Amy washed her hands and sponged most of the dampness from her pussy, and spent under a minute this time briefly touching up her makeup. She sighed. One more to go. She'd enjoyed the session with Benjamin immensely, though it turned out even more physically tiring than the one with Grace. Amy suspected Megan would be at least as worn down, and thought about how nice it would feel to relax in bed with Megan all the next morning.

She sat on the bed, closing her eyes. I can wait a few minutes and get my head cleared, she decided. I'll do a better job if I get a little energy back, and I don't think they'll hang Sela without me. Amy hoped never to miss watching one of her classmates hanged -- they deserved the devoted attention of every member of the class.

She opened her eyes at a noise from the doorway, and she gasped, her hand flying instantly to her mouth. She rasped a furious "What'reyoudoinghere??" between clenched teeth, her hands automatically balling into fists.

Andrew's smirk hadn't changed, more infuriating than Megan's had ever been. "You greet all your customers that way? I should file a complaint." He wandered casually over to the toy drawer Grace had made use of earlier. Her jaw aching with tension, Amy watched as he picked out a set of handcuffs and spent a moment admiring the whip.

"You aren't a customer! I didn't give you a chit."

The whip made a swooping sound as he waved it experimentally. "Oh, I arranged with Stan beforehand to buy his. They're transferable between members, you know. He made a small profit on it."

"Let me see your ticket!" She grabbed it out of his hand shakily, her heart pounding. He had paid, it seemed, for full privileges, including use of the toy drawer.

She realized, suddenly, that the reassurances she had given herself before the start of Grace's session didn't necessarily apply here. Andrew might not care that his membership would be revoked if he hurt her -- he might regard this as a one-time opportunity, to be remembered fondly ever afterward. Even possible civil penalties in case he seriously damaged her might not be a sufficient deterrent. As a male, he wouldn't be executed. He would likely be subject to no more than a fine, which would make the evening more costly than it already was, but perhaps not prohibitively so. She had known, and reveled in the knowledge, of how angry she must have made him when she left home, wrecking his fantasy surrounding her and leaving that taunt behind on his bed. Until this week she had never imagined he might have a way of getting back at her, and until this moment she had believed her worries in the past few days had been unnecessary. But now here he was.

Wendy could stop things before anything too drastic happened, Amy knew. But so much depended on how long that would take. Amy knew Andrew wouldn't cross the line right away. He would humiliate her first. Visions of sexual abuse flashed before her eyes. He would probably use her mouth, holding her head against him, with no more concern for her than if he were masturbating. Then he would use the whip, lightly and stingingly at first, only later hard enough to leave bruises...

Andrew was still playing with the whip, bending it to test its flexibility. "Here's something I knew you'd think is funny. I used my own money to get in, of course, but to pay for this private session, I used yours. That money you thoughtfully left behind for me when you moved out. I knew you hoped I'd find a good use for it."

Amy nearly screamed in fury. So typical, so typical! Buying the right to hurt her with her money, making her contribute to her own humiliation and pain.

Think, Amy, think now! She imagined herself using the whip on her own brain, trying to force it to work harder. Miranda would take control! I saw her control him, Amy reminded herself. Not just any man, but Andrew himself! Her heart sinking, Amy realized she couldn't copy Miranda's trick. Miranda's strategy, tailored perfectly to her reading of Andrew, had been to persuade him that she could put on a much better show, impressing his friends all the more, if he could satisfy her with some kind, gentle sex beforehand. That won't work here! Amy told herself. I don't have a show to put on, none of his friends are here, nothing is the same. Come on, Amy! You know Andrew much better than Miranda ever did! Think!

Visualizing Miranda's head, back in her room, always seemed to help. Amy tried to put Miranda's smile before her eyes. Okay, Miranda, what do I do, what do I do??

Andrew disrupted her concentration, gesturing at her with the whip. "Okay, Slave Girl," he said with a nasty grin, obviously reading the engraving on her treasured Academy collar. "You know what I want. Strip down. Now!"

The words "You know what I want" seemed to keep playing in her head on an endless loop. What he wants. What he wants.

A sudden calmness washed over her, like a cooling breeze on a sweltering summer day. Yes, that's it! She smiled. "Yes, Andrew. I know what you want. What you really want. Do you?"

He glared at her. "What are you talking about?" His momentum seemed suddenly blunted by puzzlement.

She leaned back, supporting her weight on her hands as she continued sitting on the bed, making no move to carry out his command of a few moments ago. She waved her hand casually at the whip. "Oh, put that down, Andrew. Any idiot with a weapon can force people do what he's asking. There's nothing special about that."

He looked down at the whip, making no move to discard it for the moment. His eyes narrowed. "What?"

"And money. Give anybody some money, no matter who he is, and he can start throwing it around and make things happen. There's nothing special about that either." She leaned forward now, her eyes fixed on his. "You're Andrew Cameron! Shouldn't that be something special, all by itself?"

Andrew appeared frozen, torn by conflicting impulses. Impatience for action seemed to gain the upper hand in a moment. He took a step closer. "Quit stalling."

Amy shook her head. "Don't throw this chance away, Andrew. You can have what you want the most, and it's not by being rich, because you never could have bought this. And it's not by tossing out physical threats, because there's no coercion you can come up with that would ever get you this." She made her voice more husky, more breathy, seductive. As if unconsciously, she began letting her fingers play with the leather cup of her bra. "I can give you something you always thought you should have because you're Andrew Cameron. Okay?"

Almost seeming in a trance now, his eyes fixed on her breasts, Andrew nodded.

She stood up, and looked around thoughtfully. "The bed is against the wrong wall. Help me move it."

The trance lingered a few seconds longer, and at last he shook himself out of it. "What?"

As if speaking to a small child, she said patiently, "We're making the room look like yours at home. Come on." She grunted as she shoved one corner of the bed sideways.

Tentative understanding seemed to burst upon him, a theory of what Amy might mean. He fiddled with his pants for a moment to make room for a growing erection, and bent over (which helped with the erection as well) to push the end of the bed counterclockwise. Seconds later the head of the bed was against the side wall of the room.

Amy straightened up, theatrically rubbing her hands. "There! Okay, just wait there a minute." She headed for the door of the room. "You're in your room, by yourself..." she said from the doorway, "...and you hear my footsteps coming up the stairs." She disappeared from his view, out into the hallway.

Yes, she thought to herself, I do know him. Better than Miranda had, better than anyone else in the world. I know what he wanted, from that moment when he first suddenly saw me as a woman. What he wanted and saw that he couldn't have. His frustration that he couldn't impress me with how rich he was, because I had just as much access to wealth as he did. The frustration turning into anger, creating that fantasy of controlling and enslaving me because he saw I'd never come to him willingly.

Alone in the hallway, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, forcing a return of the calm she had felt since the insight had struck her. She silently thanked Miranda, whom Amy felt sure had sent it to her.

Showtime.

Amy moved back to the door and leaned coyly across the doorway, smiling, holding onto the doorframe to keep herself upright. She worked at projecting a hungry look. In her best breathy voice, she murmured, "Hi, Andrew. Been thinking about you all day." She straightened up and walked slowly into the room, rolling her hips sensually. She hoped she wasn't overdoing it, but decided that was probably impossible. She put her faith in her own perception of Andrew's fantasy. She could adjust if it appeared she was losing him at any point.

Andrew stared at her, giving voice to a barely audible grunt. He adjusted his stance again as his erection continued growing, while his face grew flushed.

Just above a whisper, as if overcome with arousal, she breathed, "I couldn't think of anything but what we could do when I got home." She kicked off her high heels, both as a hint of further undressing to come and to give him more full consciousness of his height advantage.

She continued approaching him until she was up against him, her breasts thrust out, her hands reaching out to rest on his hips, looking directly up at him with what she trusted was a yearning expression. She let her palms slide slowly up his sides, then back behind his shoulders as her arms surrounded him, and in her huskiest voice yet, croaked, "I want you!"

She was ready when his arms went around her and his mouth plunged onto hers. She felt she knew everything he was going to do, could judge to the microsecond when it was going to happen. She moved her lips against his, licking his tongue, moaning.

At the moment she judged he was about to get rougher, she broke off the kiss and giggled. "Slow down, Tiger. Slow hands, slow hands." She let her voice get progressively dreamier. "Make it last. We have so much time, so much time. Don't use it all up yet."

She could feel Andrew relax. The kiss resumed.

She had no illusion that she could get out of this without having sex with Andrew. That wasn't the thing that mattered. She had come to this room tonight knowing that it was her assignment to sexually please whomever she shared it with. Her partners might be anyone. She was a Hanging Girl, and it was her life's work to arouse and satisfy. What mattered was whether she was in control. She had learned that from Miranda, her very first lesson in the art of being a Hanging Girl. Miranda had been in control.

And Amy, for the first time tonight, was in control. She hadn't been in charge of the session with Grace, nor even, for all she had enjoyed it, during her time with Benjamin -- even less so with Benjamin than with Grace, in fact. But for her own satisfaction tonight, she had to prove to herself that she could lead Andrew around by his penis, make him do it her way.

A feeling of exultation grew in her along with her confidence. I'm doing it! It's working!

Still kissing, moaning from deep in her throat, she reached down to unbuckle his belt, as Andrew began breathing still faster. She unzipped his fly, and reached in to stroke his penis, her groan echoing his. She was careful to pet it with the palm of her hand, not her fingers. She didn't want him to ejaculate early, the way Miranda had made him do. That wasn't part of the plan.

Sensing that he was about to undress her -- that would be a polite word for a procedure that probably would have left her leather top in shreds -- she backed away to do it herself, holding his eyes as she pulled the top off over her head, and loosened her skirt, letting it fall to the floor as she waggled her hips sensuously, then kicking it away as if glad to be rid of it. Naked now, she pressed against him still more ardently, barely giving him room to peel off his own shirt and fumble out of his pants. She saw that his hands were shaking, and felt proud that hers were not.

With a dance of careful footwork, she maneuvered around him so that her back was towards the bed. She let go of him and lay on it on her back, reaching up for him with a yearning expression.

In seconds he was on top of her and inside her, already thrusting almost before she had gotten herself fully settled. She wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him and held on, murmuring his name softly as a counterpoint to his grunts of effort. She echoed his grunts with moans of her own.

As she expected, it didn't take him long to finish, emptying himself into her with a loud grunt and a gasp. She shook herself, gripped him still tighter and made a convincing orgasmic keening sound, quieting as she felt him relax.

Amy almost giggled to herself, thinking how under any other circumstances, she would feel a compulsion to spend an hour in the shower trying to wash every trace of Andrew's seed out of her. Tonight, if everything worked as she envisioned it, she would keep Andrew's fluids inside her as long as she could, as a reminder of what she'd done. She gritted her teeth and got control of herself. It was way too early to laugh. It would spoil everything.

She relaxed her grip on him and let him roll off her to the side, and turned towards him as he did. She stayed near him, not pressed against him since she knew that, for a few minutes at least, his sex drive was exhausted to the point that he wouldn't want any close physical contact. She simply stroked the back of his head with her hand, her eyes on his, occasionally planting light kisses on his chest and shoulders. She knew he was in the right frame of mind for dragging him a little deeper into the fantasy. She murmured, "Should we tell Dad right away we're getting married, or wait till I'm pregnant?" She made a contented-sounding sigh, thinking to herself how grateful she was for the Academy's contraceptives. "I can't wait for the wedding. Dad will want a really big one." She smiled. "He'll probably give us a lot of cash for a wedding gift. You know Dad. Anyway, you can have it. I don't need it." She did giggle now, as it was appropriate. "I don't even need to go shopping. I can just stay naked for you all the time. Would you like that?"

She had to hold back a stronger laugh as she saw his stunned look. He responded vaguely "Ung," and nodded his head, wide-eyed. She'd known he wouldn't be able to manage anything more articulate.

She felt no doubts he would believe her. People generally believe exactly what they want to believe. The fact that the Academy owned her, that they would not sell an undertrained student under any circumstances, and that even if they would, Dad was unlikely to spring for it so soon after buying Miranda, to buy his own daughter so soon after she'd left, as if he were paying a fortune for what amounted to a summer vacation for his flighty child... Andrew's spinning mind probably had no time to stop and dwell on any of those problems. Even the fact that he had helped her set up this role-play a few minutes ago was most likely a remote memory.

But she knew some of those thoughts would come crowding in if she took a break from weaving the dream for him. She continued talking. "We can use your room as our bedroom, and make my old room into sort of a nursery for the kids. You know how much Dad is going to love having grandchildren."

She reached down now to stroke his side and hip. Still too soon for direct stimulation, but she could come closer and hint at it. She made her voice still more husky, as if desire was coming on her again. "We'll need to get a bigger bed. I want us to spend a lot of time in bed. We can get some books and learn lots of new positions."

There, she saw looking down, it's awake again. That last comment had his erection reappear at half-mast. She reached for it and stroked it with her hand, encouraging it, hearing him gasp at the stimulation.

She pressed up against him now, pushing her left arm underneath him to meet her other arm thrown over the top, squeezing him in a tight hug, lifting her right leg and draping it over his hip so that she could rub her pussy against his now-hard dick. She kissed him, gently licking his tongue, as she wriggled her hips into position to let his erection reach up into her, then reached down to his buttock to pull him against her and keep it there, rocking her hips and tightening her vaginal muscles rhythmically to milk it, while continuing the kiss, harder, more insistently, grunting from her own efforts.

She opened her eyes, and once more nearly laughed, seeing that Andrew's eyes were open during the kiss as well, as if he wanted to be absolutely sure it was really her. She worked to turn the laugh into an mmmmm of passion, as she rubbed her breasts against his chest.

Both of them were breathing hard now, and Amy suspected that without her physical conditioning over the last months, she would have been exhausted by this time. As it was, her body was covered with a sheen of sweat, feeling hot in most places, cool where a draft from the air conditioning was blowing across.

Andrew came again at last, and Amy simulated another quivering orgasm. As he rolled at last onto his back, spent, she snuggled against him and draped her arm over his stomach, her head on his shoulder.

She saw, to her relief, that Andrew was content to lie there. She thought about continuing the earlier conversation, but decided it was unnecessary.

As the clock by the bed finished ticking off the hour Andrew had purchased, Amy sat up at last and said softly, "Our time's up."

Andrew stirred vaguely -- he'd clearly been dozing, or nearly so -- and sat up to verify the disposition of his clothes. He stood, facing away from her, and Amy took advantage of his inattention, looking quickly towards the camera and giving Wendy a hand sign -- the signal for "Send security - non-emergency," used when a girl sensed potential trouble and wanted someone standing by, in case.

Now dressed, Andrew turned back and looked at Amy, opening his mouth and closing it, clearly unsure what to say. It was easy enough to read his thoughts: Would Amy be able to leave with him tonight? Would some sort of arrangements need to be made with the Academy? His eyes shifted to the doorway where he'd detected some movement -- one of the gigantic security men. Amy couldn't see which one from her own vantage point. She knew now, though, that she was covered.

Andrew started to speak again, and froze when he saw the look on Amy's face.

Playacting was over. Amy didn't need it for this. She gave Andrew a nasty grin, her lip curling in disgust, and said slowly, with all the contempt she felt for him, "You asshole!"

She was finally able to let go with a whoop of laughter when she saw his reaction. His beet-red face and clenched fists said it all. She could read, in his whole posture, that he understood he had been helplessly manipulated. That he knew he had been tricked out of giving her any of the abuse he had planned (and indeed paid extra for), denied any of the satisfaction he had, in his fury at her, so desperately craved. That she had effortlessly replaced his own mental image of tonight's confrontation with a fantasy world of her own creation, and then destroyed it for him at the end with a single word, leaving him with nothing at all.

He took one step towards her, and stopped at the sound of a deep throat-clearing. Amy now could see that the security man at the doorway was Karl, known to Amy from Beth's hanging. Karl was leaning forward just slightly into her view, with a forbidding frown on his face, three hundred pounds of muscle that didn't need to be standing between Amy and Andrew to make the point clear.

Andrew stood still for just a moment, his jaw clenched, his breath whistling in and out of his nose like a steam engine. He spun on his heel, walked carefully around Karl at the door and disappeared, the sound of Amy's laughter following him down the hallway.