The Summer Job

Patricia read the advertisement again, as she had a dozen times before that. She was certain there had to be a catch. It just seemed too good to be true. It was a personal ad for a companion/aide for a "distinguished, elderly gentleman" as the ad read. Better still, the job was only for the duration of the summer and paid a sum she was sure must be a misprint. Perfect, since she was a teacher and only looking for work while classes were out. Sipping her morning coffee, she pulled up her resume on her laptop, checked that it didn't need updating, and sent it off to the email listed in the ad. She crossed her fingers for good luck.

"That was silly" she thought. "An educated woman believing in luck! Although, I could certainly use a little. This job search each summer doesn't get any easier."

Patricia went about her daily business without giving much thought to the job, not wanting to get her hopes up. Returning home from the market, she put away the groceries and flipped open her laptop. The little icon for mail flashed, but that was nothing new. As she scanned the new mail with disinterest, she came across one with the subject line "New Position". She opened it and to her surprise, it was indeed a reply to her application.

Dear Ms. Connor,

Thankyou for your interest in the position for which I had advertised. Your resume is impeccable and you seem to have the proper qualifications. If you still have an interest in this position, please come to the address at the end of this email at 10:00 AM tomorrow for your interview. Being the professional young waman I believe you to be, I have no doubt you will be prompt.

Sincerely,

Alfredo Martolli III

"Oddly worded, but ok" she thought. "Alfredo Martolli....why does that name sound familiar?"

Performing a quick Google search provided her with the answer. The Martolli family had been in the design business for nearly a century. They had run the gamut of couture, from dresses to slacks, to coats, everything. Alfredo III had found a gift for working in leather-shoes, handbags, overcoats, belts- all were the height of fashion and all quite expensive and the best quality. This gift had turned a succesful family design business into a worldwide mega-empire.

"Perhaps" she thought,"this man really is paying what the ad states."

If so, she would be set for the next year easily, no scrimping and saving on a teacher's salary. Perhaps, a few much-needed renovations to the house, or trade in her delapidated car for something nicer. The possibilities swirled in her head as she lay down that evening.

The alarm sounded bright and early and Patricia lept from bed to prepare for her interview. She pulled out all the stops to look her best and present the perfect picture of an intelligent, educated, attractive professional. Patricia took extra care in applying her makeup just so, and debated whether to wear her flaming red locks down around her shoulders, or in a ponytail, as she did when teaching, or perhaps up, in a more sedate style. In the end she opted for her soft curls to gently frame her delicate Gaelic features, high cheekbones and sparkling blue eyes.

The choice of clothing was much more of a dilemma, though. Too sexy might put the old man off, but too matronly might be worse. Too casual would never do, and too formal might be seen as boring. In the end, Patricia chose a knee length black skirt with emerald silk blouse with simple, low heeled black pumps. Elegant, tasteful, not too flirty, not too casual.

The drive to the old man's estate was pleasant, despite her nerves. It turned out to be a sprawling piece of property just outside of the city. Patricia drove to the gate of what was in all appearances a ranch. She pressed the buzzer and announced herself. The huge gate swung open and she drove another quarter mile to the main residence. She noted many outbuildings, including a huge, very modern looking barn.

Approaching the entryway of the home, a young man opened her door and held it as she exited the car, then proceeded to park it in an area set aside for guests.

"Valet service at someone's home. That's a new one for me!" she thought.

Patricia strode to the door with all the confidence she could muster, and was greeted by another servant, who showed her in and offered her a seat in a sitting room. As she waited, she took stock of her surroundings. Everywhere she looked, the home was decked in a subtle elegance. Everything exuded wealth, but was also understated. She admired this man already. She was brought out of her thoughts by the servant re-entering the sitting room and announcing that Mr. Martolli would see her now. Patricia was led to a library for her interview.

"Ah! Ms. Connor! How delightful to meet you, and prompt, as expected!" The old man seized her hand, wrapping it in his two hands in a warm greeting. "Please, do have a seat!"

As Patricia sat in the chair opposite his desk, the old man tottered back around, to drop into his own chair. She watched him move, his white hair seeming to flow, his halting gait that of a man who's best walking days were far behind him. His hands were gentle, yet surprisingly calloused for a man of his means. She attributed it to his having worked with leather tools his entire life. The old man sent the servant for tea and got down to business.

"Well, Ms. Connor....or is it Miss? One can never tell these days how a woman wished to be addressed." He ended the comment with a soft chuckle, his kind and gentle demeanor setting her intantly at ease.

"Miss is fine, Sir" Patricia smiled genuinely.

"Then, Miss Connor it is!" beamed the old man. "But please, call me Alf. If we are going to be spending time together, then you simply must dispense with formal titles."

"Alright Alf, and please, call me Patricia" she smiled back at him.

As the tea arrived and they settled in, the old man began "This job, my dear, is a bit of a balance to the qualified candidate. I require a companion, confidante, assistant, aide... what one might call a 'Girl Friday'. It requires the highest degree of discretion, as you will be hearing and seeing things that are of the highest secrecy. Mine is a very cutthroat business and competitors are always trying to gain an edge, you understand. Mine can also be a lonely existence, and so I also require your social skills as well as your intellect. Someone to talk to, if you will..."

Patricia sipped her tea, politely nodding, as the old man listed the job requirements. This really did seem to be a dream come true.

"I must tell you, though... in the fall I will be returning to my larger home, which is far from the hustle and bustle of any city. Therefore, this job will likely end when summer is over, unless....."

The man's voice trailed off as if in deep thought. Patricia thought to pursue it, but since a summer job was all she wanted, saw no point.

"In addition, Miss..... Patricia" the old man grinned as he corrected himself, "this position will require you to stay here, on the estate, for the course of your employment. I truly am sorry, but again, competitors will stop at nothing, including the invasion of your privacy, to gain even the slightest edge. Do you find this acceptable?"

"Well Alf" she began, "I do have a home, and..."

"Oh no, my dear, don't worry about that! I will have arrangements made! Not to worry, you will have your home waiting for you when summer is over."

Patricia chewed her lip momentarily in hesitation, before finally agreeing, "Ok, I would love to work for you, Alf."

The old man was ecstatic, going on and on about the times they would have. He truly liked her and she him.

* * *

True to his word, Alf had taken care of everything. The effects she chose to take with her were moved to the estate for her. A representative for a management company had met with her to see to her house during her absence. It had all gone so smoothly. The rep had even driven out to the estate to have her sign the paperwork, which seemed extensive, as she unpacked her clothes, so she wouldn't be bothered too much.

The two got on so well, it was as if they had always known one another. They took walks on the grounds, often with Patricia rolling him along in his wheelchair, they engaged in conversations on every subject, discussed books. She told him of the finer points of teaching, while he educated her on the intracacies of wine tasting.

After two weeks, the old man presented her with a gift. "Just a little something I whipped up for you, my dear, to show my gratitude for your companionship."

Patricia, a gentle blush on her cheeks, politely accepted, and upon opening the box, found a gorgeous pair of slingbacks. The style was unlike she had seen before and the craftsmanship was amazing. Turning the expensive leather in her hands, she read 'Created Especially for Patricia' on the sole. Flattered beyond words, she had simply thrown her arms around the old man, hugging him tightly.

Dinner that evening, while always remarkable, was something special, with the full regalia. The finest china, crystal, cutlery, candlelight. Everything was so lovely! He had even had the staff bring out a 'special' bottle of wine for the occasion, "to celebrate our wonderful time together." he had said. By now, of course, she was accustomed to wine with a meal, but this was nothing like she had experienced.

He instructed her how to appreciate the nuances of the delicious nectar, explaining he had saved it for a special occasion. Patricia basked in the flattery, sipping the wine blissfully. When the main course was finished and they relaxed before dessert, Patricia felt a bit lightheaded-nothing too bothersome. Perhaps a bit too much wine? She shrugged it off as dessert was served. Shortly afterward though, the feeling returned and she excused herself to her room.

As she prepared for bed, she thought she heard a faint hissing sound, but then, listening closely could detect nothing. Attributing it to her general strange feeling, she climbed into her sumptuous bed and was quickly asleep. Unfortunately, her sleep was fitful, filled with peculiar images. Patricia tossed and turned all night, waking frequently only to drift off again quickly.

The morning sun streamed through her window as Patricia began to wake. With a yawn and a stretch she threw back the covers, which were strangely soaked in sweat. As she swiveled one leg out of bed she realized she had shed her pajamas during the night and was now naked.

"Oh my god, when did this happen?"

She picked up the discarded nightclothes to find them also soaked. Running a hand through her matted hair, she tried to recall the dreams, but they seemed just out of reach.

"Either I'm getting sick, or that wine was stronger than most."

She decided her morning shower would make her feel much better. As the warm water cascaded down over her, she did in fact, feel much better. As she massaged shampoo into her luxurious red mane, a vague shadowy image flashed in her mind's eye. Worse, it was an oddly erotic image, even if still partly cloaked in the recesses of her consciousness.

Patricia's eyes flew open and the image was gone, as mysteriously as it had appeared. As she pondered, trying to visualize, to reach through the smokey veil and see the image clearly, she realized with shock that she was mildly aroused. With a gasp, she pushed it all aside and quickly finished her bathing. Stepping from the shower, a thick lustrous towel wrapped around her curvaceous form, she thought she heard the hissing again, but again, could not pinpoint it when listening closely.

As she dressed, she had a sudden wicked thought. While she was comfortable enough to dress casually, she decided it would be fun to leave the top three buttons of her blouse open, enough to reveal her lacy bra in certain situations. While no one seemed to take notice, Patricia delighted in her secret naughty act.

Strolling the grounds that day, Patricia asked about a large building, the inside of which she had never seen.

"That, my dear, is my workshop, as well as serving certain other purposes. I'm afraid, however, it is not yet time for you to see, but.... one day."

Patricia smiled warmly. She was growing accustomed to the old man's occasional cryptic remarks.

"You know, my dear, it is quite warm today. Wouldn't you like a nice swim? The pool is magnificent, and it would be such a shame to allow it to go unused. Please, by all means, put it to good use!"

He added, giggling "...and one so lovely as you could only add to its grandeur."

Patricia couldn't hide her blush at the comment, smiling "Thank you Alf, perhaps later on."

Later that day, Alf excused himself to his workshop, claiming a sudden flash of inspiration, leaving Patricia on her own for a while. Back in her room she began to feel quite warm and wondered if the air conditioning system had failed. As the heat seemed to increase, she decided to take him up on his offer and take a nice swim. She donned her modest one piece swimsuit and padded out to the pool. Refreshing was not the word for how nice the water felt, and she spent a good deal of time, both in the pool and out of it, lounging happily. It felt good to cool off, but it was something... more. She couldn't place her finger on it, but something about taking his suggestion just felt so... right.

Patricia lay on a lounger comtemplating this as the old man rolled quietly toward her in his chair. He momentarily gazed at the redhaired beauty lying peacefully. Alf cleared his throat to attract her attention. As she sat up, somewhat startled he mused, "My dear Patricia! A lovely woman like you wearing such an outdated, unbecoming swimsuit? This simply won't do! I have an idea! Please pick something from my swimwear line as a gift..... No! Better yet! I will create something especially for you! How does that sound?"

"Oh Alf, I could never ask you to do that! This suit is fine, really!" she smiled back.

"Nonsense my dear! Too late now! I'm inspired! I'll have something that 'suits' you in no time at all" the old man smiled at his play on words. And with that, he was off, clearly on a mission!

Patricia dined alone that evening. She had already realized that once Alf had an idea, there was no detering him. She sipped her wine thinking how she missed his company. She decided to go read for a bit before retiring. Sitting in the great library, the lightheaded feeling from last evening returned to her.

"That's odd" the thought, shaking her head slightly to clear the cobwebs.

Having difficulty concentrating, Patricia set down her book and headed off to bed. Again, the strange hissing seemed to fill her room-everywhere but nowhere. She dressed for bed and was soon fast asleep. Just as the night before, her sleep was fitful, filled with vague images, erotic and yet out of focus, impossible to grasp.

Patricia woke once again to a lovely day, once again having soaked her sheets as well as her pajamas, which lay across the room on the floor. Worse yet, she was intensely aroused, much more than yesterday, and.... her nostrils flared as she caught her own scent.

"Oh my god!! What in the world???"

She tentatively let her hand sneak down to her sex, both amazed and horrified as she brought her slime coated fingers before her eyes.

"What is going on with me?" she pondered. She had been sexually excited before, of course, but for no reason? Her Catholic upbringing would not permit masturbation, although she had once, to her enormous guilt. That didn't seem to be the solution now.

Patricia eased into the shower, still with vague images racing through her confused mind. Quickly tending to her business, she dressed and made her way to breakfast. She was brought out of her thoughts by Alf, who greeted her brightly and presented her with a gayly wrapped box.

"Finished! I told you I would find something just right for you and I believe I've done just that!" he pronounced proudly.

Forgetting about her troubling night, Patricia opened her gift, his charm and warmth relaxing her instantly. Moving the tissue aside, she looked into the box to find a bit of shimmering material.

"I guessed at your size, my dear, but I pride myself on my ability to fit the garment to the woman. I think it will be perfect!"

Patricia slid the material from it's nest with a gasp. Gold and luminous, it sparkled in the light, seemed to shine in a way she couldn't comprehend. It was also very tiny!

"Alf, it's remarkable.. as beautiful as I've ever seen, but I..."

"Tut tut my dear, yes you can... you can wear it. You will be magnificent in it!" With that he turned "I'll meet you at the pool!" And he was off.

Patricia sat, dumbfounded, running the light material through her fingers. After long deliberation, she headed to her room.

"I really need to ask about that hissing" she thought, as she donned her old suit. Looking at herself in the mirror, she frowned and glanced to the new bikini still in it's box, and then back to her image. With a heavy sigh, she stripped off her old suit and, on a whim, threw it in the trashcan.

She pulled the shimmering top from the box, wrapping it around her, the tiny straps over her shoulders. She clipped it in back and then slid the tiny bottoms up her long legs. As she viewed her reflection, she was astounded by what she saw. The suit was amazing! It fit her like a glove, presented her breasts perfectly and, although it was far less than she was accustomed to, made her feel alluring. Running her hands down her body and posing for the mirror, the familiar arousal returned, the tingling between her thighs. This time, though, she decided she liked it.

Much of the day was spent with Patricia modeling, much to the delight and applause of the old man. But, it was much more like a mentor and student, or... a designer and his model. The two became closer than ever. The remainder of the week went much the same way, although the strange dreams seemed to become stronger, as did the level of Patricia's arousal. The hissing seemed to continue, but each time she vowed to ask Alf about it, it seemed to slip her mind.

The old man loved to show her his new ideas and was ever inventive. He seemed to constantly be working on something of which Patricia was the happy recipient. A new handbag, or a belt, a skirt, shoes-all of the highest quality and all designed especially for her. She basked in the attention, modelling each for him.

One item did give her pause for a moment. He had presented her with another pair of pumps. This time they matched her new bikini as if they were made to go together which, in fact, they were. She was accustomed to receiving shoes from him, but these, while incredibly lovely, even mesmerizing, had the highest heel she had ever seen. So, at his sweet request, she had agreed to model them together.

She sat at her dressing table trying to decide if she would, or even could wear them. She had no idea how she could walk in these things. The oddest part about them lie in the fact that, as she looked at them, held them in her hands, the now familiar itch in her sex began, then grew. She knew from experience that the gusset of her bikini bottoms was now damp with her excitement.

Finally, after much deliberation, she slipped the impossible heels on. She nearly cried out as her excitement level rose to new heights. Standing up with the help of the table, she teetered toward the door. To say Alf approved would be an understatement. He applauded her shaking entrance and encouraged her every step, heaping praise upon her. As she became more at ease on the towering heels, he instructed her on how to move like a runway model, remarking that he adored seeing his creations on such a lovely figure.

All the while, the two grew closer. Patricia seemed to feel an increasing need to please him. Each time she did so, the fire in her belly grew. She seemed to know intellectually that she should be questioning this, but it just seemed to slip her mind when they were together. The dreams, as well, continued in intensity, along with her constant arousal. She seemed now, to be continually soaking her panties.

Yet, her perpetually heightened arousal went unchecked. Her repeated attempts at touching herself grew more frustrating. Her hand would slip down to her nether lips with her drawing it back on contact as if she had been shocked. Her befuddled mind simply chalked it up to her strict upbringing. And so, her need grew exponentially each day.

* * *

On the one month anniversary of her arrival, Patricia woke to find a beautifully wrapped package. Somewhat larger than most of the other gifts, she wondered what it could be. Excitedly opening the box, she discovered, amongst the ocean of tissue wrap, an extraordinay expanse of fabric and leather, the beauty of which was unparalleled. After studying it further, she determined it to be a corset. But this was more a work of art! It seemed again, to match her bikini perfectly. It shone in the morning light like spun moonlight, the soft material almost taking on a life of it's own. Delicate lace adorned the fringes. Despite it's delicate beauty, it was also boned heavily, and seemed very severe.

She held the exotic garment to herself before the mirror, wondering why he would create such a strange gift for her. Turning this way and that, she knew it could not be worn over any clothes, and the shelf demicups would present her breasts without providing cover. She would not be modeling this for Alf, to be certain. As she placed it carefully back in it's box, the itch down below drove her nearly to her knees.

As Alf greeted her for breakfast, he asked about his latest creation, almost like a child bringing home an A on his report card.

"Do you like it? Have you tried it on? Would you model it for me?" the questions came too fast to answer.

"I do love it, Alf. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen! But it's.... I can't... model it. It's made so..... I mean, I can't wear it over my clothes, and I can't wear a bra with it."

"Nonsense, my dear! Simply wear your divine swimsuit with it! Oh, and the matching shoes. I designed them all to compliment one another. Meet me in the sunroom when you are ready!"

Patricia opened her mouth to list her objections, but the old man was gone. With a sigh of resignation, she headed back to her room. Removing the shimmering corset from it's box, she had to admit that she really wanted to try it. Donning her bikini, she stepped into the stiff garment, inching it up over her hips bit by bit. At last, after a lot of tugging and pulling, it rested snugly around her waist, her bikini clad breasts nested loosely in the semicircular shelves.

Patricia strutted over to the mirror, gasping as she took in the erotic image staring back at her. With the stiff boning and soft yet strong leather under the shining fabric, she was already feeling restricted. Her already high level of excitement rose dramatically as she reached behind and began to pull at the laces. Huffing and puffing, working the laces tighter, she marveled as her waist narrowed. Finally, convinced she could pull it no tighter, as if she even wanted to, she tied the laces off. Her sex seemed to flow freely, and somewhere, something deep inside told her she should be concerned, but instead she donned a robe and, slipping on her heels, headed downstairs, her strong scent wafting in the air.

The old man's eyes gleamed with pride as she entered the sunroom. Patricia strutted in, performed a runway turn, and then dropped her robe. Standing with hand on hip, emulating her best model stance, she beamed at the old man. He was so sweet, like a painter displaying his art. Alf applauded her every move, delighting in his creation. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, perused her carefully.

"You are magnificent, my dear, but there is a small flaw. It does require a bit of tightening. It is designed that way so, if you will please....?" He made a twirling motion with his finger.

Patricia spun around tentatively "I made it as tight as I could, Alf..."

The old man chuckled comfortingly as he loosened the tied laces "Of course you did, my dear, but it really is difficult to do this properly on one's own."

With a strength that truly surprised her, the old man pulled the first laces, removing several inches of slack. Patricia grunted loudly, and before she had time to recover, gruntied again as more laces were pulled tight.

"Alf, I don't think I... ungh!...."

"Grasp the table here for support, my dear." He pulled and pulled.

Patricia felt as if she were being squeezed through a sausage press. Again and again, the laces were pulled tighter, her breathing becoming labored as her red hair fell down across her face.

"Almost as far as we can go today, my dear. Now, please exhale as hard as you can."

"Today???" thought slightly woozy Patricia, "It gets worse, later on??"

As she pressed all the air from her lungs she could, the old man pulled one last time and finally, mercifully tied the laces off.

"Alright now, stand my dear, and turn. Let's have a look!" he declared.

Patricia pressed herself to stand up straight, which was really all she could do, aided by the crushing corset. Turning toward the old man, she heard him gasp with delight.

"Perfect! Perfect, my dear! You are magnificent! And once you have grown accustomed to it, we will work on lacing you down a bit more, eh?"

Patricia's ears were ringing. She thought she heard him say something about lacing it more. No, that couldn't be. She smiled, nodding to him as her head spun.

To the old man's delight, Patricia did her best to model the new outfit for him. She gradually became accustomed to the tight restriction, her breathing easing somewhat. Her movement, however, was limited by the strict garment, her waist nipped in to 18 inches and her torso forming a lovely 'S' shape.

Once Alf was finally satisfied with the show, she waited for him to release her from the tight confines.

"Oh no, my dear! We can't stop now! You must remain with your new corset until this evening, in order to train your body! Otherwise your body will become lazy and we will have to begin again tomorrow. After all, we still have at least 3 inches to go! You do want to wear your outfit properly, don't you?"

Patricia was dumbfounded, knowing she should protest, but the clouding of her mind, along with the sexual haze she was in seemed to overrule her objections. And he was just so sweet, how could she deny him. As she stood, nodding mutely, the old man cooed ever so softly as he gently stroked her corsetted waist "That's right, you understand, don't you? You're a good girl, and good girls do as they are told, don't they?"

His voice was so calm, so warm and soothing, like velvet. She relished the praise, and wanted more. Her excitement level was at a fever pitch, and it seemed the more she did to please him-to obey- the higher it grew.

The following week was no more than a blur for Patricia. She spent each waking moment in her new outfit, the corset being tightened twice a day. Her arousal kept growing and, despite her deep need, she just couldn't make it. Something inside wouldn't allow it. In spite of the peculiar situation, they continued with their strolls, conversing as if nothing had changed. The peculiar hissing in her suite, the inexplicable lightheadedness after dinner continued, now completely unnoticed by her. While she no longer seemed to soak her sheets with sweat, her sex leaked nonstop now. Her existence now seemed to be a flowing river of eroticism and sexual arousal, despite the fact that their activites together, their conversations, hadn't really changed.

* * *

After two weeks in the corset, Patricia had not only grown accustomed to it, but came to crave it's tight embrace. Her waist was slowly changing to accept the ever tighter lacing, much to the old man's delight. He would joke that soon he would be able to make his fingers touch around her waist. She wasn't entirely sure it wasn't going to happen.

One day, while chatting in his library, the old man mentioned, as if talking about the weather "My dear, I've noticed that you seem to be excited.... sexually... on a constant basis."

Patricia's eyes flew open wide, her cheeks burning as her mouth hung open. "Oh!.... Well....I..."

The old man held up a hand to stop her "It's quite alright, my dear. You're a healthy young woman in the flower of your youth-perfectly natural."

"But, how did you...."

"How did I know?" he chuckled. "Well, it's quite difficult to miss, my dear. You have a rather strong scent, delightful, yet strong."

As she turned crimson, unable to look at him for the first time, he continued "As I said, no need to be embarrased. It's quite alright, and absolutely normal. In fact, I find it charming."

As he continued to soothe her, she began to feel better, although somewhere deep down, something still hinted the she should feel shame. The feeling slowly faded as she listened, until she finally felt comfortable, his words like a healing salve.

The old man continued, "I seem to have forgotten the longings of youth, hehe. Tell me my dear, what do you do to.... satisfy your needs?"

With the full force of her embarassment burning once again, she began "Well... I.... I don't do anything.."

Patricia broke down in sobs, unable to finish, such was her shame and frustration.

"You don't do anything, my dear? You don't masturbate?" he spoke in the same conversational tone.

She shook her head, sniffling. "No, I try, but just.... can't."

"But, why can't you, my dear. You know there's nothing wrong with it. It's perfectly normal, adviseable even."

Patricia sobbed sadly "I just can't! I try and try, but when I touch myself, it almost hurts my hand, like an electric shock, and I have to stop."

"Oh my! That is such a shame! So, if I understand correctly, when you are tempted to pleasure yourself, you feel pain?"

Patricia nodded sadly. Something nagged at her that this conversation should not be taking place, but it was quickly lost in her subconscious.

"As I recall, you were raised a strict Catholic, yes?"

Patricia nodded, wiping her cheek with a tissue.

"Well, then it's simple to deduce, my dear girl. Your guilt at such a simple act is causing you pain. Furthermore, the harder you try to pleasure yourself, the greater is the guilt, and hence the pain."

Patricia listened intently, nodding. It seemed perfectly logical to her. Of course! Alf was right, he had to be! Her guilt was at fault.

The old man continued, "So, the question is 'How can we remove the temptation to do that which causes so much guilt, and therefore, so much pain?'"

She nodded again, relieved that he understood her dilemma, and certain he could help her find a solution.

"My dear, I had been saving this for a special occasion, and now it seems that occasion is now" he spoke as he produced a box, opening it almost lovingly.

"This is a gift I've been working on for you. I hadn't planned on giving it to you just yet, but I think the time is right, and I am certain it will help you with your dilemma."

He pulled from the box a mass of leather and gleaming buckles, adorned in the same material as her outfit. Unfolding it, he held it up before her questioning eyes. Patricia had no idea what it could be, but it was beautiful, catching the light just as her outfit did. It seemed to be in a vee shape, with a large opening at the top of the vee. Straps and buckles, laces and rings were placed along the surface, but she simply couldn't fathom it's use.

"Now, my dear, I believe this is the answer to our little quandry. It will remove temptation completely, and will look splendid on you in the process."

Patricia looked on in puzzlement, but she was so grateful that he had solved her problem, she simply listened intently, nodding her head.

"My dear, I'm afraid this wheelchair does have it's limitations. Would you be so kind as to kneel here with your back to me?" As she complied, he continued "Now, if you will place you hands behind your back, palms touching..."

Slipping the end of the single sleeve over her wrists, he praised her as he began to work it up her arms "That's a good girl. What a good and obedient girl you are! You love to obey, don't you? It makes you feel so good to obey."

Patricia knelt, quietly nodding as he worked the supple yet strong leather up past her elbows. "Thank you Alf, thank you so much for helping me! I can never thank you enough." The words flowed from her with all sincerity, despite the tiny nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right.

With the binder's opening nearly halfway between her elbows and armpits and her finertips touching the end, her asked her "Please interlace your fingers, my dear."

With a strong tug, he brought it up to it's limit, her hands safely clamped together in the sack at the end. Alf quickly buckled an incorporated strap a- round her wrists, welding them together. He lay two straps attached to the top over her shoulders, crossing them over her upper chest and then running them back under her arms. He pulled each tight, feeding them through a waiting buckle under the binder.

"Almost there, my dear! I promise all temptation will be removed! You most certainly will not be touching yourself. This is the hardest part, I'm afraid. Be strong, Patricia."

Alf began lacing the binder from bottom to top, pulling each lace tightly between each loop, working his way up. As he worked, Patricia's elbows drew closer and closer as the pain in her shoulders increased. Finally, he reached the top and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Her respite was shortlived though, as she felt him begin again at the bottom. With each strong tug, she let out a tiny grunt. He pulled and tugged, inching toward the top, as her elbows met, and were fused together inside the restrictive leather.

At last, he pronounced the project finished. She rose carefully to her feet, turning to model her newest addition. The old man noted, with satisfaction, that her breasts, already a perfect C cup, stood out proudly on her chest, encouraged by the harsh restricition of her arms. He studied her carefully with a bit of a frown, tapping a finger on his chin, as if thinking.

Seeing his expression, she asked "Is something wrong, Alf?"

He made a show of inspecting her carefully before speaking "Yes, my dear, but I'm having trouble placing it."

Patricia's disappointment showed on her pretty features. Had she displeased him? Did she disobey? Did his creations not look good on her? Her mind raced with doubt.

At last, the old man clapped his hands together, raising a finger in the air "I have it! Of course, it was so obvious! Right there in front of me. How silly I am!"

Patricia let out a relieved sigh, happy that he was again excited and pleased.

"The answer is so simple, my dear! It's your bikini top! It interferes with the asthetics of the rest. The way the straps cross in front - the look is flawed! One small adjustment and it will be perfect! Just a minor thing, and yet so important! If you will please kneel as before, we can fix this in no time."

As she resumed her position on her knees, she spoke over her shoulder "Are you sure, Alf? It's not me, is it? I... look ok, don't I?"

Alf began to unbuckle the straps of the binder, reassuring her "Oh no, my dear! How could you ever displease me? You are a delight! No no, just a minor adjustment and it will be perfect!"

Patricia smiled as the old man worked behind her, thrilled she hadn't displeased him. She was lost in the bliss of his praise as the straps were pulled away. She barely took note as he fiddled with her bikini top and it fell away, her unfettered breasts settling into the shelf cups of the corset perfectly. She was still lost in her own world as the straps were refastened tightly.

"All finished, my dear. Up you go!"

He steadied her as she rose and faced him. The old man gasped with delight as she turned.

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect, my dear! You were born to wear these designs. You are just so lovely! Such a good girl, aren't you? Wonderfully obedient. You love to obey, you always do, don't you?"

Patricia, basking in the high praise, nodded dreamily, looking down at her exposed breasts, the cute upturned pink nipples so beautifully presented. A brief flash of something being out of place was replaced by the warm glow of his praise. Her sex flowed freely, arousal washing away the faint, now foreign, feeling of misgiving.

"Now then, my dear, one more thing and we can be on our way."

Patricia managed a small "On our way?"

"Yes, my dear! We have business to attend to, but I promise, we won't be long. How does that sound, hmmm?"

"Um... yes Alf, that's fine."

"Of course it is, my dear. You're a good girl, an obedient girl, yes? So tell me, as we both know, you have a problem with your arousal, isn't that so?" As the bound girl nodded, he continued "I'm afraid that, while charming, it is going to ruin my design."

He ran a finger down her soaking bikini bottoms to illustrate. "I'm afraid there is only one solution. Step a bit closer, my dear."

Patricia took a tiny step closer as the old man gripped either side of the bottoms, pressing slowly downward. Watching her eyes carefully for the slightest sign of resistance, he pressed more firmly, the bottoms clearing the widest part of her hips and sliding down easily.

The old man smiled to himself as the dark red tuft of hair came into view. The delicate lips, like two halves of a peach below, parting gently as she leaked. He watched in fascination as a drop formed and trickled down her inner thigh. Everything about this woman was perfect!

With sheer force of will, he tore his eyes away from the amazing scene. "Now then, my dear, shall we?"

He gestured toward the door and began rolling his chair, slowly enough for her to follow unsteadily on her heels, no longer having the use of her arms for balance. He led her out to the large building he had previously described as his 'workshop'. Pressing a combination into the keypad next to the door, it swung open and he wheeled through. The bound girl followed close behind, still unsure of foot in her precarious situation. As the heavy door swung closed behind them, he turned to her.

"He we are, my dear. My 'inner sanctum', if you will. Everything you wear was conceived, designed and created here."

They entered a room to the right. Sketches of designs were everywhere, covering every inch of his desktop, on tables, on design boards, stuck to the walls with thumbtacks. Swatches of material occupied about every square inch not occupied by the sketches of his ideas. He led her through another door to a large room, half of which was filled with sewing machines, mannequins, and every possible tool to create his designs. The other half was filled with all manner of leather working tools, the fruits of which now adorned her body.

"I do apologize for the mess, my dear. Once inspiration strikes, I tend to forget all else. This way, please."

He led her to yet another room, this one reminding her of a veterinarian's examination room. He moved to a refrigerator, selecting a few small vials from it. He placed them into syringes, setting side by side on a small metal tray. Wheeling back over with the tray in his lap, he patted the table.

"My dear, if you will just bend over the table, we will be finished in no time."

Patricia shuffled to the table, touching her tummy to it's edge. He gently placed a hand on her lower back, encouraging her to bend down. As her breasts touched the cool steel, she yelped, filling the room with her tinkling voice.

Working quickly, the old man swabbed her left shoulder and quickly jabbed the needle in, depressing the plunger. He spoke to her as he worked, almost conversationally "This will help you adjust to your binder, although we will need to remove it from time to time for health reasons- to restore some circulation, nail clipping, things of that nature."

Alf quickly plunged a second injection into her other shoulder. Moving quickly to her upturned bottom, he stopped momentarily to gaze at the glorious sight. As he administered the final injection to her hip, he spoke matter-of-factly "This is just a little something to help you along. Nothing to be concerned about, just a more potent version of the drug that has been in your wine since your arrival, he he."

Patricia's head swam as she stood at the old man's encouragement. Struggling to maintain her balance, she felt his hand on her waist to steady her. Alf was up on his feet, walking her slowly to the door.

"He must be really concerned for me, if he is walking. He almost never does that" her clouded mind reasoned.

He guided her out across a hallway, and into what appeared to her to be a barn or stable, just like the huge one which housed the horses on the estate. But, something was different. She couldn't quite place it, her head was spinning.

"Wait.... did he say I was drugged? I can't remember, it's all so foggy." Her ability to reason was trying to fight it's way to the surface, but then.. .the drug hit her hard.

Her knees nearly buckled as her eyes glazed. Whatever thoughts she had simply faded into the distance of her mind. She was vaguely aware of being laid down on a soft bed. Someone was touching her ears... no something was being placed in her ears. The hissing..... much more noticeable, more insistent. The erotic images flooded her mind. Then... blackness.

* * *

Patricia's eyes opened slowly, battling between two states of consciousness. As the thich fog ever so slowly lifted, she tried to focus her eyes. She was lying on her side, facing a wall. Her arms... why couldn't she feel her arms? The hissing in her ears was still going strong, now completely unnoticed by her. Worst of all.... she was so aroused she thought she would die!

"Well, good morning! I was wondering when you would return from slumberland" Alf happily chirped. "You've been out for 36 hours, my dear!"

He helped her sit, arranging locks of stray hair about her face. Removing the earpieces, he inquired "Are you with me now, my dear?"

Patricia looked at him, concentrating hard to comprehend his words, the fog still heavy in her mind. He sat and spoke conversationally to her for some time, until finally she licked her parched lips and muttered hoarsely "Good morning Alf. I'm sorry I slept so long. Have I missed breakfast? I'm starving!"

"Ah! There's my girl! My good girl. You are a good girl, aren't you, my dear? You are so obedient! You love to obey, don't you?"

Patricia nodded, a gentle smile playing on her lips, enjoying the praise, the adoration of the old man.

"Do you suppose you can stand, my dear?"

She very tentatively placed her feet beneath her, pressing her wieght forward and rising slowly.

"Very good, my dear! Wonderful. I'm so proud of you! Such a good girl!"

Patricia beamed with pride at his words, oblivious of the fact that it was such a simple act for which he complimented her.

They made their way to the main house, into the dining room. Alf took his place at the head of the table, Patricia just to his right. As the servant held the chair for her, she gingerly sat, her pinioned arms nestled between the chair back and her body. As breakfast was served, Alf began eating. Patricia looked at her food and frowned.

Alf noticed her dilemma "Oh! Silly me! What am I thinking? You can't possibly feed yourself. Please allow me to help you, my dear. Come kneel here at my side!"

Patricia didn't even blink, but was out of her chair and kneeling next to him in seconds. They spent the rest of the meal with him feeding her from his plate, sometimes with a fork, but often by hand. Patricia gratefully ate, opening on command for her treats. The servants came and went as if it were completely natural for the Master of the house to be feeding a bound and naked woman by hand. The two discussed the morning headlines as they ate, just as if nothing had changed.

After breakfast, they strolled through the gardens, admiring the views, conversing cheerily as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Finally, the old man announced he had arranged a new surprise, one that awaited them in his private salon. He led her into the salon, tucked away on the first floor of the main house. Two diminutive women of Asian descent awaited them, happily getting Patricia situated in the chair, her bound arms over the back.

"Your surprise is a little makeover, my dear!" declared Alf merrily, "Well, not so much a makeover as some minor enhancements to your natural beauty, to compliment your outfit."

The next few hours were a blur of activity. Alf took care of some business matters, stopping by occasionally to monitor progress, listening to the two women banter in their native tongue. Patricia let out the occasional squeal or scream, signifying the procedure was not entirely a pleasant one. Eventually though, they were finished and out stepped an erotic vision.

Patricia's flaming locks had been styled in a high ponytail. Golden hoops dangled from her ears. Her beautiful features were perfectly highlighted by her makeup. Blue eyes shone, accentuated perfectly. Her lips deep red, shimmering gloss. Best of all, at least in the opinion of the old man, was her newly denuded mound, which glistened with her arousal.

One of the women spoke to Alf in her thick accent, "Everything as you order, Mistah Mahtolli! Eyelinah, brows, lips, nipples all permanent. Make lash extension, must do again in 4 week. She stay clean down below-no hair grow. We come back one week. This one hard to do! All wet all time! Charge extra!"

Alf smiled and calmed the woman, thanking her and promising payment of what she thought was fair. Patricia stood frozen, a deep blush on her cheeks. It seemed normal to discuss her constant arousal with Alf, but another thing entirely to have it pointed out by this woman. As they continued to discuss her in hushed tones, she managed to catch bits and pieces. She thought she heard works like 'next time' and 'permanent'.

'Wait!' she suddenly thought, 'Did she say nipples? Permanent? What does that mean?'

She looked down to see her nipples were a deep crimson color, all the way down to the areolae. The stark contrast to her alabastar skin seemed to draw extra attention to her beautifully displayed breasts. A flash of something... anger? indignation?... sparked in her mind, but was washed away by the intense arousal she now constantly felt.

'I'm a good girl. Good girls obey. I obey.' The mantra played in her mind melodically. As her lessons played in her head, the urge to touch herself rose to levels she was sure she couldn't bear, but she knew she wouldn't find relief any time soon.

"My dear, you look radiant! I couldn't be more pleased!" Alf beamed. He was positively giddy. "Now then, I have a new addition to your lovely outfit. Let's take a little walk, shall we?"

He led her out and to the building housing his workshop. Once inside, he let her to the area where she had spent the night. Looking more closely now, she determined it did indeed resemble the stables of the larger barn. Entering his workshop, the old man took a pair of boots from his low workbench.

Turning to her, he began "My dear, you've made remarkable progress, moving about in your heels, but I feel these boots will accent your lovely outfit and overall look, as well as help you with your gait."

Patricia regarded the peculiar boots, asking dejectedly, "You aren't happy with my walk?" She was genuinely sad that she may have displeased him in some way.

"Oh no! Nothing like that, my dear!" he consoled. "Quite the opposite! You have exceeded all my expectations. In fact, so much so that it is time to graduate to these boots, which will so greatly contribute to the effect we are looking for."

Patricia listened intently as he guided her to sit and place her right foot on a low stool. In her new condition, it all made perfect sense to her. Of course, she had to be perfect. Alf wanted it, he was seeing to her look, so must be right. And, she couldn't tell him no, couldn't disobey. Good girls obey. She was a good girl.

Alf gently removed her heel and brought up her new footwear. Holding the opening for her, "Point your toe, my dear."

As she did so, he began pressing the boot over her extended foot, tugging and prodding it further, her toned calf disappearing inch by inch into the beautiful creation. As her toes neared the end of their journey, they were gently cradled in some manner of feathery soft cushioning. When, at last, her foot reached the bottom, it was cradled lovingly, but not allowed to straighten. Her foot was held enpointe, strictly yet comfortably.

The boot stopped just below her knee and laced up the front. The sole consisted of a wide base, arching steeply to accomodate her foot, but without a heel of any kind. Where there would normally be a toe, was instead a rounded hoof shape. Attached to the sole was a gleaming horseshoe.

Alf began the arduous process of lacing her in from toe to knee. Once done, he connected a small hose extending from an air pump to her boot and pressed a button. The small machine sprang to life. A bladder inside her boot began to fill and conform to her foot. Once he was satisfied, he switched off the machine and disconnected her boot.

"I labored many an hour over this design, my dear. You see, the bladder inside will cradle and support your foot, distributing your weight over the entire foot and calf. Very ingenious, if I do say so."

Patricia listened as if it were perfectly normal for a girl to be bound and nearly naked, and being placed into such peculiar shoes. Her conditioning was such that her reasonable mind, the part that should rebel against her situation, was simply too supressed to do so.

Alf laced her other boot on and pronounced gleefully "There we go girl, up you go!"

Patricia struggled to her feet, her new hooves feeling vastly different from the heels. The en pointe position stretched her calves in new ways, but the design of the boots and the air bladder made them quite manageable. In addition, they had a springy feel, brought about by the steel reinforcement of the soles.

As she was trying to adjust to her new footwear, a young girl entered and approached them. Dressed as any of the ranch hands might be, she smiled at Alf, who greeted her happily as the two turned to Patricia.

"My dear, this is Marie. She is your groom and will be helping you with daily necessities, such as bathing, feeding and, of course, using the facilities. Since you no longer can do these yourself, I have assigned her to your care. Or rather, you to her care, hehe."

The girl spoke in a French accent, her voice lilting and evidence of her youth, "Bonjour mademoiselle, I am so happy to meet you. I will take wonderful care of you!"

Patricia regarded the young woman. "My god, she could be one of my students!", she thought.

Conditioned well, Patricia took to this new indignity of being handled by this.... child well, accepting it as she had all the other 'gifts' heaped upon her.

"Now then, my dear," Alf pronounced, taking a mass of leather and gleaming metal from his bench, "One last thing and I will leave you in Marie's capable hands."

Handing the object to Marie, "If you would be so kind, Marie."

Marie arranged the straps in her hands and approached Patricia, "Open please, mademoiselle."

Patricia obediently parted her deep red glossed lips without another thought. A rubber coated bit was pushed between her teeth, pressing back at the corners of her mouth and wedging her teeth apart. As the girl began to tighten the straps, this effect became more pronounced. Marie worked quickly and effeciently, tightening and adjusting each buckle over her charge's head. She fed the high ponytail through a ring on top, designed for such a purpose. As the last buckle was closed on her bridle, Patricia looked to Alf, who had been watching with both fascination and a sort of melancholy.

"I can see you have questions, my dear. This is your bridle. Needless to say you can not speak while wearing it, and you will be wearing it during most of your waking hours. I'm afraid your days of speaking have come to an end."

The old man sighed heavily, "I will miss our conversations a great deal."

He kissed her cheek and then nodded to Marie, who clipped reins to the bridle and led her charge from the workshop and into the stable area.

Something told Patricia she should not enjoy the humiliation of this young girl leading her around like an animal, but was overruled by her sex spasming and releasing a new flood of her ever copious juices. She was led into a large tiled room and under a series of showerheads projecting from a wall. Her reins were tied up high and the arduous process of removing her outfit began. Everything save her bridle was removed and, as her binder slipped free, her arms hung limply at her sides.

Marie quickly cuffed her hands in front and raised them to a hook high above. She deftly moved behind Patricia and, unseen by the bound woman, inserted a nozzle into her bottom, pumping a bulb and inflating the balloon inside her bottom and preventing it's removal. Patricia gasped around her bit as warm soapy water began to fill her, whimpering softly as the pressure in her bowels began to build. Whimpers turned to sobs as her lower belly became distended and her need to void herself became urgent.

Mercifully, the young girl didn't make her wait, deflating the balloon and allowing her to go. Patricia's cheeks were wet with tears of humiliation by the time she was empty.

"I am sorry Mademoiselle, but this you must accept daily so that your body will accept your beautiful tail naturally." "Et maintenant, we clean you outside, oui?"

It was more a pronouncement than a question.

"Tail?? She said tail. What in the world does that mean?"

The shower heads came to life, spraying Patricia with warm water. Marie went quickly to work, lathering her and shaving from neck to toe while explaining that after a few more 'beauty treatments', she would be permanently depilated from her neck down. Satisfied that Patricia was completely hairless, she began to wash her, soaping her down with a fragrant body wash, scrubbing her skin to a glowing pink and rinsing her. Using a soft sponge, Marie took great care in cleansing the hyper-sensitive sex of her bound charge.

Despite the deep humiliation that still resided deep down in her physche, Patricia moaned softly as the young girl tended to her sex. Her hips began to undulate gently as she became lost in the sensations. A hard slap to her behind brought her from her revelrie, accompanied by a loud, wet splat.

"Non! Mauvais cheval!" Marie chided. "Be still now so we may finish!"

With a deep groan of frustration, Patricia forced herself to be perfectly still. She wanted to avoid another pink palmprint on her bottom, but even more-she wanted to obey!

"I'm a good girl. Good girls obey. I obey."

Marie unbuckled the bridle, pulling the bit loose from between her lips.

"No talking Mademoiselle! No words at all. If you do I will have to punish you. Comprenez-vous?"

As Patricia nodded her understanding, the girl began washing her lustrous red hair. Briskly and efficiently, yet also caringly she washed and conditioned the long flaming locks. Marie turned off the gentle spray and began to towel her off. She took a blow dryer and expertly dried and brushed the red mane, and returning it to a high ponytail.

As Marie approached with the binder in hand, Patricia quickly glanced down in hopes the deep red rouge had washed away from her nipples. With a soft whine, she realized it was indeed permanent.

Marie checked her arms for circulation and warmth, then released her. She obediently turned and allowed the girl to lace her back into the binder, her mind still struggling to comprehend her capitulation. She continued her internal struggle as she was laced tightly into her corset, followed by the hooves.

Patricia was then led to a vanity of sorts and sat upon the low bench, whereupon Marie applied what little makeup was not permanently adorning her features.

Once her bridle was buckled tightly back on, off they went to the tack room where the young groom picked up yet another series of straps and buckles. Marie wrapped the first strap around her waist, just under her corset. Other straps hung from that were soon caressing the soft skin of her bottom and upper thighs, like some manner of obscene panties. A final strap was left dangling in back as the bound woman was led to a bench and unceremoniously bent over it.

With one hand planted firmly on Patricia's back, Marie snatched from the bench a long, beautiful 'tail' which matched her red hair perfectly. Attached to it was a black conical shape which was now being pushed into the bent woman's bottom. Marie worked around in circles, smearing something slippery around as she pushed. Patricia grunted and groaned, trying to rise more than once, but the girl would have none of it. With a final hard push and a squeal from the bound woman, the plug was finally seated, her virgin rosebud closing tightly around it.

Marie fed the tail through a ring in the final strap hanging down behind her, then fed the strap through her legs, to cinch it up to the belt in front, ensuring it could not be expelled.

The young girl then clipped reins to the bridle, pronouncing "One more thing, then we can begin training, petit cheval. Oui?"

"Remain as you are. It will be easier that way."

Marie left her bound captive bent over the bench, returning with a steel tray containing syringes, like the old man had done. She efficiently injected each shoulder and then her hip with the 'suggestibility drug' as Alf had described it to her.

With head spinning, Patricia was led from the stable out into the bright sun, her alabaster skin gleaming and her outfit reflecting the light gloriously. They found themselves in a large circle, where Marie took up position at the center. Picking up a long buggy whip, Marie coaxed the new pony to the edge of the circle, letting out the reins until she was in position.

"Now then pony, we will work on a simple walk for now."

Patricia was instructed on the finer points of walking in her hooves, imparting just the right amount of hip sway. She was encouraged with a snap of the whip to her bottom until, at the end of the day, she moved with the ease and grace of a cat, hips wiggling side to side seductively. Marie heaped praises on her for being such a good pony and Patricia basked in her own obedience. Each word shot straight to her sex, which was constantly flowing, coating her inner thighs.

* * *

Each day unfolded the same way, with the new pony learning new steps or skills, how to prance with her knees high, how to communicate by stomping her hoof, or by making horse sounds. As days became weeks, these things became so ingrained in her mind that it no longer occured to her that she could speak, walk, sit, or any other thing that a woman can do. Even when unrestrained, she stood as a tamed pony while being tended to.

She learned to eat and drink from a shallow trough in her stall. She learned to urinate in the hay in the corral and no longer felt any conscious humiliation at doing so with humans nearby. She slept in her stall, never re-entering the house except for her 'makeover' sessions.

She was taken inside for her weekly sessions with the cosmetoligists, who continued enhancing her look, depilating everything from her neck down, applying more permanent makeup to the point where she no longer required any, conditioning her ever lengthening red hair. If the pony had seen a mirror in the last month, she would have seen that her glorious red hair had been progressively removed, never to grow again, save for her long pony tail at the crown of her head.

Alf came into the stables one day, wheeling himself to her stall. "Well, my dear, summer is nearly over and so, I'm afraid, is our time together. I shall miss you. You have been a delight! It's time for me to return to my larger home. Goodbye, my dear."

Epilogue

The sheikh walked slowly around his new acquisition, inspecting the redheaded pony from head to toe. He ran an appreciative hand over her flanks, tested the muscle tone, scrutinized every inch of her. He flicked the tiny gold bells which hung from the thick gold rings permanently pierced and soldered behind the pony's nipples.

They stood in an intimate and opulent room, spotlights on the pony. Around the walls were pictures of the pony in each phase of her transformation, from demure young woman to equine beauty.

The sheikh ran a finger through the slippery fluids coating her inner thighs "And she is always in this... condition?"

"I'm afraid so,"Alf began, "a side effect of her conditioning, which I find charming."

Alf stroked the pony's cheek "You love being like this, don't you Summer?"

Responding to her new name, Summer Breeze stomped her hoof and nodded.

"Lovely, just lovely!" commented the sheikh. "All preparations have been made? She will not be missed?"

"Absolutely!" Alf assured him. "She signed over her home and power of attorney long ago, even an application for a legal change of name. Her legal name is now 'Summer Breeze.' The young lady she used to be no longer exists. Of that you can be certain."

The pony stood obediently in place as vast amounts of money exhanged bank accounts. As she was being led away by one of the sheikh's men, she spotted a picture of Patricia, the smartly dressed, educated teacher and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

15.07.13