First up sorry for the delays on posting this section. Of course
those people who can remember when I posted quarterly may consider
this early.
The next section of Caroline will be delayed until the short story
"Iron Maiden" is finished and published. This is the name of the
"Bureaucrat in Bondage" story. That means that there is still time to
enter the competition. If some minor functionary has made your life
hell send me his name and the reason he pissed you off. At the end I
will pick two male and two female candidates and use them to generate
composite names for the two victims of the story. The winners will
have the story mailed directly to them and with a nifty text editor
you could make it a customised revenge fantasy of your very own!!!!
This section is dedicated to Hunter Rose who has been a great help
during the past couple of years. Not only has he provided the BISH
images that accompany most of the story sections, he has also
frequently reposted the story when I've been unavailable. This
section contains some ideas we spoke about nearly two years ago. I
hope he likes what I did with it. . .
Tom Quin
============================================================
First up we now have an FTP site thanks to the people at the
English Palace BBS. The previous Caroline sections can be got
from
http://www.palace.com
and are placed in the newusers library (ie the public part of
the board).
No associated images this time though there will be before
this section goes on the web.
Still no news on the website.
Quin
************************************************************
Captured Caroline. by Quin
======================
Chapter 11: "French Lessons"
=========================
I wandered into the kitchen thinking again of Maggie's predicament.
She'd always been impulsive, liable to go off and do strange things
for no good reason. This wouldn't be the first time I'd been forced
to bail her out when things got out of hand.
An image of her bound and gagged flittered through my mind and I was
suddenly and unexpectedly hard. Wow! On one level I realized it was
wrong; here was a long time friend in an embarrassing and potentially
dangerous situation. I shouldn't be getting off on it but it was such
a turn on I simply couldn't help myself. I could imagine her lying
there, wrists raw from her frantic struggles, body coated in sweat.
At first she would have been too embarrassed to call for help -- after
all she wouldn't want the neighbors to find her like this. But as she
tired and that knot of fear grew in her gut, she would have abandoned
any thought for her dignity. After all, survival is of primary
importance. I suppose she would have tried screaming first, but the
gag was so tight I'd had problems hearing her close to a phone. Then
as her neighbors started to leave for work and she could hear them
passing her door, I could imagine her desperate attempts to attract
their attention -- the thrashing about, the gagged screams too quiet
to be heard, then finally that desperate, frantic phone call.
The drama of it appealed to me. The reality, the danger, it was like
our little adventure of last night. There had been something, perhaps
her look of humiliation in the slut outfit, or the risk of discovery
in the elevator, that had given the experience more of a kick.
Whatever it was, it seemed to be missing from my relationship with
Caroline.
Don't get me wrong; nothing in my life compared with the
immense thrill of the kidnapping. The first time I'd raped
Caroline as she lay there bound and helpless --- when I'd
felt her struggles, heard her gagged moans I'd been in
ecstasy, but after that it had started to become a little
tame. I still got a huge kick out of just having her. She
was young, sexy, beautiful and completely in my power. I was
in control freak heaven. I could degrade her anyway I liked;
I was the one with the Power. It was the ultimate geek's
fantasy. I had a pretty blonde cheerleader tied up in my
basement. Yet strangely enough, bondage sex with my real
prisoner did not seem as real as my little act with Maggie.
I think it's lack of spontaneity. Although I keep Caroline
bound and gagged most of the time, it's mainly for show. She
spends her days locked behind an armored door in a sound-
proof room; escape is impossible and the bonds are overkill.
I thought again of Maggie lying helplessly in her room. In
her case the bonds were real, the cuffs constrained her, the
gag stole her voice and any chance of rescue. And that
rescue is so tantalizingly close. . .
I looked at my watch. Two hours I'd told Maggie. Two hours if I'd
been ready in my car. Two hours if I did eighty all the way and
dodged the state troopers. Two hours if I didn't have a slave to
feed. She would understand my lateness, I was sure. Then a strange
thought struck me. Suppose I was killed in a car accident on my way
to save Maggie? I realized immediately that both girls would be
doomed. Maggie would eventually be found when the police searched her
apartment, but Caroline? Caroline would die of starvation alone and
helpless and the chances were her body would never be found.
Strangely, I found the thought thrilling; to think that two other
human beings were so dependent on me that they would die if I did.
What a feeling of Power!
Caroline. . .
To be honest, I couldn't think about Caroline without feeling a little
numb. I can't really say that I was emotionally drained; I am by
nature and training an analytical person, and emotion doesn't come
easily to me. But the horrors of that attic room continued to haunt
me as I started the coffee and began to prepare breakfast. I forced
myself to analyze the situation in depth, going backwards and forwards
over a tale that seemed more and more incredible. Last night when she
had first told me the story, I had believed her completely. But now
in the cold light of day I started to doubt. I suppose I didn't want
to believe that a father could do this to his own daughter, and
instead I started to wonder if this was some elaborate hoax.
At first I couldn't see a motive for such a flagrant lie. Then the
cynical part of my brain found a reason -- to somehow shame me into
freeing her. Of course, that must be it! I could almost imagine her
lying there alone in the dark, concocting a story loaded with all the
abhorrent images her psych training had taught her. She was just
trying to manipulate me, trying to escape. Happy to find an
explanation, I started to pick holes in her story. One thing hit me
immediately; surely such torture as she had described would leave
scars, huge horrible scars like in the movies. No scars meant no
torture, which meant she was playing me for a sucker! Suddenly I felt
very angry. I wanted to go down there and introduce her to the lash,
help put that added bit of realism into her story. . .
Then I wondered just why the lying bitch should have a breakfast when
poor Maggie was all alone and helpless.
Alone and helpless. . .
Then, an evil thought struck me. My old accomplice Fate had once
again delivered me a wonderful opportunity, if I chose to take it. Of
course it would be expensive, but as I'd pointed out to Caroline
taking a slave was far from cheap. As the plan started to form, a
gut-level thrill went through me, and I started putting together a
list of things I'd need.
I was tempted to forget about Caroline and let the bitch fend for
herself, but in the end I relented and decided to make her a health
drink for breakfast. After all, I did want to put her on a diet and
I'd already decided to give her low residue foods while I was away in
Seattle. The image of a helpless Maggie flashed through the window of
my mind. Yes, it would be worth it. My hand shook as I took some
Gatorade and a box of protein powder and loaded up the blender. For
my plan to work I needed to get to Boston *fast*. Fortunately, I knew
a way. All I needed to do was make a few phone calls and find
something for Caroline to do this morning.
The calls were the easy part. Traveling as much as I do has a few
advantages, one of which is that lots of hotel chains and car rental
agencies see you as a valued customer. They're more than willing to
provide an extra service for you, rather than lose you to a more
compliant competitor. Fifteen minutes later and everything was ready.
Now all that was left was Caroline.
I went downstairs with the protein shake and a flask of coffee. I
paused at the table and retrieved some new clothes and restraints.
Then I crumbled a contraceptive pill into her coffee cup and topped it
up. So far she hadn't noticed anything wrong, and soon I'd start
ordering her to take it, adding her reproductive ability (or
inability, as it were) to the things under my obvious control.
She was still asleep when I went inside. I was tempted to shake her
awake and have it out with her right then, but common sense finally
fought through. Instead of waking her, I put the cup on the dresser
and bent down to examine her naked crotch. I had been right about the
stubble -- she would need a shave soon -- but of more interest to me
were her pussy lips. Very gently, so as not to disturb her, I
examined the folds. Even in the dim light, I could see a series of
irregular pockmarked scars about a sixteenth of an inch from the edge.
As I looked closely at the tiny pits, I felt my stomach turn. Any
doubts I still had evaporated as those scars, so exactly like the ones
from a hypodermic, told me that the "butterfly board" was real.
Gently I examined the other side, noticing the corresponding marks
that showed how the needle had gone right through the delicate
membranes. Above me, she moaned, her tongue darting quickly across
her other lips. There was already the suggestion of moisture in her
cunt from my handling of her pussy lips, and her nipples had started
to harden again.
Then I realized what agony it must have been for her; to be this
sensitive and for him to do *that.* I wasn't surprised that she'd told
him about Josh -- in a similar situation, I'd have done anything to
stop the pain. I felt a momentary flash of guilt for having doubted
her, so I reached over and gently stroked her cheek. She woke slowly,
smiling as she attempted to stretch then found that she couldn't. For
an instant she seemed puzzled, then she remembered. Her eyes
flickered open.
I smiled at her. "Time to wake up, lazy bones."
Surprisingly, she smiled back. "Hi Master."
"Not yet, but the day is still young," I said flippantly, and slapped
her bottom.
I helped her up and we went through the coffee and toilet ritual. She
seemed happy; our first therapy session together appeared to have
relaxed her. I knew that she hadn't told me everything, though. Her
story had stopped soon after Josh's death, with three whole years of
horror left. One thing I did find out last night was that the
Reverend Conway could pack a lot of suffering into a year. The thing
I most wanted to know was how she'd escaped. Had she run away? Did
that explain her destitute condition and lack of letters home? I
needed to know before I posted something out of character to her
family and gave the game away.
Still, that could wait. She seemed much better than last night and I
started to feel happier with the idea of leaving her alone for a
while. I led her into the dungeon and removed the posture collar from
her neck, replacing her old collar. After I chained her to the table
I removed the rest of the single sleeve and smiled again. "Ok, get
naked!"
She didn't hesitate, stripping off the remaining latex in moments. I
circled her body, admiring her slim athletic build and small but
perfect breasts. I had come to appreciate just what a find she was
and I could understand why any man would kill to keep her. I tossed
her some leather cuffs which she put on without comment. To put on
the ankle cuffs, she put one foot at a time on the bondage chair and
bent over, and I took the opportunity to look at her back carefully.
The lines were faint, so faint that I wasn't surprised I had missed
them. These were not the vivid scars so beloved of Hollywood, and I
suspected that Conway had been very careful to ensure that all
tell-tale wounds healed properly. Yet faint as they, were the scars
were there. It was more support for her story.
By now she was waiting expectantly, so I handed her the shake.
"What's this?" she asked, looking at the concoction with some
distaste.
"Breakfast," I said. "Michael Jordan's secret recipe. Denis would
*kill* to know what's in it."
She looked blank. "Not a big basketball fan then?" I asked. Again
getting no reply I went for the less subtle approach. "Just drink it,
slave. It's all the meal you're getting this morning."
"Why? Have I upset you in some way?" she asked, almost fearfully.
"Because if I did I'm sorry. . ."
"No, it's just healthier than the cooked breakfast. Now drink the
fucking shake!"
She chugged it down. I got the feeling that she was trying to avoid
any confrontation, which suited me fine. Most of the last few days
had revolved around her, a situation that couldn't continue if I
wanted to keep working. Now was the obvious time to acquaint her with
the lowliness of her new position; that as a slave, she was just a
possession like any other and had only a limited influence on my life.
Once the shake was finished I clipped her wrists to her collar and
began to dress her. First up came a black leather bondage belt. This
was about three or four inches wide with rings equally spaced around
it. It had buckles on the front and a small catch, and after
tightening it firmly about her narrow waist I locked it in place with
a padlock. She didn't struggle or even comment -- cuffs, gags and
chains were a part of her life now, and I think she'd started to
accept that. Once the belt was locked in place I helped her on to the
table and used cord and straps to tie her down. As before, I strapped
her with her legs parted and her pussy exposed. I wished I had the
time to shave her twat again but I had a lot to do and the clock was
ticking.
Once Caroline was secure I reached over and took a packet from the
table. The packet took some opening as it was designed to keep its
contents sterile. After a struggle I finally got it open and was able
to remove the catheter. This was a small hollow tube surrounded by an
inflatable surgical balloon. I looked for a reaction but it was
obvious she didn't recognize it. She was still wearing the training
harness, so after a little thought I reached over and pushed the ball
against those cherry lips. She opened immediately and I pushed the
gag in, loosely fastening it just enough to hold it in place. Then,
using a small jar of lube, I greased the end of the catheter and
parted her pussy lips. Her clit had already started to swell and as I
gently pushed it out of the way her whole body trembled. Very
carefully, I placed the catheter against her urethra and pushed. A
muffled squeal erupted from the far end of the table, and her hips
quaked as her body fought against the imprisoning bonds. The thin
tube slid home into her bladder, and I slowly inflated the balloon the
small amount needed to seal it in place. Then I removed the pump and
waited for her to calm down. Needless to say this took a while, but
eventually she was ready for the next stage.
I call the device a McGuffin. It's a small oval piece of latex a
little bigger than a woman's labia. One side is plain, and the other
is studded with electrodes and small piezo-electric buzzers. This
particular one had been designed for use with the catheter and had a
small hole between the cluster of electrodes for the clit and those
for the rest of the pussy. Sliding it down the tube, I gently moved
it into best contact . At the other end of the table the moans started
again. Once it was in position, I sealed it in place using surgical
tape, then released Caroline. She stood a little uncertainly; it must
be odd for a woman to suddenly find a pipe between her legs, and she
struggled a bit more than usual as I covered the arrangement with a
special pair of spandex pants. I used a locking belt to fasten the
pants in place then started to apply electrodes to her breasts. She
struggled and moaned into the gag as I stuck a couple of other
McGuffins on top if each nipple. I finished up with an spandex
athletic bra just like those in the shops except modified to lock in
place. Then I removed the gag.
"What are you doing. . .Master?"
"Careful, slave. You almost bought yourself a punishment!"
Her eyes were wide. "Isn't this a punishment?"
I laughed and kissed her forehead. "Why, have you done anything
wrong?"
She thought for a while. "Not as far as I know."
"Then why should I punish you?" It seemed straightforward to me, but
then Conway had never needed a reason to punish her. I smiled. "I
have to go somewhere and I need to keep you busy while I'm gone.
Trust me, all will be revealed!"
She squirmed. "That thing. . .it's uncomfortable."
"Yep, it is." I pushed her back onto the table and locked a pair of
shoes with sensible heels on her dainty little feet.
Realizing she wasn't going to get any sympathy, she pouted for a
while, then seemed to realize that she was ungagged and could talk.
She looked up. "Master?" she asked softly.
I stopped for a moment. "Yes slave?"
"Can we talk about your mother?"
I was puzzled but willing to play along. "I suppose so."
"Do. . .do you love your mother?"
That caught me by surprise. To be honest, my mother was a bit of a
bitch. While my father was tending the store, she'd ruled our
household like a petty tyrant. When it had become clear that I was.
.. .different. . .she had pushed me towards greater and greater
academic achievement. If for some reason I didn't jump a grade or
score better than anyone else on a test, she wanted to know why.
Thinking back on it, if it hadn't been for my grandfather's gentle but
firm insistence on letting me have some free time to myself, I don't
believe I would have had a childhood at all. It was my belief that
most of my problems with women had come from her; my desire for sexual
dominance, my status as a power freak, was a subconscious backlash
against her total domination of my childhood.
"Of course I love her," I said, and it was true. After all, you'd
have to be really screwed up not to love your mother.
She gulped a bit. "If something. . .bad was going to happen to her,
something you could prevent, you'd do it, right?"
I attached the leash to her collar and led her over to part of the
dungeon near the cell. "Yes," I said. Caroline seemed to prefer
straight answers.
The floodgates opened. "Please, you have to let me go or he'll kill
her," she begged.
"He'll kill my mother?" Needless to say, I was shocked.
"NO! He'll kill my mother!" she wailed.
I stopped. "When did we start talking about your mother?" I said,
sounding confused. In the back of my mind I could imagine the laugh
track, like this was some weird sitcom. In my head I could almost
hear the intro -- 'New this fall, the hilarious new show "Master and
Slave," coming soon on NBC! Richard Cody, successful author, kidnaps
a girl and keeps her in his basement -- you'll be rolling with
laughter as he tries to keep this fact secret from friends and family,
often with hilarious results!'
"Perhaps if you start again," I said smoothly. "Who's going to kill
who and why?"
She took a deep, halting breath. "Momma wanted me to go to college,
but at first my father wouldn't let me," she said. "Then she talked
him around, but he said he was going to call me every week. If I ran
away or if he found out I'd told anyone, he'd kill her and then
himself--"
"How could he find out?" I asked, annoyed. "That's stupid, he can't
be keeping track of you all the time."
She shook her head. "He has friends in the police, lodge buddies, he
says they'd warn him if the police started getting interested in him.
He'll do it, I know he will!"
So she hadn't escaped him. She was still as much his prisoner now as
she had been in that attic. Conway still had her on a tight leash;
only the nature of the chain and its length were different. While I
could believe that he had contacts in local law enforcement and even
see how they might tip him off, there was no way he could have
everything covered. Then I looked at Caroline and saw the fear in
those blue eyes, and I realized it didn't have to make sense as long
as *SHE* believed it. Still, I was intrigued enough to want to know
more.
"So he let you leave town on the understanding that he was to know
where you are and that you were to keep quiet about the things he
did," I said.
She nodded and looked down.
I reached over and forced her to look at me. "What if he were to
order you back?"
She sniffed. "I had to come at once."
"He specifically told you that?"
She nodded again. "He said that if I disobeyed, it would be Momma who
was punished because it was her idea."
Somehow I didn't think he would limit the punishment to just the
mother. So he'd let Caroline go. Suddenly, the alarm bells in the
back of my mind were on overload. One thing I'd learned was that he
did nothing without a reason, and I knew for sure was that whatever
that reason was, it hadn't been to please his slave wife. No, if
Charles Conway had allowed Caroline out of town then he had something
in mind and from experience it wasn't going to be pleasant. Conway's
plans tended to be pretty straight-forward. He didn't mislead or
bluff; instead, he relied on using his position in the local community
to best effect. I was sure that had the Conways not been the family
of the local minister, someone would have spotted the abuse long
before now. But then, as Caroline had said, who would suspect the
nicest man in town? Hell, even I'd thought she was lying. I guess
people just don't want to believe something like that.
I analyzed the problem. I could see no obvious benefit for getting
her out of town, but then I didn't have all the data he did. However
I knew there was a reason and it would be obvious from Conway's point
of view. Then something else popped into my head.
"Hey, wait a minute! If he's told you that he intends to call you
back, then what was that 'offer' of yours?"
"My offer was good."
"Bullshit! If he called you back to Iowa, how could you have been my
slave here? You lied, you little bitch."
She flushed. "I don't think he'll call. I've been away almost eight
months and I've been able to avoid going home even during vacations.
He hasn't said anything. I'm almost free."
I shook my head. "No you're not. He's just played out the line a
little, that's all. He has every intention of reeling you back."
A look of fear crossed her face. "Oh no. I mean, he wouldn't--"
"He would," I said harshly. "My guess is he was going to do it soon,
otherwise he'd have given you some more money."
"I don't see. . ."
"You're on a scholarship, right?"
She nodded.
"What is it, a hundred percent of tuition costs?"
She nodded again, a worried look spreading across her face.
"And he pays for your rent, food and things. I mean, he gives you
money for that."
"Yes," she whispered.
"Let me tell you what's happened and you correct me if I'm wrong.
He's never really given you enough to live on, so it's always been a
struggle. He's said something about working your way through college
builds character. He hasn't worried when your grades have suffered as
a result. Recently, he's sent you even less money, and he's been
making noises about coming for a visit."
By now the look of alarm had turned almost to panic. "Next month.
But how. . ."
"I'm afraid it's obvious. He's coming to get you to take you back," I
said.
Her face filled with horror. "Back. . ."
"Probably straight back to the attic, so that he can purge you of any
independent thoughts."
"NO!" she shrieked. "Please God, NO! I've left, I'm independent.
Never again! Oh, God, never again!"
"You never left," I said sadly. "He wanted you out of the way for
some reason. He never had any intention of letting you finish that
course." I continued to lead her gently towards the far corner of the
dungeon. "You see, if you fail or he brings you back, the tuition fee
will be wasted but he doesn't care because he's not paying it. The
maintenance fee is something he *does* pay, which is why he's keeping
it as cheap as possible. That's why he never gave you enough money,
and he hasn't sent you any more because he knows you won't be needing
it. Besides, he figures you may fear the attic more than what he'll
do to Momma, so the less money you have, the less chance there is that
you'll run."
The tears streamed down her face. "No!" she screamed, "you're just
saying that so you don't have to let me go! He couldn't. . .*I
can't!*"
I looked her in the eye. "Slave, I don't have to let you go. Even if
he was intending to flay your mother alive, it's no skin off my nose."
I winced at the subconscious pun. "What I mean is, I'm the only one
who has no problem being honest with you because I *know* what you're
going to do."
"And that is?"
"Exactly what *I* tell you," I said.
She looked down deep in misery.
By now we had come to the far corner and a couple of items which were
covered by dust sheets. Still sniffing, she looked at them with some
trepidation, probably thinking they were some arcane torture device.
And in fact she was right, as she saw when I pulled the sheet aside.
I'd seen this thing on a late night infomercial about a year ago. It
was an exercise machine that looked like a cross between a bicycle and
a rowing machine. You sit on it and while your legs turn some pedals
your arms pull the handles towards you. I used it successfully until
I moved into the house and had access to a dedicated multigym, at
which point I moved the machine down here. Of course, I had to modify
it for its use as a slave trainer. First, I welded extra cross
members to the frame, to strengthen it and make sure it couldn't
collapse. Then I added some mounting points for restraints. Finally
I attached some accelerometers and tension gauges so that the computer
could monitor its use.
She looked stunned. "I said you needed exercise," I said cheerfully.
"Please no! We need to talk about Momma. . .I need to talk."
"I'm sorry, but I don't have time. Now do what you're told or I'll
find something even more uncomfortable to keep you occupied."
She lowered her head and sobbed once, then nodded.
I removed the gag trainer and helped her on to the machine. I
fastened her right wrist to a small length of chain attached to the
handles. I needed to leave one hand free for drinking, so I made sure
it wasn't her 'good' one.
Finally she spoke. "Why did he let me go if he was going to bring me
back?"
"He has a reason," I said. "The fact that we can't figure it out
doesn't mean it doesn't exist."
"But my Momma said--"
"She said what she wanted to believe, or what *he* wanted her to
believe. Ask yourself this: how could she persuade him to do
anything not in his own interest? Can she withdraw sex? Can she go
away? Can she even have a fight with him?"
"I never thought. . .I mean, I was just so happy to be leaving."
By now I'd fastened the bondage belt to chains coming from the seat so
that she couldn't stand up. Then as she sat thinking, I used small
chains to secure her feet and ankle cuffs to the pedals. Once she was
strapped down I started with the rest. I attached a small box to the
back of the bondage belt. This had a number of wires which I
connected to the electrodes on her body and to the McGuffins.
She sobbed a little. "I'll never get away, ever."
"You are away," I said lightly, "and you're never going back."
She looked at me, her eyes full of a curious mixture of hope and fear.
"But my Momma?"
"I have an idea," I said. "But it will require your complete
co-operation."
"Anything," she said.
"You said that before and didn't mean it."
"To save my Momma, anything!" she said firmly.
"Good girl," I said, smiling. Always praise the slave when she does
well.
I put a sweat band on her left wrist and showed her the small table
with the water containers on it, then made the final connections. I
fastened a small hose to the end of the catheter that poked through
the pants. This ended in a bucket behind the machine. I got her to
pee and confirmed that there were no leaks and that the amber liquid
flowed easily into the container. Finally, it was time for the final
piece. I showed her the light weight VR helmet before I put it on her
so that she wasn't too frightened. I'd modified the basic unit quite
a bit to ensure that it couldn't be removed or tampered with, but in
essence it is similar in design to the ones Sega sells. The only real
technical difference was that it uses a flat CRT rather that an LCD
module. After I told her what it was for, she seemed happy for me to
strap it on her.
The helmet would display a crude VR environment for her to cycle
through. The virtual course was divided into sections. If she made
the sections on time, the McGuffins would reward her with a little
sexual stimulation. Failure meant a shock. At random intervals she
would hear my voice giving her some new instructions. Obedience meant
reward, and she figured out what happened if she disobeyed. Happy
that she was set, I kissed her cheek for luck and started the program.
Once she was started, I looked at my watch and cursed. My schedule
was slipping. Locking the dungeon door behind me I ran upstairs.
First up was the utility room and the pile of dirty clothes from the
last week. Rooting around, I finally found the sweats I'd worn during
the kidnapping. As I hoped they smelt of old sweat and dirt, with
perhaps a hint of Caroline's perfume. There was still a ski mask in
the pocket which I'd intended to wear. I thought again of how I
rushed out and took her. I must have been insane. I opened one of
the closets and got out a huge duffel bag. When I'd been working
through the kidnapping I'd toyed with the idea of carrying Caroline
out of her apartment block in this. I'd come to the conclusion that
it could work but would look so unusual that it was bound to be
remembered. So the idea was discarded, but I'd kept the bag.
In went the sweats, some sneakers and a couple of rolls of duct tape.
Charging through into the kitchen I added some Saran wrap and a small
pile of Ace bandages. Last stop was my office. I found the DAT
recorder straight away but couldn't find a blank tape. Searching my
desk drawers, I finally found one and as an unexpected bonus a bottle
of a cheap and very nasty aftershave someone had bought me one
Christmas. Everything went into the bag. As a final thought I threw
in my Powerbook and portable printer. As I didn't have time to change
out of my master's outfit of shirt and leather pants, I pulled on my
favorite leather flying jacket so that at least my clothes matched.
Still cursing the clock, I charged to the back of the house and waited
by the back door.
By now Caroline would be part through the first section. Soon she
would be getting her first taste of the obedience test. Not being a
cruel man I'd decided to help her out. Every time my voice gave her
an order the helmet would briefly flash the word "OBEY," driving the
command subliminally into her subconscious mind. She was so
suggestible, I was certain she would make a good subject. By the time
I came home her mind would be a little closer to being mine.
I was still thrilling at the thought of it when the helicopter landed
on the back lawn. I grabbed the duffel bag, locked the door and ran
out.
I climbed in. "Mr Cody?" the pilot asked. The guy looked like the
chopper pilots you see on TV -- short haircut, aviator shades,
baseball cap and a huge pair of headphones.
"Yes," I bawled, trying desperately to be heard.
He offered his hand. "Bob Wilson -- I'll be your pilot today." He
showed me how to fasten the harness. I put on the headset he gave me
and was relieved when the wall of sound subsided. "I was told you
want to go to Boston?"
"Yes, a panic business meeting. I need to get there ASAP."
"Understood, Mr Cody. ASAP is the only way we work around here."
Bob seemed a pleasant enough fellow. I got the feeling that perhaps
some of his customers weren't that comfortable flying, as he had this
patter worked out where he gave a running commentary on everything he
was doing. He kept cracking jokes and making light of the fact that
we were shooting cross country at better than 100 miles an hour. For
the most part I let him talk while mentally building up checklists of
things to do. I was so distracted that it seemed like no time before
we were setting down at a small private airfield just outside Boston.
Thanking Bob and giving him a generous tip for his speed, I started
across the grass towards the control tower. Nearby a pretty brown
haired girl stood near the driver's side door of a Chevy mini van.
Her blue blazer and sensible gray skirt identified her as a
representative of a well known rental agency. I was looking at the
grass for most of the time in order to shield my head from the wash of
the departing helicopter, and when I looked up I got a shock. For an
instant I thought the girl was gagged; it seemed that a large red ball
had been pulled between her teeth. As I got closer I realized it was
just imagination.
She smiled and stepped forward, offering her hand. "Mr Cody. I must
say you know how to make a spectacular entrance."
I looked her over. She was perhaps three or four years older than
Caroline, with large, almost luminous gray eyes. She wore her hair in
a business-like shoulder-length bob. Her makeup was conservative,
except perhaps for her lipstick which was a shocking red. Suddenly I
realized what had just happened -- the color was the same as the one
Caroline used, one I'd deliberately picked to match the red of her
ballgag. Mental association, or something more? In that split second
I checked out her ring hand, the state of her shoes and her name
badge. Her name was Peby with a
bored looking young man behind the wheel. Still, I took her business
card so that I could arrange pickup later, then I threw the duffel bag
in the back and headed for town.
On the way in I daydreamed; pretty little Penny bound, gagged and
struggling. Penny and Caroline, girl to girl. Of course any thoughts
I had of adding her to my little harem were just a fantasy, although
the thought of a brunette to round out my collection was quite
tempting. With some difficulty I refocused on Maggie.
It was now over an hour since I received the call, but my two hour
estimate had been very optimistic, something Maggie would have
realized. Bottom line was that I could now reach her apartment long
before she was expecting me. Now was time to finalize the plan. The
core idea of the plan was fairly simple: Maggie is bound and helpless
in her apartment waiting the two or more hours it will take for
Richard Cody, her trusted friend, to speed to her rescue from the
backwoods of darkest New England. However, before he gets there she
has an unexpected visitor in the form of a sneak thief who happens
upon her as he's turning over her apartment. There she is, helpless
and in a sexually provocative position with a complete stranger.
Well, not exactly a complete stranger.
.. .
The reason I'd rushed to Boston was so that I could play the intruder.
Maggie was fairly smart and being a practical joker herself she was
likely to smell a setup. I was hoping that the 'stranger' arriving so
early -- long before I could be expected to show up -- would sell it
to her.
Unfortunately I was likely to blow the plan the moment I opened my
mouth. I'm fairly good at accents but the basic tone of my voice
remains the same. I experimented with different voices as I fought
the traffic but it was still no good. Then I had a revelation. If I
were a foreigner, then I might stand a better chance of pulling it
off. Broken English with a scattering of foreign words and
expressions might just disguise my voice enough. In addition, it gave
me a good excuse not to say that much in English.
I speak six languages, four fairly fluently. The obvious choice was
Spanish but I knew that Maggie spoke it too and could probably spot my
accent. Russian would be good, especially with all the news coverage
the Russian Mafia have been getting lately. The problem was, Maggie
knew I spoke Russian. In the end I settled on French; internally it
made more sense anyway, what with Quebec only a few miles to the
north. I would be a French Canadian burglar, down in Boston to pull a
few jobs before heading north again. I practiced the accent, trying
hard to lower my voice a little. In my mind he started to form,
taking on more and more substance as I worked out a back story. I
stopped and wondered if she deserved it, but the twenty-first birthday
thing had only been one of the awful practical jokes she'd pulled on
me and payback was long overdue.
I checked into a mid-priced motel about three blocks from Maggie's
apartment building. I had a reservation so things went relatively
smoothly. I shot the guy on the desk a line about needing a quiet
place to work in and a large tip got me a room in the next block with
no neighbors. With time now a factor, I went inside and got set up.
For the most part this involved getting changed into the sweats I'd
brought, slapping on some of the aftershave and recording a couple of
things on the DAT machine. I placed a call to Maggie's department at
the university and told them that she had a bad headache and wouldn't
be in today. They accepted it easily, since her job was pure research
with few teaching commitments. I unloaded the things I wouldn't need
from the duffel bag and set off.
I had a copy of Maggie's key, an arrangement that dated from the time
I lived in Boston. I don't know if she even remembered giving it to
me but it would make things a lot easier. Like the night before, I
entered the basement car park and found Maggie's space. Then I
hoisted the duffel bag over my shoulder and headed to the lift. The
trip up was uneventful and this time there were no interruptions apart
from the hideous muzac they seemed to play during the day. I reached
Maggie's floor without disturbance and was relieved to find that the
corridor outside her apartment was empty.
Pausing outside, I deliberately fumbled with the lock for a few
minutes. I can actually pick locks, a skill I learned at MIT, but it
took some time and though I wanted to give the impression I was
breaking in, I didn't want to chance her neighbors calling the cops.
Finally, I inserted the key in the lock and waited. I had the ski
mask in my pocket and I could have put it on, but again knowing my
luck someone would come past right then. I took a deep breath. If
Maggie had decided to tie herself in the living room then all this
trouble and expense would be for nothing. Gently, I opened the door
and went inside.
The room was dark as the drapes were still drawn, and it took a few
minutes for my eyes to adjust. By the dim light of the one working
lamp, I could see that the room was pretty much as I'd left it last
night. Maggie wasn't there. Taking the DAT machine from my pocket I
quickly rewound the tape, deliberately making noise as I circled the
room. When the tape was rewound and I was sure that any occupant of
the apartment had heard me, I pushed play and set the machine on the
coffee table.
A shaft of light shone from beneath the bedroom door. As I drew
closer, I could hear faint movement inside. I took another deep
breath, pulled on the ski mask and quietly opened the door.
Maggie lay on the bed. When she heard the door open, she made a
supreme effort to sit up. She was dressed in the hooker outfit I'd
bought her, all shiny leather and PVC. As she managed to face the
door , I realized that the ski mask was unnecessary. Her eyes were
covered with the light padded blindfold I'd bought. Her mouth chewed
on the ballgag, and she groaned and thrust her crotch up into the air,
making suggestive little mewing noises. Then I realized that she had
no way to measure time. To her it must have seemed like several hours
since the call. She obviously thought it was me and her waving hips
were a clear invitation.
As I got closer I admired her handiwork. She had used a good part of
the cord I'd bought to tie her ankles to a broom handle as an
improvised spreader bar. Her wrists were pinioned behind her back, I
assumed with the handcuffs. A small length of yellow cable came
through a gap at her zipped crotch and ended in a small battery box.
"Hummmph," she moaned.
"Merde!" I knew immediately that I'd hit the right tone perfectly.
Maggie stiffened. As I'd intended, she was surprised by the response.
The first part of convincing her I was a stranger had begun. I
muttered a few things in French about who had done this and what was
going on. Getting no indication of comprehension, I felt it was safe
to come closer. Hearing me, she started struggling in earnest but it
was obvious she wasn't going anywhere. For my imaginary stranger, the
French Canadian burglar, there was only one question:
"Etes-vous seule?" I demanded.
"Hummphh. . .UM Iee Eeee."
"Pardon?"
"Hummm."
"Oui.......le baillon! Errr, Mademoiselle. . .you must
promise. No noise, oui?"
She paused, then nodded so I reached behind her head and released the
strap. As with Caroline, I left it dangling around her neck.
"Water," she croaked, so I poured a glass from the jug by her bedside
and held it to her lips. She drank greedily for a few seconds, then
started sniffing near my sleeve. The smell of sweat and cheap cologne
hung in the air. This was not a Cody smell, and yet another part of
my deception was established.
I put the glass down and we waited a while, the room quiet but for the
insistent sound of the off hook telephone. Reaching down, I picked it
up from the floor and replaced the handset, then noisily placed the
phone back on the bedside table. She jumped and 'looked' around
nervously. I felt she was starting to buy my act.
"Please can you untie me?" she asked, twisting her shoulders around
so as to get her bound hands as close to me as possible. I could see
I'd been right about the handcuffs. I could also see what a struggle
she'd had. The once glossy surface of the PVC gloves near her wrist
had been worn away. In fact, the cheap gloves had been what had kept
her prisoner; they had slipped during her struggles but only enough to
stop any chance of her working her wrists free of the cuffs.
"C'est. . .it is impossible, handcuffs. No key, eh?"
"The key is on the bed somewhere." I looked and after a while I found
it under a pillow. She seemed to sense this because she thrust her
arms towards me. I reached down to the cuffs -- and closed them an
extra click.
"What are you doing?" Her voice had that edge of panic that I liked.
"My job," I said off handedly and reached for the gag.
"No please. . .who are you?"
At last, the question I'd been waiting for. "How you say -- le
cambrioleur?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Le burglar...? My gloved hand covered her mouth just as she was
about to scream. A faint shriek came out and she struggled wildly but
her position was hopeless.
I grabbed the ball and started to bring it up to her mouth; a gagged
Maggie could ask no questions and so reduce the amount of talking *I*
needed to do. Sensing I was about to silence her again she started
struggling and shaking her head. For my own reasons I would need to
work on the gag soon anyway so I decided that "le cambrioleur" should
have a change of heart.
"Mademoiselle, please." She stopped struggling. "I will leave. .
..le baillon?" I tugged at the strap until she realized what I was
trying to say.
"The gag?"
"Oui. No baillon if you quiet until I am gone."
She understood and nodded. I removed the gag from around her neck and
pocketed it. Then I started to noisily search the rooms. Maggie
didn't have much, almost all her unspectacular pay went towards the
future purchase of her dream house. In addition she was a bit of an
intellectual elitist and shunned such items as a TV. Consequently,
her apartment had little a burglar would find interesting. But I
stayed in character and searched the place methodically while she
struggled on the bed. Two things I did check was the availability of
Saran Wrap in the kitchen and that she had bandages in the bathroom
cabinet. I had brought my own, but I didn't want to give the game
away by using something unusual that she knew wasn't in the house.
"Please," she called. "I need the toilet?" That was good because I
needed her to go anyway, so with much gallic swearing I undid the
spreader. I found the rope looser than I expected -- she was probably
only minutes away from freeing her legs. I gathered up the loose cord
and tied it to the leather collar she wore and using it as a leash
guided her to the bathroom. I reached between her legs and opened the
zipper and was rewarded by the smell of hot pussy. Removing the
vibrator, I noted the dampness of her crotch. She turned a bright
beet root color from the embarrassment but the sight of her erect
nipples as they pushed through the peepholes in the leather cups gave
the game away. The little slut was getting turned on! Like Caroline,
she seemed to get quite uncomfortable having me watch while she peed,
but in the end she had to put up with it. Then I dried her and led
her back to the bedroom.
"Please, you should leave now, my boyfriend will be back soon."
I grunted. "This boyfriend, he tie you?"
She turned red again. "Yes, it's a sex game, you know? He only
stepped out for some cigarettes. He'll be back soon."
I let the sentence hang in the air a while as if I was considering it.
"Non, you lie. If boyfriend tie, *he* would have key."
"But--"
I placed a gloved finger to her lips. "Shussh!" I took her head and
forced her to nod and then shake. "Just this, eh?"
She nodded.
"Magnetoscope, stereo?" She shook her head. "You have jewels? A
safe?" She shook her head again. I went through her purse checking
credit and cash cards. "The cards, tell me the numbers!" She
stiffened. I knew one of these was the dream house account and
contained almost all the money she had made in her life. I had the
feeling that she wouldn't give me that without a fight. Pursing her
lip, she shook her head.
"C'est la vie!" I said and stuffed the gag back into her mouth. She
complained, but there was little she could do. She fought a little
when I removed the thigh high boots and tied her ankles to the bed,
but the blindfold kept her from seeing just what I had planned. I
went to the linen closet and removed what I needed.
At the first touch of the feather duster against the bare soles of her
feet she gave a strange little gurgling sound. Soon the room was full
of muffled laughter. She thrashed around as much as the bonds allowed
and the first tears started to creep from behind the blindfold. I was
glad she'd used the toilet because by now I was sure she'd lost all
body control. I'd left the zipper open and gradually started moving
the duster up her legs, against her thigh, her pussy lips. She went
crazy in a strange flux between being tickled and turned on. Her
gagged voice begged for mercy but I was relentless, working her over
until all the fight had been laughed out of her. The duster danced
over her body, driving her more and more wild, pushing her way beyond
any reasonable limit. Then when she was almost completely out of her
mind I stopped.
"Enough?" I asked. She nodded weakly.
I removed the gag and asked for the PIN numbers and the amounts in the
accounts. She seemed drained and strangely submissive. I noted the
information for later. The figures for her main account were not that
impressive; she always transferring any excess to the house account.
However the dream house account was different. I couldn't tell if she
was lying but the amount seemed about right. I made a point of
whistling when she gave the balance. While she was weak I asked other
questions like where she worked and how much she could take out of the
accounts in a week. I think she was too far gone to see where this
was heading and gave fairly truthful answers. While this was going on
I was wrapping an Ace bandage around the ball of the gag making it
larger. In the back of my mind a counter that had started when I
entered her apartment was counting down.
Then the knock came. We both jumped, but in my case it was to clamp a
hand over her mouth. Then from outside the room my voice said,
"Maggie? Are you all right?" She stiffened, then started to struggle
in earnest, trying to throw me off. I clamped my hand harder over her
mouth as she continued to scream. Then the voice continued.
"Maggie, listen, I need to find the super and get him to open the
door. I'll try and keep him out of there but there may be nothing I
can do -- is that all right?"
She screamed into my hand.
"Look, I can't hear you. I'll be fifteen, twenty minutes tops, okay?"
That had sold it to her. I think half of her suspected it was a joke
and that I was the Frenchman. To some extent she had played along.
Now, thanks to the recording on the DAT player, she had heard me
outside and suddenly in her mind she was alone and helpless with a
stranger.
She struggled as I forced the enlarged gag into her mouth and pulled
the strap tight. The bandage covered ball was a real mouth filler and
her screams were reduced to almost nothing. She must have realized
this because she stopped screaming at once and just lay there
trembling. I went to the duffel bag and got out more bandages, the
duct tape and the plastic wrap.
Looking at the small pile of discarded cord I suddenly had an idea.
Quickly I fashioned a device I'd learned about in books. When I tied
the cord around her waist she didn't seem to notice, being more
concerned with chewing the ball. Even when I pulled one end between
her legs she didn't understand. Still, she would find out more in a
second. Taking the roll of Saran Wrap I went to work.
She struggled as I wound the Saran Wrap around her legs. As I wanted
to be able to bend her knees I carefully left them unwrapped but
continued with her thighs. Then I rolled her over and did the same
with her arms pulling her shoulders back and thrusting her breasts out
in the process. Her struggles became weaker as she had less and less
to work with. When I went over the Saran Wrap with the duct tape she
became even more helpless. As I used the tape to secure the tops of
her arms to her torso, the fight left her. She just lay there as I
hog-tied her, though she showed some interest when I took the rope
between her legs and secured part of it to her wrists. As a crotch
rope this was a masterpiece. Two parallel cords held apart by a
massive knot ran either side of the pussy holding the lips open and
exposing the clit. A third rope passed between them, deliberately
passing tightly through the pussy and bringing several rough knots in
contact with her nub. It was this rope that was bound to her wrists
and it took her no time to realize that she could vary the pressure
and move the knots over her sensitive bud with the little hand
movement she had left.
However, she also found out how frustrating it was; while almost any
movement brought some stimulation, getting enough to make a real
difference would take a lot of effort. Still, her 'struggles' again
became quite animated and the smell of hot pussy started to fill the
room.
We both knew that a line had been crossed. This was the first overtly
sexual thing the "Burglar" had done. Before now he had been content
to keep her quiet while her searched for valuables, now he was making
it clear that he had found something of value between her legs.
Maggie shivered and moaned, though it was hard to tell if this were
fear or anticipation.
I stroked her cheek. "You like, Mademoiselle?"
She shook her head defiantly. I looked down and saw her hard little
nipples where they poked through the peepholes. They told another
story.
I brushed a hand over her exposed clit, felt the moisture and heard a
muffled gasp. "You little flower says different, eh?"
She turned away. As she wasn't saying much I didn't feel too bad
strengthening the gag a little. As I'd done with Caroline I covered
the lower part of Maggie's face entirely with duct tape, criss
crossing her mouth and sealing the ball in place. Then I wound a
tight bandage over the top, squeezing her cheeks in and reducing her
moans to whispers. The tweaked nipple test showed that she was
effectively muzzled and the partial mummification had robbed her of
her ability to move. Opening the duffel bag up on the bed next to
her, I rolled her inside. Then she suddenly realized what I had in
mind. She screamed but I could barely hear it even this close and her
struggles only succeeded in rubbing that frustrating crotch strap
against her exposed pussy. Even as I was pulling the bag closed
around her I could tell that she was more intent with getting off than
getting free.
I put the slut boots into the bag, together with some of her more
slutty street clothes and a little makeup. After all, Maggie would
need something to wear later . Besides, it helped make the bag appear
less body shaped.
"Mademoiselle, ecoute! We will leave now before your friend returns.
You will be my guest for a few days only." I took the knife I'd used
to cut the saran wrap and teased her neck with the point. She
stiffened and the cold steel touched her skin. I moved the knife
away.
"Trouble me and I have a knife, comprendre?"
She nodded and I zipped the bag closed. She was quite heavy and I was
glad I didn't have to carry her any distance. Throwing her over my
shoulder I went out into the living room. Quickly pocketing the DAT I
went over to the door and opened it a crack. The corridor outside her
apartment seemed quiet enough. I was so caught up with the thrill of
it all that for a moment I forgot I was wearing the ski mask. I
snatched it off and stuck it in my pocket then, trying to move a
loosely as possible so as to disguise the weight of the bag, I ambled
towards the elevator. It seemed to take forever to arrive and even
before the doors opened I could hear the voices inside. Maggie had
heard them too because I could hear the gagged moans close to my ear.
It was a 50/50 chance which way they would turn on leaving the
elevator but there were fewer apartments to the left so I quickly
darted to that side and waited, my heart in my throat as Maggie
continued to squirm behind me. The door opened, and they turned
right, two guys dressed like they were back from jogging. Before the
doors closed I'd dashed inside. I doubt they even knew I was there.
I held my breath as we neared the lobby. Some elevators automatically
stop and open at the lobby even if they haven't been called. The last
thing I wanted was for the doors to open and there be a dozen people
waiting, especially as right now I had the biggest hardon in my life.
Fortunately, that didn't happen and the elevator continued to the
basement car park. Maggie was struggling as much as she could and
trying desperately to scream, but her cries were ineffective. I doubt
they could have been heard more that a few feet away. Still, her weak
struggles did shift some of her weight and made her difficult to hold.
I staggered over to the mini van and used the famous self-opening side
door to get the struggling bundle into the back seat. I strapped her
down with a couple of lap belts, then pushed the seat as far forward
as I could. Climbing inside I moved the driver's seat hard back,
trapping Maggie in a small padded box formed from the seats. The van
had tinted windows so no one could see in through the sides, and
arrangement of the seats hid her from oncoming traffic. I was careful
in positioning the bag; when opened, it would be easy to see her face,
and tits and cunt were strategically close to the gap between the
front seats for easy access. In fact ,when we were out of the garage
I felt comfortable enough to open the bag and look at my captive. I
was relieved to see she was breathing normally, and though most of her
face was covered the little moans she made told me of her appreciation
of the crotch strap.
Though I had a room a few blocks away I decided to give Maggie an
adventure and plotted a route that would take me out of the city via
the Tobin Bridge. After the bridge, Highway 1 heads north and I
suppose it could be an eccentric way of heading for the Canadian
border. The important thing was that it had toll booths and Maggie
would hear the sound and know we were leaving town. I think there was
construction because there were jams on the approach to the bridge and
I had to keep stopping. Still, I had Maggie's compliant if not
necessarily willing body to play with as I waited. I stroked and
teased listening to the little sounds that she was making and smelling
the perfume of her hot pussy. For a few blocks I played tag with a
little red open top with an out of state license plate reading MISS T.
I don't know if this was a pun on Misty or if she was some beauty
pageant winner but the car's owner was a real looker and knew it. She
was in her early twenties, with fluffy blonde hair, dark glasses and
an attitude that needed serious adjustment. I accidentally blocked
her way at an intersection and at the next block she deliberately cut
me up. Five minutes later we were parked side by side and she looked
over at me like I was dirt. I smiled and she tossed her head back
again making it clear she didn't want my company. I had my hand down
between the front seats playing with Maggie's nipples and listening to
her muffled protests. My hand drifted down and played with the crotch
strap, Maggie moaned some more, but despite the window being open Miss
T heard nothing. She continued to pretend to ignore me while I
thrilled with the knowledge that she would never know I had a helpless
girl bound and gagged on my back seat. At the lights she squealed
away, gaining perhaps a car length on me for her trouble. I smiled,
thinking just how easily it could be Maggie in the little sports car
and Miss T on my back seat.
Finally we reached the bridge. The tolls are automated so there was
little chance of detection, and soon I was the other side of the
river. I did a large circle using Highway 28, imagining Maggie's
despair and desperation mounting with every mile. I zipped up the
duffel bag and stopped at a gas station to get some chocolate. The
place was quiet but there were enough people around for Maggie to hear
and try to contact. Needless to say, no one noticed anything wrong.
I headed back towards Boston with the biggest hardon in history, and a
helpless captive ready to satisfy it. The traffic was better on the
way back in and in no time I was at the motel. I zipped up Maggie's
bag in case a passerby looked through the driver's window, and opened
the door to the room. I spent a moment drawing the drapes against
inquisitive eyes then brought Maggie inside.
She was in quite a state. Her body was covered in sweat, hair
plastered down to her skull. Her erect nipples were poking through
the peepholes in the corselet and seemed a little red. I could only
assume that she had been using the rough fabric of the bag to maximum
effect. Needless to say her clit was engorged. I had almost expected
friction burns but apparently there was more than enough lubrication.
As I eased her out of the bag, she started floundering about like a
fish out of water. For a moment I thought that she was struggling to
escape but then I realized the truth, she was trying for an orgasm. I
sat and watched the valiant struggle. She came close on a number of
occasions but finally she fell back, exhausted and frustrated. I
smiled, thinking how strange it was that reality so closely followed
art. I had got the design of the crotch strap from a trashy bondage
novel about a white slaver. After capture he fits one to all of his
'recruits' in order to prevent escape. The idea was that any attempt
to struggle causes sexual stimulation which distracts the victim,
causing them to fail to get free. Though Maggie could not possibly
get free the strap was having a similar effect. She would struggle
and build up her level of excitement, but only being able to nose
breathe she was unable to get off before oxygen debt forced her to
stop. She panted and shivered. Ready if not exactly willing, she
waited for her kidnapper to take her.
I smiled. She would have to wait a little longer. Using the knife I
cut her legs free. Instead of the kicking I'd expected, she pushed
down, thrusting her shaved crotch upwards. The little slut was
begging for it, but I would not oblige just yet. I improvised a
modified hogtie using tape and cord. First I taped both ankles
together with each foot against the opposite calf. This forced her
legs open into a rigid triangle with knees horizontal and out of the
way. It left her pussy exposed and gave her no way to protect it.
Then I bound the ankles to the wrists, making her body rigid and
reducing her movement to virtually nothing. She moaned and struggled
but could do nothing more. Satisfied that she was under control, I
removed the gag. As expected she wanted water first so I placed the
glass to her lips and let her drink just enough to take the edge off
her thirst. Then I turned her so that her head was over the side of
the bed and undid my fly. She knew what was coming and lay quietly
while I explained the penalty for biting. As it turned out I needn't
have worried. The gag had strained her jaw muscles to the point where
I doubt she could bite anyway. Needless to say, it wasn't the worlds
greatest blow job. I did consider punishing her for bad technique but
there seemed little point since she was physically unable to do
better. Finally I came, though it was more through my efforts than
hers. I forced her to swallow, then moved her into the center of the
bed.
I spent a few minutes stripping the sodden bandage off the ball gag
while she worked on putting her jaw in order. We both finished about
the same time, and I pushed the ball against her lips.
"Please no," she begged.
"Oui," I said. "I must go to le Banque."
"Bank? Please no! That's all I have!" Her voice was panicked.
"That is all right, mademoiselle, it is all I need!"
"Please," she said thrusting her chest outwards. "I have other things
I could offer. . ."
I laughed, a gravelly, hearty sound that surprised even me. "Do not
worry, mademoiselle, I will taste those fruits on my return."
She struggled but the result was a foregone conclusion. I tightened
the gag strap and left her alone in the dim motel room.
I didn't go far, just out to the car to use my mobile phone. First, I
called my accountant who I hoped could help with the problem of
Caroline's mother. We talked hypothetically about a couple of ideas
I'd had and he confirmed what I needed to know. Now I knew that my
plan stood a chance, I called around and talked to a number of other
friends to arrange meetings. Finally I called a fine Deli I knew and
ordered the makings for dinner. It was then I made the mistake.
I'd been eating a bar of the chocolate while I made the calls and
finished up quite thirsty. As it was too early to arrive back at the
room, I decided to go in search of the Coke machine that motels always
have. The first machine I found was broken so I went further afield.
.. .
As I walked back towards my block with my 3 cans of coke and some ice,
a movement caught my eye. She was young, very young -- sixteen, maybe
seventeen at most, dressed in the brown uniform of a maid. In her
arms she carried a huge pile of towels almost as tall as she was, in
her hand was a key and she was heading for my room. She ignored my
shouts and as she got closer to my door I realized I had no option.
Bursting into a sprint I closed on her. I was lucky -- fumbling with
the towels, she dropped the key. But for that, she would have been in
the room long before I reached her. As it was, I made it just as she
opened the door.
Perhaps I should have been an actor -- despite the danger, I stayed in
character. "Mademoiselle, what are you doing?" I demanded, pointing
to the 'do not disturb' sign I'd hung on the door. I was acutely
aware that Maggie was just feet away and could probably be heard
easily with the door open.
The girl looked at the sign, and for the first time I noticed her
olive skin and those dark brown eyes. "Perdon," she said. "No hablo
ingles!"
A moan emerged through the open doorway and the little Spanish girl
moved forward curiously. Quickly and as gently as I could, I reached
forward and closed the door. I could still hear faint sounds from
inside, but the gag was good enough to prevent Maggie from drawing too
much attention. I knew she could probably hear us clearly and I knew
she could speak Spanish so in the worse accent I could manage I asked,
"Habla usted frances?"
"Oui," she said with a smile. Immediately there was a bond between
us. We were both foreigners now.
"Tres bien!" I smiled. "Mademoiselle. Je suis fatigue. Je ne
voudrais pas ma chambre a ete faite." I tapped the 'do not disturb'
sign for good measure.
She blushed. "Excusez-moi Monsieur." Then she hurried away.
Relieved, I opened the door. A Spanish girl who spoke French but no
English? I wished I'd had the time to know more. Of course, a real
desperado would probably have pushed her inside and tied her up as
well. Still, I'd dealt with it in a way consistent with my character,
and I was sure Maggie was none the wiser.
Putting down the supplies I removed the gag. "You lie!" I accused.
"The number was no good!"
"Please no. I told you the truth."
"The card, it has gone."
"The machine ate my card?" Her voice was a strange mixture of panic
and relief.
"Oui! I have lost one day. I have nothing! Comprendez- vous?"
"Yes, but what can I do?"
I waited a while as if he was weighing up his options. Then I reached
over and pushed the gag firmly into her mouth. Fumbling for the
phone, I made a number of calls to my house and talked to the
answering machine. For Maggie's benefit, I made out that I was
talking to someone at the other end. The first ten calls were
entirely in French and after the first Maggie gave up trying to alert
the person at the other end of the phone and waited patiently. Then I
sprang the eleventh on her.
"Bonjour, John. Comment ca va? Bien. Listen I have something
special. Non, a woman. Oui la prostituee. . .how you say, a
hooker?"
Maggie raised an muffled objection but I ignored her.
"The bitch ripped me off. . .stole my money. . .oui. . .non I
caught her. She is my guest. . .oui. I need to get my money back
before I go 'ome to Quebec. . .exactement! I think the same. .
..oui. . .anything you like for two hundred dollars. Oui? Tres
bien!
A tout a l'heure. . .oui! Au revoire."
Maggie moaned and struggled as I made the next four calls in English.
Each was approximately the same. I claimed she was a hooker that had
stolen money from me and offered to sell her ass for two hundred bucks
in order to make my money back. Each call varied a little and I
gradually filled in the details, assuring one party that she would be
blindfolded or telling another she was an accomplished liar. The
setup was obvious -- sometime later tonight Maggie was going to be
gang-banged by fifteen guys at two hundred dollars a head. She would
be bound and blindfolded, gagged for much of the time but even when
she could speak she would be unable to persuade them to stop.
I noisily flicked through the pages of a book. "Fifteen men a night?
That is three thousand. In a week. . ." Maggie moaned, in a week she
would have fucked over a hundred guys.
"Do not worry Mademoiselle, we will 'ave the money soon, non?"
Her nipples were hard, her pussy damp. Maggie could only orgasm with
a man when forced and soon fifteen guys were going to have their way
with her. She'd be fucked, sucked, groped and I'd made it clear that
she could be used in anyway those men wanted. I watched the crotch
rope as it rubbed against her clit. This gag allstop beating her
and that would mean she could get some sleep.
Before the next fifteen guys arrived. . .
All through this she struggled and screamed and fought and when I
finally cut the crotch rope and entered her she was more than ready.
The hogtie was a masterpiece, giving her no way to stop my
penetration, making her more powerless, less guilty.
I still believe she orgasmed fifteen times, once for each imaginary
rapist, for each imaginary violation. Even gagged she made more noise
than I would have liked and I only hoped the little Spanish girl
wasn't in the next room. Finally spent, I collapsed on her and there
we stayed 'till I we recovered our strength. Then I removed her gag
and blindfold.
She blinked and smiled. "Hi, Cody."
"Okay. When did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That it was me?"
"I've always known," she said, a little bemused.
"But I wore sweats and--"
She smiled. "It was very good, Cody. Wonderful, in fact. You were
so convincing I almost thought it was real on a couple of occasions.
In fact, if you hadn't worn the cologne I gave you last Christmas, I
could have panicked and really thought it was real. Very subtle clue
by the way -- a masterstroke!"
I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't said the aftershave was cheap
and nasty.
She continued, "Coming early was good, too. In fact you almost caught
me out. If you hadn't done that key fumbling thing outside the door,
you'd have caught me in the living room. As it was, I didn't really
get chance to tie my ankles properly."
"Whoa, wait a minute. You mean you only tied yourself up when I
arrived?"
"Of course. What kind of idiot do you take me for? You don't really
think I'd be stupid enough to tie myself up and not be able to get
loose."
"But the gloves?"
"Nice touch, I thought. Well, you kept saying they were cheap and
nasty and I agree. I was planning to get better ones so I could
afford to sacrifice these."
"So this whole thing was a setup?" I demanded. "You weren't really
tied up at all?"
The silly cunt grinned at me. "Nope. I just woke up with an itch
this morning and I knew you were too busy to come if I asked, so--"
"You incredible bitch!"
"The one and only."
I stared at her. Then it was my turn to grin. "Okay. So I'm a
sucker and I bought it. Now you'll have to do something for me."
"No, I don't," she pouted. "You got off on it, too, big time. I
never realized what a power freak you are. If I didn't lean in the
other direction I might even fight this Elizabeth chick for you!"
"Flattery will get you nowhere," I said. "And you do owe me - *big
time.*"
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. So what do you want?"
"You, to be my slave for one evening of my choosing. No limits, no
veto, nothing. You do what I say, fuck what I say and the only
acceptable answer is "yes, master." Understand?"
She pouted again. "Why should I agree to this?"
"Two reasons," I said. "One, you'll get off on it big time. And two,
you say no and I push this gag back into your lying little mouth and
leave you here for the maid to find."
She thought for a while. "Okay. But only for *one* evening."
"Agreed," I said and started to free her. Already my mind was working
on the plans to fulfill my deepest fantasy; to have both my slaves
helpless and available at the same time.
The End (for now)
