The sunlight was brilliant, with not a cloud in the blue sky, and there was nothing but the fresh mountain air and the scent of pine. No pollution or the people who cause it.

We were secluded here, the girls and I, miles from civilization. Not a paved road this side of Cider Creek, and only the narrow graveled track leading back down the mountain. Even better--and more important--there was not another cabin within five miles.

I went back inside to my girls.

Camilla and Michelle were both naked, face down on the floor. A large swatch of duct tape ran ear to ear, and both had their arms folded behind them, secured elbow to wrist with white nylon cord. Their legs were bound also, crisscrossed at the ankles. Where their breasts pushed against the rug and flattened out, the wrapped nylon cords were visible. A deep, painful red had set in. Laying head toward the stone fireplace on a large hook rug, both were wide-eyed and frightened. Their heads twisted back to watch.

"You two are in a predicament," I said.

They both squirmed and made throat sounds. I moved in behind them and both twisted to keep me in sight. "I can pretty much do whatever I want," I said. "Right?"

The girls eyed one other uncertainly. Camilla, twenty-eight, tall, dark haired with huge brown eyes, has high firm breasts (higher and firmer when bound) and a nice round bottom. Her classic good looks-- definitely Spanish in origin--make her a perfect lingerie model. She finds this activity crude indeed. Also embarrassing, admitting she likes it.

Michelle is nineteen years old, and very blonde. Smaller than Camilla, and less well endowed, she is has a wonderfully fine ass, and a wonderful sense of humor, which coupled with her rather crude mouth sometimes makes Michelle speak first and pay the consequences later. She gets into trouble a lot. For the afternoon at least, it's better that Michelle is gagged.

I knelt behind Camilla and patted her rear end. She jumped, then began to tremble. The first time in my cabin, the first time bound and gagged, Camilla is quite unnerved. They both are. Neither have gone this far in our activities and now both have reservations.

Wondering if this were an altogether smart idea, I caressed Camilla's buttocks, then slipped my hand between her legs. She jumped again and moaned lightly. She was scared enough to be dry. I lightly pinched her cheek and Camilla jumped again. I stood up.

Choosing one of two heavy leather paddles on the fireplace sill--everything was laid out in plain sight--I touched Camilla's rear end with the tip. She was not ready for this. Wide-eyed as a startled doe, she watched as I lifted the paddle, then flinched when I gave her a tentative whack on the cheek. She whimpered and rocked back and forth. I spanked her lightly again.

"Frightened, Camilla?"

She nodded energetically. "Mmm-nnnuuuumm-mum-um-um!"

I paddled her again, slightly harder.

"Know what this will do?" I asked, holding the paddle aloft. Half-inch diameter holes placed half an inch apart ran the length of it. She energetically shook her head. "Like Swiss cheese," I said, pipping her on the butt.

"Mmmmmmum!" she objected.

Reaching back, I brought the paddle down moderately hard, zinging her rear end.

"Mmmmmmmmmmmm!" she wailed.

I laughed, kissed her delicate ear, then on the temple, then the side of her neck. She shivered violently. "You are so not ready for this," I said, brushing back her hair and stroking her left cheek. "Tell you what, Cam. Get that pretty little tail of yours up, keep it in the air, and I'll keep the hits no harder than what I just did. Well, a little harder, maybe. Let it back down though..." I shrugged. "You understand."

For the first time in memory, Camilla's eyes mirrored humiliation. And fear.

"I could put pillows under you," I suggested. "And spank you twice as hard."

Camilla shook her head. Slowly, unsure exactly how to do it trussed up, she forced her hips off the floor. Grunting with exertion--and with embarrassment I'm sure--her face grew increasingly red. Her breathing became labored. She looked at one camera, then another, closed her eyes and began to groan.

My penis was rock hard.

"You wait here," I said.

Getting up, I went to check the cameras. Three of them in all, each was a studio quality Sony Digicam, and very expensive. Each tape ran six hours. I adjusted the focus on the one directly behind the girls. The display showed two beautiful rear ends. The two other cameras, offset by ninety degrees either side, captured the girls in profile. They were perfectly set.

Hitching up my pants and inserting each thumb through a belt loop, I forced out a beer belly. "What we have here," I said, in my best Elisha Parks imitation, "is a failure to communicate." Laughing, I then picked up the leather strop and joined Cammy. I patted her rear end, then slapped it lightly with the strop. Other than her soft buttocks, she did not move. I spanked her again. Then a third time. Then I planted one on her that shot open her eyes and banged her chin down on the floor.

"Emmmmmmmmmmm!" she howled.

I spanked her again and again and again. Then, rising into a crouch and placing my left hand in the small of her back, I lit up Camilla's rear end like a traffic signal. She howled, bucked and shuddered, went down and her hips banged the floor. Then she bounced up and down. Terribly she howled. I laughed and I spanked her even harder, and then I realized I was hitting with all my might and loosing control and I got up and I backed away panting. I panted badly.

Jesus Christ, George! Lighten up!

I did not want to tighten up! I wanted to rape them and beat them and rape them again. I wanted Cammy's bottom the color of passion; I wanted her to beg. God, I wanted her to beg.

I put the strop down on a chair and went to the window and looked out. The sunshine and clear blue sky no longer held inspiration. I wondered what the hell I'd done. Camay's bottom was passion purple all right, welts from the hard-edged strop raised on her skin in neat parallel rows. Red, white and blue, like a flag. She bawled in anguished denial, too shocked for humiliation. That would come later.

Jesus, I thought. Did you really do that? Then I realize I could do anything I wanted. They were here clear and of their own free will; eager--willing, anyway--participants. I didn't force them into nudity or onto the floor. I didn't coerce them into bondage. (The rather extreme wrists-to-elbow trussing now, that was my idea. But they didn't fight. And the breast torture? Camay's idea.) The whole and the honest truth was that anything I chose to do to them, anything I liked, what could they do?

They can do nothing, you moron! That's the point!

Like someone stabbed with a needle, I jerked and looked around. The voice was much too loud to have originated in my head.

Then it said, this is Camilla and Michelle you're dealing with here, fella. Your Camilla and Michelle. Look down."

I looked down. And I knew why so many women are raped in wartime.

Kneeling beside Cammy--she skittered frightenedly away--I said, "Whoa, whoa! Easy." I touched the small of her back. "You okay?"

Her eyes were silver dollars and she sobbed uncontrollably. Tears covered her entire face; mucus flowed from her nose. I went into the kitchen and returned with a hand towel and gently wiped her face. I looked at her rear end. Where the strop had came down it raised dime-sized polyps all over her cheeks. All were bright red, white-edged and swollen. I had never caused damage like that. "Cammy," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

Reaching over her to the fireplace, I retrieved the dispenser of Aloe Vera skin cream. Carefully, I squeezed it onto her skin, laying the green liquid down in figure eights loops. I carefully rubbed it in. Her skin was red hot. "Jesus, Cam," I said, laughing in bewilderment. "I am so sorry."

"Mmnim-num-im."

"I know, I know."

For the first time I looked over at Michelle. Huge eyed and trembling, she had rolled onto her right side. Her normally small breasts, tipped with delicate pick aureole and tiny nipples, were deeply crimson. The aureole, swollen with static pressure, looked ready to explode. I looked away.

"This better?" I asked.

Camilla nodded. Her weeping had calmed, and so had her shaking. I applied more lotion. "I'll make it up to you," I promised. Slowly, letting her know my intentions, I delved my finger between her buttocks, located her anus. With gentle pressure I moved my finger inside. Camilla moaned.

"Better?"

Camilla raised her eyes and told me, though not yet forgiven, I was abrogating the harm.

Camilla loves anal sex.

"Raise up," I suggested. As she had done before, Camilla lifted her rear end into the air. She looked at the camera again, and then back at me.

I shook my head. "The cameras stay on." I grinned. "I have the feeling you'll thank me later on, Camilla." Camilla's face turned the color of her tail.

I gathered pillows from both ends of the couch and placed them beneath her shoulders and chin. I knew Camilla would need them.

Michelle had worked herself into a sitting position, prepared to watch. I lay her back down. "Think you get away clean?" I scolded. "It's not that easy." I gave her a choice. "Bare handed? Or with a paddle?"

She objected, eyes all hangdog appeal. "Mleezze?" (Please?)

"I won't hurt you. I promise. Not too bad at least."

"Yeah, right," her eyes said. She shook her head no.

Ignoring her appeal, I placed the choice of instruments beneath her nose: A thick wooden hairbrush, a leather strop, a wooden paddle, and a large wooden spoon. All were big enough for the job. I left the cane on the fireplace.

After beseeching me one last time, Michelle touched the paddle with her nose. I replaced the other items and patted her tenderly on the butt. Cammy, her high color now somewhat muted, watched with a copartner's concern. And something else. "Want me to stop?" I asked her.

Avoiding Michelle's eyes, she indicated no. Michelle softly mewed. I patted her butt again. "Cammy could do it," I offered, raising my eyebrows. The girls met eyes. An ardor no man could ever kindle passed between them and I sighed. I have watched them make love, I have loved them both. I know.

"No," I said. "This is my game, not yours. You two have enough fun already."

Bringing me home late one night, Camilla let me watch as the unsuspecting Michelle--a runaway, barely eighteen--found herself cornered in the kitchen, hands dripping wet, a plate destined for the dishwasher suddenly waylaid. Camilla's right hand came up and took possession of her left breast, and even though completely clothed--right down to her new Reebok tennis shoes--I have never seen a girl more naked. I looked at her now.

"Now or later?" I asked Camilla. I held the paddle aloft.

"Aiher." (Later).

I placed the paddle between Michelle's thighs. "Keep this warm, okay?"

She fixed me with her most disdainful, teenage look.

I patted her arm. "Don't worry. It'll be worth the wait."

"Aah-oh." (Asshole).

Turning to Cammy, I tentatively touched her butt--she flinched and made a startled gasp--then spread her buttocks apart. Like her genitals, Camay's anus was bare. The thick dark hair, so abundant on her lovely head, was nowhere in evidence here. She had hot waxed it off.

"How you stand that," I said, blowing softly over her clenched sphincter, "is beyond me."

Camilla moaned.

I looked over at Michelle. She too was hairless, a soft wedge of fluff above her clitoris, perfectly trimmed, her only proof of age. Like that of a preteen, her perfectly sculpted genitalia remained nestled in secrecy, closed to prying eyes.

Leaning forward, I blew softly across Camilla's anus and it puckered. She moaned. I heard Michelle stir. She was again on her side, watching. Mindful of her pelted skin, I placed my fingertips within the cleft of Camilla's buttocks, drew them fully apart and Camilla groaned loudly. I felt so ashamed. "I'll make it up to you," I whispered.

Very slowly, and with gentle purpose, I licked her. Camilla squirmed, tried to get away at first, then moved closer. I licked her fully, then I kissed her. "You like this, don't you?" I said.

She emitted a groan.

Purple-brown from her deep coloring, her anus flexed outward in a strong reflex, cupping itself, and I licked it again, kissed the crown. I attacked her with my tongue.

"Nunggungg-ung-ung," Camilla moaned, then: "Nuh-uh- uh!" Shuddered deeply, her pelvis bucked and her anus crowned again and I pushed inside. She moaned deeply and muscles in her abdomen clenched and released, making her roll up and down. Pushing deeper inside, I tasted her musky wetness, curled my tongue into a phallic tube. I fucked her.

"Nuh!" Then: "Oh-uh-UH!"

I pulled out and kissed her and licked her, then reentered her again.

"Neordddd! Unh-nuh! NUNH!"

Her rear end was now circling in a wild ellipse and I could no longer stay inside. I sat back on my calves and unzipped my jeans, removed myself from their clutch.

God, I ached!

Beside me, Michelle moaned and rolled onto her back, then sat up to watch. The paddles long, ridged handle protruded from her clenched thighs like an ersatz penis. I watched her tremble, then I was all eyes for Camilla. Taking myself in hand, I placed the head of my penis against her pulsating hole and I leaned forward and entered.

"Ung-Gog!"

Camilla shuddered. She buried her face in the pillow. A deep moan escaped her throat. When she clenched uncontrollably on my erection, taking its breadth, she moaned even louder.

A white man, I don't have the huge appendage that some woman crave. Only seven and a half inches long, I am not solid muscle nor do I make women suffer and scream. Camilla, however, whether by design or by choice, reacts as though John Holmes were inside. I am empowered, emboldened, desperate to fulfill her need--if only for my own--because Camilla, my dearest possession, has no need for me. I neither advance her ambitions, nor do I, in the overall sense of the word, prevail. Except for our shared immorality (some would call it perversion), and Michelle, we share nothing at all.

But I love her.

And God knows why, she loves me.

Struggling into a squat, I removed my shirt and unbuckled my jeans. I shoved them down. Normally, Camilla is an active partner, hands pulling herself wide, otherwise stroking my cock or stroking herself. Today, no fingers will enter her vagina but my own, nor ignite her clitoris. She has only one purpose this day, and that is to make me work.

Kicking off my shoes, I worked the jeans off, then my underwear, so that both of us are nude. I know she feels pain; even though I strive to avoid her tail, avoiding it is impossible.

"Sorry," I panted. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

Holding her waist, I angled myself down, working in. Camilla bucked, then groaned, then moaned my name. Her anus stretched tightly about my cock: a thin, purple line.

Before starting for real, I bent down and retrieved the tube of KY jelly, our personal lubricant. Camilla moaned with impatience. She always is impatient. But I was half way in and getting locked already, and any more movement would only hurt her.

I had hurt Camilla enough.

"It's coming," I assured her. "Just wait."

She groaned. "Ei-ont-awnuh-ait!" (I don't wanna wait!)

"You'll get it soon enough."

She complained more. "Urrry!" Hurry!

Squeezing jelly onto my shaft where it entered her rear end, I moved it in and out. She groaned loudly.

"Told, you. Didn't I?"

"Urrry!"

This was all she got. Camilla hated goo.

Holding her waist, I pulled out to the very tip, then pushed myself in. I went all the way down. Camilla grunted, then wagged her tail. I pushed really hard. Camilla wagged her buttocks again.

"Nyeshhh! Nyeshhh!" (Yes! Yes!)

I seated myself hard, drawing a gasp (not from her butt cheeks, but from the depth) then worked for every millimeter of fit. Going in and out, tip to end, I tried unsuccessfully to restrain. I always try, and I always fail. Always Camilla forgives me.

Soon her anus was a hot collar of pain, heated by friction, and the more she got worked, the more Camilla wanted. I worked her hard. I worked her very hard. Then I felt a tingle of vibration, a tightening of groin, and Cammy was riding an orgasmic wave. She rocked up and down, rolling her pelvis, twisting back and forth against my cock. Her wail became continuous. I released her waist and found her vagina, put three fingers in from each hand. Then settled for one. The only one that mattered. Cammy began to come.

"NUH!" she shouted. Then "NU-UH!" Then she gave one huge buck and we both exploded.

I stopped all movement and so did she.

"Nuh-uhhhhh-uhhhhh-uhhhhhh!" she wailed.

The first plume of semen seared her rectum and Camilla wailed again. I remained an iron spike, a tortured statue, knowing she would never forgive me if I moved. My third ejaculation came, and then my fourth, and the hot sperm built around my cock and melted into her rectum, igniting her orgasm to a stupendous high. And still we did not move.

"Neordddd! (George!) Unh-unh! Nunh! Neordddd!"

Then it was time and I fucked her as hard as I could, up and down, slamming her with each burst. A second orgasm came, and then a third, and then a fourth, and when finally the orgasms gave out, and the liquid subsided, I had come in Cammy two dozen times. More. Many more. And I couldn't stand up. I took her down with me.

I had, literally, filled her rectum with sperm.

"Neordddd?" (George?)

"Yes, Cammy?"

"Mnioo-ed-ub."

I laughed. "What?"

"Mnioo-ed-ub."

"I need to get up?"

Camilla nodded.

"Bathroom, dear?"

She nodded again. I stayed where I was.

"Neordddd!"

I laughed again.

She cramped in response.

"There's nowhere for it to go," I reminded her. "I'm blocking the path." She grunted, and so did her bowels.

I kissed the back of her neck, her shoulders, the tips of her ears.

"Neordddd. Mleezze?"

"Forgive me for what I did?"

"Nyeth. Ow-ed-e-uh." (Yes. Now get me up.)

I removed myself from her warmth and wetness--my wetness--and helped her to her feet. Surprisingly, I was still erect. "I'll help you," I said, because she couldn't walk. She grunted disagreeably, but didn't say no. We gave Michelle wide birth. Sometimes, not often, Camilla fails to make it to the bathroom.

"You okay?" I asked, looking down at our girl. She looked almost unnerved.

"We'll be right back."

I guided the bandy-legged Camilla back to the bathroom--with her tied ankles, she moved on tiptoe, in comically short steps--raised the seat lid, and set her down.

"Nu-ankd-oo-oo," she said. (No thanks to you.)

I waited.

"Neordddd."

I broke out laughing. "I've seen it before," I reminded her.

"Nyeth. Mud-od-id-ish." (Yes. But not like this.)

"I know. That's why I'm staying."

She squirmed, face registering discomfort. "Neordddd. Mleezze."

I shook my head. "Go ahead."

Cocking her head, she looked up at me with bewildered amusement. Then her anus squeaked and then it burped. Then something plopped into the water and a whole cacophony of sound erupted in her gut and her face crunched, then her stomach, and suddenly the room was filled with a ripping, hissing sound as just about the entire contents of her bowels expelled.

"Ung-Gog!" she wailed. Ejected liquid which had splashed onto her cheeks dripped back to the water again and a huge shudder went through her and the exploding worsened for one horrible moment and something solid and very large hit the water.

I almost gagged.

"Ung-Gog! Ung-Gog! Ed-ouwd-od-eer!" (Get out of here!)

I left, though not without erupting into giggles. I was still laughing when I sat down next to Michelle and I continued to laugh, tears streaming down my cheeks. Michelle looked both thoroughly disgusted and incensed. She kicked me with her knees.

"Hey!" I scolded, laughing still. "Cut it out." Two minor eruptions came from the bathroom.

Anything but compliant, my dear Michelle lay over on her back and started kicking me for real.

"Hey! Stop that! Hey!"

My laughter came in peels and though she fought hard to control it, laughter erupted from Michelle as well. I got her feet--finally--and climbed up to her chest. I sat down. "Smart ass!" I said.

"Aah-oh."

"Call me an asshole!" I tickled her. I tickled Michelle until her eyes went wild and she wiggled all over the rug like a crab. But I was hurting her shoulders.

"Here," I said, sitting her up. Her breasts were a gorgeous orchid, her nipples like spears. High color flamed in her face. Sitting Buddha on the carpet presented me with Michelle's secret place, and the almost closed lips and the glint of her hidden pearl. I backed away. I tried to relax. I didn't mess with Michelle.

Evidently, most of the eruption had stopped and from the bathroom came only an occasional moan, then Camilla called out. Glad for the rescue, I got up.

"Be right back, okay?"

Michelle nodded. Her blue eyes didn't know whether to be relieved, or hurt.

Heading toward the bathroom, I was reminded of Michelle's look of that night at the apartment. Standing in the kitchen doorway, my eyes wide as saucers, I wondered who was more shocked my Camilla's hand. Michelle, I imagined, but myself very close. I had not been invited to Camilla's place since Michelle moved in and now I understood why. Or thought I did. I was nearly as incensed as I was turned on.

At the time, we had been lovers barely two months. My divorce was pending, and Camilla had just endured a nasty breakup of her own. After assaulting her on their final day in court--on the court steps--her ex husband got tossed in jail. I have met him since and he's pure charm.

Camilla and I rescued Michelle from certain rape outside a club downtown, nearly getting ourselves killed. Two black guys had joined one white guy in badgering the poor girl for sex. They had her backed against the fender of an old, dirty station wagon in the back lot of the club, and Michelle, obviously strung out, distraught and unequal to the task, had to fend them off. I saw from the moment we rounded the corner of the building what was going on, and hurried Camilla to the car. This was the kind of scene that could escalate quickly and, I didn't want Cammy involved.

It was a cold night, and Michelle had on a bulky white sweater beneath a denim jacket. She wore blue jeans ripped out at the knees, and heavy work boots. Her hair was short and strikingly disheveled. Someone--probably herself--had terrorized it with scissors. From her appearance, she had been on the streets for a time.

We skirted them, staying to the outside of the perimeter cars. Camilla, cognizant of the girl's danger, recognized her own. We made it to the car safely.

"George--"

Cammy was turned in her seat. I had the key in the ignition, ready to start the engine. I didn't want to look back. "What?"

"They're gone."

Cursing under my breath, I twisted around. Sure enough, the four had disappeared. "Son of a bitch," I muttered. "She's in the car."

Camilla looked at me, eyes wide. "I don't like this, George. She's just a kid. She didn't even look sixteen."

I wanted desperately to twist the key and get out of there. The white guy alone would scare a grizzly bear on steroids. "The girl is--she's not in any danger." I twisted again to look back. "She's a tramp, Cam. Young, but still a tramp. Probably just another nights action for her."

"George!"

I grit my teeth. "You saw those three guys, Cam. I go over there..."

"Then I'll go," she said, opening her door.

I grabbed her arm. "No, goddammit." I got out of the car. I gave her my cell phone. "Call 911," I said. "Pray I don't get killed."

Camilla turned on the phone, and with a very apprehensive expression began to dial. Damn the little tramp!

I jammed my hands in my pockets, bunched into fists, and crossed to the car. I have never been so scared. Moving close the windows, I saw the four of them in the back deck, the girl swamped by the three toughs. Her arms worked against their hands and her sweater was up and one of them had pushed her brassiere around Michelle's neck. Her breasts were barely existent on a chest that exhibited every rib in sharp relief. I couldn't see her waist, but guessed she already had-- or was in the process of--loosing her jeans. Problem was, I couldn't tell if this was against her will, or if she were only fighting the numbers. Then she saw me outside the car and there was no doubt. She made no sound and no physical plea for help--she knew what to expect--but her eyes said death was a better alternative. I backed away, terrified for myself rather than for her, and turned my back. I walked six steps.

I don't understand it, or where the courage came from, but suddenly I stopped and I looked around. The girl's head was turned away, a terrible grimace twisting her features; her lips formed silent "no's." I stood there a moment, willing myself to leave, then found I was walking back to the rocking station wagon and lashing out at its side with my foot. The three men jerked up. Most surprised by far, and the only one not instantly enraged, was the young girl.

"Get the fuck out of the car!" I called.

The men granted my request.

Using black idiom and his invincible black man threat, the bigger of the two blacks said: "You must be a fucking fool, fool. Only a fool would mess with three men minding their own business." He didn't bring it out, but there was a knife in his right pocket.

The white guy--possibly the scariest guy I have ever seen--said nothing as he moved right up to my face. Then, in a very mild and reasonable voice, he said: "Fuck off right now, joker, or I'm gonna do to your girlfriend what I'm gonna do to her. Understand?"

I did something then I will never tell anyone. I peed my pants. Then I kneed him in the balls just as hard as I could, and enraged by fear, kicked him three more times before he hit the ground. Stunned, the other two did nothing. I went after the one on my right and hit him hard in the chest with my shoulder.

He bounced off the car and right into me and two seconds later the second black dragged me to the ground, and they both started hitting and kicking. I didn't stand a chance. Then Camilla was running up screaming at the top of her lungs, and one of them had to fend her off and I wrapped myself around the other guy's leg and I bit him right through the pants. He screamed out in pain. That's when the knife came out. Were it not for my heavy winter coat, I would have been cut badly, maybe even killed. But his first slash caught in the epaulet on my right shoulder, and losing his balance, I took him down. I fought like a madman. I kept the guy in the dirt and kept him rolling, but he hit me twice for every blow I landed on him. My rage blocked the pain but I was losing strength fast. Then the knife was right by my face and I grabbed it off the ground and thrust it into his side. The blade skipped off, gouging his ribs rather than puncturing them, or I would have killed him for sure. I tried stabbing him again and lost the knife myself and he hit me once in the side of the head and everything went dark.

KABOOM! went a pistol and everyone froze.

Michelle, clothes apart and her genitals still bared, stood against the open car door. She pointed the gun directly at my head. Black and clutched in both her hands; it didn't move an inch. I'm going to die, I thought, thinking she'd mistaken my for her attacker. Then the gun pointed away. "I'll shoot," she panted. "I'll shoot anyone that moves."

For a moment, no one did move. Then slowly, the man on top of me rolled off, and clutching his side, staggered erect. "Fuck," he said, looking at his hand. "You cut me."

"Fuck you," I said. "It was your knife."

He kicked me and Michelle almost shot him. She would have too, if Camilla hadn't shouted out.

"Wait! I called the police!" She struggled off the ground, where the first black man had dragged her down. Her coat was mostly off, and her blue dress torn. For some reason, that enraged me more. I got to my knees and went to where the black guy sat and punched him in the face.

"George! George, stop it!"

Cammy dragged me away.

The bear of a white man, finally able to sit up, didn't seem to comprehend. "What happened?" he grunted.

Finding I could not stand, two of the onlookers sat me on the bumper of a pick-up. Camilla stood beside me for a moment, then went to the young girl's side. She talked to her quietly. Michelle would not give up the gun. Finally, after an off-duty policeman showed up and got the three men laying flat on the ground, Michelle surrendered the nine-millimeter. He was very careful with the girl, regarding her as more of a threat than the three men. Handing the pistol over, she sat back down in the car and started to cry. Cammy stayed with her. Bruised, bleeding, ready to faint, I could only sit there and hate the girl.

In the four weeks since, Michelle had lived with Camilla. Though still harried looking and vulnerable, she was a far cry from the terrified girl outside the club. No more borderline starvation, no disheveled hair, and her hollow-eyed anxiety had gone. Tonight she wore a white velour turtleneck sweater over blue jeans, a simple choker necklace, and other than one stud earring in each ear, none of her previous, plentiful accouterment. She looked very much like a teenage girl.

Taking the plate from Michelle's hand and setting it in the dishwasher, Camilla moved the startled teenager into the corner formed by the intersecting counters. Very effortlessly, very confidently, Camilla kissed her. I thought Michelle would faint.

"Say hello to your new boss," she said, after a moment.

Michelle swallowed and removed a hair from her mouth. Her hand shook. Her whole body shook. "Hello, Mr. Reed."

I tried not to croak. "Hello, Michelle."

Camilla said, "You start Monday, dear. In the accounting office. George found you a position." She laughed. "Filing, but at least it's a start. And you'll be with me." Camilla turned. "Tell her the shit little money she's making, George."

Michelle flinched. "That's not important," she said.

"It is to me. Tell her, George."

I could have her smacked Cammy. "Seven dollars an hour."

Michelle seemed nonplused. "What's wrong with that?"

Camilla laughed. "McDonald's pays more for flipping hamburgers."

Michelle shrugged. "More than I'm making now." She looked at me. "I really mean it, Mr. Reed. Thank you."

"George," I said. "I hate mister."

Camilla whacked Michelle's thigh. "He's sir to you, punk."

Only you need call me that, I started to say, then shut up.

Camilla laughed. "She already knows, believe me." She kissed Michelle again. "Don't you dear?"

Michelle never replied because one moment later Camilla's tongue was in her mouth, a hand on her breast, and Michelle had no choice but to fight back or respond. She responded. For the next thirty seconds Camilla demonstrated just how much in charge she was.

"What do you think about that?" she challenged, finally releasing Michelle's mouth. Michelle was red- faced and flustered. Her breast still lay under Camilla's hand.

"I think you need a bedroom," I said. Standing straight had become awkward. They both saw my erection. "And I should go."

"No!" Camilla exclaimed. "We just got here."

"Yeah. And only one of us should have come." I wanted to back out graciously but Camilla raised Michelle's arms, took the bottom of her sweater, and yanked it over her head. Michelle yelped, clutched herself over her white satin brassiere. She looked disbelievingly at the sweater as Cammy tossed it through the air.

I was flabbergasted. "Cam! Jesus Christ."

Michelle's chest and arms exploded in gooseflesh. She said nothing at all, could say nothing. Then Camilla took hold of her wrists, gently lowered them to her sides. Even in a push-up bra, Michelle had little cleavage.

"Show George your love bites," Camilla said. She too was red-faced.

Michelle shook her head. She looked at the floor.

"Cammy," I said. "What are you doing?"

Camilla shook her head. "I'm tired of being torn between Michelle and you. I can't be with her when I'm with you, and with her it's always "what would George say if he knew. "Well now you know." She paused, making sure her words were understood. "I need you," she said. "And I need Michelle too." She looked at both of us very hard. "And I need you both to understand."

With that, she coaxed Michelle into putting her hands behind her back and unclasping her brassiere. It came loose, falling into her hands. Covering both of her breasts, arrayed about the small pink nipples like guardians, were half a dozen bite marks. Bruise- purple, a yellowish tinge about the edges, they looked unhurriedly and lovingly placed. Something inside me moved.

"I need her and I need you," Camilla repeated.

After a moment, I nodded. A moment later, Michelle nodded as well. Her face was painfully red. Camilla looked immeasurably relieved.

Taking Michelle by the hand, Cammy lead her to where I stood. Camilla stood behind her. Hands cupping Michelle's young breasts, she said: "These are mine. Right, child?"

Michelle nodded. Camilla lowered her hands to Michelle's waist, unzipped her jeans. I felt like a peeping Tom.

"Cammy--"

"Shush." Working Michelle's jeans down over her hips, she slid her palms over the front of Michelle's satin panties--they read Victoria's Secret across the waist band--and down to her crotch. "Who bought you these?"

"You did," said Michelle, and for a moment, her lips curled into a smile. Then it was gone. Her face, which had lost its vermilion cast, reddened again.

"And who got your hair cut and took you to the doctor--" here Michelle started and flushed even more, and I knew what kind of doctor that was "--and who bought you all your nice clothes?"

"You did, Cam."

"And who taught you to stop biting your fingernails until they bled and how to eat a decent meal, and how to act like a young women of eighteen?"

Michelle remained silent.

Camilla kissed her on the neck. "Where do you sleep, baby?"

"In your bed."

"Who's bed do you want to sleep in?"

The grin resurfaced and after a moment, the girls seemed to meld, to become the front side and the back side of the same coin. I realized then that Camilla loved Michelle intensely, and the reverse was true. "Yours," she said, very softly. "Only yours."

Camilla lowered Michelle's jeans down around her knees, then her panties. Michelle was clean shaven and baby smooth. "You have nothing to conceal from George, do you?" she asked.

"No, Cammy."

"Look at him."

Michelle looked up. Her blue eyes, almost wet with emotion, were fire and ice. Somehow, she still found room for embarrassment. I wanted to spank Cammy for this torture.

"What exactly is going on here?" I asked.

Camilla kissed Michelle's throat. The fire had spread downward to Michelle's chest, and Camilla, still looking at me, began to suckle her neck. Michelle shivered violently, again. The middle finger of Camilla's right hand disappeared inside Michelle and Michelle gasped.

This was insane.

Camilla took her mouth off Michelle's shoulder and there was a love bite, angry red.

"I belong to you," Camilla said, quietly. It took a moment to sink in. She was talking to me.

"You do?"

"I do. I have for the last four weeks, if you had only looked." She kissed Michelle's neck again.

"You have the wrong idea," I said, feeling out of sorts and angry. "I didn't rescue Michelle, she rescued me." I was still black and blue from the experience, barely able to move. My chest was taped until the previous week. "Don't go mistaking me for a hero," I cautioned. Indeed, until that evening, I still held an angry grudge against the girl. "If you hadn't shamed me into doing it, I never would have left the car." This time I found myself unable to meet Michelle's eyes.

"But you did go," Camilla insisted. "Other men would have refused."

Michelle herself spoke. "And anyone else would have left me when the men got out of the car," she said. "You didn't."

I remembered her eyes and her look of dissolution. I remembered how, at that moment, her very worst, Michelle's eyes told me to walk away, that she expected it, that I had no obligation to risk myself for someone like her. And I knew that my empathy for the girl's pain was greater than fear for my own well being. That's why I kicked the car. That's why I accepted the beating. Men are cowards and leave their women to die. I almost did the same.

For a time no one spoke. Then Michelle whispered in Camilla's ear.

Camilla looked at me. "What happens next is up to you," she said. "You know my feelings. Michelle belongs to me, which means you also own Michelle." Her arms were around Michelle's chest, clutching her protectively. "She's yours if you want."

Michelle nodded. "You can have us both."

I felt run over by a train. If ever a man's fantasies came up and jumped right into his lap, this was it. But Cammy cherished this girl with a need I couldn't imagine; disrupting that bond, pushing myself into the middle, would destroy us as certainly as a bomb.

"The only thing I'm ever going to do to Michelle," I said. "Is spank her." And with that, I sat the startled girl into a chair, grabbed my new possession's arm, and marched her right over to the couch. "But you, young lady, are getting it first." I then proceeded to raise Camay's skirt, pull down her panties, and lambaste her precious young tail.

I lambasted her very well.

Astonished, eye's wide and full of shock, Michelle sat there and watched. Camilla's rear went from olive to bright red, and the way she bellowed and kicked, it was a show indeed. I dropped her unceremoniously on her rear.

"And that," I said, brushing my hands symbolically, "is all I have to say."

Camilla sat looking up, open-mouthed. Her face matched her rear ends color. "I've never been spanked," she said, in wonder. "I've never been spanked before."

"Did you like it?"

Giggling, Michelle burst out: "I liked it!", and we both yelled back, "Shut up!" Then Camilla repeated: "I've never been spanked."

"You said that already."

"But I haven't!"

"You have now."

She rubbed the sides of her hips. "It hurts."

"I know."

"How do you know? I'm the one got spanked!"

I held up my hand. It was red also. "Like to go again?"

Camilla shook her head.

"Did you like it?"

She snorted. "Describe like."

"Did it make you feel submissive, defenseless, and weak?"

"It made me hurt."

"And what are you thinking now?"

She broke out in a grin. "That it's Michelle's turn."

We chased the squealing Michelle all over the apartment.

In the bathroom, I flushed the toilet and brushed back Camilla's hair. "Better?" I asked.

She nodded. The place smelled just horrid. "Nuh- angst-noo-oo." (No thanks to you.)

I began to help her to her feet. Camilla shook her head.

"What?"

She just looked at me.

"Oh," I said, standing back. "I'm not doing that."

Cammy moved her head back and forth. "Oo-aa-oo-im-oo- ond-ee-ed-uh." (You have to if you want me to get up.)

I didn't want her up that much. "How about we do this," I said. I first peeled back the duct tape, then leaned over and untied the cords securing her elbows and wrists. Asleep and useless, her arms fell limply at her sides.

"Ow," she said, flinching. "That hurts."

"It'll hurt more."

I rubbed circulation back into her shoulders and biceps. Grimacing, she moved her arms. "That really hurts."

I continued to rub. "I saw pictures on the Internet where a woman had been bound and raped." I didn't say how badly she was beaten. "They had her arms like this." I mimicked the crisscross, wrist bound to elbow. "Only the rapist used cable ties."

Camilla shuddered. "Thank you for not telling me."

"It was a turn-on with you."

Camilla crooked her mouth. "Guess that's all that's important, huh?"

"Guess so."

I untied her breast-ropes. I massaged her gently. Large, oval shaped, and violet-brown, the aureole covered a third of Camilla's breasts. Usually an unattractive sight on a woman, on Cammy it was spectacular. She also has the largest nipples I have ever seen (or touched, suckled, or pinched). I brought each to attention with my lips.

"That," she said. "Is the first nice thing you've done to me all day." She began stroking my cock.

"I haven't washed," I cautioned.

She grinned. "It wouldn't be the first time."

From the main room, I felt Michelle watching. "What about squirt?" I said.

Camilla looked around me. "She can wait."

"I know," I said. "So can I."

After quickly untying her ankles, I left Camilla to sort herself out. I went to release our young charge. "How'll be here in a moment," I said, undoing Michelle's feet.

"Oo-aer-ed-e-och," she complained. (You never let me watch.)

"You watched earlier," I reminded her.

"Ah-och-er-ed-aidt." (I watched her get raped.)

I stopped untying. "Is that what you think?"

She looked at me with her wonderfully blue eyes--they glinted mischievously--and slowly shook her head. "Oh. Ah-oh-edder." (No. I know better.)

"You better," I said, angry despite the tease. "I'd never hurt either one of you."

She held me with her eyes.

"Well, not more than I did today." Then I remembered Michelle had escaped it all. "Hey! Wait a minute!"

She began to laugh and push at me with her feet, but before I could get her back in my hands, Camilla arrived.

"Shit," I said, watching Michelle backpedal across the rug. She laughed delightedly under the tape. "I forgot."

"I know," Camilla said. "You gave it all to me." Her butt was a crimson battlefield. She put her arm around my waist. We watched Michelle watch us.

"So what now?"

Camilla smiled. "I'm in need of my little rat." She crooked her finger. "Come here, little rat."

Her blue eyes radiant, Michelle shook her head.

Camilla pointed to the floor before her.

Michelle shook her head again.

Camilla folded her arms.

Scooting on her butt, Michelle very slowly returned. Camilla encouraged her with a smile. "You are such a brat, young lady."

No, I'm not, Michelle said, shaking her head.

"Yes, you are."

I am not.

"Are you challenging me, little one?"

Michelle shook her head but her eyes said otherwise. Again I felt that charge of emotion flow back and forth.

"Nineteen is not too old to be spanked, you know."

Michelle nodded her head. Yes, it is.

"No, it's not."

Yes, it is.

In a very patient voice, Camilla said: "George isn't the only one with a spanking hand."

Michelle giggled and sassed Cammy with a delighted "Unh-unh," and Camilla set upon her with a vengeance. In just a moment, she had the spirited Michelle dragged over to a chair, then wrestled atop her knee and, although the young girl fought valiantly for her freedom (had Cammy ever enjoyed a spanking this much?), her rear end quickly shined a blazing red. I sat down to watch.

To proceed further violates the sanctity of Camilla's and Michelle's relationship. I won't do that. I even refused to watch. Soon after Michelle began to squeal and kick, I knew it was useless and urged the two girls into the bedroom. I made dinner for us all. I tried not to listen.

Camilla and I have our relationship and that relationship is fine. It is four years old. We'll never marry; I know that. We'll never even live together.

Camilla and Michelle are as close to the perfect union as ever I have witnessed. Michelle lives for her, and as a surrogate mother/lover, Camilla provides for Michelle the way no parent could. Two years ago she enrolled Michelle at Maryland University and is paying the tuition completely out of pocket. She won't let me assist. Working three days a week at the agency, Michelle has shown a facility for set design that pleases her no end. I think it's the first thing she's ever been good at in her life, or found interest in. Other than as Camilla's lover.

One evening last fall, at Michelle's request, I joined them in bed. The three of us made passionate love. Rather, Michelle and I made passionate love to Camilla. It was Camilla's birthday and Michelle's present to her. It was also Michelle's first encounter with my right hand without being spanked.

I kissed Michelle and touched every part of her body, including her genitals, but it was incidental contact, brought on by our mutual third partner. I gave Camilla those things Michelle could not, and Michelle provided the rest. I was not the third wheel I had feared.

The following night, Michelle confessed something to Camilla that made Camilla cry. Both of us making love to her had finally allayed Michelle's great fear. When the moment of communal orgasm came, and we clutched Camilla between us, Michelle and I had locked eyes. For a moment the energy flowed between us the way it flowed between the two girls, and we both understood that sharing Camilla meant Camilla would never be stolen away--from either of us. And though my sperm erupted into Camilla's vagina that night, it filled Michelle was well.

Camilla asked tonight if I would consider impregnating Michelle. They both want a child. Camilla is sterile. I said I didn't know.

But I do.

The End