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Captured Caroline
By Quin (address withheld)

***

Caroline stood there horrified at what she was doing 
and of the thought that it was captured on film. I 
seized on her confusion and quickly tossed her the 
latex stockings with instructions to put them on. I 
took more photos as she pulled them up her legs and 
fastened them to the garters of the bustier. (Mdom/F, 
mc, huml, bd, rom)

***
 
Prologue: Just a Quiet Burger 

As I neared the state border I turned off the highway 
and towards the golden arches of an all night 
McDonalds. When I'd planned the route the month before 
this had seemed the best place to stop, food bought 
from here would still be warm when I parked up to 
change the plates. 

I parked towards the back of the lot close to one of 
the lights. I figured no one would be likely to park 
close by, I'd taken a lot of trouble to ensure that she 
was tightly gagged and that she was tied in such a way 
that she couldn't attract any attention. Still it paid 
to go to a little extra trouble and it also reduced the 
chances of some passer by spotting my home made tags. 

I still felt nervous and unsure, copying a stranger's 
tags so that you don't have to cruising a neighborhood 
with out of state plates is smart thinking and pays off 
when the jobs over and the cops are looking for clues. 
Yet I couldn't help feeling that this would be the 
night the idiot got his car stolen or his wife was 
rushed to hospital and that every cop in the state 
would be after that license. I was at most twenty 
minutes from the layover when I could switch mine back, 
I hoped to stay lucky that long. 

I got out and pantomimed looking for my wallet so that 
I could hang around near the trunk. Nothing, not a 
peep. I have to say that I started to worry, maybe 
she'd choked or something. She was a smart girl, a 
college student, she must see her situation, bound and 
gagged in the trunk of a car being taken who knows 
where, her best chance is when we stop. Then, just when 
I was about to panic and open the trunk I heard it, a 
faint muffled cry, so soft at first I thought it was 
imagination. I listened and there it was again full of 
desperation and hope, saying just one thing 'Help me.' 

Satisfied that she couldn't be heard more than a few 
feet away I 'found' my wallet and headed towards the 
doors. She was smart all right, she'd waited until she 
thought I'd gone before making any noise. A good idea 
spoiled only by the tiny amount of noise she could 
make. In some ways I was pleased, she was living up 
nicely to my expectations. 

The McDonalds was almost deserted, and was just about 
to switch to cooking to order. My fellow patrons 
consisted of a couple of truck drivers and a state 
trooper. I have to confess that threw me at first, but 
from conversations between him and the staff it 
appeared he stopped off here every night after his 
shift. I ignored him and carried on. I got them to 
refill my coffee flask for 'later' and took a coke and 
the quarter pounders they had left as I didn't want to 
wait around for them to cook my order. The trooper said 
his good-byes and it was with some relief that I saw 
him drive away. Once my order was filled I too hit the 
road nerves on edge but keeping to a nice legal fifty 
as I headed towards the layover. 

I ran through all the events of the past few days again 
to see if there was anything that could tie me, Richard 
Cody successful thirty-something computer journalist, 
with Caroline Conway the struggling eighteen year old 
psych major currently in my trunk... 

I can't exactly say when the idea of taking a sex slave 
first came to me. I suppose every man who has ever been 
lead on by a woman harbors certain fantasies, any guy 
with a female boss, any guy stood up or embarrassed or 
humiliated. What I suppose made me different from "any 
guy" was that I had been provided with the means, both 
financially and practically to carry out those 
fantasies and make them real. I could have a woman who 
couldn't say no, one over which I would have total 
control. 

I suppose in reality this started six months ago. At 
the time I was dating Samantha Prescott, former model 
and an assistant editor at Vogue. I must confess that I 
had fallen, she was lovely of course, but she also had 
an elegance and charm which completely won me over. I 
suppose I read more into the relationship that she did, 
certainly I was ready to commit. 

I was at that time building a house in New England and 
contemplating the Great American Novel. Then out of the 
blue she called everything off, the next time I saw her 
was in a tabloid escorting some baseball star to the 
Grammies. When she finally answered my calls she as 
good as told me that I was just a fashion accessory, 
that literary men had been a feature of the Fall season 
and that now that Spring was here she and her friends 
preferred more "physical" escorts. 

About a month later one of my editors called and 
suggested that I did a blab piece on computer porn. The 
newspapers and television were in a feeding frenzy 
about girlie pics on bulletin boards and S&M on the 
internet. Apparently a company in San Diego was 
marketing an S&M Multimedia CD-ROM, and had just won a 
court battle to allow its distribution. 

With some reluctance I'd agreed, chiefly because the 
Samantha thing had caused me to fall behind with my 
column. A few days later the CD arrived. By then I'd 
done the few thousand words of condemnation required by 
my middle class publisher but I thought I'd try it 
anyway just to get some specific quotes. 

In the game you play "Dak Forest" a porno film actor. 
When the costar of his next flick "Nympho Nurses From 
Hell" is kidnapped by a Colombian drug cartel, Dak has 
only three days to rescue her and save the movie. The 
script was poor, the video clips included painful 
acting and in the course of the game just about every 
female character ends up bound and gagged either naked 
or in some kinky outfit. 

Part way through the game a character is introduced 
called Samantha Pressman, she is the editor of a 
fashion magazine who is kidnapped by the cartel and 
turned into the nymphomaniac sex slave Kitty, who acts 
as Dak's sidekick from then on. To anyone who knew her 
the similarities between this character and Sam 
Prescott where overwhelming, the actress even looked a 
lot like her. I found myself playing the same section 
again and again. Sam kneels before Dak and begs him to 
whip her, spank her, humiliate her. Dak of course 
refuses, but that and some of Sam's heavier scenes kept 
me hooked on the CD weeks after my article was printed. 

I started to ask myself if it was really that difficult 
to take a woman and make her your sex slave. I had a 
secluded house with a large basement that I'd 
originally designed as a computer lab. I had few 
friends who lived nearby so impromptu visits were 
unlikely. In addition I had the money and the time to 
make it work. Suddenly it became clear what I should 
do. I couldn't take Sam of course, the history of our 
relationship was too well known. For a wild second I 
even considered taking 'Kitty' and driving her back 
from California. In the end I realized that I needed a 
woman with whom I had no contact, a complete stranger 
preferably from some distance away so that the police 
investigation wouldn't get too close to home. I looked 
at a map and selected a college town about three 
hundred miles from my home. Colleges mean young female 
students a good starting point for the selection of a 
slave... 

By now I'd reached the turnoff I'd been waiting for. 
This lead down a tree lined lane into a wooded hollow. 
I had come across the place by accident whilst scouting 
out the area a few months before and could hardly 
believe that I'd found somewhere so perfect. I'd spent 
a couple of nights here to assure myself that this 
wasn't the local lovers lane, or the favorite route of 
poachers. In the end however I had to accept that it 
was what it appeared to be, a rough dirt road leading 
to a small wood, and that the place was deserted at 
night. 

I drove carefully into the hollow, this wasn't the 
night to slide into a ditch or have a flat. I assured 
myself that we were far enough from the road and that 
no one was watching. Finally I got out, went to the 
back of the car and opened the trunk. Two large, 
frightened blue eyes stared back at me over the mass of 
Ace bandage that covered her lower face. The bandage 
was tight and her cheeks bulged out over it, in places 
there was a flash of silver where the bandage failed to 
cover the duct tape underneath. She made a mewing sound 
and started to struggle, I carefully checked her bonds. 

In a sense we were both acting out our roles, she as 
victim, I as kidnapper, we both knew she couldn't get 
free. She was dressed in the same outfit she had worn 
that morning to her Saturday job, a fairly expensive 
blue blazer and skirt, a white blouse, heels and 
stockings. I had pulled her long blond hair back into a 
kind of ponytail and secured it with some rubber bands, 
it cascaded onto her back like a horse's mane. I had 
considered removing the blazer before tying her but 
this power dressing had reminded me of Samantha, so 
instead I had added to the ensemble. Her ankles where 
cuffed, good solid black leather bondage cuffs bought 
from a sex shop in New York, in many ways they matched 
her pumps and proved I could "Accessorize". 

At the moment they were fastened together with a 
padlock and linked by a long leather strap to her 
wrists. Smaller straps clinched her legs together just 
above and just below the knees effectively immobilizing 
them. I had done the same at her elbows but had used 
duct tape to secure her wrists and hands. Even her 
fingers where covered in a mass so thick it appeared 
that she was clutching a bowling ball. As well as 
securing her hands the mass also stopped another 
leather strap from biting into her wrists and it was 
this strap that was also secured to her ankles. 

After checking everything was secure I removed the 
strap that formed the hogtie. She groaned with relief 
and started to straighten her legs. I grabbed her by 
the arms and pulled her clear, then slung her over my 
shoulder and carried her round to the open passenger 
door and placed her inside. Closing the door I entered 
via the drivers door. For a second we sat looking at 
each other, then she started to struggle and I went 
back to the job in hand. 

"Stop that!" She turned and looked at me, her eyes 
framing a silent question. 

"No I'm not going to kill you if you don't force me to. 
If I'd wanted to kill or rape you I could have done it 
back in that alley and saved myself a lot of trouble. 
Now stop struggling, you've been alone in the trunk for 
the last three hours, if you couldn't get free then 
what chance do you have with me here?" 

She stopped and sat watching me with a nervous 
expression on her face. 

"Look, I have a proposal to make, we've got a long way 
to go and things are going to get quite unpleasant for 
you unless we can come to some arrangement." She 
continued to listen, her large accusing eyes watching 
me. "You probably need the john and you must be 
thirsty. I have a drink for you and some food. For you 
to eat it I have to remove the gag, you can scream all 
you want out here and no one will hear you, all you'll 
do is piss me off, clear?" She looked out of the car 
window at the quiet secluded woods. 

"Is that clear!" I snapped. 

She turned back to me and nodded, her ponytail bobbing 
behind her. 

"Ok, I want you to promise that IF I remove the gag, 
you'll let me replace it again when it's time to go. 
You'll be quiet, you'll eat the food then we'll head 
off again." She looked at me incredulously and I began 
to realize just what expressive eyes she had. 

"I suggest you think about this, you weren't able to 
stop me gagging you in the first place, and you won't 
be able to stop me now, all you'll do is force me to 
hurt you. Besides cause me trouble now and we simply 
don't stop until we get were we're going, I know which 
of us will suffer most." I could see the calculations 
in her eyes, here was definitely a bad place for her 
with no chance of rescue. I could see her thinking that 
the next stop may offer more possibilities and that she 
shouldn't blow it now. At length she nodded. 

"So let's check that we're clear on this. The gag comes 
out, no screaming or carrying on, you eat then you let 
me gag you again with no trouble?" Again she nodded so 
I told her to bend down whilst I undid the bandage. 
Pushing the ponytail away I worked on the knot then I 
unwound the bandage and dumped it on the floor. She 
started to protest when I started pulling the duct tape 
free but at last I removed it and the dense sponge 
rubber ball that packed her mouth. 

She licked her dry lips, "Water?" she croaked. I put 
the straw to her lips and she started to drink 
greedily. 

Finally she stopped and looked up at me, "Why are you 
doing this?" she asked looking at me with those big 
expression filled eyes. 

"Shut up," I said, "I didn't say you could talk." 

"You didn't say I couldn't." 

"You'll learn," I said and reached for the sponge ball. 

"No!" She said quickly, "Look I'm sorry. I'll be quiet, 
promise!" 

Without a word I held the first burger to her lips and 
she started to eat. There continued a strange silence 
until she was finished. I reached back, plucked the toy 
bag from behind her seat and started to root around 
inside. At length I found what I wanted and pulled out 
her collar. Seeing it she started to protest but then 
she caught my eye and sat meekly as I locked it around 
her neck. Then I pulled out a leather gag, this time 
she couldn't stop herself. 

"What..." 

"It's your gag." 

"But I thought..." She nodded towards the sponge ball. 

"That design is very effective but the adhesive from 
the tape damages the skin. This is a better long term 
solution. Now open wide." 

"But..." 

"Are you breaking your promise?" 

"No but..." 

"Then open up!" 

She sighed resigned to her fate and opened her mouth to 
let me put the gag inside, then she bent forward as I 
secured the straps. The gag had a wide padded leather 
section that covered her lips and a strap that tightly 
fastened around her head. I could tell that she'd 
worked out that the ball in her mouth was a lot smaller 
that the last one. She made a number of muffled sounds 
that were much quieter that they should be. I think she 
thought that I'd overestimated the gag's effectiveness 
and she could exploit that later. I reached into the 
bag and got the pump. 

At first she didn't recognize what it was and it was 
only when the ball in her mouth started to inflate that 
she realized the truth. Eyes wide and bulging she 
started to protest, her whines becoming steadily more 
muffled as the ball inflated. When I was satisfied that 
she was gagged as effectively as before I replaced the 
pump in the bag and withdrew the padded leather 
blindfold that matched the gag. She spotted this and 
wanted nothing to do with it she shook her head, 
struggled and whined as I strapped it in place. 

I pulled back and she sat there shaking. Deprived of 
sight she felt even more vulnerable. Her almost covered 
face, gag and blindfold scanned the car as if waiting 
for something to happen. I left the car and walked 
around to the passenger side with the bag. 

Opening the door I swung her bound legs out and clipped 
a short length of chain between the D rings of her 
ankle cuffs. I removed the padlock joining the cuffs 
and then the two leather straps leaving her legs free 
but hobbled at the ankles. Then I secured another chain 
to her collar to act as a leash and pulled her upright. 
A little unsteadily she followed me to a tree where I 
secured the leash to a low branch. 

"I'm going to leave you here while you pee is that 
clear?" 

She tried to say something. 

"The panties?" 

She nodded, "No problem." She squealed as my knife cut 
them off. I watched her squat against the tree then 
returned to the car. In the trunk next to the spare 
wheel was my license plate, with some relief I removed 
my clever fakes and replaced the legal ones. I watched 
while she shivered by the tree. I wasn't concerned, 
even if she somehow slipped the leash she couldn't get 
far in a wood blindfolded and hobbled. At length I 
collected her and returned her to the trunk. I re-
secured her legs and hog-tied them back to her wrists. 
She moaned and struggled back to her role as victim. 

"Hey sweetheart." Her leather covered face turned 
towards me. "I'm not a bad guy I know it can be boring 
in here. I have some entertainment for you." With one 
quick motion I slipped the vibrator into her pussy and 
turned it on low. A strangled moan came from behind the 
gag and she started to struggle as I secured her knees 
and trapped the buzzing intruder inside her. The moans 
and groans continued but the hogtie deprived her of the 
movement necessary to remove it, if of course that was 
her intention. 

Her hips moved as much as they could and muffled moans 
came from behind the gag. Once again I tucked the 
blankets around her for sound insulation and shut the 
trunk. In the eerie silence of the woods I could still 
hear her faint moans. Satisfied that the vibrator, with 
its long life batteries, would keep her distracted 
until we returned home I returned to the drivers seat 
and drank my coffee... 

Chapter 1: The Selection and Capture of a Slave. 

It had been fate that delivered her to me. I discovered 
that a small software house was holding a product demo 
in the town I'd selected as my hunting ground. A small 
startup company made up of young graduates, they where 
based near the university. I was preparing another blab 
piece on innovation in the computer industry and so had 
an excuse to go, it seemed like a good opportunity to 
scout around. 

I think the company had been surprised when I accepted, 
I was the only recognized hack that had bothered to 
attend. In any case they were all over me, I got a 
private demo and enough disks and promotional material 
to supply the whole press corps. They were keen young 
men desperate to make a good impression. One even 
showed me the local night life and over some beers he 
told me of the best student hangouts, information which 
I stored away for later. 

The next day was to have been the main demo and having 
seen the package already I had intended to send my 
apologies and use the time to check out prospective 
targets. In the end however I elected to turn up for at 
least the first half hour. They had hired a couple of 
girls from a local modeling agency to look pretty 
during the presentation. Neither was exactly what I was 
looking for but on a whim I hung around until lunch to 
practice my stalking skills. 

The girls headed off downtown to a small restaurant 
where they met with friends. It was here that I first 
saw her, tall, shapely, blond, Caroline. With a decent 
makeup job and some reasonable clothes she could have 
made a good living on the modeling circuit. As it was 
she had a fairly poor dress sense, which reduced her 
from stunning to just good looking. I knew then that 
this was the one I wanted. Not only could I train her 
as my slave I could eventually mold her into the kind 
of escort to make the Sam Prescott's of this world seem 
ordinary. 

After her meal she said her good-byes and left. Once 
outside I followed her back to a local department 
store, here she worked as a cosmetics saleswoman. She 
seemed to be fairly junior, supplying free makeovers to 
women brought to the counter by more senior staff. I 
went to a rival company's stand and made some excuse 
about needing a last minute birthday gift. 

The girl was helpful and I managed to keep her 
distracted enough that I could watch Caroline across 
the floor. She had a certain intrinsic elegance that 
shone out despite her dowdy looks. Trade was slow and 
from the banter I picked up between the other 
saleswomen it became clear that Caroline was a student 
working here part time. Realizing I couldn't continue 
to hang around without attracting attention I purchased 
enough perfume to keep the girl happy then left and 
headed off for the rest of the day. 

I had bought a late model medium sized domestic sedan 
to use during the abduction. My researches had shown 
that this was a popular type and color and indeed I saw 
a number as I drove around. In the end I selected one 
and followed it to a small car park. Here a guy got out 
and went into an office building. I noted his plate 
then headed back to the store in time for closing. I 
followed from a distance as she left work and headed 
down a set of back alleys to a place where a small car 
was parked. I nearly lost her as she drove away but 
fortunately the traffic slowed her until I could catch 
up in my car. I followed her to a small apartment 
building near the university. I had caught her first 
name in the restaurant and from the bell box I saw that 
she was Caroline Conway and lived in 23C. 

**

The next morning she was working in the store as usual, 
during the night I'd formulated a plan. First I hired a 
cell phone from a local company that were happy for me 
to take it for a few days when I claimed mine was 
damaged. This gave me a local number. I had spent most 
of the previous evening filling a small notebook with 
cryptic notes and I put a woman's name on the cover. I 
had noticed that Caroline carried a small black leather 
purse with her at all times. I guessed that they may be 
available from the store where she worked. Another 
quick 'birthday gift' shopping trip and I had its twin 
together with a woman's billfold. In the stores toilets 
I assembled my decoy. 

I placed about $300 in the wallet and dropped it into 
the bag, then added some old keys, some change, the 
notebook, a pen and some of the perfume I'd purchased 
the day before. I figured it would weigh about right 
and that she may not immediately realize it wasn't her 
own purse. I assumed that she would eat lunch in the 
same place and again fate was with me. I sat on the 
next table just behind her as she sat and gossiped. I 
paid for the salad I bought and while the waitress took 
their order I quickly swapped purses, stuck hers under 
my coat and left. I explained to the cashier that I was 
waiting for a friend who hadn't shown and that I was 
off to find out where he was. 

Would she hold my table for fifteen minutes until I got 
back? A large tip ensured she would. I knew I had 
little time, there was a key and heel place down the 
block and a hardware store a little beyond that. Out of 
sight I removed her apartment and car keys and ensured 
they had no ID. I stopped at the heel bar first, 
dropped off the car keys and paid for a duplicate set. 
With the excuse that my lunch break was almost over and 
I had shopping to do I left them with the promise that 
the keys would be ready when I returned in five 
minutes. 

Then I went to the hardware store where I got the 
apartment keys done quickly. In their toilets I quickly 
went through the rest of the purse. I was relieved to 
see that she had no bottles of medication or cards 
indicating a serious medical complaint. What she did 
have was a large number of unpaid bills, and of course 
a motive to disappear. Collecting both sets of keys I 
headed back. 

In all it had taken me ten minutes before I was back in 
the restaurant. The decoy had worked well, and it was 
still where I left it. If I couldn't get the purse back 
to her she would find the decoy and assume some 
mistake. If she dialed the number on the notebook she 
would reach the cell phone and I had a plausible story 
prepared about my absent minded wife and her talent for 
mislaying her purse. I would then arrange a place for 
an exchange. I doubted she would be suspicious but I 
was still relieved that she and her friends ordered 
coffee and were too distracted to notice when I 
successfully switched her purse back. 

I tailed her back to the store to ensure this wasn't a 
college day, then went to her apartment. I rang the 
bell first in case there was a room mate or a 
boyfriend, then went up and scouted things out. I 
discovered that she was a psych major struggling to 
meet the demands of the course and of her day job and 
that she apparently lived alone. She had awful dress 
sense seeming to choose baggy clothes that hid her 
figure and colors that didn't suit her. 

Although this was puzzling her wardrobe did provide me 
with details of her clothes sizes that would let me 
order some of the more exotic outfits before I 
collected her. The absence of a boyfriend and estranged 
letters from the family assured me she wouldn't be 
missed for some time. I was almost tempted to wait and 
take her then, but I didn't want anyone to place me 
near the scene so instead I decided to wait a month and 
returned home to prepare... 

The dungeon was close to finished. I had managed to do 
most of the work myself and the little extras I'd had 
to get my contractor to do (like putting water into the 
small basement room) were easily explained by my love 
of photography. Before collecting my model I went to 
New York on a fetish buying spree. Gags, cuffs, whips, 
chains, harnesses, toys and a reasonable fetish 
wardrobe started to fill the dungeon. I managed to pick 
up some reasonable strong secondhand furniture to liven 
up the place, the only problem now was collecting 
Caroline. 

And that wasn't going to be easy. I mapped out her 
movements as I knew them. Up at seven, out at eight 
thirty, work by nine, lunch twelve to one. The problem 
was not what she did but the fact that everyone else 
did them at the same time. At least a dozen people left 
her apartment building within fifteen minutes of her 
every day. I as I looked into it in detail it began to 
seem that there was not a moment when I could 
reasonably expect to have her alone long enough to get 
her and make off unseen. 

First her apartment was on the third floor of a small 
student tenement, there was frenetic activity all the 
time. Though I had keys to the apartment and could 
easily ambush her there day or night there was no 
method I could use to get her out of the place 
unnoticed. I had no doubt that I could take her, but 
someone was bound to mention the guy with the "drunken 
girlfriend" or the dude with "the big box" when the 
police started asking questions. I could wait until the 
early hours but then the back door leading to the car 
park would be locked so I'd have to take her through 
the front doors. I determined that it was never quiet 
enough for that to work. 

The apartment's car park was above surface and at the 
back of the building. Between 7AM and 8PM there was a 
back exit open to allow access. Unfortunately it was 
clearly visible from the road and worse it was a short 
cut to the nearest bar. Therefore an ambush in the car 
park wasn't on either. 

On TV of course it's all terribly easy, the heroine 
leaves her apartment and gets into her car. Suddenly 
the menacing bulk of the bad guy looms behind her and a 
gloved hand closes over her mouth. In the next scene 
she's unconvincingly bound and gagged on her own back 
seat as the bad guy telephones the hero to arrange a 
meet. Of course the heroine always drives a big 
domestic car, if she were wise and had bought a small 
compact Japanese model like Caroline she would have 
only needed to worry about midget and contortionist 
kidnappers. 

The only real opening was that she left the store 
slightly later than everyone else. I could in theory 
jump her in the back alleys leading to her car. 
Unfortunately *MOST* of them were well used short cuts 
which was probably why she felt safe using them. The 
only exception was an alleyway close to the store, here 
at that time I could expect to have her alone for 
perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes. Unfortunately the 
alley was too narrow for a car, it did however lead 
into an wider alley linking two blocks. 

This wide alley was quiet enough that I could get 
perhaps five minutes parked there before I congested 
traffic but simply put it was too busy for me to leave 
a car there during the kidnapping. For a while I played 
with the idea of stashing her in a dumpster while I 
went for the car, but even with the best gag in the 
world she'd make too much noise for me to leave her the 
twenty minutes I needed. I started to wish I knew more 
about drugs so that I could knock her out, but I knew 
that unless I was very careful I could kill her. What I 
needed was a way to overpower her and to make her 
invisible for perhaps twenty minutes. 

Then fate again stepped in. During another shopping 
trip to NYC I made the mistake of taking a short cut 
through a particular alley. About half way through I 
became aware of someone by my side, before I could 
react someone pushed something into my side and it was 
all over. A cop told me later that it was a stun gun, 
an electrical device that delivers the victim a 
debilitating charge. I figure I was out of it for 
perhaps ten minutes, which had been enough time for the 
guy to make off with my wallet. 

The police had got there so fast because a bum sleeping 
in the alley had flagged them down. I had to confess 
that I hadn't noticed him, and neither it seemed had my 
attacker, as the cops caught him at the next block. I 
slipped the bum a C note for his help before heading 
off to my destination. I was more careful from then but 
it got me to thinking. 

**

Over the next few weeks I practiced my capture 
technique using an inflatable doll part filled with 
sand. Counting in my head, I choreographed, handcuffing 
the wrists, gagging the mouth, securing the legs. When 
I could bind my unresisting vinyl victim in under three 
minutes I returned to the Big Apple and hired a woman 
who advertised as a "Professional Submissive." She made 
it clear that she wasn't into "rough stuff" but 
apparently rape fantasies were common to both her male 
and *FEMALE* customers. 

We worked out what she called a "scene." She would 
enter her bedroom as a "tired business executive." I as 
a passed over rival would jump her, bind and gag her 
then "punish" her for getting "My promotion." The plot 
was lame but apparently a popular one with her other 
customers, she offered several others but all I wanted 
was to refine my technique on a real struggling body. 
After the first time I made some changes, she was to 
make as much noise as possible at all times, she would 
get a hundred dollar bonus if she kept me from tying 
her for two minutes and I was allowed to tie her as I 
wanted. 

The first couple of occasions she was up by two hundred 
bucks but after that it became easier to subdue her. I 
tried out several types of ties and gags looking as 
much for the type of movement and sounds the victim 
could make as for the degree of immobilization or 
silence. Finally I was happy I had found what I wanted 
so I packed my equipment and started the long drive 
that would end with Caroline. 

That Friday I followed her around. I kept fairly clear 
of the store as it had security cameras and store cops 
but I attended her regular lunch break. Her two model 
friends were off to a trade fair in Chicago, bad news 
it seemed as she needed somewhere to stay for a few 
days. The landlord was apparently evicting her on 
Monday and she needed to move that weekend. With a put 
upon sigh one of the girls offered a spare key to her 
apartment but made it clear this couldn't be a 
permanent arrangement. For a second I considered 
rethinking my risky plan in favor of taking her there 
but I figured with my luck this apartment would be even 
worse than the current one. 

What was clear though was that I needed to move 
quickly, for some reason and despite the fact that I 
had intended to kidnap her the next day I felt 
compelled to move things forward. Trailing her back to 
the store I slipped off down back alleys to the place 
where she parked her car. Then I stole it, simple when 
you have the keys. I'd already been warned about the 
"bad" side of town so that was were I headed. I parked 
in a back street and left the car open with the keys 
inside before making it to a busier street and flagging 
down a cab. I had been away from the car perhaps five 
minutes before the cab drove past the back street. By 
then the car had gone, destined for the chop shop or 
perhaps a new identity like it's mistress. 

I was dropped off in the town center and recovered my 
car from the car park. Next I drove out to her place. 
The block was as quiet as it got as I walked up the 
back stairs in my disguise. I was wearing jeans and a 
hooded track suit top and had a couple of books under 
one arm. As the "instant student" I went into her 
apartment unobserved. To my surprise the contents of 
the rooms had been packed into a number of largish 
boxes. Only a little food and the pillows and bedding 
were still out. Good fortune having smiled on me again 
I started to move the boxes down the back stairs to my 
car. 

Several people seemed to be moving at the same time and 
it became easy to loose myself coming in and out. I 
ensured that I was relatively unobserved loading the 
car and hung around in the stairwell to ensure no one 
saw me enter her apartment. It took perhaps twenty 
minutes to do the whole thing. I searched afterwards to 
ensure that nothing valuable was left behind but 
deliberately left the place untidy. As a final gesture 
I left the final notice on the table together with 
enough cash to cover the back rent. I reasoned the 
super would find it on Monday and assume she'd moved 
out. I'd put the boxes on the back seat of the car but 
I put the pillows and comforters in the trunk as added 
sound insulation.

Driving to a secluded spot I got ready for the final 
assault. Under the track suit top I put on a harness to 
which were clipped the items I would need quickly. 
Looking back I wonder why I did this, my "appointment" 
with Caroline wasn't for some time and the harness was 
bulky. I reasoned it was best to get used to it so I 
didn't appear odd when I approached her. I drove back 
to the town center with the intention of hiding behind 
the dumpsters in the alley until she left work. Taking 
a large cardboard box half full of equipment to the 
alley I quietly moved one of the dumpsters a little to 
allow a six foot gap between them. 

I had just unpacked the box when a sob alerted me to 
someone's approach. Dumb as it was I peered around the 
dumpster rather than hide immediately. It was her! I 
couldn't believe it, she was walking down the alley 
sobbing quietly over an hour too soon! I panicked, 
there were just too many people around at this time for 
it to work, the store would be closing in a few minutes 
and the alley would fill with her fellow workers. The 
cold realization hit me that I'd overplayed my hand, 
that after all the planning and expense I'd been just a 
little too impatient. I couldn't take her now, but if I 
didn't she would discover her car missing and the 
things gone from her home. There would be police 
reports, questions, in essence Caroline Conway would 
become too noticeable to just disappear. 

I had failed and beyond that I was mad. Mad with 
Samantha for starting this thing in the first place, 
mad at myself for my impatience but above all mad at 
her, at Caroline, for having the ill manners to be 
early the one time it really mattered. Then before I 
knew what I was doing I was standing next to her. 
"Caroline?" I asked and as she raised her tear-filled 
eyes to mine I pressed the stun gun into her side and 
pushed the button. She made an "Uhhug" sound as her 
contracting diaphragm forced the air from her lungs. A 
pained and surprised look spread over her face as she 
started to fall. I directed her on to the open sleeping 
bag I'd just spread between the dumpsters, I looked 
down the alley both ways and saw no one, then I 
proceeded on autopilot. 

The handcuffs were first, unclipped from my harness and 
then fastened, one pair on the wrists the other on the 
ankles. Next came a dense sponge ball apparently 
designed for people to practice games near glass 
windows. It was quite unyielding and despite the lack 
of resistance it took some pushing in. 

I sealed it there with two quick strips of duct tape, 
each starting along the jaw line, crossing over her 
lips and ending on the opposite cheek. Again I checked 
for people aware that this alley would be at it's 
busiest in a few minutes. Fortunately I was still safe 
so I continued to cover her mouth with strip after 
strip of tape. 

Then following the plan I strengthened the bonds before 
she could move again. Four leather straps, two above 
and bellow the elbows, the same at her knees. I quickly 
removed the handcuffs from her ankles and from the box 
pulled out a pair of bondage cuffs already locked 
together with a padlock. I strapped them on her ankles 
and she attempted to kick me and made the first sounds 
since the stun gun was fired. The sound was soft but 
still wasn't quiet enough, turning her on her side I 
gathered her hair into a single bunch, holding it with 
my right hand I used my left to move an elastic band 
from around the right wrist on to the hair. A couple of 
quick flips and the hair was bound into a pony tail and 
kept out of the way of the next stage. 

I could hear people leaving the shops down the alley. I 
thought of leaving her like this but she was still too 
noisy. Quickly and brutally I wound an elastic bandage 
around her head and over her taped lips. I knew it was 
really tight but at that moment all that mattered was 
the effect it had on her cries. Not only were they more 
muted, they also became lower and more guttural as she 
had to do more with her throat. I could see shadows 
moving in the far end of the alley. By now it was too 
late to escape. 

I would have to hide and hope that my idea would work. 
Rolling her on to her stomach I used a spare strap to 
hog-tie her wrists to her ankles. Satisfied I threw the 
other end of the sleeping bag over her and zipped it 
up. After some fumbling it was zipped, because she was 
near the bottom of the bag it closed over her head. 
Quickly dumping the other rubbish from the box, I used 
the top of the sleeping bag to pull her head up and 
pushed the box down over her upper body. Dumping half a 
bottle of cheap whiskey and some rubbish on the bag I 
stood the half bottle strategically next to the wall 
and slid behind the dumpster. 

She must have heard them because she tried to struggle 
and scream as the first people walked by. Of course she 
was too late, the passers by smelt the strong alcohol, 
saw the ripped sleeping bag and cardboard box and "saw" 
a bum not a kidnapped girl. Social conditioning being 
what it is the more sound she made the more she became 
invisible to the passers by. Just another street person 
best ignored lest they tap you for pocket change. 

I hid and watched, pleased that the plan had worked but 
still a little disturbed at how faceless society had 
become. As I crouched there I went through her purse, 
found a hastily written notice of dismissal from the 
store and understood the tears. Just before it was 
quiet enough for me to leave for the car, two of the 
women from the cosmetics counter where she worked 
stopped by the dumpsters. I froze convinced they had 
recognized something that I'd forgotten. In the end 
however they just lit cigarettes, and gossiped about 
how "that stupid bitch, Caroline" had pushed her luck 
too far. 

Perhaps recognizing the voices she tried to struggle 
and scream again, one commented that the cops should 
lock such people away and they flounced off with a self 
congratulatory waddle. Looking down on her as she 
sobbed inside the sleeping bag I began to think that I 
could be doing her a favor and that of all the people 
she knew only I her kidnapper, her rapist, her MASTER 
really cared what happened to her. With this in mind I 
checked the coast was clear and opened the bag. The 
handcuffs on her wrists were already biting, cutting 
off her circulation. The extra strain from the hog-tie 
was making it worse, she must have been in agony. 

I released the hog-tie and started wrapping duct tape 
around her wrists, when I had built up enough I removed 
the handcuffs and continued over her hands. I was able 
to force her to lace her fingers together with threats 
of a knife and taped her fingers into a solid mass. The 
result was that when I reapplied the hog-tie strap it 
bit into the tape not her wrists. She seemed happy that 
the pain had stopped so I re-interred her in the 
sleeping bag and box. Then I piled other rubbish around 
her and went to get the car. 

That trip took me twenty minutes and it was with some 
trepidation that I approached the dumpsters again. I 
pulled off the box and was relieved to see her gagged 
face rather than the street cop I'd half expected. She 
was sobbing, huge tears ran down her face. Quickly I 
blew her nose and warned her to stop blubbing or risk 
suffocation.

I don't know how many people walked past her as she lay 
bound and gagged in the alleyway, but the experience of 
being so helpless yet so close to rescue had filled her 
with despair. She gave me little trouble as I moved her 
from the alley into the trunk of my car. I quickly 
packed the blankets and pillows around her to further 
muffle her and to minimize the risk she could somehow 
pound on the metal of the car. Satisfied I quickly 
cleaned up, dumping most of the stage dressing for my 
"bum" in the dumpsters. I started to throw the whiskey 
in too but an impulse stopped me and instead I placed 
it where only an invisible man would look and left to 
take my prize to her new home. 


Chapter 2: An Introduction to Slavery 

Sitting there sipping the coffee and reviewing the past 
few weeks I felt the tension slowly drain from my body. 
I had her. Not only that but as far as I could see I 
had left no clues other than ones that pointed to her 
leaving of her own free will. Police don't handle 
missing persons cases promptly anyway because the 
majority of people turn up in the first few days. Seen 
from their point of view we have Caroline Conway, 
struggling student already being evicted who suddenly 
looses her job then disappears with all her 
possessions. Not a good candidate for being a criminal 
case. 

I packed everything away and started to put the pieces 
of her gag into the McDonalds bag along with the 
wrappers. At length I picked up a piece of tape with 
traces of her lipstick on it. The color seemed in some 
way wrong for her and it struck me as being a little 
odd that someone who made money applying makeup should 
botch her own so badly. Still this was a mystery I 
would have plenty of time to investigate at my leisure. 

Starting the car I left the hollow and headed back to 
the highway. I was about four hours from home a 
distance I intended to take in one go. I'd held out the 
hope of other layovers and chances of rescue to buy her 
cooperation and I wondered how long it would be before 
she realized she'd been tricked, assuming that she 
noticed anything above the persistent throbbing in her 
crotch. Not that it really mattered of course as she 
didn't have a chance to complain. The rest of the drive 
was fairly uneventful, I stopped for gas once at a 
small self service station. If I had been unlucky I 
suppose someone could had driven up and heard her, but 
it was about 2am by now and the cashier and I were the 
only ones for miles. 

It was about four when I pulled up outside my house. A 
stand of trees and a high brick wall shields it from 
the road so I could remove her without attracting any 
attention. Again I hobbled her legs, though this time 
she was more cooperative probably to speed removal of 
the vibrator that still buzzed inside her. Her thighs 
were slick with her cum and the sweat told of her 
exertions. Taking the leash I lead her into the house 
and down into the basement. I'd left part of it 
unfinished so that the odd nail or hole wouldn't look 
out of place. Originally I had planned a large lab 
under my office but now that section of the basement 
was hidden behind a swinging bookcase in the corner. 

For now I locked the leash over an exposed beam and 
left her there. Racing upstairs I changed into my 
master's outfit, a cotton shirt, black leather pants, 
boots and matching gloves, after all my first act would 
be to dress my slave appropriately and the least I 
could do was reciprocate. I returned to the basement 
where she was trying the extent of the leash and 
screaming behind the gag. Without saying a word I moved 
the bookcase and stepped beyond. This space had been 
designed to be fairly large. Originally I had intended 
to surprise my friends with this room and so had kept 
it a secret. That was useful now it's purpose had 
changed as it stopped embarrassing questions.. At the 
far end I had built a small room with a heavy iron 
door. 

Inside was quite spacious, enough room for a double 
bed, a chair, a table and a chemical toilet. That was 
her cell the rest of the place could best be described 
as the dungeon. On one wall I had cemented in a steel 
latticework that stood out a couple of inches from the 
wall itself. This provided ample anchoring points for 
straps and restraints. The other wall had a number of 
large rings for the same purpose. Near the door was a 
locked steel cabinet and an old wooded wardrobe. 

Going to the wardrobe first, I selected an outfit for 
her to wear from the clothes I kept there. The visit to 
her apartment had shown me that she was a conservative 
dresser. This outfit screamed slut and sex and was 
guaranteed to embarrass her. I had no doubt the 
kidnapping had rattled her, now I had to keep her 
hesitant, uncomfortable and unsure as I started to mold 
her as my slave. Most of the clothes here were off the 
shelf vinyl, leather and rubber stuff from the sex 
shops of New York. Being her first night however I went 
for something special. I'd ordered this ensemble from a 
specialist shop in LA. 

Using the measurements I'd taken from her clothes. 
Their catalog had contained several more specialist 
creations which I intended to order once I'd broken her 
in. Next I unlocked the cabinet and removed some 
restraints, a new gag, a pair of shears and a small 
riding crop then returned to the main basement. 

By now she had given up struggling and just stood in 
the center of the room shifting her weight from foot to 
foot. I let her stew a little longer as I walked around 
and surveyed her fine body. Then I walked over and 
removed first her heels then the cuffs from her ankles. 

The sudden loss of height made the leash pull tighter 
at the collar and she whimpered slightly. I reached 
down, placed the shears against the hem of her skirt 
and with one movement cut it all the way to her hips. 
Of course I could have removed the skirt without 
cutting, but these clothes were her last personal 
possession, the last vestige of her personal identity. 
Destroying them was a symbolic act. The skirt was 
relatively simple, the jacket took more time, the 
blouse shredded in seconds. 

By now she was yelling and thrashing around, but the 
ever present bite of the collar kept her in check. I 
felt a little guilty cutting off her bra and garter 
belt, I loved lingerie, but accepted it had to be done. 
Finally I pulled off her stockings and she stood before 
me naked but for the bondage, her blindfolded face 
tracking backwards and forwards waiting for the next 
attack. Her breasts heaved as she sobbed silently. I 
looked at the matted triangle of her pubic hair, damp 
from the vibrator but still too thick for my taste, she 
had an appointment with a razor tomorrow. 

Next I moved a small table close enough to her that she 
could reach it with some effort and placed the outfit 
on it Then I cut the tape from her wrists and her hands 
before removing the blindfold. 	She stood blinking as 
sight returned. then immediately her hands flew first 
to the back of her head where the gag was secured then 
to her neck and the collar. In both cases she found 
small padlocks making removal impossible. She murmured 
something then turned to face me. I flexed the crop and 
smiled. 

"From now on I will call you slave or cunt, you will 
call me master or sir. You have no rights, I own you 
completely, even your body is mine, understand?" Her 
big blue eyes just stared at me incredulously. 

"I want an answer slave, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" This time 
when there was no answer I slapped her breast with the 
crop, she jerked to attention. I pulled the crop back 
as if I was going to strike her face, she held up her 
arms and cowered. 

"Understand?" 

She nodded. 

"Good, lesson one obey first time every time and you'll 
avoid punishment. If you don't you'll soon understand 
what pain really means. Clear?" 

She nodded, this time the response was much quicker. 

"You are here as a sex slave, as your master I will use 
your body as I see fit for my personal pleasure. You 
will obey me immediately and do the same for any others 
I designate. If you obey orders and don't try to escape 
you will avoid punishment, if not the severity of the 
punishment will increase. I won't kill you unless, you 
threaten my life or my security but push me too far and 
I can permanently disfigure you. Understand?" 

Again the nod, this time however she was looking at the 
ground so I put the end of the crop under her chin and 
raised her head so that I could stare into her 
frightened eyes. I pointed to the clothes on the table 
with the crop. 

"Put those on." 

She looked at them, on top was a shiny black latex 
bustier, at various points the rubber had been ribbed 
to provide support making it resemble a space age 
corset. She turned to me and I could see that she was 
thinking about it. 

"Put it on." 

She continued to just stand, I had brought some 
handcuffs with me in case she was difficult. I was 
going to cuff her hands and punish her when suddenly I 
saw a better solution. I pulled the table back out of 
her reach and smiled. "We'll see how you feel in the 
morning." I said and turned towards the stairs. I was 
halfway up them when I heard her frantic mewing. She 
had realized that eventually her legs would tire and 
that she would be choked by the leash. I went back down 
stairs. 

"Ready to cooperate?" 

She looked at the floor, then nodded. I offered her the 
bustier, but when she reached for it I snatched it 
back. 

"First, dance for me." 

She looked confused. 

"Obey me first time, every time remember? This is your 
punishment, I'm going to go easy on you this time. Now 
dance or I'm off to bed." Slowly she started to gyrate 
as much as the chain would let her. "Is that the best 
you can do? Sexy, Slave I want you to dance sexy." I 
didn't think she was really trying so I applied the 
crop to the sections that didn't move enough. She 
yelped a little but after about the first dozen she was 
doing the best she could. I could tell that the 
nakedness troubled her. Right now she would rather wear 
the kinky clothes than stay like this. Most of my blows 
had been to make her move her hands from breast or 
crotch, I figured if she wanted to touch them that much 
I should encourage her. 

I smiled, "I'm afraid that you've proved you don't 
deserve this fine outfit. If you want it then you are 
going to have to earn it piece by piece. Now cup your 
breasts and offer them to me. A muffled sound came from 
behind the gag." "First lesson!" I said as I settled 
back in a chair. She cupped her breasts in her hands 
and thrust her chest at me while all the time gyrating 
to some imaginary tune. "Now play with the nipples. 
When she hesitated I flicked the crop towards her. She 
sobbed but her hands slid up her breasts and her thumbs 
flicked the brown nubs which soon hardened before her. 
I tossed the bustier to her. "Slide it up and down your 
body." This time she complied quickly, making 
involuntary crooning sounds as the cold latex touched 
her hard, sensitive nipples. Finally I'd seen enough. 
"Ok now put it on." She struggled into it, all the time 
eyeing the crop fearfully. It fit her better than 
expected, forming a shiny second skin from just below 
her nipples to just above her crotch. It was so tight 
that her navel was clearly visible and her tits were 
trust up and out making them appear even more 
prominent. The hard brown nubs of her nipples stood to 
attention just above the top of the cups and just cried 
out for attention. I began to regret not bringing some 
clamps with me. Still there was time for that later. 

I held up a long black latex glove. 

"Play with yourself, you don't get it until you're 
wet." She glanced at the glove then at the stairs. 
Then, while one hand continued to stroke and fondle her 
latex covered breast and nipple, the other drifted to 
her clit where she started to finger herself. I looked 
at her, the eyes where now glazed and full of silent 
tears. I tossed her the glove. "Get off with it," I 
said. 

She looked up eyes full of both humiliation and 
confusion. Grabbing the other glove I passed it between 
my legs then with one hand holding from the front and 
the other from the rear I slid it backwards and 
forwards across my crotch. She looked on horrified and 
I was sure she would die rather than do it. Then slowly 
with hands shaking she copied my action dragging the 
slick glove backwards and forwards across her cunt 
until the surface was wet with her cum. I made her 
repeat the procedure for the second glove. Her hands 
were shaking when she slowly pulled the gloves up her 
arms. 

I made her continue to play with herself and the 
tactile stimulation of the smooth latex seemed to seize 
her. Suddenly she closed her eyes arched her back and 
started to play in earnest, oblivious to my presence. 
At first I was tempted to whip her, then I remembered 
the discomfort she had shown at my seeing her naked. 
Quietly I slipped back to the dungeon and took a loaded 
camera from the cabinet. By this time she was so far 
gone that she didn't realize what I was doing until I 
already had three shots. She stood there horrified at 
what she was doing and of the thought that it was 
captured on film. I seized on her confusion and quickly 
tossed her the latex stockings with instructions to put 
them on. I took more photos as she pulled them up her 
legs and fastened them to the garters of the bustier. 

Next I passed her one of the five inch stiletto boots. 

"Fuck yourself with the heel." 

By now tears of humiliation and frustration were 
following down her face, she looked at the floor 
sniffed and brought the heel up to her cunt. 

"You don't get the other one until I see you cum, 
understand?" She nodded and started to move the heel in 
and out. I snapped more photos, she stopped, sobbed and 
tried to say something. 

"Keep it up," I said, "We don't have all night." 

She tried to say something again. I brought the crop 
down on one of her exposed nipples. She let out a 
muffled scream. 

"You'll get one every 30 seconds until I see you cum, 
now do it cunt or my god I'll make you suffer!" 

She started in earnest ramming the heel in and out of 
her hole. True to my word I slapped her when the 30 
seconds were up, after that though it was un-necessary. 
She bucked and moaned her upper thighs and the tops of 
her stockings now slick with her juices. Finally she 
shivered and groaned, I just tossed her the other boot. 

"Put them on." 

She stood before me a vision in leather and latex, no 
slut or whore could look more perfect. From the bondage 
elements of collar and gag, though the sheer kinkiness 
of the outfit to her juices streaming down her latex 
clad thighs I surveyed my slave. Behind the shame and 
humiliation in her tear-filled eyes there still burned 
a trace of defiance, something I could break over the 
next few months as I molded her into my creature. 

"If you had obeyed me first time an hour ago we could 
both have been in bed by now and you could have saved 
yourself all this trouble." She nodded, tears still 
rolling down her face. I tossed her some leather cuffs. 
"Wrists and ankles, NOW!" She put them on without 
hesitation all the while looking at me with those big 
eyes. I stepped behind her and fastened the wrist cuffs 
together before adding a hobble chain to the ones at 
her ankles. Then I removed the leash and lead her to 
the chair next to the small table. Using some of the 
straps I'd removed earlier I secured her to the chair. 
She was unresisting, all rebellion temporarily crushed 
by humiliation and shame. 

I removed the gag and offered her a drink. She accepted 
then asked, 

"Why me?" 

"Because I wanted you," I said. 

"But I ha..." 

I slapped her mouth. She looked at me stunned. "Not 
*I*," I said, "Only a person can be an *I*. You are not 
a person, you're an object like any possession. *YOU* 
don't exist anymore and haven't done since the moment I 
took you. The only identity you'll have from now on is 
the one I choose to give you." 

She looked up, terrified tears welling in her eyes 
again. 

"From now on you will refer to yourself as 'slave', 
understand." That's all you are for the moment, just a 
thing for my pleasure. I may give you another identity 
some day but you'll have to earn it first. Say, 'I am a 
cock sucking slave slut.'" She shook her head her self 
esteem denying this last humiliation.. I brought the 
crop down hard on her right nipple, she yelped. "Say 
it!" 

"NO!" 

I spun the chair around. Now had access to her 
uncovered cunt and her legs were strapped to the chair 
where she couldn't close them. I whipped her exposed 
pussy. 

"I am a cock sucking slave slut! Please Master stop!" 
she screamed then started sobbing. 

I pushed the ball gag I'd taken from the cabinet 
between her teeth and fastened the strap. Her brief 
show of resistance had crumbled, I unfastened her from 
the chair and lead her into the cell. There I fastened 
the collar to a steel wire attached to a pulley wheel 
on the ceiling. The wheel ran on a small track which 
lead from the bed to the toilet. I kept her hands 
cuffed behind her but removed the hobble. She lay on 
the bed sobbing. "Hey cunt," She looked up, "Just 
something to contemplate, I haven't punished you for 
your insolence back there. I have something in mind but 
it will have to wait until morning, you might want to 
ponder that." I closed the cell door on her muffled 
cries. 


Chapter 3: Opening Events 

I don't think there has been a moment in my life that 
compares with the realization that I'd got her. My mind 
was full of possibilities, of the things I'd planed and 
of my slave. I fell to sleep that night with the image 
of my slave, bound, gagged and subdued in all her 
fetish finery burning itself into my brain. 

I awoke full of life, reveling in my achievement. 
Although I'd read of many cases of sexual abduction (in 
fact studied many in preparation for this) no one had 
achieved what I had done. I had a pretty coed bound and 
gagged in my basement, kidnapped from a busy alleyway 
in plain sight of at least a dozen people. 

I felt like a god, now at last I had a woman who 
couldn't say no, who wouldn't lead me on and then dump 
me as Samantha had. I chuckled to myself, for now she 
was my prisoner but soon I would start to train her as 
my slave. Slowly over the coming months, using torture, 
humiliation and sex I would slowly break her, 
destroying her identity, her self worth and gradually 
crushing her will until there would be nothing no mater 
how low or vile that she wouldn't do if I ordered it. 

I gradually let the megalomania sweep over me savoring 
every moment... then I pulled myself back into line and 
started exercising the personal discipline expected of 
the master of such a beautiful slave. One feature of 
the house that had been in the design from the 
beginning was it's audiovisual distribution system. In 
happier times I'd intended it to allow Sam and I to 
access cable, satellite or video from any part of the 
house. It had proved extremely flexible and coupled 
with hidden camera's from an enhanced security system 
gave me access to any room in the house. Reaching for a 
remote I turned on the bedroom monitor and entered the 
security code that accessed the camera in Caroline's 
cell. 

Caroline slept fitfully under the dimmed lights of the 
room. Her position had changed little since I'd left 
her. Her hair was tousled though still held it it's 
makeshift ponytail. A few blonde strands had escaped 
and lay on her pillow next to the damp patch where she 
had drooled past the gag. She looked so helpless that I 
was half tempted to go down and wake her, but I'd been 
planning this for months and could wait. With 
remarkable resolve given the circumstances I turned off 
the monitor, bathed, dressed and went downstairs. 

In my haste to get Caroline inside last night I'd left 
the car next to the side door instead of in the garage. 
Whilst this wasn't a problem (the driveway has a gate) 
part of me wanted to get the car out of sight as soon 
as possible. 

I backed the car into the garage then started to 
transfer its contents into a small storage room at the 
back. Most of Caroline's sparse belongings were 
destined for the bonfire, I'd only taken them to 
support the idea that she had moved out.. Some things 
however were more important and as I stacked the boxes 
for later sorting I came across exactly what I'd been 
looking for, a small box full of her personal papers. 
Finishing up I took the box inside and made myself 
breakfast. 

The box contained the sorts of things you'd expect, 
High School diploma, family photo's, letters. The real 
find for me though were the diaries, about a dozen of 
them ranging from exercise books to pretty little 
things with brass colored clasp locks. The collected 
thoughts of a girl from her early teens to the present, 
invaluable stuff for her kidnapper. Ultimately these 
would be the skeleton keys that would allow me to 
unlock her mind and give me access to the deep personal 
places I'd have to violate if she was ever really to be 
my slave. For now however they had a more practical 
use. 

The kidnapping itself had gone without a hitch, my 
"Bum" rouse had allowed me to take her in broad 
daylight surrounded by people. In addition the loss of 
her job and apartment had given her a good motive to 
disappear. For the moment her friends would think she 
was at home and her family would think she was still at 
university, it was perfect. Unfortunately it was also 
temporary. Sooner or latter some friend would try 
calling her at home or family letters would be returned 
unanswered. Eventually the alarm would be raised. The 
police would investigate and it could be that they 
would find something I'd overlooked. 

Alternatively they could find a witness who remembered 
the strange student in Caroline's building on the day 
she disappeared or someone who could place a man in the 
alleyway that evening. I needed to buy time for 
memories to fade or better yet, direct people's 
attention away from that area all together. In short I 
needed letters, cheery postcards sent to favored 
relatives, excited jottings to friends all in saying 
the same thing. 

"I'm alive, free and happy living in another state." I 
had no doubt I could get her cooperation, apart from 
physical torture I controlled all aspects of her life 
from food and drink to when and if she went to the 
toilet. Eventually when she'd been conditioned to obey 
that would be unnecessary, but for now I needed 
information. 

I needed a source from which I could verify birthdays 
and the existence of relatives. Whilst I intended for 
her letters to appear self absorbed and mention as 
little as possible that could be verified, missing a 
favorite aunts birthday could give the family a clue 
that something was wrong. Yet I had to be able to check 
her writings so that she could not pass a distress 
message in the letters. The diaries would be my 
verification. 

I started sorting through the books wondering how 
difficult it would be to break the spines and scan them 
into a database. Then suddenly I came across something 
odd. One of the pretty notebooks with the brass clasps 
had been forced. At first I assumed she'd lost the key 
though this didn't make much sense as the locks are 
principally decorative and a key from any of the 
earlier diaries would fit. Then I noticed that some of 
the pages had been torn out. 
The book covered summer of three years ago around the 
time of her fifteenth birthday. I decided to look into 
this later, for now however I divided my time between 
eating breakfast, reading her mail and watching 
"Caroline TV". 

Her bound form was just as tempting as ever. She 
thrashed around on the bed in a feeble attempt to 
wiggle free. Then she spent about twenty minutes 
rubbing her mouth against the edge of the bed trying to 
work the gag free. Finally, realizing that escape was 
futile she lay back down and sobbed. 

Looking down I found I was hard again. Summoning up my 
self control I managed to go to my study and knock off 
a quick thousand words on "Power PC vs. Pentium" for my 
New York publisher. In breaks for inspiration I 
continued through her mail and made a startling 
discovery. Caroline was the daughter of the REVEREND 
Charles Conway and his wife Judith. Quickly I paged 
through the photo albums until I found what I wanted. 
The family portrait was not inspiring, an older dour 
looking man, the picture of a bible bashing Baptist 
stood next to his younger dowdy, once pretty wife. He 
looked fierce and unbending, Judith looked down, the 
perfect picture of subservience. 

One of the reverend's eyes seemed fixed on the girls 
Caroline and her younger sister Anna, who stood with 
military stiffness before him. Now Caroline's drab 
taste in clothes began to make sense. Suddenly I could 
also see a way to get her to write me those letters. It 
would require some planning so I shelved it for now but 
the thought of it clawed at my mind and in the end I 
could resist no longer. 

I quickly finishing up the article, hurried to the 
kitchen and made her a light breakfast of cereal and 
coffee then took it down to the dungeon. In one corner 
of the room was a large heavy wooden kitchen table I 
had bought at a garage sale. It had looked like the 
kind of thing grandma Walton used to bake pies on. For 
my needs numerous D rings were attached to the frame, 
legs and top giving it a more sinister purpose. For now 
however I needed it to be just a table. Pulling it into 
the center of the room I cleared the top of bondage 
paraphernalia then added an old wooden chair to which I 
had also added straps.. 

Pausing I realized that this would be a good time to 
test the most impressive addition I'd made to the 
chair. Putting breakfast on the table I went to the 
locked cabinet and removed some extra pieces one of 
which I bolted to the chair the other I pocketed. Then 
I went to awaken the slave. She was lying much as I'd 
last seen her still bound and gagged, still in the 
latex outfit. My erection returned as I unfastened the 
wire from the collar, hobbled her and lead her whining 
and struggling into the dungeon. 

When we reached the chair she stopped struggling and 
stared in astonishment. From the center of the seat a 
long polished wooden phallus emerged making the chair 
look like it had an erection. She turned to look at me, 
eyes wide, head starting to shake. She tried to say 
something, mouth chewing helplessly on the ball. I 
pushed her towards the chair, she attempted to resist. 
Needless to say I won, five inch stilettos being hard 
enough to walk in let alone anything else. Hobbled, she 
couldn't even brace herself and soon she was hovering 
over the wooden cock. 

"It's lubricated," I said, "And it's not that thick. 
It's going to hurt less than the punishment you've just 
earned yourself." She continued to struggle, I really 
hadn't expected anything else, but when penetration by 
the wooden rapist was inevitable she relaxed and 
allowed me to settle her on it. 

Reaching into my pocket I produced its twin and waved 
it in front of her eyes. "Guess where this one goes 
slave." 

She looked at me beseechingly, knowing that she was 
helpless and silently begging for mercy. I crouched 
down and started to strap her ankles to the chair legs. 
It was a tough fight as she struggled to keep her legs 
closed. But she was in an impossible position and once 
her legs where strapped open I found it surprisingly 
easy to slide the dildo inside. The back of the phallus 
had a large bolt fastened to it and after burying the 7 
inches of wood in the girl I pushed the bolt through a 
hole in the chair seat and fastened a nut to the other 
side. There was a small wrench velcroed to the bottom 
of the seat which I used to tighten the nut before 
pocketing it. 

Caroline and the chair were now effectively bolted 
together, there was no way she could stand or walk and 
without a wrench and a lot of time no way she could get 
free. Now, with her legs strapped open the wooden 
intruder was obvious but I could see that hidden 
beneath a full skirt it would be difficult to see 
anything amiss. I thought of the other chair I had 
upstairs, the one with the nice finish and just the 
mountings for the dildos. 

Dressed in regular clothes and bolted to the chair I 
could take photo's of Caroline with no obvious 
restraints. I smiled, the family could expect a few 
pictures with her letters. Returning to my slave I 
chained her collar to the table, freed her hands and 
pulled the gag from her mouth. Rather than remove it 
completely I let it hang around her neck like a strange 
fetish necklace, a constant reminder that I could 
enforce her silence at any time. She picked up the 
coffee and drank greedily, I topped up the cup. 

She drained that also, then as I moved the cereal 
towards her she spoke. 

"Sir..." 

"I prefer Master," I said with a smile. 

"Err, Master... Erm please let me go... I promise I 
won't tell anyone about this. I want to go home, 
please." 

I suppose that my sadistic side had free reign at that 
moment because instead of telling her to shut up and 
eat her cereal I decided to play with her. 

"You must realize, Cunt, that taking you wasn't a whim. 
I've invested quite a lot of time and money in this 
affair. To return you now would put me at a lot of risk 
even if I could trust you not to run to the police. 
What could you offer me in return?" She swallowed 
nervously, calling her 'Cunt' like that had rattled her 
self confidence. "I...I could suck you..." The look on 
my face must have told her this wasn't enough for in a 
whisper she added, "Or we could do it... If you want." 

"I'm sorry," I said, "Where you offering sex?" She 
nodded, speechless. "In that case I want you to say, 
you can FUCK me Master, If you want." 

"You can... fuck me Master. If you want." 

"Louder!" 

"YOU CAN FUCK ME MASTER, IF YOU WANT!" 

"Much better. Tempting as your offer is, the reality of 
your situation is that I could tie you to this table in 
five minutes and fuck your brains out whether you liked 
it or not. I could do the same tomorrow and the next 
day and the next. You can't bargain with what you don't 
own, and your body, together with the rest of you is 
now mine." She looked dejected then she started 
jabbering. Telling me I would be caught and punished 
and she wished I was dead and... 

In the end only the threat of the gag got her to shut 
up and eat. 

When she'd finished I hobbled her again and unbolted 
her from the chair. As I helped her up off the shit 
covered phallus I was reminded of something. 

"Did you use the John?" She looked at me speechless. 

"The chemical toilet, did you use it?" 

She nodded. 

"Good 'cos that's the last chance you'll have for a 
while." I took her to the wall and chained her to the 
grid work whilst I collected a few things from the 
cabinet. 

First thing I did when I got back was try to gag her 
again. The gag was not strictly necessary as the room 
was soundproofed but it helped reinforce her 
helplessness and a knew she didn't like it. The ball 
gag was decorative but not very effective so leaving it 
where it was I held a padded gag against her mouth. 
This type of gag has a very large soft rubber 
mouthpiece fastened to a padded leather section that is 
strapped over the mouth. It was, I suppose a non 
inflatable version of the gag I'd fitted her with the 
night before. This time however she closed her mouth 
firmly and refused to open it. 

I smiled. "You must really like to be punished," I 
said, "It's going to take me most of the day just to 
work off what you've earned so far." 

Her eyes widened. 

"Oh yes you're going to be punished for last night, you 
didn't think I'd forgotten did you?" I could tell by 
the look in her eyes that *SHE* had forgotten." 

"Open up like a good girl and I'll forgive you this 
time. This is pointless anyway, the room is 
soundproofed so even without the gag you are just as 
helpless." 

She shook her head defiantly, I could see that a lesson 
was in order. Going to the cabinet I retrieved a 
posture collar and a roll of duct tape. Removing the 
ball gag from her neck I fitted the posture collar 
firmly in place. Of course she resisted but the 
ponytail made an excellent handhold and after five 
minutes her old collar was replaced by a high stiff one 
that stopped her turning her head. 

A couple of straps between the grid work and the collar 
and she was fastened to the wall facing me. Slowly, 
deliberately, I stuck strip after strip of tape over 
her closed lips. I think she thought I was trying to 
gag her a different way because she just stood there 
smugly. 

She seemed a little amused when I went into her cell 
and returned moments later with a strip of toilet 
paper. One thing was certain however she wasn't 
laughing when I shoved a small ball of toilet paper up 
each nostril and sealed it there with tape. She started 
to cry out and thrash as much as she could. I just 
added tape if a leak appeared in her mouth covering and 
waited. All the activity burnt the air in her lungs 
quickly and before long she stopped thrashing, face 
red, eye's bulging as she strained against the bonds, 
lungs screaming for the oxygen I'd denied them. 

"Perhaps I should gag you this way instead," I 
suggested, watching as wild panic and desperation 
consumed her. Then suddenly I reached out and in one 
move tore the tape mask from her lower face. She let 
out an explosive breath and with mouth wide open drew 
in her first lung full of life giving air. I gagged 
her, shoving the mouthpiece into her wide, open mouth 
just as she finished that first breath. It was large 
enough to stay put without the straps so next I removed 
the tape and paper from her nose. Then I tightened the 
gag. I think she was just happy to breath as I had no 
further trouble. I held one of the toilet paper balls 
in front of her wide eyes.. 

"This is a lesson. You are helpless, so helpless I can 
take your life with toilet paper if I wanted to. First 
time, *EVERY* time slave, this is not optional. Next 
time you try to stop me gagging you the tape stays on 
twice as long, keep it up and I may decide that you 
aren't worth the trouble and leave it on, understand??" 
She nodded. 

That settled I continued with the preparations. I 
replaced the hobble with a spreader bar forcing her 
legs open into a wide triangle. I could tell that she 
didn't like being this exposed, but experience was 
starting to teach her that resistance could offer worse 
things than just pain. I left her wrists cuffed 
together but added straps to her upper arms that also 
helped to pull her shoulders back and push her tits 
out. To help this along even further I threaded a rope 
from her elbow straps to her wrists then from there 
through a D ring in the center of the spreader bar. 

Pulling on it pulled her arms down, arched her back and 
thrust the tits out further. Releasing her from the 
wall I dragged her under a ring to which I attached her 
collar. Next came the butt plug. She looked at me 
puzzled as I approached her with it then as I pushed 
it's greased surface inside her ass she squirmed and 
made small noises behind the gag. I started to unwind 
the wires attached to it, before packing her cunt with 
a large metal studded rubber dildo with similar 
attachments. I fastened the wires to a small metal box 
which I clipped to the spreader bar, covered twat and 
ass with a pair of snap on leather panties and I was 
almost set. 

I finally got to do something I'd looked forward to 
since I'd seen her nice tits. The nipple clamps had a 
small length of chain between them and must have looked 
like jewelry because she didn't start struggling until 
I clipped the first one on. Even then there was little 
she could do her body being forced into a tight stiff 
pose by the strict bondage. I clipped the second one on 
the other nipple then freed the rope fastened to her 
wrists and pulled until she was bent back as far as I 
thought she could stand. Then I tied the rope to the 
nip clamp's chain. Now any attempt to lean forward 
would drag on the chain which in turn would pull on the 
clamps, these were the type that bit harder as pressure 
increased. 

She moaned and tried to say something looking at me 
with large accusing eyes, still that I could fix. I 
fitted her with the padded blindfold I'd used on her 
the night before. The posture collar stopped any of the 
struggling nonsense this time and when I was finished 
only her nose was not covered by shiny black leather. 
Next I attached a couple of small arms from the box to 
the wrist rope where it went through the spreader bar. 
Then I attached two cables from the box to the wall, 
one AC power the other to the building Ethernet. 

Caroline started to twitch as the dildo and butt plus 
started their low frequency vibration. As she squirmed 
she pulled on the rope attached to her nipples and 
slowly tortured herself. I looked at her as she winced 
and writhed, vision in leather and latex. The butt of 
the dildo was pushed tight, straining against the 
leather panties looking for all the world like a small 
cylindrical dick. As I watched it began to move as her 
cunt muscles squeezed it out and the tight panties 
forced it back in. I knew that the vibration though 
stimulating was not enough to bring her off instead she 
would have to stand there in a state of sexual 
frustration until I chose to release her. However being 
a considerate sort I'd arranged a small distraction. 

"Slave," She ignored me trapped in her private world. 
"Slave," I slapped her right nipple with the crop which 
got her attention. 

"Frustrating isn't it?" Of course she had no way of 
answering, the posture collar stopped all head movement 
and gag and blindfold dealt with everything else. "The 
good news is that the vibrator will go faster the 
further forward you lean. She lent forward a little and 
sure enough the pitch of the vibrator increased, of 
course the clamps did painful things to her nipples. 
She leaned back and suddenly when crazy struggling and 
screaming in pain. 

"Lean forward!" I commanded. she seemed in too much 
pain to notice me so I grabbed her shoulders and pulled 
forward. Immediately the pressure on the nipples 
increased and she tried to struggle more. I held her 
there and the pain subsided. 

"That was the bad news, periodically a small electrical 
shock will be administered to your cunt and anus. To 
switch it off you need to lean forward and hold the 
pose for five seconds. Every time the shock comes it 
will have a higher intensity and will take longer to 
shut off." 

Again she tried to say something. I continued, "Just 
before the shock you will hear my voice giving you an 
instruction. Obey it and the shock will be avoided. 
fail and you know what happens."

I looked behind me at the camera that would let me 
watch all this from the comfort of my office then 
prepared to leave. Reaching up I released her hair from 
the pony tail and let the blond locks cascade around 
her shoulders. Finally I fitted her with a pair of 
light headphones which I attached to the AV. grid. She 
twitched and leaned forward obviously too late to stop 
the shock. I stood silently for a few minutes watching 
her move the little she could in response to my 
computer generated instructions. 

The moans issuing from behind her gag showed me that 
she had discovered the other benefit of obedience, the 
sudden high speed burst from the vibrators that came 
when she reacted immediately. The rewards were short so 
that she wouldn't be able to cum but in her painful 
position these flashes of pleasure would be very 
welcome. She started to obey the commands with 
increasing enthusiasm and I noticed that her cunt was 
already juicing up again. I watched for a few more 
minutes then left to watch "television". 

The rest of the morning I worked, easily clearing the 
backlog that had built up during my preparation for the 
kidnapping. On the TV I watched as Caroline continued 
to thrash around. A window on my PC monitor showed the 
current score. Shocked twelve times she was currently 
on her 150th order and getting tired. I smiled, 
Caroline would have spotted immediately that I was 
using an aversive conditioning technique. 

As a method of brainwashing it was slow and primitive 
but it was also effective. As a Psych major Caroline 
probably understood that her brain was being 
conditioned to obey my voice. She may even have noticed 
that the headphones, gag, gloves and blindfold had 
enforced a kind of sensory deprivation and that the 
insistent buzz of the vibrator was robbing her of the 
ability to focus. However just as you can shoot a 
ballistics expert, her skills could not protect her 
against this application of her science. 

The persistent computer continued to pound orders into 
the primitive areas of her brain offering pleasure for 
compliance and pain for disobedience. 

I imagined the horror, to understand exactly what was 
being done to her mind, to realize that in a few weeks 
her will would be broken and she would obey me like a 
dog eager to get my approval. Perhaps some part of her 
mind realizing what was happening but powerless to 
resist.

Another rush of megalomania and then I shut down the 
program and went downstairs. 

She stood, legs trembling. I could tell that she wanted 
to slump down but the tether at her collar prevented 
it. Her latex stockings were again coated in her juices 
her body covered in sweat. I freed her ankles first 
holding her steady as she moved her legs for the first 
time in several hours. Next I disconnected everything, 
though I left the vibrator and butt plugs in their 
respective holes. Finally I freed her neck and fastened 
a leash to the collar. 

Taking the spreader bar along I lead her up from the 
dungeon and into the house. This is not as risky as it 
sounds, I have an excellent security system that warns 
me of any visitors and a gate ensures that they can 
only reach the house if I want them to. I sat her on a 
kitchen chair and gave her water. She said nothing but 
"Thank you Master" at the end all fight temporarily 
gone. 

In fact she seemed so submissive that my hard on 
returned and this time would not be denied. I decided 
to do something about it. 

With the gag still hanging from her neck I took her to 
the living room where I replaced the spreader and used 
the remaining ropes to secure her wrists to it. This 
resulted in a kind of hog-tie which left her kneeling 
before me as I sat in my chair. Unfastening my leather 
pants I pulled my hard dick free then pulled her head 
towards it. 

"I'm giving you the honor of blowing me slave, do it 
well and you will be excused punishment for the rest of 
the afternoon." I did consider telling her what would 
happen to her if she bit me, but I thought that could 
give her idea's. I had a ring gag for just this 
occasion but it was downstairs in the cabinet so I 
watched with some trepidation as her mouth engulfed me. 

I was intending to give her demerits based on lousy 
technique. Sam gave great head and I had come to expect 
a lot from my partner. It soon became apparent though 
as the tip of her tongue played lightly over the 
engorged head that Caroline was a virtuoso on the skin 
flute. I gasped, struck dumb as she sucked on my balls, 
next she deep throated me quickly and easily with no 
hint of gagging. I looked down at her blindfolded face, 
mouth around my dick a dribble of my precum on her chin 
and the only thought on my mind was that I was glad she 
couldn't see the stupid grin on my face. 

Somehow through the haze of rapidly mounting pleasure I 
remembered what I'd planned to do during this occasion. 
Hands trembling I reached for the remote control unit 
on the table beside me. I still don't know how I found 
the right button (she was licking the length of my dick 
like a lollipop at the time), yet I managed to push it. 
Then I sat back enraptured whilst somewhere in the 
bowels of the house a computer executed it's program. 

Ten seconds later the phone rang. We both stiffened I 
through release of anticipation, she in shock. Her 
mouth was still around my dick so using one hand to 
hold her head in place I answered the phone. 

The voice on the other end was that of the house 
management computer telling me the internal 
temperature, the selections on the VCR, the states of 
the lights, but for Caroline's benefit I pretended it 
was a friend a few miles down the road wanting to 
visit. 

"Sure Bob come on over," I said aware of the faint 
noises coming from my dick gagged slave, "But give me a 
few minutes ok, I was just playing with a new toy and 
need a few minutes to tidy up." 

I hung up, pleased she hadn't decided to bite me. It 
had been a risk without the ring gag but a small one. I 
figured the gag incident would stop her from trying 
anything too extreme for a while. 

I grabbed the side of her head, actively fucking her 
face for the first time. She wasn't stupid, she took 
this as a signal I wanted to finish, stopped teasing 
and instead started sucking hard and bobbing backwards 
and forwards in a strong persistent rhythm. I could 
hear the tiny metal clanking noises that the nipple 
clamps chain made as it struck the tight leather of the 
bustier. I felt I would die in ecstasy and wondered if 
Caroline would be rescued with me gone. My hazy mind 
was full of the headlines "Noted writer dies in kinky 
sex session, girlfriend unable to free herself dies of 
exposure." Then suddenly I exploded in her mouth. 

"Swallow every drop slave, every mark on the carpet is 
one on your hide." She needed no extra encouragement 
swallowing the cum with a terrified look on her face. 

I took hold of the gag around her neck and pushed the 
rubber mouthpiece against her lips. "Open wide slave, 
we have guests coming and it's time to make sure that 
you stay good and quiet!" She hesitated, but only for a 
second until she remembered the repercussions. The gag 
lesson was one that had been well learned. 

I strapped the gag tightly ensuring that she could make 
only the slightest of noises, then I dragged her across 
the room and behind a large couch. The spreader bar 
hog-tie arrangement was strict enough, but to avoid her 
rubbing her crotch against the floor I turned her on 
her back so that her heels and shoulders formed a 
tripod arrangement with her knees and pussy thrust high 
in the air. She moaned slightly at the uncomfortable 
position but hey, she's the slave. 

Still I did feel a little guilty after she gave such 
good head so I ran quickly to my office and got a 
little battery box for the dildo and butt plug. A few 
second to connect everything and she was buzzing away 
again. I'd set the device to a level that I thought was 
close to her orgasm point; it was possible she could 
get lucky and cum but restricted as she was I doubted 
it. 

"My friend is coming here slave," I said with maximum 
malice, "If he even suspects that you are here I'll 
make you suffer." 

Retrieving the remote I sat in a chair where I could 
see her clearly, then I punched in some numbers and 
waited. The house has an excellent surround sound 
system, over fifty compact speakers in discrete places 
in all the main rooms. Sam had contacts in the music 
industry and we had talked about hosting private 
concerts once we were married. With this in mind I had 
extended the system installing a number of mikes and a 
multitrack recorder so that I could record the events 
for later enjoyment. When Sam had dumped me the system 
had languished and the only use I'd made of it was 
during an impromptu game of "blindman's buff" I'd 
hosted during the house warming party. Still the 
success of that trick had inspired me to use it to test 
Caroline. 

Across the room came the sound of the door opening. 

"Ah Bob," My disembodied voice said, "What can I do for 
you?" 

"Sorry to trouble you Dick, but the portable printer I 
have seems to be broken." Bob Cummings was perhaps my 
closest neighbor and one of those people who are 
destined to be victims of technology. When he had 
discovered that I was a computer columnist he had 
immediately assumed that I would provide free technical 
support for his every problem. I had recorded this 
incident a few weeks before when his inkjet had run out 
of ink ("Oh, you mean I need to refill it??"). 

Since then I'd spent a couple of weekends making sure 
that it would sound like a real live event to someone 
on the floor in Caroline's position. The test was 
clear, she had been ordered not to draw attention to 
herself, yet as far as she knew a total stranger had 
just walked into the room. 

I watched her as the conversation turned to printers 
and refills. She moved occasionally, mainly thrusting 
her crotch in the air, but it was unclear if her 
intention was to get off or get free. In either case 
she made no obvious sounds. I began to wonder if she 
had discovered the deception, but I couldn't see how. 
The floors were concrete ensuring no conduction of 
footfalls and the sound quality was excellent. 

I sat and watched her as she made small movements 
behind the couch. This was not the thrashing and 
screaming I'd expected at this point but by now the 
voices could be heard only faintly from one of the 
other rooms. Several minutes passed then the 
conversation reentered the room from my study with Bob 
asking about the list price of my desktop printer ("I 
guess you don't know huh? I mean you journo's get given 
this kind of thing...") 

Phantom Bob was leaving, if she thought that there was 
any possibly of rescue she would have to make the move 
soon. I held my breath, waiting for the faint muffled 
scream the sudden thrashing of limbs but it didn't 
come. The posture collar made head movement impossible 
but with the little leg movement she had left she had 
turned on her side to face the departing sound. 

Yet despite the fact that "Phantom Bob" and I held a 
conversation just in front of the couch behind which 
she was hidden and she must have known that her gagged 
screams would carry at least that far; she made no 
attempt to alert him to her presence. 

Phantom Bob left and the recording ended. I went over 
to her and removed the hog-tie and spreader. I didn't 
bother to hobble her as high heeled boots are difficult 
enough to walk in. Attaching the leash I lead her 
downstairs. I removed the posture collar and replaced 
it with her usual one, removed the blindfold, then I 
removed the dildo and butt plug along with the leather 
panties. She was as expected very wet, and the slight 
moans that accompanied removal of the dildo seemed to 
confirm that she had still been denied an orgasm. I 
removed the pad gag and replaced the ballgag around her 
neck. 

"Very good slave. As a reward for your obedience I will 
leave you ungagged for the rest of the morning as long 
as you don't speak, understand?" 

She nodded her agreement. 

Then I took her back to her cell fastened her hands in 
front of her, with a chain to a ring on her collar 
ensuring that her crotch was out of reach. Then I 
refastened her collar to the wire and told her to get 
some sleep. She settled down happily, glad that the gag 
was still around her neck and not in her mouth. 

It was about twelve when I took her from the cell and 
back into the dungeon. She started to ask questions so 
I regagged her, she gave me a betrayed look but didn't 
kick up a fuss when I lead her to the table. I did have 
some trouble when I strapped her down so I upped the 
pressure. "Well, well, well, Cunt. So this is a 
demonstration of the of your obedience to your MASTER. 
All you are doing is making your punishment far worse." 
She stopped struggling and looked at me with big 
frightened eyes, I continued to tighten straps. 

I stood back and surveyed my handiwork. Her gloved 
hands where cuffed above her head, her collar fastened 
to the table. I had fastened her waist to the frame of 
the table with a wide leather belt and had cuffed her 
ankles to the two table legs. She was spread and 
vulnerable, her pussy on the very edge of the table and 
at the perfect height for sex. She must have realized 
this because she continued to struggle as best she 
could as I went over to the basement room. There I 
collected a towel and a basin I had brought from 
upstairs. 

Coming back to the table I put the basin down next to 
her and reached inside. The gag barely muffled her 
scream when I opened the straight razor in front of 
her. It was a family heirloom left to me by some great 
uncle. He had apparently taken it with him in his 
journeys around the world but I suspected that he had 
never taken it where I was about to. 

Gently I used the warm water to dampen the bush of fine 
brown hair between her legs. She stiffened beginning to 
see what I had in mind, I could see her pondering it. A 
minute ago she had been convinced she was about to be 
raped, now she faced this which was in many ways worse. 
I started to soap her crotch, being careful not to 
touch the bustier or the latex stockings. By the time I 
had brought the blade near to her helpless body she had 
decided that she wanted no part of it and started to 
squirm as best she could. 

Holding the razor up menacingly I smiled. "I'd stop 
that if I were you, this isn't the kind of place I'd 
like a nick." I played the light reflecting from the 
blade across her face. 

She froze, eyes firmly closed, breathing in short 
bursts, as still as a statue as I shaved her pussy. I 
didn't completely denude the area, I left a small oval 
patch just above her clit for decorative purposes. I 
had to confess that I'd done a good job as I ran my 
fingers over her smooth soft flesh. She groaned a 
little and I was suddenly aware of my almost painful 
hard on. Reaching down I opened her cunt lips and 
lowered by face onto her exposed clit. It would appear 
that the shave had been stimulating to her also, for 
the little nub was already engorged. Gently my tongue 
touched it, she heaved in a huge gasping breath, her 
hips straining against the imprisoning belt. 

I licked and a muffled groan issued from her gagged 
lips. I started in earnest, each lick, nibble or suck 
accompanied by a gasp groan or murmur from the far side 
of the table. I thrust my tongue deep in to her, 
savoring her salty flavor mixed with the smell of the 
soap and listening to her muffled whinnies as she went 
wild. I paused and looked up, fingering her with my 
gloved hand as I watched her, tear- filled eyes closed, 
hard thrusting nipples, mouth straining against the 
ball. 

I smiled, my slave on the brink of orgasm. She noticed 
the drop in sensation and looked up. "Want me to fuck 
you Slave?" She shook her head defiantly, I just 
fingered a little faster. One set of her lips slid 
helplessly over the rubber ball, the others over my 
leather fingers. Her breathing and moans came in 
staccato bursts and I knew she was close, so I stopped. 
She squealed something and tried to trust her hips up 
against my hand. Helpless, so close to cumming but 
unable to stimulate herself that extra little bit, she 
thrashed against her bonds. 

"I'll only ask once more Slave. Do you want to be 
fucked?" Her eyes were full of the terrible internal 
conflict, she so desperately wanted to cum but the 
humiliation of her position, to have to beg her rapist 
to fuck her... I helped her out, I turned away. She 
gave a muffled squeal and strained against the bonds, 
gloved hands and booted ankles tugging in futile 
desperation, the fire in her crotch burning away the 
last of her self respect. 

I turned, "Well Slave?" She closed her eyes, and 
nodded. In seconds I was in her, my shaft buried in her 
warm tight hole. As I thrust her pussy started 
spasming, drawing me further inside, her passion 
expressed as little gagged screams her body straining 
all the time. Under any circumstances she would have 
been a good fuck, but combined with her complete 
helplessness she turned me on more than any woman in my 
life. All thoughts of Samantha were swept away as we 
came together, her muffled scream filled the air as I 
pumped my load into her. 

I pulled out and cleaned us both up with the towel I'd 
brought to dry her. She seemed quiet so I leaned over 
and removed her gag. There was silence for a few 
minutes as I rehobbled her legs and prepared to unstrap 
her from the table. 

At last she spoke, "You raped me!" 

"WE had sex," I corrected, "Rape implies lack of 
consent, YOU asked me to fuck you twice and that nod 
wasn't my imagination either." 

"I'm your prisoner, you would have done it to me 
anyway." 

I smiled, "Be very careful what you say Cunt or you 
could make life hard for yourself. Truth is that you 
wanted it so bad you begged for it, and now that it's 
over you are horrified that you actually got off on it 
so suddenly you are the poor victim again." 

She was silent deep in thought as I eased her off the 
table and fastened her hands behind her. I reached for 
the gag. 

"Please don't," She smiled at me, a warm deep smile 
that convinced me that I had chosen the right girl. 
"Please Master, I thought we could talk for a while, if 
you explain what you want..." 

"Humm, obviously you paid more attention to your psych 
lectures than your grades suggest." She went pale. 

She swallowed nervously. "Who are you?" She asked, "I 
never said I was a psych major." 

I smiled, happy at her discomfort. "I am your master," 
I said. "I told you once before you are not a random 
choice. If you were then the police would probably be 
looking for you now. As it is I moved you out of your 
apartment, and left your back rent so that Mr. Philips 
will be happy that you're gone and won't ask any 
questions." 

I stepped back so she could see me counting things off 
on my fingers. 

"Lets see, I disposed of your car, YOU successfully got 
yourself fired, Alice and Brenda are at that trade show 
in Chicago and your mother complains that you never 
write regularly. Nobody knows you are gone, no one will 
even notice that you are missing. Even assuming that 
anyone reports you missing the police will think you 
left yourself. There will be no rescue because no one 
cares that you're gone." I saw her eyes fill with 
tears, "Lets face facts here, Caroline Conway was an 
easy victim, but she doesn't exist anymore, all that's 
left is a slave who doesn't know when to shut up." 

"Please," She said her voice full of desperation, "You 
don't have to gag me again. I hate it, I can't swallow 
properly and it hurts. This place must be sound proof 
or you wouldn't have risked leaving me ungagged 
earlier. You don't have to do it I'll be quiet I 
promise." 

I smiled. "You misunderstand Cunt, you are gagged 
because I want you gagged. You're right about the room 
being soundproofed, but the real point here is that I 
own you. Whether you are, awake or asleep, hot or cold, 
noisy or silent *I* decide. If you want to talk to me, 
that is a privilege you earn through your obedience, 
not a right. Property doesn't have rights slave I 
suggest you remember that." 

I looked at the despair in her eyes as I pushed the 
bright red ball between her teeth. Reaching behind her 
head I tightened the strap. "Later today you'll get a 
chance to show your obedience slave, If you follow 
orders you'll have a few hours ungagged, we'll talk 
then." 

My gloved thumb traced the line of her lips as they 
formed an O around the ball. "There, that's MUCH 
better. Trust me slave in a few years you'll feel 
uncomfortable when you're NOT wearing a gag." My finger 
caught the single silent tear that ran down her cheek, 
she sobbed as the full impact of her situation hit 
home. "Get use to the idea slave, it isn't as bad as it 
first appears." I lead her back to her cell, attached 
the wire to her collar and left her sobbing on the bed. 


Chapter 4: "A Timetable for Domination" 

I went back upstairs and made myself a coffee, thinking 
of my slave, of the plans I had made and of "Phantom 
Bob." As the scent of warm Java spread about the 
kitchen I sat and reviewed the days events. Months ago, 
when a real living and breathing Caroline was just a 
wet dream, I had planned out the first few days with my 
new slave. I had foreseen her fear, her anger and her 
attempts to escape. I had planned for each in turn 
molding her reactions and my responses into a mental 
document I called (with a typical writer's flare) "A 
Timetable for Domination." It started with the 
preparation for the kidnapping ebbed and flowed through 
the snatch and the training and the bondage and the sex 
to a scene that was painted so vividly in my mind's eye 
that it seemed almost real. 

Slave and I would enter a fashionable New York night 
club (dressed in tasteful fetish wear naturally). I 
would spy Samantha at the bar and signaling Slave to 
come close (she always walks two steps behind as a sign 
of respect for her master) I instruct her to seduce Sam 
by any means possible. Slave (she hasn't answered to 
Caroline in so long she doesn't even recognize the 
name) smiles and happily complies, this is far from the 
worse thing I've ever asked her to do and the thought 
of disobeying never crosses her carefully conditioned 
mind. 

Later I would reveal myself to Sam forcing her to do 
unspeakable humiliating things less I publish the 
photos of her lesbian fling. The circle would be 
complete, capturing Caroline to enact my revenge on 
Sam. Then using her to get that revenge. But of course 
that was fantasy and reality wasn't proving to be that 
simple. 

In my mental timetable things were certain and secure 
her reactions easy to envisage. First would be denial, 
a refusal to face up to the kidnapping and her new 
position as my sex slave. This sort of thing wasn't 
supposed to happen to her! This happened to bad girls 
who talked to strangers or accepted candy, or 
hitchhiked. She had avoided everything that her mother 
had warned her about and yet she was still bound and 
gagged, chained up in a guy's basement and forced to 
do... things. 

I'd figured this attitude would probably persist for a 
few days then I expected her to redouble her attempts 
at escape. Then slowly would come acceptance and a 
listless despair. Finally under the strict domination 
and conditioning she would adapt and begin to accept 
her new life as my slave. I firmly expecting to be able 
to take her on our fated club date inside of two years. 

Yet the "Phantom Bob incident had worried me. I wasn't 
stupid I'd always realized that there would be a degree 
of variation in my plans once there was a real woman in 
the equation but I'd been surprised at how little 
trouble she's given me overall. She'd been kidnapped 
less than twenty four hours, I'd expected more of a 
fight until she accepted the hopelessness of her 
situation. That acceptance was the first step towards 
truly breaking her. I'd wanted it to be long and slow 
so that when it came the despair would be that much 
greater. Yet whenever I pushed her she seemed to back 
down and like a reed in the wind without resistance I 
couldn't break her. 

I'd expected her to try and signal "Bob" had thrilled 
with the thoughts of despair that would grip her when 
she failed and above all had looked forward to 
punishing her disobedience. The dirty scheme that had 
been festering in the back of my mind since I read her 
mail that morning had started to pull together ideas 
and plans that I'd reserved for later. The whole thing 
was just so obvious, so perfectly simple and yet 
inescapable that I just had to do it, but for it to 
work I needed an excuse to punish her. 

Over the past few months I'd read a lot of bondage 
fiction. Every time I stopped off in New York for 
dungeon supplies I'd included a magazine or two and a 
few videos for "research" purposes. One of the real 
dumb things that these stories tend to say is that 
there is always a reason to punish the slave. "The 
slave is always guilty," is a favorite line, written by 
a guy whose closest link with slavery is the pittance 
he pays his models. In truth you should never punish 
the slave for nothing, you are trying to impress your 
values on her, they must always be consistent. 

Obedience means reward, even if the reward is something 
she had as a right in her former life like spending 
time ungagged. Disobedience means punishment, you can 
always substitute a lesser punishment than the one you 
threaten and you can offer the possibility of 
redemption or reduction in exchange for some service 
but in general if she's bad she's punished. 

The secret (if there is one) is to treat the slave as 
you would a dog. Tell her she's a clever slave when she 
obeys and always do something in recognition. Punish or 
withhold something when she's bad, but only when she's 
bad. There are guys who beat their dogs constantly, 
this results in nervous anxious dogs. Then there are 
guy's who beat their women constantly and they have 
nervous anxious women. Strangely it's rare for either 
dog or woman to run away from such people, I still 
haven't figured out why. 

In my case I needed an excuse to punish Caroline, any 
excuse would have done but for whatever reason I needed 
her to know that *SHE* was responsible. This could be 
no arbitrary action of mine she must have done 
something to deserve it. It's a strangely human failing 
that someone is more likely to do something they 
wouldn't ordinarily do in order to make amends rather 
than to do you a favor. Right now I needed her 
apprehensive and willing to please if my new plan was 
to work. 

I flicked on the video camera and watched as she lay on 
the bed. I was again immediately hard and as I sat and 
drank the warm dark liquid I got more and more excited 
until in the end I was forced to shut down the monitor 
and think of other things, like photography. 

One of the fringe benefits of living with an editor at 
Vogue is your access to models, designers and 
photographers. One of the few people I met through Sam 
who I really liked was a talented fashion photographer 
called Andy Pearson. Most people probably haven't even 
heard of him but if you have ever glanced at the cover 
of a fashion magazine while waiting in line at the 
checkout chances are you've seen his work. Andy is a 
guy's guy, a big brash New Zealander who came to New 
York via the far east and a large chunk of Europe. He 
is also one of that growing club of Sam's cast offs. In 
fact it was he who helped me pick up the pieces after 
the wedding was canceled. 

I really don't know how I could have managed without 
his help and in the process he became my best friend. 
If Andy is a great guy he's a brilliant photographer. 
With seeming ease he juggles the twenty or so variables 
necessary to make a good photo, great. His pictures 
make his models beautiful and show off the clothes to 
maximum effect. A classic "Pearson" has a spontaneity 
about it that makes a carefully posed piece look like 
the kind of shot you would take of your girlfriend on 
an outing (well it *would* be if you were a top 
photographer, and she was a supermodel). 

What he does he does so well that at least one magazine 
calls the cover photo, which is of course the most 
important in any issue, the "Pearson shot". I've seen 
him coax fantastic poses out of young girls just 
starting in the business then slap down a "difficult" 
supermodel in successive breaths. He moves, molds and 
commands women in a way that few BDSM doms could even 
hope to match. 

In the way friends do we started to take interest in 
each others work. Through him my interest in 
photography expanded. I have always prided myself that 
I am a good photographer, and as my friends have 
married I have had enough invites "suggesting" that I 
might bring a camera to confirm this. Andy however 
transformed that. He has a love for the technology of 
photography and as time went on I taught him how to use 
computers and he taught me the tricks of the pro's. The 
fusion of our skills produced something that little bit 
different and was exactly what I would need if my plan 
was to succeed. 

For my plan needed photos, some the cheery snapshots to 
send to the Conway's, some more hardcore. Some would 
have to look *very* professional, some like they were 
taken by a talentless hack. With all the complexity for 
a second I considered giving Andy a call and asking his 
advice. Trouble was that he loved this kind of stuff 
and if he could I just knew he would invite himself 
over. So in the end I consulted the local yellow pages 
and found a list of photo suppliers in the nearest 
town. I would have to use what he taught me and just 
wing the rest. 

I ate a light lunch, one of those pizza bag things that 
I'd bought with the idea of eating cold on the road. 
Needless to say it was disappointing but I suppose it 
hit the spot. I checked on Caroline, who was still 
sobbing on the bed, then locked up and went to the 
garage. Inside was a large Chevy van that I'd bought 
because my main car, a 1958 Triumph TR2, doesn't have 
much carrying space. The van was a sort of half 
conversion, it was carpeted and had a couple of 
captain's chairs but with the exception of a largish 
bench seat on one side everything was removable for 
maximum cargo capacity. 

I backed out, careful to miss both the roadster and the 
big old car I'd used for the kidnapping. I looked upon 
it with some regret, it was a large powerful land boat 
that had been a pleasure to drive but my safety came 
first. I had already made arrangements to scrap the car 
and intended to watch it being crushed so that I was 
sure that the evidence was destroyed. For now I locked 
up the garage and headed for town. 

The first two photography stores I tried were closed, 
New England not being as good for Sunday shoppers as 
some places. The next had nothing that I needed and I 
was starting to regret not calling around first. 
However eventually, late in the afternoon, I found 
somewhere that could supply at least my basic needs. I 
spent about two hundred dollars mainly on film and 
paper and got a referral to another shop which catered 
to the local pro photographic circuit. The rest would 
have to wait until tomorrow though I had a hunch that I 
would have plenty of time. A quick detour to one of 
those DIY warehouses got me all the other things I 
needed. 

I arrived home with some apprehension half expecting a 
police car in the drive. Of course it wasn't there, the 
house was undisturbed and a quick check on my guest 
confirmed that she was ok and was even managing an 
afternoon nap. I put on another pot of coffee and 
started in earnest. I refrigerated the film and prepped 
a camera then took off downstairs to ready the 
"studio". 

I worked most of the afternoon putting up shower 
curtains and dustsheets to disguise the dungeon walls 
and cover the furniture. I set up lights and placed a 
camera on a tripod in preparation. Finally at about 7PM 
I was ready for my model. 

She awoke as I came into the room and said something 
behind the gag. I freed her from the wire, and checked 
her bonds, giving her time to get frustrated before 
removing the muzzle. She wanted to know what was going 
on, why I'd left her, what would happen next. I was 
starting to wish I could keep her gagged but the plan 
required that she should be able to speak so without 
answering anything I took her back into the dungeon. 
She blinked as we stepped through the doors, the lights 
in her room automatically dim to a level that lets the 
surveillance cameras work but allows her to sleep. 
Stepping from that twilight into the glare of the 
photofloods caught her off balance. 

"Master, what's all this for?" 

"For you slave," I answered innocently, "We're going to 
take a few pictures." 

I watched her swallow, her eyes panned around the room 
to the small table I'd set up near the camera. I'd put 
an array of vibrators, dildos and floggers out for her 
inspection, it didn't take a genius to figure out what 
kind of pictures these were to be. "No," She said, "I 
can't." 

"*I* slave? I thought we had this discussion last 
night," I said starting to up the pressure. 

She paused, her brain going through the mental 
gymnastics necessary to convert the sentence into a 
more acceptable form, when she finally spoke I had to 
admit she'd done a pretty good job. 

"Master, your slave, she really can't... Please." 

"*MY* slave can and will do what I order her to," I 
said deliberately pouring as much menace as I could 
into my voice. "She's a slut whore, she likes doing 
slut whore kinds of things. Right now all this whore 
wants to do is jam this dildo up her crack while I take 
pictures. Isn't that true slut?" Her eyes filled with 
tears, "Please..." I pulled her close and stuck two 
fingers in her cunt, with her hands still cuffed behind 
her there was little she could do. 

"Isn't that true!" 

She nodded wordlessly, my other hand started to massage 
one of her latex covered tits and was surprised to find 
the nipple already hard. 

"Why don't you say it slut." 

"Your slave..." 

"NO!" I shouted, "Say this whore." 

"The..the..this whore..." 

"...Wants to jam this rubber fuck toy up her crack 
until she cums." 

"Wha..." 

"...Wants to do this 'cos she's a cheap painted slut. 
Who needs to fuck. Anything will do as long as there's 
a tool inside her." 

She stood there, mouth working silently, tears once 
again in full flow. I continued to massage cunt and 
tit. 

"Does that feel good slave," I asked watching the 
confusion on her face, "You know why don't you? It's 
because you're a whore, you like being used by men 
don't you?" 

Still silence. 

"You wanted to know why I took you? It's because the 
first time I saw you I thought, now there goes one hot 
little slut I'll bet she fucks like a train." My hands 
continued but this wasn't a gentle teasing, this was an 
all out degrading grope. I pulled her close while 
burying more of my gloved fingers in her wet pussy. 

"I noticed the way you suck whore. You may be a 
parson's daughter but you ain't no choir girl. Now tell 
me, did you get that good playing nurse with the local 
farm boys or did you have an evening job I didn't know 
about?" 

I watched her intently, there still wasn't the reaction 
I'd expected, she cried, she whimpered but she didn't 
fight back. I needed a method to push this further but 
I couldn't think of a suitable way. 

"Say it!" I hissed, "Tell me that you are a cheap 
slut." 

"I-I'm a chea..." 

"This whore!!" 

"This whore..." 

"Sexy slave, say it sexy! I want you to pant in out 
like a bitch in heat! I want you to sound like the 
filthy little tart you really are." I grabbed a huge 
black rubber dildo from the table and waved it in front 
of her startled eyes. 

"Beg me for it slave! Nice and sexy I want you to tell 
me what a worthless whore you are, and how you'll do 
anything to have this up your crack." 

She started, stammering to fit all I'd wanted into the 
sentence, tears in full flow. Disappointed I decided to 
let her finish and snap a few photo's for the 
collection in any case. Now her eye's were adjusted to 
the light she had started to scan the dungeon. Most was 
covered with dust cloths to hide it's true nature all 
except for one corner which I'd been deliberately set 
dressing so it looked more like dungeons in TV shows. 

By that I mean that I'd fastened bits and pieces of 
bondage paraphernalia to the grid work on the wall. 
There were leather masks, gags, hoods, cuffs and 
harnesses all strapped to the wall in a hap hazard 
fashion. Caroline's eyes flickered from one to the 
other deducing each time what they were used for and 
realizing with certainty that they had been bought to 
use on her. Finally her eyes had rested on one harness 
arrangement that I'd bought on the spur of the moment 
just before I'd gone to pick her up. 

I must confess to always liking the idea of girl on 
girl action. One of the contingency's that had worked 
it's way into the "timetable" prior to the kidnapping 
had been the idea of the capture being discovered by 
another girl, perhaps a coworker, and my having to 
overpower and take her too so that she couldn't 
identify me. It was in truth a fantasy, a wet dream, I 
cared too much for life and liberty to have risked a 
casual discovery. Yet the fantasy had been so strong 
that I'd even taken along an extra cuff and gag set 
just in case. It had also caused me to buy this item on 
impulse. 

The owner of the sex shop had called it a "Lezbo 
Harness", simply this is a very long dildo fastened to 
a pair of strap on leather panties. One half of the 
dildo goes in one girl and she uses the second half to 
fuck a friend and all the rocking back and forth brings 
them both off. Lot's of people wouldn't recognize one 
if they saw it, but the strange look on Caroline's face 
told me she knew exactly what it was. I didn't know 
what the story was but I could tell she didn't like it. 
Her concentration was broken and she stammered to a 
halt. 

And in that second I had an inspiration. 

"Pathetic slave," I said forcing my face close to hers, 
" I hope your sister is better." 

"M-my sister?" 

"Yes, Anna isn't it?" I asked coolly, "Quite a well 
developed girl for sixteen. She's obviously a little 
whore as well. When I found out about her I got to 
thinking what a wonderful matched set you two would 
make. Anna looks like a goer, I bought that harness 
today so that I could see just how you two would do 
together. You know sisterly love and all that" 

She looked stunned, shaken, I pressed my advantage. 

"I know where she lives, know where she goes to school. 
Being a farm girl you must know just how quiet the 
country is, how many lonely places she must walk 
through every day. Compared to you she'll be easy. Were 
you comfortable in my trunk? She's got further to 
travel than you have so if you have any suggestions on 
how we can make her more comfortable do speak up." 

Caroline went white, I continued to fondle her. "Just 
imagine how ironic it will be that the first your 
parents will know about your disappearance is when they 
try to tell you that I've kidnapped your sister." I 
smiled and made a dismissive gesture, "You know I think 
you're right, we'll hold off on these photos until Anna 
gets here." I snapped my fingers (not easy when you're 
wearing gloves), "I know, we'll send a couple of prints 
to your mother, a memento to console her in this time 
of loss!" 

By now I was in a really evil frame of mind. "How about 
the two of you bound and gagged to the wall... Better 
yet she's bound and gagged and you are eating out her 
pussy... NO! of course, she's bound and gagged wearing 
the harness, you're kneeling bound and gagged in front 
of her and she's reaming your ass out!" 

I leered at her, "Has to be one for the album. Eh 
slave?" By now her tears where in full flow and through 
the hand I had buried in her pussy I felt her body 
tremble. "NO!" She screamed and kicked me knocking 
herself off balance and teetering on the tall stiletto 
heels. She would have fallen but for the hand I had 
inside her. Sure it was painful, but the hobble was 
still in place and so the kick was no real power. She 
caught her breath almost immediately, a look of horror 
spreading across her face as she realized the enormity 
of what she'd just done. She now knew that I could be 
brutal if pushed and that look told me that she'd 
remembered the incident with the gag that morning. 
"Please... I'... this whore... is sorry." She must have 
seen the anger in my eyes. "Please master... this 
whor..re will obey. Please don't hurt me!" 

I dragged her towards the cell, she hesitated, her 
position was helpless, she couldn't resist and if she 
tried she risked further punishment. Yet part of her 
mind told her hat if she was lead back to that cell she 
would have no way to defuse the situation. She sort of 
half fought as I returned her to the cell and 
reattached the wire to her collar. She begged, pleaded 
and wept as I filled a plastic beaker with water and 
brought it over. She was in full panic offering 
herself, any photo I wanted, anything at all, because 
she said she'd remembered that the penalty for 
attacking me was disfigurement and the incident with 
the gag this morning had convinced her that I would 
carry through. 

Now it was my turn to be shocked. My mind flashed back 
through everything I had told her about Rule 1 and the 
cost of disobedience. I could remember telling her 
something about threatening my safety but by that I'd 
meant trying to escape or seriously hurt me. Knocks and 
kicks I'd expected in the early days which was one of 
the reasons for the hobble. 

Somehow in her terror she'd misunderstood. She was 
heading towards hysteria and I almost considered 
correcting her but then she was rapidly approaching the 
frame of mind I would need for the plan. In the end I 
got her to drink then offered the ball to her. She 
wanted to talk, to plicate while there was still time 
but she also knew the penalty for refusing the gag. 
Terrified she opened her mouth and I gagged her 
fastening the strap a little tighter than was strictly 
necessary to reinforce my "anger". The moment I let go 
she rubbed her gagged mouth against my arm, making 
little noises, begging wordlessly for it's removal. I 
rechecked her bonds and made to leave she continued to 
whine, eyes huge, imploring. 

I looked down on her, "Sleep slave," I said, "Don't 
worry about the punishment, it will come soon enough." 

Then without looking back, I left securing the door 
behind me; and breathing a huge sigh of relief. It had 
taken a lot of effort but finally I had her where I 
needed her. Alone in her cell her mind was already 
magnifying her crime and it's imagined punishments. By 
tomorrow she would be ready. 

I worked on until about ten, mainly doing preparatory 
desktop publishing work upstairs. Like all writers I've 
built up a hoard of unused material against the day 
when tight schedules or the dreaded writers block would 
leave me without copy. The kidnapping had been in the 
planning stages for several months and during that time 
I'd been collecting idea's and information in a similar 
way. I had a collection of things I'd intended to send 
to the Conways to make them believe Caroline was 
elsewhere. 

One of these, a holdout I'd only intended to use if 
they seemed to be going to the police, now had a more 
cunning use that would hopefully ensure that they would 
never know their daughter was missing. Finishing up I 
visited the cell before going to bed. The cameras were 
well hidden and there was some benefit in making her 
believe that I needed to check on her personally . The 
tight gag was giving her trouble so after giving her 
another drink (during which she was warned not to 
speak), I refastened it in a loose hap hazard kind of 
way. Again she rubbed her mouth against me and again I 
refused to ungag her and talk. I left and went to bed. 

**

Next morning I was up bright and early. A quick camera 
check showed her asleep in her cell. During the night 
she'd managed to work the gag off, not a difficult task 
as the ball can be rolled over the lower jaw even when 
the strap is quite tight. Tutting to myself I collected 
the post and answered my Email. 

I headed down to the dungeon. I'd done a lot of 
preparation work already, it's transformation into an 
impromptu photographic studio was almost completed and 
with the exception of some more equipment my primary 
need was for a little attitude adjustment for my 
principle model. 

I paused to collect some things from the cabinet and to 
lower one of the pulleys attached to the ceiling. I'd 
intended this rig to be used for a really big 
punishment and had everything necessary to suspend my 
slave several feet above the ground. For now however 
all I needed to do was keep her uncomfortable. 

She woke with a start as I entered the room. 

"What's the meaning of this slave?" 

"Meaning?" 

She was obviously a little slow in the mornings. I 
waved the ball under her nose. 

"I left you gagged slave, I expect to find you gagged 
when I return is that clear?" 

She nodded silently. 

"I left it loose last night so that you could sleep 
easier and you repay my kindness like this!" 

"It hurt..." 

"I know lots of other things that hurt slave," I said 
menacingly, "As you'll discover later." 

"Master please, I didn't mean to kick you!" 

"I'd thought it over last night and I *WAS* thinking of 
giving you a break..." 

"Oh yes, please master." 

"Then I find you've disobeyed me again." 

She looked downhearted. I was generally pleased, she 
was starting to call me master with none of the self-
conscious hesitation that had troubled her the day 
before. For the time being I was letting up on her use 
of *I* but when *MASTER* became totally natural to her 
I would insist that she call herself *SLAVE* to 
emphasize our relative positions and the name Caroline 
would begin to be wiped from her mind. For the time 
being I gave her a drink then freed her hands. 

"Loose the top," I said. 

For a second or two she seemed confused. Then 
realizing, she slipped her way out of the tight latex 
bustier, letting her breasts swing free. She was about 
to remove the latex stockings but I stopped her. 
Instead I had her tighten the little draw strings in 
the tops that held them up without the garters. I think 
she was in a dilemma, happy to be out of the sweaty 
rubber she had worn for nearly two days but 
apprehensive that her torso was now naked. I had her 
use the toilet then fastened her hands, gagged her and 
lead her into the dungeon. 

I'd left a pile of straps and rods on the table and the 
look on her face told me that she didn't know what they 
were. The look of fear told me that she didn't want to 
find out. Amongst the pile the only obvious things were 
the snap on leather panties, butt plug and vibrator. 

Remembering the day before she gave me no trouble, 
spreading her legs when asked, in return I paid more 
attention to her pussy than was strictly necessary to 
lubricate the vibrator. A couple of snaps later and the 
tight leather panties held both intruders firmly in 
place. The vibration levels where set high enough to 
keep her occupied but not quite enough for her to get 
off. 

Still she had started an involuntary squirming by the 
time I got to the next item. For this I laid her on the 
floor then started by tying one of her ankles to one of 
the rods that formed the strange apparatus. I think at 
first she thought it was a standard spreader bar 
despite its length. She only started to see the truth 
when I tied the other end along her opposing thigh 
rather than the ankle. I roped the end to her leg just 
below the knee then used another line to tie the ankles 
together. It's complicated to explain but in essence I 
had tied her in the standard "kneeling to propose" 
stance. 

One high heeled boot was planted flat on the ground, 
leg rising vertically to the knee which was bent. Along 
the thigh of this leg a rod was tied and its far end 
attached to the other ankle. The other leg rested on 
its knee unbound until the ankle was tied to the rod. A 
cord between vertical ankle and horizontal ankle held 
her legs in a rigid triangle. 

She realized immediately that this was very 
uncomfortable and tried to struggle into a better 
position but of course there wasn't one. I removed 
collar and gag, she knew better than complain guessing 
that this was one of the punishments I'd promised. I 
gathered her hair back into a ponytail to keep it out 
of the way then started fitting her with a head 
harness. First up was the gag, a large dense sponge 
ball attached to a strap. She gave me no trouble, 
opening up as it approached. 

I stuffed the rubber into her open mouth then tightened 
the chin strap, this ball wasn't slipping out. It took 
a while to fit everything but when finished a nest of 
straps covered her head in such a way as to hold the 
ball in her mouth and then clamp her jaw closed around 
it. As an experiment I seized one of her nipples and 
squeezed hard, almost no sound emerged from behind the 
straps though her tear filled eyes where full of pain. 

The harness was obviously too complicated to fit 
quickly but if I ever needed to transport her any 
distance this would keep her quiet enough to hide 
almost anywhere. In addition to the gag the harness had 
several mountings for other things like additional 
blindfolds, but two large buckles at the back were 
designed for attaching to a special posture collar. The 
collar was fitted to a rod which in turn snapped into 
the rod used to secure the legs. Fastening harness to 
collar, and collar to rod held the head firmly in place 
and meant that any tension in the head harness was 
transmitted directly to the rods and not the wearer. 

This was needed because the harness had a suspension 
loop on the top of the head. I attached this to the 
pulley in the ceiling then pulled everything tight. As 
an afterthought I used some spare cord to tie her 
wrists and elbows to the vertical rod then stood back 
and viewed my handiwork. 

She rested fitfully, all her weight on one high heeled 
foot and one knee, tied into a rigid triangle. Her 
gloved arms were pulled back along the supporting rod, 
dragging shoulders back and thrusting naked breasts 
outwards. It was a tight uncomfortable position but 
very little complaint could emerge from her well packed 
mouth. In fact as she stood there and the little beads 
of sweat broke out across her exposed skin the most 
prominent sound came from the vibrator, pressed hard 
against the taught leather panties and using them as a 
sounding board. 

The bondage seemed to have robbed her even of control 
of her internal muscles, for despite the dribble of 
juices that had started down her leg and the tiny 
almost negligible thrusting of her pelvis, the vibrator 
did none of the ins and outs of the day before. 

I left her like that for a few minutes then added the 
blindfold and a pair of earplugs. Alone in her sensory 
deprivation with only the pain for company I left her 
to contemplate the cost of disobedience. 

I busied myself cleaning the cell and changing the 
toilet, once I paused briefly and ran my gloved palm 
over the hard nub of one of her erect nipples. I 
thought I heard a sigh, though her gag was so tight 
that seems unlikely, in any case her fingers flexed 
briefly in response, that being the only movement she 
could make. For a while I just sat and watched her as 
the droplets of sweat rolled over the uncovered portion 
of her torso. 

I became aware of the tiny gasps and moans that escaped 
her mouth, sound that would have been screams and 
groans but for the gag. For I was in no doubt that she 
was in agony, the human body is designed to move and we 
twist and turn even in sleep, to be held so rigidly in 
one position starts out uncomfortable and rapidly 
becomes torture. Almost all of her weight was on one 
heel and one knee, her shoulders pulled painfully back. 
Deaf and dumb, blind and bound her only active senses 
where filled by pain. 

I paused a moment, then went upstairs and called the 
photography shop I'd been referred to the day before, 
placing an order for immediate pickup. Then I started 
into breakfast. Usually I'm a cereal man, the day is 
too short to waste cooking breakfast, but on this 
occasion I started into a full spread including 
pancakes and syrup. As I poured a fresh coffee I was 
for some reason reminded of the "Phantom Bob" episode 
of the day before. 

Puzzled I walked over to the large couch and pulled it 
away from the wall. Here was the spot where Caroline 
had laid during the recording, her position marked by 
the tiny depressions made by her stiletto heels in the 
new carpet. Out of curiosity I put down the cup, picked 
up the remote and lay as she had. I punched in the code 
and closed my eyes using only the sound and feel as a 
guide. The recording was perfect, I lay there until the 
toast started to burn but could find not one thing 
wrong. I got up even more confused yet the truth was 
the truth, she had been given a chance to escape but 
had decided to obey me, her kidnapper, her rapist 
instead. 

I made breakfast, eggs, sausage, bacon, toast with 
pancakes and syrup and a new mug of coffee. Putting 
everything on a tray I headed down to the dungeon. I 
knew that she could smell the food, though of course 
she could give no physical indication in her current 
condition. I busied myself preparing table and chair 
then went over to her. It had been about an hour since 
I'd left her but it was clear that it had been long 
enough. 

I released the pulley then freed her legs but left her 
hands bound to the vertical rod and the head harness in 
place. I helped her up, it took a couple of minutes 
before she could stand unaided, then I led her to the 
table. Still staggering a little and of course still 
blindfolded she needed my help for support and guidance 
her naked torso pressed against mine, and suddenly I 
was hard again. 

When we reached the table I sat down first dragging her 
on to my lap careful to avoid the trailing bar. I 
looked at her. The harness framed her pretty face with 
black leather with only the gag and blindfold intruding 
on her features. Her mouth was clamped firmly around 
the ball, lips wide, frozen in silent exclamation, her 
stifled tears flowed behind the mask of the blindfold 
and ran down the contours of her cheek. Gently I 
reached up and unsnapped the blindfold from it's 
fastenings, she blinked as sight was restored and her 
red eyes fought to focus. 

"Glad you could join me slave," I said courteously. The 
collar prevented head movement so she bent over 
slightly to see the contents of the tray. She said 
something too faint and muffled to make out but then 
her stomach growled so loud it shocked us both. I 
reached up and massaged an exposed breast, she tried to 
pull back but was too restricted. In the end she just 
sat stiffly to attention as I ran my gloved hand over 
her breasts across her tight stomach and down between 
her legs. The vibrator was still hard at it and I could 
feel her ass wiggle in unison with the butt plug so I 
left them in place and instead massaged the inside of 
her thigh. Only the subtle change in her breathing 
betrayed what was going on inside her bound body. 

Satisfied I started into breakfast. I think I'd managed 
my third mouthful by the time she realized the gag was 
staying in and that none of the meal was for her. Still 
tightly bound and gagged there was little she could do 
but sit and watch as I wolfed it down. I deliberately 
ignored her small movements, her only other option was 
to kick me and that is what had got her into this mess 
in the first place. Frustrated she watched me eat until 
only the pancakes were left. I waved a fork full across 
her face just to get her reaction. I deliberately 
didn't finish but instead turned to her. 

"Didn't think I'd forgotten did you slave?" She of 
course had no way to answer. I picked up the little jug 
of syrup and very slowly dribbled some on to her 
exposed breasts. It was cold, she jumped a little, but 
in the end she had two little streams of brown running 
down her chest and over the hard brown buds of her 
nipples. I started to lick it off. 

At first I think she was outraged to be denied food 
then used as a plate. Yet as I pressed on she became 
visibly aroused, closing her eyes and arching her back 
even more than it was already. She was panting and just 
a little flushed when I got the last drop. She was so 
distracted I don't think she saw the blindfold in my 
hand until it was snapped in place. I lead her back to 
the rest of the apparatus and started to reapply it, I 
think she was tempted to struggle but realized it was 
useless. In five minutes she was back on one leg and 
the torture began afresh. 

I went back upstairs then headed to town for my 
supplies. I made a significant purchase, enough to get 
the attention of the manager. We chatted and I fed him 
a line about being a keen amateur wanting to branch out 
into the pro circuit. As I suspected he had connections 
with several local modeling agencies and he kept small 
portfolios so that photographers could choose their 
models. I went through the books picking models that 
could pass for Caroline at varying distances and noting 
their details. 

One girl in particular caught my eye, her name was 
Vicky and with the exception of her hair color she 
matched Caroline in build and looks. I took careful 
notes then collected my supplies and returned home. 


Chapter 5: "The Pearson Shot" 

Caroline was unsurprisingly exactly where I'd left her. 
She had been in the same position for nearly ninety 
minutes and was obviously suffering. I released her 
legs and then carried her back to the cell. Once there 
I stripped off the boots and stockings and gently 
massaged her legs until I was sure she was ok. She was 
still gagged with the harness and her arms were still 
tied to the rod. I went and collected some cotton rope 
and a few other things from the cabinet. On returning I 
replaced the boots locking them back in place with the 
simple fixings attached to the zippers. The stockings I 
left off because to be honest they badly needed 
cleaning. 

I liked Caroline's naked body but gloves and high heels 
make a lot of sense as a slave uniform. For starters 
they stop the bonds chafing wrists and ankles and thus 
make the slave more comfortable. Both are additional 
bonds; high heels make an excellent hobble and the 
gloves reduce the finger's tactile sense and dexterity 
which is always useful. In addition the gloves also 
mean that you don't need to worry about your slave 
leaving fingerprints lying around. If for example I was 
burgled and the police dusted for prints I wouldn't 
have to explain why those of a missing coed were in my 
house. 

And of course they look sexy. 

I used the cord to tie Caroline's legs together making 
tight cuffs of rope around her ankles and above and 
below her knees. In all cases I clinched the cord 
tightly to ensure she couldn't move. Next after 
warnings about talking I removed the harness and 
replaced her collar. She wiggled a bit as I removed the 
earplugs but then waited patiently as I released her 
wrists. She looked up with large doe eyes, the image of 
a disgraced sheepdog. I threw her a large sponge ball. 

"Gag yourself." 

She picked up the ball and looked at it doubtfully. 

"You removed the last one without permission, from now 
on you're responsible for being gagged. You'll put it 
in and you'll ensure it stays there! You have thirty 
seconds or you have another punishment session." 

Argument was useless and she'd been ordered to keep 
quiet. She paused for only a second then did something 
she had never done in her life before, with hands 
trembling she started to cram the hard sponge ball into 
her mouth. It proved to be quite a struggle as the ball 
was the largest I had. Finally however it was firmly in 
place a large phosphorescent yellow mass completely 
filling her mouth. I wondered for a moment if the 
people at Nerf had ever thought of marketing their 
product for this use then I casually tossed her a long 
length of white cotton cloth. 

"Tie it in place, good and tight." With my 
encouragement she placed the cloth band between her 
teeth and pulled it tight. I got her to tighten it 
until her cheeks bulged over the white cotton band and 
the horrid yellow ball was completely covered then I 
had her knot it firmly behind her head. Finally I tied 
her gloved arms as I had her legs and stood back to 
admire the view. 

Call me old fashioned but there is something about a 
girl tied with rope that always reminds me of Saturday 
morning serials. Modern restraints are good, I couldn't 
hope to keep Caroline as secure as I do without them, 
but they lack a certain spontaneity. 

In the old serials the young heroine would stumble on 
the villain's plan and end up tied with rope and gagged 
with a handkerchief struggling on the floor. Rope and 
cloth are common, you could imagine the villain digging 
some up on the spur of the moment but ballgags, cuffs 
and the like aren't the sorts of things you find just 
lying about. So Caroline lay struggling like the 
Republic heroines of a bygone age, the difference being 
that "King of the Rocket Men" was not about to save 
her. 

Rather than fasten the wire to her collar I decided to 
try another device. I stroked her exposed breasts 
listening to the renewed moans from behind her gag. 
When each nipple was good and hard I fastened a little 
clamp on it and tightened it with a small hex wrench. 
Once in place the clamp could only be removed with the 
tool. A chain was attached to the clamps and this I 
fastened to the bed frame. She watched silently the 
message clear, to keep her nipples intact she would 
have to lie quietly on the bed. 

"These are only temporary," I said reassuringly as I 
wiggled the chain. "They'll do until I can have you 
pierced." Her eye's flashed open in shock and a 
startled sound erupted from her gagged mouth. 

"Well, I told you the consequences of attacking me," I 
said, "I'm thinking of a little gold ring for each 
nipple and maybe one for your nose." She shook her head 
and made muffled sounds. For the first time since she 
got here she really struggled against her bonds, but 
the ropes held firm. I ignored her but reached down 
between her legs. "Maybe a couple down here," I said 
slipping my hand inside the panties. She looked 
horrified at the prospect. I smiled sweetly and cranked 
the vibrator up a notch. 

"Have fun!" I said and left bolting the door behind me. 

By now I was sure she was almost ready, she was tired, 
hungry and very frightened. Further she knew that she 
needed to get back in my good books as soon as she 
could if she was to avoid mutilation. I let her stew a 
while longer and prepared a light meal. As I ate I went 
through the list of models I'd compiled. There was 
quite some variety ranging from obvious professionals 
to girls who only worked part time for the local 
agencies spending their days serving behind shop 
counters or in restaurants. 

Vicky, the girl I'd initially selected, had been in 
what the manager had called his "Blue book" which was 
apparently for girls who didn't go through an agency. I 
had mixed feelings about this, on the one hand I wanted 
as little record of our relationship as possible but at 
the same time I needed her to be professional. Too much 
time can be wasted with an inexperienced model. In the 
end I risked it and gave her a call. 

I got her machine meaning she probably had a day job so 
I left the barest details and asked that she call me 
back. Then I pressed on with the plan. I found 
Caroline's makeup box amongst the things I'd taken from 
her apartment. For a girl who sold makeup she had a 
surprisingly limited range. Fortunately Samantha had 
left a lot of things behind when she moved out. An 
assistant editor at Vogue must receive a lot of free 
makeup samples because even the small box she had 
forgotten was packed to the brim with lipsticks, 
blushers and eye makeup. Sam had also left behind one 
of the dresses I'd bought her, a black silky evening 
dress whose only crime was not coming from a major 
designer. I moved them downstairs to the dungeon and 
added some things from the wardrobe. 

Recovering the leather blindfold and the crop I 
returned to the cell and removed the nipple clamps and 
the bindings for her legs. Her nips were still red and 
engorged and obviously very sensitive. I pulled her 
body over mine and placed one hand on her breast as I 
removed the panties. I ran my hand over her nipple and 
made some comment about silver being perhaps a better 
match for her complexion. She lay helpless in my arms 
weakly shaking her head and attempted to speak, her 
eyes large and frightened. 

I looked down at her. "Your choice," I said, "The 
nipples or the photo's." A look of relief spread across 
her face. 

"You must realize slave that in order to account for 
your actions yesterday there will be a penalty to pay. 
We will be taking a lot more photo's than we would have 
had you behaved and they will be a lot more explicit." 
She looked at the floor for a second weighing up her 
alternatives then she looked up and nodded eagerly. 
"You must follow my orders exactly, quickly and the 
best you can understand?" Again the nod. "If I feel 
that you aren't giving me what I want then the deals 
off." She nodded again. " IF I tell you to smile while 
fucking a pig, you'll smile big and bright as if you 
really enjoy it or tomorrow we fit you for a little 
extra jewelry, understand?" Her eyes had bulged a 
little at the mention of a pig, but she still nodded 
with vigorous energy. 

After removing vibrator and buttplug I replaced the 
cloth with her usual ballgag. I did it myself as I 
didn't want to untie her but I made it clear that I 
would still hold her responsible for presence of the 
gag then I fastened a leash to her collar. Reaching 
down I fitted the hobble on her ankles and covered her 
large questioning eyes with the blindfold. Then I led 
her upstairs. Once in the house I took her up to a 
bathroom on the second floor where I removed the 
blindfold, boots and hobble and helped her into the 
bath. 

Near the shower head was a D ring set in the ceiling 
nominally used to hold up a shower rack. With the rack 
removed the true purpose was apparent and I locked her 
leash to it. She watched as I started to undress, 
getting her first real look at my naked body. I'm not a 
big man, certainly not by porn film standards but I'd 
been ignoring this erection for the better part of two 
days. 

Now with the proximity of her helpless naked body it 
came back with a vengeance. Her eyes bulged as it 
slapped against my leg, I tried desperately to imaging 
people gutting fish (an old trick my father told me to 
rapidly get out of the mood). Then I stepped in behind 
her. For the first time in out relationship she was 
wearing more than I was though I think the irony of 
this was lost on her. I turned on the water letting it 
play over her head and down the flanks of her body. 

The light here was better than in the dungeon and I 
could clearly make out last summers bikini line. Almost 
as expected she wasn't radical in her choice of 
swimwear and there were large areas that had never seen 
sunlight. I left her for a moment letting the water do 
its work. Then I picked up a bottle of shampoo and 
started to massage it into her thick mane of blond 
hair. My fingers worked into her scalp in gentle smooth 
caresses.

Years ago when I was a student there had been a barbers 
shop just off campus called Al's. Al had started the 
place back in '46 when he'd finally been let out of the 
army. For thirty years Al's had 2 barbers chairs and 4 
seats in the waiting room and in all that time he'd 
never been overcrowded. Then in the summer of '78 he'd 
taken on a girl called Maria to wash hair for him. 
Maria was some relative from a distant part of Al's 
huge Italian family wanting a little vacation money. 
She also knew the secret of washing hair. She did it 
slow in gentle sweeps punctuated by heavy washing, 
massaging the scalp with long strong sensitive fingers.

For the first time in thirty years Al's had to take 
bookings, with his usual style Al bowed to the 
inevitable and bought another chair in the waiting 
room. Maria proved very popular with the male students 
and was invited to all the best campus parties for the 
rest of the year.

And Caroline, bound and gagged in my bathroom was now 
benefiting from Maria's legacy, eyes closed, she moaned 
softly, as I shampooed her hair. We rinsed, rewashed 
and conditioned, and I began to feel the tension 
leaching from my slaves body. Right now her captivity 
was forgotten, lost in a primal grooming ritual that 
was already hardening her nipples. Then I moved on to 
the rest of her, spreading fragrant shower gel on my 
hands and massaging it into her soft flesh. Her small 
noises and the pattern of her breathing told me of her 
enjoyment as I soaped her firm pert breasts. 

She had been encased in sweaty rubber for the last few 
days and before that was the trip here in my trunk now 
she was enjoying the sensation of being clean again. I 
pulled her closer letting my hands follow the trim 
contours of her athletic body. Suddenly I felt her 
gloved hand slide over my cock and balls. I stiffened, 
thinking this was an attack but instead her strong 
latex covered fingers started to play up and down my 
shaft. I'd clinched her wrists so tightly that her 
hands were effectively one unit. 

If she was playing with the head she was limited to the 
shaft for the other hand but closer to the base she 
teased my balls with deft flicks of her gloved 
fingertips. In response my hands moved down into the 
silky smooth folds of her womanhood, feeling the heat 
building there. She looked up at me with those large 
doe like, need filled eyes, making little noises behind 
her gag, rubbing her wet slippery body against mine. 
Begging for release, begging for.

But from the back of my mind came a little voice 
telling me that she was playing me for a sap, thinking 
she could buy me off with a body I already owned. Soon 
other voices chimed in reminding me that she'd had 
something throbbing away in her holes for the best part 
of a day. Sure she's horny, it said, and we can USE 
than. 

So I pushed her away and continued to rub her down all 
the while trying to imagine people gutting fish. 

As slowly and erotically as I could I dried her and 
powdered her naked body. Styling her hair more 
difficult but in the end I had her rich golden hair 
pinned up high on her head in the elegant slightly 
conservative look that I needed. All this time she gave 
me no trouble and even when I replaced the boots, 
hobble and blindfold she seemed content to let me 
manage her. It was clear she was taking our deal really 
seriously and didn't want to risk screwing it up. 

I lead her back to the dungeon and locked the iron door 
behind me, before attaching the collar to a ceiling 
ring near the table and removing everything but the 
collar. 

I slapped the crop on the table top next to a small 
pile of leather clothing. 

"Put them on slut." 

"Yes Master." She was meek, enthusiastic and willing to 
please, in fact willing to do anything but face the 
alternative. The outfit consisted of a soft leather 
strapless corset and matching briefs, a pair of normal 
patent high heeled pumps, a pair of silk stockings and 
a pair of black leather opera gloves. She seemed almost 
happy as she put them on. She had intended to finish 
with the gloves but I stopped her, hobbled her ankles 
and chained the collar to the table. Next I brought out 
the makeup. 

"Ok slave make yourself pretty." 

She looked confused, "But Master these aren't my 
colors..." 

"They are now. Do it slave or maybe a flogging will 
persuade you?" 

She started, a little hesitantly at first and I had to 
point out what colors to use, but in the end she looked 
radiant confirming everything I had seen in her that 
first day. I had her put on the gloves, she frowned a 
little when she discovered that the top three inches 
seemed stiff but when I tapped the crop she speedily 
put them on. I had to remove the collar before I helped 
her into the black evening gown. She was obviously 
confused wondering just why I would want to dress her 
in this way. Her ankles where still fastened to the 
chair but with the collar gone this was the closest 
she'd been to freedom since I took her. I started to 
change that. 

First up were the cuffs, thin silver bands about an 
inch and a half wide that looked just like the kind of 
bracelets some women wear over long gloves on social 
occasions. These however were the product of a fetish 
jeweler in San Francisco, once closed a special tool 
was needed to remove them. In addition each had a tiny 
D ring set into the underside, though small they could 
support a persons full weight. For the time being I 
fastened them with a cable tie. Next I squeezed the 
tops of the gloves and felt them ratchet down until 
they were tightly gripping her upper arms. 

Each had a small black D ring in it that I joined with 
a thin black wire effectively pinning her arms to her 
side. I added a thin black choker, again from a 
distance a fashion accessory but hiding a thin leather 
collar, the silver clasp really a small strong padlock. 
I freed her wrists then refastened them with more wire. 

Finally she spoke, "You're tying me so that no one can 
tell from a distance." Her voice was flat and calm like 
someone discussing a science experiment. 

I was unfastening her ankles from the chair, "Very good 
slave," I said. 

"No gag?" She asked raising an eyebrow. 

"I don't think it would go with the ensemble, do you?" 

I handed her a small black leather clutch purse, it was 
difficult to hold with her hands bound like that but 
somehow we managed. I positioned her in front of a 
black drape and took my first shots. She looked poised 
and elegant, a young professional woman on her way to a 
show or to a fancy party. She could have been a lawyer, 
a doctor or a young executive. In fact she was a slave 
her bonds invisible to a casual observer. I felt the 
strange little thrill of knowing something others 
don't. The bonds though elaborate were never really 
intended to be used in this way. I've always liked the 
idea of secret bondage in public places. In a year or 
so when Caroline was fully my slave I intended to use 
them to have bondage sex in a box at the Metropolitan 
Opera. For now they were just to remind her of her 
status as my slave . 

When I felt she had started to relax a little I moved 
her in front of one of the covered walls and used a 
thin black wire to secure the back of her collar to a 
strategic ring. Then I freed her arms, took a couple 
more shots then reached back and picked out a bottle of 
Champaign. This was part of a case Sam and I had picked 
up in Paris during the fall fashion shows last year. I 
had intended to use it for the toast at our wedding. 
Now I would use it to Christen my slave. 

I uncorked the bottle (never pop it, that would be 
vulgar) then handed her a Champagne flute. 

I started to fill her glass. 

"Master, what is this for?" 

"For you slave," I said, "To celebrate your capture." 

I could tell that this wasn't a celebration she was 
keen on. 

"I can't," she said. 

"Nonsense, this is your Capture Day party. You get it 
only once a year like your birthday. Play your cards 
right and in future years you'll even get presents" She 
seemed surprised by the mention of presents but the 
idea that it was an annual event rammed home the fact 
that her captivity was permanent. 

"But Master I don't drink." 

"Yes you do," I said lightly. 

"I don't..." she began.

"Slave you really don't get it do you?" I said, "You 
drink, smoke pot, molest little children and fuck 
animals. You'll do what I say, when I say it. What 
Caroline Conway did or didn't do is of no interest to 
me or my slave. Now drink up." 

She drank. I had her smile as seductively as possible 
as she brought the glass to her lips. Click! Had her 
tongue the glass suggestively her bright red lips 
framing the action. Click! 

I had her down two glasses of the Champaign in rapid 
succession knowing that it would hit her empty stomach 
and head straight into her bloodstream. I had her fling 
her skirt around a little, taking a couple of fast 
shots while I waited for the alcohol to take effect. 
Not drunk but with her inhibitions starting to be 
suppressed she was ready to go further. 

I took a couple more, of her holding the purse, of her 
presenting the back of a gloved hand to the camera. 
Then I gave her a second glass. Caroline holding a 
glass to her breast, eyes large, suggestive, she offers 
the other to the camera. Click! I took a couple more 
then offered her the bottle. Caroline refilling a 
glass. Click!. 

From then on I made her go steady, as I didn't want her 
sick or unconscious. Her pupils were large and she'd 
giggle and tell me how nice I was compared with some of 
the maniacs she'd heard of. She even asked if she got 
to choose what her Capture Day presents were. Realizing 
she had no real tolerance for alcohol and was rapidly 
getting very drunk I said nothing and just kept taking 
photos. 

Caroline, high heeled foot up high on a table pulling 
back the skirt to reveal her stocking tops. Click. I 
told her to loose the dress which she managed 
surprisingly quickly. I gave her back the glass and 
took another of her holding it to her leather covered 
breast as a companion piece to the earlier shot. 

Adjusting the lights I pulled away and took a long 
shot. Caroline stood as I told her, with one leg 
slightly bent, patent heels shown to maximum effect, 
then the long majestic line of her silken legs. The 
stockings, a designer pair with a monogrammed patterned 
top, ended in garters about four inches below her 
crotch. From then on up it was all black leather. 

The briefs, a tiny black triangle which would have 
barely covered the thatch of her crotch hair (if she'd 
had any), were so tight that you could easily make out 
the outline of her pussy lips in their shiny surface. 
Yet these were nothing compared with the corset. Tight 
and black it hugged her body like a second skin from 
the bottom where it's garters held up the stockings to 
the top where it's soft underwired cups shoved her 
breasts up but barely covered her nipples. The slick 
black gloves flowed up her arms, leather fingers 
caressing a wine glass with obvious suggestions. Black 
gloved hand raising the glass to those fabulous cherry 
lips. Click! A fetish goddess in all her finery, her 
orientation ill defined, which is how I wanted it. 

I took another couple of quick snaps then tossed her a 
crop. Suddenly she was a leather Dom. I had her flex 
the crop and look menacing, had her slap it against her 
hand, along her thigh. Then I had her ditch it and 
threw her a ballgag, taking a whole series of her 
gagging her own sweet mouth. I was pleased to see that 
the lipstick I'd chosen matched the color of the ball 
exactly. 

More shots of her handcuffing herself and she was 
suddenly a leather-clad slave girl. I had her kneel and 
look up beseechingly feeling all the time the heat in 
my crotch. Keeping her hands cuffed I removed the gag, 
adjusted the tripod down to her level and undid my fly. 
My erection almost slapped her in the face. I had her 
give it a sexy, hungry look then use her talented mouth 
on it while the motor wind kept the shots coming. 
Suddenly I exploded into her mouth. Somehow in the 
ecstasy I'd managed to pull out freezing my erect cock, 
her rapt face and the small trickle of cum down the 
side of her mouth forever on film. 

I gave her the last of the Champagne to wash it down 
then freed her hands. I could tell she was very hot so 
I decided to do something about it. I pressed the top 
of the empty bottle against the tight leather panties 
and wiggled it back and forth a little. She looked at 
me doe eyed, the idea of what I wanted invading her 
drunken mind. She shook her head silently. 

"Fair enough slave," I said, "But in ten minutes you'll 
be tied in that cell and in no position to do anything 
about this." I rubbed her damp pussy through the 
leather pants, she gasped. She looked at me, I nodded 
at a mat on the floor. In the end her needs overcame 
her, she lay, tore off the panties and started; first 
fingering and then at my insistence using the neck of 
the bottle. I wondered what Sam would think of our 
wedding wine being used like this, but it was only a 
passing thought. I kept taking photo's and suggesting 
combinations all the time wishing I had a video camera. 

At length I stopped her, she resisted a little and 
pouted. 

"You promised!" 

"Don't worry slave," I said rolling her onto her 
stomach so that I could strap her hands together, "I'll 
see to you personally!" 

Did I detect a little shiver of anticipation? In any 
case she gave me no more trouble as I bound her arms 
and replaced the ballgag and hobble. She seemed a 
little confused when after snapping some shots of her 
standing I came over and released her hair from the 
pins that held it up. It cascaded in rich golden blond 
curls around her shoulders and its wonderful aroma flew 
up to greet me. If the change of hairstyle confused her 
it was nothing compared to what happened next. Over her 
face but under her hair I fastened a soft leather mask. 
It took some adjustment but once in place the effect 
was outstanding. 

The mask covered her face from the hairline to her 
cheeks in a smooth expanse of black leather leaving 
only the area around her mouth and her large expressive 
eyes uncovered. Framed by the canopy of her blond hair 
and matching the rest of her leather ensemble it 
transformed Caroline into a sexy bondage mystery model. 
She seemed a little surprised but gave me no trouble as 
we reproduced some of the earlier shots with a small 
handheld camera. I finished off with one of Caroline on 
her back, the wine bottle cruelly inserted in her 
sopping pussy. 

Then as I promised I took her, pounding away at her 
soft flesh, driving deeper into her hot pussy to the 
accompaniment of her husky moans and the squeak of 
leather. Unlike last time she was desperate and almost 
willing. There was no suggestion of a struggle and I 
knew this time she would not argue, in as much as a 
slave can consent to anything this was consensual. 

Sam had always liked to be on top claiming that it gave 
her more sensation. I didn't like it that much but it 
did seem to do something for her. Now I changed our 
relative positions lying on my back and positioning her 
on top. Her arms were bound but she had strong legs and 
arching her back she came down on me again and again 
screaming into the gag with every thrust. I knew I was 
close but she had been a good girl who though she 
didn't know it yet had just delivered her sweet ass 
into my hands. I felt I owed her something. 

So the images of fish gutting returned holding off my 
final explosion just a little longer, allowing her to 
cum in a climax so violent that her bonds struggled to 
contained it, and her gag barely muffled it. When we 
had finished she tried to say something behind the gag 
then almost immediately fell fast asleep as if only the 
sexual frustration had kept her conscious. I gently 
removed the gag and replaced her own collar. Then I 
carried her sleeping form back to the cell and 
reattached the wire. She looked so content as she lay 
there newly washed blond hair framing her masked face 
that something gripped me and I found myself kissing 
those soft lips in a moment of weakness that could only 
be the wine. 

The warm after sex glow consumed me and suddenly I 
wanted to sleep. Yet somehow I managed to fight it 
because I had to know how the photo's had come out. 
Brewing up enough coffee to keep half of Colombia awake 
I started in the darkroom. 

The pictures were good. Most had been posed to match 
the desktop publishing work I'd already done and as a 
result to my critical eye lacked a certain spontaneity. 
These I left to dry as I worked on the other prints. 
Part way through I stopped and went upstairs for more 
coffee and to microwave a snack. Whilst I was waiting I 
scanned one of the masked Caroline photo's. Part one of 
the plan went into effect. Firing up the computer I 
used a free trial account from a well known commercial 
service to telnet a university computer in Scotland. I 
then used a bug in the old copy of VMS it ran to give 
me super-user privileges. 

The machine was one of the primary internet routers for 
northern Europe and it proved easy to fake a message 
that would appear to come from Caroline's university 
account. I posted the picture to an internet sex group 
via an anonymous server. Next I sent a covering message 
telling those interested that my name was Elizabeth 
(Caroline's middle name) and my interests included 
kinky clothes and bondage. I was new to the internet I 
said, and wasn't sure if this would work but if it did 
more would follow. 

I also hinted that Elizabeth would be willing to pose 
for money and had photosets for sale. It took a while 
to clean up the various security logs and shut down but 
it was worth it. Anyone looking into Caroline's 
disappearance would have to conclude that she was 
really desperate for money and would do almost anything 
to get it. 

It was early the next morning before I found what I 
wanted. The photo at first sight looked like any of the 
others I'd taken. Caroline looked out at me, her eyes 
filled with a mixture of despair and great need. A 
silent solitary tear streamed down her smooth cheek 
towards her stoppered mouth which almost blended 
perfectly with its color coordinated ballgag. Her full, 
shiny, red lips wrapped around the ball and the black 
leather strap cut into the corners of her mouth. She 
had been bent at such an angle that her nipples peeped 
slightly over the soft leather cups and the straps 
binding her arms helplessly behind her were just 
visible. 

I looked at the eyes again and saw the beginnings of an 
acceptance of her fate. This I knew was the one. It 
would never grace the cover of Vogue and would remain 
forever on the wall of the dungeon, but though unseen 
it's quality and life marked it apart. There could be 
no doubt, this was the Pearson Shot. 


Chapter 6: "Paper Chains" 

When the alarm went off the next morning I felt 
compelled to get "medieval with it's ass". Yesterday 
had been too long, my physical and mental exertions 
with Caroline too intense (and the wine too potent) for 
me to get up just yet. So I drifted in that strange 
twilight between sleep and reality and started to 
dream... 

I woke with a start, cold but sweating. Scared, 
confused, I had the weird feeling that I'd just had a 
bad dream,. Since childhood I'd been unable to remember 
my dreams, even the nightmares. I racked my brain but 
it was gone, leaving a creepy feeling behind. My 
shaking hand found the remote and turned on the TV. I 
punched up Caroline's cell my half conscious mind 
afraid of what I might find there. Much to my relief 
she was as I had left her. She was still dressed in the 
leather lingerie, still masked with her hands strapped 
behind her. I watch uneasily, looking for an indication 
that something might be wrong but she slept deeply even 
snoring a little and after a few minutes I accepted 
that she was OK. 

I did a quick personal audit. I was thirsty, the taste 
in my mouth and the suggestion of a headache convinced 
me that I'd had far too much wine. I stumbled to the 
bathroom and stuck my head under the cold tap for a 
full minute. After the first thirty seconds I even 
remembered to turn it on. 

I've never been an excessive drinker, I am what is best 
described as a "depressed drunk" beyond a certain point 
I'm no longer having fun. Still I'd never had the 
shakes before, and though I could rationalize the 
incident as a combination of bad booze and bad 
conscience it had left me with an uneasy feeling that I 
was missing something important.   

I popped an aspirin and a couple of vitamin pills. 
Before taking a particularly long shower. I dressed and 
though still a little woolly remembered to get 
Caroline's pills from the bathroom before heading 
downstairs. I wrapped the pills in tissue paper and 
placed them in my pocket. Then I padded into the 
kitchen and started making breakfast. While I was 
waiting for the coffee I punched up Caroline's cell 
again. She lay on her side, her mouth slightly open and 
she was drooling a little as she slept. It looked as if 
I wasn't the only one who would wake up with a 
headache. 

I watched her as she slept. Just last week she had been 
struggling to make enough money to save her apartment. 
Now she was dressed like a whore, tied up in some guy's 
basement. I wondered what her dreams were like? One 
thing was clear, the "honeymoon" was over, the breaking 
of Caroline was about to begin. 

So far it had been a promising start. After three days 
of captivity Caroline seemed to be adjusting well. I 
was especially pleased with her obedience. Not only was 
she less trouble than I expected but it seemed to take 
a lot to make her disobey me. She was learning very 
fast, her use of the words MASTER and SLAVE was far 
beyond what I expected at this stage and the adjusting 
of her sentences to avoid the personal pronoun was well 
underway. 

As a cock slut she was exceptional, and though I could 
take no credit for her technique I was more than happy 
with her obedience and enthusiasm. Now I needed to push 
things further, towards my goal of a completely 
submissive and obedient slave. Although I wanted to 
accelerate matters, I wouldn't take things too fast. I 
still needed to watch her despair as I robbed her of 
her identity and destroyed her independence. The first 
part of the great game was now ready. 

The first step was to destroy that one tiny flicker of 
hope, the possibility of rescue and to make things even 
better she would help me! 

Sipping my first coffee of the day and with breakfast 
well underway I headed downstairs. Slipping into the 
darkroom I recovered the photos. I'd had rather more 
wine than I'd intended and though I hadn't been drunk I 
was a little concerned that I'd processed the films 
before I had a clear head. I'd half expected to find 
everything ruined but in fact I'd done a pretty good 
job. Photos of Caroline hung from all of my drying 
lines. Caroline as young professional on her night out, 
Caroline as slut, Caroline as sexy mistress, Caroline 
as leather slave... 

I selected the best ones then went back upstairs. A 
quick look at the cell showed her still asleep so after 
checking the progress of the toast I went to my office. 
Probably the best part of computer journalism is the 
access to new and interesting equipment. Manufacturers 
are well aware that the endorsement of a well known 
columnist can boost sales significantly. One of my 
editors has eight computers at home only one of which 
he actually paid for (and that was at a substantial 
discount). Over the years my stated interest in 
graphics had resulted in a variety of equipment, most 
of it state of the art at the time. My current scanner 
is on long term loan from a major Japanese company. 

A 48bit color drum scanner with a clever sheetfeed 
mechanism and a ten thousand dollar price tag. It was 
intended for publishing and photo process houses but it 
was also perfect for my needs. I loaded the pictures 
into the sheetfeed and setup the computer to dump each 
successive scan into a working directory on my network. 
I hit start and the machine sprang to life weaving the 
invisible chains that would tie Caroline to me forever. 

I took breakfast in my office surrounded by the 
material from Caroline's box. For now I set the diaries 
aside and concentrated on her recent mail and the 
letters she'd stuck to her refrigerator door. Almost 
immediately I got a real find, an unposted begging 
letter home to mommy. No real news just brief and to 
the point "wire money or I'll be evicted." 

The writing was very neat especially considering the 
difficulty of the subject. As a hunch I sifted through 
the box looking for the pad and envelopes that matched 
the letter. Opening the pad I found I'd hit pay dirt. 
Caroline seemed to work by writing a rough draft first 
then copying the final version out neatly. She left the 
originals in the pad, giving me names addresses and a 
basic understanding of her writing style. 

Just then I saw a slight movement on the monitor. I 
realized she would be awake soon. I'd been deliberately 
keeping her hungry since the kicking incident, still 
she'd been a good girl in the photo session last night 
so I figured I owed her breakfast. 

Returning to the kitchen I started into making a 
smaller version of what I'd just eaten all the time 
watching the monitor. The food was almost finished when 
I started to see the first real signs of life from my 
slave. I went to the closet and pulled out a couple of 
those Styrofoam coolers you get at gas stations. I've 
often wondered why it is that no matter how much you 
spend on a cooler you always forget it when you really 
need one. I must have five or six of the disposable 
kind which I keep sitting around "just in case" and yet 
I always forget them too. However for once they were 
proving useful as I loaded foil covered plates into 
them. I made a flask of strong, sweet coffee then 
headed into the dungeon. 

The room was still decked out as a photographic studio. 
Drapes covered the furniture and the rings and other 
restraining points on the walls were covered by blue 
shower curtains. Soon I'd have to rip it all down but 
first... 

I poured some sweet coffee from the thermos into a 
plastic cup and headed for the cell. Caroline was awake 
and trying to swing her legs over the end of the bed. 
Her groans told me that the hangover was just starting. 
I put the cup down and helped her upright. 

"Feeling a little fragile?" I asked. 

"Urggg," She said, which seemed quite apt at the time. 

I put the coffee cup to her lips and she drank 
greedily. I stopped short of letting her finish it all 
and set the cup aside. 

With some effort, as her legs were a little unsteady, I 
helped her over to the toilet. On the way we passed the 
mirror (not glass obviously) that I'd screwed to the 
wall. She caught sight of her masked reflection and 
paused for a moment as if mesmerized. I looked but 
could not see what fascinated her, in the end a slap on 
her bare buttocks persuaded her to hurry along. 

There is a certain humiliation value associated with 
watching someone use the toilet. She squatted over the 
pan really wanting me to go away. I just smiled sweetly 
and watched what she was doing with great intensity. 
Worse was to come as she couldn't clean herself with 
her hands still bound. Though ungagged she had some 
difficulty asking for my help. While she figured it out 
I retrieved the coffee and took the pills out of my 
pocket. I didn't let her see them until they were under 
her nose. 

"Take these." 

"W...what are they?" 

"What are they MASTER!" I corrected, "In answer to your 
question, they are aspirin for the headache." 

She seemed unconvinced. 

"Look slave if I wanted to poison or drug you I could 
do it anytime. Now, do you want them or not?" 

She opened her mouth and I popped them inside using the 
remainder of the coffee to wash them down. It was only 
a little lie, one was an aspirin, the other was a 
contraceptive pill, one of which would form part of her 
daily diet from now on. Then while she was still 
thinking how to ask, I stripped off a glove, bent her 
over and cleaned her up. 

She blushed as we reentered the "studio", memories of 
last night still obviously fresh in her mind. I had her 
sit on one of the covered tables as I replaced her 
shoes with her usual high heeled boots. A butterfly 
vibrator held in place by a pair of snap on panties (to 
wake her up a little quicker) and she was almost ready 
to start the day. 

I pulled her head forward so that I could get at the 
buckle of the leather mask and found her strangely 
resistive. 

"Please master..." 

"You like the mask slave?" 

She nodded and looked down avoiding my eyes. 

"Why slave?" I asked genuinely puzzled. 

She remained silent kicking her heels against the leg 
of the table like a shy schoolgirl. 

"Answer slave!" I said pressing on her crotch and 
increasing the butterfly's stimulation of her bare 
clit. She gasped and shuddered a little. 

"Please master... It makes me...feel sexy." She seem 
embarrassed I was sure that there was a blush hiding 
behind that mask. 

"Not good enough slave, but I'll do you a deal. You can 
keep it IF you can give me a good psychological 
analysis of why you need it." 

Her shocked eyes peered out from behind the soft 
leather. 

"Well slave? You were a psych major, you should be able 
to give me a good technical answer." Her eyes filled 
with conflicting emotions, her mouth worked silently. 
She wasn't an accomplished liar, I'm sure I would have 
come up with some bullshit in her position and it was 
obvious that the anonymity the mask offered some 
attraction to her, perhaps a way that Caroline the 
reverend's daughter could distance herself from the 
slut I was turning her into. Yet I also felt, as I 
watched the struggle behind those pretty blue eyes, 
that this was an ancient demon she was fighting, not 
one that had surfaced in the past few days, traumatic 
as they were. In the end she didn't speak so I removed 
the mask and pulled her over to a chair. 

I retrieved some rope and a collection of other bondage 
bits from the cabinet and returned. quickly retying her 
wrists and body to the chair frame. I increased the 
number of ropes until I had what I needed. Caroline the 
Republic heroine was back, though in far kinkier 
underwear than was usual in the thirties. Bound to a 
chair in the villains hideout she struggles against her 
tight bonds. Of course some things had to go. Her 
collar and the remaining bondage jewelry was replaced 
by a simple costume necklace and earring set that were 
more in period. Reloading the camera and quickly 
positioning the lights I started to snap away. 

The first couple of shots I had her smile at the camera 
as I took her from several different angles. She looked 
great. Her blond hair fell on her naked shoulders and 
framed her face. Her arms were visible, bound to her 
sides by rope wrapped tightly around her body and the 
back of the chair. Her wrists were bound with cord to 
the chair's underframe leaving her gloved hands in 
plain view. One set of ropes pushed her tits up firmly 
against the cups of the leather corset. Her long legs 
had to be pulled back quite a way so that I could tie 
her booted ankles to the legs of the chair. This 
exposed the creamy white surface of her uncovered 
thighs framed as they were by the stocking tops and 
leather garters. This also seemed to push the butterfly 
harder into her clit for after a few minutes her eyes 
rolled back and she groaned loudly. 

I gagged her, brain and heart in bitter conflict. I had 
originally intended to just tie a cloth loosely over 
her mouth in the unconvincing way seen in many films. 
Yet my master's pride couldn't bear the idea of a photo 
of a slave of mine with such an obvious fake. So in the 
end I compromised. I stuffed a sponge ball into her 
mouth and duct taped it firmly in place. I used the 
white tape (I have every color) and after tying the 
cloth tightly over the tape it was impossible to see. I 
took my shots. Caroline still looked like a Republic 
heroine, gagged in a stupid movie way but when I looked 
at the photos I would know that she had been firmly 
silenced up to my usual standards. 

Next I untied her from the chair and removed the boots. 
I tied her arms and legs as I had the day before, 
clinched rope around ankles and knees with a matching 
set for wrist and elbows. I wrapped some more rope 
above and bellow her leather covered tits to bind her 
arms behind her before removing the gag. I'd found 
before that kneeling she was at a perfect height to 
service my engorged cock which was by now pressing 
painfully against my leather pants. Without saying a 
word I unzipped my fly and shoved my dick into her 
face. 

In three days Caroline had already accepted her role as 
my cockslut, no other commands were necessary. She 
licked and sucked, teased and tormented as I started 
knotting the length of cloth. When I seized her head 
she finished me off, deepthroating and sucking with the 
same wonderful mind numbing intensity she had shown the 
first time. One thing seemed clear, one day I had to 
find the guy who taught her this trick and thank him 
personally. I came and came, noticing in a strange 
detached way that she swallowed every drop. Sam, though 
she gave great head, would always spit it out 
afterwards which had left me feeling dirty and awkward. 
Caroline swallowed it greedily and I realized that my 
cum was the closest thing Caroline had to a meal in the 
past few days. 

Pushing her head back I forced the knotted part of the 
cloth into her open mouth using the tail ends to tie it 
tightly in place. Then I ordered her to smile, hard 
with her mouth gagged so tightly but not impossible. I 
took smiling shots of her kneeling and sitting down 
then I had her struggle in as many differing positions 
as I could think of. I finished off the film with her 
screaming into the gag, her face contorted and mouth 
straining against the cloth muzzle. She was left 
panting on the floor, I waited until she had recovered 
her breath and then picked her up and took her to the 
table. 

I sat her down and she waited quietly, bound legs 
tucked gracefully under the seat of the chair while I 
unpacked the food. I sat her on my knee as I had the 
day before but this time I pulled the gag from her 
mouth and started to feed her by hand as you would a 
favorite pet. This was probably not lost on her, but by 
now she was so hungry that she would accept even this 
indignity. 

We finished with pancakes and syrup which she seemed to 
really enjoy After the pancakes I had her lick the 
syrup from my gloved fingers Then I picked up the gag 
and forced the knots back behind her teeth, before 
tightening the knot behind her head. She gave me her 
"Bambi in the headlights" look and chewed on the gag as 
she tried to say something. I smiled then pulled her 
tits free of the restraining leather. 

As before I spread a little syrup in her nipples and 
began to lick and suck it off. She moaned and more 
muffled sound emerged from her gagged mouth though it 
was unclear if she wanted me to stop or wanted more. 
Her nips however had no doubts, standing out hard and 
firm as my tongue danced over them. It was time to up 
the stimulation a little so I started to press the 
butterfly against her clit feeling her body stiffen and 
tremble. 

More unintelligible sounds erupted and she started to 
rub her gagged mouth against me as she had done the day 
before. Without breaking my rhythm I reached up and 
pulled the knot free. For a few seconds she just gasped 
and then she panted out, "Please!"

I stopped and looked up, her face was flushed, her 
breath came in sort pants. She was attempting to avoid 
my gaze but I brought my fingers to her chin and eased 
her head back until her eyes met mine. 

"Please what," I asked, "Please stop, please continue, 
what?" She didn't say anything. Every other time I'd 
fucked her she'd been gagged and all I'd ever heard was 
her muffled cries. This time I meant to know if they 
were of agony or ecstasy. 

Her eyes were full of doubt and some strange kind of 
fear but above all need. That need shone out from 
behind those embarrassed blue eyes and finally her 
mouth echoed them "P-Please fuck me master! ... The... 
this whore needs to be fucked!" 

I smiled, now I had my answer but I intended to play a 
while longer. I bent down and licked again, enough to 
ensure she was kept on the brink but no more. 

"Please master..." 

"Want to cum slave?" 

She nodded silently, I pressed the butterfly a little 
harder smiling at her startled gasp. 

"Well slave if you want it you're going to have to do 
something for me." 

She glanced down at my crotch, it was obvious from her 
expression that she felt she'd done enough already, 
that the blow job was payment for bringing her off. I 
just smiled. 

The idea had formed in an instant. If she wanted this 
orgasm, and I could tell that she did, I wanted 
something personal in exchange. I wanted her first 
sexual encounter to be described in graphic and lurid 
detail. I would link that first time, good bad or 
indifferent, with her begging her kidnapper to fuck 
her. This was an act of violation as real as anything 
physical I could do to her. My mouth watered with 
anticipation. 

"I'm going to ask you a few questions slave. Answer 
them for me and I'll see you right." She looked into my 
eyes. By now she was panting she was so close, she just 
nodded and looked away. 	"How old were you when you had 
your first fuck." She hesitated, I had no way to verify 
her answers but I was betting that she would have 
difficulty lying effectively while she was this turned 
on. I began to stroke her, upping the general tactile 
stimulus while keeping her erogenous zones as they 
were. My hand moved quickly over the leather of her 
panties and came to rest on the inside of her thigh 
which I gently caressed. 

"S-sixteen," she panted. I let my hand stray a little 
closer to the buzzing butterfly. 

"Did you have an orgasm?" She shook her head and 
moaned. Right now all she wanted to do was cum. Still 
this was interesting information. She was almost 
nineteen now, so the next question was obvious. 

"How many orgasms have you had slave, approximately?" 

To be honest I really didn't want to know the answer. I 
suppose I saw this as just another embarrassing 
question, a stepping stone before I forced from her the 
story of her first clumsy fling with some farm boy. So 
when she answered it came as quite a shock. 

"F-four or five," She gasped. 

That was low, I'd expected at least a dozen in nearly 
three years and there was always masturbation. 

"How many did you have before you came here?" The 
question popped out without me thinking about it. I had 
also started to unconsciously fondle her again and she 
was now very close. "Twice..." She shuddered as she 
said it, drawing her breath in explosive bursts. 

"Who was your first," I demanded realizing that I 
didn't have a lot of time. 

She stammered, gasped and trembled. 

"You will tell me slave!" 

She didn't answer so I reduced the stimulus. She felt 
the wave of the orgasm dying. "Please..." 

"I need an answer cunt," I said viciously. "No answer 
and I know a horny little slut who's going to be very 
disappointed." 

Her hips moved up suddenly as she tried to brush her 
crotch against my departing fingers. She whimpered and 
pleaded but the orgasm died. I made it clear that all I 
needed was a name. In her position I would have lied 
but she just sat there and cried. In the end I got fed 
up of the noise and gagged her, refastened her collar 
and went to the wardrobe. 

As much I liked Caroline in strict bondage, I had 
always known that I couldn't keep her like that 
forever. She would need at least some freedom of 
movement if she was to stay healthy. This left me with 
a problem not so much of security (locked in a 
soundproof cell she was equally helpless bound or not) 
but of ownership. She was mine, mind and body. Bound as 
she had been the past few days Caroline hadn't really 
had much chance to fuck herself. Now I intended to 
enforce my ownership of her sex with leather and steel. 

Chastity belts are usually large clumsy things with 
huge menacing locks and countless straps. Part of this 
is for effect, like having a large heavy door, and part 
of it is the "one size fits all" mentality of the ready 
to wear suit. 

By contrast Caroline's device was made to measure. It 
essence it was really a pair of heavy gauge leather 
panties that was fastened to the waist with a narrow 
leather belt. The sections of leather near the base of 
the hips had been modified so that a drawstring would 
pull them tight around the wearer's thighs in a similar 
way to plastic diapers. A formed plastic section rested 
on the hips and made a dome over the wearer's pubic 
area so that the victim could not bring herself off by 
rubbing the panties against herself. 

As an extra touch the designer had covered the plastic 
former with the same leather as the rest of the pants 
and had added an indentation that suggested pussy lips. 

Once on they looked like a large pair of leather briefs 
pulled tight over a woman's hole. The victim however 
could not gain access to her clit for stimulation and 
as an added bonus a thin brush attached to the indent 
on the inside would prove maddening as it teased the 
clit just enough to keep the victim frustrated. There 
was a stiff matching corset which of course denighed 
access to the breasts. Once on it looked like a soft 
corset with the woman's nips pressed hard against the 
leather but as with the pants the "nipples" were parts 
of a plastic former used to isolate the breasts. 

I fastened her collar to one of the vertical chains and 
had her strip to her gloves and heels. I had to slap 
her with the crop a few times as her hands drifted 
downwards. She removed the butterfly like she was 
loosing an old friend. I was tightening the second 
drawstring when she realized what was going on but by 
then it was too late. The belt snapped firmly in place 
around her waist and it was over. 

I left her for a few moments watching her deft leather 
covered fingers as they probed poked and shoved but it 
was to no avail. She soon found that she could not move 
the former and the drawstrings at her thighs prevented 
her from working her fingers between the plastic and 
her body. I decided that the design was quite 
successful though it was still obvious that the former 
was not her real mound. Still now that I had her I 
could make the necessary measurements to get even 
tighter ones made. The designer had even provided 
instructions for making casts of the necessary areas. 

By now Caroline had realized that it was futile. She 
gave a strangled, frustrated moan behind her gag, 
stamped her booted foot and then turned to look at me 
accusingly. 

"When you are prepared to tell me what I want to know 
I'll see that you'll be all right." 

Surprisingly she gave me no trouble with the corset and 
once it was locked in place and it's garters attached 
to her stockings I stepped back and looked at her. In 
truth she looked not much different that she had 
before, she was still the leather angel of my 
fantasies. Yet I had now taken ownership of her tits 
and cunt. She was a sexless neuter without me and any 
sexual pleasure she would feel from now on would be by 
my command. 

While she was mourning I threw her the cuffs. 

"Put them on slave," I said, "It's time to put you 
away." 

She complied, what else could she do? I also had her 
change the cloth for a leather pad gag to match the 
outfit. Then I attached her right wrist to the belt of 
the chastity pants but kept her left hand free. 

I took her to the cell and refastened her collar, 
hobbled her legs and locked the gag in place. Her left 
hand still rubbed mournfully at the smooth carapace 
covering her crotch so I decided to give it something 
to do. 

I went to the cupboard and removed some books before 
returning to the cell. I threw one to her. It was a 
spiral bound group of papers I had culled from the 
internet and extensively edited. I called it the 
"Slaves Handbook" and it detailed general concepts and 
the duties of a slave. On the cover were the words, 
"This material will be tested and wrong answers 
punished." She saw this and looked doe eyed at me. 

"I expect you to know all of it, understand?" 

She nodded. 

"If you have time read this." I threw her a copy of 
"The Joy of Sex". 

She tried to say something. 

"Read it! You are a sex slave now. All I want you for, 
all you need to be good at is in these two books. Your 
life is in these pages so read them real carefully. 
Otherwise I may have to replace you." I stuck enough 
menace in those words to convince her just what 
replacement would mean. 

I closed the door and heard the faint sound of 
something impacting against it. I made a mental note 
for later then went upstairs. 

When I returned to my office the scanner had almost 
finished. A series of messages in the window of my 
graphics workstation indicated that the first few 
pictures had been analyzed. I pulled up the first, a 
picture of Caroline standing demurely in her evening 
gown, and started to work. 

Graphic manipulation is hard and time consuming even 
with the best conventional software. Fortunately over 
the past year and with Andy's suggestions I'd been 
helping to develop a revolutionary program. 

Raytracing in the technique used in computer graphics 
to make computer generated images appear real by adding 
highlights, shading and shadows to an object as if it 
was really 3D. Inside a computer program you position 
your computer generated objects and a set of virtual 
lights. The computer then works out how the object will 
look to a virtual camera, where the shading and shadows 
and reflections will be. Once all of this is worked out 
the image is generated sometimes with unbelievable 
realism. 

What my program did was the same in reverse, given an 
image it works out the positions characteristics and 
relative magnitudes of the light sources that lit the 
original object. This lighting map can then be applied 
to another image, overriding the lighting conditions 
that were present when it was recorded. This allows 
multiple images to be assembled and appear to be lit by 
the same sources. 

In this case I removed the background of the dustsheets 
from behind Caroline and transplanted her to another 
background that I'd already scanned and analyzed. Then 
the computer went to work, matching the lighting of 
Caroline's picture with that of the new background. It 
added shadows, highlights and reflections to both parts 
until it appeared that she belonged in the other 
picture.

The technique isn't perfect, the composite image still 
needs a lot of manual adjustment to appear totally 
realistic and I didn't have the time for that now. 
Fortunately even the simple run through looks 
wonderfully effective and that was all I needed. 
Caroline stood on a damp, well lit street after 
nightfall. She smiled at the camera, the streetlights 
glinting from her jewelry and her heels reflecting in 
the puddles on the sidewalk.

I worked all afternoon assembling images and pasting 
them into a document I'd prepared earlier. I rolled 
between computers on my office chair checking first 
one, then the other, then Caroline with mechanical 
precision. When I'd left she had initially thrown the 
books at the door in a sudden act of renewed spirit. 
Finally though after trying desperately to get at her 
covered crotch, boredom overtook her and she started to 
read. Every couple of hours I looked in on her, partly 
so that she could drink but mainly because the chastity 
pants stopped her from going to the toilet without my 
help. 

Around five the last document finished printing and I 
was ready. I put my work into a folder along with other 
papers, collected a snack from the kitchen and headed 
downstairs. 

After setting up the table I freed her and lead her 
into the dungeon. I fastened collar to table, and 
strapped ankles and butt to the chair. Then I removed 
her gloves, this was one time I wanted fingerprints. 
Finally I removed the gag, but as always I left it 
dangling around her neck. 

"I thought we should talk," I said sitting across the 
table from her. I pushed over a diet coke, "I know you 
have questions about your new life here and I really 
haven't given you any answers." She gulped down a huge 
swallow of coke, which seemed to restore her 
confidence. 

"Who are you? Why have you brought me here?" She asked 
her voice high and anxious. 

I rolled my eyes, back over the same old ground. "I am 
your MASTER, I have selected you to be my sex slave. 
Your principle job is to obey me completely and to give 
sexual pleasure to me and to any others I indicate. 
I've told you this before." I knew what the next 
question was so I cut her off. "As to why I chose you, 
that is my concern." 

"Now that we have covered all your old questions AGAIN, 
is there anything else you want to ask?" 

"How long do you intend to keep me here?" 

"Until you bore me. Then I'll replace you with a new 
girl." A frightened look spread over her face. 

"You aren't the first," I lied, "And you are certainly 
not the last. The longer you please me, the longer you 
stay alive and the longer your replacement keeps her 
liberty." 

"How long?" She asked her eyes large and frightened. 

"The current record is five years," I said smoothly, 
"But she was exceptionally obedient. Those who refuse 
training usually don't last a month." I could see her 
absorbing the information. "In the end I grew quite 
attached to her, when the time came I sold her to a 
friend rather than do anything unpleasant." I smiled at 
her, "There is always a place for a good obedient 
slave, the difficult ones bring the inevitable on 
themselves." 

I looked into her eyes, "I wonder what type you'll be?" 

"Please master..." her questions were now ended. All 
the horrors that had been forming in her mind as she 
lay, bound and alone in her cell had now be confirmed. 
What more was there to say? 	"Now I have a question for 
you slave," I said noting the renewed tension in her 
shoulder muscles. "A couple of days ago when my friend 
Bob came over and I hid you behind the couch, why 
didn't you try to scream to him?" 

"I was gagged..." 

"But you must have realized that he could still hear 
you that close by." 

She swallowed. "He was in on it with you," she cried, 
"You had plenty of time to move me away I figured you 
wouldn't risk him finding me if he didn't already know. 
You wanted me to disobey you so you could punish me!" 

It was a good reasoned argument. With all the ease I'd 
had until now I'd forgotten that I was dealing with a 
college undergraduate and not a simple farm girl. She 
was bright all right but I was better. An evil thought 
came to me. 

"You were half right slave," I said, "Bob wouldn't have 
freed you but he isn't part of all this. You see I told 
old Bob that my latest girlfriend is kinky, into 
bondage and the like, just in case he discovered your 
presence. If you had screamed I'd have just introduced 
you to him and let him go on his way. He'd think it odd 
but he wouldn't think that you were being held against 
your will." 

I smiled as a sudden look of realization spread across 
her face. I could even guess what she was thinking. If 
"Bob" had seen her then maybe he would have recognized 
her from a missing persons report. "Phantom Bob" had 
just sporned a "Phantom Opportunity" for rescue that 
she had failed to take.

I waited until the look of despair had started to 
subside. 

"Don't knock yourself," I smiled, "You didn't know and 
besides no one knows you're missing so he wouldn't have 
recognized you anyway." 

"Someone will know," She said looking me defiantly in 
the face, that look of hope in her eye. "Sooner or 
later I will be reported missing and..." 

"And nothing," I cut in. "Thousands of people go 
missing every year, far more than can be put down to 
foul play. There are people running from the law, from 
creditors, bad marriages. That's the beauty of a 
country this size, it's easy to get lost in. Most 
missing people turn up in the first few weeks, the 
police probably won't look at your case for a month. 
Then I'm sure that there are a lot of college and bank 
loans outstanding, a lot of moneys owed?" I could see 
from her face that there were. "The police don't look 
for people who want to go missing and the evidence is 
that you ran away." 

The light in her eyes still shone a little. Now it was 
time to extinguish it for good. "All we have to do to 
make sure is give them a good reason for you to leave 
town. I have one right here." 

I opened the folder, took out her pen, paper and 
envelopes and a piece of laser-printed paper. 

"This is the text of a letter I will send to your 
mother. You will copy it onto the writing paper EXACTLY 
as it is written. I have enough samples of your hand 
writing to recognize if you try anything stupid." 

I watched as she read the text. It was simple and 
workmanlike in Caroline's usual style and said that she 
had been offered a summer job in a private psychiatric 
clinic near Seattle. The job as a nursing assistant was 
really nothing more than a glorified Candy-striper, but 
her professors had agreed that the experience could 
count towards her final end of year grades. With this 
in mind she would be leaving immediately now that exams 
were over. She would forward her address once her new 
employer had assigned her accommodation. 

"Well what are you waiting for?" 

She shook her head and read the text again. It was a 
plausible explanation for her leaving town. Styles, pet 
names and general writing mannerisms were all hers, 
once it was copied by her own hand onto her own 
stationary it would appear perfectly normal. She knew 
as well as I did that once her parents received this 
the hunt would be over. Eventually the alarm would be 
raised, but they would start looking in the wrong place 
and by then the trail would be long cold. 

I watched while she pondered it. 

"All I need is a plausible explanation for why you 
disappeared," I said. "This one is the best because it 
seems most natural, but a girl in your position, owing 
money and with unsympathetic parents can have lots of 
reasons to disappear." 

I tossed her a large white business envelope. She 
caught it and looked at it blankly. I watched as her 
eyes scanned it, they darted quickly over the return 
address, someone in an unfamiliar sounding street in 
Seattle. Her reaction was more pronounced however when 
she saw where the package was going. It was addressed 
to her but the address was her parent's house in Iowa. 
With trembling fingers she opened it. 

The package contained four pages pinned together. The 
top sheet was a piece of good quality company headed 
note paper bearing a stylized almost art deco logo of a 
beautiful woman bringing a wine glass to her lips, 
underneath in a tasteful script font were the words 
"Cachet Escorts." The company's office was the same 
unfamiliar address as on the envelope which I knew to 
be in a half empty office block in a rundown suburb of 
Seattle. 

I was proud of the letter and I watched as her eye's 
widened in horror. It was dated a few days before the 
kidnapping and read. 

_____________________________
My Dear Caroline, 

I wish to thank you for your dedication over the last 
few weeks, it could not have been easy to fit our 
interviews and photo sessions into your busy schedule. 
I trust your preparations for the move to Seattle are 
well advanced. I can only say again that you will not 
regret your decision. Washington is a very beautiful 
state and Seattle can offer a host of entertainment for 
a young lady such as yourself. 

However, I must admit to feeling a little uncomfortable 
about your proposed Seattle address. Although your 
friend is right in saying that the neighborhood has low 
cost accommodation, it is the kind of area a girl 
cannot walk alone in safety. If you contact our offices 
we can provide a list of clean low cost hotels that you 
would find much more suitable. If money is a problem I 
am sure we could arrange a small advance until you have 
found your feet. 

I have enclosed a copy of the information we keep on 
file. Please check it, correct if necessary, sign and 
date the bottom, and return it as soon as you can. 

I have also included draft copies of your pages from 
our various directories. These are the results of your 
photo sessions and the information you provided. 
Although we foresee no problems it is our policy to 
allow our girls to check and if necessary modify their 
entry before we have the final copy printed. Rest 
assured that the directories do not leave our offices, 
although we sometimes provide a copy of a new girl's 
entry to our regular clients upon request. 

We have also included your entry from our special 
services directory. Again I must complement you on your 
decision to try this area. As we discussed the work is 
varied and well rewarded. The gentlemen who have these 
special needs are amongst our most generous patrons and 
a few of our girls have removed themselves from our 
general roster to concentrate on these clients 
exclusively. The photographs used in these pages are by 
necessity more explicit. Some of our girls in the past 
have expressed doubts over their entry's but now agree 
that we where right in our decision. The special 
directory never leaves the offices and is only shown to 
special trusted clients. 

I will say again that these are only draft copies for 
your approval. The quality of the final printed 
versions will be much better. 

Finally when we last spoke you were still unsure if you 
wanted to use the name Elizabeth. As you can see our 
draft pages are currently using this name. If you wish 
to change it, please do let us know as soon as 
possible. We reserve the right to approve the 
professional name of all of our young ladies. It is our 
policy that each of our girls chooses a unique name on 
a first come first served basis. This is to avoid 
confusion and reassure our clients that they will get 
the right girl if they ask for her by name. 

In addition we discourage the use of names too close to 
the girl's real name as it can cause embarrassment. For 
example in your case we would discourage the use of 
"Carol" or "Carolyn" but names such as "Catherine" or 
"Carrie" would be fine. 

Please contact me the moment you arrive in town and we 
can arrange to have lunch and discuss your plans. 

I remain as ever yours. 

Brenda Evans. 
_____________________________

It didn't take a genius to realize that Cachet was a 
high class call girl agency. I had first come across 
them a couple of years before when some of their girls 
worked a party organized by a well known software 
company. Their girls were hand picked to be courteous, 
sophisticated and well read but it was no secret that 
for the right amount they could be persuaded to stay 
the night. I knew a lot of men who used their services 
when in Seattle and while not being a client myself I 
had heard enough by word of mouth to know how they 
operated. One indiscreet client had once given me a 
girl's file entry with the recommendation that I try 
her. I had used this as a model for Caroline's entry. 

Cachet was now out of business, it's offices raided 
amongst great scandal a few months before. I had no 
doubt that there would be at least another two or three 
'Cachets' by now hoping to pull in the defunct agencies 
clientele, so my fake would probably be written off as 
a short lived imitator. 

By now Caroline was scanning the second sheet. It was a 
supposedly the agencies private file entry giving age, 
height, weight, interests, address and next of kin. Not 
too different from the personnel file any company would 
keep. 

"Look at the addresses," I said with some pride. 

Under her name was her parents address, under her 
parents names as next of kin was her college address. 

"It's what laymen call a computer error," I said, "In 
the industry we call it garbage in, garbage out. You 
see when the thing was transferred from paper an 
unfortunate substitution took place which means that 
the agency 'accidentally' sent this to your parents 
house. When they can't find you they will of course 
open it and..." 

She had found the 'and'. The first page seemed innocent 
enough. It was Caroline's entry in the agencies 
directory. Most of the sheet contained pictures of 
Caroline in her evening gown. The first was a picture 
of Caroline on the street a departing limo in the 
background. Second picture, a smiling Caroline offers a 
gloved hand to the camera, hotel bedroom background. 
The rest of the pictures were in much the same vein. 
Caroline handling and drinking Champagne and looking 
suggestive. The text hinted that after a night at the 
opera 'Elizabeth' may be persuaded stay a little 
longer. 

Sheet two was very different. Supposedly from the 
'special directory' it showed 'Elizabeth' in her full 
leather finery. The first shot was just of her standing 
with her high heeled foot on a stool showing off her 
leather panties pulled tight over her crotch, hands on 
hips, smiling. There was a corresponding "Elizabeth 
drinks Champagne" shot then a three frame sequence of a 
smiling 'Elizabeth' gagging and handcuffing herself. 
The final shot was of the dominant 'Elizabeth' flexing 
a riding crop and looking stern. The text was also more 
explicit talking of 'Elizabeth's' wish to make her 
client happy no matter what his 'special needs' may be. 

Caroline looked up in horror, "NO please..." 

"I'm posting one of these off tomorrow," I said 
pointing to the large envelope and the letter pad. "It 
really doesn't matter to me which they receive. Either 
would explain why you would disappear and either will 
draw attention away from the idea of a kidnapping. It's 
really up to you. Your parents are never going to see 
you again. Question is, how do you want them to 
remember you, as their little girl or as an evil little 
slut selling her body for money?" 

Caroline started to weep. I could see the despair in 
her eyes. I slapped the crop on the table, "Choose!" 
With a trembling hand she picked up the pen and started 
to write. 

I rejected her first attempt because the writing was 
too unsteady, the next two because of spelling errors. 
Number four was perfect but I rejected it anyway and 
warned her not to give me any more trouble. I yelled 
and threatened punishment and in the end got her into 
the frame of mind I needed. She wrote the letter, 
addressed the envelope and even licked the stamp to 
provide comprehensive forensic evidence. I then placed 
the letter in a ziplock and handed her the second item. 
When she started to read it I slammed the crop down in 
front of her. 

"Slaves obey, they don't need to understand," I said 
viscously. 

So she started, writing postcards, signing documents, 
filling in forms in her own name and a variety of 
aliases. As each was finished it went into a separate 
ziplock. She seemed bewildered and I never gave her 
time to think things through. Were a document wasn't 
unique I would often venomously reject the first one 
she did just to keep her off balance. When she signed 
and dated a complex legal document near the end she 
wasn't even aware that she had just signed her freedom 
way. 

I finished up with her signing a couple of checks. Then 
I produced a tape recorder and a few sheets of paper. 

"This is a script," I said pushing the paper over to 
her, 

"You will say the words exactly as written, 
understand." 

She nodded and did fairly well on the first couple of 
messages, but then when she started on one obviously 
meant for her parents she started to sob uncontrollably 
In the end it took a lot of threats before I had the 
performance I needed. 

"You did well," I said as I reached over and shoved the 
gag back into her sobbing mouth. "I'll forgive you for 
the temper tantrum this morning. Tell me slave, are you 
still horny?" 

Still sobbing she nodded her head. 

"Good. I have to put you away for a while because I 
have to finish upstairs," I gently stroked her thigh. 
"Afterwards though I'll reward you." 

I had her replace the gloves with a clean latex pair 
and replace the cuffs. I strapped her arms behind her 
and freed her from the chair. I pulled her close to me 
felling the hardness of the chastity corset as it 
pressed into my chest. The light of hope was gone from 
the tear filled eyes that stared at me over the gag. 

"I am your master slave, and now your training begins." 


Chapter 7: "Sleepwalking on Bourbon Street" 

"Putting Caroline away" proved to be the hardest thing 
I'd done so far. She was hot and had been denied an 
orgasm for too long already. I could smell the musky 
aroma of her damp cunt even through the confines of the 
chastity briefs. She continued to look at me pleadingly 
as I lead her towards the cell and when I stopped to 
pull back the bolts, she rubbed her leather covered 
crotch up and down my leg invitingly. As the briefs 
transmitted no sensation to her covered cunt I can only 
assume that it was for my benefit. 

In any case it was working! It took every ounce of 
willpower in me not to take her then and there. Instead 
I somehow forced her inside and fastened her to the 
wire. She made a little moaning sound behind the gag as 
I turned to leave. 

"Soon enough sweetheart," I managed to say though my 
head was pounding, "We'll see to that real soon." 

I spent about an hour checking the papers she'd signed. 
Most were trivial, notes to institutions informing them 
of address changes, postcards to friends. Some were 
more important, a note to the police about her stolen 
car, the transfer of her bank account to Seattle. 
Although many and varied the one thing that they had in 
common was that they formed what an investigator would 
call an "audit trail." It wasn't perfect but it was the 
best I could do. 

The big problem was that I couldn't do anything that 
involved her turning up in person. Things like applying 
for a Washington state drivers license would need a 
woman to stand in line for a couple of hours. Of course 
in fiction it is easy, the evil organization of white 
slavers have entire departments dedicated to erasing 
"volunteers" past lives. Female accomplices are ten a 
penny, all officials can be blackmailed or bribed. 

Reality though was less perfect, still I was happy with 
what I had achieved. There was now a large body of 
evidence which pointed to her having moved to a run 
down suburb of Seattle. The area was well known as a 
red light district. The sort of place a pretty young 
thing could disappear without trace. 

Once I was finished I placed a call to one of my 
editors. Just how badly did he need the latest news on 
the new Windows release? Obviously enough to pay for a 
flight to Seattle, an extra couple of calls to sign up 
for a Microsoft seminar and it was done. A legitimate 
reason to go to the north west and spread my little 
seeds. 

Still it left me with a couple of days to get ready, so 
I busied myself with a couple of minor articles whilst 
watching Caroline get steadily more frustrated. 

After a while I found myself just watching the screen 
and daydreaming. One image that had always appealed to 
me was of the slave girl as lapdog. Something like a 
harem slave sitting patiently at her master's feet 
ready to serve his every whim. I'd had a little leather 
outfit made for just that purpose; a small pushup bra 
that left the nipples free for clamps matched with a 
tight pair of side laced bikini briefs that barely 
covered anything. A leather bondage belt was connected 
to a number of strong thin chains which in turn were 
fastened to wrists and ankles by small gilded metal 
cuffs. A matching metal collar and leash completed the 
bondage elements though a metal and leather gag could 
be added if necessary. I looked at my watch, it was 
about an hour before the late screening of the X Files. 

How nice it would be, I mused, to watch the show with a 
slave at my feet ready to serve me if the need arose. 
If she was good I may allow her to sleep chained to the 
foot of my bed. The image was so appealing I found 
myself hard again. With some regrets I turned off the 
monitor and reasserted my self control. Then I started 
to make preparations. 

First up was a shower. I'd only washed Caroline the 
night before but the kind of things we did involved a 
lot of sweat and other excretions. I remembered her 
musky odor, by now she'd need to shower again. To save 
time I laid out the slave girl outfit in one of the 
upstairs bedrooms. Next came suitable music. 

I'm basically a Rock man, the Stones, Kiss, and Rush 
are my music of choice, but while we were together I'd 
done the "New Man" thing and pretended to like Sam's 
music. Sam was into classical, or at least so she 
claimed, but I've always had the suspicion that this 
was more for show than anything. I've noticed that 
models like to appear cultured, I suspect that it's an 
attempt to dump the bimbo image they get in the 
tabloids. She had bought a "Three Tenors" style disk of 
great operatic love songs that she used to play during 
sex. I smiled, if Caroline was as hot as I believed 
then the shower could prove interesting. I put the CD 
into the machine then went to collect the slave. 

When I entered she seemed awfully keen, probably 
because she thought I'd come to fuck her and end the 
frustration.. I let her keep thinking this while I 
removed the cuffs and strapped her arms behind her. 
Then I unlocked the chastity outfit. By now she was all 
aglow and opened her legs expectantly. For a girl three 
days into a kidnapping to be so keen to be fucked by 
her captor is perhaps a little odd. Yet Caroline seemed 
to have had very little sexual pleasure before I took 
her, and had been in a constant state of sexual 
frustration since. I looked into her eyes, saw the 
hunger and knew then that she was starting to become 
addicted. A few more frustrating weeks in the chastity 
outfit, unable to relieve herself and with her only 
pleasure coming when I decided and she would be broken. 

For now I just smiled as she thrust her pussy towards 
me and mewed behind the gag. 

"Not yet slave," I said gently stroking her breast and 
finding the nipple hard and erect, "I don't fuck smelly 
bitches. You need a bath first." I could tell that 
wasn't what she needed NOW, but she bowed her head in 
acknowledgment. Naked but for gloves, boots and gag she 
waited patiently while I attached the leash and 
strapped on the blindfold. 

I didn't bother with a hobble so it proved a quick and 
easy journey to the upstairs bathroom. Once again I 
removed the boots and blindfold but kept her gloved and 
gagged. Then I padlocked the leash to the ring before 
stripping off myself. 

I punched a button on my remote control and the hidden 
speakers started the buildup to a classic operatic 
aria. Then the tenor joined in his voice full of 
passion and heartbreaking emotion. I started small, 
deftly shampooing her hair as I had the night before, 
listening as she moaned with pleasure. All through this 
she was happy, no one in her situation would turn down 
a bath. After suitable warnings I unstrapped the gag so 
that I could remove all the old makeup from her face. 
She looked at me as I gently stroked her cheek. 

"Please..." She whispered the edge of desperation in 
her voice. An idea came to me and I drew her naked body 
close feeling her hard nipples dig into my chest. 

"Soon," I said. 

She didn't fuss when I put the gag back. She seemed 
strangely subdued, both horny and melancholy. Time had 
come to warm her up. My roving hand moved on, gently 
stroking and caressing her helpless body. I cleaned 
parts in a random order, teasing her with my touch, 
listening as she moaned and caught her breath. Finally 
my hand drifted down, finding her pussy warm and very 
damp as I gently cleaned it. There was the suggestion 
of a fine stubble on her pubis and I wondered about the 
possibility of home electrolysis. 

I was careful that as I cleaned her pussy of the days 
accumulated juices I didn't up the sensation to a level 
she could find useful. She moaned in frustration as the 
heat in her crotch increased. I unfastened her elbows 
and started washing her back. She made a little mewing 
sound and as my hands slid forwards to caress her 
breasts and their erect nipples, hers drifted down to 
gently brush against my balls and the insides of my 
thighs. The message seemed clear, I wasn't the only one 
who could tease. 

I let my hand hover round her abdomen then slide back 
to the silken folds between her legs. I was rewarded by 
the slick touch of her latex covered fingers on the 
head of my cock. Then we traded, finger on nub for 
thumb on head. It seemed like masturbation by proxy but 
it was also a big turn on. I soaped her down using 
handfuls of shower gel to make her body wet and 
slippery. She started to slide her body against mine 
making sure that the outside of her thigh slid up and 
down my steadily mounting erection. I gasped and 
started to caress her, one hand cupped her breast while 
the other slid down to finger her hot cunt. I started 
to nibble her neck between the gag strap and her 
shoulder. She moaned then arched her back, fingers 
straining against the single imprisoning strap. I 
gasped as she started to work on my balls and thighs, 
carefully avoiding the shaft, denying me an orgasm as 
long as I denied hers. Above it all the tenor sang of 
loves lost and hearts broken in a mounting crescendo of 
emotion. 

Through it all I dimly wondered how long we could stay 
like that, how far we could push it while still keeping 
the other from release. Part of my mind had decided to 
take her right then and there against the shower wall, 
I even upped the pace a little, listening to her 
excited yelps as she came closer and closer to the 
edge. Then dimly I became aware of something else in 
the environment, something noisy, insistent, something 
cutting through even the vibrant music. 

It was the phone, I suppose it was to be expected after 
all we were in the shower. Part of my brain said leave 
it, let the machines pick it up, but they didn't and 
the ringing continued as insistent as ever. It says a 
lot about the power a ringing phone has over us that I 
got out of the shower. Caroline gave a little scream 
and when I looked at her she tried to say something. 

Too well gagged to be intelligible she shook her head, 
thrust her shaved cunt towards me and wiggled her hips. 
It was an invitation good in any language but the 
little dictator kept ringing. In the end I threw on a 
robe and squelched off to the handset in the upstairs 
hall. I mean, there I was about to have sex with a 
beautiful, naked and helpless girl, I could have let it 
ring until the guy at the other end got the message and 
rang off. Yet I didn't; I didn't because I am an idiot. 

The idiot picked up the phone. "Hello?" 

There was a pause on the other end of the line then a 
hesitant female voice asked, "Mr. Thomas?" 

I was about to yell no, tell the stupid bitch she had 
the wrong number and slam down the phone, then I 
suddenly remembered that I'd used the name Thomas when 
I'd left the message for Vicky the photographic model. 

"Yes that's right, is that Vicky?" I asked as calmly as 
any guy could with a raging hard-on. 

She stammered out a yes, though it was hard to hear 
over the operatic background music. I realized that I'd 
left the remote behind. 

"Thought I remembered your voice from the answering 
machine, " I lied. "Look I'm sorry for the noise, can't 
reach the stereo from here.." 

"I was w-wondering if you still needed a model. I 
realize it's been a couple of days since you called but 
I've been away..." 

She seemed apologetic, weak and unsure. 

"No I still need a model," I said wanting this over as 
soon as possible. 

She seemed relieved but even in my ardor alarm bells 
were already starting to ring. 

"Vicky, sorry to ask this luv," I said switching into 
classic Pearson, "But you do seem a little nervous. Do 
you have much experience?" 

At first she tried to bluff it out. Then her confidence 
failed and she twittered on for a while. I really 
didn't have time for this but the explanation she 
blurted out I gathered that the camera shop where I had 
found her name did portrait and ID pictures. The 
photographer had persuaded her to try modeling and had 
suggested that she leave her number. I was her first 
call. To be honest I was tempted to turn her down, but 
she looked so much like Caroline and there was so much 
I could do with her unwitting help. 

So patiently I spun her a line. I was an amateur trying 
to make a break into the pro circuit. I would need a 
model at various times and various places to take shots 
for my portfolio. She must be willing to appear in a 
variety of shots, in various outfits and perhaps nude. 
The nature of the work would be experimental as I would 
be trying out different films and effects. Some of it 
wouldn't make sense. I would pay her by the hour, 
irrespective of the number of shots or what they 
entailed but I promised that I would give her copies of 
some shots for her private use. 

She seemed pleased and a little surprised, to be honest 
she wasn't a great looker, though like Caroline she was 
probably better after a makeover, and I think it did 
her ego good to know she could be paid for her looks. 
Her gratitude bubbled out, I was waiting to politely 
end the call and get back to my hot slave when suddenly 
I got a weird creepy feeling, a kind of sixth sense 
warning of danger. 

To this day I don't know what it was, though I suppose 
I could have heard something subconsciously. I managed 
to tell Vicky that I had another call and I had just 
hit the hold button when the screaming started. The 
closed bathroom door was at one end of the corridor, 
the phone at the other I have no doubt that some land 
speed records were broken in the next few seconds as I 
raced towards the noise. Caroline was cutting loose but 
good. 

I bounced open the door to find her half out of the 
shower one hand holding the still attached leash to 
stop it pulling tight as she lent forward, the other 
hand questing for the door latch. The situation had 
come close to a complete disaster. The strap that bound 
her wrists was lying in the shower, the ballgag was 
pulled down around her neck, only the presence of the 
padlocked collar and leash had stopped her from getting 
completely free. How had it happened so fast? I'd kept 
her bound for the last few days without her budging a 
single bond. One thing was clear I needed to reassert 
control fast! 

Surprisingly she stopped screaming the moment I entered 
the room. 

"Please," she said. 

I said nothing just grabbed wrists and turned her to 
face the wall. She struggled and it proved hard to hold 
her, the gloves seemed, if anything, slicker than 
usual. Turning her to face me again I raised my hand to 
slap her face. She whimpered and cringed and the fight 
left her. Leaving her for the moment I reached down for 
the discarded strap. It was then I noticed the large 
blob of blue gel in the bottom of the shower. 
Retrieving the strap I examined the gloves as she held 
them up to protect her face and body. Then I realized 
what a complacent fool I'd been. 

I had become so used to her being so cooperative that 
I'd started to cut corners. Locked in the cell she had 
worn tight leather cuffs, but these were expensive and 
the finish easily damaged by water so before the shower 
I had swapped them for two basic leather straps, one at 
the wrists one at the elbows. When I had started to 
wash her back I'd removed the elbow strap to allow for 
access. Then things had become more heated so I hadn't 
put it back. When the phone rang I'd just left, closing 
the door behind me so that her little gagged noises 
wouldn't be heard.

In short I had left her alone, unobserved and with only 
one strap holding her. She had managed to squeeze 
shower gel on to her latex gloves near the wrist and 
use the lubrication to work her hands free. The collar, 
gag and leash were all padlocked but she had managed to 
roll the gag out of her mouth and scream to alert the 
caller at the other end of the line. The hairs on the 
back of my neck prickled, I had come within seconds of 
being caught. 

Silently I gathered her wrists turned her towards the 
wall and restrapped her arms at wrist and elbow. She 
didn't resist seeming more than happy that I hadn't hit 
her. After the arms were done I used the shower to 
clean the gel off of her body and gloves thought to be 
honest I doubted she could slip her hands free with her 
elbows clinched. Next I released the leash and forced 
her down onto the shower-mat. Using the belts from the 
bathrobes I bound her legs together and hog-tied her 
wrists to her ankles. Then I went to the medicine 
cabinet and got some sticky plaster, a bandage and few 
pads of cotton. 

First I replaced the ballgag fastening it tighter than 
I ever had before pulling the ball further into her 
mouth. She complained, it probably hurt like hell, but 
I didn't care. Next I forced the pads between her lips 
in front of the ball until her mouth was fully packed 
and used the sticky plaster to hold it in place. A nice 
tight Ace bandage wrapped tightly over the top and she 
was gagged as well as I could manage at the moment. It 
was important that Vicky heard from me as soon as 
possible so with Caroline rolling on the bathroom floor 
in plain sight I went back to the phone. 

"Sorry Vicky love, you have no idea how some people 
carry on." I said looking at Caroline. My slave quaked 
and tried to say something. Vicky seemed pleased that I 
hadn't hung up on her and we made plans for the next 
day. All the time I was aware of Caroline struggling a 
few yards away. The gag proved very effective and her 
desperate screams became muffled moans easily drowned 
out by Domingo in full voice. 

Vicky never once commented on any sounds (though I had 
a good explanation ready if she did.) I signed off and 
walked back towards my slave. 

"She didn't hear a thing, I put her on hold just before 
you started screaming." Caroline looked up in despair. 
By then she already realized that she'd failed. After 
all I'd made her listen helplessly as I completed the 
call but now was the worse prospect. Now came the 
punishment. 

I released her feet and helped her up using a towel to 
dry her. I was perhaps a little rougher than I strictly 
needed to be. She stood to attention doing nothing that 
would anger me further. 

Then the music seemed to seize her. I don't think she 
knew Italian and there was nothing in her tape 
collection that suggested that she was a big opera fan. 
Perhaps something in the man's mournful song to his 
lost love reminded her of a freedom denied. In any case 
she started to sob, though I missed it at first, the 
gag muffled all sound and the water dripping from her 
hair washed away her tears. In the end it was the 
gentile quaking of her shoulders that gave it away. 

I turned her around and looked into her eyes. I'd 
expected to see anger, sorrow, something I could 
understand but whatever demons she had were playing 
games behind those pretty blue eyes, and all I could 
see was pain, deeper and older than I expected. She 
didn't struggle when I replaced the boots and hobbled 
her, she must have realized that she'd blown it and 
there seemed no point in compounding things. 

I got dressed with her chained to the top of the stairs 
the phone just out of reach. Strangely her escape 
attempt had made the erection worse. I don't know if it 
was the danger of discovery or just the excitement of 
the chase. I really wished I could set that talented 
mouth to work but I wanted her to wear the 
uncomfortable gag a little longer. I checked the 
building security logs while I dressed. During the 30 
Seconds or so of her screaming there were no intruders, 
there wasn't even a car passing the end of the drive. 

Satisfied I blindfolded her and led her back to the 
dungeon. Once there I chained her to one of the 
overhead rings and prepared her for punishment. 

Modern bondage photography is good, but the scenes seem 
far too posed, the women either too perfect of too 
ordinary. Over the past few months while "researching" 
the kidnapping I'd come across a number of photo's from 
the 1950's taken by artists like Irvin Klaw and John 
Willie. I suppose part of the attraction had been the 
concentration on fetish wear especially the high heels, 
though the fact that the models tended to be "resting" 
1950's B movie actresses probably brought back memories 
of my beloved Republic serials. 

In any case two things from these photo's had 
influenced my plans for Caroline. The first was the 
pony girl rig that was sitting in the room behind my 
garage along with Caroline's few belongings. I'd 
finally found a place in Arizona that made the things 
and had one shipped to New England in a crate marked 
"Cycle spares." This would have to wait until Caroline 
had been "broken" of course but the other idea, that of 
posture training would get an unexpected early trial. 

The corset came first. All the previous fetish 
"corsets" she had worn had really been tight leather 
tops capable of pulling in and pushing up a little but 
without the facility for tight lacing. Of course 
Caroline didn't understand the difference, the corset I 
now brought to her seemed perhaps only a little more 
old fashioned than previous ones. 

Certainly she didn't resist, stepping into it when 
ordered and holding still while it was pulled up her 
body. I left it loose for now and instead replaced her 
usual collar for a high leather posture collar. This 
involved releasing her from the leash but she gave no 
trouble, probably deciding to get it over with rather 
that risk greater punishment. New collar in place and 
leash again secured I removed the damp latex gloves and 
replaced them with an elegant leather pair that came to 
just above her elbows. Next came the return of the 
leather cuffs which I used to fasten her wrists to the 
ring at the back of her collar effectively fastening 
her hands behind her neck. She tugged on the gagstrap 
giving me a big eyed helpless look. In the end I 
relented and removed the gag. 

She paused for a while wiggling her jaw and waiting for 
the numbness to wear off. 

"I'm sorry Master, I didn't mean it." 

"Liar!" I said. Whatever she had been expecting this 
wasn't it, she floundered for a while so I decided to 
help her. 

"What did you do and why are you being punished?" I 
asked. 

She looked down, the collar stopped her from bowing her 
head. 

"I screamed and tried to let someone know that I was 
here," She said. 

"Which means you did what. Why are you being punished?" 

She swallowed, "For trying to escape." 

I made a deliberate effort to look amazed, "Is THAT 
what you think. That you're to be punished for trying 
to escape?" 

She looked up eyes wide. "Isn't it?" She asked weakly. 

"Oh no!" I said, "The escape is a perfectly normal 
reaction, I was stupid enough to give you the 
opportunity, you were resourceful enough to take it. I 
have no problem with the escape attempt in fact I think 
it was very well done. I can't blame you for giving it 
a try it was my fault leaving you like that." 

I wandered off towards the cupboard and returned with 
some balls, a pad gag, some tape and length of kitchen 
roll. 

She looked confused, "Then why?" 

"You removed your gag without permission." 

She glanced down at the kitchen roll in my hand, her 
face suddenly filled with horror and at that moment she 
went hysterical. "No Master, oh please no! I'll do 
anything, oh please, oh God NO!" I tore a piece of the 
paper off and brought it up to her nose. I could tell 
she wanted to move her head but the collar made that 
impossible. She cringed and whimpered as I placed it to 
her nose. 

"Blow," I said, "Really hard I want it good and clear." 
We spent about a minute blowing her nose, by the end of 
which she had almost stopped shaking. The thing about a 
good lesson is that you never need to repeat it. 

For emphasis I loosely fastened the leather pad gag 
around her neck, though I had no intention of gagging 
her right now it paid to remind her that speech was a 
privilege *I* controlled. 

I held one of the balls up so that she could see it. 

"Know what this is slave?" 

She looked intensely at the small metal sphere for a 
few moments. A few inches wide it had a little string 
attached to it. At the end of the string was a tag not 
too different from the ones found on teabags. 

For a second she hesitated then said, "Is it a Ben Wa 
ball?" 

Now it was my turn to look surprised. "Very good 
slave," I said, 

"We are full of surprises today! Now can you explain 
exactly HOW you know that?" 

She blushed, "Brenda, a friend showed me one once." 

"Ever use one?" 

She went to shake her head but couldn't. "No." 

"But you know what they are for." 

Again I think she would have liked to just indicate in 
the end she answered very quietly, "Yes." 

"Good," I said, "That will save us some time. Now 
spread your legs." She complied being in no position to 
do otherwise. Her cunt wasn't quite as juicy as usual 
and it took a few minutes of gentle play before she was 
damp enough to allow the first ball in. 

I pushed in the second and left her standing there with 
the two little tags dangling from between her pussy 
lips. I tore off a strip of tape and stuck it firmly 
over her cunt repeating the process until a little 
white PVC triangle covered her crotch completely. I 
unhitched her and walked her over to the table. I could 
tell that the devilish little balls were already at 
work by her expression as I helped her on to the table. 
I locked the leash in place then had her move forward 
so that she was perched on the edge. I discarded her 
old boots and reached down. 

A pair of real silk stockings came first. The classic 
pattern with the seam at the back and the dark band at 
the top, they were pulled up to her thigh and left 
there. I spent some time straightening the seams while 
she watched in silence. 

Boots came next. Since I had brought her here Caroline 
had usually worn a set of high heeled boots. These were 
ladies fashion boots in leather, PVC or patent leather. 
Though styles varied they were all fairly tight 
fitting, came to just below the knee and had a 2 1/2 to 
3 inch heel. In fact these boots had been bought from 
regular shoe stores and differed from those seen on any 
high street only in having been modified so they could 
be locked in place. These and a $15 a pair set of latex 
gloves formed the core of a slave outfit and was cheap 
and expendable. 

The boots I now prepared to put on her feet were very 
different. Made from the finest leather they were stiff 
enough not to crease or wrinkle but soft enough to mold 
themselves to the leg like a second skin. Finely 
patterned and hand made they carried a five inch 
stiletto heel. Like their high street cousins they came 
up to the knee but these needed no modification being 
held in place by the intricate lacing up their front. 
These boots were definitely not expendable and cost 
almost four hundred dollars a pair. 

Once the lacing was finished I got her to stand all be 
it rather unsteadily. With heels in place she was now 
almost as tall as I was; still it made it easier to 
attach the stockings to the garters of the corset. Next 
I lead her over to a post in the center of the room and 
attached her cuffs to it. Seizing the laces of the 
corset I rammed my knee into her back and pulled. Up 
'till this point I think she'd had trouble figuring out 
what the punishment was. Now she knew. She gave an huff 
sound and gasped as the cords had their way with her 
figure. There was a limit to what both of us could 
stand and when I tied her off her waist was down to a 
respectable 19 inches. 

The effect on her figure was startling. Caroline would 
never have the "hourglass" figure of those '50's 
starlets, she simply wasn't built enough up top but the 
corset maximized her assets to a really quite rewarding 
extent. Of course she couldn't breath but that seemed 
minor for the moment. I helped her up and on to her 
feet, and she nearly fainted. In the end I found I had 
to let the corset out an inch if I wanted her to stand. 

With the wind literally out of her sails it proved easy 
to pull her arms behind her and cuff them in place. I 
ran a small length of chain through her collar and 
fastened a wrist at each end effectively chaining her 
hands in a kind of hammer lock behind her back with her 
arms crossed. This had the additional effect that it 
forced her shoulder back and improved her posture. 

I retrieved a flogger and unchained her collar. 

"Tell me slave, what is the minimum punishment for 
attempting to escape." 

She looked at the flogger, "But you said you wouldn..." 

"I didn't say that you would be punished I was just 
checking that you had read the book." 

She swallowed. "A pussy whipping," she said nervously. 

"How many lashes?" 

"Twenty, with ten extra each repeat offense." 

"Tell me slave have you ever been pussy whipped?" 

The answer was predictable, "N-no." 

I lashed out with the flogger catching her firmly 
between the legs. She was surprised, and had no time to 
dodge. She let out a little scream then doubled over in 
pain as far as the bondage would allow. 

"That was one," I said, "Given purely as an example of 
what you can expect if you attempt anything that stupid 
again." 

"Understand?" She was breathing heavily and still 
doubled over. 

"UNDERSTAND?" 

"Y-yes." 

"Yes what?" 

"Yes master." 

"What is the punishment for removing your gag without 
permission." 

"The tape..." 

"Louder" 

"The Tape," She sobbed. 

"Tell me slave have I whipped your pussy twenty times?" 

"N-no" 

"And the tape, have I used that?" 

"NO." 

"Then shouldn't you thank me for not punishing you?" 

She paused, "Thank you Master." 

"Good girl. Now thank me for whipping your pussy." 

"Th-thank you for whipping my pussy Master." By now she 
had straightened up. 

"What won't this cunt do." 

"Th-this cunt won't try to escape, this cunt won't 
remove her gag without permission." 

"Very good slave," I said, "Now walk to the wall and 
back." 

What I'd had in mind was the sexy slink of a high 
heeled seductress, what I got was more of a waddle. 
Small steps are necessary with heels that high, but the 
way she walked looked as if she was picking her way 
through a field of shit. I stopped her. 

"Slave you may find it better if you wiggle your ass 
more." 

The idea of the Ben Wa balls had been to encourage her 
to swing her hips. She tried increasing the pelvic 
movement and the sudden flush on her face told me that 
she was getting the point. The problem now was that her 
whole body moved from side to side in an exaggerated 
movement that looked like someone wading. I tried to 
get her to stop but the movement always returned. In 
the end I decided to enforce what I needed. Going to 
the cabinet I retrieved some nipple clamps. As I 
approached she took a step backwards. 

"Please Master, they hurt." 

"I know." 

I started to fold down the soft leather cups of the 
corset to expose her small brown nips. The Ben Wa balls 
had done their job well and the nipples were hard and 
erect and just ready for clamping. She knew she was 
helpless, there was no way she could avoid the 
inevitable pain. Resigned she closed her eyes and held 
her breath as I fastened the first clamp on her right 
nipple. She gave a little yelp and took an involuntary 
step backwards I just held tight on the chain using it 
as a short nipple leash. She squealed then stepped 
forward again. 

"Good slave," I said encouragingly as I clamped her 
left nipple. Each clamp was separate, and made up of 
three parts. The clamp itself was of a devilish design 
which bit harder as it was pulled and fastened to that 
was a short length of chain with a small weight at the 
end. Any large movement would set the weight swinging 
increasing the bite of the clamp and torturing the soft 
nipple flesh. Realizing this she refused to move and it 
took a couple of quick slaps of her butt with the 
flogger to get her moving. 

Still the improvement was dramatic. The constant bite 
of the clamps actively discouraged upper body movement 
while the throbbing balls buried deep in her cunt 
rewarded hip movement. Within a few minutes these 
competing influences found balance and she started to 
walk as I'd intended, hips slinking, body almost still, 
the characteristic strut of the high heeled slut! 

By the time she had done her third lap she was starting 
to get the hang of things. She still wobbled a little 
and I'd had to catch her a few times when she'd 
mistimed a step but as her confidence grew she accepted 
my direction more readily. As a reward I removed the 
clamps and was pleased to see that she didn't return to 
her old ways. Still some problems persisted. She seemed 
self conscious about strutting in front of me and it 
was this rather than any lack of ability that seemed to 
be holding her back. 

We took a rest, I helped her sit on the table to take 
the pressure off her feet and gave her a drink. During 
those few minutes an idea started to form. She was hot 
having been denied most of the day, if I could harness 
that I could banish some of her self consciousness. 
What I needed was something sexy, something dangerous, 
the breaking of a taboo or two. The Reverend Conway 
didn't look like a liberal, one taboo struck me 
straight away. 

I helped her back up. 

"Close your eyes." 

She looked at me doubtfully. 

"Look," I said, "this is your choice we can do this 
with a blindfold if you want." 

"But what if I fall." 

"Then I'll catch you," I said, "Now close them." 

She did and I moved in close so that I could speak 
softly into her ear. Using the remote I selected a disk 
on the CD machine upstairs. The opera was gone replaced 
by smooth sound of classic Jazz. 

"Imagine," I said, "A hot summers evening in New 
Orleans. You stand outside a seedy Jazz club in the 
French Quarter, sweat in your hair, your heart in your 
throat." I rubbed my hands slowly over the soft leather 
cups feeling the suggestion of the hard nipples 
underneath. "A drunk stands by the door, his face old 
and leathery but his eyes sparkle as he looks at you, a 
pretty white girl in a tight leather dress. Your heart 
beats harder, what if you are seen by someone who knows 
you? Seen, painted like a whore dressed like a slut in 
a borrowed dress. What would happen to you if the word 
got back to your father?" 

I heard her ragged panting and knew that it was 
working, her eyelids flickered like someone almost 
asleep. 

"Better to be inside," I hissed, "Better that than be 
caught out on the street." She took a few hesitant 
steps forward, I matched the movement. "Your heels 
click on the sidewalk, slut heels, painful heels but 
your friend Brenda who lent you the outfit says they 
make you look sexy, desirable. Your heart is pounding, 
you feel your pussy warm as it starts to juice up in 
your excitement. 

You push open the door. 

You stand in the doorway of the bar, the music pauses 
but only for an instant. This bar has seen white sluts 
before, will do again. Your eyes scan the room looking 
for him, the one for whom you've taken this risk. Your 
eyes fall on black face after black face as they look 
at you, your heart pounds harder. Your mother told you 
what can happen to a white girl in a place like this 
and here you are, dressed as a cheap slut, begging for 
it." 

She moaned and twisted her body to one side as if she 
were looking for someone. I could hardly believe how 
suggestible she was. This would make her conditioning 
so much easier. For now I continued with the fantasy. 

"Suddenly you see him, his colorful shirt so different 
from the overalls he wore this morning when he was 
clearing your garden. He stands by the bar, holding a 
trumpet in his strong brown fingers waiting to go on. 
He looks up and sees you, his warm brown eyes drinking 
you in. The heat in your pussy increases, your breath 
becomes ragged. Then you see her, the half-caste girl 
handing him a drink. Her legs are strong and oh so 
long, her tight white dress clings to her body like a 
second skin. Brown ringlets frame such a beautiful 
face, but her eyes look at you with contempt. 

"Just another white whore, and you know it's true, that 
you came here like a painted slut for a night of 
forbidden passion with him. Now she has him by the arm, 
sliding her thigh up his leg, looking at you daring you 
to compete with her. You have to cross that floor, 
cross it in a way that will make him want you, make him 
fuck you, end the torment." 

Then she started walking, the slow sleek, seductive 
walk of a sexy woman on the prowl. Her hips quaked and 
I could imagine what that was doing to the Ben Wa balls 
in that hot pussy. Yet though it all her upper body 
stayed erect and regal as she slinked forward. 

I'd got what I wanted I had intended to end it there, 
but she looked so intense striding purposefully forward 
with her eyes closed that I felt the need to go on. I 
slipped in front of her and caught her in my arms. 

"Hey baby, what are you doin' here?" 

"I had to come, please don't send me away." 

I slid my hand over her leather flank, she responded by 
moving her leg up stroking my thigh with hers. 

"You are one sexy bitch." I ran my fingers along her 
thigh ending by tracing the outline of her pussy lips 
through the tape on her snatch. She gasped and trembled 
a little. 

"Man you're hot," I kissed her, "Hey babe I keep a room 
here, maybe me an' you?" 

She moaned which I took to mean yes so I lead her back 
towards the cell. Once there I caressed her, using the 
opportunity to loosen the corset. Opening my pants I 
pulled her to me, seized the tape that gagged her hot 
snatch and tore it free. She gave a little gasp, I 
think I was right about the stubble, then the 
drawstrings came tight and the Ben Wa balls popped out. 
By now she was quaking and I was very hard. I lay down 
positioning her on top and she trust down, her hot damp 
hole enveloping my shaft in one velvet swallow. 

Then she clamped down hot and tight on my throbbing 
cock. With her hands still hammer-locked behind her I 
was forced to steady her hips as she moved slowly up 
and down. 

She moved faster and faster and as her passion built so 
did her volume. Up until now she had always been gagged 
when I fucked her and as her sharp animal cries 
increased I was tempted to reach up and shove the pad 
gag into her mouth. Of course to do so would need much 
more willpower than I could have mustered right then. 
Pleasure flooded my brain and from the wild look on her 
face I'd say most of her higher brain functions were 
paralyzed too. So we rutted and screamed like two wild 
animals until finally I exploded and she came, the two 
event's separated by less than a heartbeat. Without her 
hands to hold her up she collapsed on top of me 
exhausted. We panted together for a second or so my 
cock still deep inside her. 

Then she looked up at me a tear in her eye and said, 
"Oh Josh, I'm so sorry." For a second I was confused, 
thinking she was talking to me. Then I realized. 

"Who's Josh?" I asked softly. 

"He was my boyfriend." 

"Was?" 

"He's dead." 

"I'm sorry," And I genuinely was. She seemed a little 
uncomfortable and managed to move over to one side, I 
slipped out. 

"What happened?" 

"Hunting accident," She said and I felt her shiver. 

"If you want to talk about it..." 

She went to shake her head but of course that was 
impossible so in the end she whispered "No, thank you 
Master." 

I felt overjoyed, she had used the word "Master" 
totally naturally as if she had accepted the situation. 
I decided to test this further. 

"Who are you?" I asked brushing my hands over her 
leather flanks and down over her ass. 

"I am your slave," She whispered. 

"Louder." 

"I am... your slave." 

"Who am I?" I asked, my voice warm and kind like a 
parent helping a child prepare for a pop quiz. 

"You are my master," She replied, no hesitation or hint 
of self consciousness. 

"What are you?" 

"I am a s-sex slave. I use my body to give pleasure to 
my master or any others he commands." 

I felt my throat tighten, I knew the next question held 
part of the answers I sought. It was a question I had 
never answered. 

"Why did I choose you?" 

She looked down, "Because I am a victim," she said. 


Chapter 8: Stories of Death 

Then she started to cry, her body shaking, the tears 
flowing like rain. I held her, tried to do what I could 
to calm her down, but it was no good. I admit I felt a 
little guilty thinking that the stress of the 
kidnapping was finally coming out. I pulled her close 
feeling the warm smoothness of the leather corset 
against my skin. She started to mumble something and as 
I listened I gradually came to realize that this had 
nothing to do with the kidnapping or with me. 

I understand grief through bitter experience. It is a 
slow subtle poison. If you try to bury it or run from 
it then the loneliness and pain get a power over your 
life and they start to eat away at your soul. 

I loved my grandfather, he had been a strong generous 
man always willing to help a neighbor or a grandson 
prone to trouble. In our community he had held a 
special place, never elected to any office, never 
qualified in any profession yet somehow always the one 
people turned to in times of crisis. He was if anything 
the perfect human being, a strong man who didn't pick 
on the weak, a proud man always willing to admit when 
he was wrong. During the long hot Indiana summers of my 
boyhood we had walked and talked and fished, all the 
things boys and grandfathers are supposed to do 
together.

Then in my senior year at High School he died, no 
illness, no warning just one day I came home from 
school and found my mother crying in the kitchen. The 
shock and the grief hit her all at once and she was 
never quite the same again. As for me? Well one of the 
constants in my life was missing and the pain was worse 
than anything my young mind could imagine. Then I did a 
foolish thing. My parents had always treated me as an 
adult and I was graduating High School at the age of 
fifteen. 

So I tricked myself into thinking that I was an adult 
and bottled the grief inside so as not to upset my 
mother any further. I played the dutiful son and buried 
my feelings so deep that when it was all over and I 
wanted to cry I found I couldn't. That feeling stayed 
bottled up eating away at my guts every day for eight 
long years. Then late one night as I lay alone in a 
hotel room in San Francisco all that burst to the 
surface and I cried all night. 

I don't know what had happened after Josh died but I 
know that Caroline hadn't dealt with it. She'd buried 
that grief as I had and it had lurked in the back of 
her mind. Now it had picked it's time and place finding 
that moment of weakness as it had in that dark hotel 
room in San Francisco. I held her shaking body 
encouraged her to scream into the privacy of the 
soundproofed room and waited for the storm to pass. She 
spoke a little between the sobs and with some gentle 
encouragement I persuaded her to tell me their story. 

She had known Josh Petersson all her life. The 
Petersson's were a local farming family who had lived 
in this backwoods part of Iowa since great grandfather 
Olof came from Scandinavia in the eighteen nineties. 
They lived close enough to the Reverend Conway and his 
family to be considered neighbors. They shared 
barbecues in the summer, exchanged gifts in the winter, 
attended the good Reverend's church and involved 
themselves in local fund raising. Josh was three years 
older than Caroline and had voted himself the title of 
honorary big brother. She had grown up with him always 
about but never really saw him as anything but a 
friend. 

Then when she was fourteen he had asked her out on a 
date. It seemed to have come without warning and I got 
the feeling that she had accepted almost by reflex. 
Almost accidentally she had fallen into the 
relationship, then deliberately she fell in love. 
Knowing that her father would not approve, she had kept 
their romance a secret. 

Over that summer they had seen each other more and 
more, meeting in private, lying to friends trying to 
keep the truth away from the tell tales and gossips 
common to all small towns. As she was underage they had 
agreed to limit themselves to oral sex and heavy 
petting until her sixteenth birthday. For six months 
they had done what kids do and I think these were the 
happiest weeks of her young life. 

Then Josh started to busy himself on some project. He 
was unavailable most weekends and would not tell her 
why. She became jealous, and started to think he had 
another girl. When she finally confronted him he'd just 
laughed and asked her to meet him at a small empty 
cottage on his father's land. His family called it 
"Patrick's House" and his grandfather had built it for 
his parents when they were first married. She had been 
there before of course, it was one of the few places 
were they had any privacy. 

This time she went with some trepidation thinking that 
perhaps he wanted to break up. Instead he surprised her 
with an engagement ring on a silver chain she could 
wear it around her neck and a promise of marriage. Then 
they walked through the empty rooms looking at the work 
he'd done to make it their home and planned their new 
life together. 

It had started to rain so they couldn't leave 
immediately. The moment had seemed so perfect that she 
took him by the hand and led him upstairs and they made 
love for the first time one week before her fifteenth 
birthday. 

It took a lot of coaxing to get her to tell me about 
his death. I knew from experience that it was 
necessary, that if she didn't get it in the open it 
would continue to haunt her. It was painful and she 
cried like a child as she went through his last day. 
They'd had a fight, he'd wanted to formally ask her 
father. She had said no. Angry words were said then 
he'd stormed off. He'd apparently gone hunting, 
something he did quiet often when he needed to think, 
when he didn't return this family sent out search 
parties. 

They had found him at the bottom of a dirt bank in a 
lonely wood. She told me how he had slipped and fell 
shooting himself in the process then bleed to death 
unable to climb out again. At that moment she broke 
down completely, it took another hour before she was 
cried out. I held her until the end encouraging her to 
let it go providing the physical comfort a person needs 
at that time. When she finished she was weak and 
emotionally drained. 

I took off the posture collar and replaced it with the 
usual one. I had intended to remove the corset and 
boots but right now she needed to sleep. I attached the 
wire and freed her hands. Then I gently dried her face 
and brushed her hair aside. 

"Thank you," She said. 

"What for?" 

"For listening." 

I smiled. 

"Comes with the territory," I said, "If you can't talk 
to your master who can you talk to?" I pantomimed 
looking around the room for some other person and 
discovering only myself there. She smiled, and I knew 
she was going to be all right. I turned to leave but at 
the door on impulse I stopped and looked back. 

"Who are you?" I asked gently. 

"A slave for your pleasure, Master." 

I looked into her large blue eyes. Tomorrow when she'd 
had chance to recover it may be different but at that 
one vulnerable moment I think she really believed what 
she was saying, at that moment she really was my slave. 

The night was still relatively young so I busied myself 
preparing my laptop for the trip. About twelve I made a 
hot drink and settled into my favorite chair. A quick 
check on Caroline showed her asleep, a calm almost 
radiant look on her face. It looked as if the release 
of all than angst had done her some good. It really had 
been a roller coaster ride tonight and as I sipped my 
cocoa I went back through the events to look for a 
trigger. 

There was the sex of course. This time it had seemed 
much stronger than before. I'd been overwhelmed by the 
power of it all. Tonight she'd been somehow sexier, 
more vibrant than on previous occasions. I tried to 
find a reason why, when we'd had sex before she had 
seemed to enjoy it and I knew for a fact that she'd 
orgasmed so what was so different this time? I knew 
that if I kept her excited long enough she would throw 
away her inhibitions when we finally fucked. In fact 
when the time came she was now an enthusiastic partner. 
I may have been keeping her here against her will, but 
there could no longer be any doubts that the sex was 
consensual. 

Of course I didn't kid myself. I kept Caroline tied and 
frustrated for most of the day, by the time we fucked 
she was desperate, her body crying out for relief. When 
I offer to fuck her of course she co-operates as she 
would with a vibrator or a wine bottle. I could see 
that from Caroline's point of view sex with me was just 
a way to for a girl to masturbate with her hands tied. 

Then I remembered the little "I'm sorry Josh" line 
she'd said. Did she feel unfaithful to his memory? I 
could force her to have sex, I could even make her body 
betray her so that she enjoyed it but I couldn't make 
her invest any emotion in it. Was that the answer? Had 
sex meant something more than pleasure to her this 
time? Had the guilt of that discovery burst the dam 
wall of all that pent up grief? I didn't know and felt 
not for the first time that a degree in psychology 
would be more useful right now. 

Then I remembered Caroline's textbooks still sitting in 
the back room of my garage awaiting the furnace. 
Perhaps the answer was in there? I decided to rescue 
them and find out. Now though it was time for bed so I 
started the dishwasher and headed upstairs. I settled 
down and for the first time that I could remember I had 
a dream. 

It started in the parlor of my father's hardware store. 
I think I was about ten and it was one of those 
timeless Indiana summers that I remembered so fondly. 
Long hot dusty days with school a distant memory, and 
the smell of the corn fields on the breeze. Then a 
sudden cut and I was out in the street chasing after 
Grandpa trying not to drag the fishing pole he gave me 
in the dirt, wanting him to slow down; but never 
wanting to admit I was too young to keep up. 

We sat fishing and talked as we had so long ago, and 
though part of me knew he was dead, I was filled again 
by the joy of his presence. I could have stayed there 
forever, but for some reason he sent me back to the 
house to pick up some fruit we'd forgotten. As I headed 
back towards the path something drifted into my view.

Caroline floated above. She was naked but for a large 
number of thin leather straps, each about the width of 
a boot lace that bound her legs together and her arms 
at her sides. I paused for a moment, shocked to see her 
in such an idyllic place. I noticed that the straps 
were very tight, her hands and feet were blue and 
bloated. One strap ran up through her shaved pussy and 
disappeared between her cunt lips. This seemed so tight 
that it almost cut her in two. A seemingly endless flow 
of blood trickled down her exposed thigh. 

She was looking at me, big blue eyes above the wide 
padded strap that gagged her. Much to my surprise there 
was none of the accusing looks she normally gave me. 
Instead she had a rather pained expression, eyes 
slightly puffy like she had wept for a long time. I 
found myself opening the big knife my grandfather had 
given me and I nervously stepped forward. Bringing the 
knife to the crotch strap I cut the thin leather lace 
above her pussy and started to pull it from between her 
cunt lips. Much to my surprise it refused to budge. 

I pulled harder and was shocked when a large ball of 
the leather cord popped out of her hole. Almost 
immediately she started to thrash and moan behind her 
gag and I realized she was orgasming. More blood poured 
down her body as the straps literally cut her limbs. I 
felt frightened but somehow stepped forward. Her rapid 
motion caused her to slip from my grasp and a found her 
drifting off in the wind like a bizarre fetish balloon.

I followed but whenever I approached she just seemed to 
drift further and further away... In the end I started 
running but just as I caught up with her she squealed 
and rolled herself into a ball... I closed in, making 
comforting noises and after quite a struggle managed to 
undo the buckle on the gag strap. However as I pulled 
it from her face I became aware of the blood encrusted 
on it. I looked down and cringed for beneath the gag 
her lips had been sown together with stitch after 
stitch of the foul leather cord.

**

I woke with a start. Was this the dream that I'd had 
the night before? All I knew was that I was shaking. It 
took me almost an hour to calm down and start to think 
rationally of the images in my mind. I felt sure of one 
thing, the dream was somehow significant; my 
subconscious was trying to alert me to something. I 
thought at first it was guilt, but Caroline's bonds had 
been horrific, the sick work of a sadist and though I 
may be many things I wasn't that. I admit that I'm a 
control freak and that I use pain to get that control 
but I don't revel in it and I don't use it for its own 
sake. So what did it mean? 

A quick video check found her still asleep. It was dawn 
and I didn't feel like sleeping again so I put on a pot 
of coffee and went into my office. There underneath one 
of my computer tables was the box of important papers 
I'd taken from Caroline's apartment. I should have 
moved it into the dungeon some time ago; there is 
little point hiding the slave and leaving boxes of her 
stuff just lying around. For now though I just reached 
into the box and pulled out the picture album. I spent 
about half an hour going through it I knew what I 
wanted should be there. I carefully picked though page 
after page of Christmas's, birthdays, and Thanksgivings 
with no luck. In the end I found it tucked away in a 
little wallet like thing inside the back cover. 

It was a picture of Josh and Caroline. 

Of course he looked young, he'd died when he was 
seventeen, a tall friendly looking boy his Scandinavian 
heritage evident in this lanky frame and dirty blonde 
hair. He looked nice but dull. The standard all 
American kid, not smart enough to be a nerd not 
athletic enough to be a jock. The kind of kid who 
somehow just makes it through life. 

Except this one hadn't. 

She looked young and very happy, caught in that 
spontaneous moment that was either reality or Pearson. 
For I while I tried to imagine what their life together 
would have been like if he'd survived. One thing seemed 
clear Caroline wouldn't have been an unwilling guest in 
my basement. I could almost see her dragging a dusty 
faced blonde daughter around that cottage in Iowa, with 
perhaps another child on the way. Even when times were 
tough I got the feeling they would be happy. Josh 
Petersson and Caroline Conway; a future that didn't 
happen. 

Time to make breakfast. I figured she'd have quite an 
appetite when she awoke so I started into a more lavish 
spread than normal. Soon I'd have to start controlling 
her calorie intake and arrange for some exercise or the 
enforced inactivity would start to have its effects on 
her waistline. For now I indulged her with a meal 
designed as much to comfort as to feed. By seven it was 
ready and I went downstairs to collect her. She blinked 
in surprise as I woke her. Up until then I'd waited 
until she was awake before fetching her. Her face was 
still red and tearstained so after she had used the 
toilet I freed her hands and had her wash up. 

The rest was almost a ritual. I refastened her hands, 
attached the leash and led her to the table. Once there 
she sat on my lap while I fed her by hand. I'd found 
that I liked feeding her, like having a gag always 
dangling about her neck it was a constant reminder who 
was in charge, who had the power in this relationship. 
I was pleased to see her eating well and I could feel 
her strength returning. This time I dispensed with the 
syrup trick, I needed this outfit in good condition for 
the next posture session. So after fastening the collar 
to an overhead wire I released her and told her to 
strip. She did in an almost mechanical way and I could 
see there was something on her mind. 

I admit to having something planned too and as she 
wiggled out of the leather I was positioning the 
photofloods to point at one of the restraintless walls. 
She watched silently as I retrieved some clothes from 
the wardrobe. Walking over I threw them on the table. 

"Put these on, everything but the gloves." She complied 
quickly and I stood back to admire the result. The 
outfit was not that much different from what she had 
worn on her first night. A shiny black latex halter top 
came first. The rubber was ribbed to give it a corset 
like effect. It hugged her upper body pushing her tits 
up and out in a pleasing way while leaving her stomach 
bare. Next came a matching black latex garter belt, I'd 
removed the elastic so it was really only being used as 
a sash to cover the area between her hips and her 
shaved pubis. 

The latex boots which came to the top of her creamy 
thighs were little more than thigh high latex stockings 
with five inch heels attached, they tied at the top and 
hugged her legs like a second skin. At this point I had 
her stop and apply makeup as directed. The last time 
I'd been concerned with her having a natural look so 
her makeup had been underplayed. Now I wanted the young 
vamp look, lot's of makeup but applied in a way that 
still left her looking young and fresh. I selected a 
baby doll pink lipstick and blusher combination and 
waited for her to apply it. 

"More photos?" She asked. 

"Yep, Slave's gotta earn her keep." I could tell she 
wanted to say something but she seemed to change her 
mind and instead did what I asked. I brushed her hair 
back into a ponytail. Much as I liked it long I could 
tell that she was going to have to have it bobbed. 
Truth was that long hair was hard to keep looking good 
without regular styling, something I couldn't do easily 
myself. I figured I'd keep it like this for a couple of 
weeks and then I'd have to do something about it. 

She finished up with a long pair of latex gloves which 
she pulled up her arms as I finished prepping the 
camera. Now there was only one thing left to do. With 
my fingers mentally crossed I put a pair of earrings 
and a choker on the table and removed the collar. 
Caroline was now completely free for the first time 
since I took her. She seemed a little shocked and I 
noticed her glance fleetingly at the dungeon door. 

"It's locked," I said while I fiddled with the tripod. 
"You'd need a torch to cut through it. Now put on the 
jewellery and stand over by the wall." 

She dragged her eyes away from the door and started to 
put on the earrings. Remembering the lessons from 
yesterday she attempted to slink over to the wall. 
However it became obvious that she missed the ankle 
support of the leather boots and twice she almost fell. 
Eventually she made it to the wall and stood awaiting 
instructions. 

First I had her stand with her legs slightly crossed, 
hands on hips, pouting slightly. The shot was nice, 
immediately establishing her as a young rubber slut. As 
I'd hoped the crossing of her legs had forced her 
thighs hard together and the latex boots, gloved hands 
and garter belt formed a black latex frame for the 
triangle of her shaved cunt. Her breasts strained 
against the rubber in a most appealing way and the look 
on her face just screamed fuck me. I knew immediately 
that this first shot was a "Pearson" and it seemed like 
a good omen for the rest of the session. 

Next up I had her face the wall then press herself 
against it like a criminal being frisked. I took a shot 
but the composition lacked something. I had her spread 
her legs more and I tried another. Still not quite 
right so I had her turn her upper body slightly so that 
I could see her face in profile. This worked much 
better so after repositioning her hands and head I took 
the final shot. To my mind this picture looks like a 
raid on a brothel. A young slut is thrown against the 
wall still dressed in her fetish-wear, her long mane of 
blond hair almost down to her bare behind. She half 
turns towards the young rookie cop left to guard her 
and makes her proposition. If he looks the other way 
and lets her escape she'll be so grateful. She only 
does this to pay her way through college, her mother 
would die if she knew. If he lets her go she'll meet 
him later and show her gratitude... 

For the next shot I had her lie down her hot ass stuck 
up towards the camera. I took a number of different 
shots with her looking back over her ass towards the 
camera. I tried a number of different expressions from 
surprise though lust to fear. The shot that finally 
worked for me was one were I had her twist her body 
slightly towards the camera and prop her head up with 
her gloved hand. The clothes, the pose, the look all 
tell you this is a hot cunt just looking for a fucking 
and the picture wasn't lying. Looking into Caroline's 
eyes I could see that the sexual addiction I'd tried so 
hard to establish was finally taking hold. She was 
wanting it bad which gave me an idea. 

I had her stand and using the remote I programmed a 
track into the sound system. 

"Now slave we are going to try something freeform. I 
want you to interpret the music for me just do whatever 
you feel." She looked unsure so remembering my 
experience from last night I suggested that she closed 
her eyes. 

"Ok slave I want you to imagine this. You are still a 
student, and have one day to get enough money to pay 
your rent or you loose the apartment. One of your 
friends has told you of a club she works at when times 
are tough. She says that they always need dancers and 
that a girl willing to work at it can make some good 
money. You asked the owner but he thinks you are too 
dowdy and plain. You beg you are so desperate and in 
the end he gives you a trial; if you get a good 
response from his customers he'll give you the job." 

I could see her trembling, one latex covered hand had 
made it's way down to her crotch and she was already 
rubbing the slick palm against her hot lips. Encouraged 
I continued. 

"You look through the wardrobe, they have all sorts of 
things, nurses and cops uniforms, bathing suits but 
realizing that you have to make a good impression you 
pick the riskiest outfit you can find. It's slick black 
rubber and it clings to your body like a second skin. 
You can feel its touch, smell the scent of hot rubber 
mixed with the sweat of all the other girls who have 
worn it. Can you feel it slave?" 

"Yes," She whispered. Her other hand had found her tits 
and a finger was doing an orbit of the bump made by one 
of her erect nipples. She was breathing heavily and I 
could tell she was almost ready. 

"You're standing in the wings waiting to go on. There 
are about thirty men in tonight most of them middle 
aged business men. You see your friend dancing naked at 
one guy's table a bundle of greenbacks clutched in one 
hand. She thrusts a tit almost in his face and he's 
going crazy 'cos he isn't allowed to touch. Now it's 
your turn, the manager passes you as he goes on to make 
the announcement. He nods and makes encouraging noises. 
You feel nervous as you step out feeling all those eyes 
on you. You stand ready knowing that your future rests 
on the next ten minutes." 

I punched the play button and the hidden speakers 
hummed into life. There was a throbbing opening base 
rift and the song exploded into the room. I'd chosen 
was the Divinyls track "I Touch Myself" to start with 
and a couple of their others in case she kept going. 
The music seized her immediately and she started to 
gyrate, touching herself as she felt the need. I had a 
post in the room that I used for bondage purposes and I 
started to wish that is was nearer. Caroline would have 
made a hell of a pole dancer, she was sexy, seductive 
and even with her eyes closed she looked as if she 
enjoyed it. I adjusted the lights so that they shone 
directly at her, she would be unable to see past them. 

"Open your eyes sweetheart," I said. When she did I 
continued. "The lights blind you but you know that 
beyond the glare, thirty guys are watching you. You can 
feel their eyes on your skin, undressing you even 
further. They all want you, you can feel their lust 
coming over you in waves. Feel thirty imaginary pairs 
of hands caressing your body, on your tits, on your 
ass, brushing your cunt." 

She trashed around pouting seductively for the 
imaginary audience caught up completely in her role. At 
times she was unsteady and natural talent had to make 
up for her lack of technique but at that moment she was 
a sex goddess and deep inside she knew it. I watched 
captivated as she strutted the floor pausing to pose 
suggestively or to touch herself again. 

Then I suddenly realized that in my excitement I hadn't 
taken any shots. I quickly started taking a series of 
her roving hands drifting between tits and cunt. She 
arched her back eyes once again closed one hand drifted 
up and released her hair which tumbled around her 
shoulders. A quick quarter turn of her head and she 
flicked it out so that the golden strands now covered 
her tits as well. Then as I watched both hands drifted 
backwards towards the straps that held the halter in 
place. It had been designed for easy removal, always a 
consideration when the wearer is intended to be bound. 

She found the release and it dropped away from her 
shoulders. One arm kept it clutched to her body and 
then she started to move it rubbing it's silky 
smoothness over her tits and belly. She arched her back 
teasing the imaginary audience with a suggestion of 
breast all the time getting the tactile stimulation 
from rubbing the latex against her hot body. Finally 
she tossed it aside leaving her erect nipples free to 
be played with. 

I focused in for a close-up as she took both nipples 
between thumb and forefinger and gently rolled them, 
then she flicked her head back and moaned. Again she 
arched her back and one hand returned to her dripping 
box. Using the two outer fingers to spread the lips she 
started to tickle her clit. She slipped a finger 
inside, then two by now the moans were rapidly becoming 
squeals. 

Two more quick photos, one a close-up of her finger 
fucking herself the other showing her enraptured face 
so her identity was in no doubt and I found myself out 
of film. I could account for less than half of the 36 
frames. Still I knew I had some hot shots and I looked 
forward to seeing what else I'd taken. 

Looking at her I could tell that she was close and I 
had already decided that for the time being she should 
only cum by my hand. I didn't like being a party pooper 
but it couldn't be helped. I pulled a pair of handcuffs 
from my pocket and quietly came up behind her. Not that 
being quiet was necessary the music was loud and she 
was too far gone to care. I took the hand that was 
playing with her nipples first, she didn't resist I 
don't think she even noticed as I closed the cuff 
around it. Pulling it down behind her I grabbed the 
other wrist. 

Now she resisted, she was so close she would have 
killed at that moment. Still I was stronger and in a 
better position so after a brief struggle I managed to 
cuff the other wrist in place. She moaned and started 
to rub her thighs together. When that didn't work she 
turned and started rubbing her cunt against the thigh 
of my leather pants, I twisted her around. I had 
intended to deny her an orgasm and keep her wanting it 
for the rest of the day but she had danced so well I 
decided to give her a break. I twisted her to face me, 
pulling her close until I felt one erect nipple embed 
itself in my chest. 

Grabbing a handful of hair I twisted her head until she 
was looking into my eyes. Then very deliberately I 
slowly finger fucked her with my free hand. One finger 
tickled her clit as I thrust another as deep as I could 
inside her. She clamped down squeezing the finger 
tightly. Leaving my thumb to work on the nub I thrust 
two more fingers inside and was rewarded by a gasp as 
she trust her hips towards me. Then I slowly brought 
her off, listening to her cries as the decibel level 
rose. All the time I was watching her emotions though 
the lust glazed windows of her eyes. 

First came need mixed with a little embarrassment. As 
she came closer the need started to take over 
completely and her cunt started to clamp down even 
harder on my leather covered fingers. Next came a look 
of rapture which coincided with the spasm my fingers 
felt deep inside her. Then she gave a look of 
fulfillment, a deep sigh and then she smiled in a 
dreamy way. For a second there was something new and 
something totally unexpected. For an instant before she 
broke my gaze there was something that just possibly 
could be love. 

I brought my gloved hand up to her mouth and had her 
suck the fingers clean. This took longer than I'd 
thought and her little tongue movements were 
deliberately suggestive. It also seemed that she liked 
the smell of pussy juice and leather which is useful 
when you are trying to make a girl into a leather slut. 
I lead her back to the table and replaced the collar 
fastening it again to one of the chains over the table. 

I freed her hands and for a moment considered 
retrieving the halter. In the end I left her topless 
and busied myself tidying up the dungeon. She sat on 
the edge of the table licking the juices from her 
fingers deep in thought. In the end I had to know. 

"Ok out with it Slave." 

"Sorry Master?" 

"The little speech you're composing right now, I want 
to hear it." 

She took a deep breath, "My college tuition, it's a 
scholarship." I must have looked surprised, certainly 
that wasn't what I'd expected her to say. It seemed as 
relevant to what had just happened as the gross 
national product of Guam. 

"So?" I asked. 

"If I let it lapse then I won't get another 
opportunity. I know you intend to keep me for some 
time, perhaps for years but sooner or later you'll get 
tired of me and let me go. I want a future Master, I 
want an education." 

"So?" I must have sounded really stupid but the 
conversation was so incredible I was lost for words. 

She took another deep breath then said the rest in one 
breathless sentence so as not to give me chance to 
interrupt. "If you let me go back I'll be your slave. I 
won't tell anyone about what happened. Please! During 
term time I'll be available any time you call and I 
will happily return here during any breaks or holidays. 
After I graduate you can keep me here as long as you 
want, I won't try to escape, I'll do anything you 
want." 

I looked into her eyes, there was a look of sincerity 
there that told me she was serious. I should have told 
her were to get off straight away but the evil part of 
my mind decided to play. 

"Lets discuss this further," I said. "For the sake of 
argument lets say I was disposed to agree to this. When 
you say anything I want what do you mean?" 

"Anything," She said flatly, "Anything at all." 

I stood suddenly, she flinched, stood and stepped back 
as far as the tether would allow. Perhaps she though I 
was about to hit her. "Suppose I want piercings," I 
said remembering her reaction last time. "Perhaps a 
little silver ring here and here." I touched her 
nipples which became erect almost immediately. She 
breathed in quickly but despite being unbound she made 
no attempt to stop me. "Perhaps one or two down here as 
well." My finger lightly brushed her pussy lips. She 
gasped, though it was unclear if this was in response 
to the words or the touch. 

"If that's what you want." She said eyes blazing. 

"How about a brand?" I asked innocently, "Something to 
mark you as mine, let those horny college boy's know 
that they are messing with someone else's property." I 
could feel her stiffen. 

"How about here," I said indicating a spot just above 
her right nipple. A bra or regular dress would hide it, 
but itsy bitsy bikini's or dresses with radical 
necklines would be out. 

She swallowed, "Fine..." 

Now I was intrigued I wanted to know just how far she 
would go. "How about a baby," I said, "A son to carry 
on the family name. You'd have to sign over complete 
custody rights to me of course..." 	She nodded 
accepting even that and I realized then that she was 
serious. I was stunned, never in all my plans had I 
envisioned this. I was so surprised that I continued 
almost on auto pilot. 

She said, "What if it's a girl?" 

"Huh? Then we try again," I said off hand. 

"And the child?" 

I was starting to get irritated, I needed to think so 
my dark side furnished a viscous answer. "I'm not 
interested in girls. I'll take a boy child. If it's a 
girl you can look after it yourself, I don't want to be 
stuck with your bastards." 

It was a lie of course, as children girls are far more 
interesting than boys. You can have an intelligent if 
somewhat bizarre conversation with a little girl from 
the age of three or four. A boy of that age is barely 
articulate. If at some time in the future my slave were 
to give me a daughter the little tyke would have no 
trouble twisting me around her little finger. My answer 
was through irritation and I really didn't expect what 
happened next. 

The effect on her was like a physical blow. She gave a 
little wailing sound then she attempted to roll herself 
into a ball. Her legs started to collapse under her and 
she fell like a stone. Under normal situations it would 
be dramatic but she was chained to the ceiling at the 
neck and the chain was short. I moved forward but being 
preoccupied I wasn't fast enough. There came a twang as 
the chain pulled tight followed almost instantly by a 
sharp crack sound and my heart leapt to my throat. 


Chapter 9: Meeting Maggie 

And strangely enough it was my geekyness that saved 
her. 

I'm a geek, a fact I freely admit that to anyone who 
would want to listen. I'm the guy who actually buys 
things from the gadget catalogues you find on 
airplanes. Lot's of things that I own have computers in 
them even ones that don't really need them. It's hardly 
surprising then that when I came to build a dream house 
it was a "smart building". I could talk at length about 
optical packet busses and redundant control but is 
enough to say that one machine is dedicated to the 
security aspects of keeping a slave. 

Suicide was one unpleasantness that I'd been forced to 
consider. Some people don't react well to being locked 
up. Taking their own life is sometimes preferable and 
any prison warder can tell of ingenious suicides even 
when the inmate was being closely watched. When 
Caroline collapsed she had enough slack chain to fall 
perhaps 3 feet before it became taught. At the very 
least that could hurt as the collar pulled tight, at 
worst she could break her neck. 

The moment the mounting point came under load a strain 
gauge registered the sudden impulse and this was sent 
to the computer. Now the computer understands the 
difference between static and impulse loading, it will 
let much more than Caroline's weight be applied to the 
chain but not suddenly. In the instant she fell at a 
speed far faster that any human could react the machine 
determined she was in danger and fired an explosive 
bolt severing the mounting at the ceiling. 

She lay on the floor winded and too surprised to do 
anything as the chain landed on her. When my heart 
started beating again I reached down and helped her up. 
With a strength I didn't know I had I lifted her as if 
she was a rag doll. 

"What the fuck is the matter with you!" I almost 
screamed, "Are you trying to kill yourself." 

"You...you said..." 

"What the fuck does that mater!!" I shook her. For the 
first time I came within a heartbeat of hitting her. 
She started to cry. 

"About the baby being a GIRL." She said as if the 
answer was somehow self evident. I put her on the 
table, my anger started to subside. In the background 
part of my mind continued to analyze what I'd 
discovered. The conclusion was that I'd kidnapped a mad 
woman. It wasn't good but it did calm me down. 

"A joke," I said, "That's all. If I'd realized there 
was lemming blood in your family I'd have been more 
careful." 

"So it's a joke?" 

"We need to discuss this, " I said, "But not now." 

I pushed her back against the table and locked the 
chain to one of the tables mountings. I wanted her 
secure before I proceeded any further. 

"Now take the gloves off." 

As she started to comply I went over to the cupboard 
and started to root around inside. She was finished by 
the time I returned. She eyed the new contraptions with 
some dread, she couldn't tell how upset I was and she 
didn't know if this was some new torture device. It 
took the treat of the crop to get her to place her 
hands behind her back and hold steady while I pulled 
the single sleeve up her arms. When it reached the top 
I buckled the top strap and replaced her collar with 
the posture collar already attached to the sleeve. Next 
came five minutes of tightening numerous straps. When I 
finished I stepped back to admire my handiwork. 

Houdini once said that straight jackets were easy to 
overcome once you realized that they were designed to 
hold crazy people. This creation from a fetish supplier 
in England made no such mistakes, made from black 
leather with buckles everywhere it left no room for 
escape. She was still struggling with it when I went to 
phase 2. First, I again placed her hair in a ponytail. 
Then I reached for a nest of straps on the table. She 
didn't know what most of it was for but she could guess 
were the rubber ball was going. 

"Please?" 

"Open!" I commanded in no mood to be messed around. 

She hesitated but not for long and I pushed the large 
rubber ball firmly into her mouth. For some reason they 
call this a ball gag trainer, despite the fact that it 
is considerably better designed than a ball gag. As 
well as the usual ball and strap there is a harness 
that attaches to the strap then runs either side of the 
victims nose to buckle at the back of the head. A 
second strap passes under the chin to force the jaw 
tightly closed around the ball. It is very effective 
and has the added advantage that once locked in place 
it can't be worked free even if the victim has the use 
of her hands. Yesterdays fiasco would not happen again. 
Once everything was strapped and locked I decided to 
keep her entertained and distracted. 

I showed her what I had in mind, a vibrator and harness 
just as inescapable as the rest of the bondage. It had 
an added twist, a block of tiny rubber fingers that 
fastened over the clit and which the designers claimed 
increased the stimulation without improving the chances 
of achieving orgasm. This seemed like a good time to 
test it out. 

There was a bit of a struggle getting it locked in 
place but when it was finished the harness looked just 
like a tight pair of latex panties. The only exception 
was the speed control knob which jutted out between her 
legs. Reaching down I set her to simmer, and listened 
to the small moans that escaped from behind the gag. 

The head harness had a number of additional components 
which I'd put in my pocket I quickly retrieved the 
blindfold section and fastened it over her eyes using 
the snap fasteners provided. She just stood and 
shivered as I completed my preparations. She didn't 
resist as I fastened a pair of leg irons to her booted 
ankles. 

I looked down and started to breath again, she'd been 
made safe. I didn't know what all that was about but I 
was sure that there was no way she could hurt herself 
now. I took her back to the cell, she started to 
whimper and tried to say something. The trainer had 
been modified so that I didn't need to remove it to get 
at the ball. I gently unlocked a small padlock, undid a 
couple of buckles and popped the ball free. 

"Please," She said, "I'm sorry I didn't mean..." 

"You have one minute to furnish an explanation, or you 
are on punishment Slave." 

"Please, I can't." 

"Who are you?" I demanded. 

"A s-slave Master." 

"What do slaves do?" 

"Give pleasure to my Master and all others he 
designates." 

Which was true but not what I wanted her to say. 

"What is rule number one." 

"Obey first time, every time." 

"And if a slave doesn't." 

Her lip trembled, "She is punished." 

"So I'm giving you a direct order, I want you to tell 
me what this is about right now!" 

She paused, even with her eyes and most of her face 
covered I could see a conflict underway. 

At last she said, "It was what you said about a baby 
girl." 

I smiled, though of course she couldn't see it. "What 
of it Slave," I said, "As Master that is my right!" 

It was the wrong thing to say. She started crying 
again. I tried to get though but is was no good. In the 
end I attached the wire and left her sobbing on the 
bed. 

I now knew absolutely that there was something wrong. 
Her reactions hadn't been right from the beginning. Her 
sudden mood swings, her lack of backbone and now this. 
I had a number of theories most of which revolved 
around major mental illness. One thing was certain I 
was going to need expert help. 

I made two calls. First I called Vicky at work. I 
explained that a last minute personal problem had come 
up and that I'd have to postpone things for a week. She 
seemed disappointed until I offered to pay her for the 
cancelled session and take her to lunch to discuss 
future plans. 

Next I called an old college friend, much to my relief 
she had most of the afternoon off so I arranged to meet 
her at a bar we both knew. I made my preparations, gave 
Caroline a drink and helped her to the toilet. She was 
silent though out and I said as little as possible. 
Then satisfied that she would be all right for the next 
few hours I left. 

Vicky worked as a Dental Hygienist in a section of town 
that didn't have many good restaurants. I'd arranged to 
meet her outside the front of her building then go to a 
little bistro I knew. As she walked towards the car I 
knew I'd made a good choice. She was almost exactly 
Caroline's height and build. Instead of Caroline's mane 
of golden blond hair she had a short mousy bob and they 
didn't look much alike in the face, but all in all I 
was satisfied. Any of the outfits I had bought should 
fit with little difficulty and most importantly in a 
blond wig and wearing Caroline's clothes they would be 
indistinguishable in long shot. 

Once we were at the restaurant I showed her my 
portfolio, shot's I'd taken with Andy Pearson using 
some of his models. I had a few photo's taken in Paris 
last year; Sam, Jean Paul and me, the two of us 
chatting with Claudia. I'm not usually a name dropper 
but this was the girl's first modeling job and I felt 
the need to convince her that I wasn't some random 
freak. I paid her and apologized again then we ordered. 

She had a pleasing if somewhat dull personality and 
tended to limit conversations to subjects she felt 
comfortable with. For the first part of the meal the 
subject of teeth made up a large part of the 
discussion. Then I lucked out and discovered she had a 
liking for motorcycles. This was more up my alley and 
the second half of the meal was more entertaining. I 
said my goodbyes, promised to call and headed for 
Boston. 

Mike's is one of the hidden gems of Boston night life. 
Those who know it call it the real "Cheers" a quiet 
unassuming Irish American bar with a loyal clientele 
which doesn't feel the need to advertize or cash in on 
the tourist trade. The regulars keep it their little 
secret and to be accepted there feels as much a 
privilege as being a member of some exclusive 
gentlemen's club. 

Mike's draws most of it's regulars from the academic 
staff of the local universities. No one knows how that 
came about but I suspect that it is far enough away 
from any of the colleges to be outside undergraduate 
stagger range. This allows the professors chance to 
meet, talk and drink without the risk of student 
interruption. I arrived early and bought the first 
round planting myself in my usual booth and waited. A 
number of regulars passed and a few stopped to chat and 
the business of Mike's flowed around me. I was part way 
through the Globe crossword when a damp figure noisily 
shook her umbrella next to me. 

I glanced up, "Hello Maggie, is it raining?" 

"No," She said, "I just like carrying wet umbrellas 
about. For a supposedly intelligent man Richard Cody 
you do say some of the most stupid things." She pointed 
at the pint of Guinness on the table, "Is that mine?" 
When I nodded she drank it at a surprising speed. The 
waitress had already seen that coming and was heading 
in for the next round. 

"Same again?" I asked. 

"Hell no. If you asked me to drop everything and head 
on over it means you've got yourself a problem and that 
being the case I'm on a professional rate." She smiled 
at the waitress. Tell George I'll have a brandy and 
ginger ale, and I want VSOP non of that cheap rubbish. 
Mr. Cody here tells me he's a paper millionaire lets 
see if we can't make him spend some of it shall we." 

I'd met Margaret O'Hanks during my postgraduate 
research. She was a short slim redhead with wonderful 
green eyes and a pushy personality. I can't remember 
exactly how we met but I think our attraction was based 
on common need; I needed a friend and she needed a TV 
set. I could virtually guarantee that three minutes 
before the start of "Saturday Night Live" there would 
be a knock at the door and she would just walk in sit 
down and watch it as if she owned the place. She had 
also been my first gay friend and we spent many happy 
hours cruising the bars for chicks. It hadn't done my 
ego any good that she seemed better at picking up women 
than I was. 

For a time we had shared a house forming an unlikely 
threesome with a tall, willowy, bisexual blonde called 
Kathy. Three in a bed sessions had been quite common 
though Maggie and I only ever did it together once 
which had been enough to persuade her that penile sex 
was over rated. She was a keen if sometimes viscous 
practical joker, and being her friend was no 
protection. Some of her exploits had become legends yet 
surprisingly she had been asked to stay on after 
graduation and had been there ever since. She was now a 
well respected researcher in experimental clinical 
psychology. As always she had guessed right, I needed 
advice. 

She hung up her coat and deposited the umbrella in the 
stand making it back to the booth about the same time 
the drink did. 

"Keep an eye this way dear and keep them coming," She 
said to the waitress who sensing a large tip in the air 
started to orbit a discrete distance from our table. 
Maggie took a sip and then looked up and smiled. 

"So Cody how's the love life, finally got over the Ice 
Queen." 

"Her name is Samantha." 

"I know what her name is," She said sharply. "And I 
also know that you're well rid of her. Jumped up little 
bitch. Some women are made too beautiful for their own 
or anyone else's good." 

"You're only saying that because she turned you down!" 

"She was tempted boy! Little miss smarty pants likes 
the boys all right but she's got an itch in her pants 
only another woman can scratch." 

I smiled, this was an old argument one, we'd started 
almost twenty years ago and it was still going strong. 
It was Maggie's contention that everyone was bisexual, 
that screaming hetros and gays were just extremes being 
90% plus in one direction or the other. She believed 
that it was only social taboo that stopped people 
experimenting and realizing the truth. Of course she 
was willing to help any girl who wanted to see if this 
was true, but that she claimed did not invalidate the 
point. 

I felt it was time to change the subject. 

"Talking about itches how's things with you?" 

A strange mixture of emotions played across her face, 
"I'm thinking of becoming a nun." 

"Why?" 

"Hey, I've been celibate for almost nine months. If I'm 
going to do without then I may as well get the 
recognition for it." She spat it out with a bitterness 
I'd never seen before. 

"Cheers," She downed the drink and as if by magic the 
waitress appeared. "Same again." 

"Look," I said feeling uncomfortable, "If this is a bad 
time..." 

"No, look I'm just a little pissed off right now." She 
gave a deep sigh. "Last Christmas there was a bit of a 
scandal, girl claimed a professor offered to fix her 
grades for sex. Now just about everyone knew she was 
lying, the guy she accused was more interested in this 
years star quarterback for one thing but the Provost's 
office sent around a memo about fraternization. Well 
you know." 

"And you're taking it seriously?" 

She scowled again, "It hasn't really stopped anyone. I 
don't think anyone really trades grades but there are a 
lot of smart young women attending college these days. 
If you're getting close to a girl, especially if she's 
gifted and you want to give her extra help. Well you 
know." She took another sip, "Current Provost doesn't 
like me. Oh he'll turn a blind eye while some of this 
male friends play around but you can bet that if I so 
much as look at a girl." 

I nodded. 

"And it's so unfair," She continued, "I'm interested, 
she's interested and I know that if I see her some 
stoolie will blow the whistle so fast I won't even have 
time to take my pantyhose off." She sat and moped for a 
while I could tell she was twisted up inside. I started 
to wish that I'd kept in contact more, but after Sam 
dumped me I was too preoccupied and the past few months 
had been full of preparations for the kidnapping. 

Eventually she looked up and smiled "Anyway what about 
you." 

I was tempted to forget about it, but that would leave 
me with a dysfunctional and potentially suicidal slave. 
So I let another round come by before I started into my 
story. I couldn't tell her the complete truth of 
course, Maggie was ok but I couldn't really start with 
"There is this girl I kidnapped..." So instead I told 
her the story I had concocted in the car on the way up. 
I said that I'd met a girl called Elizabeth at a 
college party. 

That we'd been attracted and started dating, I said 
that she liked bondage sex and rough trade that we had 
been going steady except that she had these little 
incidents. I recounted the stories as close to how they 
happened as possible omitting only the non consensual 
nature of her imprisonment and the existence of the 
dungeon. Maggie listened without saying anything but I 
noticed the occasional flicker of interest most of 
which coincided with details of the bondage. 

"You think she's crazy." It was a statement and her 
green eyes watched intensely. 

"I think it's a possibility," I said, "If I hadn't made 
such a bad job of tying off that rope she could have 
hung herself." 

"I'd really need to see her, do a full interview." She 
paused, " Look I have a little practice outside the 
university she could go there." 

I shook my head, "If she even suspects that I've spoken 
to a psychiatrist she'd walk, I'm sure. She's a very 
private person if she won't tell me, then god knows how 
she'd react to you." 

She sipped her drink and in a quiet voice said, "Was 
she abused as a child." 

I frowned. "I don't think so. Her father was a 
minister," I said hoping I hadn't given enough way that 
could link Caroline with "Elizabeth". 

"That doesn't mean anything. Nine times out of ten 
families involved in incest look perfectly respectable 
from outside. It doesn't even have to be a family 
member just someone with perceived authority over the 
child. One thing to me seems telling, the girl has 
difficulty attaining orgasm except when forced." 

I scratched my head, I didn't see that but then I 
wasn't the professional. 

She glanced out of the window. It had stopped raining 
and was already quite dark. A young woman was crossing 
the street dragging her seven or eight year old 
daughter with her. For a moment I thought of Caroline's 
imaginary dusty faced daughter. "Look at that child," 
Maggie said, "Assume that you wanted to have sex with 
her." I pulled a face. "Look just concentrate on the 
practicalities. She is smaller and weaker than you, 
something a lot of pedophiles find particularly 
attractive. She has no chance of stopping you but when 
you're done there is a problem; what if she tells. 

"You could bribe her, but that may not work, you could 
kill her but that's even worse. Threats are much better 
and the best yet is to suggest to the child that they 
have done something wrong. You see if you threaten to 
kill her or her parents that may work, but even a child 
knows that you can't watch her all the time. Sooner or 
later they'll feel safe enough to talk. Now what if you 
tell her that she was responsible, that she was the one 
that caused it and that if she is found out she will be 
the one punished? Then she is never safe. The trusted 
adult that she may otherwise talk to becomes a 
potential enemy. The rapist and the child share a 
secret, one which the child believes is her fault. She 
believes that any adult discovering the truth will 
punish her."

"I still don't see." I said, "Sorry if I seem a little 
slow but what does this have to do with orgasms." 

"Ever have performance anxiety Dick?" She smiled when 
she saw my face. "Men's sexual wiring is fairly 
straight forward, stimulus, erection ejaculation. Yet 
despite that a bit of emotional stress and the whole 
thing shuts down. Women are far more connected 
emotionally far more susceptible to emotional shutdown. 
Suppose that little girl grows up, she thinks sex is 
dirty, evil and her fault. All the stress and trauma 
get transferred to the act whenever she has sex she 
associates it with that trauma and she shuts down. 

"Now you perform a highly symbolic mock rape one were 
she is told that she is nothing, a slave with no 
choice, no responsibility. Do you see if she is forced 
she has no responsibility. If you then demand orgasm as 
part of the ritual not only is part of the opposing 
stimulus removed you are adding extra incentive through 
threat of punishment." 

"Seems somewhat unlikely," I said, "And it doesn't 
explain the recent incident." 

"Has she had an abortion?" 

"Hell I don't know, it's not something that comes up in 
conversation. She's a bible belter, I doubt she could 
find a clinic that hadn't been burnt down." 

"Exactly! To me that clinches it. Suppose he got her 
pregnant, he knows the baby means discovery so he wants 
her to get rid of it. She's been told all her life that 
abortion is evil so she resists. So he threatens her, 
there is still a lot of stigma associated with being an 
unmarried mother in some places, she's probably seen 
what happened to other girls. So he tells her that her 
life is over if she keeps the baby, tells her about the 
pointed fingers, the accusing looks." 

The waitress swung in with yet another round. 

"I need to see her Richard. If I'm even a little right 
about what's going on here she needs at least 
counseling, possibly therapy." 

"I don't think she's ready for that. What could I do 
for her, perhaps if I could start the process then she 
may realize she has a problem." 

She shook her head, "You know my feelings about amateur 
psychotherapy. You're likely to do more harm than good. 
What you need to do is get her to acknowledge the 
problem then find someone willing to take her case. My 
offer still stands and you get the added benefit that I 
can't hit on her if she's a patient." 

I felt the need to extricate myself from the 
conversation. 

"What else are you doing these days, at college." 

She took the hint, "The physiology of social 
responsibility. We have the use of an MRI. I'm trying 
to find what makes Mother Teressa different from Ted 
Bundy." 

"Oh," I said starting to wish that I hadn't changed the 
subject. 

"What we discovered is quite interesting. Sociopaths 
tend to be very intelligent, fastidious beyond belief 
and have real difficulty dealing with people. Bit like 
you in fact." 

"Thanks," I said, "Now you must excuse me I haven't 
killed someone for over an hour." 

She rolled her eyes, "We also discovered that under an 
MRI they have certain abnormal characteristics, a 
general change in brain morphology. The surprising 
thing is that this abnormality is shared by 10 to 20% 
of our sample usually the more intelligent ones, yet 
serial killers represent less than one percent of the 
general population." 

"Great," I said, "And I didn't feel secure before." 

"What it means is that the structure of your brain has 
less impact on what you do than the conditioning it 
receives through life. The Manson family for instance. 
When we ran tests on Charlie we found that he was far 
gone, but other members even those who committed murder 
would be considered normal according to the scan. It's 
almost as if they somehow became an extension of 
Manson, playing out his madness." 

I started to get interested. "How is that?" 

"It's not that uncommon actually, over time people can 
become totally dependant on one another even to the 
point where a person is basically just an extension of 
someone else. They continue to function as individuals 
but act in concert with another to the point were that 
persons wants and desires become more important than 
their own. The so called Stockholm Syndrome is a minor 
manifestation. I wrote a paper on it last year 
something you would know if you bothered to look me up 
now and then." The hint of bitterness had returned and 
I was confused. We had only ever really been close 
friends, given her sexual preference that was all that 
we could have been. Yet she sounded like a neglected 
lover. 

"Well I have to go," I said, "Got a trip to Seattle day 
after tomorrow and I still need to pack." 

"Wait," She said and I recognized the look of need in 
her eyes. 

"Maggie? I didn't think?" 

"Desperate times," She smiled weakly, "I have an itch. 
Don't worry I won't hold it against you if the answers 
no." 

"But why now?" 

"What I said, about the child and the guilt. It wasn't 
entirely from clinical experience." 

She must have seen my shocked face. 

"It was my uncle, both my parents worked and he was a 
postman. After work he used to collect me from school 
and I'd stay with him until my father came home. I 
always felt that was why I preferred to do it with 
women, no bad associations. I can't even masturbate 
properly." 

"Oh god!" I said and I was genuinely sorry. 

She smiled weakly, "Nine months..." 

"What do you want?" 

"Do what you do with her," She begged, "I think it can 
work. It removes the responsibility, the feeling of 
guilt." 

"I can't," I said as the dark side of my brain screamed 
YES. 

"Please, just this once. I won't blame you either way." 

I looked into her eyes. "Have you done this before?" 

She shook her head and my mind went into turmoil. She 
was almost begging and it would answer some of the 
fantasies I'd had since college. On the other hand I 
stood every chance of blowing things with my oldest 
friend. 

"If I agree there are a few ground rules. First you 
must call me Master and yourself This Slut. Second for 
the next three hours you are mine, you have no right to 
question any of my decisions. You will obey first time 
every time. If you don't think you can do that walk 
away. 

She looked up. I could tell it was a struggle, if there 
was anyone I knew with a dominant personality it was 
her. To go to being a sub was the most dramatic change 
I could think of. 

She looked up, "Master, this slut is ready." 

"Go into the bathroom and remove your panties and hose. 
Put them in your bag." She blushed but stood and headed 
for the ladies. I whistled the waitress over and 
settled the bill. 

She came out of the toilet so red that several people 
enquired if she was all right. To look you couldn't 
tell that she wore no panties but she knew and she 
walked very carefully again causing comments from the 
others. 

I pulled her over, "What are you doing?" 

"Please I..." 

"This slut!" I hissed 

"Please, the... this slut doesn't want them to see..." 

"They won't if you move normally. You just bought your 
first punishment, if you don't put your head up and 
strut out of here like a slave slut should we'll make 
that two." Then we left, as ordered she took long 
strides with her head back and when she found that her 
long skirt still hid everything she started to relax 
and enjoy things. She'd taken a taxi to get here so we 
wandered up the rapidly drying streets towards my car. 

I think she thought we were off to her apartment but I 
had other plans. The sex shop was not one of my usual 
haunts, the ones in New York carried a better stock, 
but I'd made a point of finding it in case I had any 
special needs. This one had a female cashier which was 
not as unusual as you might think, sex shops obey the 
same economic laws as your local deli. The cashier 
looked up from her paper as we entered but was smart 
enough not to comment. My principle interest was 
restraints, I didn't carry any with me in case the car 
was stopped. 

However that night I was feeling especially generous so 
I browsed the female apparel section. The choice wasn't 
that good mostly cheaply put together PVC and rubber 
items at over inflated prices. Fortunately Maggie was 
relatively small and I found a nice leather corselet 
that had obviously been overlooked. I couldn't find 
matching gloves and boots but cheap PVC pairs would do 
for now. I handed her my choice and nodded towards the 
changing rooms. She blushed and started to open her 
mouth to say something but catching my eye she stopped 
and did as she was told. 

While she was gone I took a pair of handcuffs, a ball 
gag, a blindfold, a collar, some cuffs and a pair of 
nipple clamps. I had them put rapidly into a plain bag 
so that she couldn't see what I'd bought. I glanced 
back towards the changing room and saw a gloved hand 
reach out through the curtain and beckon. Smiling I 
asked the cashier for another bag which I stuffed in my 
pocket. 

Pulling aside the curtain I glanced inside. The change 
was astonishing, it seemed that the leather loved her 
body, flowing over her torso like fine black paint. Her 
nipples were already very hard and pushed uncomfortably 
through the peepholes cut into the cups. Down by her 
crotch traces of pubic hair showed around the point 
were the corselet passed between her legs. I also 
noticed the zipper that passed between her legs 
allowing easy access without the need to remove the 
whole thing. All in all I was quite taken with the 
design and decided to have something similar made for 
Caroline. The boots and gloves were a bit of a 
disappointment, but if Maggie took to this look I could 
always get her a decent set for next Christmas. 

"Well Master what do you think?" The thrill was 
starting to get to her and she was more like the fun 
loving kid I first knew. I scratched my head as if 
undecided. In truth I'd already paid for everything but 
I had something in mind. 

"Don't know," I said, "Why don't you show the cashier?" 

She looked shocked. "No I couldn't!" 

"Why not?" I asked, "She doesn't know you and you'll 
never meet again. Besides if she likes it you may have 
found someone who will scratch that itch a bit more 
regularly." 

Her nipples had hardened some more and I knew it was 
only a few minutes before her brain did what her body 
already wanted. "Strut slave, remember you are your 
Masters slut. Do it with pride." 	She started to walk 
towards the cashier slinking along with no difficulty. 
Maggie had always loved high heels and had quite a few 
years practice on poor Caroline. There were no 
accidents, no tottering, she just oozed towards the 
desk while behind her I pulled out the bag and got 
busy. 

She was a big hit with the cashier as I walked towards 
the counter they were already exchanging numbers. 

"She likes it," Maggie said with some glee, "Are you 
going to buy it?" 

"Already have, " I said and passed over her jacket. 
Then she realized what was in the other bag. I followed 
her gaze, "Yep we're wearing it out." Her face was 
filled with horror. I had given her a short leather 
jacket, her overcoat, and purse were with the rest of 
her clothes in the bag. Before she had time to think I 
picked up the bag of restraints and headed for the 
door. It took a while for her to catch up I was walking 
deliberately fast and running in high heeled thigh 
boots isn't easy even for an expert. 

"You...You.." 

I smiled, "I knew you couldn't take it," I said, "So 
you want to give up." Maggie never gave up. It was her 
creed, she would never admit that she couldn't cut it. 
I knew that she was fuming but in the end all she said 
was, "You are walking too fast Master!" I smiled and 
slowed down. We'd parked a fair distance away and the 
walk was quite interesting. She managed to fasten the 
jacket over her erect nipples but is was obvious from 
her breathing that they were rubbing on the lining. A 
faint odor told me that she was now truly damp. 

At the street corner two working girls stood and touted 
for custom. Hearing the click of heels on concrete they 
turned. Maggie was quite a sight, The jacket hid most 
of the outfit down to the waist but her shiny gloved 
hands gave some hint of what was underneath. The 
leather covered crotch was a bit of a give away too as 
were the vinyl thigh boots. They made the obvious 
conclusion that Maggie was intruding on their 
territory. If she had been alone they would probably 
have taken it from her hide but I was either a customer 
or her pimp and whore etiquette meant that nothing 
would happen now. Maggie could sense the hostility and 
started to fall back. 

"Hey mister, she with you?" 

"Yep," I said stopping at the corner to allow her to 
catch up." 

"How much she charge you?" The shorter one asked. 

Maggie was close enough now to hear the conversation. I 
turned towards her. 

"A C note wasn't it love?" 

She was lost for words, the short whore wasn't. 

"Hang on I know her." Maggie winced, the thought of 
anyone she knew seeing her like this was unbearable. 

"Hey Red didn't the doctor tell you not to go out again 
until the infection cleared up!" The taller one got the 
idea and ran with it. 

"That's right Red you have to finish all the tablets." 
Maggie was too horrified to speak. "I'd leave her alone 
if I was you, she's got the clap. Now both me and Trudy 
are clean and we'll even take you at the same rate." 

I turned to her looking shocked, "Is this true?" I 
could see she wanted to die. 

"N-no please." 

It was time to put her out of her misery. 

"Sorry ladies but the police doctor assures me that my 
partner here is free from all diseases." 

Now it was their turn to wince. The small one swore. 

"You lucked out girls, we're not Vice and we're too 
tired to work out jurisdiction. I turned to Maggie. "If 
we let them off we can get back sooner. What do you 
think?" 

Maggie had pulled herself up to her full height and was 
smiling, she gave the girls a reasonable imitation of a 
thousand yard stare. 

"I should run you in buy rights," She said sounding 
unsure, "But then there's the paperwork." 

Feeling uncomfortable and afraid Maggie would change 
her mind they moved on taking the occasional glance 
back at us until we were out of sight. 

She felt better when we got in the car. 

"Can I ask for a time-out here." 

"What's the matter Slave can't cut it." 

"I can cut it. All I want is a 2 minute time-out. 

"Ok," I said. "But we add the two minutes on at the 
end." 

"Is this how you treat this Elizabeth girl?" 

"Nope, it's the way I treat you?" 

"Why?" 

"Well for a start there's my twenty first birthday 
party when you left me naked and handcuffed to that 
tree. What was it you said, something like if you can't 
torture your friends who can you torture? " 

She turned white, "God I forgot all about that." 

I turned and smiled, "I didn't." 

"That was different, it was a joke!" 

"It was snowing." 

"Not when we started. Do you mean that you've been 
saving that for all these years" 

"Revenge is a dish best served cold," I said with the 
biggest smile I could manage. Then some of the tension 
broke and she started laughing. 

"God I feel like I'm eighteen again. Were we nuts or 
what?" 

"Still are!" I said, "You only grow old if you want to. 
End of time-out!" 

We stopped of at a seven eleven on the way back to buy 
some general supplies. I felt sure that the cashier 
should have figured out what I was doing, buying duct 
tape, clothes line and the like. He didn't seem to 
think it odd or pass comment, probably relieved I 
wasn't trying to rob him. 

I got back to find her rubbing her crotch. 

"Naughty slave," I said and reached for the restraints 
bag. I'd already tried the key in the handcuffs and 
added them to my key ring so all I needed to do was 
feel for the metal object. I made her lean forward and 
before she knew what was happening I'd cuffed her hands 
behind her. 

The smell of hot cunt still filled the car and she 
squirmed occasionally looking to get a bit more 
sensation. We drove to her apartment complex, she 
didn't have a car but she did have a space in the 
basement car park. I used her key and headed down. Once 
there I relented a little and fastened the overcoat 
about her shoulders. Of course it couldn't do anything 
about the fuck me heels but it hid most of the outfit 
and the handcuffs. Her apartment was near to the 
elevator so I decided to take one last risk. While we 
waited in the empty car park I went through the bags 
and collected a few items. 

"Open wide." 

"What?" 

"I'm going to gag you," I said sweetly. 

A look of horror suddenly spread over her face. "Oh god 
not here. These are my neighbors!" She saw the look in 
my eye and opened her mouth. I shoved her panties 
firmly inside, of course she was no stranger to pussy 
juice so they probably tasted familiar. I few strips of 
duct tape later and she was effectively gagged. I was 
pleased with the result but it was a little obvious. As 
Maggie was a consensual partner it was not quite as 
critical as if I was transporting Caroline, if we were 
caught we would be embarrassed but non of us would go 
to jail. Still I wanted to give her the thrill with 
minimal actual risk. So I took a head scarf I'd bought 
at the convenience store and tied it around her head. 

I deliberately tied it a little forward so that it 
concealed the gag from the side. If someone looked her 
square in the face they could see it easily but I had 
no intention of giving them that opportunity. The 
elevator arrived, mercifully empty and we went to the 
back. There I had her turn towards the side wall 
allowing the scarf to hide the gag more completely. The 
elevator went up slowly. I gradually became aware of 
the smell of hot pussy; for all her protests this was 
obviously a turn on for her. Maggie lived on the fourth 
floor and we had both hoped that the lift would stay 
empty but at the first floor the door opened and a 
middle aged couple got on. 

I thought I heard a little gagged squeal and I thought 
they must have heard it too. Worse the hot pussy smell 
was very obvious in such a small space. Any second I 
expected a comment so trying to head it off I went into 
my planned routine. Of course unlike a real captive 
Maggie had no intention of drawing attention to herself 
so she was already facing the wall and looking down at 
the floor. I stepped between her and the couple and 
started to continue an imaginary conversation, a long 
involved discussion on the Boston Tea Party that I'd 
had to memories for school. As planned the couple 
phased us out and we could have been painted pink for 
all they cared. 

They got off at the next floor. The one risk now was 
that there was someone waiting for the elevator on 
four. Not only was there little chance of us getting 
off unnoticed but the chances of someone recognizing 
her were greater. She realized this and rubbed her 
taped mouth against my arm in a very Caroline gesture. 
I pulled her forward so that she was near the controls 
and positioned myself in front of her. Her eye's were 
wild she made a few gagged noises obviously wishing to 
be ungagged. 

"Trust me?" 

She closed her eyes for a second then nodded. 

"Good girl." 

The events were having a great effect on my erection 
and secret bondage in public had always been one of my 
fantasies. I imagined the other couple going back to 
their apartment and continuing there lives never 
realizing that the girl in the elevator was a prisoner. 
"Now when the lift stops go between me and the right 
wall. I will move with you. If there is someone in the 
corridor turn to face the wall and act upset." 

It turned out to be unnecessary as four was empty. I 
played around finding the right key for a while feeling 
her panic mount. Finally I got her inside. The smell of 
hot cunt was now overpowering. I took off scarf, 
overcoat and handcuffs. She reached for the gag but a 
quick slap on her hand stopped her. 

"Not yet!" I handed her the shaving supplies I'd bought 
and pointed at her crotch. "I'm sure you know the 
routine now loose it. Leave a little for decoration but 
the rest goes." 

While she headed for the bathroom I started to prepare 
the bedroom. I tied a couple of lengths of cord to the 
legs at the bottom of her bed and waited. She came out 
with the crotch zip open to show her nude cunt I passed 
her the cuffs. 

"Wrists and ankles, now!" 

She complied and I rewarded her by removing the gag. 

"Ok Slave, dildos and vibrators, where?" 

She pointed at the bedside cabinet. There was an 
impressive collection and I had no trouble finding a 
nice powerful little friend to keep her company. I made 
her turn and fastened her cuffed wrists together with a 
short length of cord. Then I introduced her cunt to the 
vibrator and pulled the zipper up to lock it in place. 
Her hips started to quake and while she was distracted 
I pushed the ball gag into her mouth and fastened it 
tightly. 

She complained but there was little she could do. 
"Dance slave," I said, "Do a good job and I'll release 
you." She danced, not as well as Caroline but then I 
doubt she had the same imagination. Towards the end she 
moved her body against mine her eyes sparkling when she 
saw the size of my erection. 

I took her to the bed and used the cords to spread her 
legs. I chose now to show her the nipple clamps. This 
she didn't like as much but with her erect nipples 
still poking through the peepholes she had little 
protection. I applied the blindfold and felt her body 
tremble as her helplessness increased. I knew that she 
wasn't very good at the old skin flute so I didn't 
bother to ungag her. 

Instead I removed the vibrator from her damp box. Sam 
had demanded oral sex and had taken the time to school 
her various beau's on the correct technique. I know 
that I probably wasn't going to be as good as some of 
Maggie's partners, ownership promotes a certain 
understanding, but the little noises from behind the 
gag told me that she appreciated it. 

I teased, deliberately denying her completion, she 
groaned. A gentle tug on the nipple clamps every now 
and then kept her interested and when I knew she was 
ready I stopped. 

I reached up and removed the nipple clamps. Then 
momentarily freeing her legs I tied her ankle cuffs to 
her thighs using large hanks of cord. When I'd finished 
she was helpless and unable to protect her naked cunt. 

I smiled "Well Slave time has come to fuck your 
worthless cunt. It's no good resisting because you're 
helpless. Struggle slave and see! " 

She did, it was futile. I'd practiced on Caroline were 
escape meant prison, Maggie had patiently let me tie 
her up. 

"Scream slave. Perhaps the neighbors might hear." 

This had worried me. Not knowing how thin the walls 
were I had the roll of tape nearby in case the gag 
needed supplementing. It didn't, even when I encouraged 
her to really let rip there was nothing that could 
attract attention. 

"Guess not," I said and slowly removed my clothes 
letting the bound girl shiver in anticipation. 

I pulled her over and as with Caroline positioned her 
on top. Her bound legs would mean that I'd have to do 
most of the trusting and that would make it slow but 
the feeling of complete helplessness was what we were 
after and she was. 

"I'm going to rape you now," I said "I'm going to force 
you to cum you little whore if you like it or not. And 
if you don't cum this time perhaps a pussy whipping 
will persuade you." 

I felt her tremble. Then I started and as the 
excitement built I taunted her. Telling her to scream, 
that it made no difference because the gag kept her 
silent, that the bonds stopped her struggles. That I 
had made her helpless and I was in charge and that I 
decided her pussy should be fucked and that I wanted 
her to cum for me or she would be punished. Each time I 
emphasized the *I* hammering the message home that she 
was helpless that it was my will and my responsibility. 
I felt the heat rising as those nine long months came 
bubbling to the surface and heard the gagged screams as 
she came again and again. 

Afterwards she made me a light snack and a drink. She 
seemed quiet, subdued and quite happy. She told me that 
it had been all that she'd wanted, and the first time 
she had ever orgasmed with a man. The cashier from the 
sex shop was apparently a sub in search of a mistress, 
and Maggie thought that she might give it a try now 
that she knew the ropes so to speak. She was happy and 
I felt relieved, the entire event practical jokes and 
all seemed to have strengthened our friendship. 

Maggie hinted that she might want to try this again and 
an evil thought came into my head, after all I'd always 
liked the idea of two girls in bondage. So with that 
happy thought I departed back to the house and 
Caroline. 

It was nearly midnight when I returned to the house. A 
quick video check found that she was well and still as 
tightly bound as I left her. I made two coffees and 
headed down. She moaned and attempted to move when I 
entered. Helping her up I removed the blindfold then 
waited as she greedily downed the coffee. Then she 
looked at me with those large expression filled blue 
eyes. 

I smiled, "Slave, we have got to talk." 


Chapter 10: "Patriarch Games" 

I helped her up. She seemed apprehensive. I suppose I 
couldn't blame her -- we had hardly parted on the best 
of terms. Her eye makeup was smeared and I could tell 
she'd been crying again. I looked into her eyes and she 
tried to look away. The posture collar made that 
impossible and I grabbed her chin and forced her to 
look at me. 

As I looked into those need-filled eyes, I knew that 
I'd succeeded, that over a period of just a few days 
I'd made Caroline Conway -- the preacher's daughter, 
the good little girl -- hopelessly addicted to sex. She 
thrust her hips against me again and moaned. She was 
ungagged and perfectly capable of asking for what she 
wanted, but these were animal needs and she begged as 
any animal in heat would. There was more in that look, 
a silent capitulation that told me that she was all set 
for another back down. If there was ever a time when 
she was disposed to talk, this was it. 

I led her to the toilet and removed the vibrator. She 
sat, embarrassed as before to have me watching her. I 
looked at her damp box, no surprise there. She was the 
juiciest female I'd ever known. She squirmed a little 
but did her business and afterwards I cleaned her up, 
finishing by pushing the vibrator back inside and 
upping the setting slightly. Subconsciously, she thrust 
her latex covered twat in my direction and her eyes 
asked a silent question. Just last week she had been a 
struggling student living in a tiny apartment. Now she 
stood next to me, a fetish queen begging a man to fuck 
her, almost a nymphomaniac, and very nearly a slave. 
The thought amused me. 

I smiled, caressing her naked breast for a moment to 
ensure that her nipples had some attention too, then 
led her into the dungeon. I forced her onto the bondage 
chair (without dildos) and started to strap her in. I 
paused, letting my touch linger, as I fastened her 
ankles to the legs. She was hot and ready so I reached 
down to her throbbing crotch and as she gasped, begging 
soundlessly for more, removed the vibrator. She cried 
out in frustration, horny but denied. I just smiled. 
That would make things easier. 

"Ok. I've calmed down a little and I want to hear what 
you have to say." 

"Please..." 

"Want to cum, slave?" 

"Oh...yes." 

"Then you won't have any problem telling me what it's 
all about." 

She looked up hopefully, "What, about my offer?" 

"No, not about your offer." 

"Please Master, I will do any..." 

"Enough!" 

She fell silent, sensing my annoyance. I reached down 
and forced her to look at me. Best get this over with. 

I smiled. "Ok, so you want to talk about your *offer*. 
So let's deal with that first, shall we?" I wanted to 
make sure that she realized the permanency of her 
position. It would perhaps persuade her to tell me what 
I needed to know. "It is my intention to keep you 
forever, but assuming that I did tire of you, what 
makes you think you would be released? How do you know 
there isn't a shallow grave in your future?" 

She shuddered and for an instant a look of fear crossed 
her face, but then she tried to shake her head. Finding 
that impossible she licked her lips. "I don't think you 
could do that," she said quietly. There was perhaps a 
little flicker of doubt behind those blue eyes, but she 
did her best to sound sure. 

I laughed. "What do you base that on?" I asked. "And I 
hope that isn't a psychological opinion. I wouldn't bet 
my life on it, not with your grades!" 

"No," she said, her voice almost a whisper. 

"Then what?" 

"A slave must know her Master's mind," she said. "I 
don't, not completely, but I do know that rules are 
important to you. I don't think you'd kill me for no 
reason, I realized that yesterday." 

I was beginning to see. "You thought I was going to 
kill you?" 

She looked up, "I thought that it was likely," she 
admitted. "I thought I'd have a couple of weeks, a 
month at most. I tried not to provoke you, not to 
attempt to escape unless I knew it was going to work... 
yesterday, when I tried to escape, I thought you would 
kill me for sure, but you didn't. Then I realized that 
you were serious about keeping me as a slave and that I 
had a future to plan for." She looked at me with those 
big blue eyes, pleading. "My offer is good," she said. 
"I'll willingly be your slave, do anything in return, 
the piercing, the brand, even a baby if that's what you 
want." 

I smiled again, as I understood. "What you're offering 
is to be my girlfriend," I said. "Well, it may surprise 
you to learn that I can get a girl with no trouble 
whatsoever. If not from love then form the fact that I 
am a very wealthy man." I brought my hand up and 
stroked her cheek, again. She didn't try to stop me. 

"If I'd wanted, I could have bought your pretty little 
ass," I said. 

"You could deny it but think; how much did you owe? If 
I'd have come to you and offered say a thousand dollars 
for one night would you have really turned it down?" 
The look on her face told me she didn't know. "We could 
go on," I said. "How much would the piercing cost me, 
or the brand, or the baby? Probably a lot less than 
it's already cost me to bring you here. You remember 
the outfit you wore last night. 

Those boots were probably the most expensive footwear 
you've ever had, that corset alone cost more than half 
your wardrobe. Taking a slave is a very expensive hobby 
but it's worth it because in return I get something I 
could never buy -- complete control of your life. If I 
decide to throw you out in ten years and you are forced 
to make your way in the world with no education, that's 
my choice. I could just as easily sell you to a brothel 
in Mexico, that's my choice too. That's what ownership 
buys me." 

She'd looked upset, almost terrified when I mentioned 
the brothel. 

I smiled as I explained, "Caroline Conway doesn't have 
a future to plan for, slave. She died in that alleyway. 
My slave has a long and interesting future ahead of her 
once she accepts her situation and starts looking 
forward instead of looking back." 

She was silent, fidgeting nervously like a schoolgirl 
in front of the principal and perhaps sulking a little. 

"Now, slave, what I want to know is why you almost hung 
yourself today." 

She said nothing. I thought back to Maggie. 

"Did you have an abortion?" 

She looked shocked, scandalized. "No. I..." 

"Then what? Why such a dramatic reaction?" 

Still nothing. 

"Slave," I said as kindly as I could, "Ownership means 
responsibility. You are my slave, I am your Master. I 
want to help you, and you must need that help otherwise 
you wouldn't have done something so melodramatic. Now 
tell me!" I could tell she wanted to but something deep 
and old was fighting me for her soul. 

"Tell me!" 

Still nothing. Then I remembered what Maggie had said, 
that she may have been threatened punishment if she 
told. Well, two could play at that game. I allowed the 
vicious quality to creep into my voice. 

"I don't have all day, Slut!" 

"I'm sorry Master." 

"That is nowhere near good enough," I said coldly. 
"What is rule one?" 

"Obey first time, every time." She said without 
hesitation. 

"Or?" 

"Be punished," she whispered. 

"And this is the creed you live by, the rules you say I 
always keep." 

"Yes." It was almost a gasp. 

"Well then, I have given you a direct order. You are 
that far away from a major punishment, Slave. That 
close. You are going to tell me all about whatever it 
is that's going on here and I mean *now*." I slammed 
the crop against the table. 

She started crying. "Please, I can't," she moaned. 

"A pussy whipping then? Twenty lashes?" 

She stiffened. One had been painful enough, twenty must 
have seemed unimaginable. 

"Please!" 

"Do I hear thirty?" 

"No!" 

"Thirty from the dumb bitch tied to the chair!" I said 
like a mock auctioneer. 

"Please!" 

I could tell she didn't want to say it whatever it was. 
Coercion was obviously needed and I had to sell her on 
the idea that major pain would result from a refusal. 
In an instant my decision was made. I brought the crop 
down hard on her unprotected nipple and yelled, "Sold!" 
She screamed and cried but still said nothing. I waited 
a few moments, then shook my head. "I see. A pussy 
whipping it is then!" I said with a trace of 
disappointment in my voice. 

"No, please!" she screamed. It was agony for her, torn 
between wanting to obey me and the fear or 
embarrassment holding her back. I stood and turned 
towards the cabinet. I'd deliberately left it open so 
that the floggers hung on the back of the door were 
visible to her. Of course I knew that these were 
designed for sexual play, and at worst they could 
deliver only mild pain and discomfort. But God, they 
looked marvelous. I heard the gasp as I went towards 
them. 

"I-I... I'm a bastard!" 

I stopped. Not the sort of thing you expect a lady to 
say, especially about herself. It took me a moment to 
realize that she meant it literally. Thinking about it, 
I kicked myself for not spotting it sooner. Caroline's 
parents' wedding date had been one of the first things 
I'd checked, as it wouldn't have done for the dutiful 
daughter to miss such an important anniversary. The 
date popped into my head and I realized immediately 
that it was wrong. Or rather, that it didn't match up 
with Caroline's age. In my defense, a lot of my married 
friends have cohabited for a while and I no longer tend 
to directly link married time with length of 
relationship. The Reverend Conway did not strike me as 
the cohab type. 

A quick calculation told me that Caroline was almost 
eighteen months old when the happy event happened. Then 
my words came back to me: 

"...if it's a girl, you can look after it yourself. I 
don't want to be stuck with your bastards." 

"You're illegitimate," I said with some relief, 
remembering the horror stories told by Maggie. Part of 
me thought she had overreacted; after all, huge numbers 
of kids are born out of wedlock these days. Then I 
remembered she hadn't grown up in the real world but in 
the weird twilight zone that was small town middle 
America. I could imagine the comments, the knowing 
looks, the gossip -- and then, another part of the 
puzzle fell into place. 

"The Reverend Conway isn't your real father, is he?" I 
said softly. "He married your mother after you were 
born." 

"Yes," Her face flushed with shame. She looked like a 
heroine from a Victorian melodrama, the foundling child 
born from sin. 

I couldn't even begin to imagine the Reverend's motive 
for marrying a single mother, but knowing the Bible 
Belt I felt sure he could find some way to sell it to 
his loyal congregation. "So who is your real father?" 

She tried to shake her head. "I don't know." She 
started to cry and my concerns returned. So she was a 
bastard, but even in darkest Iowa it didn't constitute 
this much grief. Then I remembered her reaction to my 
words, the begging letter home to her mother. 

Mother. 

"So the good reverend isn't your father. So what?" She 
said nothing. I took a risk. "He still scares you that 
much?" 

She looked at me in surprise, obviously disturbed now. 
"Y-you know?" 

"Tell me!" 

She wobbled her head, sobbing. 

It was so clear. I don't know why I didn't spot it 
sooner. I turned to her, making a sweeping gesture with 
my hand. "All this, all the histrionics," I demanded. 
"It's all about your father, isn't it?" 

A look came across her face, a strange mixture of fear 
and relief. If Maggie was right, Caroline had carried a 
dark secret with her for many years, afraid to tell 
anyone because she thought they would hate her. Part of 
her mind wanted so desperately to tell, to free herself 
from the guilt. Confession is a powerful aid to 
conditioning someone; it builds trust because inside we 
all have something to hide. It's hardly surprising that 
it is used extensively as part of the brainwashing 
process. 

I nodded to myself. "I want you to tell me all about 
it. Everything, understand?" 

"No, please--" 

"Not the right answer!" I said. "Slave, there is 
nothing you can tell me that can shock me in any way. 
It's not possible for me to think any less of you than 
I do at the moment. Make no mistake -- you will tell 
me, sooner or later. I have a lot of interesting and 
painful ways to make you tell me. Speak now before I 
have to whip it out of you, and you may buy a little of 
my respect." 

She looked up at that. "Respect?" Her voice was quiet 
but emotional. 

"Winning her Master's respect is the only thing that 
should matter to a slave," I said. "It's the only way 
she'll ever be anything more than an object." 

"Please." 

"What's the matter, afraid I'll spread it around? What 
do you think I'd say?" I slipped into a fake Texas 
drawl. "Hey, Bob, old buddy old pal. You'll never guess 
what I found out -- Caroline, the kidnapped girl I have 
locked in my basement? Hell, I found out she fucks farm 
animals." 

That caused her to smile a little, but there was still 
the fear in her eyes. 

"No matter what you did, I'm not likely to throw you 
out," I continued. "You might as well tell me. Now." 

"He said he'd..." She closed her eyes, the tears 
gleaming on her cheeks. 

"You're afraid he'll hurt you!" 

She would have nodded but the posture collar prevented 
it. "Yes," she whispered. 

I laughed harshly. "You've been kidnapped, taken 
countless miles away, locked in a hidden room behind a 
door a tank couldn't get though, and you're still 
afraid he'll punish you?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, he won't," I said, leaning down until I was 
almost nose to nose with her. "Because to get you he 
has to come through me, and I'm the scariest thing in 
heaven or hell that bastard will ever meet." 

She looked at me with those doe eyes. She wanted so 
much to believe. 

"I am your Master, slave," I said, in the purr of a 
jungle cat. All sleek and powerful and razor-tipped, 
something that could kill in an eye blink. "You are my 
property and I defend my property. No matter what." 

I released her, then, sitting down and pulling her onto 
my lap. She curled up like a frightened little girl. I 
held her close, letting her feel the warmth of my body, 
the tangible physical contact. 

Remembering what Maggie had said, I gently brushed her 
breast in a deliberately calming sensation, especially 
for someone as needful as she was at that moment. "Tell 
me everything," I said. "No one will punish you for 
what happened." 

She looked up at me. It was so close to the surface. 

"Tell me," I whispered. "I can free you from the 
guilt." For a while she cried, but I knew it would be 
soon so I punched a button on the remote. Somewhere 
upstairs the sound system started recording.

She had begun speaking like a child, using simple 
grammatical sentences like a five or six year old. As 
the story progressed, her use of language improved, 
almost as if she'd been hypnotically regressed. Or 
perhaps she had rehearsed it in her mind for all those 
years, waiting for that trusted adult that had never 
arrived to save her from the hell that was her home. In 
any case, it took several hours for her to get through 
it. She would periodically break down and I would have 
to comfort her before she went on. 

She recounted it slowly, and at my insistence she had 
described everything in a vivid, almost grotesque 
detail. When she had finally calmed down, I retrieved a 
bottle of whisky from the cellar and we drank ourselves 
into a minor stupor. This time she hadn't argued, as 
grateful for the liquor as I was. Then I had taken her 
back to the cell and reattached the wire. She just 
looked up at me, and I felt the need to hold her. She 
was stiff and tense, and I knew she could never sleep 
like this. 

I started to caress her, rekindling the burning need 
buried deep inside her womb, feeling her body relax, 
finally accepting absolution and the freedom from 
guilt. Then I very gently parted her legs and started 
to lick and tease her pussy, feeling the warmth, the 
need sweep across her, obliterating all other concerns. 
I concentrated on her clit, building the sensation 
still further, listening as she lost control and her 
screams of lust filled the room. 

Then, when I judged the moment was right, I stopped and 
shifted so that I could gently play with her nipples, 
listening as the volume of her cries increased still 
further. I prolonged the moment, kept her on the edge 
for minute after minute, knowing that to her it was an 
eternity of sweet agony, a torture far more intense 
than any pain. I found myself thinking of Maggie and 
her moment earlier that night, had it been this intense 
for her? Did I really care? 

Then I slipped my cock into her warm hole and fucked 
her slowly, feeling her tightness drawing me in, 
enveloping me completely. For the first time, I was 
aiming to give her maximum enjoyment, matching my 
stroke to her needs and feeling her body strain against 
the bonds as she crawled over the edge. Then she came 
again and again, a bursting chain of climaxes, as if 
all those orgasms her guilt had denied her had finally 
found release. 

Slowly, finally, she smiled and almost instantly fell 
asleep. I paused to loosen some of the straps and 
relieve the pressure on her arms. She looked like an 
angel, fine wisps of blond hair framing her beautiful 
face. She seemed calm, with that strange look of peace 
in her face that you only associate with children. It 
was as if all those terrible years had just slipped 
away and she was a little girl once more, enjoying the 
deep sleep of a renewed innocence. 

I was not so lucky. At first I had been enthused by my 
new power. I knew that the demons of her past were the 
only obstacle to my total control of her, and went to 
bed in hog heaven; I had tied up and fucked two 
beautiful women today, and perhaps Vicky would be 
number three. I remembered the embarrassment of Maggie 
in her hooker outfit, those huge begging eyes above her 
gag as we had traveled up in the lift. I heard 
Caroline's screams as she came again and again, 
remembered the sweet taste of her pussy, the look in 
her eyes that told me she was nearly mine. I had 
drifted off feeling drunk and very satisfied. It didn't 
last. 

I awoke around three with the unpleasant feeling that 
I'd just had another bad dream and a pounding headache. 
It had taken two Advil, three cups of coffee and almost 
two hours of Animaniacs before I felt I could sleep 
without nightmares. 

The next morning I woke early. The suggestion of a 
headache still lurked in the back of my skull so more 
tablets and coffee were in order. A quick check showed 
her still asleep, so I cleaned myself up and trudged 
into my office. I unpacked her little box, quickly 
sorting the diaries and pictures from the rest of her 
life. Then I replayed the recording, editing out the 
pauses and the worst of the anguished cries. Over the 
next few hours I systematically took her story and 
turned it into a continuous monologue, telling a 
harrowing story of her life. I played it a few times to 
get a feel for it, then used the pictures in the albums 
and those little locked diaries to add in those little 
details she had missed. 

She had begun with a simple statement. 

"Momma didn't really want me. She never told me so, but 
I know. I guess I was an accident. It's kind of weird 
to think about it like that, but it's true. It almost 
sounds like a movie of the week -- a cheerleader and 
some high school kid got together in the back seat of 
one of those big old cars, took their clothes off, 
and...well, you know. Momma said they had used 
protection despite her being Catholic, but God had 
punished her anyway and she got me. 

"I used to think that I could remember the days... 
before, but Momma says that isn't possible. My first 
real memory is of him throwing me to my mother and 
ordering her to make me stop crying. If she couldn't, 
he hit her. Somehow, I understood even then that the 
only way to stop him hurting her was to do as he said. 
That was the first time he told me not to tell the 
neighbors or anyone outside our house about what he did 
to Momma. He said he would hurt her even worse if I 
did." 

I looked at her first school photographs, of the sullen 
blond- haired girl at the back of rows and rows of 
smiling children. 

"I didn't understand that we were different until my 
first day at school. Momma took me to the gate and 
waved to me as I went inside. The other mothers waited 
around for a while. They stood there talking, 
exchanging favorite stories about their children -- 
normal stuff. But Momma went straight back to make his 
breakfast. If she had stayed like the other mothers, 
he'd have gone hungry for a few minutes. Then he'd beat 
her. That's when I started to understand. 

The other kids told me that their parents married 
because they fell in love. I guess I thought mine had, 
too. And maybe, if they fell out of love, that maybe it 
was my fault. As I started getting older, though, I 
realized that she had been young and pretty with a 
daughter and no husband. Momma was -- I don't know. 
Vulnerable, I guess. Vulnerable, and weak, and she 
couldn't stand the gossip and the pointed fingers. So 
when he offered to make her respectable, she took it 
even though he demanded her soul in return. You know, 
she actually told me once that even though she knew he 
was cruel, she thought she could change him. But he was 
the one who destroyed her." 

I looked at the family portrait again. At that stern 
look, at the way Judith looked down in subservience. 

"She wasn't really human anymore, the way she'd do 
anything he said. She...God. She degraded herself on 
demand. He'd make her do horrible things. I could never 
understand why -- I didn't know about what it was like 
for a single woman with a daughter. He held that over 
her head. Every so often, he would get so mad and 
threaten to throw us out, tell everybody that Momma was 
a ten-cent whore who would sleep with anyone. She would 
cry and beg, and throw herself at his mercy. He never 
did it, of course -- it was just a way of exercising 
his power. But she couldn't take that risk." 

I plucked out a picture taken on someone's backyard. 
Pretty little girls in light summer dresses, smiling, 
laughing all except the blond, freckled Caroline. 

"When I was six, he started...he... he started getting 
interested in me. Before that, he just used to call me 
"the Bastard" when we where at home and hit me if I got 
in the way. But all of a sudden he started to be nice, 
almost like other fathers. I could tell Momma was 
scared, but I didn't know why. She kept trying to make 
sure we were never alone together, but he started to 
beat her more and more. Then one day he went out to 
visit a sick parishioner, some old woman who didn't get 
a lot of visitors. 

He kept complaining that she'd almost talk his ear off, 
but he had to go visit her. After he left, Momma said 
we would play a game. She gave me a suitcase and said 
we would pretend to pack for a vacation and would see 
how fast we could get ready. I pretended we were going 
to Hawaii, and I packed all my bathing suits so that I 
could be a mermaid when we got there. 

We almost made it. We were on the stairs when he came 
home. I remember his face, and his eyes -- they scared 
me so much. He ran upstairs and grabbed me, then he 
told Momma to get upstairs into the attic. 

I could tell she was scared -- she kept looking at me, 
then at him. Looking back on it, I now know that he was 
standing by the rail on purpose. If she put up any sort 
of a fight, he would have thrown me over. He could 
always claim later on that it was an accident -- kids 
love sliding down banisters, she must have 
overbalanced, slipped.

I can still feel his hand holding my arm, almost 
crushing it, and how Momma slowly put the suitcases 
down and walked up the stairs to the attic. He sent me 
to my room, and then I heard his steps on the attic 
stairs. I didn't see Momma again for nearly two 
months." 

I listened on a ghostly chill spreading through my 
body, the almost primeval feeling of being in the 
presence of pure evil. I stopped the recording and made 
myself a drink. Then I spun on. 

"After Momma went up to the attic, he found a lady to 
come in and do the housekeeping. The Peterssons took 
Anna -- he told them that Momma had gone on retreat, 
and he needed help with the baby. They were happy to 
help out -- I mean, this was Reverend Conway, right? 
The nicest man in town. Of course they'd take Anna. He 
kept telling everyone about Momma's retreat, how she 
was trying to find some spiritual strength and get some 
rest from caring for two small girls. 

It was summertime then, and since school was out I'd 
stay in the house all day long. I remember people would 
stop by and ask him questions about the socials, or 
talk to him about church business. Sometimes I went up 
to the attic, when I knew he was talking to someone, 
and I'd tap on the door. Once, I thought I could hear 
something moving inside. But nobody ever answered. 

Then, one day, I came in from playing in the back yard. 
He was in the kitchen, doing something at the sink. I 
don't know why I did it, but I went up to the attic. 
The door was open, just a little bit, and I stepped 
inside. I remember how dark it was, with just a tiny 
bit of light coming in from the dirty windows. At 
first, I couldn't see anything, and I thought maybe he 
let Momma come back downstairs. 

Then I heard the noise. And I turned around. 

She...oh, Momma. She was hanging from one of the roof 
beams. He had tied her arms behind her with thin cord, 
the kind that you used for baling hay. It was wrapped 
tight around her arms, from elbows to wrists, and the 
skin was bulging purple at each end. It couldn't have 
been used just to tie her -- it was there to punish. 
One leg was trussed up tightly against her body, 
forcing her to balance on the other leg. 

On that foot, she was wearing the highest heeled shoe I 
had ever seen -- I didn't understand how she could even 
stand up in it. Then I saw the rope above her. It was 
tied to her elbows, yanking her arms back at this 
horrible, hurtful angle. She had to stand there like 
that, her arms almost pulled out of their sockets from 
the rope tied to the beam. She wobbled a little, and I 
saw all these red marks and welts across her back, like 
somebody had been whipping her. 

Him. He had been whipping her. 

I must've made some sound, then, because she turned 
around, and I saw my Momma's face. I almost didn't 
recognize her -- she was gagged with this filthy rag, 
and her eyes were huge. They stared at me, and she 
tried to say something. I took a step forward... she 
didn't want me to come any closer. She tried to stop 
me, and she lost her balance. She made the most 
horrible noise, then, as she fell and her whole weight 
came down on her arms. 

I could have sworn I heard a crack as they jerked back 
in the air. She screamed behind the rag and wiggled, 
wriggling until she could get her foot under her again. 
It was horrible. She finally managed to get her balance 
back and stood there, staring at me. And I stared back. 
The only place that wasn't bruised or welted or hurt in 
some way was her face. Somehow, I knew she wanted me to 
run away and hide. 

I did. God help me, I did. And I almost knocked him 
over on my way down the stairs -- he was coming back up 
for more. The bastard grabbed me and clapped a hand 
over my mouth, then picked me up and carried me into 
his bedroom. He threw me onto their bed and shoved a 
handkerchief into my mouth, tying it there with one of 
Momma's summer scarves. I couldn't stop him. I tried, 
but he was bigger than me, and so strong. He tied my 
wrists behind my back, then tied them to my pony tail, 
jerking my head back. I read about it later on -- it's 
called a hammer lock. Then he started tying up my legs 
and all I could think was oh no, oh no, not like Momma, 
please God not like Momma. 

He would have, too -- he would've carried me upstairs 
and hung me up next her, I know it. But the doorbell 
rang right then. He swore at me and dragged me to the 
closet. He stood me on a clothes hamper as he tied my 
neck to the clothes rail. Then he told me what would 
happen if I moved. He said I'd fall over because I 
couldn't use my legs, and I'd hang myself. I'd hang 
myself and die. That if I wanted to live I should stay 
still and quiet. Then he closed the closet door. I 
heard the key turn in the lock, and his footsteps go 
upstairs. The attic door slammed shut, then he went 
downstairs and answered the front door. 

I don't know how long I stood there. I could feel my 
legs getting numb from the ropes, and I stared into the 
darkness, praying for him to come back soon because I 
didn't want to die. I started crying, and I almost 
choked under the gag as my nose got stuffy. Then I 
heard steps on the staircase, and a lady's voice. I 
screamed, then, as loud as I could. All I heard was 
this muted sound, like a bird cry. I kept screaming, 
and she walked right past the closet. I kept screaming, 
and she never even heard me. She used the toilet 
because I heard it flushing, then she went back 
downstairs. Finally, the door slammed, and I heard him 
coming back upstairs for me. 

He opened the door and untied the rope, then took me 
down off the hamper. He was...nice. I don't know why. 
He started untying all the ropes, rubbing my legs when 
they cramped. He said it was all just a bad dream, and 
that everything was all right. I knew it wasn't, but I 
thought he'd hurt me again if I said so, so I didn't." 

Her father was kind to her for the next three days, 
playing and laughing with her, to the point were she 
almost believed that that terrible sight upstairs was 
only a nightmare. On the fourth day he introduced her 
to the game. 

"It started with syrup. He liked good maple syrup, not 
the stuff that you got from the store but real maple 
syrup from Vermont. He'd pour a few drops onto his 
finger, then tell me to pretend that I was a kitten and 
lick them off. So I did. It was fun, and the syrup 
tasted good. I never got candy because he didn't 
believe in it, so something like the syrup was a 
special treat. Then he told me that if I was a good 
girl and did all my chores, he'd give me another lick 
of syrup. I'd clean up my room, and take out the 
garbage, and put the papers in the bin on the porch, 
and he'd pour more maple syrup onto his fingers and I'd 
lick it off. Like a kitten. 

"Then, one evening, he took me into his bedroom. He 
said we were going to play a new game with the maple 
syrup. He took off his pants and got into bed, and told 
me to get in with him. I didn't want to look at him -- 
it was all funny and hairy between his legs, and there 
was this thing hanging there. He took the maple syrup 
and poured a little bit onto his thing, and told me to 
lick it off. It was just a game, he said. So I did." 

I remembered the embarrassed look she gave me. 

Gradually the amount of syrup was reduced and poor 
technique discouraged by frequent beatings. By the time 
Judith "returned," quiet and broken, her daughter was 
an accomplished cock sucker. For the next ten years, 
her warm mouth would service her father at least twice 
a week. As Maggie had predicted, Charles moved the 
blame for this abuse to his daughter, telling her that 
she was evil and that she and her mother would be 
punished if anyone found out. He got his broken and 
submissive wife to support him and the frightened child 
never told. 

I fast forwarded, moving through ten years of 
systematic and frequent abuse in a matter of moments. 

"Sometimes, it seemed like Momma was about to stand up 
to him again. Then he'd take her back up into the attic 
for a few days, or a week. She'd come back downstairs, 
quiet and moving carefully. You could never actually 
see anything wrong with her -- he was too smart for 
that. He made sure all the welts and bruises could be 
covered by her dress. When I got old enough, he'd make 
me sleep in his bed during these times. He'd make me 
suck him, and swallow afterwards, and he'd push his 
thing into my ass even though it hurt horribly. 

"But he wouldn't actually fuck me -- he said it 
wouldn't do for the reverend's daughter not to be a 
virgin. Then he'd laugh and tell me he was saving that 
for when I was older. He did other things to me, too, 
things he'd read about in books, and sometimes, I-I... 
don't know. Sometimes it felt... but he told me only 
bad girls liked that sort of thing. If I liked it, I 
was a slut, I was evil and worthless. Just like my 
Momma. 

He never did any of this to Anna, though. Anna was his 
angel, pure and sweet and born in holy wedlock. I was a 
bastard , I deserved everything I got but Anna was a 
'good girl.' She knew it, and she made my life a living 
hell with it. If she broke something, or tore her 
dress, or lost her homework, she blamed it on me. And 
he would take me up to his bedroom and beat me while 
Momma and Anna waited downstairs. When I came back 
down, she'd be sitting there in the living room, 
smiling at me. 

She got worse as she got older. When I was about 
twelve, I started hearing the girls at school talk 
about sex. One of them, an older girl, said it was 
supposed to be fun, and there was a way that you could 
have fun all by yourself. What you had to do was find 
this little nub between your legs and rub it gently. I 
didn't believe them at first -- it sounded stupid. Sex 
wasn't fun, sex hurt. But one time, when I was taking a 
bath, I decided to look for the nub. 

It was kind of hard, but eventually I found it and 
rubbed it like they said. At first, nothing happened, 
but then I started to get this funny feeling down low 
in my stomach, all warm and tingly. Kind of like, 
sometimes, what happened when... you know. I kept on 
trying it in the bathroom, and sometimes in bed. One 
time, it felt like fireworks were going off down there, 
it felt so good. That was my first orgasm, I suppose. 
And that was when Anna walked in and caught me. 

I was in bed, under the covers, but she knew something 
was wrong and started chanting, "I'm gonna tell 
Daaaddy, I'm gonna tell Daaaaady." She ran out before I 
could stop her, and a few minutes later I heard him 
coming up the stairs. He opened the door and stood 
there, staring at me. I couldn't move, couldn't even 
breathe, I was so afraid. He closed the door and walked 
over to the bed, grabbing the covers and ripping them 
off me. It happened so fast. He grabbed my legs and 
yanked them apart, staring down between them, then said 
that I was a wicked, sinful girl and would burn in Hell 
from what I just did. 

He took one arm and one leg and flipped me over, onto 
my stomach, then pulled up my nightgown. I hid my eyes 
in the crook of my arm and waited. I heard the hissing 
noise before I felt it. It was a wire hanger, just like 
in the movie 'Mommie Dearest.' And they hurt like fire, 
thin lines of fire all up and down my back, my ass, my 
legs. I started crying, then I started screaming. He 
stopped just long enough to stuff a handkerchief in my 
mouth, tying it with a pair of panties, then kept 
whipping me with the hanger. He spread my legs and 
started whipping my thighs, then whipped me once right 
between my legs. I screamed and fainted. 

When I woke up, I was tied spread-eagle to the bed. He 
left me there like that all night as punishment, and 
Anna laughed at me from the doorway. I had to sleep on 
my stomach for two weeks. I never touched myself down 
there again, until... until you. 

This went on...God, for years, until I got into high 
school. Then, about six months before my fifteenth 
birthday, I met Josh Petersson. That isn't exactly 
right -- I mean, the Petersson's had lived in the town 
all my life. Our families hung out together. I just 
never paid very much attention to Josh before -- I 
mean, he was just some boy in the neighborhood. 

But in my sophomore year we both entered projects in 
the science fair. He had the table next to mine and we 
started talking. We started to study together sometimes 
in the school library. Since the Petersson farm was out 
of town he always offered to walk me home after school. 
Our house was on the edge of town you see, near the 
church. 

That's when it started. He was so sweet and funny, and 
I loved listening to him tell about his family's trips 
to the Grand Canyon or what he wanted to do when he got 
older. He'd tease me, trying to make me laugh, and I 
started to feel safe with him. Somehow, we started 
holding hands on the way home, and then I let him kiss 
me. It was nothing like...him. Josh was sweet, and 
innocent, and it felt so wonderful when he put his arms 
around me. He asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said 
yes. 

Oh, God. Now, I wish I had said no. 

But I didn't care then. I was so happy that Josh liked 
me -- it was something all my own, something pure and 
good. On the other hand, I was terrified that... he... 
would find out, from Anna or one of my friends. I told 
Josh that we had to keep it secret -- I made up some 
lie about reverends' daughters not being allowed to 
date until they were sixteen. He believed me and 
promised he wouldn't tell a soul. 

We kept it up like that for months. Sometimes, I'd 
manage to sneak away and meet him at this little house 
on his parent's property. He called it Patrick's house, 
and said that it would be his someday. We'd wander 
through it, pretending that we were married and living 
there, and it was the happiest time of my life. 

Then, the day before my fifteenth birthday, Josh said 
that he had a surprise for me and I was supposed to 
meet him at Patrick's house in the afternoon. I told 
Momma that I had to stay after school and help one of 
the teachers mark papers. I don't think she really 
believed me, but she let me go anyway -- it sounded 
reasonable, and would keep him happy. 

After school, I ran to Patrick's house, dodging showers 
feeling somehow alive. Josh was waiting for me inside, 
and swept me into his arms the minute I came through 
the door. We just stood like that for a minute, the two 
of us safe against the world, as he kissed my hair and 
told me that I was beautiful, wonderful, that he loved 
me so much. I looked up at him, and saw the love in his 
eyes. I knew, then, that he was the only one I wanted 
to spend my life with. 

He led me up the dark, narrow stairs, to one of the 
little bedrooms. There, he had set up a checkered red 
cloth on the floor with this gorgeous little picnic 
lunch -- he even managed to filch a bottle of wine from 
his dad's basement. We sat down, and he insisted on 
serving me my fried chicken and salad and cookies. It 
was all part of the service, he said, laughing. My 
first glass of wine was in one of those little plastic 
wineglasses, like you can get in the grocery store. It 
was the best meal I ever had, and I leaned over to kiss 
him afterwards, as a thank you. 

I'm not quite sure how it happened. I don't remember a 
lot of it -- I thought later on that maybe I was 
blanking on some of it, because of what he did to me. 
We lay down on the blanket, in a square of sunlight 
that came streaming through one of the windows. It was 
a funny day, sunlight and showers, like the world 
couldn't make up its mind. I do remember watching the 
dust motes dance in the sunlight, like golden bubbles 
in the wine. 

I remember I was happy, and I remember Josh kissing me, 
and telling me that he loved me. I must have helped him 
take off my dress -- I don't see how he could've gotten 
it off in one piece, otherwise. He kept kissing me all 
over, telling me I was beautiful, so white and smooth, 
like ivory. 

He...we...made love, I guess. It wasn't just sex, like 
with him. It was love, and Josh cried out my name at 
the end. I lay there, under him, and felt the love 
coming out of him, and tried to ignore the voices in my 
head telling me I was dirty, a whore. I couldn't be -- 
someone like Josh wouldn't love a whore. 

He held me afterwards, and told me not to worry -- he 
wanted to marry me, and if I got pregnant he'd just 
marry me that much sooner. He even brought out this 
little box, covered in velvet, and gave it to me. It 
contained a thin gold band, his great-grandmother's 
wedding ring, he said. It would do until he could 
afford a real engagement ring -- then he stopped, and 
looked at me. 

Will you marry me, Caroline, he asked. I said yes, and 
started crying. 

That's...that's when it started to go wrong. Josh 
wanted to talk to him and get his permission to marry 
me. I told him he couldn't -- my father would never 
agree. He insisted that this was something he had to 
do, that he was proud of his love for me and didn't 
want to hide it anymore. We fought about it, and 
finally I stood up and grabbed my dress, crying. I told 
him that if he really loved me he would listen to me 
and not say anything to my father. I was so scared -- 
for me, for him. 

Somehow, I knew what would happen if anyone tried to 
take me away from the Conway house. I ran out of there, 
buttoning my dress and crying. I could hear Josh 
calling my name, but I just kept going -- I couldn't 
think, I was so confused and scared. The next day, I 
had my birthday party. He had allowed me to invite some 
of the kids from school, but Josh didn't come. I kept 
checking the door, hoping that he would forgive me and 
come anyway. I wanted to see him so badly. But he never 
showed up. 

The party was nice, I guess. I had a cake, and candles, 
and presents from everybody. I couldn't really enjoy 
it, though, I was so worried about Josh. I didn't 
really notice as all the guests started leaving, until 
the house was quiet again. Just us four. Anna wound up 
going to sleep early -- I think she was mad that I was 
the center of attention for once, and she couldn't do a 
thing about it. Maybe an hour later, he took me by the 
shoulders and said that he had a special present to 
give me. 

I still remember that smile, and Momma sitting at the 
kitchen table, not daring to look up. He took me 
upstairs, to their bedroom, and told me to pull my 
shorts down and unbutton my shirt. I thought we were 
going to do what we'd always done, but he pushed me on 
the bed and told me to stay on my back this time. 

I closed my eyes, and prayed to God to let me die. I 
heard the zipper, then the rustle of cloth as he took 
his pants off. The bedsprings creaked as he climbed on. 
He... he... oh, he got on top of me, and I could feel 
it between my legs, poking me. Then he pushed it in, 
hard. He...I know now, he must have been trying to 
break my maidenhead. Josh had been so careful, so 
gentle. All he wanted to do was hurt me. 

His face...changed. I could see it, see the realization 
that there was nothing in his way. I wasn't a virgin 
anymore. He leaned back, staring at me, then took his 
full weight on one hand and slapped me hard with the 
other one. "You WHORE!" he screamed, right into my 
face. "You filthy whore! You've been fucked before! You 
let someone fuck you!" 

He kept slapping me, knocking my head from side to side 
with the blows. I tried not to make a sound, but soon I 
started screaming. I couldn't help it. He pushed 
himself up, then, and grabbed me by the hair, dragging 
me off the bed and opening the door so that he could 
throw me into the hallway. My head slammed into the 
wall opposite, and I shut up, breathless from the pain. 
I thought he was going to kill me, somehow I got enough 
of my breath back and flung myself down the stairs. I 
still don't know how I managed it but I kept my balance 
and somehow realized I had to get to the door -- to 
Josh. 

He screamed something and started down after me and I 
started towards the door knowing he wouldn't reach me 
in time. Then suddenly someone grabbed me by the hair, 
I spun around willing to fight to get away. If it had 
been Anna I would have smashed that smug face into the 
wall... It was my mother. I couldn't believe it, and I 
don't think she wanted to. She was broken you see, at 
the time I couldn't imagine why she would side with 
him, didn't fully understand the fear and the pain... 

Then he clamped his hand over my mouth and told her to 
get a rope. She did, like a zombie and held me as he 
tied me up. He gagged me with a knotted towel then he 
pulled and pushed me upstairs. I looked down at her as 
she stood there and part of me knew he'd won, knew what 
he'd do next. He'd tied my ankles but it was proving 
too hard to move me like that so he pushed me over and 
retied them as a hobble. I tried to kick but I knew it 
was useless. 

Snarling, he grabbed me by the hair again and forced me 
to stand up, then pushed me -- 

Pushed me -- 

Towards the attic stairs. He took me up to the attic, 
just like he had taken Momma almost ten years before. 
And he retied me, with my arms roped to a beam in the 
ceiling so high that I had to stand on my tiptoes, then 
he spread my legs and tied each foot to old, rusted 
eyebolts in the floor so that I was stretched even 
further. I read later on that people could suffocate in 
that position, that it was the way people died when 
they were crucified. I could hardly breathe, and my 
face hurt so badly as he grabbed my cheeks, and pulled 
the gag tighter. I could feel my lips puffing up, the 
blood making them sting in the hot, stuffy air. 

He cut my clothes off, shredded them with a craft 
knife, and I thought he was going to cut me for sure. 
But he just stood there, examining me like I was a 
piece of sculpture. And nodded, as he took a bullwhip 
off a hook on the wall. He said I had sinned against my 
God and my religion, but most importantly I had sinned 
against him. I had denied him what belonged to him by 
marriage, and was now lower than anything that crawled 
in the dirt. I had to be punished. 

I couldn't move as he walked behind me. I could only 
wait, and breathe, and hope to die. 

I heard the sound first. Then I felt the burst of fire 
across my back. It was the worst, most intense pain I 
had ever felt, worse that his slaps, worse than the 
pain when he pushed into me. I screamed into my gag, 
arching my back, trying to move away from the pain. He 
whipped me again, and again. He told me later on that 
he had whipped me 40 times, one more than Jesus because 
I was a worthless slut. I didn't know -- I fainted 
after the sixth lash. 

When I woke up, all I could feel was the pain. All up 
and down my back, my ass, my legs. I blinked, trying to 
breathe through my stuffed nose. And I saw him sitting 
on a chair in front of me. He straddled the chair with 
an elbow propped on the back, chin on fist. Just 
staring at me. When he saw that I was awake, he smiled 
at me, and asked me who had fucked me first. I don't 
know how I did it, but I shook my head. He said, very 
gently, that God would only forgive me when I told him 
who had defiled me. But I wouldn't. 

Afterwards, I found out that I had spent two weeks up 
there. Two weeks in that hot, filthy attic, while 
he...experimented on me. He had all these books and 
magazines, things that he bought mail-order from 
special companies in the city, from farm supply stores, 
from all kinds of places. And he tried them out, one by 
one, on me, always asking me to tell him who had fucked 
me first. He tied my legs to a board and forced my feet 
down until they were pointed, then strapped them down 
and left me there while my calf muscles cramped in 
agony. 

He smeared Ben-Gay on a huge dildo and shoved it up my 
ass. He told me about female circumcision, and said he 
was gonna cut off my pussy lips and clit and sew up my 
pussy so that I'd never enjoy sex again. In between, he 
beat me and whipped me, just for the fun of it. 

I held out until... he had installed a workbench up 
there, some kind of heavy-duty wooden table. He 
strapped me to it. He forced my legs into these 
homemade stirrups, spreading them wide so that he could 
get at my pussy. He'd been at it a lot, pushing dildos 
and other things into me, fucking me over and over, 
fisting me until I thought I would die from the pain. 
But nothing he had done was as bad as this. I-I... 
didn't like needles. 

I didn't like the idea of things being stuck into me, 
being broken off so that I couldn't get at them. He 
found that out when he started sticking pins through my 
nipples, and ...he had this little board, made of thin 
wood and shaped like a butterfly with an oval hole in 
the middle. He called it his butterfly board. I thought 
it was because of the shape until... until he put it 
between my legs and pushed it up against me, hard. 

Then he pulled my pussy lips through the hole. He 
pulled and stretched them until I could feel the wood 
scraping against my clit, the insides of my thighs. 
Then he held up the pin. And I screamed. I screamed and 
screamed, and he pushed that pin through my pussy lip, 
pinning it to the board. I couldn't stand it, couldn't 
stand the feeling. And he kept doing it, stretching the 
lips until they were completely pulled through the hole 
and he could pin them to the board like a butterfly. 

I...went crazy, I guess. I thrashed my head from side 
to side and cried and begged underneath that gag, and 
all I could feel were those pins opening me up, 
stretching me wide. Then he held up another pin, and 
touched my clit. He was going to push it through my 
clit, he said, and rip it through unless I told him 
what he wanted to know. 

I could feel myself snap. I couldn't stand it anymore. 
I made these animal noises and nodded as hard as I 
could, trying to make him come up and take the gag off 
so that I could tell him, tell him all about Josh. When 
he did take the gag off, I started babbling, saying 
that Josh loved me, he wanted to marry me, I would 
never tell anyone about this, oh please please...

He smiled down at me, and brushed the hair out of my 
eyes. He said that I had finally pleased God. Then he 
pushed the gag back in my mouth. And he went down and 
pushed the pin through my clit. And he left me there 
like that, for the rest of the day, screaming. 

I finally stopped screaming, I don't know when. I just 
drifted, blind in the dusty darkness. He would always 
find me, always make me do whatever he wanted, always 
hurt me. He enjoyed pain, enjoyed watching it in other 
people. I...gave up. There was nothing I could do. And 
that's when I heard the doorbell. Even up there, I 
could just hear the voices at the door, and I 
recognized Josh's voice. He had come for me, after all, 
but it was too late. I tried to warn him tell him where 
I was but I was gagged. The voices faded, and I fell 
into the darkness. 

Sometime later, I felt an aching, gnawing pain and woke 
up. He was standing at the foot of the table, pulling 
the pins out and pushing my lips back through the hole. 
He told me that Josh had come and asked for my hand in 
marriage. I said I needed time to consider the offer, 
he chuckled, and asked Josh to come back in two days. 

He unstrapped me from the table and helped me sit up. 
It hurt to close my legs, both from the muscle strain 
and from the damage to my pussy lips, but I managed it. 
Then he put a little padded bed desk on my lap, with a 
piece of my notepaper, and pushed a pen into my hand. I 
was to write down exactly what he said -- I was to tell 
Josh to meet me in the woods, where he usually went 
hunting, tomorrow at three o'clock. I wrote the words 
automatically, my mind blank, and I signed it at the 
bottom. Then he pushed me back onto the table, strapped 
me carefully into place, and covered me with a blanket. 
I stayed up there for another five days, doing whatever 
he wanted when he came to see me. 

When I finally came down, I found out about Josh. He 
had gone hunting, his mother said between sobs in our 
front parlor, and must have slipped near a gully. 
Josh's body had been found at the bottom of it, half 
his side blown away in the shotgun blast. His funeral 
had been the day before. She sniffled and said she 
understood why I couldn't come, being as sick as I had 
been. I shouldn't feel bad about it -- Josh would 
understand, too. Then I remembered the note and 
realized that my weakness had killed him, that if I had 
resisted he could still be alive. 

I sat there, silently watching as he held Mrs. 
Petersson's hand and patted it. Then he turned his head 
and smiled at me. And I knew I would never get away." 

I stopped the tape again, the sick feeling returning to 
my stomach. After this it all made sense, her actions, 
the way she always backed down and those looks of fear 
always out of all proportion to what I was doing to 
her. And above all there was that question, "Why me?" 
Any kidnap victim may think it but they usually refocus 
on the more basic questions of survival. 

In Caroline's case? 

Well to be tormented by one maniac was bad enough but 
by two unrelated individuals? I could see what she was 
thinking, did she attract them in some way. I scratched 
my head remembering back to my first sight of her. I 
was sure I'd been attracted to her amazing good looks 
but was that true? Could I have instead reacted 
subconsciously to some quirk, some submissive body 
language that marked her as a victim? Was it important? 

I looked again at Conway's picture. He was a large 
stocky man with thin graying hair and a thick curly 
beard. In his middle to late fifties I thought and more 
than a match for a terrified girl and her mother. Then 
I thought of tall, lanky, naive, Josh --he hadn't 
really stood much of a chance either. I looked at 
myself in the mirror. 

My father's strong Irish temper had already brought a 
flush to my face and once again I thanked my kind 
gentle grandfather for contributing his strong Russian 
genes through my mother. Heavy, agile and resilient I 
knew *He* would have a harder time with me. Even then I 
knew that there would have to be a reckoning, that a 
slave can have only one master. He was a sadist, but 
Maggie said I was a closet sociopath, and I was 
infinitely patient. When we met it would be at a time 
and place of my choosing and I knew I would take great 
delight in crushing him. 

It was almost time to wake Caroline I started towards 
the door when the phone rang. Puzzled I answered it but 
with the exception of a few booming noises there seemed 
to be no one there. I was preparing coffee when it rang 
again. 

"Hello?" 

"Huuumph." 

"I'm sorry?" 

"Oomph Hee!" 

"Sorry?" 

"Ummph!" More insistent this time and my brain suddenly 
clicked. 

"Maggie? Is that you?" 

"Mmmmm!" 

"Don't tell me, you decided to try self bondage and now 
you can't get free?" There was an embarrassed silence. 

"Mmmmph" 

"Ok, I'll be there in two hours. Ummmphhhh!!!!! I'm 
sorry that's the best I can do. I don't live in Boston 
remember! If you like I can call the fire department 
for you?" 

"Nnnnmmm!" 

"Was that no? Grunt once for yes twice for no." 

"Mmmm...Mmmmm!" 

"Ok about two hours then, try to sit quietly until I 
get there." Nine in the morning and already a freaky 
day. I looked at Conway again, at those cold dead fish 
eyes and shuddered. Then I headed off to see my slave. 
	
	 
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 Penny Jackson, 
she was single and quite junior in the company, which 
was probably why she was delivering cars to the middle 
of nowhere. 

"I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry, Penny," I said 
warmly. "Do you have the agreement?" 

"Oh yes, sorry." She smiled again and I watched as her 
pupils dilated slightly. Penny was young and easily 
impressed. I was probably the closest thing to a 
celebrity she'd ever met, and if I was interested I was 
sure I could score quite easily. We went though the 
formalities with little difficulty, since membership 
has its privileges and a platinum card speaks very 
loudly. I offered her a lift back to Boston but with 
some regret she pointed to another car parked nearby 
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 hard-on 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 hard-on 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 prostitute... 
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 
allowed a little mouth breathing so she got a little 
closer before she exhausted herself. I made an excuse 
about needing to go to buy condoms so that my friends 
wouldn't catch something from her slut cunt. I offered 
to get her a drink before I left and she nodded. 

I expected her to beg to be released when I ungagged 
her. I thought she'd threaten and whine. But instead 
she surprised me. 

"For God's sake," she moaned. "Fuck me, Cody!" 

"Mademoiselle, I am..." 

"Cut the French crap, Cody, and just fuck me, okay? Do 
what you like, whip me, degrade me but for God sake let 
me cum!" 

I paused while I thought what to do next. My original 
plan still had about ten more minutes left to run. 

"Cody, please... fuck my pussy, you bastard. If you 
want to, then use me like a whore, just be quick..." 

In the end I gagged her just to end the obscenities. 
Then, still in character, I mounted her. I told her she 
would be my whore, that the fifteen guys would use all 
of her holes, would fuck her beyond exhaustion, would 
cum all over her body. I told her she would be 
powerless, bound and gagged, unable to stop them as 
they took what they wanted, unable to stop them from 
degrading her and making her lower than the cheapest 
whore. Then I told her that she'd like it, or at least 
she'd pretend to because that way they would stop 
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. 

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 62