<div class="floatright">(http://i893.photobucket.com/albums/ac134/helvorn/lola_lynn_s1-024.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">ANNALIE RACHEL LISSON</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Picnic in the mountains<br/><strong>With:</strong>The bitch Marie-Claire Lisson her daughter and owner<br/><br/>I glared at my daughter despite my heaving, sweaty body.  The pain, the humiliation and the hysteria of the confinement warred with my pride and anger at the ungrateful bitch.  Yet my eyes slipped over to the whip and I knew that I would not resist her.  I had never, ever suffered pain like Marie-Claire had inflicted with the whip.  I knew that I could not fight her while she held the whip and I don’t think that I could muster the will power as I was still trembling from the effects of being confined.  Reluctantly I nodded, my answer muffled by the mask, my voice quavering and tearful.  “Yes… yes.. Maitresse.”<br/><br/>It was a struggle to climb out of the boot of the car.  I had always kept my body in great shape, working out at least once a day with aerobics or bicycle riding.  Roland had found a doctor who administered a high calorie, high fat and protein diet that kept my figure full, my breasts and hips heavy with the jiggling ass that he loved despite constant exercise.  He loved the contrast between my aerobic shape and the soft pillows of my breasts, the rounded shape of my belly, the generous swell of my ass and the full pillars of my thighs and hips.  All of this made it difficult to climb out of the tight pocket created for me in the boot.  I had a moment of panic and I thrashed hysterically for a few seconds before I stopped and took a deep breath.  Finally I pulled myself out of the nest of memory foam.<br/><br/>Standing nude with the mask on my face, the catheter between my legs and the dildo firmly implanted in my ass, my skin flushed with my fear and humiliation.  With a nod I removed the mask and placed it carefully in the boot.  I did not want to dirty it knowing that I would again be wearing it.  I paused for a moment as my hand drifted back to touch the hard probe in my back channel.  I had never, ever liked being taken there and Roland had only tried it once or twice in our entire marriage and then only when I was quite inebriated.  Now this thing was stretching my clenched rosebud in an intimate embrace.  Had I not been so thoroughly beaten by the whip and the experience in the boot I would have been screaming to remove the intruder in by bowels.  Embarrassed by the thought of pulling something out of my body in front of my daughter I looked down and away.  Gripping the hard rubber I had to bend over slightly for leverage and tug hard to remove the horrid thing.  Not looking at it I deposited it in the boot.  The catheter was an entirely different problem.  At first I could not unsnap the connections and it was not until I squatted as though I was going to pee that I was able to remove the tube.<br/><br/>Standing now free of everything but the irritating pressure of the catheter I looked with a mixture of fear and horror at the leather mittens.  Where had my daughter learned of such things, such instruments of bondage?  It had to be that damn school for Free Girls that we sent her to.  Kneeling, I held out my hands in obedience; it only took a single glance at the whip held loosely in the Bitch’s hand to comply.  I clenched my hands in fists and cringed, my eyes closed as Marie-Claire buckled the mittens onto my hands.  I opened my eyes and looked down before meeting hers in horror as I tried to flex my hands.  My hands would be useless fists encased in the cruel leather of the mittens.  What kind of animal was she trying to treat me as?  I could only nod to her commands; surely she wouldn’t take away the use of my hands for long?<br/><br/><br/>I continued to flex my hands inside the mittens as I sought some escape from the confinement.  I hesitantly moved my hands behind my back.  The kneeling position exposed me far too much with my heavy breasts sitting proudly on my chest.  My eyes widened as I watched Marie-Claire remove the straps and buckles and thought for a moment of fighting back.  I knew that with the whip as well as the loss of my hands that I stood no chance in a fight with my daughter.  Besides, this all had to be some kind of cruel joke and she would release me, apologize and take me home at any moment.<br/><br/>I cringed at the feel of Marie-Claire’s hands on my breast.  I was proud of the lushness of my body but most proud of the full, soft expanse of my breasts.  Exercise and daily treatments kept them tight and proud on my chest.  Other women had artificial enhancements but my Roland never looked at another woman’s chest as long as he had mine to fondle.  But my flesh was well trained and despite my distaste my nipple erected under my daughter’s caress.<br/><br/>My head shook at the mention of Milkmaid.  Still I had the sense to not speak up, having seen enough movies and watched others treat their slaves to know what punishment was in store for me if I objected.  I had gladly nursed my daughter until she was two. It was a bond between us and I loved the feel of her mouth on my nipples and the warm glow of contentment that flooded me as the lactating hormones flooded my body.  Also, Roland loved the tight fullness that lactation brought to my breasts and I had to admit that he sampled my wares in the privacy of our room.<br/><br/>Cringing and jerking back, I whimpered as Marie-Claire wrapped the strap around my breast and tightened it most cruelly.  I cried out in wordless pain and shock as first one breast was confined and then the other.  I started to speak but a tap on my flank with just the side of the whip shut my mouth.  The whip reminded me of my predicament and I went quickly to my hands and knees as commanded. My fists in the mittens were more like the paws of an animal and I shuddered wondering if my daughter was going to abuse me somehow.<br/><br/>I stumbled and jerked as I followed Marie-Claire through the grass and trees to the overlook.  My breasts ached with the impact of the straps and my flesh jiggled and shifted as I awkwardly crawled after her.  Always I had secretly despised slave owners who made their slaves crawl about like animals but here I was following the Bitch like a bitch myself. I was choking and gasping by the time we stopped as the Bitch had pulled mercilessly on my leash when I lagged behind her.  I panted, my face flushed with exertion and shortness of breath caused by the constriction of the collar as Marie-Claire looked down upon me.  I looked up at her, my inferior position making it difficult to maintain any dignity.  At the mention of punishment I shook my head and then cringed at the sight of the crop.  With each stroke of the leather I yelped and shifted.  My heavy, padded ass shifted and jiggled under the blows but the added fullness did nothing to mitigate the pain of the lashing.  Roland never used whips or even spanking in our sex play; he preferred pinching and squeezing when we became particularly frenzied.  From early on in our relationship I had made it very plain that I regarded spanking and whipping as very de classe.  I had never laid a finger on Marie-Claire but from the way she was treating me, the spoiled bitch, perhaps it would have been better had we not spared the rod and perhaps ended up with a less spoiled and ungrateful child.<br/><br/>Stinging with pain and quite angry with the spoiled girl I allowed the threat of the crop and the whip to control my actions.  I shifted as she liked and growled to myself as she used me as a seat.  The placement of the sausage on the ground in front of me like I was a dog was the last straw and I pointedly ignored it.<br/>