"We finish now with fresh one, OK? Come, stand here," said the woman from the tack shop.
The woman led Janey over to a spot in the middle of the floor. She moved behind her and cupped Janey's breasts, massaging them for some time, murmuring soothingly in her ear. Janey responded to the gentle touch and the hypnotic sounds and was soon gasping for air through her nose, her mouth still gagged.
The woman brought her swiftly to the edge and with an instinctive skill, never let her go over. Janey's eyes soon lost their focus and her facial features slackened. I didn't know if she was lost in erotic sensations or if the woman had hypnotized her. It was incredible to watch. I wanted to learn how do it, too.
The woman let go of Janey and took up her tape measure. She took a circumference measure of each of the dazed girl's swollen tits, at the base, the mid-point and at the nipple. Amud's wife made a small mark with a pen on Janey's breastbone and measured how far below this mark on the sternum the center of the erect nipple was. It was a measure of the sag of her breasts.
The woman took one of Janey's arms and raised it over her head. A thick leather strap at the end of a hanging tether was quickly wrapped around the docile girl's wrist. The other arm followed. With both arms raised overhead, the woman again measured the distance from the sternum mark to her nipples. This was a measure of the lift in her breasts caused by raising her arms.
The last measure the small woman made with the tape was the length of the erect nipples. She turned to me.
"She bring good price, if want to sell. I buy for Amud. You name price, I pay, no haggle."
When I looked shocked, she laughed. It was a low chuckle, sensuous and musical.
"You good man," she said smiling, almost sadly, and added, "But not knowing will hurt them one day. You must learn, too, and soon." I was baffled by her statements. Amud made no attempt to clarify them.
That said she moved back to Janey's side. "See here, touchy milk sacs, firm, like good cheese, size of prized oranges. Will take whip well, make sing like angel. Very nice match with rest of carcass. Fresh one has three-ring points, most cows only one ring. Points are good firmness, stay hard long time. See? Still hard! I touch not since start. If you want I show you make holes for first rings. I use fresh needle. No charge extra."
She was talking about piercing Janey's nipples with not one, but three pairs of rings! As much as that intrigued me - hell, I got rock hard thinking about it - I had promised her she would not be harmed. Any piercing would have to be her informed choice, not this way. I thanked the woman, but told her we would do that later, not this visit. She almost looked disappointed, like I had wussed out.
She then took one of Janey's ankles and lifted it straight forward and up. The higher she lifted without resistance, the more excited she got. They didn't have cheerleaders in the old country, apparently. Janey's foot pointed straight up in a vertical split.
"EEE. You sure no training? Impossible!" she exclaimed.
The first leg was lowered and the other leg's flexibility was tested with the same results. Then she fastened a long strap hanging from the ceiling around Janey's ankle and lifted her leg out and up so that it was parallel to the ground. The other leg followed. Janey was hanging suspended from her wrists and ankles. Her head tipped slowly back as her breathing quickened slightly.
Amud's wife then spread the outstretched legs as far apart as they would go without forcing. With Janey's private areas fully exposed in this position she took her hand and used it to measure the length of the slit, how far it spread, and, with her slender finger, poked up inside her pussy the entire length. This activity had an effect on the hanging girl and she began moaning through the gag.
"Fresh one almost sing. Like mother, need practice. Lucky man." She paused. "Sorry bad man take flower of Fresh one. But no hurt left, here or in head. She still tight for long nights use with hose. Good as goat path, uh, back hole for long time." Amud had apparently told her the story of Janey's attack. Her evaluation of Janey's prognosis comforted me in a way the doctor's evaluations hadn't. Her assessment of Janey seemed more holistic, more practical. It was definitely less clinical.
She looked longingly at Janey's hanging form. Then turned to me.
"Fresh one done. Now Happy one?"
"Wait. Before you let her down..."
I hesitated, thinking hard. This wasn't planned, but Janey was still in a euphoric state. I needed to know what had done it.
" ... why is she so aroused? What did you do to make her like that?"
Amud grinned at me and answered for his wife.
"We soak gag in special sauce. Make new bride sing easy. Bride want sing more. Fresh one not need much. Almost ready to sing now."
My look of alarm at the news of their drugging Janey without my knowledge or permission must have frightened him. He hurried on. "Sauce used in my country for centuries. Here, too, by many people. Is all natural, medicine, not bad drug like brown shit my people grow in poppy fields. It not last long, not make you want more. I make myself, in kitchen."
He lowered his voice. "Use on my own precious beloved for special, uh, things. On self, too, for learning.
"So sorry, not know you not use sauce. Please forgive. Only use to help sing."
Oh, well, spilt milk, and it didn't appear to be addictive. Something that effective would never get past FDA anyway...
I gestured at Janey with the whip I had picked up earlier.
"Could you make her sing now?"
"EEEEEEE!"
I dropped the whip. The screaming woman came over and picked it up. She handed it back, fire in her eyes.
"Cruel master use cannon to smash fly. This big stick for Happy One. Make her sing for Gods all night, maybe two if master know good tricks. Fresh One not ready yet for big stick. Later. Year, maybe more, maybe less. Then use big stick." She paused, thinking. "Please wait..."
She turned to Amud and spoke more sharply to him than I had heard her address him until now. His eyes grew wide, but he kept silent. Only once did he begin to object, but his wife gently, but firmly, overrode his objection. She turned and left the room.
"Mr. Sampson, sir," he said. "My wife wishes me to explain of a special tradition in my country. It is only used on certain occasions. And only in, uh, intimate times. It brings women very close. Normally only done by family." He paused, swallowing a large chunk of pride. "My wife never address me such in front of no one. Not family. Not strangers. Strong feelings for Fresh one, Happy one, too. She say she can help her hurt in head go away, in heart, too.
"My wife act like new woman today. I wanted her change long time for new home. But now not know if I like. Feel strange."
His eyes were still wide, as he watched his wife re-enter the room. She held a long strip of thin leather in her hand. As he saw what it was, he choked on a dying protest. Her defiant glare stopped it before he could say it.
"She will make the Fresh one sing in the tradition of the Princess. A Princess only touched by finest material. The strip of leather she have in hand called a 'Princess Thong.'
"This thong has a special place in our culture. When daughter betrothed, she take long leather strips and soak in brine many months. She then place one in her private place to soak for one month before ceremony. It painful for women..."
He blushed in embarrassment.
" ... but effective way to stop making of the baby." He grinned involuntarily, as he added, "Bride also stay tight as first time, even after many babies."
His wife was making knots in the long strip along its entire length, about an inch apart. She pulled them tight with her teeth. Amud continued.
"Thong takes 6 months to prepare in private place. It must stay moist with dew and warm, so bride keep in her at all times except when husband wishes to use her parts.
"When thong is completely supple like linen but very strong, bride present it to husband. For such a gift of herself to him, her husband must give gift of her choosing. Of course, gift settled when betrothed. Normal gift chosen is she-goat."
His wife was about half way through knotting the thong. He looked at her lovingly.
"My wife chose gift of baby, which I would give her without thong." He explained, "You must understand, Mr. Sampson, I, we wish to have big family, but do not wish to be forced to return home as paupers. Many babies are expensive. My wife fertile for many more years. Her choice of gift was her way of letting me decide when we start family."
I looked puzzled. I had followed most of this strange custom, but this logic escaped me.
"A bride must present thong before special gift chosen can be given. Ever. No thong. No gift. No baby for my wife. My wife has started 6 thongs. Each time one near finish, I, uh, take and hide it. She starts again. Brine hurts bride, but less than poverty.
"As long as I alert and can capture the thong, I control when we make babies. It is game, as is all life. She is very good player, very tricky, very smart. I see now she much better than I at this game."
This was a momentous admission and a compliment about a woman to a stranger on top of that.
He explained. "Thongs have value. Much value. Because of pain, many brides do not wish to make for selves. So they buy from other women. The closer to completion, the more value. That thong she has is best of all thongs I have stolen. Is only two, maybe three days from finish. I almost lose.
"It was thong I had hidden best. If she knows this one, she knows all."
He looked at me in shame and bewilderment.
"She ordered me - ordered! - to tell you what she doing. She never talked to me like that before. And how am I to control this woman, when she let me win? If she wins from low position, what will become of us here in America as more equal? How will I win then, if she is so smart now?" he said.
I sympathized with this befuddled young husband. He had just learned he was only along for the ride in his relationship. And that he was the horse, not the rider. Fortunately, his rider was a loving intelligent woman who loved him very much. I moved over and clapped my arm around his shoulder, sort of fatherly, sort of like a comrade in arms. He flinched, but did not pull away from the familiarity of my touch.
"Welcome to the club, Amud," I told him. "I learned long ago that men are never in control, when it comes to women. They only let us think we are, sometimes. Be thankful for her love for you. Be sure to respect her and love her. It's the only way to survive with them."
He grinned ruefully and nodded his agreement.
His wife was almost ready to begin.