, often both. Slaves were often in sexual use by multiple partners, often while tied in helpless positions. The next stop was the master bathroom, but I stayed outside. I knew Pat's personal favorite kink, watersports, pretty well. She had far better uses for her urine than pissing it away into a toilet bowl, and was fortunate to have several slaves that enjoyed being on her receiving end. Undoubtedly Pat was going to demonstrate this, including how she liked to be cleaned off afterwards. Educational, but not on my list of things that I would have subjected Margot to... at least not yet. They were in there nearly forever, so I guess Margot needed much more Kegel instruction. As the tour now moved downstairs into the big cellar playroom, more serious fetishes and sado-masochistic inclinations were openly indulged, sometimes quite a bit beyond my personal tastes and preferences. Pat brought her charge to a corner of the dungeon designed and outfitted in the medieval theme, perfectly equipped for any modern day Spanish Inquisition, and bid her to kneel and remain silent. Another nude submissive, a near middle-aged woman in her mid-forties, was already kneeling and waiting for Pat and when she arrived. The slave kow-towed to her with head against the stone floor in abject submission. "Rise slave! Please explain to me once again, and to this young lady who wishes to possibly submit herself into slave servitude, exactly why you wish to make the permanent and irrevocable act of being branded as one of my personal slaves! You have a home of your own and I'd prefer not to place my most intimate and special marking on anyone who has not made the permanent commitment to serve my every personal need on a daily basis. Explain!" And her abject slave most certainly did. Like Margot, 'Slave Ruth' had come from a wealthy family with every advantage in life. Currently she was a senior executive for a national clothing corporation where she ruled hundreds of employees (and her wimp husband) with an iron fist. For her mental sanity she needed to know, and be able to feel with the idle caress of their hand, that someone stood over her and could make her obey. Thus in balance she could be firmly in charge for most of her life, but she knew that she was also firmly in permanent submission to someone else. She truly wanted the mark of Pat's brand, and knowing Pat, she wouldn't give it unless she also truly 'needed it'... and she did. Bidding Margot to move closer to within a foot of Ruth's bare ass, she watching in a look of combined fear and fascination as the red hot iron with the brand was applied and held for a few seconds to Ruth's unflinching left ass cheek. Ruth tearfully thanked Pam profusely and she was dismissed to other duties leaving the rest of us more or less alone. Pat held up the smoking iron quite close to Margot's face as she began to lecture her. 'Slave, this iron, or one quite like it, might someday be pressed up against your firm white ass and you would probably by then beg for it, most sincerely. As I told you earlier, I have rolodexes full of rich women, and men, just exactly like you. They're all obnoxious assholes or bitches to everyone around them... until it becomes their turn to kneel in submission. The smart ones soon realize that this is a split part of their nature, and that they need to get appropriate psychological advice... or else they find someone with the balls and a big whip that can soothe their demons and fulfill their needs. Often I have to do both. Sometimes the need to become a submissive is temporary in their lives and other treatment can resolve their internal imbalance. Other times the submissive learns that only constant obedience will soothe those angry dragons in their soul and that they need a Master or Mistress as a part of their daily life. From my years of professional experience, I am nearly certain that you are one of those types of people. Do you agree or disagree?" Her answer wasn't long in coming; Margot nodded her head in agreement. "Good. Awareness is the first step, but it is not enough. You have to understand the dragons and demons that rage inside you and comprehend beyond any further doubt exactly how your submission would tame them. Unless your soul is at some sort of peace and you have fully accepted your new goal in life – one of utter submission and service to a Master or Mistress that you can completely, trust, respect and love, your road to fulfillment can be long and hard. You must first find your deepest wounds, baring yourself so that you can offer absolutely everything of yourself, with nothing withheld from the one you submit to... and submit wisely." "I shall do as you suggest Mistress." I heard Margot weakly say, her head now quite bent over in shame until Pat corrected her with a fairly gentle whip blow across her tits. "Tell me if you can, why do you desire and feel the need for pain. Your eyes look upon this whip like most women would look at a slice of cake." "I do not know Mistress. It seems to... comfort and soothe me somehow. The more pain I feel, the lighter the weights on my heart seem to be. It gives me pleasure, but that shames me... and makes me disobedient and ill-tempered." "An honest confession. This is something that you need to discover about yourself - if you truly need this pain or if it just covers up and masks something else deeper and darker inside you. Never be ashamed to confess what you are thinking or feeling to your Master. He not only wants this from you, but he expects and demands this. You are never to keep secrets from him under any circumstances and he values your honesty. A good Master will never hold your confessions against you and they are necessary if you are to gain his trust and be happy in his service. Now give me a hug... you need one before we join your temporary Master and the others. Some interesting fun is about to begin." Pat gave Margot a kiss on the top of her head and allowed her a good tearful hug before Pat half-heartedly gave her ass a whip stroke to get her moving back upstairs. The "Top Slave Girl Contest" was about to begin. ******* I suppose I should have guessed what would happen next. Margot, despite firm instructions to remain still, was squirming while she watched the first set of slave contestants submit their approval and willingness to be whipped, nearly without ceasing until the first cry was heard. For most of the contestants this didn't take very long, as the rules were very strict. The slave had to remain absolutely stationary on her tiptoes while her hands were fastened to a rope above. In each hand a raw egg was held which would easily crack if the slave tensed up or knotted her muscles in pain. In fact the egg test was often the disqualifier for most contestants. No cry, whimper, or moan was allowed with a judge carefully listening for any sort of quiet sob of pain. Late in the first round two true pain-sluts found themselves in dire competition as the whip-master alternated strokes across the naked forms of both girls, equally and impartially until finally one girl let out a slight moan... probably of pleasure. Margot's eyes were full of something akin to desperate desire and her fingers and toes squirmed as if she was frantically wanting or needing to masturbate. Pat, whose sharp trained eyes missed nothing, couldn't resist taking advantage of the situation. "Slave Cupcake, why are you so aroused? Do you desire to feel the kiss of the whip this soon? Tell your Master what you are thinking and feeling!" "Master, I... I was imaging that you were whipping me, to make me be good... and how nice it would be to be helpless, like they are, at your mercy... and hoping that you wouldn't give me any mercy for a long... long time." Margot then once again bowed her head in shame. "Cupcake, do you want to be whipped like they are, to have my eyes watch your pain under every single stroke of the whip, naked and helpless in front of nearly a hundred strangers?" "Please Master! I do. Besides, I'm harder inside then they are. I am stronger... and I want to prove it to you. Master, please let me give you my pain and let me prove that I would be the Best Slave Girl." She meant it. She really meant every single word of it. I cast a quick glance at Pat who was smiling and nodding at me. Thus reassured, I lifted Margot up from her knees and stripped her totally naked and ordered to the end of the short line of entrants to wait her whipping. The smile of pure happiness on her face was scarcely to be believed, but it was absolutely genuine. ******** Slave Cupcake easily won her first round and sailed right through her second match as well. She had whip marks all over every inch of her body but she absolutely glowed with obvious pleasure and delight. She asked for permission to masturbate after her second whipping but I decided to be firm and tease her. "No release at all tonight for you until you win, pain slut!" I muttered in faux annoyance while she beamed in happiness. Her cheerfulness at assuming her captive position for her third whipping caused her contestant to quit even before the first stroke was made. Completely psyched out, her opponent realized she had no chance to win at all and she decided to save her own skin, to the obvious displeasure of her Master. Soon though it was time for the semi-final and Cupcake was up against a truly hardened professional pain-slut, if the multitude of scars on her back were any sort of indication. She apparently liked it really rough. Margot hung in there and somehow outlasted her to be admitted to the final competition of the contest. She was a flaming screaming red color all-over, but the glow on her face was even brighter if possible. Still this was quite a lot of whipping for a novice to face and I pretty much decided that I wouldn't let Margot go for another round against a true hardened pain-slut like her new opponent, who was apparently was often the regular winner of this contest each month. "Don't even think about it! Margot hissed, in the same tone of voice she used in her professional dealings before realizing she had omitted the Master title to me. "Master please... I want this. I can take every stroke of the whip that this other cunt can, and more. Please Master, don't make me stop now!" What else could I say to her? I nodded my agreement, and Margot faced the challenge of her life. For nearly the full maximum whipping time of fifteen minutes or one hundred blows of the whip each, each woman was deep into their own private world of pain and pleasure... lost in their 'sub-space'. On whip strike number ninety-seven, it was discovered that the blow had just barely broken skin on Margot's stubborn but tough hide and a slight droplet of blood was present there. This stopped the contest immediately and the final decision was left to public voting. Slave Cupcake won, nearly unanimously, and her proud temporary Master was happy to receive the nearly two foot tall "Top Slave Girl" trophy of her achievement. It would have looked fantastic on her desk with the Coyotes in San Antonio. ******* We didn't stay much longer at Pat's party. Happy and contented or not, Margot was starting to feel the pain now and was moving increasingly gingerly. I collected her leather bodysuit and made my farewells for the night. Back in the hotel, still naked except for her raincoat, I made her strip naked in the elevator and walk naked to our suite. She was seen by a couple of people in all of her whipped glory but she didn't care in the slightest about showing off her wounds of victory. Once we were in my master bedroom I ordered her to her knees and demanded that she masturbate right in front of me, which she did nearly instantly. I let her cum just once before ordering her to a long soak in the bathtub. My little spoiled princess had one last remaining 'demand' for me as I was putting her gently to bed. "Please Master... tie me up tightly on all fours and then take my butt plug out and fuck me there. I was thinking of you whipping me and then roughly using me afterward the whole time during the contest. My ass can take a few more blows... make it nice and hot for when you take me!" How could I say no? It was frankly exactly also what I had wanted to do to her the entire contest. I fastened her into a pair of cuffs that each restrained her wrists to her ankles, lifting her still slightly red ass up high in the air. "It's really too much of a reward for a disobedient would-be slave girl, but I admit that I'm yearning to see your ass turned a bright cherry red once again... that really got my cock rock hard. However, I am ordering you to say "Cupcake" if at any time you feel anything wrong or need me to stop." "Fuck that, asshole... I mean Master. Make me your screaming bitch, I'm begging for it! I want my ass to be too inflamed to even be able to sit tomorrow." And so I did. I really whipped her too hard, leaving quite a few welts on her entirely too stubborn ass, but she loved it and it did look absolutely glorious. When she started to whimper again about needing to come when I removed her butt plug and found something else almost the same size to stick in there in its place. She began to howl and cum like a woman possessed. Since the plug had been just a size smaller than my cock, I fit in there nicely... just like it belonged there. I gave her a long hard sodomizing and then after I came, I ordered her to clean me off and lubricate my ass-flavored cock so that we could do it some more. At one point she begged for me to fuck her cunt as well, but I told her I was saving that pleasure for the day she knelt before me in true and permanent submission. But that got my cock hard enough to give her haughty ass a fourth and final work over, right before dawn. ********** Damn, so much for my plan of keeping my hands off of her. Still, I loved every minute of it. There didn't seem to be any regrets in Margot's eyes either while we slept together in each others arms. Of course we had another very late start to any sightseeing the next day. We didn't crawl out of bed until nearly one o'clock and Cupcake wanted her tits well whipped with my crop right before we put on her corset for the day. Naturally one thing led to another and after giving her ass another stiff whipping I added some more cum into her ass before popping her butt plug back in. This made us too late to nearly accomplish anything... but we sure had a lot of fun! With the remaining few hours of the day, we took a fast drive up to Napa Valley to look at the vineyards and wineries, too late for any tours except for just one of the larger more commercial vintners that was open for tours on a late Sunday afternoon. After a magnificent early dinner at a deservedly famous Napa restaurant, we only just barely made it in time to the opera house only because we'd packed Margot's designer gown in the trunk before we left. She looked lovely in it, especially with six inch stilettos... and she wore them like the slutty princess she wanted to become, the envy of every woman and the cock-throbbing desire of every gentleman there. Every woman should be make to wear a butt plug in public I muttered, and quite sincerely. ****** "No more a smart little girl with no heart I have found me a wonderful guy" So went the lyrics of one of the songs of the musical "South Pacific", which Margot was quietly humming later for the short drive back to the Fairmont. I threatened to gag her – and did, when she stuck out her tongue at me. From the muffled sounds, she was still humming the song later while I was giving her helpless ass and tits a good starting warm-up for the rest of the night's frolics. I stuck to my promise of keeping my sexual attentions mostly to her ass, but I did make her suck me off first, while she was tied and on her knees. Her ass got plenty of attention, however, and when I decided that I was out of ambition for the night, or rather another early morning, I make sure that she was firmly tied with her head at my feet, her butt plug firmly in place, and her mouth still frantically sucking my tired cock. She was still sucking my now aroused cock early the next morning when I awoke with an urgent need to pee. Margot had other ideas. "Let me guess, Cupcake, when Pat was giving you the bathroom tour, she gave you some very precise and explicit instructions in the duties of a bathroom slave?" She nodded, my cock still mostly in her mouth until she let it slide out erotically and began to lick my balls lovingly while answering me. "Of course, Master. She made me slowly piss right into the mouth of her usual toilet slave, doing my Kegals for nearly ten minutes. Then she made me watch while both a man and woman guest used her the same way. He just stuck his dick right into her mouth and she drank down every single drop, with a look of absolute happiness while she swallowed it all. Since her slave was 'full', I knelt to my knees so that Pat could use me instead... and she did. Long and slowly pissing into my mouth so that I could drink it all. I missed three drops on the floor and she made me lick those clean as well. Then Mistress Pat instructed me at how to carefully clean her cunt lips dry with my tongue as well before redressing me for the rest of the tour. I obeyed her commands out of your respect for her, now I will obey any and all of your commands out of my even greater love and respect for you. Please Master, let me serve you this way too!" With her lips once again around my cock, she waited for my urine flow to begin and true to her word she swallowed every drop until I was done and then she began to feverishly suck me into orgasm so that she could add some cum to her breakfast. Once we became busy with other delightful amusements, we were once again off to a late start. Today was her final contracted day to spend with me, and we were going to do some final window shopping up and down Market Street. The weather was absolutely awful, so I permitted Margo to wear the warmer, non-fetish clothing I had bought her on her first day here. We shopped the length of Market, even ending up in the Castro, were we enjoyed ourselves in a fern bar for a bit and watched the local gay and lesbian color. Since we had to get Margot back in my office by this evening, we were soon totally out of time for any more fun. ********** Actually, with a nice tailwind, our plane got us back into Houston just over an hour early, and about thirty minutes later my Cupcake was nude and kneeling over my desk, while I gave her a swat on the ass for every single noted misbehavior I had listed in my little book. It took awhile and her butt was delightfully red by the time I then stuck my rock hard cock into her ass. Since I was nearly out of time, I just blasted my load into her bottom as quickly as I could. While Cupcake was on her knees giving my cock a thorough cleaning, I was laying down the riot act to Margot. The Lady is a Champ Ch. 05 "Maggie, you've been an utter bitch for most of this visit, and my fingers are frankly itching to buy some bigger whips and canes to give your stubborn ass the hiding of its life. In a few minutes I am going to let you go... your bet and penance served, but this is not a goodbye unless you wish it to be so. I would suggest that you need some personal time to get your shit straight and decide what side of the whip you want to be on. This is a decision too important to rush and you think it over right and don't make any impulsive decisions. If you happen to decide that you need or require an extremely firm Master who will not tolerate any of Marguerit "Margot" Millet's bullshit, you may at any time present yourself nude on your knees here in my office and I'll find something useful to occupy the rest of your life with. Now be a good obedient slut and make me cum in your mouth... you've only got about five minutes left!" Being a good girl who learned some very useful oral skills this last week, she needed less than four minutes. Plenty of time for me to add a half-filled bladder of piss into her waiting and eager mouth as well. It was a sad piss-flavored kiss goodbye that Marguerit gave me when she left my office a few minutes and I didn't see or hear from her until this next football season was over, nearly a year later. Pat told me a few months after Margot's departure that she had heard word through the grapevine that 'Cupcake' was visiting both a New Orleans area shrink and was on the side occasionally visiting a local female dominatrix. Right about Christmas time, just before the playoffs, Pat broke confidentiality by telling me that Margot had paid her a professional visit for about a week as well. She didn't give me any details, but there was a hint that I should be seeing Cupcake soon. ********** On St. Valentines Day in mid-February, Marguerit "Margot" Millet came into my office one morning without an appointment and after shutting (and locking) my office door she stripped nude before me and Cupcake made her complete and total submission to me. I whipped her ass near purple before I fucked her tight cunt right over my desk to mark her forever as my property. The hot iron could wait. I've never regretted making that decision... ever. Cupcake was a pleasure to train and live with... and Margot Millet started to become a better person, one that everyone else in the world could live with. ********* With her father now in increasingly poor physical condition, and less than a year from the grave, he made me the wedding dowry offer of full ownership of his beloved Coyotes upon the day that I married his daughter. I in turn replied that if this wedding was to occur, it would be a proper Master/slave ceremony after which my red hot iron would brand her ass forever as my property. Cupcake pleaded "Yes, Please!" and her amused father had a large custom-made branding iron forged with my initials. We said our 'I Do's' and she didn't flinch in the slightest when the large initials "J" and "L" were branded on her ass, one large letter on either side of her butt crack. Her lovely well-marked ass received most of my loving attentions, but her heavily pierced and permanently smooth cunt had enough attention that Lloyd Ross was just barely able to hold his first grandson in the hospital the week before he died of cancer. The old bastard left me with the auto dealerships as well. In revenge I sold them all off for an obscene amount of money nearly enough to have been able to buy any professional sports franchise I could think of. Maybe the San Francisco Giants will come up for sale soon? I of course had to resign as GM for the Toro's before accepting the ownership of the Coyotes, but I had to admit that I'm enjoying the challenge of rebuilding yet another extremely bad football team into playoff contention. Now that she is a much better person, and with the approval of the Commissioner, I had no reservations about allowing Margot to become my VP of Operations once again. She has worked wonders over at sales and marketing... and even made a few friends with her underlings as well. There is a more than a vague rumor that Rick and Pat want to sell their San Francisco team to a group of new owners that would then move the club to Los Angeles. When this happens, the Coyotes will be ready and packing their bags as well and moving (with the Commissioners advance approval) to fill in this gap in my beloved hometown. An all new expansion team will be promised for either New Orleans or San Antonio, so there won't be any lingering hard feelings there. Cupcake is already hinting that she'd like us to buy Pat's mansion, if they move, so that she can take over as the new hostess (and star pain-slut performer) at the monthly parties, but it's going to be embarrassing to explain to Junior some day why his doting mother is constantly covered in whip marks! She is after all the reigning and never defeated "Best Slave Girl", complete with her wall of trophies. Truly, if not quite in professional football, this lady is a champ!