Chapter 7

"Ahah, my scoundrel! I see you've recovered consciousness."

It was Arbella, back again. She was dressed as before in short, sleeveless leather dress and high-heeled boots that came half-way up her thighs. She was wearing the leather helmet, too that fitted closely to her skull and was buckled under her chin but allowed her black ponytail to hang out through an opening at the back.

She was brandishing a short whip that ended in a bunch of cruel-looking leather straps, rather like some grotesque fly-whisk.

Tm surprised to see you recovered so soon. I thought you'd be out for the rest of the day."

Robin, at first surprised by her intrusion, drew himself to his full height and tried to face her with authority and determination but he found it difficult, bereft as he was of clothes and embarrassed by another one of his massive, throbbing erections.

"This is ridiculous," he said, drawing himself to his full height which left him almost a head short of the statuesque Arbella, aided as she was by skyscraper heels on her boots. "I demand you stop this absurd charade. Give me my clothes now and let me go. And before I go I want you to release this girl and I'll take her with me for protection."

Arbella gave a sarcastic laugh. "I demand...! " she mocked. "What right do you have to demand? You want to go, go! Go this minute! You can have your clothes, too. As for taking this girl into your protection, I think she's perfectly capable of protecting herself-even from scoundrels like you."

'You're a heartless woman chaining her up like that!"

"A heartless woman! I see. And you're a ball-less man!"

"What do you mean?"

"If you'd had any balls you'd have untied this so-called sweetheart of yours while I was gone. Well, why didn't you. You were conscious, weren't you?"

'I . . .I didn't...well, you see, I thought

"Just what I said. A ball-less, cock-less, sexless apology of a man. Makes excuses and stammers when he's asked a simple question. Worm! Worm!" She fairly roared at him.

Robin realized that it was incumbent on him to make a display of his manhood if he didn't want to appear damned in her eyes and confirmed in his lack of masculinity.

"This is quite enough," he said, firmly. He had to take his eyes off the stern, tall, leather-clad woman as he spoke for he found that whenever he looked at her his masculine resolve trembled and dissolved. "I demand you give me my clothes and let me leave. And I demand that you let Elizabeth leave with me if that is what she wants."

"Ha! Fool! Imbecile! Ask Lizbeth indeed! Well Lizbeth, do you want to walk off with that apology for manhood?"

Lizbeth was still trussed up in her corner and she could not raise her eyes to look at her mistress, but from her voice it was absolutely clear where her loyalty lay-and also the depth of her devotion to the woman who dominated her.

"No, Arbella, I'm yours. I'm never going to go off again with any man, and certainly not with this one.

I love you Arbella and I owe everything I am and everything I've become to you, and I'll remain yours for ever."

"And are you sorry for what you've done?"

"Yes, Arbella, I'm sorry for having deceived you. And I'm sorry for having hurt you. And I'm sorry for having degraded myself by letting this man touch my body that I'm permitted to use only with your permission. And I'm sorry I've been naughty. And now I deserve to be punished and I hope you punish me hard so that I'll be a better girl in the future. I know you're going to hurt me and I'm very scared of the pain because I don't like pain and pain always makes me cry, but I hope you re going to hurt me hard anyway so that I'll learn my lesson."

"Well?" Arbella drew out the question, turning sarcastically to Robin. "Still want to take her away and protect her?"

Robin wanted to put a brave front on it. He wanted to come across as a man of determination, a man with balls and courage. "No. And what's more, I'm staying. I'm staying until you've finished the punishment whatever diabolical idea you've developed. I'm going to make sure you don't abuse this poor girl more than she can stand. If she wants to stay to be punished, that's her right, though I think it's strange. But once she's been punished by you, I think she'll change her mind and I'm going to be here when that happens."

"Spoken like a man!" Arbella said and for a moment Robin though she was complimenting him-until he saw the sardonic smile at the corner of her cruel lips. "A man, Ha! Well I can use you. You'll stay here and participate in the ritual of punishment. And when it's over...."

She posed for dramatic effect.

"...if Lizbeth decides she'd like to leave, she's free to go, even with you. And when it's over...."

She paused again.

"...you, too, may leave, if you still find the desire to want to leave me."

Robin gave an involuntary shudder. There was something about the way she was talking, something in the air of mastery she was assuming as she talked to him, that made him feel as if life was about to change for him, as if somehow, things would never, ever, De the same again, as if this woman had some magic powers, as if she could cause him to undergo a metamorphosis that would leave him for ever changed.

He knew it was a significant moment. The woman was threatening him and the threat was no idle one. He looked into her face to see what message he could read there. He saw a forbidding look that inspired fear and suddenly it was covered with a fleeting something-no, not a smile, but an expression that suggested the possibility of warmth and comfort and even joy.

If he wanted to get away he would have to leave right away. If he stayed and let her work her powers or her strange charms, the same charms as had enslaved Lizbeth.

The choice had to be made right away. If he lingered he would find himself in her clutches, in her power, in her powerful embrace, locked, imprisoned, never to get away. As each phrase went through his head, Robin could feel a strange melting in the pit of his stomach. It was seated near his pubis a feeling that seemed to grab him and hold him by the crotch, a feeling of power and of fright and of some beautiful, strange, melting joy. He looked up once more at Arbella s stern face hidden inside her helmet. He wanted to see again that fleeting look he had seen before, a look that betokened understanding and welcome. He saw it or thought he saw it but most of all he wanted to see it.

And in his mind's eye he saw the elusive look on the statuesque leather-clad woman in front of him. He seemed to see it in her face and he saw it in her proud bust thrust out through her black leather dress and he saw it in the angle of her hip thrust through the tight skirt and he saw it in the line of her thigh and in the way she stood on those long, tight boots and the way she put her weight on her skyscraper heels.

And he knew that if he didn't leave right away he would be lost....

And he stayed.

"Very well," Arbella said and her voice sounded a little softer. "You're a man of courage after all if you're willing to stay. I need a man for what I'm planning so you might as well dress as a man."

"Yes?" Already Robin found himself listening eagerly for her command.

"Go into the first room on the left. You'll find some suitable clothes lying over the back of the chair. I'm sure you can adjust them to fit."

He was gone instantly.

There was only one chair in the little room she had indicated and on it there was only one outfit.

There was no underwear, no socks. He found a pair of leather shorts, something like a Bavarian's lederhosen, made of heavy antique tanned leather. They fitted quite snugly to his haunches and came about half-way down his thighs. There were straps and lacings in various places, at the thigh, at the back and down the sides, and he found that by adjusting the right buckles and thongs he could make the shorts fit loosely or tightly. The tight fit seemed the more pleasant. It gave him a sense of masculine protection and reassurance and also, at the same time, he found that it gave him that melting feeling in the region of his pubis that he had found so exciting while he was making up his mind whether to stay or go.

The shorts were also equipped with various other straps, rings and buckles, whose purpose Robin could not even guess. These were fastened to the leather with sturdy steel rivets and reinforcing straps at strategic places, heavily saddle-stitched to the body of the shorts. There was a detachable panel at the fly that could be strapped on or off at will and another panel, like it, at the back. It was held at the waist with a heavily-studded three-inch-wide belt.

When Robin had finished getting into the shorts and adjusting all the straps and examining the way the various parts fitted together, he examined himself in the full-length mirror. He liked what he saw there, a sturdy, massive, masculine man, the sort of man any girl could go for. He noticed the bulge at the crotch where his equipment was stored behind heavy leather protection. It felt good resting in there and he knew that his cock was astir again and felt pleasure in the way the restraint of the leather was putting pressure on it.

Beside the chair stood a pair of boots. Cavalry boots they were, a high-glossed leather, brown, dark brown. They came with massive stacked heels and spurs. He got his feet inside them and found to his pleasure and surprise that they fitted, not too well, a little tight, just the right amount of tightness in-fact. He bent down, the leather of his tight shorts creaking and squealing as he bent and the muscles of his ass and of his thighs straining against the leather. The tops of the boots came to just below his knees. He buckled them up the back, the way they were designed, and soon found himself standing firmly in the power-giving boots, once more facing the mirror and examining himself.

So far so good. He felt a surge of strength. Just let Arbella try something funny with him and shed soon see what a powerful man she had in front of her. He flexed his biceps and admired their rippling strength, looked at his heavily-developed muscular chest, saw the sinewy thighs that were visible between the top of the shiny cavalry boots and the bottom edge of the dark leather shorts. A man! A man to match any woman in creation-even one as strong and powerful as Arbella. He was a match for her, any time, a good and fitting match. He saw himself as her consort. It was a role he found to his liking.

Now for the jacket. It, too, was of leather to match the shorts. It was a motor-cyclist's jacket, heavily studded and with the same buckles and laces as the shorts to make it fit snugly to his body at waist, at shoulders, down the arms and across the chest. It zipped up the front and closed around the neck with a strap that could be pulled just tight enough to hold him proudly erect. The jacket, too, was reinforced in various places with heavy saddle stitching and steel rivets and it had the same straps and rings attached for some unknown and unfathomable purpose.

Arrayed in boots, shorts and jacket, Robin looked at himself in the mirror again. He'd never been able to understand homosexuals before but now as he looked at himself and his powerful virility, he could see how anyone-a woman or a man, even a man as masculine and as heterosexual as he was-might fall in love with the sort of person he saw portrayed in the mirror, might crave some of the strength that this figure projected.

"That's me," Robin said to himself with some pride, and he felt a surge of pride and love for himself that welled from the region of his cock and spread with blushing warmth through his chest and neck and face.

The helmet, an aviator's helmet, completed the ensemble. He had learned by now which straps looked relevant and needed adjusting so as to make the helmet fit closely to his face, and which ones were simply added hardware like the steel D-rings. He discovered to his great pleasure that there was a series of straps from the helmet that corresponded with buckles at the collar of his jacket and by adjusting these he was able to make helmet and jacket into one piece.

He buckled the cuffs of his leather jacket, slipped his hands into the wide-cuffed leather gauntlets, tightened the straps and he was set.

One more admiring look in the mirror. He stood with his chin thrust out, strength and determination in every gesture. He turned around and admired his reflection as seen over the shoulder, especially the lean hard line of his buttocks. He looked full face in the mirror again and practiced a superior, commanding sneer. He would make a fine villain. Just for practice he stamped heavily with his right boot on the floor and ground his heel into the face of some imagined enemy. It was a good and powerful feeling.

He was interrupted by a shout. "Are you going to stand there all day admiring yourself?" The voice was Arbella's, a deep, melodious, powerful voice. It insisted on instant obedience by its very tone. "Come here Robin this instant!" she ordered, calling from the other room. "Your first job is waiting for you."

Robin turned to leave. On the way out he saw hanging by the door a short leather whip with a sturdy handle made of plaited leather. He took it off the hook, swished it a couple of times for effect then stuck it into a loop of his studded belt.

He marched off for his first job under the direction of the fabulous Arbella.