On A Short Leash

PROLOGUE

The show ring looked splendid in the autumn sun and the freshly painted white rails were surrounded by small groups of spectators, mainly men, some of whom were carrying binoculars. The autumn meeting on the island was the climax of the season.

The parade was the first stage of the competition which was bound to be keenly fought. A line of judges, all male, stood in the centre of the ring each carrying a clipboard bearing a card on which to record his scoring.

There were cameras at various points around the arena ready to film the second and third stages of the competition but at this moment, all lenses were pointed at the entrance from the marquee.

The crowd broke into applause at the sight of the dogs emerging with their handlers, in most cases, their proud owners.

There were gasps of surprise and admiration as a stunningly beautiful woman led two females into the ring, a leash in each gloved hand.

The girls were completely naked whilst their handler wore a tightly-fitting red corset, black thong, long black gloves, suspenders and shiny black boots which nearly reached her waist. Her glossy black hair was piled up in a classic style, exposing a long white neck. She knew how to carry herself and how to walk, whether through breeding or training or a combination of both.

As more spectators caught sight of the trio, the applause spread round the arena and reached a crescendo; there were calls of ‘bravo!’ from some.

The PA announcer said, ‘Here we see Emma Holman leading Chrissie and Susannah. These fine looking bitches are jointly trained by Emma Holman and Andy Scates.’

The girls were almost as beautiful as their trainer, though it was difficult to appraise their figures because they were crawling along on all fours.

One had sandy-coloured hair and the very white skin that often accompanies reddish hair. She appeared to have a rather prominent bottom and more than one man raised his binoculars to take a closer look.

The girl on the other leash had an exceptionally pretty face, large mouth, hazel eyes and cropped hair that made her look, at first sight, quite boyish. However, on closer inspection she had the wide hips and firm breasts of a mature woman.

There were other attractive girls in the ring but the woman in the red corset with her two bitches outshone the rest.

The judges indicated when they had completed their scoring and Emma Holman led the procession back into the shade of the marquee.

There were a few betting stands dotted about the field and spectators made a little rush to bet on Chrissie and Susannah, knowing it was likely they led the field after the beauty parade, as it was commonly called.

A number of men in long brown coats ran into the ring and, working to a well-drilled routine, they had the obstacles in place for the next stage in double quick time.

For the second stage, it was Andy who entered the arena, carrying his whip and leading out Chrissie, the girl with the very white skin and reddish hair. Her skin was so white that spectators could see even from a distance that her up-turned bottom was marked with old bruises and two or three crimson stripes more recently applied. It was common for the human canines to carry scars on their bodies as a result of the very arduous and disciplined training they experienced. Spectators expected to see the whip used in the second and third stages of the competition; they were not a squeamish group. On the contrary, the men liked to see the girls receive the lash.

Chrissie was at Andy’s heel in an instant.

When the hooter sounded to signal the start, she sped off. She jumped the first two fences easily, then disappeared into the long tube where the spectators were able to follow her progress by the bulges that appeared in the fabric.

There were more cameras in action for this phase of the competition, covering areas where tumbles or mishaps might occur.

Chrissie emerged from the tube and jumped the water splash, causing hardly a ripple, then clambered over the wall, fortunately without disturbing one of the bricks at the top.

Andy ran alongside her, using the whip. The crowd saw it snake out and catch the girl’s well rounded cheeks as she approached the next fence which was much higher than the others. Just before she took off, he gave her another lash to encourage her to leap.

She was clear.

The crowd applauded and there was some cheering, obviously Chrissie was fast becoming a favourite.

When it was announced, they recognised Chrissie had clocked a fast time but there was still a long way to go.

A man with a hand-held camera came very close, taking shots of her most intimate parts to spice up the videos that would be made of the competition. The last time he’d filmed Chrissie, there was a lot of footage of her below the waist and a whole sequence focused on her pussy.

When the result of the obstacle race was announced a spontaneous cheer went up. Chrissie’s time was the fastest.

Dog carting was the part of the meeting people looked forward to most and it attracted the most bets.

Emma drove a lightweight cart into the ring pulled by Susannah and a young man who was introduced to the crowd as Rex. The pairing of an attractive girl and a well-made naked young man always pleased the crowd and, for the few women present, this was their opportunity for eye-candy. There was always fun to be had comparing the size of the men’s tackle and the possibility one might get an erection, which always caused a great deal of almost school-boy/girl mirth.

There was a lot of money riding on the pair who certainly looked lean and athletic, trained to the peak of fitness.

Susannah and Rex took a good look at the opposition. They had watched this team making progress in the heats and were not surprised to see them in the final. The cart was pulled by two large dogs, not as slim and athletic as Rex, but heavier men with shoulders as wide as barn doors.

Although all drivers were female, it was only possible to discern this woman’s sex by her large breasts which bulged the vest she was wearing. There was nothing in the least feminine about her face or hair and she had not even entered the beauty contest.

They were off!

The carts threw up dust as they careered round the course, the dogs achieving remarkable speeds considering they were on hands and knees. After a few laps, two carts pulled clear; one being Emma’s and the other driven by the large butch looking woman who used her whip incessantly.

Emma whipped backs and bottoms when she needed extra effort, but it was considered excessive to apply the whip throughout the race.

The leading carts were getting closer and closer to each other and a collision seemed inevitable but at the last second Emma veered out of danger, losing a little of her momentum in the process.

They were into the last circuit of the track.

The crowd craned their necks trying to get a good view of the battle down the final straight. It was difficult to tell who was ahead. It was going to be a close call, perhaps a photo finish…

Chrissie Latimer drove into the car park in her battered pink Mini, aware she was twenty minutes late and her first lecture was with dishy Andy Scates. ‘Get your skates on,’ he might say, which, if she remembered correctly, was an example of a pun. Or was it something else he’d taught the class recently, a metaphor or a simile? She liked his lectures best, which wasn’t necessarily saying a whole lot because most of the teachers were crap.

There was no good reason for her being late.

Chrissie had been out for a few drinks with Anthea the night before and was suffering a slight hangover. She’d just left it late to drag herself out of bed. What little leeway she had before she should have set off, she spent on her toenails and then doing her face, rather than getting breakfast, though she had a swig of orange juice straight from the carton.

She’d already selected a skimpy cotton skirt to wear without stockings, matched with a very tight T-shirt. It was summer but her legs were white, not so much as a freckle to be seen. Chrissie avoided the sun because of her light complexion, which went with her sandy- coloured hair. She had very slim legs which she knew Andy had noticed. She could get away without wearing stockings because her limbs were shapely and unblemished. Her plan had been to sit where he couldn’t miss her cross and uncross her legs and try her damnedest to distract him, but that idea had been thwarted by her reluctance to throw off the duvet.

Chrissie had also chosen a pair of her sexiest frilly knickers instead of her usual thong because there was a good chance the skirt would ride up and her underwear would be exposed. She was annoyed that her own idleness had made it less likely she’d get an opportunity unless they got the chance of a chat at the end of the lesson.

Story of her life. She was always doing things that irritated her so she was constantly at war with herself, minor skirmishing at least.

There were other students drifting in, mostly in groups of three or four, a few on their own. They were mainly in their late teens, re-taking their ‘A’ levels or even their GCSEs. This college concentrated on giving people a second chance. It advertised for mature students but as far as she could see, Chrissie was about the oldest, which caused her some embarrassment. If only she’d made more effort at school…

She waltzed into the classroom, swinging her badge-encrusted shoulder bag in an effort to appear unflustered. She tried hard to maintain a bright exterior in front of the mainly young females in the class, not wanting to reveal for a second her insecurities about coping with the work and being practically middle aged compared with them. She was twenty-three.

Andy was handing back essays and making comments. At the moment Chrissie entered, he was remonstrating with a student who hadn’t handed the work in. He turned to her and said, ‘I didn’t get anything from Miss Latimer, either.’

‘Sorry, Mr. Scates,’ she said, cursing herself for not daring to call him Andrew. She kept telling herself she was going to use his first name but still hadn’t quite plucked up the courage. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good time when he was telling her off.

‘And the reason…?’

‘I just didn’t seem to have time. Sorry.’

She couldn’t admit in front of the smirking faces that it was because she had found the assignment too difficult.

‘We’ve got to get our priorities right. Either we’re serious about the examination or we’re not. I’d like a word at the end of the session, Chrissie,’ he said sternly.

He waited for the last student to leave and closed the door behind her, asking Chrissie to take a seat. She was in the process of pulling one of the cushioned chairs, the posh ones, out of the circle, hoping he’d then sit opposite her and this time Andrew Scates obliged.

At least that gave her a chance to distract him, which seemed even more important now that she was in trouble.

On the other hand, being told off by Andrew might be quite an interesting experience because when some men were masterful with her she responded, if it was the right man. She was not put off by his beard though she didn’t normally like a bristly face, certainly not one of those too bushy beards that looked as though they provided habitats for wild life, nor one of the thin straggly variety that looked patchy and unkempt. She didn’t like stubble either because it was scratchy if you kissed and just looked like the guy was too lazy to shave every morning.

Andrew’s beard was kempt, if there was such a word, trimmed, tidy, made up of very dark hair without a trace of grey. It helped him look the part of the English Lecturer. His hair was so black she guessed he might have a lot of dark chest hair and possibly a hairy back. She hoped not. Normally she hated hairy backs, though she might be able to make an exception in his case.

Andy’s face, with or without his glasses, which he used for reading, looked intelligent and sensitive but not soppy or effeminate or anything. He dressed rather well, not in the patches-on-elbows-of-jacket sort of way beloved by many teachers. He usually wore well-cut trousers and good quality shoes with an open neck shirt but they looked quite expensive.

Knowing that teaching didn’t pay well, she wondered if he made money some other way.

She’d learnt a new word recently that she thought fitted him perfectly,
charismatic.

‘What are we going to do with you, Chrissie?’ he asked.

In her thoughts she wanted to reply ‘anything you have in mind,’ but actually said, ‘I know. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t get started on it. My head seemed in a total muddle. Anything I wrote down sounded like crap.’

‘If you handed it in, I could judge for myself and give you some feedback. This way we’re getting nowhere fast. Why don’t you ask me for help when you need it?’

‘Because I thought you’d be too busy to help the likes of me and anyway, if I’m honest, I don’t like to show myself up as a thicko.’

‘Chrissie, I know you’re bright. When we were discussing
Sons and Lovers
you were right on the button. I said so at the time.’

‘But it’s when I come to write it down. That’s when it goes all to pot which Lawrence didn’t smoke as far as I know, unlike most bloody writers. You see, a play on words, I can do it sometimes.’

‘You are very articulate, Chrissie. Sometimes you have a great turn of phrase.’

She saw him glance down as she uncrossed her long legs then lifted her knees, felt the hem of her skirt slip an inch or two up her thighs. There was a spar joining the legs of the chair; she put her sandals on that and rocked back.

‘Mind you don’t fall backwards,’ Andrew said.

‘That’s exactly what my teacher at school used to say. A chair has four legs.’

‘What was school like?’

‘Crap.’

‘Crap. That word again.’

‘No, that’s not entirely true. I was a shit student.’

‘In what way?’

‘In every which way. I was a ringleader, bit of a rebel.

‘I’m glad I didn’t have to teach you at that age.’

‘I might have been different with you.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘You never know. You make English lessons interesting.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ she said cheekily. ‘Can I call your Andrew?’

‘You
may
.’

‘Right, I get it. I shouldn’t say
can
because of course I can say the word. I should say
may
because I’m asking permission.’

‘Very well put.’

Chrissie flicked her hair back where it was falling over her right ear, found an itch to scratch on her bare leg and then, while her hand was there, stroked her soft downy thigh a little so he’d take another look.

Chrissie saw his face go just a little pink and he fidgeted in his chair, adjusting himself as men do and there it was, a hard on!

Andrew was usually good on eye contact but his eyes avoided hers for a few seconds, not that Chrissie blamed him. She knew she was being a bitch looking at the bulge in his pants when she should have pretended she hadn’t seen it as she would have done if she’d been a lady, which she wasn’t.

‘Look, Chrissie, why not ask for help when you need it? I don’t mind if you give me a ring or email me or even come round.’

‘You’d soon get sick of that.’

‘I wouldn’t. I’m your tutor as well as your English teacher so I have a responsibility to make sure you’re thriving generally. Come round in the evening if you need to. I’ve got a flat near the Hospital. I’ll write down my address and telephone number.’

‘You really wouldn’t mind?’

Chrissie thought it was probably his prick talking. She always found it flattering when a man got a hard on because of her, but she knew you had to take everything they said with a packet of salt when they were in that state. It wouldn’t be work he had on his mind. She could see in a flash he was potentially another distraction, not a solution to her problem in getting on with it and meeting deadlines, yet Chrissie knew she’d probably accept his invitation.

When she got home there were four messages from Brian on her answer phone, the usual abuse. His speech was slurred and full of hate. She wondered why she let the recordings run their course when she could predict exactly what he was going to say. She just prayed he wouldn’t come round.

They’d divorced because of his drinking and his violence.
Acrimonious
was the word people used. Divorces were either acrimonious or amicable, with nothing in between.
Very
acrimonious in their case, so perhaps there should be another word for it. Something to describe all action, hate-spitting, nail scratching, fist-flaying, body-punching splitting up. All that loathing pouring from his lips and yet he was plaguing her with phone calls and stalking her. Why did he want any kind of contact if he hated her that much?