The Foot Ranch

Esme Carpenter’s high heels clicked loudly on the parquet floor that lead toward the administrative offices of the Foot Ranch.  She was excited, her bright eyes and beaming smile not just a show for the camera.  It was her first solo assignment as a reporter and after years of training she was finally going to be able to realize her dream.  Bradley, her cameraman, a quiet bloke of thirty years, was a master at setting up shots and knowing where the good lighting was.  He had real talent, skills that Esme knew would serve her well, a fact that was important since she was working without her producer calling the shots.  She glanced behind her, seeing Bradley trailing along, the large video cam on his shoulder, getting a shot of her well-proportioned ass as she marched down the hall.  Esme gave the camera a winsome smile and then a wink, twitching her posterior, knowing that the viewers would love the sight, all the more so since she was wearing a shimmering skirt of gauze that did little to hide the delectable curves beneath.  

“Just wait till you get a sight of my blouse,” she murmured as she faced forward again.  Some reporters went with blatant and outright nudity, but Esme knew that concealing just a bit, and making her viewers want more, was the way to high ratings.  Her blouse was a case in point – thin mesh that left her blossoming bosom well defined, and made it fairly obvious that she was voluntarily wearing a set of pain clamps.

Dangling from her nipples and crushing the tender tips of her breasts in between two metal jaws, the pain clamps sported small power cells that stored enough charge to leave her a metaphorical puddle on the floor.  After the taping she’d be required to set up a live shot as an introduction, and then of course there was the follow-up.  During that time there would be a number displayed on the screen and anyone with sufficient funds could bring up the appropriate application on their computer, pay the fee, and then hit the button.  The intensity was random but Esme had an unusually high threshold for pain and she knew her viewers got a kick out of her shrieks of surprise, the fumbling with the microphone as her hands flew to her breasts, all while she struggled to finish her report.  It was one of the things that made her so popular.  And now, instead of being led around by a producer, or a senior reporter, she was on her own.  It was like a dream!

Esme turned at the glass fronted office and marched in.  The place was well appointed, with a blond and busty receptionist at the desk, sitting calmly on a stool, and answering the phone.  Esme wasn’t surprised to see the girl naked, but what did shock her was the fact that the girl sported a furry tail that was clearly embedded in her bottom.  Her ankles were drawn up to her thighs, a padded metal restraint forcing her heels against her buttocks.  The position looked uncomfortable, but the girl showed no signs of distress, and in fact seemed to be rubbing herself against the seat of the stool.  Esme noticed that both of the receptionist’s feet were unusually pretty, the nails perfectly manicured and painted, the pads of her feet without blemish or callus.  

“Good morning!” the girl said brightly, looking up at Esme, face flushed.  “I’m Bridget.  Welcome to the Foot Ranch!  I’ll let Candi know you’re here.”   

Esme smiled down at Bridget, getting just a bit closer.  Bridget’s stool had some sort of ridge, or bump along the saddle, glistening easily.  The reporter grinned as she leaned back.  Esme knew that Bridget was certainly enjoying her duties at the desk!  

“Thank Bridget,” Esme replied professionally.  “I appreciate it.  Are you one of the girls here?” she asked.

Bridget nodded eagerly.  “Absolutely, though I have no idea when I’ll be selected though,” she said.  She smiled warmly and picked up the phone.  “Candi?  Ms. Carpenter is here for the tour.  Yes.  Absolutely.”  Bridget put down the phone and looked up at Esme.  “Candi says you both will need to remove your shoes for the tour.”

Esme blinked but then nodded.  She moved over to one of the nearby chairs while Bradley panned the camera over Bridget, zooming in on the glistening wetness of the stool between the girl’s legs.  The receptionist clearly didn’t mind and even spread her legs slightly, giving Bradley a sultry look that made it clear she’d have preferred sitting on Esme’s cameraman to the stool itself.  Then Bradley pointed the camera at Esme, the lens spinning into focus as he framed Esme’s dainty feet as she pulled them out of the high heels.  The reporter deliberately didn’t push her knees together, knowing that the money shot of her sex, shaved clean and clearly ready, would most certainly make it into the final cut.

Esme had just finished when Candi Lee stepped into the office.  She was a stunning redhead with voluptuous curves that almost made Esme jealous.  Like Esme, Candi Lee had chosen an outfit that revealed more than it hid, a white crocheted dress that had spaces large enough for both of Candi’s hard and puckered nipples to stick out through the material.  Even better, the woman was wearing a set of nipple clamps, a thin silver chain dangling between them.  It wasn’t a set of pain clamps, but Esme knew that Candi’s attire would strike the right sort of nerve. Even better, the dress didn’t actually cover the woman’s bottom or sex, and the shaved and glistening petals of Candi’s vagina were on clear display.  Bradley was having a field day.  

Candi stuck her hand out as Bradley took a step back and got both of them in the picture. “Hello, Ms. Carpenter.  I’m Candi Lee, marketing representative of the Foot Ranch.  Welcome.”  

Esme grinned and took the woman’s offered hand.  “Esme Carpenter, but please – call me Esme.”

Candi smiled in return.  “Thank you, Esme.  And please, call me Candi.  Are you ready to begin your tour?” She asked.

Esme nodded.  “Absolutely.  My viewers are very curious about the Foot Ranch.  Not much is known except for your final products and the quality here is second to none.”

Candi’s huge smile was sincere.  “Thank you.  We pride ourselves on those products.  But let’s get started.  I intend to show your viewers exactly what happens here at the Foot Ranch, from the moment we select the finest samples to the end product that we put on your table.   As we like to say here at the Foot Ranch, we have a step up on the competition!”  She opened the office door and led the reporter and her cameraman out.  Esme turned toward Bradley, to remind him to remove his footwear, but the man had already slipped out of his shoes and was padding around in just his stockings.  

At first the parquet floors of the hallway were cold and hard on Esme’s feet, but within a few steps Candi led them into a carpeted corridor.

“Ohhh!” gasped Esme.  “The carpet!  It’s like walking on cotton!” 

Candi grinned.  “Yes.  It’s one of the reasons we don’t allow shoes in most areas of the Foot Ranch.  The padding is two inches thick and the carpet itself a synthetic, velvet suede hybrid.  Resists dirt and wear but feels amazing.”  She smiled wanly.  “You should count yourself lucky. Ninety-nine percent of the women who feel this carpet never do so on their feet.”

Esme nodded.  “I imagine.  So how does the Foot Ranch go about selecting the best stock?” Esme asked, knowing Bradley would be filming them.  In fact, he moved around in front of them, walking backward as Candi began to explain.

“First of all, we only use the best genetically engineered stock,” Esme began.  “The Foot Ranch is all about quality and so we look for the right sort of genes.  Stock is selected between the ages of six and eight, purchased from qualified breeders, and then brought here to begin training and processing.”

Esme nodded.  “How long does processing take?” she asked.

Candi continued to walk.  “Obviously we have to wait for the stock to mature, though occasionally we have a client who wishes something tender and we do make exceptions.  While we will provide for special requests, we like our stock to be approximately eighteen years of age before harvesting.”

Esme blinked. “So you have them for as many as twelve years?” That was quite surprising.

Candi grinned and nodded.  “Absolutely.  And let me tell you, it’s an easy life.”  She turned and opened a set of large double doors.  “We won’t spend a lot of time here, but I wanted you to see them.”  Esme and Bradley both looked in.  The room was gigantic, and something of a surprise.  Over a hundred girls, none of them older than eleven or twelve. All of them were naked except for black cloth chokers, each of which sported a small silver tag.  Esme could see a few names.  Lastly, all of them were on their hands and knees, playing.  Dollhouses, tea sets, pillow castles, and art desks, a hundred different activities all over the room were being used.  A number of adult women, all of them standing, walked around monitoring the chattering, squealing, fun.  

Esme blinked. “I… I don’t know what to say.

Candi smiled. “The mental health of our stock is very important.  Obviously none of these girls have reached maturity, but we also want them to get used to nudity.  At this level, the primary thing the girls have to adjust to is the ankle/thigh restraints, and trust me – that is no easy thing.  There is a primal urge for us to walk, and every single one of these girls were brought into the Foot Ranch on her own two feet.”

The reporter nodded.  “Do they ever get the restraints removed?  For circulation if for no other reason?”

Candi nodded. “Absolutely.  Three times a day in fact.  Every girl here, regardless of age, is given three twenty minute calf and foot massages.  Their bindings are released, though they are strapped down to the table, just to prevent accidents.  Their knee joints are lightly worked and then their calf muscles, down to their cute little toes, are kneaded with an herb oil.”

“How long does it take to adjust?” Esme asked.

Candi shrugged. “Most girls make the adjustment in under three to four weeks.  Occasionally we get a girl who can’t handle the restraint and we’re forced to sell her.  But that’s less than one percent.  We shower affection on our little pets, and try to make their lives as easy and productive as possible.” she said softly, motioning toward the underage girls.  “All of them are tested and the ones that test high are given educational training as well.”

Understanding glimmered in Esme’s eye.  “Like Bridget.”

“Exactly.  Many of the vital functions of the Foot Ranch are actually run by special girls.”

Esme took a deep breath.  “Does Bridget know?” 

Candi smiled. “Of course. The girls are trained to accept it.  It’s their most fervent wish to be harvested and then there is the pet selection.  And as you know, over twenty percent of our girls don’t go for further processing.  Our pet girl line is top notch and every girl here thinks she will be one of those selected.”

Esme shifted uncomfortably. “I know, but to lose…” she began.

Candi reached out and touched Esme’s arm.  The woman pointed to a dark mark obscured beneath Esme’s skirt.  Then Candi pointed toward her own body.  “Is it so different?  I can see you’ve been rated Grade A, just as I have.  Are our days measured any differently?  Your network bought you for a purpose and all we can do is make use of the time we have.  Correct?” Candi’s voice was soft.  

Esme shook her head. “No. You’re right.  Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  It’s reality,” Candi replied.

Esme took a deep breath.  “All right, what’s next?”

Candi grinned.  “We have several rooms like this for the younger ones, but they’re pretty much all the same.  We’ll visit the older girls.  Follow me, please.”

The two women were followed by the cameraman and Esme noticed that they passed at least three other rooms similar to the first.  

“How much stock does the Foot Ranch have?” Esme asked curiously.  Bradley jerked the camera up and hit the record button.  He made sure Candi’s head and clamped breasts were framed.

“That’s something of a secret, but we generally have in excess of three thousand heads here,” Candi replied smugly.

“Three thousand?” Esme gasped.

Candi nodded.  “Absolutely.  The market is actually growing.”  She paused in front of another door.  “Here we are.”

Candi Lee opened the double doors and let both Esme and Bradley into the room.  Esme let out a gasp, though Bradley was able to keep his amazement in check.  Too many years of being behind the camera made it possible for him to stay quiet.

“It’s an orgy!” Esme declared, her eyes darting around.

The room was just as massive as the first one they had been shown, and it too was full of naked girls, all of them sporting the black chokers and ankle/thigh restraints.  But unlike the first room, which was littered with doll houses and building blocks and art supplies, keeping the underage girls occupied, this room was empty of pastimes.  Instead the girls were having sex.  Some of the older girls wore strap on cocks while others played with thick rubber dildos.  The scent of sex permeated the room, along with the herbed oil rub used on their calves and feet.  Sex was everywhere, tongues and fingers and toys delving and touching and bringing soft cries of pleasure.

But almost instantly things went quiet and Esme realized they were suddenly the focus of attention, lots of it.  Or more accurately, Bradley was.

Candi smiled. “I suppose I should have expected this.”  She turned toward Brad apologetically.  “They don’t get to see actual men all that often, and when they do it is on a limited basis.”

Esme looked at the girls, many of whom were crawling over, eyes glimmering with excitement.  There was a dull murmur of conversation as well.  “What do you mean?”

Candi looked frankly at Bradley.  “Would you care for a demonstration?” she asked.

Bradley eyebrow went up.  “A demonstration of what?” he asked.

Candi grinned. “Just put your camera down, take off your pants, and lie down.  I promise you, this will be fun.”

Bradley looked at Esme who shrugged.  Finally he set the camera down and began unbuckling his pants.  The girls surged forward, none of them older than seventeen, many of them barely pubescent.  The bigger girls were closer and formed a quiet circle around Bradley.  He finished taking off his trousers and boxers and Esme suddenly felt a surge of arousal between her own legs, as well as just a touch of jealousy.  She’d had sex with Bradley several times, but this… this was different.  His cock was already stiff and he eyed the girls as he lay down on the soft carpet.

To Esme, it looked like a pride of lionesses descending on a fresh kill.  At least eight or nine of the girls moved in, their bare feet waving high in the air just next to their buttocks, touching and rubbing themselves against Bradley.  Three seemed to be fighting each other over the right to suck his cock while the other girls each satisfied themselves with other parts of his anatomy.  They spread his legs wide, but only to give two of the girls room to straddle his bare feet, rubbing their wet slits over his wriggling toes.  In seconds one girl was straddling him, rubbing herself against his open mouth, while two more girls were masturbating themselves with his fingers, legs spread wide apart.  Bradley groaned.

Esme frowned.  This had to be a man’s dream come true.  Ten teenage girls throwing themselves on him?  She watched as a moment later one of the girls mounted Esme’s cameraman and began bouncing enthusiastically.

“They’re trained to worship real cock of course,” Candi said softly as Bradley let out another moan.  “But they only get it when one of the male employees make an effort to come in here.”

Esme’s lips were a tight line. “I’m sure.  As if they have to make an effort.”

Candi laughed. “You would think, right?  But I’ve been told that after two or three times it can get a little daunting.  The girls will literally hold a man down, even after he’s cum once or twice, and just keep sucking and working at him until he’s hard again.  We’ve had to send in rescue teams,” she joked.

Esme gave Candi an incredulous look.  

Candi continued, ignoring Esme’s discomfiture.  “Once the girls are mature we add a sexual element to everything.  As you can see, their primary play activities moves from art and dolls to sex.  The prerequisite calf and foot massages take on a very different form, with orgasm becoming an integral part of the process.”

The reporter nodded, still watching as Bradley was quickly brought to orgasmic bliss.  Candi grinned. “I suggest we rescue him at this point.  We do have a schedule and if we don’t get him up, they’ll keep him – permanently.”

Candi moved forward and began tapping shoulders, eventually working her way toward the dazed cameraman.  She actually had to push one girl aside, a girl who was eagerly and desperately sucking on Bradley’s spent cock, hoping she could get it up quick enough to sate herself.

“Are they deprived of orgasm?” Esme asked curiously.  The girls seemed ravenous.

Candi shook her head.  “No, not really.  They just don’t get real men very often.  Plus their diets include a sexual stimulant.  It makes them constantly horny.”

“Doesn’t that taint the final product?” Esme asked as Bradley stumbled over to his trousers and pushed his legs back into them.

“Not in the least.  It’s all natural and we stop dosing them when they go up on the immediate market.”

Esme nodded. “I see.”

Candi looked over at Bradley who had a pleased look on his face.  “If you are both ready, I’ll take you over to the massage area next.  I’d like you to see how we treat those delicate feet.” 

Bradley quickly donned his clothes and picked up his camera.  He nodded at Esme.  She turned back to Candi and shrugged. “I’m ready.”

Together they left the older girls’ dormitory and moved back into the hall.  A moment later Candi opened another door.  Inside were rows of tables, most of which held a naked girl strapped face down to the surface.  The bonds weren’t serious, just Velcro straps around the waist and knee.  But it was a bit odd to see the girls with their ankle/thigh restraints gone.  But even more interesting to Esme was the fact that the massagers working on the naked girls, were themselves naked, each with her legs bound at ankle and thigh.

Candi noticed Esme’s look of astonishment. “Oh yes.  We train the girls to provide the foot and calf massage.  Each girl takes a two hour shift and does four complete massages.  Care to see?” Candi asked.

Esme brightened. “Absolutely, but I’m also curious about these stools the girls are sitting on.  Didn’t I see your receptionist on one in the office?”

“Yes.  It’s our own patented design.  Here, let’s find an empty one,” Candi replied, leading both Esme and Bradley over to an empty stool.  Esme was able to get a closer look at it.  The seat was bright blue and shaped more like an equestrian saddle than any contemporary chair.  It sat on wheels and was adjustable in height, but the real feature was the ridge that ran vertically down the center, from back to front.  

“It looks uncomfortable,” Esme observed, pointing to the ridge.  

Candi laughed.  “It’s anything but.  Why don’t you try it?” she encouraged.  

Esme blinked. “Can I?”

“Sure, just remove your skirt.”

At that suggestion Esme hesitated.  “Well, I guess I can just pull it up,” she replied.

Candi shook her head and glanced at Bradley, who was grinning.  “No.  It will need to come completely off.  Trust me.  I have one of these chairs in my office,” Candi said reassuringly.

Esme glanced at Bradley, who finally spoke up.  “You know Jimmy is going to love a shot of you stripping down and riding that thing.”

The reporter rolled her eyes, sighing.  Bradley was right.  Esme’s producer would like a shot like that.  She looked back at the stool and then slipped her thumbs into the gauze skirt she had wrapped around her waist.  It slithered down over her hips with just the slightest pressure and Bradley made sure every exceptional second of Esme’s exposure was on tape.  He even moved around in a circle, the camera focused on Esme’s wet and glistening sex as she stepped up to the stool and swung one leg over the top.

She had expected the stool seat to be rigid, but instead it was quite soft, even with the strange ridge digging into her soft bits.  She wriggled slightly as her juices lubricated the leather, settling herself.  Her toes grazed the ground, just enough to make it awkward and she drew her feet up, as if looking for a bar to rest her feet though.  Esme frowned in frustration, realizing that the girls who usually sat on the stool had their ankles bound to their thighs and wouldn’t need a place to rest their feet.

“Now let’s turn it on,” Candi said.  She leaned down and reached under the stool.  Suddenly a vibration began between Esme’s legs, focused on her clit, only to slide down through her spread petals and up into her ass.  There was no penetration, but the sensation was both erotic and disturbing.  Esme gasped.

“What is that?” she exclaimed as the feeling crawled back through her crotch to the top of her slit.  She let out a tiny whimper.

“Sonic stimulator,” Candi explained.  “Each girl can set the stimulation to one of a dozen different programs, all of various intensity.  There’s also a random selector, which causes a variation in duration, strength, and position, as well as several other programs that can merely caress, to actively send a girl into sexual overload.”

Esme was rocking on the seat, her hips grinding.  “Oh my…” she whispered.  “Oh my God!”  Bradley was grinning, his camera pointed at Esme, getting her entire body into the frame.  She rode the stool eagerly, thrusting herself along the central ridge, her gyrations getting wilder with every second.   

“Enjoying it?” Candi asked with a grin.  “I’ve got one in my office and I admit that I rarely have it off if I’m sitting in it.”  Candi moved behind Esme and reached around the reporter’s waist, snagging the soft yet see through blouse and lifting it up.  Bradley made sure Esme’s breasts were in full view of the camera as the pain clamps were exposed and then Candi was pulling off Esme’s shirt.  It came up and over the blond woman’s head, only to be tossed aside.  Then Candi was cupping Esme’s breasts, tugging on the clamps and twisting them lightly.

“Oh!  Oh yes!” Esme whimpered, clearly coming to the peak of her sexual need.  She reached back with a hand as Candi began kissing the point where Esme’s neck and shoulder met, and Esme shivered, eyes closed in rapture.  Then she stiffened, crying out, feet swinging wildly as the orgasm blasted through her.

“Does that feel different when you’re legs are pulled up?” Bradley asked as Esme began calming down, still twitching from the power release. 

Candi nodded vigorously.  “Oh yes!” she replied. “I have a pair of ankle/thigh restraints in my office that I routinely use if I know I’m going to be undisturbed for a while.”  She grinned. “And to be honest, sometimes I put them on, just so I can do a better job of relating to the girls here.   I’ll go as much as an entire week with the restraint on.”

Esme, still flushed, blinked and looked up at Candi. “An entire week?  Isn’t that hard?” she said, laboring to get the words out through the heaving of her chest.  Candi nodded.  “Very.  The adjustment is not easy.  But, wait here just a second.”  

Candi hurried away toward the other side of the room where the regular massages were happening.  She returned a moment later with a pair of ankle/thigh restraints.  Esme looked on curious, at least until Candi secured the first one to her ankle.  There was a loud click and then Candi drew up Esme’s leg.

“We’ll give you a small taste of what it’s like, so you can accurately report it to your viewers,” Candi explained politely.  Put like that, how could Esme refuse?  Besides, the stool was still sending little shivers of sonic caress through her loins.  Candi worked quickly and in moments both of Esme’s legs were drawn up tightly, the heel of her foot pressed against her buttocks.  Candi had been right.  It did dramatically change the pressure and sensation of the stool’s function.  Esme gasped again, her hips involuntarily twitching.

Candi laughed.  “See?  But I think we might want to move along now.  As I mentioned before, we’ve got a schedule to keep.”

Esme nodded.  “Uh… how do I get down?”

“Just put your hands on the front and lift yourself off, then swing your leg down and slide until you get to the floor.  The stool won’t tip, I assure you.”

Bradley continued filming as Esme awkwardly dismounted, leaving a massive wet smear on the leather.  She blushed crimson as the intrepid cameraman got a close-up of her sexual drippings and almost fell on her ass as she lost her balance.  She had to cling to the stool to keep from toppling over.  

Finally she was on the ground, her knees pressing into the lush carpet and she finally understood why such padding was necessary.  It wasn’t easy to move with your legs bound ankle to thigh and Esme looked over at the regular girls in amazement.  What a strange yet difficult life!  Esme looked around for her skirt and shirt, but was shocked to find that Candi had picked them both up and tucked them away in Bradley’s bag.  Esme opened her mouth to protest, but then realized that she wouldn’t be able to get her skirt back on, even if she had it, and clearly Candi was planning something.  Esme shrugged.  The viewers would love the exposure and it would certainly earn her points in popularity.

“Follow me, please,” Candi said sweetly and began walking toward the massage tables.  Esme followed, crawling behind Candi on all fours, her delicate feet swaying just behind her rump.  It was a decidedly odd sensation.  It only took them a minute and then Candi motioned toward one of the massage tables, where a sixteen year old girl sat on one of the orgasm stools, patiently waiting.   

“Please crawl up onto the table,” Candi said to Esme.

“I’m going to get one of the foot massages?” Esme asked in surprise.

Candi grinned.  “They’re pretty amazing.  I get one on occasion myself.  You’ll see.”

Esme nodded and pulled herself up onto the low, padded table.  There was an unusual bump a third of the way up from the bottom edge and Esme didn’t need to be told that she needed to position her sex above the protrusion.  She settled into position, using her arms to wriggle downward.  As soon as her clit was pressed against the bump, it began lightly vibrating.  Esme groaned and looked over at Candi.  

“Again?” she asked lightly, settling herself over the sonic hump.

Candi laughed. “Of course. Everything we do here is tinged with sexuality.  Everything.”  Candi turned toward the young masseuse at the end of the table.  “Please begin.”

The girl moved forward and quickly secured Esme to the table.  Black Velcro straps crossed over the small of Esme’s back, then the girl released the ankle restraints, leaving the thigh straps still firmly bound to Esme’s legs.  Another binding was tightened just above the knees and Esme felt the girl’s fingers on her flesh.

A rich aroma wafted across Esme’s nose and Candi provided the explanation without even being prompted.

“The oil we use is actually a blend of grapeseed and cinnamon oils.  There are a number of other herbs and spices worked into the oil base as well, though we would prefer to keep that formula secret, since it is the foundation for the taste of our product.  In essence, we are not massaging our stock, but marinating them.  For twelve years.”

Esme groaned.  The girl’s fingers were light and fluttery and didn’t even dig into the flesh.  It was almost a caress or a light stroke than a massage.  In fact, if the girl had moved just a hair faster, Esme would have been giggling.  The massage was so close to a tickle that it was almost impossible to deal with it.  Still, it felt amazing and Esme felt the tension of the interview drain out of her even as the table slowly stimulated her sex into another rise of need.  

“She’s got hard feet,” the girl at the end of the table said, her voice shocked.

Candi nodded. “She does.  She’s been on them a lot.”

The girl smiled sympathetically.  “I wouldn’t know what that’s like.  Does it hurt?”

“Sometimes,” Esme replied, still enjoying the soft touch against her soles.  “Do your feet ever hurt?”

The girl laughed. “Never.  But sometimes my legs do.  Thighs mostly.  I get cramps.  I sometimes have to ask for extra massages so I can straighten out the kinks.”

“Seems like a tough way to live,” Esme observed.

The girl shook her head, her fingers lightly rubbing up and down Esme’s soles and then over the heel and up to the backs of her knees.  “I don’t think so, though I don’t have anything to compare with.  We’re well cared for and get the best training so we can maybe become pet girls.”

Esme twisted her head and glanced back.  “You want to be a pet girl?” she asked.

The masseuse nodded.  “Absolutely.  Wouldn’t you?”  She grimaced then.  “The only thing I don’t care for is tail training.  I’m sixteen so I’m in a size five now and I’m not looking forward to size six let me tell you.”

“Size?” Esme asked, ignoring the pleasure that was coming from between her legs as well as the bottoms of her feet.  

The masseuse laughed. “Yeah.  The older girls get the bigger sizes.  I started at fourteen with size one.  That wasn’t so bad.  About the width of your finger.  The tail was a little fun too.  But they get bigger.  A lot bigger the older you get.”

Esme grunted.  “I see.  And that’s the only part you don’t like?” she asked.

“Well, except for punishments.  I try very, very hard not to break the rules.”

Now that intrigued Esme and she twisted to look back at the girl again. “Punishments?” she asked.

Candi interrupted. “We do have a discipline code here at the Foot Ranch.  Girls are expected to behave submissively, courteously, and calmly.  While we do allow a certain playfulness, we discourage misbehavior.”

“With what?” Esme asked, wondering if Candi would answer.

“Bondage in uncomfortable positions, whippings, clamps, electro-shock torture, and various other devices,” she replied simply.

“I hate the horse,” the masseuse said with a shiver.

“The horse?” Esme asked.

The girl nodded. “Yeah, it’s like the stools we sit on, except it’s made of wood and much sharper.  And it doesn’t vibrate.  You have to sit on it with only the strength of your legs keeping your weight from being right on the edge.  If you’ve been really bad they clamp your nipples or whip you at the same time.  I’ve only had to ride it once and I’m NEVER going to do anything THAT bad again.”

“What did you do to deserve that?” Esme asked quietly, afraid the girl wouldn’t answer.  But she did.

“I hurt another girl’s feet,” the masseuse said softly, clearly still upset about the issue.  “Me and my friend Tiffany held her down and I hit her feet with the spine of a book.”

Esme blinked, just a little shocked at the idea.  “That’s all?  You wacked her feet a few times with a book?”

The girl nodded.  “It’s the worst thing you can do here. Our feet all are very tender and sensitive.”  The girl pushed a fingernail into Esme’s foot.  Esme winced, but didn’t cry out.  “That’s uncomfortable on you, right?” the masseuse asked.  “That same amount of pressure would leave most of us screaming in agony.  Even in the punishment room our feet are left alone.  Not only did I hurt her badly, she was yanked from the program, sold off immediately.  They made us watch a video about what happened to her…”

Esme felt the shudder through the girl’s hands, right into the soles of her feet.

“On to a happier subject,” Candi said brightly, before Esme could ask about the video.  “After this, we’ll check out the pet training rooms.”

Esme looked up at Candi, who was holding a small bag in her hands.  Evidently the marketing representative had pulled it out from under the table.  The bag was plastic, but tied securely.  “Pet training rooms?”

Candi nodded. “Yes.  All of the girls go through pet training, starting with just an hour when they are fourteen, up to most of the day by the time they reach eighteen, unless of course they are working for the Foot Ranch.”

Esme, still wrapped up in the hedonistic pleasure of the table smiled lazily.  “And what’s involved with that?” she asked.

Candi grinned.  “The Pet Training? Well, I thought we’d show you.”  She opened the bag and pulled out two tight leather pouches.  She moved to Esme’s hands and quickly began to slip the reporter’s fingers into the cloth wraps.  Esme let her, the pleasure dulling her senses.  It wasn’t until Candi tied the opening of each bag tight around Esme’s wrists that she realized she wouldn’t be able to remove them herself.

“Hey.  Wait a minute…” Esme protested.  

Candi looked over at the masseuse.  “Would you prep her for a tail?” Candi asked, ignoring the reporter’s objections.

The girl nodded happily. “Oh, certainly Miss Candi.”  The girl leaned forward, eyes focused as a fresh dribble of oil landed on Esme’s ass.  Esme gasped as fingers began smoothing the oil into her crack, working deeper and deeper until she felt the masseuse actually penetrate into Esme’s anus, thrusting a finger in deep.  

“Esme, dear.  You’re eighteen, right?” Candi asked, laying one hand on Esme’s shoulder even while reaching back into the bag.

“I’m not sure I want to do this,” Esme replied uncertainly, not answering the question.

Candi glanced at Bradley who was hunkered behind Esme with his camera, getting a close-up shot of the masseuse fingering the cute reporter’s ass.  Candi ignored Esme’s protest.  “Answer the question, dear.”  

Esme groaned.  “No. I’m twenty-one, actually.”  

“My goodness! So old!” Candi said in surprise.  

Esme shook her head. “I’ve been popular.”

Candi nodded. “So I’ve heard.  We’ll, we normally choose tails based on age.  I’ve got to ask – have you ever had anything up your ass?”

Esme gulped.  “Yes, but it’s been a while.”

Bradley snorted from the other side of the bound reporter.  “Yeah. Like Jimmy.  Yesterday during lunch.”

Esme blushed.  “You knew about that?” she asked in surprise.  Bradley shrugged.

“From the way the editing van was rocking it was fairly obvious.  Plus your tits were mashed up against the back window.”

Esme’s eyes widened and she looked away, her cheeks scarlet. 

Candi laughed.  “This will probably not be as comfortable as your producer’s cock.”  She held up a pet tail, furry and at least a foot long.  It was mounted to a massive butt plug that looked almost as wide as a beer can. 

“Oh my God!” Esme gasped, alarmed. “I can’t take that!”

Candi shrugged, handing the massive plug to the masseuse. “It’s what our sixteen to eighteen year olds wear, though I suppose if your producers would prefer…”  She left the comment hanging.

Esme frowned.  She knew exactly what her Jimmy would say if called and so she let out an exasperated sigh.  “Oh, go ahead.  But don’t blame me if I squeal like a stuck pig,” she muttered.

With a grin, Candi nodded at the masseuse.  Esme felt the tip press lightly against her exposed anus and then the pressure began.  Admittedly the girl moved easily and slowly, twisting the tip and rotating it through the herbed oil.  There was certainly enough lubrication and as Esme had admitted, at least she was no anal virgin.  She tried to relax, letting the thicker plug sink in, the pressure unceasing.  Bit by bit the massive rubber stopper was pushed into her drain.  It began to ache, then hurt as the thick width stretched her open and she began gasping, trying to keep from screaming.  Bradley was clearly torn, wanting shots of both her straining face and the slow but inexorable push from behind.  Esme let out a cry as the thickest part of the plug made it past her sphincter and then popped in firmly.

“Ahhhhh,” she cried out.  “My God that’s huge!” A few tears filled her eyes as she tried to adjust to the thick plug stuffing her ass.

“I have to admit, you look good with a tail,” Candi said softly, laying a hand on Esme’s shoulder.  “Now we’ll take you to the pet training room so you can see how we teach the girls to behave.”

The masseuse began unstrapping Esme’s legs, but before the reporter could move an inch, both ankles were brought up to her buttocks and the ankle/thigh restraints quickly attached.  Then Candi helped Esme to the floor, the beautiful reporter slick with oil from the waist down and feeling the discomfort of the tail.

“Now if you both will follow me?” Candi asked them.  Bradley nodded and Candi began walking back toward a single, back door.  Esme followed along on all fours, noting that the soft carpet, which had actually made walking difficult, was very easy on the knees.  The mittens kept her hands locked into fists, and with her feet up in the air, she felt restrained but oddly free at the same time.  Bradley kept the camera on her and just for giggles, she wriggled her ass, making the tail swing back and forth.

The pet training room was very close, much to Esme’s relief.  Approximately fifty or so girls were in the exact same situation as Esme, while several white clad trainers stood around them.  Esme noticed that some of the girls wore headbands with doggie ears.  Some were wearing collars.  The trainers all held small leather paddles while treat bags hung from their belts.  One immediately left a small group of petgirls and approached Candi and Esme.

“Hello Candi, is this the reporter?” the man asked with a grin.

Candi nodded. “Yes it is.  Esme, this is Michael.”

Michael reached behind him and extracted a pair of faux doggie ears.  He held them up for the camera.  “Our petgirls come in two types; full and talking.  Any girl you see with ears on is full.  They’re only allowed to bark, whine, whimper, and yelp.  Some owners prefer this.”  He settled the ears on Esme’s head.  “I’ll expect the same from you.”  Then he held up the leather sap.  “I’ll be giving you commands.  Follow them quickly and obediently, or I’ll motivate you.  Give me trouble or disobey, and I’ll have this smacking your ass and cunt and tits so quick you’ll wonder what the hell happened.”

Esme blinked.  She almost opened her mouth to protest, but the look in the man’s eye was clearly dangerous.  She nodded.

“Good.  Let’s start.”   The man said.  “You don’t have a collar, so you’ll need to be extra obedient.”

Bradley swung around to get a wide shot.

“First, begging position.  Kneel, spread your legs as wide as possible, toes to the floor, hands up, elbows bent, fists under your chin.  Make sure your breasts are exposed and pushed inward with your elbows,” Michael ordered.

Esme struggled to get into position.  The binders holding her feet to her thighs made it very difficult to move upright and it took her a moment.  Michael seemed understanding and just watched as she finally figured out how to get where he wanted.  He walked around her.  

“Wider. Get your knees wider.  I should be able to get my foot in there if I wanted,” he told her.

“I’m doing the best I can!” Esme protested.  A flash of pain exploded in her bottom and she fell forward, gasping.

“No talking.  You can whine to express displeasure, bark for excitement or affirmative, and yelp when in pain.  Understand?”

“Yes sir,” Esme whimpered, still lying there on her side.  

A fresh shard of agony exploded on her body, this time on her sensitive right breast.  The pain clamp dug in, making the pain worse.  Michael had struck her bosom with the sap.  

“No talking,” he said simply.  His voice was not angry or harsh, merely cold and businesslike.  “Now, get into the begging position and this time keep your mouth shut,” he ordered.

Esme struggled into position, careful to keep quiet.  She spread her legs as wide as she could, her toes straining to hold her balance.  She pulled her fists up in a canine begging position and even remembered to make sure her arms weren’t covering her breasts.  

“Excellent.  Very pretty,” the man said.  He reached into the small bag and extracted something small and dark.  Michael held it out to her and made as if to put it in her mouth.  She opened up and tasted chocolate.  Surprise made her eyes widen.  Most women rarely got chocolate.  It was too precious.  Did the Foot Ranch actually make enough money to be able to afford real chocolate?  A warm feeling of pleasure slithered through her entire body.

“Next trick I’ll be teaching you is called ‘present’.  You will roll over onto your back, spread your legs as wide as possible, your hands above your head, arms straight up and stretched out,” Michael told her.

Esme nodded and began to roll over, but the sap moved even quicker.  It smacked her against the ass hard and she cried out, falling forward.

“You’ll move when I tell you, not before,” Michael said simply.  Esme’s lips trembled as she struggled not to clutch at her bottom.   “Now get back into the begging position.”

Esme straightened herself, glancing over at Bradley, wondering if her cameraman would step in and object.  In seconds she knew it was a fruitless hope.  It was clear Bradley was enjoying her debasement too much, the camera zooming in on the flushed skin where the sap had struck her.  She took a deep breath and managed to get back into the “begging” position, her legs obscenely spread and her mitten covered hands clutched under her chin.  

“Very good.  Now let’s try again.  The ‘present’ position is you on your back, legs spread wide, arms above your head, straight up and stretched out,” Michael told her.  She didn’t move. “Get into the ‘present’ position.”

Esme moved, her eyes on Michael’s sap.  She moved to her side, trying to figure out how to lay on her back with her ankles and thighs bound.  It wasn’t easy, and quite uncomfortable.  She wasn’t as limber as she had been when she was sixteen.  But at least Michael didn’t push, watching only to make sure she tried.

“That’s it. I know you won’t be a perfect petgirl right now.  It would be easier if you’d been properly trained from the right age.  But get as much down as you can,” Michael said patiently.

Esme’s hips hurt, her legs turned at an awkward angle on each side.  She struggled to get her ass to touch the carpet.  Michael suddenly bent down over her, holding the sap out.  Esme flinched expecting him to hit her, but he didn’t.

“Understand that as a petgirl, your role is to provide satisfaction to your master.  The present position is generally used by a master to inflict pain on his pet.  You have to take it, keeping yourself open,” Michael said softly.  Esme glanced up into his eyes, fright clear on her face.  He reached down and laid the paddle end of the leather sap against her sex.  Slowly he began tapping it against her clit, softly and easily.  The light impacts scared her, but didn’t hurt.  Then, as the pressure and force of his repeated spanks increased Esme felt her body’s reaction.  First it was the inclination to closer her legs, to guard herself against him.  The taps became heavier and the sound of leather striking wet flash became more snappish.  Soon her chest heaved as she forced herself to remain open, her hips thrusting upward and forward toward the leather paddle.  

Bradley loomed into view, his manic grin and the clear lens of the camera right in Esme’s face.  She wanted to reach up and put her hand in the way, to guard herself from what would certainly end up being the centerpoint of a feature presentation.  But she resisted, at least until Michael began hitting her seriously, the sap sending sharp shards of pain through her loins.  She grimaced, arching her neck and back, the pain written clearly across her face.  Finally she couldn’t take it and her hands came down, not to block the camera, but to cover her open sex even as she rolled away.

The sap slammed into her bottom and she squealed, trying to cover herself.  Pain forced her to her knees and she tried to scramble away from Michael, but on all fours she could never hope to outrun him.  He corralled her into a corner, his sap flying, laying blistering strokes across her buttocks even as she cried out, pleading with him to stop.  His face was calm and cold, even as he beat her.  When she covered her bottom and turned away his sap found her breasts.  When she covered that up he hit her thighs or calves.  Finally she ended up in a fetal position, her bottom to the wall, shuddered violently with tears.

“I think that will do, Michael.  Thank you,” Candi said, interceding.  “She may look eighteen, but she hasn’t been trained.”

The attendant nodded briskly, then turned and went back to where some of the other regular girls had been watching.  Candi squatted down, her cute little white, see through dress scrunching up and exposing her sex.  Esme noticed that Candi was aroused.  Very aroused.

“Petgirls are taught other things besides obedience.  They eat and drink from bowls, learn how to properly hump, taught other tricks, and of course are conditioned to behave like pets.  But I think you’ve had a decent taste of what is required.  Are you ready to move on?  I’d like to show you the photography studio.”

Esme, who was panting, looked up at Candi.  “Yes.  Anything. Please… just let me out of here.”  

Candi smiled. “Follow me then.”  The marketing representative stood straight and turned, heading for the door.  Esme, still on her hands and knees, the furry tail embedded in her ass, hurried behind.  Bradley, who was still grinning from ear to ear, followed along, capturing everything with the camera.  The door hissed open and Candi exited, but Esme paused, glancing back at Michael.  The man was staring at her, a wicked smile on his face.

“I’ll see you later, sweetie.  And next time I’ll spank your cunt so hard you’ll be screaming,” he said to her.  

Esme’s eyes widened and she quickly followed after Candi.  Only the closing of the door behind her made her feel safe.  She noticed they were back in the hall, the thick carpeting still protecting her knees.  Candi lead, though moving slowly enough for Esme to keep up.

“Once our girls reach the age of sixteen we take monthly photographs in our studio.  Obviously we focus on our product, but we’ve found that most men also prefer to see pictures of the source, so we take great pains to make our girls visually attractive,” Candi explained, heading toward another door.  It slid open and Esme found herself in more familiar surroundings.  It was clearly a studio, one wall set up with a number of those same, vibrating stools, while a number of petgirls were being patiently and expertly “done up” with makeup.  Then the girls would, one by one, move to the other side of the room to be fitted with shoes.

“Shoes?” Esme asked incredulously.  Candi nodded.

“They’re not functional obviously, but there is nothing like a high heel to offset an attractive sole, don’t you think?”  Candi went over and retrieved one of the pieces of footwear. It was made of thin gold wire, woven expertly into the shape of a shoe.  The center or arch was nothing more than a single strand, doing nothing for support, while the heel itself was a similar spike that didn’t look capable of bearing the weight of a good book much less a young woman.  

Esme’s eyes were drawn to the actual set for the photographs were a girl was already kneeling naked on all fours, posing for the camera.  The ankle/thigh restraints were gone and both of her feet were sporting similar wire cast shoes and Esme had to admit that as jewelry, the high heels worked well.  It highlighted the arch and curve of the girl’s mostly exposed sole, making it twice as attractive.  

“Let’s get your makeup fixed, Esme.”  Candi pointed toward a nearby stool and Esme obediently crawled over and then allowed the man doing the makeup to help her into it.  Almost immediately she felt the vibrations affect her sex and it was hard for her to hold still as the makeup artist first removed the dark runs of mascara from Esme’s face, then applied fresh color.  Esme watched the photographer out of the corner of her eye as her makeup was repaired.  The man took about a dozen shots from different perspectives of the girl, in a variety of poses, only to move closer and take another twenty or so shots of the girl’s feet.  Then the heels were removed and more pictures were taken of her bare soles.

“I guess this all goes into the online catalog?” Esme asked, still trying to ignore the gentle massage of the vibrating stool.  Candi nodded.

“Absolutely.  We update regularly.  If you consider that we move almost three hundred girls a year, it’s imperative to make sure the most recent product is offered for sale.”

Esme nodded.  “I appreciate having my makeup redone. I must have looked pretty bad after the…”

“Pet training?”  Candi asked.  Then she shook her head. “It was to be expected.  Normally our petgirls are given years of experience.  They know exactly what is expected of them.  And they know that becoming a pet girl adds years, so they work at it very hard.”  Candi studied her for a moment.  “I think you’re ready.”

Esme blinked. “Ready?  Ready for what?” she asked.

Candi grinned. “Pictures.  Your network asked us to provide a portfolio of you for them.”

“Really?” Esme asked. “That’s odd.”

“Not really.  You’re supposed to be getting a full view of what we do here at the Foot Ranch, so it makes sense.”

Bradley moved closer.  He wasn’t filming anymore, since putting on makeup wasn’t exactly prime time material.  “Esme, we can get the stills and do a music montage to them.  Pop up your popularity so to speak.”

Esme looked at her cameraman, then nodded. “I suppose that works.”

“Ready then?” Candi asked.

“Sure.  Why not?”

It only took a moment for Esme to crawl across the plush carpeted floor and then up onto the photography platform.  There were a few shots taken of her on all fours, her ankles and thighs still bound together, and Esme tried to get into a happy mindset.  She felt awkward, not from being photographed, but from the position. The photographer, a man named Sam, was easy going and helped her relax.  

“That’s right, Esme.  Just look backward.  That’s perfect.  Another.  Now twist to the left.  Good.  Can you wiggle your hips?  Okay, now the tail.  Oh.  Very nice.”  The running monolog paused and Sam looked at Candi.  “Do you think we can remove her nipple clamps?”

Candi nodded and stepped over to Esme.  “Don’t worry. I know the pain clamps are your signature accessory.  We’ll put them back on the second we’re done with the photographs.”

Esme grimaced.  “All right,” she replied, bracing herself.  Candi reached underneath Esme’s body and ran her fingers along Esme’s breasts.  Gently she twisted once and the clamps opened, falling free of Esme’s nipples.  The reporter gasped, tears coming to her eyes as blood immediately flowed into the crushed tips of her breasts.

“My God Esme, how can you wear these?” Candi asked quietly, examining the clamps.  Each one sported tiny metal teeth as well as the capacitor and battery that delivered the electric shocks.

Esme was shaking but looked up anyway.  “I’m used to it,” she gasped.

Both Bradley and the photographer were busy filming the entire scene, one in real time, the other in portrait.  Candi shook her head and stepped out of the frame, letting Esme have center stage again.  Both men circled the reporter like vultures at their next meal.  Then Sam put down his camera and went to the nearby shoe rack.  He selected a ruby studded pair of shoes, all gold and crimson, and then delicately placed each shoe on Esme’s feet.

He blinked as he did it.  “Your feet.  You must be on them a lot,” he commented.

Esme looked back.  “Are they bad?” she asked.

Sam glanced up at her worried look even as he finished strapping the bejeweled heels to her soles.  “Oh.  No.  Not that bad.  You don’t have any serious calluses or blemishes, but to be honest, you’d never have been selected for the Foot Ranch.  Your middle toe is too long.”

Esme stifled a laugh.  “I didn’t know that,” she replied.

Sam nodded. “Yes, all the girls here have exactly the right size toes.”  He shrugged as he finished at her feet and then came around and removed her mittens.  Esme smiled in thanks.  Sam ran his hand down her body until he touched the ankle/thigh restraints, pulling the straps from her body.  “Evidently that makes a difference, though for the life of me I don’t see why.”

Esme groaned and straightened both legs.  She knew she couldn’t stand, not with those silly shoes on, but at least she could get her leg stretched.

“Feel good?” Bradley asked, filming again.  

“Oh God yes.  I was close to getting a cramp in those things,” Esme said.  

Sam picked up his camera again. “All right, Esme.  Pose.  Anything you want.  Just move around.  Whatever you want.  Just no weight on your feet, okay?”  

For the next ten minutes they took about a hundred pictures.  Esme posed on her tummy, her side, on her back with her legs up.  She began having fun with it, enjoying it as if it were a game.  Sam came over and literally posed her several times, bending limbs and putting her in awkward positions that turned into sexually charged photographs that made her look not only sexy and desirable, but delectable as well.  Finally Sam removed the furry tail and bottom plug, making Esme groan.  A few more shots completed the set and Candi stepped back up to the platform.

“Got to put the ankle/thigh restraints back on,” she informed Esme.  

Esme grimaced.  “Actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to stand and walk from here.  I’m a little sore.”

Candi looked uncomfortable.  “Well, to be honest, I do mind. When your producer called to set up this tour, he wanted you to go through the actual process as far as possible so that you’d understand what the girls endured.  He was quite insistent.”

Bradley moved closer, the camera down and the recording light off. “Yeah, Esme.  Jimmy told me something similar.  He even said he wanted the introduction and wrap-up in the cutting room.”

Esme frowned.  “Ewww.  That’s morbid.”

Bradley shrugged. “You know Jimmy.”

The reporter rolled her eyes. “Every inch, actually.”

Candi gave the two newsies a curious look.  “Am I missing something here?” She asked playfully.

Bradley laughed. “Our producer, Jimmy, never misses an opportunity to screw Esme.  I think if he could he’d chain her under his desk and keep her there.”

Esme shivered. “He’s a closet sadist too,” she said, then looked at Bradley.  “Have you ever met Stephanie, his current slave?  She’s always all marked up.  Looks like a tiger with all the welts he leaves on her.  I met her one night when he took me out for dinner.”

A strange expression crossed Candi’s face, as if she realized something, but then it was gone and Esme thought she’d imagined it.  The marketing representative smiled politely and then began reattaching the ankle/thigh restraints to Esme’s legs.  The reporter groaned as her limbs were once again folded and locked into position.  Then Candi and Sam removed the high heels, leaving Esme’s feet bare again.

“We have one more location to show you before we go to the cutting, which is in forty minutes,” Candi said as Esme crawled down from the platform.  “We’ve spoken about disciplinary issues here at the Foot Ranch, and if you’re feeling up to it, I’d like to show you how we handle problems.”

Esme blinked, just a little surprised.  “Hell yes, I’m up for it!”  This was something Esme was very eager to see.  It was a nagging question, especially after the masseuse who had oiled her feet admitted to being tortured there for punishment.”  Esme knew that the populace was soft-hearted to a point.  Certain punishments were always acceptable, while out right cruelty was frowned upon.  The culture’s swivel to an attitude of nonchalance when it came to suffering was a cyclic thing.  Unfortunately laws allowed restaurants and private cooks to be absolutely brutal at time, far beyond the norm, and while live cooking was the accepted spectacle, it was generally considered unseemly if the meat could scream for hours in agony before being snuffed.  Punishment were looked at along the same lines.  There was a fine line of what was acceptable.

Candi again led the way and Esme crawled after her like a little puppy.  The reporter was pleased to have both her hands and her ass free again.  The plug had been an unwelcome pressure and having the mittens covering her fingers had made her helplessness all the more unnerving.  Now she moved with feline grace, recovering quickly as they entered the hall again and moved deeper into the bowels of the Foot Ranch.  Eventually Candi opened another door and held it for Esme and Bradley.

The room wasn’t the large, with around forty stations.  Considering she’d been told that there were only three or four thousand girls at the Foot Ranch, Esme was surprised to see that only about ten of the stations were occupied.  Strange restraint devices stood in most of the little alcoves and Bradley quickly moved to one of the occupied spots with his camera.  A young blond girl was mounted to the machine, pulled into a spread eagle position, ankle and wrists caught tight in dark metal manacles.    She wore a ball gag as well.  Her feet were off the ground of course, but the various electrical pads attached to various parts of her body where what drew Esme’s attention.  That and the massive, vibrating dildo that was slowly moving in and out of the girl’s sex.

“Ah yes.  Lisa,” Candi said quietly. “She’s one of our feistier girls.  She’s getting shocked.”

“Shocked?” Esme asked, glancing at the girl who lay slumped in her bonds, almost asleep.

Candi nodded. “Yes.  Give it a moment.”

Two, then four, then eight seconds ticked by.  At twenty Lisa suddenly went rigid, waking up and screaming violently through the gag as her entire body shook.  Her toes curled inward, the soles of her feet rippling.  Fingers clenched into hard, white-knuckled fists.  The girl’s breasts weren’t even fully formed and it was clear she was barely of age.  Her face contorted with pain and it was clear that high levels of electricity had just been streamed across her body.  A sheen of perspiration appeared on her brow and then the girl let out a groan, slumping down, her chest heaving.  

“My God,” Esme whispered.

Candi nodded.  “This isn’t as bad as it seems.  Lisa has just been on it for a few hours.  She gets a shock every other minute or so and it’s exhausting.  It doesn’t help either that her body is confused.  She’s aroused too, and can’t tell the difference between pleasure and pain.”

Bradley touched Esme’s shoulder.  “Look down there,” he said softly, pointing.  Esme turned and looked into one of the other stations.  There was a loud whimper, then a sharp cry, along with a snapping sound.  Esme crawled down the row to investigate.  Another girl, older than Lisa, was bound in a similar fashion, except a large wheel studded with leather straps was positioned between her legs.  It spun rapidly, the thick leather pieces striking the girl’s sex, which was already bright red and quite swollen.

Candi had followed along. “Tami.  A bit of a spitfire.  Likes to play pranks.”  The marketing representative said as Bradley continued to film, getting a close-up of the girl’s loins.  Tami’s hips were thrusting forward and the small wire that disappeared up into the girl’s sex made it clear why.  

“Every time she gets close to orgasm the wheel starts up,” explained Candi.

Esme’s mouth was a tight line.  “How long has she been here?” 

Candi shrugged. “A couple of hours at least. I’m not sure.”

The reporter looked down the line.  From her angle, it wasn’t as easy to see the various girls being punished.  Almost all of them were mounted in the spreader machines.  Some were enduring electric shocks applied to their nipples and clit, while others were like Tami, dealing with actual physical trauma.  But then Esme saw a few women stretched out on racks, small spanking machines working furiously at their bodies.  One girl was bound face down, unable to move even an inch as a thick and heavy paddle smacked repeatedly into her bottom.  Her quiet sobs were punctuated by the light hum of the motor pulling the paddle back into position.  Another girl was on her back, two thin whips swinging around to strike at her bosom, leaving narrow red lines crisscrossing her chest.

And then Esme caught sight of the wooden horse, the dreaded punishment that the masseuse had mentioned.  It was two feet off the ground – nothing for someone with unbound legs, but for a girl in an ankle/thigh restraint high enough.  The wood was polished and glistened, the very center of the ridge rubbed down slightly into a small depression.  Esme crawled toward it, wanting a better look.  No one was riding it but as Esme appeared, one of the men running the Foot Ranch approached, nodding toward Esme and Candi.

“No one’s riding it today?” Esme asked, almost wishing that one of the girls had been mounted on the cruel implement of torture, just so she could see what it would do to her.

The man laughed. “No.  Most of the girls know not to break the major rules.  Spending even a few hours on that thing can be brutal.”

“How bad is it?” Esme asked.

He shrugged, but then with a glance at Candi gave Esme a wickied grin.  “That’s a question better answered by experience.”  Then he suddenly reached down, grabbed Esme, and lifted her up.

“What are you doing!  My God!  NO!” Esme cried out, hands flailing.  Candi rushed forward and grabbed Esme’s wrists as the attendant set the news reporter down on the wooden horse.  The man produced a pair of manacles and tossed them to Candi, who wrestled Esme’s wrists into the metal binders.  The sharp edge of the horse was oiled and as Esme came down on the spine it slid through her petals almost instantly.  The attendant let go and she pressed down hard with her thighs, but the oil made her skin and the wood slick and there was no purchase whatsoever.  Her feet twitched as her mind struggled to make her legs move downward.  Candi stepped back, Esme’s wrists bound behind the reporter’s back.  Candi moved around to Esme’s front, eyes bright as she held out two little black objects.

“I forgot to give you back your clamps,” Candi said eagerly.  Candi brought the first little vice up to Esme’s right nipple and the reporter gasped as the sharp pain of the tiny teeth shot through her breast.  Esme whimpered, her body unable to remain still between the pain of the clamp and the pressure between her legs.  Candi ran her thumb in a circle around Esme’s other nipple, letting it harden spectacularly before attaching the other clamp.  This time Esme hissed, the pain etched clearly across her face.  Bradley was there, the camera up, catching every delicious moment and Esme could clearly see that he was enjoying the look of pain on Esme’s face.  

“I wish it was me up there,” Candi whispered to Esme as she stepped backward.

“Feel free to join me,” Esme grunted.  The ache between her legs was bad, her weight pressing down between her thighs.  A moment later she began rocking back and forth as her body tried to find a comfortable position.  The oil made her entire bottom slip and in short order it looked as if Esme was wildly fucking the wooden horse.

“Do we have time for the weights?” the attendant asked, his eyes watching Esme’s gyrations.

Candi shook her head. “No.  She can only ride the horse for twenty or so minutes.  After that we’ve got a cutting to attend.”

The attendant was clearly disappointed, but Candi was adamant. “Go torture some other little waif,” she told him, waving him off.

Esme was panting, the pain growing steadily worse as she rode the wooden rail, but she couldn’t help watching as the attendant moved across the aisle toward another one of the bound girls.  He pulled out a spiked glove, called a vampire glove, and began groping the girl, squeezing her breasts one by one, then cupping her sex.  Then he removed the strange, needle covered glove, grabbed a small electric shocker, unzipped his fly, and thrust himself into the girl’s sex, screwing her wildly as he pressed the electric prod to various parts of her torso.  Cries and whimpers and the occasional scream came from the girl’s mouth, unsettling Esme.  Bradley took the opportunity to do a slow pan down the various stations as well, only coming back to Esme’s predicament after taking in the various torments being applied to the unruly, rule breaking girls.

Finally Candi went back to the attendant, who was still vigorously screwing the sixteen year old girl across from Esme.  “It’s time, Bob.  Let’s get her down.”   Bob glanced up, nodding.  He stepped back, pulling his slick cock from the girl, only to press the electric zapper to her clit.  The girl screamed, her toes curling as she thrust upward. The attendant took only another minute to push a spike covered, inflatable dildo into the girl’s sex, then setting it to active.  Esme could literally see it grow larger, getting bigger, the spikes lengthening, making the girl groan and whimper.  Privately, Esme knew she would have traded the girl in a heartbeat.  The wooden horse was so much worse.  

Candi and Bob moved quickly, lifting Esme up and setting her back down on the floor after removing the wrist binders.  Esme’s hands came up immediately to her breasts, a delayed reaction to Candi’s application of the pain clamps.  She thought about taking them off, if for no other reason than to set the actual bite a bit farther back, but Bradley was filming her and she didn’t want the viewers to think she was weak.  So instead she sucked in another deep breath and endured it.  

The red headed marketing representative squatted down and looked into Esme’s face.  “Ready for a cutting now?” Candi asked.  Esme nodded.

“A couple of rules; first of all, no talking during the actual cutting.  No filming either,” Candi said, turning toward Bradley.  “The Foot Ranch will provide access to digital recordings of the proceedings for your report immediately afterward.  We have multiple cameras, two of which provide close-ups, so you will have ample footage.”  Candi paused, cocking her head. “No pun intended.”

Candi straightened out and once again Esme was forced to crawl behind the woman like an animal.  Even without the humiliating and painful tail, it was degrading.  The residual ache of the wooden horse stayed with her though, her petals bruised and slightly swollen.  Evidently it made for good film because Bradley stayed behind her the whole way, his camera focused on the folds peeking out from between her legs as she crawled.  

It didn’t take them long to get to the cutting room and there was a slight breeze as the door opened.  Esme recognized the source of the wind – negative pressure inside the room – and she shivered once, even though it wasn’t cold.  Candi directed them into a small enclosure, just off the main area and Esme moved into the small room, only to find that she couldn’t see through the viewing window.  

“It will be just a moment. I’ve sent someone for a stool,” Candi told the reporter.

Esme grimaced.  “If it’s all the same, I’d rather you just take off these ankle/thigh restraints. I’ll need them off eventually anyway and I’m starting to get cramps.”

Candi looked uncomfortable, but then faced Esme directly.  “I’m sorry, but your producer was very specific.  He wants you to do your live shots with the restraints on and he told me that you needed to wear them all the way through your visit.”

Esme blinked. “He – he said that?”

Candi nodded.  “I’m sorry, Esme.  I know they’re uncomfortable.  Remember, I’ve worn them on occasion too.”

The reporter glanced at Bradley who shrugged. “You know Jimmy. It sounds like something he’d request.  Better just to do it.  It’s not like he’s suggesting they cut off your foot or anything.”

Esme stuck her tongue out at Bradley. “Thanks for the support,” she said sarcastically.  She turned back to Candi. “All right.  I guess a stool will have to do.”

A moment later a white clad attendant showed up with a stool, the same kind Esme had already sat on twice before.  This time however the ridge felt much more prominent on her sensitized sex, the wooden horse making her twice as delicate. The vibrations started up almost immediately as well and Esme felt herself ripening, a mixture of oil and her own juices making the ridge slick.  But as she adjusted her seat to the stool, she looked through the viewing window and gasped.

Most of the room was in darkness, though a single, brilliant spotlight shined down from above in the very center.  An operating table, though one of the likes Esme had never seen, was bolted to the floor.  Not a single shred of carpet was visible.  Everything was metal, polished and painted dark.  The table itself was clearly designed for restraint, though still oddly shaped.  It was only four feet long, with heavy straps meant for restraint.  Of course the most intriguing part was the thick dildo that extended up at angle from one end.  Easily seven inches long and quite thick, the phallus looked intriguing and Esme, for just a second, wondered what it would feel like. The problem was the table wasn’t big enough though and Esme couldn’t even imagine how the girls would be placed on it, mounted on the phallus, but positioned properly for the bar studded with two manacles hung from the ceiling near one end.  

Bradley leaned toward Esme.  “There are the cameras.  See them?” He asked, pointing to a few dim little spots on the far wall.  “They’re in a circle around the room.  I’m guessing they could even make holograms with them.”

Esme grimaced. “Ewww.  Why?”

Candi smiled. “Almost every one of our customers purchases the video to go with the product.  I think it’s the same impulse that makes live cooking so appealing.”

The blonde reporter shuddered.  “Sick.”

Candi shrugged, but at that moment, a door on the far end of the room opened and Esme’s eyes widened.  

It was Bridget, the girl from the front office who had greeted them.  Her golden tresses hung around her face and she crawled out onto the floor.  Two attendants came with her, clearly reassuring her as she felt the hard metal surface on her knees for the first time.

Candi leaned over “Every girl does that.  The idea of a hard floor is foreign to them,” she whispered.

Next the attendants lifted Bridget up onto the table and Esme suddenly understood how it worked.  

“Oh! I thought the manacles were for her feet!” Esme said quietly.  Bridget wriggled on the table, clearly working herself onto the thick phallus, her face a mask of sensual delight.  Esme felt a matching surge between her own legs from the stool, the sight of Bridget’s pleasure overload just as much a turn-on.  Then the attendants took the girl’s wrists and locked into the binder bar above her head.  This bent Bridget slightly in half, especially after the first restraining strap was tightened around her waist, just at the small of her back.  The men then released her legs and she gasped as her knees bent.  Here too she was assisted, both men straightening the girl’s legs, only to pull out a pair of thin metal rods that were connected to the table.  These rods supported the girl’s thighs and another set of straps bound her just above the knee.  This left her feet and calves exposed and hanging in the open air.

“Will she…” Esme began, but suddenly couldn’t find the words. “Is she going to be a pet girl?” She asked finally.

Candi shrugged.  “We’ll know in a moment, just as she will.  The cutting apparatus will be rolled into position now that she’s secured.  If they put it just below the knee, she’ll be a pet girl.”

Sure enough, a massive machine was wheeled out next.  It resembled a medieval guillotine, the bladed instrument used to behead people during the French Revolution.  Yet it was also a modern medical wonder.  Rather than just a wooden board to secure Bridget’s limbs, there were pressure clamps, a cauterizing laser, and even a pair of hyposprays.  This surprised Esme, since usually a girl’s pain was not a consideration.

Candi saw Esme’s stare and smiled. “It’s not for the pain. It’s for the shock.  Remember, regardless of whether the girl is shipped off to A&E for tenderizing and processing, or whether she spends the next two weeks here healing before being shipped to her new master, the shock of losing a limb is still traumatic.  We inject the girls with a local anesthetic after the cutting, to dull the pain, as well as a few other things to make her more tractable.”

“How soon are the girl’s shipped?” Esme asked, just a little horrified.  

“If they’re going to A&E, within an hour or so.  We actually sedate them for the packaging process, which you’re probably familiar with by now.”

Esme grimaced. “Yes, actually.  Jimmy had me shipped to a location a few weeks ago.  It was awful,” she said.

Candi eyes widened. “Really?  I’ve never done it.  I heard though it was nothing but orgasm for hours.

“In the dark, unable to move, frozen in this rock hard gel, with two different sized dildos, operating at different speeds, vibrating and thrusting through you regardless of how you feel, all while electrode clamps chew on your clit and nipples, shocking you stupid,” muttered Esme.

Candi laughed softly. “Sounds like fun actually,” she glanced out the viewing window. “Okay, we’ll need to be quiet now.”

Esme turned and looked and saw as the attendants began pushing Bridget’s feet through the cutter.  Bridget lay there, head down, her hips gently working as the dildo inside her moved.  Esme wondered if it vibrated or thrust.  The men stopped and Esme gasped.  The cutter was at Bridget’s ankles and the girl looked up.  There were tears in her eyes and she bit her lip.

The pressure clamps sealed tight around her feet and all Esme could see was the girl’s soles, toes down.  Then to Esme’s shock, one of the attendants pulled a thick leather paddle from a cabinet, built into the wall of the room itself.  He approached Bridget’s feet and without a word, swung the leather weapon, catching both soles simultaneously with a brutal stroke.

Bridget screamed, causing Esme to jump in shock. She looked at Candi in alarm.  The girls were NEVER struck on their feet!  They weren’t even allowed to STAND on them.  Esme’s mind raced.  One girl, the masseuse, had even been punished for hitting a girl on the bottoms of her feet, which had resulted in that girl’s removal!  What the hell were they doing? 

Candi saw Esme’s shock and leaned over, putting her mouth to the reporter’s ear.  “Our customers are given the option of having their product tenderized.”

Esme couldn’t help herself. “But… she’s never been hit there!”

Candi nodded. “Yes.  It hurts beyond imagining, easily worse than the cutting itself.  But a spanking isn’t that bad.  Bridget is more shocked than in real agony.  It could be much worse.  Some men ask that their purchase be caned, or shocked, or needled.  Sometimes all of it.  Once we had a customer who wanted their cuts pre-cooked, still attached.”

The wide-eyed look of horror on Esme’s face made her feelings clear.  “Did you?” she gasped.

Candi nodded. “Of course we did, though admittedly that girl didn’t make it to processing.  Soup stock was all she was good for after the cooking.”

Esme gulped.  

Bridget was moaning and Esme turned her attention back to the girl strapped to the table.  Clearly the dildo was doing its work, since the girl’s bottom was moving rapidly, clenching and loosening with rapid shifts.  Again Esme felt a surge of sympathetic arousal, the vibrating seat beneath her working Esme’s own sexual need into a state of overdrive. The seconds ticked and as Bridget came visibly closer to orgasm the tension in the room increased dramatically.  Esme couldn’t help grinding her own hips, leaning forward to press her clitoris to the vibrating ridge between her legs.

Bridget’s orgasm came as something of a surprise, the astonished look on the girl’s face brimming with ecstasy.  Esme was looking in the wrong place, her own orgasm right on the verge, Bridget’s cry filling her ears.  There was a flash of silver and Bridget’s voice changed.  The explosion of sexual epiphany that had overwhelmed the girl changed violently and Esme’s eyes flashed to the cutter.  Blood splattered the steel deck beneath the strange machine and then the laser cauterizer activated and add the burning smell of meat to the mix.  Esme gagged, but couldn’t stop herself from cumming, her whole body shaking as the orgasm ripped through her, just as is had Bridget seconds before.  

The poor girl hung from her bindings as the attendants went to work.  One of the men had caught Bridget’s severed feet gently and placed them in an ice bath.  The water turned pink immediately and then he took the tray out of the room.  The other attendant worked on Bridget.  The cutter was pulled back, revealing the still smoking stumps of her legs.  There was no blood, the severed limbs cauterized and blackened.  Then the attendant began unbinding Bridget’s arms, letting the girl fall limply to the table even as the other attendant returned, this time with a gurney.  They loaded Bridget’s unconscious body onto the rolling platform and whisked her away.  Then a cleaning crew came in, quickly scrubbing up the blood and turning the cutting room back into the pristine torture chamber it was.

“That was…” Esme stammered, looking for words.

“Brilliant!” Bradley said, eyes bright. “I can’t afford feet like these, but I think I’ll try to save up.  That was incredible!” 

Esme glared at the man.

“What?  I saw your reaction. You had a fucking orgasm,” Bradley accused.

Candi smiled. “That might have been the stool actually. I had it set to the highest level.”

Esme blushed and looked away.

“But, if I’m not correct, air time is in two hours, which means that the two of you will need to edit the footage and prepare the pre-recorded portion now.”

Esme nodded. “Yes.  A quiet place to work, and… maybe my feet back?”

Candi shook her head. “Well, I can’t give you back your feet.  But I can give the two of you a quiet place to work and the digital footage of Bridget’s cutting.”  She gestured for the door and Esme climbed down from the stool, leaving a vivid wet smear on the leather.  Bradley followed along as Esme once more took them into the hall.  Esme crawled after Candi and was shown to a small office with a simple desk, computer terminal, and a pitcher of water and two glasses.  There was also a regular chair, clearly meant for Bradley, as well as another one of those vibrating stools.  Esme sighed.

“I’ve had more orgasms today than I did last week,”

Bradley laughed. “And that’s a bad thing?”

Esme frowned. “Hardly.”

“I hope this serves,” Candi said simply. “Please let me know if you need anything else.”

Bradley sat down and quickly began setting up his tablet computer and connecting it to the camera.  Esme climbed up into the stool, which immediately began vibrating as well.

“No. I think we can handle this,” Esme said to Candi who bowed out and shut the door behind them.  In moments, both newsies were deeply absorbed in the editing and narration process.

…

An hour and a half later Candi knocked on the door.  Bradley opened it with a grin and stepped back to let the marketing representative in.  Esme was grinding spasmodically on the stool, her eyes glazed.  The seat looked soaked and it was pretty clear she was more focused on the vibrations between her legs than Candi’s arrival.

“All set?” Candi asked.

Bradley nodded. “Yep, the pre-recorded stuff is done, and it’s actually pretty good too.”

Candi cocked her head. “From what angle did you approach the Foot Ranch?”

Esme groaned so Bradley answered for her.  “Well, basically we did it from Esme’s perspective.  We worked it as if she were one of your girls and she gave her impressions of some of the things that happened to her.

Candi smiled. “I see.”

Bradley nodded, then looked slightly uncomfortable. “We have an unusual request though,” he said.  “We were wondering if Esme could do her live intro and cap in the cutting room.”

Candi’s smile didn’t even change. “As a matter of fact, your producer called and asked for that exact thing.  We’re happy to help.”

Esme let out a tiny wild gasp, her hips churning.  Bradley rolled his eyes and turned to the news reporter. “Esme!  Get off it!  We’ve got to go record the live bits shortly!”

The blond reporter twitched in reply and Bradley just grabbed her and lifted her off the stool.  She let out a disappointed moan and he set her down on the floor.  

“Back to the cutting room, Esme.”  He nudged her with her toe.

“So close…” she whispered, eyes closed.

Both Candi and Bradley had to push Esme to move, but getting away from the non-stop vibration was good for Esme’s mental faculties.  By the time they got back to the cutting room, with Esme crawling between Candi and Bradley, the news reporter was clear headed.

“Can someone please undo my ankle/thigh restraints now?” Esme asked Candi.  “I want to use the cutting table as a backdrop.”

Candi looked slightly uncomfortable.  “Your producer said he wanted you actually ON the table, mounted and bound as if you were… you know.”

Esme gave the marketing girl a crazy look. “Seriously?  Jimmy asked for that?”  She glanced at Bradley who shrugged.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Brad replied.

Esme rolled her eyes.  “Fine,” she said.  Even before she had started speaking two male attendants emerged from a side door and immediately approached.  Esme didn’t even have a chance to protest before they lifted her up and put her on the table, belly down.  Their movements were quick and simple and Esme felt the oiled and massive dildo slide into her slit, just as it had Bridget hours before.  It began pulsing the moment it was buried deep and Esme groaned, her hips jerking.  The attendants solved that problem by strapping her waist to the table, followed by lifting her wrists and attaching them to the manacles that dangled from the ceiling.  There was a pulling motion and Esme groaned as her body was bent upwards, presenting her breasts and the pain clamps.  Bradley was already filming, though this would never reach the viewers unless the station commissioned a special.  

“It’s hard to keep my head up,” Esme complained.  The position was difficult to maintain, despite the bondage, and her natural inclination was to let her head fall forward.  The attendants had an answer for that as well and a smooth metal hook was produced, the end sporting a single strand of twine.  Esme gasped as it was fitting into her ass and the attendant grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back.  Pain rippled through her scalp.

“Two minutes,” Bradley warned.  “We’ve got to get a move on.”  

A second later her hair was bound to the twine and her head was pulled backward and upright.  It was only then that the attendants released the ankle/thigh restraints, letting Esme’s legs free.

“Ohhhh! God that feels good!” Esme sighed in relief.  Her legs opened and the two men quickly secured her to the table, right above the knee.  She wriggled her feet, restoring complete blood flow.  Bradley moved back in front of her and slid her communicator into her ear.  Then he quickly pulled out a small, clip on microphone.

“You can’t use the handheld, so I’ll just…” he paused, blinking.  Where to clip the mic?  Finally he shrugged and actually attached it to the pain clamp dangling from Esme’s right nipple.

“That’s just wrong,” Esme muttered.  

“You ready?” he asked.

She nodded.  The attendants were still busy behind her, but it was too late now.  Bradley had moved back, and lifted the camera.  He had his ear piece and mic in.  “301 to base, how do you read signal?”

Esme was able to hear the tinny voice.  “Base, we’re five by five on live feed.  Test all mics.”

“This is Esme Carpenter of Channel Five news,” Esme said confidently, though she felt strained.  The bondage position wasn’t the worst she’d ever been in, but the dildo she was mounted on was beginning to move a little more enthusiastically.

“Bradley, will you please ask Candi to turn down the phallus I’m on?  It’s very distracting.”

Bradley nodded and moved away for half a moment.  Esme closed her eyes and focused on what she was going to say.  It wasn’t easy.  She wasn’t that far away from an orgasm.

Suddenly she heard the news program in her earpiece.  It was the lead in.  She opened her eyes.  The dildo was still corkscrewing around inside her.  She took a deep breath as the news anchor began explaining where Esme was.  Then the red light on Bradley’s camera began flashing.

“You look a little tied up, Esme!” the news anchor suddenly said, his voice bright.  Esme knew that millions of viewers were now watching her.  In fact, there would even be a number across the bottom of the screen – one that for a small fee would enable viewers to activate the pain clamps still dangling from her nipples.  Esme needed to hurry.

“I am John!  As you can see, I’ve been bound in similar straits as the girls of the Foot Ranch, an upscale supplier of one of the most delectable treats available across the country.  My day here has been amazing as I’ve delved deep, and been deeply delved, into what life is like for the hundreds of girls who end up being selected for…” her voice trailed off as the first pain shot through her breasts.  She gasped, electric shocks piercing her nipples like lightning.  She jerked a little, her mouth open, eyes wide.  The pain was excruciating.  Someone had spent a lot of money to fry her this time.  She struggled through it, lips trembling.

“…t-t-the Foot Ranch,” she finished.  Her entire upper body was twitching now, her breasts heaving even as her hips frantically fucked the vibrating, corkscrewing phallus between her legs.  “These g-g-girls are given s-s-special t-t-treatment to create the v-v-very best product and…” she sucked in a violent breath as another series of shocks slammed into her. “w-w-we want t-t-to show you exactly h-how it h-h-happens.”

Suddenly her prerecorded voice came over the earpiece and she sagged in relief, giving herself up to the flurry of sensations hitting her.  For a moment longer the shocks to her nipples continued, intensifying the jerking motions of her body, which only amplified the orgasmic heat between her legs.  It was so intense, she didn’t even notice the attendants moving behind her or the cold touch of metal against the backs of her knees.

It took six minutes to go through the report and Esme was only barely aware of how it sounded.  She heard herself explaining how the girls were bought from breeders as early as six and that special requirements were in place to ensure only the best girls were brought to the ranch.  Each girl came from Grade A genetic stock, their feet perfectly shaped, only to be hobbled with ankle/thigh binders on a permanent basis.  The recorded Esme described the luxurious conditions the girls lived in, from the plush carpet to the entertainment, to the frequent herbed oil massages each girl gave and received as part of her experience.  Then Esme described the Foot Ranch’s side line – the pet girls, and what it meant to have a massive butt plug shoved into your ass with a furry tail swinging from it.  The bound Esme listening heard her own whimpers as Michael, the pet trainer, ordered the recorded Esme around, and the sharp sounds of his leather sap striking her flesh was in the clear.  Then Esme heard herself describing discipline at the Foot Ranch, and the cries and whimpers of the tormented girls undergoing punishment filled her ears.  

Lastly came the cutting and Esme listened as she described in perfect detail what was happening to Bridget.  Everything from the bondage to the vaginal probe, which at that moment was doing the same fantastic things to Esme as it had done to Bridget, were all lovingly described, ending a moment later as the condensed version of the cutting was displayed across the screen.  Then the red light began flashing again and Esme struggled to focus.

“So as you can see, John, the Foot Ranch is a pretty amazing place,” Esme said, her voice strained.  She knew that the moment they flashed her picture the number for the pain clamps would reappear.  Sure enough, the first shock hit her before the anchor could even ask his next question.  She hissed and grimaced, clearly responding to the jolt that pierced each nipple.

“It certainly seems so.  It also looks like you’re mounted to the same exact table that we saw that poor girl get processed on.  Are you also stuffed with that same dildo?” 

Esme nodded, another jolt making it hard to speak.  Finally she managed to force the words out. “I sure am, John and let me tell you that it’s making it hard to even think right now, much less report to you.”

John laughed. “I’m sure, Esme.  But I’d like to let our viewers, and you of course, Esme – that our producer, Jimmy Lovett has purchased Esme Carpenter’s contract.  As such, we’d like to advise our viewers that the next scene might be a little intense.”

Esme blinked.  It took two or three seconds for the information to process. “What?  What are you talking about?” 

Bradley took a step back as a sudden fear gripped Esme.  She ignored the next shock to her breasts and instead twisted her head.  Out of the corner of her eye she saw the guillotine.  

“What?  Wait!  Hold on!” Esme suddenly gasped.  Her body strained as the corkscrewing dildo suddenly increased its tempo.  “Wait! You can’t do this to me!” she cried out.

“Actually, we can’t, but Jimmy can,” John said enthusiastically.  “So tell the viewers what it feels like to be up there, knowing that in a moment, you’re going to get your feet chopped off?”

Tears flooded into Esme’s eyes.  The shocks were coming fast now.  They must have been split screening her so that her face would stay on the viewer.  Her entire body began thrashing as the sexual stimulation combined with the pain and began blasting her toward orgasm. 

“And Esme, Jimmy said he wants you tenderized as well.”

A fresh pain exploded against the soles of Esme’s feet.  Sharp and lined with fire, Esme knew that one of the attendants was swinging a thin cane against her soles.  He wasn’t holding back either, hitting her with all her strength and the agony of it actually forced her back away from orgasm.  She cried out, the pain from her feet easily blocking the continuing shocks that traversed her nipples.  Bradley circled around, catching a better view of what was happening to Esme’s feet.  Red lines welted both arches and after a moment there wasn’t a bit of white flesh left.  Then the attendant dropped the cane and pulled out a leather strap.  This too was swung at Esme’s feet, turning her feet pink from heel to toe.

At the same time the vibrator between her legs went into overdrive and suddenly it became too much.  She jerked wildly, muscles tightening as she felt a sudden ache in her ass where the hook that held her head was embedded. The overwhelming blast of endorphins seized her and adrenaline surged.  She felt every inch of her tightening, the orgasm rushing through her veins like fire.  She didn’t even notice the pair of sharp pricks that pierced her skin, right above each knee, and only barely felt the cold, burn of the cutting blade as it severed both legs, just below the knee.

She screamed, both form the pain and from the orgasm and there was a flash of heat, another burning sensation.  She smelled smoke and then slumped forward, one last burst from the pain clamps forcing her over the edge into oblivion.

The attendants moved quickly after that.  The recording light flashed off and Bradley lowered the camera.  Esme’s severed calves and feet were placed in the tray of ice water as the men began lowering Esme’s arms.  One of the men removed the hook and in short order Esme lay unconscious on the table.

Candi stepped up to Bradley. “Please let Jimmy Lovett know that we are not guaranteeing the quality of Esme’s feet and calves.”

Bradley laughed.  “I don’t think that’s really the issue.  You cut her at the calves, so I’m guessing pet girl?”

Candi nodded. “Yes.  She’ll receive a few weeks of training and then we’ll be shipping her to Mr. Lovett.”  Her eyes turned and watched as Esme was lifted by one of the attendants and carried out of the room, the cauterized stumps of her legs swinging.

Bradley chuckled.  “Pretty amazing,” he said softly.  “I wonder what she’ll think when she wakes up?”

Candi smiled. “If you’d like to hang around to find out, you can wait in my office,” she said, suddenly a little intense.  She put her hand down and rubbed the bulge in Brad’s trousers.  “I give a great footjob,” she told him.

“I’ll bet you do.”