Doc's Orders by Quin
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Chapter 5 "Home Invasion"
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I chose the house because the garage doors were open and it offered
the quickest way to get the car under cover. Of course the fact it
was near the edge of town helped, too. It was almost 7:30 am, one of
the worst possible times, but getting the car to come even this far
had taken all night. I'd lucked out because the streets were still
empty -- another couple of minutes and I'd have been screwed.
Realizing I'd have to be quick, I drove into the garage.
I turned around to the back seat. "JoJo, close the garage doors, then
stay with Myra."
"Yes Master." She seemed a little sullen, having woken up extremely
horny this morning. Unfortunately I wasn't exactly in a position to
do anything about it right now. Still, she was a slave, she had to
learn to live with disappointment.
I went to the trunk and pulled out a ski mask from the supplies bag.
Mask on, I grabbed my overnight bag and gun and made my way inside
through the garage door. I suppose I'd expected the typical family
scene -- Mom, Dad and a couple of kids. What I got was a little
different. The woman was in her early thirties, attractive, nice
figure, with mousy brown hair. She was dressed in a female business
suit, a uniform really, with one of those little name badges that
receptionists wear. The girl was fifteen or sixteen, obviously the
daughter, with her mother's eyes and hair. She wore some kind of
school uniform.
The girl opened her mouth to scream but when I pointed the gun at her
it died to a whimper.
"Not a move, not a sound, understand?" I rasped.
The woman nodded, gulping. "Please, my purse is on the counter," she
said quickly. "It's all we have, please just take it and go."
I gave her my best psycho look. "Tell me, lady, was that 'not a
sound?'"
"No," she whispered.
I shook my head. "You just don't give up do you? We can fix that."
I reached into the overnight, pulling out JoJo's strap gag, and tossed
it to her. She caught it, recoiling in disgust from the huge penis
mouthpiece. A man could never be this large and still walk.
I was deliberately acting twitchy, as if I'd plug them both in a
second. "Well, bitch? What are you waiting for?" I snarled.
"What--" she stammered. I suppose she'd never seen one before in her
life.
"Put the dick in your mouth sweetheart," I said coldly. "Just like
you were sucking someone off, only fasten the straps so it stays
there."
She stared at it, finally realizing what it was for. She looked up,
eyes full of fear. "Please, we'll be quiet. There's no need--"
I put the gun to the girl's head, letting my hand shake a little. I'd
already noticed the third breakfast setting, which meant I didn't have
time for any plea-bargaining. The girl whimpered, which seemed to
make up the woman's mind. Slowly and with trembling hands she opened
wide and pushed the mouthpiece inside.
"Now fasten the fucking straps!" I hissed. "Tighter, bitch, or
you'll end up burying a daughter." She grunted as she pulled the
strap extra tight. So far, so good.
Then I threw her the pair of leather cuffs JoJo had been wearing.
"One on each wrist, nice and tight." She gave me a look, the classic
doe caught in the headlights, before her eyes flashed to the gun
against her sobbing daughter's head. Trembling, she fastened the
cuffs on her wrists. I made her turn around and put her hands behind
her so that I could lock the cuffs together.
One-handed, I then took Myra's cuffs and fastened the girl's hands
behind her, bending down so that I could whisper in her ear, "OK,
sweetheart, who else is here?"
"No..no one."
"Bullshit! I can see the other table place, stupid." I pressed the
muzzle harder against her temple. "Now tell me who it's for. Is it
daddy?"
"M. . .my sister," she stuttered.
"Where _is_ daddy, by the way?"
"With his girlfriend." There was such venom in that answer that I was
forced to believe her. Looking around, I saw an almost clean dish
towel that would do nicely. Balling it up, I brought it to her lips.
After seeing what I'd done to Mommy, she had a pretty good idea what
was about to happen.
"Please, no!" she gasped.
I smiled my best psycho smile at her. "Listen sweetcakes, this is how
it works. While you and Mommy aren't gagged my trigger finger is
awfully itchy. I could blow your sister's head clean off. So open up
like a good girl and help my finger stop itching."
She was scared. She looked over at her mother. The woman made a
small gagged sound and nodded.
"A-all right," she said in this tiny voice. "But please don't hurt my
sister. She's a little slow but _umph._"
I pushed the towel firmly into her mouth, sealing it in place with a
couple of strips of duct tape. The girl struggled a little and a
strangled sound came from behind the gag. I kept applying tape until
I was satisfied, then ran my thumbs over her taped lips to ensure the
adhesive had a good seal. "There now, that's a lot better. I feel my
finger settling down already."
"Ummpph," she moaned.
I smiled. She was louder than I'd like but she wouldn't be waking the
neighbors. Most importantly, I doubted either woman could be heard
outside the kitchen. A search of the kitchen drawers revealed a few
additional towels, two of which made excellent blindfolds. The girl
started shaking her head and making little gagged noises as I tried to
tie the towel in place.
I looked at the mother. "Tell her to stop or I'll be forced to hurt
her," I said.
The woman made a muffled pleading sound, though it was hard to tell if
it was meant for me or her daughter. In the end it didn't matter --
the girl stopped struggling and I was able to tie the towel over her
eyes. I repeated the process with her mother.
"OK, listen up," I hissed. "I want you to understand just what these
blindfolds are. They are your protection. While you're wearing them,
you can't identify us. That means that we have no problems letting
you go when we're finished. If they come off and you see us then you
are in big trouble, so you keep them on. Is that clear?"
They nodded.
"Good! Now, I _am_ aware that you can see through the slit at the
bottom. That is why you will keep your heads down and your chins on
your chests. Is that clear? If I see anyone with her head up, then
that is seriously bad for them. If I see anyone with her head back,
it's bad for the whole family. Understand?"
There was a second chorused nod.
"Good."
Looking around, I saw a radio on the counter. I turned it on, keeping
the usual station but upping the volume a little. The sound would
cover my movements and reduce the chance either of the women could be
heard outside. Looking back, I found them both with heads down as I'd
ordered. Good little girls. Of course, there was little chance that
they would ever be set free, since Doc's paranoia almost guaranteed
that they'd be added to inventory. Still, the hope would keep them in
line for a while. Looking at them as they squirmed helplessly, I felt
myself getting hard again, and wondered which one I'd end up fucking
first. But that could wait until later. Quietly, I slipped outside
to retrieve the slaves.
I'd rebound Myra earlier so I could use her cuffs, but she'd been so
noisy lately that I let her keep Doc's gag. I carried her through to
the den, since I didn't want the two in the kitchen to know we had
another captive. She struggled and moaned a little but she was as
helpless as the other two. Tying her ankles to a radiator and
assuring myself that she couldn't be seen from outside, I wandered
back to the kitchen.
JoJo was standing at the door to the garage, awaiting orders. I
tossed her one of the rolls of tape. "Use this to tie their ankles to
the chairs. Tape their elbows, too."
"Yes sir," she said. I'd ordered her not to call me Master while we
were here.
Grabbing a couple of extra towels, I went in search of the missing
sister. All of the downstairs rooms were empty. There were the usual
family pictures and other collectibles, but I noted that nothing said
"Daddy," not even pictures from better days. I figured that there had
been a complete break and wondered what the story was.
The sound of running water led me to a shower room on the second
floor. All in all, the house was a nice one, built in the late
sixties and probably worth about a quarter mil. I wondered how they
could afford it. So sister number two was having a shower. Feeling a
little like Norman Bates, I crept a little closer before ripping the
curtain aside, ready to pounce on her before she could scream.
But she didn't. Instead, she said, "Hello."
The girl looked about thirteen, her body just starting into those
interesting changes that make up adolescence. But her voice and
attitude were definitely younger, around five or six. I remembered
what the other sister had said before I gagged her. What was the PC
term for it -- "Developmentally disabled?" In any case, she wasn't
going to be a problem.
"Hello," I said, keeping my voice neutral but light. "Who are you?"
"Amy," she said in a friendly voice. "Who are you?"
"Um. . .Jimmy. I'm Jimmy," I said, offering my hand. "Pleased to
meet you, Amy."
She shook my hand very formally, like a little kid. "Why are you
wearing that?," she asked, pointing at the ski mask. "Is your head
cold?"
"Yup. I have a really bad head cold."
"Becky, gets those," Amy confided, "but only when she has a test at
school."
"And Becky is?"
"She's my sister."
"Ah. Well, here," I said, giving her a towel, "you better dry off or
you'll catch cold, too."
She seemed like a sweet kid, so I kept my eyes on the bathroom shelves
while she dried herself, studying them for clues about the
inhabitants. As expected, there was no shaving kit or any hint of
male toiletries. Becky had been telling the truth. I relaxed a
little.
But now I had a new problem. I didn't want to have to tie Amy up if I
could avoid it -- she could panic or have a fit or something.
Instead, I took her to her room and helped her get dressed. I told
her that there would be no school today and that her mother and sister
were too busy to play. I had a friend who could play with her,
though, as long as she didn't go downstairs. Would she wait here?
Like a good girl, she nodded. Then I went in search of JoJo. I found
her putting the finishing touches to the mother's bonds. She'd done a
fantastic job, far in excess of what I'd expected. This could only
mean she wanted to be fucked badly. Slaves always over-perform when
they're desperately horny.
I took off the ski mask and guided JoJo to one side. "Here, put on
this mask. You'll find a little girl called Amy upstairs," I
whispered into her ear. "I want you to play with her until I say
otherwise. Whatever happens, keep her upstairs. Do a good job and
I'll reward you latter."
A sparkle appeared in the slave's eyes as she pulled on the ski mask.
We both knew what reward meant. "Now remember keep the mask on and
stay away from the windows," I instructed. "If the girl asks why
you're wearing it, say you have a head cold."
JoJo seemed a bit confused at the final part, and I wondered if Doc
had given her basic child care training. Still, for the moment it
didn't matter. As she trotted upstairs to play with Amy, I wandered
quietly into the kitchen and sat on a chair by the counter. The radio
was enough of a cover, and I doubted either of them knew I was there.
As time went on, they became more and more certain that they were
alone, taking more risks than they would have if they had known I was
watching. Suddenly, the mother let out a gagged scream and struggled
for a few minutes. She paused, listening I think for some response.
Finally she tried again with similar effects. Then she seemed to
realize that it was hopeless, that she was too well bound to escape
and her muzzle made screaming impossible. She settled down with her
chin on her chest as ordered, surrendering herself to the situation.
In contrast, Becky was a fighter. Most of the medals hanging up in
the den had been hers. I watched as her strong, athletic body
struggled against the bonds. She screamed into the muffling gag in a
desperate bid for freedom. She had none of her mother's realism; it
was hopeless but she fought anyway. I found myself hard, imagining
the young hellcat bucking below me as I fucked her helpless body.
Quietly, I walked up behind her.
"You know, Becky, I always knew you'd be trouble," I murmured, keeping
my voice low so that only the girl could hear me. Becky immediately
stiffened and placed her chin against her chest as I'd ordered. I had
a feeling Becky would make a good slave. She sat trembling for a few
minutes as I enjoyed her obvious terror. Then I continued in a soft,
friendly voice, "Yes, the first time I saw you I thought you'd be a
problem. Your mother has too much to lose, but you -- well, you're
young and stupid, and you don't know when you're licked."
Reaching down, I tugged at her cuffed wrists. "Did you really think
you could get free? Did you think I'd let you?" She shivered and
tried to make herself smaller. I ran my fingers over her gagged
mouth, finding the tape as smooth and well stuck as before.
"And as for all that noise. . .well, your mother can't hear you and
she's only a few feet away. You're completely helpless, you know? I
could do whatever I wanted to you, and chances are that your mother
wouldn't even know." I smiled. "Not that she could help you anyway."
Becky trembled. I think she could see where this was going. I let
her stew for a while, allowing enough time for her helplessness to
sink in, then I made my proposal. "You know, Becky, I have nothing
against your family. Me and my friend just needed somewhere to stay
for a while. If I thought I could trust you I'd untie you in a shot."
"Ummpph," she said, nodding her head frantically, her light brown hair
flapping against her head. "Umm mmuum muffmm mmupphh!"
"What?" I asked. "I can trust you?"
Realizing that her gagged sounds were unintelligible, she just nodded.
"Well," I said as if I were thinking about it, "you'd have to agree to
do whatever I say.."
She nodded again. I reached down and fumbled with the tape over her
mouth as if I were going to remove it. In fact I smoothed it down a
little more. Then I pretended to change my mind. "No. At least not
yet. Once you've proved that you're to be trusted, I'll see what I
can do."
She fell back, moaning with disappointment.
By this time I was extremely close to her, my lips almost touching her
ear. I doubted that her mother had heard any of the previous
conversation, but this part I definitely wanted to keep private.
"I'll do a deal with you, Becky. I promise not to hurt you as long as
you just sit back and give me no trouble. If you're really good, I'll
cut you free, but in any case the worse that will happen is that
you'll be uncomfortable for a few hours. Nothing bad will happen, I
promise. And just think what a great story you'll have to tell your
friends at school."
She relaxed a little. Now came the punchline.
"However, if you do give me trouble, like screaming or trying to
escape, well, then I feel that it would be appropriate for you to pay
a forfeit. Something to compensate for the trouble you caused."
She stiffened when I moved in even closer and yelped into the gag as I
put my hand on her breast. Her tits were young and firm, a tidy
handful feeling warm and pleasant even through her clothes. With my
other hand I brushed some of the hair from her face and rubbed her
cheek. "You're a very pretty girl, Becky," I whispered. "I can think
of all kinds of interesting forfeits for a pretty girl."
She started sobbing.
"Tell me, are you still a virgin?" I asked. She nodded, her
shoulders heaving as she fought conflicting emotions. "Oh, come on.
I'm sure that someone would have had a crack at your cherry by now," I
snorted. "I mean, you're such a pretty thing."
She sobbed.
"Now, just shush," I soothed. "If you do yourself a favor and be
good, I won't have an excuse to find out. All right?"
She nodded miserably. I doubted she would be any more trouble. I
allowed myself a parting grope to hammer my message home, then walked
over to her mother.
The older woman moved only slightly, just enough to relieve her
uncomfortable position. She was obviously a realist, understanding
that the only way to keep her family alive was to cooperate. That
would make my life a little easier. Despite the radio, she sensed my
presence and stiffened. As with her daughter, I came in closer so
that our conversation couldn't be heard. Bending down, I looked at
her name badge. It said "Sandra Fisher. Counter Assistant,
Belleville Saving and Loan."
"Sandra," I whispered close to her ear, "if you promise to be quiet
I'll remove the gag."
She nodded.
"Good girl," I said. "I want you to keep your voice at this level,
understand? Any louder and I'll gag you again."
She nodded a second time.
Reaching down I loosened the strap and removed the gag. She sat,
working her jaw for a while. When I was sure she was comfortable, I
began. "So Sandra, as you can tell we have a situation here. Me and
my friend need somewhere quiet to hold up for a few hours, and
unfortunately, that place is here."
She blinked up at me. "What have you done with Amy?" she asked, her
voice trembling.
"Nothing," I said. "My friend is looking after her, and if you
cooperate she need never know any of this unpleasant business took
place. Now, this is what's going to happen: first, we are going to
make a few phone calls. Nice simple ones, just to tell everyone who
needs to know that the Fisher family has a one day virus. Next, you
are going to tell me everyone who you may even remotely expect to come
around. The reason is that if anyone comes and I don't expect them,
I'll shoot them. Understand?" She nodded. "Finally, you are going
to sit here quietly until me and my friend have gone."
"How long will that be?"
"Three or four hours if you cooperate. If you're good, we'll just
leave you tied up and ring a neighbor when we're far enough away. If
you're bad, we may have to take Amy or Becky with us, OK?"
She nodded, sucking in a shaky breath.
"OK. First up, where are your car keys?"
"I. . .I don't have a car. My husb--"
"Yeah, I know about him," I said. If I'd thought about it, I'd have
realized that no car in garage and no car on the drive probably meant
no car, period. "All right, let's up that estimate by an hour, then.
Now, tell me Sandra, is there anyone who you're expecting to come
around? A boyfriend, a doctor, friends of Becky's, anyone?"
"N..no. Not during the day, anyway. Perhaps in the evening. .."
"I need to be sure, Sandra. We're going to ring all of those people
and make sure they don't come here today. You see, if anyone else
finds out we're here, it's likely to get unpleasant. And you don't
want things like that happening while your daughters are here."
"No," she whispered seeing the implied threat.
"Good."
The list was longer than I'd expected. Seems that Sandra Fisher was a
member of the PTA, an activist in at least a dozen good causes. I'd
seen her type before, proto-career women trapped in the home by an
unplanned early baby, trying to regain the freedom and power they'd
lost through volunteer work. I've often felt that such people are a
little pathetic, yet strangely enough I found that I liked Sandra. I
wasn't sure if it was her helplessness or if it was some fellow
feeling because she was about my age. Whatever it was, I regretted
not being able to tell her the truth, about Doc, about my work and
most of all about what was likely to happen to her family when he
arrived. Still, I pushed such unpleasant thoughts out of the way and
got on with business.
First up came the calls. I'd made a list of everyone we needed to
call, verifying the numbers she gave me before we dialed in case she
tried to slip the local police number in there. I was relieved to see
that she wasn't trying anything, but still it paid to be sure.
Pulling her chair over to the kitchen phone, I bent down and whispered
in her ear, "We're going to make some calls now. This is how it works
-- I'll dial, and when someone answers you'll say that it's Sandra
Fisher calling and that you can't stop to talk because you have a
doctor's appointment. You will tell them that the girls woke up with
a fever and a rash this morning and that as a result you're all
staying at home today and not accepting visitors. Do not chit-chat,
and do not deviate. Just deliver the message, explain that you are in
a hurry, and say good-bye. Clear?"
She nodded. I felt sure the idea of a child's illness would keep most
of the busybody PTA crowd away, as well as explain the absences from
work and school. As an excuse it had the advantage of being
consistent with little chance of conflicting stories attracting
attention.
"One last word of warning?" I murmured so that Becky wouldn't hear.
"You may be thinking that you could raise the alarm with a friend and
that they could call the police." She shook her head silently.
"Well, in case you have, let me explain what will happen. I figure
the soonest a patrol car can get here is three minutes. That's
assuming that they're actually in the neighborhood and that your
friend understands the message and passes it on straight away." I let
a coldness slip into my voice. "Now, in three minutes we can be long
gone, but first I'll take a knife and make sure no one will be able to
look at your daughter again without screaming."
She trembled.
"Do we understand each other Sandra?" I said. "All you have to do is
play along and everything will be all right. Fuck with me, and I take
it out on Becky. Do you understand?"
"Y. . .yes."
I dialed the first number.
She made the phone calls with no trouble; one to work, one to Becky's
school and another to the special school Amy attended. Then we went
through the people who might have called for one reason or another,
leaving answering machine messages in a number of cases for later.
Then I gave both of them a small drink. Sandra didn't protest when I
shoved the penis gag back into her mouth. Becky gave me more trouble,
but I was ready for her -- I used a new towel and fresh tape and took
the time to gag her properly. When I was finished, she was silenced
even better than before.
I left them for a few minutes and did another fast recon through the
ground floor. I needed to deal with Myra soon and wanted to keep her
presence secret. I did contemplate taking Sandra and Becky down to
the basement, but it offered too many opportunities. In the end, I
settled for the utility room, a small windowless space with a washer
and dryer, next to the kitchen. I pulled the chairs with their
struggling contents inside, standing them back to back so that they
couldn't see each other. Next, I checked the bonds and found them
tight. To be sure, I locked the cuffs and Sandra's gag in place with
little padlocks. I wasn't worried about Sandra because I knew how
effective Doc's gags were, but I did the nipple test on Becky to be
sure. She seemed a little loud, so I smoothed the tape over her mouth
and ensured a good seal. The next time was better. I took the added
precaution of turning on the dryer. Bangs and strange noises are
common when you dry clothes and the sound covered their gagged moans.
Satisfied that they were safely put away, I went to deal with Myra.
Myra had been more than a little subdued since the shooting, probably
because of the shock. In any case she gave me no trouble, so I let
her use the downstairs john and cleaned her up a little. She was
still wearing the remains of her fetish costume and I couldn't see how
I could change that. Still, a pair of Sandra's clean panties from the
utility room made her feel better. I replaced the gag and tied her
tightly to the radiator once more, though this time I found her some
cushions.
Rummaging through the kitchen, I rounded up a cold breakfast. After
I'd eaten, I put the rest on a tray and called JoJo downstairs.
"Here's some food for you and the girl," I explained. "Keep her
upstairs for now." I stepped back and gave her a good once-over.
Becky and JoJo seemed about the same size. "If you get the
opportunity, go into the other daughter's room and see if you can find
a change of clothes. Maybe you two could play dress-up or something."
I didn't expect visitors this early but someone could call later, and
if JoJo could answer the door with a plausible excuse about being a
relative or a babysitter, she could head off some unfortunate
questions. Of course, this meant she had to lose the latex and
leather ensemble. I then explained that I was going out for awhile
and that she should make sure that the house looked quiet and empty
while I was gone.
This proved to be a lot of orders, and JoJo was visibly flushed by the
time I'd finished. I smiled and patted her ass, telling her to get
upstairs and look after Amy. If she did a good job, she'd get an
equally good fucking later.
After JoJo was gone, I made sure the answering machine was set up in
case anyone called. I didn't want the alarm raised by some busybody
who couldn't get a response to a call. Satisfied that I'd covered all
the angles, I headed out through the back, locking the door behind me.
There was an alley at the end of the back yard, and I vaulted the wall
into it. It was best if no one saw me around the Fisher's.
As I headed off towards the store I wondered what we would do about
the Fishers. If it was up to me I'd leave them alone; after all, they
knew nothing about us or our business. I must confess that I liked
Sandra, and little Amy was a peach. We could just leave them tied up
as I'd said. It would be a mystery for the local police and an
exciting story for Becky to tell her friends at school. Of course,
the final decision was Doc's. A cold feeling ran down my spine;
knowing him, we'd end up recruiting the whole family. I shuddered,
thinking of them mindlessly servicing tired business men, or worse;
I'd heard that mother-daughter acts are quite popular in Bangkok this
year. . .
As I neared the shops I thought of Sam. He'd been Doc's agent in New
York for the past seventeen years, and was one of the most senior
people in the organization. Despite that, he'd been conned into
accepting a commission from the gruesome twosome at the bar. Well, I
suppose we all get old. My first job was to warn him, however, since
Doc's liking for compartmentalization can leave his people very
exposed if things go wrong. At this moment, the only link our Yuppie
friends had to Doc was Sam -- I only hoped he'd been careful. OK, so
I admit that it had also crossed my mind that he could provide backup,
but it was now much less of a concern. With no sign of Toby or his
masters for several hours, I was starting to think I'd gotten things
under control. Now, all I had to do was wait for Doc to show up.
Doc is a little like the devil. He can assess the exact price you put
on your soul, and buy it from you. They say we all have our price;
Doc works by meeting that price, buying someone's absolute loyalty.
Of course, this only works if a person has high moral integrity in the
first place, otherwise they might just welch on the deal. So Doc is
very choosy about _who_ he buys. I always find it ironic that a group
of people who will steal someone's daughter and sell her as a slave
are all people whose word you can trust absolutely.
Since Sam once told me his story, I think it'll illustrate what I
mean. When he was eighteen, Sam had married his childhood sweetheart,
Connie. She was seventeen at the time they had been each others only
partners. It was a match made in heaven -- they were perfect
together. I can't think of any couple more happy. They settled down,
raised kids, Sam built a business and everything seemed perfect. The
only problem was that Sam was sexually dominant, into bondage games
and S&M, and Connie just wasn't interested. So for twenty years he
buried his dark desires and got on with his life. Gradually, the
tension grew and one day over a beer he mentioned it to Doc, whom he'd
met in the army. Doc had smiled that devil smile of his and made a
bid for Sam's soul. He needed an agent for his organization, a
contact in the Big Apple with a clean criminal record and a business
to use as a cover. In return, he would give Sam what he'd always
wanted -- a pain slut who would welcome his dark side. Sam was
shocked at first, and even mused over the idea of turning Doc in, but
gradually Doc's poison started working on his conscience. He started
to think, why not? He had enough money that he could keep a mistress
without depriving his family. Hell, he would get even more if he
worked for Doc.
Then one day, he saw her on a bus. She was twenty years his junior,
and as it was the early eighties I suppose she had that preppy
big-haired Farrah Fawcett look. Sam realized he wanted her. . .
And the deal was struck.
That was seventeen years ago, and Sam has kept the same slave ever
since. Slaves evolve over time, even the fuck toys. They get their
own interests and tastes. Of course, underneath they are still
slaves, but the interesting things is that they're also real people
with real interests. Alison, Sam's slave, is now a well-respected
expert on early Coptic manuscripts. She runs her own business and for
three weeks in four runs her own life. For the last seventeen years,
however, that fourth week has been Sam's, and during that time she is
his devoted slave as he inflicts sweet pain on her willing body.
Musing over Sam's story, I realized I was approaching the local
shopping area. Whatever happened to the Fishers, I knew I couldn't
use their phone since the phone company records would link them with
whoever I called, so I was happy to see that the shops had a number of
public phones. I was also pleased at the range of shops and that
there was both a druggist and a hardware store nearby. That should
speed things up.
But first the phone. . .
For one week a month, Sam was in Manhattan "on business," which meant
that he was whipping Alison's sweet behind or torturing her pussy.
The rest of the time he was at home or playing golf, with one of his
sons running his legitimate business. I wondered which week this was.
"Hello?" An older woman's voice answered.
"Hello, Mrs. Turner?" I replied. "My name is Charles Kyle. I don't
know if you remember me -- I'm a friend of your husband's." In the
background I heard a girl's voice, probably the daughter, asking about
something. I listened as Connie shooed her away. I don't think
Connie ever knew what Sam and I did, although she knew he had some
extra source of income and that I was involved somewhere. She'd been
discreet and dutiful, but it was obvious she didn't want her children
involved. "I was wondering if I could talk to him?"
I heard a muffled sob. "I'm s-sorry Mr. Kyle, I. . .I suppose you
haven't heard. I'm afraid my husband is dead."
"Dead?" A chill went down my spine. "When? How?"
"The police found his body last night. He'd been on a business trip
to Manhattan. They say it was street crime."
I leaned back against the clear partition of the phone booth,
overcome by a sudden wave of guilt. "Oh, God, no. Oh, Connie, I am
so sorry!"
I said, earnest. "I've known Sam for the past eight years, and we
meet whenever I'm in New York. I don't know -- is there anything I
can do?"
There was a pause. "My husband spoke of you often, and said that you
were a very loyal young man," she said softly.
"He did?"
"Yes. Mr. Kyle, I must ask you to break a confidence that I am sure
my husband asked you to keep. It's about the other woman."
I was silent.
There was a sniffing sound that was almost a chuckle. "Come now, Mr.
Kyle. You must realize that I knew," she said. "I was married to my
husband for thirty seven years, and I knew him better than I knew
myself." I heard the pain in that voice, and something more, a need
that I couldn't refuse.
"Yes?" I said, suddenly feeling very tired. "The other woman."
"He's been seeing her every month for the past seventeen years?"
"Yes."
"And he does things with her. Things he and I couldn't do."
"Please," I begged. "Don't do this. Leave it alone."
"Did they have children?" she said, insistent.
"No. No, theirs wasn't that kind of relationship."
She seemed a little relieved but said, "Then she's alone."
"Yes."
"Ah. I'm lucky, you see. I have the children. They're here now,
keeping me company. It must be very terrible, being alone."
"I suppose so," said.
"Please, Mr. Kyle, if you should speak with that woman, have her call
me. I want to meet her, perhaps have her stay with us a few days. .
." I heard Connie trail off, trying to collect herself. "She and my
husband shared so much. I wouldn't want her to be alone, not now."
Despite everything, I found myself crying. Sam had been right about
Connie. She was one in a million. "I'll do that, yes," I said, "God
bless you, Connie."
I heard a sob then, and moved to hang up when she said, "Wait, Mr.
Kyle? How can I reach you for the memorial service."
"I travel. Don't worry -- I'll know when to come."
I hung up the phone, my knuckles white on the handset. So Sam was
killed last night. I wondered if it was before or after my visit to
the club. I had no doubt they were connected. Sam had been Military
Intelligence, and according to Doc he'd been the last man out of
Saigon. I doubt a man like that would let himself get mugged. I
started to ring Doc but then got to thinking. If Sam had been with
Alison then she could be in danger. Quickly, I dialed her number.
The receiver was lifted. "Hello, Alison?" I said.
"Ah! My dear Charles." I have never been so happy to hear Doc's
voice in my life. "So glad you could join us."
"Doc, Sam's dead."
"I know, dear boy. Why do you think we're here?" he replied. "Poor
Alison is so distressed, I was forced to give her a sedative. Now,
about my shipment -- have you disposed of it as we agreed?"
I closed my eyes. "Well, no. You see--"
I was shocked when he said, "Good show! I was a little concerned that
you had. Good to see you're thinking on your feet. Now, where are
you?"
Someone who didn't know him would think Doc wasn't all that upset
about Sam -- I suppose it's one of those British reserve things. But
I knew him, and knew that specific clipped tone meant he _was_ upset,
and would be looking for payback at the first opportunity. Pushing
those thoughts away fo the moment, I gave him the address in a
prearranged code, shifting grid reference to give the town, the order
the street name appeared in the local phone book and the house number.
If anyone was listening in, they wouldn't have the faintest idea where
I was.
"Business or residential?" he asked.
"Residential."
"Any residuals?" Meaning any residents.
"Some," I admitted.
"Well, I suppose it can't be helped. Inside two hours."
I hung up, feeling relieved. The ball was back in Doc's court.
After all that, I decided to do some shopping. Being a cockeyed
optimist, I worked on the assumption that Doc would decide to let the
Fishers go. In that case we couldn't leave such obvious clues as the
custom cuffs and gag behind, so I bought fresh bondage supplies from
the hardware store. Though I wanted to keep Amy out of it, I bought
enough to tie her, too, and a little extra in case of unexpected
guests. Then I went into the drugstore for some surgical tape and on
a whim bought one of those cheap disposable cameras, just in case any
opportunities arose.
Satisfied, I headed back to the house. I made sure no one saw me slip
into the alley, then hop over the fence and in through the back door.
When I opened the utility room, I was greeted with quite a sight.
Somehow, Becky had managed to turn her chair a full 180 degrees AND
cause it to fall at an angle. When I opened the door, Sandra's cuffed
hands were just inches from her daughter's taped lips. They "looked"
my way and I could smell the fear in the room. Even if they had
managed to get Becky's gag off, I doubted it would have done much
good. Still, this provided me with an excuse to have some fun.
"You know," I said, leaning in the doorway, "I think someone is going
to have to pay a forfeit."
Becky started trembling as the impact of what I'd said to her hit
home. I pulled the chairs back into the kitchen, unplugged the phone
and drew the blinds. In the center of the room was an island counter
with its own spotlights. I turned them on, turning the empty island
into a kind of mini stage. Racing upstairs, I recovered the mask from
JoJo. She had changed into a tight polo neck sweater and a short
leather miniskirt. I has to smile -- this must be as provocative as
Becky's wardrobe got, and JoJo would have little choice but to pick
the sluttiest items she could find. Personal slaves adapt their
clothing styles to their owners' preferences, but simple fuck toys
like JoJo are programmed to go for the lowest common denominator:
heels, boots, leather, latex. The uniform of the slut.
"Very nice," I said encouragingly. "Where's the girl?"
"Asleep in her room, Master," JoJo said suggestively. I could tell
what she wanted but right now I was busy.
"Later," I said.
JoJo looked disappointed. "Whatever you want, Master. But please,
master, do I have your permission to orgasm once before then?"
I grinned at the request. Like most slaves, JoJo couldn't orgasm
without permission. "Well. . .okay, since you did such a good job
with Amy."
JoJo burst into a smile, and took out a large vibrating dildo.
"Where did you get that from?" I asked, puzzled. I was pretty sure
we hadn't brought one with us.
"Oh, I found it in the bottom of the girl's underwear drawer," JoJo
said happily.
So little Becky had a secret after all. This was too good an
opportunity to miss. I held out my hand meaningfully.
"Oh, master!" JoJo pouted.
"Now, JoJo, we both know that you can finger yourself with no
trouble," I said reasonably. "So give me the dildo."
She handed it over like she was losing an old friend.
"That's a good girl," I said, approving. "As a reward, you can orgasm
five times."
JoJo's eyes sparkled at the 'reward.' As a slave she could never give
herself an orgasm as powerful as being fucked by her owner, but five
would keep her satisfied for now. Smiling, I pocketed the dildo and
stepped closer, sliding the flat of my hand over the crotch area of
JoJo's leather miniskirt. The girl cooed. Already massively turned
on, her body trembled at the additional sensation of my hand, and the
smell of hot pussy filled the air. Even so, she seemed very
disappointed when I ordered her back to Amy's room for her reward,
slapping her on that tight little butt as a parting shot. Sometimes,
this job is worth it.
Pulling on the mask, I headed back downstairs, where I found both
women struggling and mewing. I think they'd realized they were in
trouble, but not exactly what kind of trouble they were in. I could
remember seeing an old curtain rail in the utility room. Collecting
it, I found it was thin and whippy and would make an excellent switch.
To test it, I whipped it hard against the counter, listening to the
swish as it swiped through the air. Immediately the women fell
silent. I turned the radio on and tuned it to a rock channel.
Satisfied we had suitable music, I pulled Sandra's blindfold off and
cut her free of the chair. As I pulled her close, she struggled a
little and looked at me with big doe-like eyes as I unfastened the
lock that held the cuffs together. The rest of her body was free, but
the cuffs were still locked to her wrists and the gag was padlocked in
place.
"Forfeit time," I announced. She looked down at her bound daughter
then at the curtain rod and tried to say something. I reached down,
snatching off Becky's blindfold. Sandra was looking at the rod with
increasing alarm, then shot a furtive glance at the back door.
"It's locked," I said. "And I still have the gun."
She had started to say something unintelligible when a suitable song
began. Throwing myself into the chair she'd been bound to only
minutes before, I pantomimed making myself comfortable. Then I smiled
up at the helpless woman and flexed the rod.
"You both misbehaved and tried to escape. That was bad. Now, your
forfeit is, I want you to strip for me, Sandra. Gyrate to the music,
removing each piece of clothing in a slow, sexy way."
A yelp emerged from behind the gag which I chose to ignore. "Well?
What are you waiting for?" I purred.
More unintelligible sounds emerged from behind the gag and she and
Becky exchanged glances. I was sitting only feet away from the
daughter, and it would take no effort to just reach over and whip her.
Sandra seemed to realize this, or at least imagine what could happen.
Slowly, the humiliation burning on her cheeks, she started to move to
the beat. Hesitantly at first, to the point where I threatened to
whip the parts of her body she didn't move, but later with more
feeling, she started to strip.
The jacket came first. At my insistence she slid it part way down her
shoulders several times before I finally had her discard it. Next
came the blouse. I made her open each button in turn and wiggle her
ass at me as she did so. I noticed a little tear trickle down her
cheek, and made the humiliation worse by having her thrust her chest
towards me as she unzipped the skirt. Then I had her caress her
breasts as the skirt slipped down her gyrating hips. Now she was in
her underwear, a satin peach-colored bra, panty and garter belt set.
She hesitated when I demanded that she take off the bra, but I was sat
next to the helpless Becky, and Sandra was too good a mother to
disobey. The bra came off, revealing a surprisingly nice set of
boobs.
Now that she was topless, all sorts of possibilities emerged. I had
her caress her tits playfully, squeezing the nipples hard and rolling
them between thumb and fingers. By now, her face was wet with her own
tears as the shame and humiliation hit home. To do this was bad
enough, but to demean herself in front of her daughter. . . Sandra
sobbed and I was forced to remind her that she was supposed to be
sexy. I made her pull her panties into her slit and thrust her crotch
at my face. It would have been easy to pull her close and just fuck
her, of course -- I doubt she would have resisted and risk me turning
on Becky, but by then I'd seen enough. I had her discard the panties,
then telling her to face the counter, I recuffed her hands behind her,
led her to the chair and bound her to it using cord I'd bought at the
hardware store.
She struggled for a second, and mother and daughter exchanged a brief
gagged conversation. Now it was Becky's turn.
The moment I started cutting the tape that bound Becky to the chair,
Sandra knew what was going to happen. "Ummpphh?" she moaned weakly,
pleading with her eyes. She was a good mother, after all, and she had
just humiliated herself in front of me, believing that it would spare
her daughter.
Silly cunt.
I turned to face her. "What did you think I was going to do, Sandra?"
I asked, grinning through the mask. "I told you at the beginning that
all you had to do was sit back and relax, and it would soon be over.
It was you who decided to try and escape. Now you have to pay for
that."
I pulled Becky close so that I could unfasten her wrists. Unlike her
mother, whose gag was locked in place, Becky could remove hers easily
now that her hands were free. Pulling her close, I looked into her
young. fear-filled eyes. In a low voice so as not to alarm mommy. I
said, "I bet this thing is getting a little uncomfortable, isn't it,
Becky?" I ran a finger over her taped lips. She nodded miserably.
"Well, that _is_ a little unfortunate. You see, we're going to make
sure you and momma stay nice and quiet until we leave. After all, we
wouldn't want to disturb the neighbors, now, would we?" She looked at
me with big, helpless eyes. "Anyway, you might be tempted to take it
off, now that your hands are free. Well, don't, because you'll pay
the next forfeit with that pretty little pussy of yours. Do I make
myself clear?" She nodded. "Good girl. Now dance."
Strangely, Becky seemed to take to this fairly easily and I wondered
if she'd done this before, perhaps for a boyfriend or a few extra
bucks? It was hard to say these days, since kids in clubs wear
fashions and make moves that were the sole domain of pole dancers in
my day. Still, she wiggled her little tush when ordered and could
even do a reasonable bump and grind. Gradually the school uniform
disappeared, to be replaced by a lacy little bra and panty number.
That didn't last long. Like her mother, I had her remove the bra
slowly and fondle her breasts in front of me. By now she was sobbing,
but her fear of the rod kept her ass moving in time to the music. I
had her stick her ass almost in her mother's face as she wiggled out
of the panties. Sandra's look of disgust and Becky's eyes, wide and
fearful above her taped mouth, were an instant turn on.
Now they were both naked, the family resemblance was even more
apparent. Mother and daughter -- the thought caught my imagination,
kindling ideas that had been lurking there since I'd picked up Beth.
I know that I said I preferred the young nubile Beth to her older
mother, even if it was Jane who jilted me, but that also implied that
I needed to make a choice since I could only take one or the other.
Gradually, I had come to realize that I could do better than that.
Now that her kids were grown up, Jane was vulnerable again, and while
I had no intention of keeping her, the idea of having mother and
daughter as my personal slaves had its attractions. On the way to New
York I'd been planning things to do with my new slaves. Of course, it
hadn't escaped my attention that I could try some of the ideas out on
Sandra and Becky.
As Becky writhed in front of her mother, I assessed my options.
Getting them to do a little lesbian scene was obvious, but I decided
to start small. Perhaps I'd get the girl to stroke her mother's tits
and work her way up to fingering the helpless woman. I began to
regret not being able to ungag Becky and have her lick Sandra's slit.
Still, there were countless possibilities. I daydreamed a little as
the girl continued to dance and when it happened it came as a complete
surprise.
At first I didn't notice, Becky's bouncy little tits having 100% of my
attention. Then in the distance I heard it, a persistent ringing that
seemed out of place in the song track that was playing.
The front door bell.
Ordinarily it wouldn't be a problem. The gags were tight enough to
ensure that neither woman could be heard out front. Sandra was tied
to a chair so she couldn't do anything, but Becky. . .
The girl was smart. She realized the possibility a few seconds before
my brain registered the danger and she took maximum advantage. In an
instant she was at the kitchen door, showing the type of speed that
had won her all those sports medals. Had the door been open, it would
have been all over, but she had to stop to open it and that delay
allowed me to gain a little ground. I almost reached her when she
finally got it open and slipped into the hall. I followed in hot
pursuit.
The next few breathless seconds are burned into my memory. Becky,
naked but for gag and cuffs, was in full flight. Up ahead was the
front door, the imposing silhouette of a man framed in the frosted
glass panel. Next to the door were two smaller plain glass windows.
I realized it was only a matter of time before he peered through those
windows -- how may times have you done something like that when you
don't get a response from the bell? If he looked in, it would all be
over. I was also aware that JoJo was halfway down the stairs,
following the standard orders I'd given her in case of persistent
visitors. But Becky was fast and supercharged on adrenaline and fear.
There was no way I could close the gap before she reached the door.
There was the possibility that I could reach her before she got the
man's attention, but that was slim. I took a desperate gamble and
dived at her legs. If I missed, she had a clear run to the door and
I'd probably either have to kill the guy or spend the next twenty
years inside.
Strangely, I think the size of her lead finally worked in my favor.
She was confident enough to slow a little and tear the tape from her
mouth. Desperately, I dived forward and heard her grunt of surprise
as I impacted with her back. The door of the family room was open and
some trick of my momentum that I hadn't consciously planned caused us
to fall into the room. Fortunately, there was no furniture nearby,
and though we landed heavily there was less noise than I'd expected.
We were winded for a second, so neither of us reacted when JoJo
reached in and calmly closed the door. She was already opening the
front door when Becky recovered. By that time, though, I had the
sense of mind to crawl on top of her, so escape was impossible. I was
still winded, however, and it gave her enough time to spit out the
sodden towel. She took a deep breath and got ready to let rip with a
scream.
There was no time to be subtle. I drove my fist solidly into her
solar plexus, driving out all that hard-fought-for air in an explosive
rush. Becky went from being a hard-bodied athlete to a rag doll in an
instant. After that, it was easy to replace the towel -- I even had
time to refasten the cuffs, all while the chairman of the PTA was a
few feet away from us, telling JoJo just what he expected Sandra to do
before the next meeting.
Becky recovered from the punch surprisingly fast, but by then it was
too late. She was pinned immobile by my weight, and my hand was
covering her mouth and the towel gag. Slowly, I got my own wind back,
wishing the guy would just hurry up and leave. He sounded like a
typical PTA leader -- loud and pompous. I had no doubt that Sandra
could hear him in the kitchen. Her gag was too tight for her screams
to be heard out here, but I started to worry about the bonds,
especially those tying her to the chair. If she knocked something
over or managed to get to somewhere he could see her, all of this
would be for nothing.
Finally, the windbag left. A few minutes later, when I was sure he
was gone, I dragged Becky back to the kitchen. Sandra looked up
hopefully as I opened the door and pushed her daughter inside. I
think the silly bitch had really believed they were about to be
rescued. I smiled an evil little smile, and the woman looked down and
trembled a little. She _knew_ they were in trouble.
I dragged the girl over to my bag of provisions and dug around inside.
She groaned when I pulled out a new roll of duct tape. Stupid slut,
did she really think I'd leave her free after that? I'd been
intending to strengthen the gag, anyway, and had come prepared. Out
came the towel, to be replaced by this strange leather-covered sponge
thing apparently used to polish cars. It was a tight fit, much larger
than the towel, but as they say, if it doesn't fit force it. Finally
it was in so tightly that I doubt she could remove it without the use
of her hands. I wasn't going to find out; a thick layer of tape held
it firmly in place. I used a bandage on top, squeezing her mouth
closed around the sponge. A nipple test produced barely a whisper,
although the pained look in her eyes showed it was far from
comfortable. It served her right. And if she didn't like that, she
definitely wouldn't like what was next. I strengthened her bonds by
taping her elbows tightly together. She struggled a little and moaned
her discomfort but I was satisfied. Not only was her movement greatly
restricted, but her tits were thrust out nicely. I fondled them for a
while, enjoying her tiny sounds of indignation. Her traitorous
nipples had hardened on their own, giving me plenty to play with. I
continued to play until she was starting to get a little breathless,
then I pushed her down on the island.
When I seized an ankle, I was very surprised to hear Sandra start
screaming. Of course, the sound wasn't very loud but it still came as
a shock. Becky was crying and Sandra kept shaking her head and
pleading with her eyes. For a while I was puzzled, then I realized
how it looked -- here I was, pushing Becky onto the counter and
spreading her legs. Sandra naturally assumed that I was about to fuck
the girl. I could see how they could make that mistake.
I suppose I could have defused the situation by explaining what I was
going to do, but to be honest they were pissing me off. So instead I
threatened to take the rod to Becky if she didn't stop struggling.
The girl stopped, face tight with fear as I tied some cord around her
left ankle to the sound of her mother's frantic mewings in the
background. I think they finally realized she was in no danger when I
tied the cord to the other ankle -- the short length of the cord would
have made rape very difficult, although it did make an excellent
hobble. Becky's athletic feats were over for the moment. I ran some
rope around her neck and tied it off to the sink, then turned to
Mommy.
Sandra had been a good little girl, but I had dark plans for her
daughter and needed to keep her occupied for a time. It would be
interesting to see how she'd react to what I was about to do. With a
smile, I pulled the chair and the struggling woman back into the
utility room. I'd tied her ankles to the chair legs but had left most
of her body free -- now she'd see why. First, I taped her elbows like
I'd done with Becky and was pleased to see that I got a similar
response. Then I tied her wrists to the bar at the back of the chair.
I'd left some slack and I think that puzzled her. Then, I tied a
length of cord around her middle then passed the free end between her
legs. I don't think she had any idea what I was doing. She seemed
really confused when I tied some knots in the cord near her naked
pussy. She must have had a sheltered life, but she soon got the point
when I pulled the cord tight. The utility room had a pulley
arrangement for an indoor drying line and I ran the rest of the cord
through it. It was simple to pull the cord tight, forcing Sandra to
lift her ass off the chair or be cut in two.
Her body strained as I tied off the loose end to the drier. Now she
could see some of my devilish plan. The cord went between her ass
cheeks, then passed though her mound, pressing the knots I'd tied hard
against her clit. She was forced to arch her back and hold her ass
off the chair or the pressure would become too much. She whimpered
under the stress, but I still wasn't finished. Telling her to shut
her eyes. I sealed them closed with surgical tape, effectively
blindfolding her. She "looked" around, disoriented, trying to figure
out what I'd do next and shivering with a strange mixture of fear and
desire.
Stepping back, I looked at the taut, helpless woman moaning as she
tried in vain to find a comfortable position. Next were a couple of
clothes pins from the line, quickly clipped onto her erect little
nipples. She wailed and tried to shake them loose but that only
caused the knots to rub against her crotch. In a couple of seconds
she was breathless and the little room was filled with the smell of
hot pussy. As a final touch I turned on the drier. Its noise would
drown her cries and deafen her to sounds from outside, and its
vibrations were transmitted by the rope to the knots pressing on her
sensitive clit. By the time I turned to leave she was already moaning
and bucking the rope. I smiled to myself. She would be more than
ready by the time I returned.
I returned to the daughter who was trying to find a comfortable
position on the island. I cut the rope around her neck and pulled her
close. She looked up at me, white with fear. I let my hand wander
down to the thick thatch of fur covering her pussy. Almost all of
Doc's girls are shaved; these days, I'm not used to girls with pubic
hair. I ran my fingers lightly through it, letting her get a little
of the sensation before playing with her clit in earnest. She sighed
and her breath became ragged.
"You know Becky, I did warn you what would happen to you if you
touched the gag?" I murmured.
She stiffened.
"I mean I did make it clear and all?" I asked, my voice sounding
puzzled. "I mean there was no room for confusion?"
Sobbing into the gag, she shook her head, though I couldn't tell if
this was in answer to the question or her begging for mercy.
"You knew that your little pussy was on the line if you disobeyed, but
you did it anyway," I scolded her. "Now, there are only a couple of
ways I can interpret that -- either you want it real bad, or you're
not taking me fucking seriously!" I felt her body shiver as I shouted
the last word directly into her ear, then continued in a more normal
tone, "Question is, which is it? You hot for a fucking, bitch?"
She shook her head.
"Then I think you're not taking me seriously. I think we'd better
correct that right here and now."
She moaned. I reached into my pocket and withdrew the dildo. "My
friend found this in your drawer."
Becky stiffened, a look of fear and embarrassment spreading over her
face. "I think this answers the virgin question, don't you think?" I
said.
She nodded miserably.
"I could just fuck you here and now. I know I'd enjoy it, and you
might, too. The alternative is this."
Without warning I swung the curtain rod, catching her perfectly
between the legs. She staggered, the pain glowing in her eyes. The
scream was swallowed by the new gag and only a faint mewing emerged.
For a second I thought she would faint but instead she cringed,
pulling her legs together and starting to cry in earnest.
I waited for her to calm down, then hit her with the whammy. "There
are another 29 of those to go," I murmured. "If you cross your legs,
I'll tie them open and give you another ten for your trouble." I
paused, letting her consider the situation. Genitals have so many
nerve endings, the pain must have been unimaginable. "Of course, I
could fuck you instead. . ."
"Ummph. Mhhph?" she moaned behind the gag. She nodded
energetically, but I noticed her eyes were looking at the ground.
"Personally, I'd rather whip you," I said clinically. "I think it
teaches the right kind of lesson, but who knows? Perhaps you could
persuade me otherwise."
It took a couple of moments for her to figure out that I wanted her to
beg me to fuck her. The gag was there for the duration so if she
wanted to avoid the whip she was going to have to beg some other way.
Slowly, she started to grind her hips against my thigh, making sexy
little mewing noises behind her gag. She gave me bedroom eyes, or at
least what a teenager thinks are bedroom eyes. I encouraged her and
she responded by sliding her body down mine, making sure her firm
young tits pressed against my chest. Her nipples were hard, I
noticed, and her breathing came in gasps again. She slid up and down
a couple of times, wiggling her hips suggestively, then she did that
little thing of tilting her head down and then looking up with big
eyes. For a sixteen-year-old, she sure knew how to push a guy's
buttons.
It took some effort, but in the end I shook my head. "No I don't
think so."
A look of disappointment and dread flashed across her face. She
started trembling again.
"You know," I said conversationally, "it can't be easy being big
sister to a girl like Amy. I bet you've had to give up a lot of
things over the years. I suppose you've always played second fiddle
to her for your mom's attention too."
She nodded, a puzzled look replacing the dread.
"Yes sir, looking after a sister with special needs. All those little
sacrifices. I bet there were times when you just wished she'd go
away."
She shook her head, fear again in her eyes. Fear for Amy and where
this conversation might be leading.
I reached down and rubbed her swollen little clit. "You know, growing
up the way you did, there have got to have been a number of things you
didn't get to do because you were her sister. You know, good things
you missed out on just because Amy was your sister?" I smiled down at
her confused face. "Well, if you ever felt that life was unfair, just
remember that fate's a funny thing. I'm not going to fuck you or whip
your pussy. You see, for once you're going to miss out on something
bad, just because Amy is your sister."
The tension drained out of her like water from a sieve. Silently, the
girl began to cry.
I decided it was time to separate mommy and Becky, just to keep them
out of mischief. Using some more tape, I blindfolded Becky. Happy to
have escaped the whipping, she proved most cooperative. Leaving her
on the island, I closed the utility room door on the bucking, moaning
Sandra and quickly cleaned up the room. Satisfied that everything
would appear normal to someone looking in, I hoisted Becky over my
shoulder and took her upstairs. Had we met Amy, I had a good excuse
worked out about about Becky and I playing a game, but luckily the
little girl was still napping.
In her room, I bound Becky spread eagle to her bed. The minute she
was on the bed she started struggling, seeing what this allowed me to
do. I'd reassured her in the kitchen that I wasn't going to fuck her,
but I knew she didn't really trust me. Or maybe she was looking
forward to it? Teenaged girls can get some pretty strange ideas in
their heads. In any case, the new cord I'd bought from the hardware
store proved more than a match for her, and soon she was helplessly
spreadeagled on the white sheets. Her fine athletic body was mine to
play with, so I did for a while. Her breasts were small but pert,
nipples a dark chocolatey brown. Of course I _had_ to do a nipple
test to check the gag was still secure, and it only seemed right to
rub them better afterwards.
Looking down at her taped eyes, I realized I could have a little more
fun. I deliberately undid my belt and zipper, allowing her
imagination to take full effect. Blindfolded, she could guess what
was about to happen, but I had something more devious in mind.
I signaled JoJo to come over. Pointing at the helpless girl, I
whispered, "You will pleasure this slave with your mouth. She is to
be kept on the edge but not allowed to cum. Is that clear?"
JoJo nodded obediently. It was a common request that formed part of
her training. Becky gave a muffled squeal at the first touch of
JoJo's tongue, but soon she was groaning into her gag and attempting
to force her cunt into the slave's face. Periodically JoJo would
switch her attention to breasts or thighs, allowing the sensation to
diminish a little. In just a few minutes Becky began to experience
the sweet agony she would be in for the next few hours.
I looked at my watch and wondered where Doc was. I was starting to
feel jumpy as the day moved on and the chance of visitors increased.
Silently, I crossed the room and stood by the side of the window.
Outside, kids were coming home from school, and the room gradually
filled with their squeals and shouts. I knew Becky could hear them
but I doubted she could do anything even if she wasn't gagged.
Looking again, I saw a number of older kids dressed in the same
uniform that Becky had worn this morning. I glanced back. Becky
tugged desperately against the ropes, arching her back and trying to
force her damp pussy further into JoJo's mouth. I looked into the
streets, wondering what her schoolmates would think if they could see
her like this.
Then I smiled. I had intended to take photos, after all. Maybe I
should shoot them both up with the rest of Doc's will suppresser and
have them act out a lesbian scene for me. Finally, I shook my head --
it was tempting, but all I really wanted to do was leave them alone
and get out of here. I listened again to Becky's strangled moans and
felt a rumble in my pants. Well, perhaps that wasn't all I wanted.
Satisfied that the teenager was under control, I went downstairs. I
recovered Sandra from the utility room by cutting the crotch rope and
dragging the chair into the living room. I figured we might have
callers soon and I wanted to change the message on the answering
machine to discourage personal visits. As I started to set up, I took
a good look at her for the first time. Sandra was still quite young,
early to mid thirties, so she must have been very young when she had
Becky. Her figure had recovered well from two children and the sight
of her bound naked to a chair was doing wonderful things to my dick.
Gently, I reached out and stroked my gloved hand over her exposed
nipple. She stiffened, a faint tremble fluttering through her breast.
The nipples hardened immediately and she groaned. Then, bending down,
she rubbed her gagged mouth against my hand.
This suited me fine. She could hardly record a new message with a gag
in her mouth. Still, I made it sound like I was doing her a favor.
"OK, I'll take it out, but it goes back when *I* say," I growled.
"Try anything stupid and you won't be the only one to suffer,
understand?"
She nodded, so I removed the gag but left it dangling around her neck.
She licked her dry lips. "Where's Becky?"
"Upstairs, keeping my friend company," I said. "I decided it was a
good idea to separate you, after last time."
She licked her lips again. "Why did you make us strip?" she asked
nervously. There was a tension in the air, a nervousness that I found
a great turn-on. Working for Doc, I can have my pick of young pussy.
These days, most of the girls I fuck are half my age. But there was
something about seeing an older woman helpless like this that did
something to me. Perhaps it was because she could have been the girl
I dated in high school.. Perhaps, surrounded by plenty, my palate had
got a little jaded. Perhaps a change is as good as a rest.
I leaned in and kissed her neck. She flinched a little. "You tell
me," I said as I continued to nibble the nape. She gasped a little
and I watched as her nipples started to harden.
"Do...do you intend to. . .rape us?" she gasped. I moved up to her
ear, flicking my tongue against the lobe, feeling the heat radiating
from her naked body. It amused me -- mother and daughter, both turned
on and helpless. I decided to play some more.
"Haven't decided," I said, teasing. "Though that daughter of yours is
quite a temptation. It's been a while since I've had pussy as fresh
as that."
I watched her stiffen, her worse fears confirmed. I expected her to
get indignant, but as I brought my hand up to caress her breast I felt
her body tremble. "Y. . .you can have me, but please leave my
daughter alone."
"What do you mean, _have_ you?" I asked, gently stroking her inner
thigh. Blindfolded by the tape, she was unable to predict when and
where I'd touch next. As I brushed against her belly I got an
involuntary moan and her body stiffened. I gently ran my gloved
fingers through her bush and found it wet. "So damp, so soon. What
was it you were saying?"
She fought to focus, "I. . .oh. . .I'll fuck you willingly. . .just
leave her alone. Please?" The last word was a plea, but for what I
wasn't sure. Was it the mother protecting her young or a horny woman
being teased to distraction? I meant to find out.
"And suppose I don't like it willingly?" I asked, rolling one of her
nipples in my gloved fingers. She gasped and sucked in a huge breath,
intent on getting her offer out before she lost her will completely.
"Then I'll do whatever you want, resist, not resist. I'll sign a
statement saying I'm doing it willingly. That it's not rape. You
could use it in court if they catch you. . .oh. . ._please._"
I took one of her breasts in one hand, fingered her exposed pussy with
the other. "Let me tell you what I think. I think you want to be
fucked. You may think you're selflessly sacrificing yourself for your
daughter, but you want it don't you?"
She gasped, but wouldn't say anything.
"All you have to do is ask. To make it simple, I promise not to rape
your daughter no matter what your decision. If you want it, just ask.
If not, just say no." I realized that I'd placed her in a dilemma;
before, she could always rationalize her needs by saying that she'd
surrendered to save her daughter. Now she had to face the truth.
"Please. . .?" she moaned. I upped the tempo on my teasing.
"All you have to say is please fuck me."
She threw her head back, head rolling on her shoulders. "Please. .
.fuck. . .me."
Bingo. I'd been intent in having at least one of these cunts beg me
to fuck her before Doc got here. So the winner had been Sandra. Of
course, I'd make her pay a high price for it, and I always had her
daughter for seconds.
Cutting Sandra free of the chair, I laid her on the couch. Her hands
were still bound and the gag hung round her neck in easy reach. I
started where I'd left off, teasing and nibbling here and there. Her
skin was hot and salty and I took my tongue on the grand tour. Her
hardened nipples, still so sensitive after the clothes pins, seemed
especially vulnerable. I spent a while sucking and licking while she
squirmed and begged. Then I moved lower, attacking spots at random
and watching her increasing arousal. She was wiggling with
anticipation when my tongue first danced over her clit. She sucked in
a deep breath and for a second I readied myself in case she was about
to scream, but at my next touch she let out a powerful moan. I knew
at that moment that she was mine. Her body trembled as it betrayed
her mind, then her mind was washed away in a buildup of pure pleasure,
probably the first pleasure she'd gotten from a man in a long, long
time.
I whispered things in her ear, things she had to say if she wanted me
to continue. They were horrible degrading things, things members of
the PTA never say, and she repeated them happily, willing to sound
like a whore if it got her a little closer to that orgasm. I got her
to shout them, unconcerned about the neighbors. "Oh please, Master,
fuck this whore!" wasn't quite the same as "Help, murder!" after
all. When I thought she was ready, I slipped on a rubber and pushed
my way in.
It was. . .different. Eight years of young, tight pussy can spoil a
man, and of course she hadn't been taught those little Thai whore
tricks that Doc's girls know. Still, she had a certain enthusiasm,
following my lead and screaming obscenities as I fucked her brains
out. She came three times, each more powerful than the last, before I
let myself come in her cunt, filling the rubber until I thought it
would burst. Different, but definitely good.
As we lay there afterwards, gasping, I thought about Doc again and
wondered where the hell he was. If he wasn't here in half an hour, I
figured I'd look in on young Becky. Of course, I'd promised her
mother I wouldn't rape her, but I had no doubts that the girl would be
out of her mind by now, willing to beg anyone or anything to fuck her.
And if she begs, then it's hardly rape. I grinned and looked down at
Sandra, still clutching me as she panted in satisfaction.
Who knows, I might even let her watch. . .
