Subject: STORY: Intrusion Part 1 by DuChamp (Bondage m/f) From: duchamp101@aol.com (DuChamp101) Date: 29 Feb 1996 08:18:26 -0500 Message-ID: <4h4932$ksc@newsbf02.news.aol.com> WARNING: This short story contains sexually explicit language and subject matter. It may only be distributed to and read by individuals over 18 years of age. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------ Intrusion Part 1 of a series by Duchamp Let me tell you about an interesting little man I met at a conference in San Francisco a couple of months ago. I first saw him when he presented a paper on applications for micromachines in waste management. That night, I was bored and didn't feel like venturing out into the rain. I went down to the hotel bar and ordered a drink. I sat there alone and ruminated on my bad luck. I'd only attended the conference because it meant a free trip to San Francisco and escape from the miserable East Coast winter. Unfortunately, the weather hadn't cooperated with my schemes. It decided to unleash an unceasing downpour that stranded me in the hotel bar. That's where I met this little fellow I just mentioned. He sat down next to me. That was odd, because the bar was almost empty. I knew he would start talking to me Somehow I figured he'd have a nasally, complaining voice. Sure enough, when he started speaking I couldn't help but clench my jaw. His voice was like fingernails on a blackboard. "Hi. I'm Ed Moskowitz. I think I saw you over at the conference," he said and handed me his business card. "Pleased to meet you, Ed. I'm Harry Holbrook. That was an interesting paper that you presented," I responded as I fished one of my own business cards out of its holder. I won't bore you by recounting the small talk. I kept trying to wiggle out of our conversation and leave the bar, but he refused to take a hint. Actually, I think he understood my hints; he just ignored them. I say that because he seemed to anticipate my move when I was about to stand up and take my leave. That's when he cast his bait out in front of me. "Have another drink with me. I haven't had a chance to tell you about my neighbor's wife, " he offered. As he spoke he pulled his wallet from his pants pocket. He opened it and flipped through the plastic covered photos inside. He found the one he wanted and held it out for my inspection. It was a picture of a busty brunette. She was lying face up on a cheap looking kitchen table. All she had on were her panties. Her arms were tied together at the elbows and wrists. Each of her legs was tied at the ankle to the legs of the table so that she was spread wide. There was a gag in her mouth and a frightened look on her face. It must have been obvious that I was fascinated by the picture. My pal laughed a short laugh and flipped the wallet closed. He ordered another drink and sat silent for a moment. I was silent, too. I had no idea what to say. "Now you're probably pretty shocked. I understand. You're probably wondering where I got that picture. I took it myself. Don't let me my looks fool you," he said. I understood what he meant. His thin upper lip and the way he hunched over the bar, reminded me of an extremely shy rabbit. It was hard to imagine that he had subdued a woman like that. As I looked at him, he smiled a smarmy little smile of satisfaction that sent a chill up my spine. "That's my neighbor's wife. I didn't even know her until the night when I took that picture. I'd seen her before, but I didn't know her. I didn't know her husband either, for that matter. At least not personally. But, I had met him once." "I met him a few months before I met her. He lives just a short distance from my home. I was having problems with my car. It's an old Dodge Colt. Do you know the car?", he said as he paused and looked me in the eye. Obviously, he was trying to pull me into the conversation. He must have noticed that I became less attentive once he put the picture back in his wallet. "No. No, not really. Your car was giving you some trouble?" "It's the electrical system. It always is on Colts. I can't figure out why they can't make the electrical systems better. It's such a beautiful car otherwise. It's the damn bean counters. They get in there and mess up every decent piece of design," he said, pausing to take a pull on his bottle of beer. I was afraid that he was about to slip down into a whiny tirade about his job, but he got back on track. "Yeah. It kept stalling. Whenever it was damp out. I'd been fiddling with it one evening after dinner. I thought I had it in shape, so I took it out for a test run. What a ride that ended up being! I got it about a mile before it gave out on me. It died right in the middle of a busy four lane road. Luckily, I was up on top of a hill. I started coasting down and, when I had the speed up, I popped the clutch. It worked, but it stalled again. It kept stalling, and I kept popping the clutch. Pretty soon, I was near the bottom of the hill. I'd turned off onto a side street where it was less busy. I finally got it going good, so I threw the parking brake and gunned the engine." "After a minute or two, a greasy looking guy came walking out of the driveway near where I'd stopped my car. He was about 6'2", with a tattoo on his biceps and a goatee. He had on some old, filthy looking tank top. 'You live around here?", he says. 'Yeah, right over the hill. I'm just letting her warm up. She's been stalling out on me," I tell him. 'Well, you let it warm up somewhere else. I don't want you in front of my house," he says to me. 'O.K. Just give me a couple of minutes and I'll be gone,' I tell him. 'Now!", he says. He starts walking toward me like he wants a fight. I'd gotten out of the car. But, I got back in when he started coming at me. You would, too, if you saw him. He was a big son of a bitch," he concluded. He shot me a look to check my reaction. He was probably afraid that I would call him a coward. Instead, I nodded an invitation for him to continue. "So, I started to drive away, but, of course, the Colt stalled on me again. I got rolling then popped the clutch again. God, it was embarrassing. I had to pop it a couple more times. I could see him in the mirror, standing in front of his driveway like some great landowner. Well, when I got to the bottom of the hill, I just parked there for a while and let the engine get nice and hot. I wanted to drive back up there and shoot that little piece of white trash. I was really mad," he finished in a rising voice. He took another long pull on his beer. When he started again his voice was calmer and there was a faint smile on his lips. "So, I drove back up the hill pretty quickly. I didn't want to take any chances with it stalling again. When I got near to my neighbor's pathetic little house, I saw him leaning up against the hood of his old GMC pickup. I flipped him the bird as I drove by. I had to look back over my shoulder to see his reaction. He looked angry enough, but what caught my eye was the woman who was just stepping into the house through the front door. I didn't have a chance to take much of a look, but what I saw looked good. I saw her little ass moving under her cotton dress." He dropped his voice down to a low, conspiratorial tone. "As I drove home, I pictured her ass without anything on it. That image stuck in my mind for a long time. It was like a seed had been planted," he said. He signaled the bartender to bring him another beer. He had a happily buzzed glow on his face now. He was no longer watching closely for my reaction. Maybe he knew that he had me hooked. Once he had a fresh beer in his hand, he stood up and started walking away from the bar. Without turning to face me, motioned for me to follow him. He picked a table in the deserted lounge and sat down. I joined him. "You see, I have to tell you how I got the idea. I always have a few magazines tucked away in my dresser. I live alone, but I keep them in my dresser anyway. The usual: a couple of Penthouses and that sort of thing. But, also a few bondage magazines. You know what I mean?," he asked. "Yes. I do," I answered. I did know. I have a few myself. "I looked at those magazines maybe a number of times before the idea really hit me. I still remember, it came to me when I was looking at a picture of a pretty little blonde bent over the back of a chair; tied up tight so she couldn't get away. They shot that picture in a kitchen. The blonde was tied to a kitchen chair. For some reason, that's what triggered the idea in my head. It's funny because the blonde didn't look anything like my neighbor's wife." "Maybe a week after I saw that picture, I started buying supplies. I remember the first thing I bought was rope. Lots of nylon rope. It seemed like the guy in the hardware store knew why I was buying it. In that same hardware store I also bought a bag of clothespins. I picked up..." I stood up and started to walk away. "I have to get going now. Nice meeting you. Got to get some sleep," I mumbled as I headed for the door. His story had started to sound too much like a confession. I didn't want know anymore about it. I had a disturbing vision of sitting on the witness and being cross examined by some vicious prosecutor. I hazarded a quick glance back over my shoulder. He had a wounded look on his face but he was still seated and showed no signs of following me. By the time I was on the plane back home, I had already forgotten about my friend from the hotel bar. I spent the next couple of weeks catching up on all the work that had gone undone while I was out in San Francisco. I only saw my wife for a couple of hours between when I dragged myself home and when I crashed into our bed already asleep. It was a familiar routine and neither one of us complained about it. And so it went until one Friday night when I received a very strange fax. The fax machine started pumping out paper just as I was putting my coat on. Looking back, I thank God that I picked up that fax myself instead of leaving it for my secretary. A quick glance at the first page was enough to cause my stomach to knot itself up. It was handwritten in an small, neat hand. It read as follows: "Harry, I'm sure that you remember me. We met in San Francisco. You never gave me a chance to finish telling you my story. I thought I'd just fax it to you. I got your fax number from your card. Here are some more pictures from my collection:" Underneath there were grainy reproductions of two photographs. They were both of the same brunette that he'd showed me before. In one of the pictures, she was on her hands and knees. It was difficult to make out the details, but she seemed to be tied to some sort of ottoman. Her arms and legs were tied to the legs of the ottoman. I could tell her ass was bare. It looked like her panties had been pulled down to her knees. In the other picture, she was kneeling, her arms were bound behind her back. She was looking up at the photographer, who must have been standing directly in front of her. In her mouth, she had the same ball gag that I'd seen before. There was an imploring look in her eyes. Her breasts were bare and seemed to be bound with rope. Some sort of clamps or clothespins were attached to each nipple. As I stood examining the first page, the fax machine kept churning out more. I picked up the second page. It was composed of four more pictures. I was conscious that I had become erect. I stepped across my office and shut my door. Then I sat down to examine the rest of the photos. To be continued.... Copyright 1996 DuChamp Subject: STORY: Intrusion Part 2 by DuChamp (Bondage m/f) From: duchamp101@aol.com (DuChamp101) Date: 29 Feb 1996 08:27:51 -0500 Message-ID: <4h49kn$kvn@newsbf02.news.aol.com> WARNING: This short story contains sexually explicit language and subject matter. It may only be distributed to and read by individuals over 18 years of age. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------ Intrusion Part 2 of a series by Duchamp Sitting at my desk, I examined the second page of the fax. In large block letters he'd written across the top of the page, "Like what you see???" There were four photos beneath. The first was a close-up of her ass. She was bent over the back of a chair. It looked like her skirt had been pulled up around her waist. Her panties were stretched tightly over her ass. In the next photo, she was lying on her back in bed. The angle of the shot made it obvious that the photographer was standing right over her. Her arms were bound together at the wrist. Somewhere, out of the range of the photograph, her wrists must have been secured to the bed. Each of her legs was folded and her ankles were tied to her thighs. A pair of ropes attached to each leg at the knee and disappearing off the edge of the photo kept her legs spread wide. Despite the imperfect quality of the fax transmission, I could make out the small puckered indent of her asshole. The third picture, was another close-up; this time of her breasts. From the other pictures, I knew that her breasts were rather large and nicely shaped. She had probably not yet passed thirty. But in this picture, her tits had been forced into tight globes by coils of restrictive nylon rope. A clothespin dangled from each nipple. In the last picture, the woman was standing in a shower. Her head was total encased in a black leather hood. Her arms were tied to the curtain rod. Though the edge of the tub prevented me from seeing her feet, her awkward stance told me that her ankles were spread apart by a pole. In that picture she had been shaved clean. Below the photos was a long, wavy arrow that ran to the bottom of the page, where he had written, "Over..." The next page was covered with his neat, even spaced writing: I hope that you enjoyed those. I have more. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. I haven't told you the story in its proper order. When we last spoke I was telling you how I'd been acquiring my supplies. I always paid cash. I didn't want to leave any sort of trail. I even kept everything hidden in a beat up old box in the garage. Meanwhile, I was planning how I would take care of business. My pal and his wife had a house on one of the last undeveloped patches in town. When I say undeveloped, I mean that there were still some trees around; not that it was farm country. So at night, I would walk down their street until I was a few hundred feet away and then cut back into the woods. I'd sit myself down with a thermos of coffee and keep a watch on their house. Pretty soon I'd gotten to know their habits. I knew that Saturday night was going to be my night. Without fail, he would take off a little after nine. On more than one Friday night, I waited there in the woods until at least three in the morning and saw no sign of his return. It was kind of fun watching them and knowing that they were unaware of me. One night, I decided to get a closer look at their ramshackle little house. I moved very, very slowly. I'd never seen any dog, but I wasn't taking any chances. It must have taken me two hours to move the last 500 feet from the woods to the house. I'd watched them undress as I was moving in. My neighbor is no clothes horse. He's always in a tee-shirt (or tank top) and jeans. His wife is better. I saw that she had on a nice pair of floral print panties and a matching bra. She was lying on top of him. As they kissed he kneaded her ass. After a few more minutes of foreplay, he slipped her panties off and entered her. Just when she starting to moan, he came. It couldn't have taken him more than three minutes. About what I had expected from him. All this time, I'd been buying reference material. I had dozens of bondage magazines and a few videos. I practiced tying the knots on my own ankles or wrists. I always worked in my bedroom with the door locked. Of course, there was only so much I could do without a subject to practice on. I sure didn't want to tie myself so well that the fire department would have to rescue me. They probably wouldn't come anyway. All the locals (and the firemen are locals) don't like the people that live up here in these new condo developments. That's they way this town is. Anyway, I had to figure out some way to practice with my ropesmen ship. Oddly enough, it was my boss that gave me the idea. I can't stand the little bastard. He's a little ass-kissing yuppie. He hasn't even been at the company two years and they've already made him my boss. Style over substance about sums it up. It was at one our little group dinners that he gave me the idea. Ever since he took over we all "voluntarily" meet for dinner after work on the first Friday of each month. I hate those things. He pretends to be friendly with me, but I know he'd boot me out the door in a second if it suited him. That night the only woman in our team didn't show up. We were less inhibited in our conversation without her and the subject of prostitutes came up. I didn't have much to say. I'd never been to one. My boss had; in Amsterdam.( Of Course!) That didn't surprise any of us. He's young and he into those crazy thrill sports. He's just the type. But what surprised us was when he mentioned, in passing, that he'd been to a local prostitute. As unusual as it seemed, it didn't mean much to me at the time. It took me several days to realize that my boss' whore might be able to help me out. It was embarrassing having to ask him about how to contact her. I'd walk up to his door, pause ready to knock, then continue down the hall as if nothing had happened. Eventually I got up the courage to ask and he gave me her first name and her number. I think my asking actually improved his opinion of me. He stood up and showed me out of his office. (Usually he just sits there.) Before I stepped out he patted me on the shoulder. It was also embarrassing calling her. I had no idea what one says to a prostitute. Her name was Karen. I called her from a pay phone. I thought she might have caller ID and I didn't want her to have my number. At first she was rather terse, but once I told her that Nate (my boss) had referred me, she became quite friendly. I didn't feel like getting involved in that business unless she was going to let me tie her up. After all prostitution is still illegal. So I asked her directly. There was a brief silence and I knew that she was taken aback. (I admit that I did blurt it out rather suddenly) Finally, she said that she was willing to be bound, but not spanked or hurt. That's all I wanted, so I told her OK. We arranged a time to meet her at her apartment. Actually, the apartment where we met was her office, not her home. She only used it with clients. When I came to the door I had a duffel bag full of rope in my hand. I noticed that she gave it a quick and dubious look. After she had poured me a drink, she told me right up front that she was going to call a friend and leave a message on her friend's machine saying that she expected to be at her friend's home at about nine. That would give us two hours. Then she made the call from the phone in the living room where I was sitting. I liked that. It was smart. She was very professional. She sat down right next to me and asked me if there was anything special I'd like her to wear. I hadn't really thought about it, but I've always had a weakness for stockings and garter belts. I asked her if she had any stockings. She just smiled as if to say, "Don't ask silly questions," and stood up. She told me she'd be right back and walked into her bedroom. I watched her ass as she walked away. It had a wonderful shape. Tight, but not hard. She was graceful in heels. She came out a few minutes later. She still had the heels on, but not much else. She picked stockings in a beautiful, dark wine color. She wore no panties. A thin, almost transparent wrap covered her torso. She walked up to couch and stood right in front of me. She shrugged the wrap off of her shoulders. Her breasts had that rare and beautiful shape that's so hard to describe. They were something like avocados. A little slope and a delicate curve underneath. She put her arms out in front of her and crossed her wrists. She smiled and asked me if I wanted to tie her up. Actually, at that moment, I wanted to fuck her more than anything else. But, I remembered that I had a mission. I unzipped my bag in an instant. I began winding the rope around her wrists. My hands were shaking a little. It was such a thrill to see my hands in front of me actually tying a woman's arms together. Also, with her standing right in front of me, her pussy was at face level. I could see that she kept her pubic hair meticulously groomed. I didn't do a very good job at tying her wrists. The knot was solid enough, but it was also sloppy. It made me realize how much work went into all the photo spreads in those bondage magazines. I asked her to lay down on the couch so that I could tie her legs together. She did, and to my great pleasure, she lay face down. That gave me a wonderful opportunity to admire her beautiful ass. I started with her ankles. The knot I used was essentially the same as the one I used on her wrists. This time it came out better. Then I worked at tying her knees together. As I was passing the rope between her legs I couldn't help but feel the smooth skin of her thighs. I also couldn't help but admire her ass. Her ass cheeks looked so soft and round, that I wanted to dig my teeth into them. Once I had finished tying her legs, I tentatively ran my fingers over her ass. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. I stood next to the couch and ran my fingers along the backs of her legs. Her calves were like tight little apples. I caressed the backs of her thighs. I kneaded her ass. I could smell her excitement. Instinctively, I ran my index finger down her lovely ass crack and over her pussy. I could feel her getting wet. I was rock hard and I wanted to just drop my pants and fuck her. She must have known what I was thinking. In a silky voice, she suggested that I tie her up bent over the back of the couch. When she said it would make it easier to fuck her, I almost came. Of course I followed her advice. It's too bad that I don't have any pictures of her to show you. She walked around to the back of her sofa. She bent over and waited for me. I asked her to spread her legs wider. She spread them as wide as she could and still balance in her heels. Each of her ankles I tied to a leg of the couch. Her wrists were still secured. I took a length of rope and attached one end to the knot at her wrists. The free end I slid under the couch. I walked to the back of the couch and took up the slack on the free end of the rope. As I pulled on it, it caused her to bend over further. When she was bent over as far as she could go, I tied the free end of the rope to her ankle. I stepped back for a moment to admire my handiwork. I must say that I did a pretty good job. But, it was difficult to concentrate on the knots with her tempting ass up in the air like that. I slid out of my pants and underwear. I stepped up behind her and began rubbing her ass. In a breathy, but insistent voice she told me that she kept the condoms in a jar on the coffee table. I took the hint. In retrospect, it worries me that I was so out of control that I almost had unprotected sex with a prostitute. Who knows what I could have gotten. But, at the time I was annoyed. In a rush I grabbed a condom out of her jar and unrolled it on my penis. Then, to show my frustration, I stepped up behind her and, without warning, shoved myself deep inside of her. She didn't complain. Soon I was fucking her hard. Each time I pounded against her ass the couch squeaked and inched forward across the hardwood floor. She was making these moaning noises that sounded like little pleas for me to fuck her. Before long I was grunting. I knew that I would cum very shortly, but I didn't have the willpower to control myself. At that point, she did something that surprised me. She asked me to spank her. When we had spoken earlier she had specifically forbidden spanking. I didn't hesitate. I made several attempts at smacking her ass while I fucked her, but I just couldn't get a good angle. I found that I had to withdraw and step back to give her a really good paddling. And a good paddling was apparently what she wanted. When I spanked her hard, she asked for more. Now two desires were battling it out in my head: the desire to spank that ripe little ass and the desire to drive myself deep it. One would win out and I would slap her ass to the accompaniment of her little yelps of delight. Then the other would take over and I would pound her against the couch while she moaned enticingly. With a series of three or four quick thrusts, I came inside of her. To be continued.... Copyright 1996 DuChamp Subject: STORY: Intrusion Part 3 by DuChamp (Bondage m/f) From: duchamp101@aol.com (DuChamp101) Date: 29 Feb 1996 08:28:05 -0500 Message-ID: <4h49l5$kvt@newsbf02.news.aol.com> WARNING: This short story contains sexually explicit language and subject matter. It may only be distributed to and read by individuals over 18 years of age. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------ Intrusion Part 3 of a series by Duchamp I was pretty winded after that, but she didn't give me a chance to catch my breath. She wanted me to untie her right away. I obliged. Then, without any hint of sentimentality, she asked for her payment. Well, I had to admit that she'd earned it. Just being able to look at her close up was worth more than a little. I walked to the where my pants lay on the floor and retrieved my wallet from the back pocket. As I counted out the twenties, I couldn't help but be aware of my penis hanging loose and still partially erect. It was hard to resist the temptation to look down and check if it was visible underneath my shirt. She counted the cash, gave me a quick peck on the cheek, and then walked into her bedroom. It was clearly time for me to leave. I didn't get to practice my knots as much as I had hoped, but I had learned a valuable lesson. I was capable of making my fantasies come true. Before I met with her, there was an annoying doubt lurking in the back of my mind. I kept wondering whether or not I actually had the balls to tie a woman up and enjoy it. After my session, I knew that I did. Of course, I had much bigger plans for my neighbor's wife. I wasn't just going to tie her up. The point was That is where the seventh page of his fax ended. I had been grabbing them out of the fax machine as quickly as it could print them. The little machine began to make that familiar rising tone that signals the arrival of a new page, when I heard someone's keys jingling somewhere nearby my door. The only one who ever worked later than I did on a Friday was my boss. Before leaving for the night, he would usually stop by my office and wish me a good weekend. It was his way of recognizing my hard work. I killed the power to the fax. Hurriedly, I gathered together the evidence and shoved it into my briefcase. Then I sat down and listened. The jingling ceased and there was silence. Finally, I heard the front door close. Whoever it was had left for the day. Leaving seemed like a good idea. The freeway was relatively quiet. Rush hour had passed. The sun had set long ago. I cranked up the volume on the stereo. Loud music was something I only got to indulge in when I was driving by myself. As was my habit, I tried to use the drive home as a time to collect my thoughts and make my plans. But that night my mind kept breaking free and trying to visualize all of the events that my little friend had described in his fax. I kept visualizing that woman in front of me, naked, bent over the back of a sofa, helpless. I have to admit that riding alone in my car I had an erection. It happened almost without my willing it. I got off the freeway and pointed the car into the heart of the city. I drove between the immense office towers and down to what used to be the garment district. Block after block of five story brick warehouses. For the most part, that area was devoid of life. Here and there a dirty tractor cab was parked half on the sidewalk. Eventually, corner bars started to appear. Most had no windows at all. What windows there were had been covered with a coat of paint and a set of steel bars. And then I saw what I'd been looking for. The blue and red neon that read, "Adult Bookstore Open 24 hr." I'd never been in that particular bookstore before, but the smell was instantly familiar. I don't know what they spray in those places but I know it must contain some combination of Lysol and ReNuzit. The interior was much more pleasant than the grim exterior suggested. I browsed their selection of videos. Though I didn't see any labels, it was obvious that the tapes were grouped by subject. A profusion of bright red ball gags and black leather made the bondage section easy to spot. I could feel my erection returning as a looked at the photos on the boxes. Plenty of beautiful blondes kneeling naked in front of cruel, raven-haired girls in heels. Many tightly bound tits being squeezed by big hairy hands. More than one featured overweight, middle aged men in camouflage fatigues tormenting pretty girls in their mid twenties. I final decided on one titled, "Slave Camp." The premise was ridiculous. An Ivy League sorority sends errant sisters to a camp run by a bunch of heavily bearded sadists. But the pictures on the box were very enticing. Blonde college girls tied to picnic tables. Shiny chrome clamps on pink nipples. A young woman kneeling, hands bound behind her, plaid skirts barely covering her ass, her face pressed against the crotch of a bumpkin in denim overalls. It was heady stuff and it convinced me to shell out ten dollars to "preview" the tape. The booth was surprisingly clean. Unfortunately there were no controls for fast forwarding the tape. So, I had to sit through all of the advertisements and disclaimers. Finally the feature started. As expected, the acting was terrible. After about five minutes I turned off the sound. This relieved me of the burden of listening to the dialogue, but it also forced me to listen to everyone else's soundtrack. The booths had thin walls and on all sides I could hear movies playing. At first I tried to make out what all the strange slapping, gurgling, and moaning noises were, but I soon lost interest. I could also hear my fellow customers walking to and from their booths. I tensed up every time one of them walked near my door. It made me feel like a pervert sitting there in a dark booth, watching the doorknob to make sure no one was opening my door. The only redeeming feature of the first 20 minutes was a scene where a sorority "mother" spanked a sister's white panty clad ass. Apparently that punishment was not deemed sufficient, because in the next scene that same sister was etherized, bound, and put in a windowless van. When she awoke she found herself in the "Slave Camp". I won't bore you with a description of the whole plot I don't actually remember much of it. One thing that I do remember is that the viewer was clearly meant to empathize with the men who ran the camp; not with the girls who were punished there. This was odd, because the tormentors were an unsavory looking bunch who came across as overgrown bullies. There are also a couple of scenes that stick in my mind and I'll share these with you. The number of binding and disciplining techniques that the tormentors employed was certainly impressive. What the production lacked in dialogue, it made up for with special racks and esoteric leather appliances. Girls were forced to sit on elaborate thrones with built in mechanisms for penetrating them from underneath. Others were connected to complex arrays of ropes and pulleys that would force them into very comprising positions by exerting force on their sensitive nipples and clits. There were many close ups of tight young bottoms being penetrated by exotic dildos molded in neon colors. There was one actress that was my favorite. She was a petite blonde. She didn't have big breasts, but they were perky and the director made the most of them. She had a wonderfully round behind. The type that I really enjoy seeing. Curvy like a pear, but not flabby. She was obviously the star of the film and, so, suffered the most punishment. She was welcomed to the camp by a man dressed as a drill sergeant. He looked ridiculous in his costume, but it was easy to ignore him. He handcuffed the star's wrists together, slapped a few pieces of duct tape over her mouth, and dragged her into a cellar. In the dim light, he secured her manacled wrists above her head by tying them to a pipe that ran across the ceiling. She began to struggle and kick so her handcuffed her ankles together also. The next few moments were, for me, the most erotic. The "sergeant" now began to caress her. He ran his hands over all of the lovely curves where I would have run my hands. He stood behind her and cupped her breasts in his hands. He ran his fingers over her ass, down her thigh to her calf. She tried to twist and turn to avoid his touch, but, of course, it was impossible. The man playing the tormentor was very convincing while he caressed her. He seemed to be doing what came naturally. Then he produced a pair of scissors from out of nowhere and the scene became somewhat less believable. Her eyes opened wide with fear when she saw the shiny blades, but she was over-acting. He began by cutting her blouse right up the front. He paused and brushed her cheek gently with the edge of the scissors. Then he snipped her bra in between her breasts. I have a fond memory of the way her tits sprang loose from that bra. With exaggerated brutality, he torn what was left of her blouse off of her torso. Then he kneeled down in front of her. Beginning at her ankle, he ran the pointed tip of the scissors slowly up the inside of her thigh. She had no hose on, just a plaid skirt. I did get a visceral thrill from watching as the scissors began to creep up her inner thigh lifting her skirt as they went. He stopped before he reached her most sensitive skin. A few quick snips and her skirt fell to the floor. Next he snipped the sideband of her panties. She pressed her legs together to keep her panties from falling off. He snipped the other sideband. The remains of her panties were pressed between her thighs. He took her panties in his hand, smiled at her, and yanked them away. Now she stood totally bare and squirming. There was one other scene that stands out in my mind. It wasn't nearly as erotic as the one I just described and it didn't feature my favorite actress. But the sheer perversity of it made it exciting. This scene opened with a shot of a pretty brunette, totally naked, strapped into some special sort of chair. The back of the chair reclined much like a car seat. It was angled back to about forty-five degrees. She was strapped to the chair like an X-rated Gulliver; totally unable to move. In particular, her legs had been carefully secured so as to keep them spread wide and a strap had been placed over her forehead to keep her head motionless. After the camera had given the viewer a moment to appreciate her predicament, a man dressed in blue jeans and a plaid shirt entered the scene. He ran his hands over her body possessively, making sure to fondle her breasts. When he was done stroking her, he wheeled over some contraption with tubes and pulleys. It is difficult to describe it. The backbone of the thing was an intravenous stand, like the ones used in hospitals. There were a couple of metal rods welded to the IV stand. Pulleys were attached to these rods and cords hung from the pulleys. A large bag of thick plastic with a tube at the bottom was draped over the top of the IV stand. When I saw that, I though that I was about to witness the administration of an enema. I wasn't too pleased with that prospect. But, as I mentioned earlier, the creators of "Slave Camp" did not lack originality. I now saw that there was a small, shiny clamp attached to one end of the cord. The man took this and attached it to the delicate flesh near his subject's clitoris. She thrashed a bit when he did this and it looked like it really did hurt. The other end of the cord he now tied to the top of the plastic bag. He fiddled with his contraption a bit and when he was done the cord wound its way up from between her legs, over a pulley, and down to the top of the bag. I still hadn't figured out what purpose his contraption served and I was becoming less and less interested in guessing. Then, with a very fine sense of timing, the actor held up the end of the rubber tube for the woman (and his viewers) to see. Fastened to the end was a rubber dildo that was lifelike in everything but its scale. It was enormous. Predictably, he pressed this to her lips and slowly forced it into her mouth. With her head immobilized, she couldn't have offered much resistance. From somewhere off screen, he procured a small bucket. In a deliberate manner, he tipped the bucket and began to pour its contents into the plastic bag. I have no idea what was really in that bucket. It had the color and viscosity of semen. As the bag began to fill, it began to pull down on the cord from which it was suspended. This, in turn, caused the cord to pull up on the clip attached to her clitoris. Underneath all of those straps, she had very little freedom of movement, but as the clamp began to tug she managed to wiggle convincingly. The purpose of the apparatus was now clear. The girl was able to end her own torment, but only by sucking about a gallon of "semen" from a rubber "penis". As contrived and mechanical as that scene was, I have to say that I felt a surge of excitement watching her suck on that dildo. Some of the "semen" ran down her chin. Watching the actor rub that fake cum into her breasts very nearly caused me to cum. To be continued.... Copyright 1996 DuChamp