Chapter Two

Matthew and I had frequent conversations about Beth, about what we wanted to do with her, how we each felt about her, and how it was affecting how we felt about each other. I thought the presence of Beth was beneficial for us; certainly the frequency and intensity of our love-making was enhanced. And it was a lot of fun to find out just what we could do with a pretty girl who was willing to let herself be put through her paces. She really did have the mentality of a pet, always eager to please, always demanding attention, ridiculously happy with a pat on the head or on the bottom.

Matthew was still reeling her in very slowly, all the time testing her patience (which was never very great), and making her wait. It was a couple more weeks before she got the fucking she so sorely craved. Before that time there were a few more lessons in deferred gratification and exercises in discipline. Once she was rather insolent to Matthew and, his face dark, I saw him take from the bottom drawer in the bedroom a riding crop, an implement I knew was there but which had never been used on me. He ordered Beth to kneel naked on the bed, and not to move on any account. He said he would teach her respect.

He laid the crop on with such calm, deliberate precision that it was a marvel to watch. Even though he was angry with her, he did not let his rage disturb his control. The crop made a series of parallel weals across her rump, little raised ridges, a livid red. She cried out, but he was merciless. Once or twice, it hurt her so much she hopped from one knee to the other, I think quite involuntarily. Matthew waited patiently for her to be still again.

I am quite a squeamish person when it comes to observing the pain of another, and now and again I looked away. But I forced myself to remain in the room. I needed to take responsibility for this punishment as much as Matthew did. She was our pet; she belonged to both of us and we both needed to be present during her training. When it was over he sat with her head cradled in his lap while she wept; tears of contrition, I think.

Matthew began to buy things for her: a set of leather wrist and ankle cuffs, to bind her; a heavy leather collar, made for a mastiff, decorated with steel studs, together with a leash; some nipple clamps, and a ball-gag. She hated the gag, not so much for its physical effects but because it made her drool and she thought this was undignified. Matthew laughingly told her that this was the whole point.

One day, after I had consulted with Matthew, I took her shopping. He had told me that he wasn’t greatly enamoured of her underwear. Matthew himself is rather a connoisseur of ladies’ things, and was not pleased to find that Beth often wore scruffy old cotton knickers that should have been discarded ages ago, and even, horror of horrors, knickers which did not match her bra. I took her to Calvin Klein and we got her some things I felt were appropriate for her. She wasn’t the sort of girl you would normally see in sultry black satin (even though that was what our friend brought her, what she was wearing in the picture that set off this reminiscence). She was a young girl with an athletic build, clean