Captured Caroline

Captured Caroline (M/f, NC, B&D)

by Quin

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                                     STANDARD DISCLAIMER
                                     ===================

The following piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment and
has been posted only to an appropriate group on the Internet. If it is
found in any other place this is not the responsibility of the author.

All characters in this story are fictitious, any similarity to
persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The author does not
necessarily condone or endorse any of the activities detailed in this
story, some of which are dangerous or illegal.

Quin 1995-1996
TMQuin@ibm.net
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                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Prologue: Just a Quiet Burger (M/f, NC, B&D)
=============================

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

I parked towards the back of the lot close to one of the lights.  I
figured no one would be likely to park close by, I'd taken a lot of
trouble to ensure that she was tightly gagged and that she was tied in
such a way that she couldn't attract any attention.  Still it paid to
go to a little extra trouble and it also reduced the chances of some
passer by spotting my home made tags.  I still felt nervous and
unsure, copying a stranger's tags so that you don't have to cruising a
neighborhood with out of state plates is smart thinking and pays off
when the jobs over and the cops are looking for clues.  Yet I couldn't
help feeling that this would be the night the idiot got his car stolen
or his wife was rushed to hospital and that every cop in the state
would be after that license.  I was at most twenty minutes from the
layover when I could switch mine back, I hoped to stay lucky that
long.

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

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

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

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

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

I suppose in reality this started six months ago. At the time I was
dating Samantha Prescott, former model and an assistant editor at
Vogue. I must confess that I had fallen, she was lovely of course, but
she also had an elegance and charm which completely won me over. I
suppose I read more into the relationship that she did, certainly I
was ready to commit. I was at that time building a house in New
England and contemplating the Great American Novel. Then out of the
blue she called everything off, the next time I saw her was in a
tabloid escorting some  baseball star to the Grammies. When
she finally answered my calls she as good as told me that I was just a
fashion accessory, that literary men had been a feature of the Fall
season and that now that Spring was here she and her friends preferred
more "physical" escorts.

About a month later one of my editors called and suggested that I did
a blab piece on computer porn.  The newspapers and television were in
a feeding frenzy about girlie pics on bulletin boards and S&M on the
internet.  Apparently a company in San Diego was marketing an S&M
Multimedia CD-ROM, and had just won a court battle to allow it's
distribution.  With some reluctance I'd agreed, chiefly because the
Samantha thing had caused me to fall behind with my column.  A few
days later the CD arrived.  By then I'd done the few thousand words of
condemnation required by my middle class publisher but I thought I'd
try it anyway just to get some specific quotes.

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

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

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

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

I drove carefully into the hollow, this wasn't the night to slide into
a ditch or have a flat.  I assured myself that we were far enough from
the road and that no one was watching.  Finally I got out, went to the
back of the car and opened the trunk.  Two large, frightened blue eyes
stared back at me over the mass of Ace bandage that covered her lower
face.  The bandage was tight and her cheeks bulged out over it, in
places there was a flash of silver where the bandage failed to cover
the duct tape underneath.  She made a mewing sound and started to
struggle, I carefully checked her bonds.  In a sense we were both
acting out our roles, she as victim, I as kidnapper, we both knew she
couldn't get free.  She was dressed in the same outfit she had worn
that morning to her Saturday job, a fairly expensive blue blazer and
skirt, a white blouse, heels and stockings. I had pulled her long
blond hair back into a kind of ponytail and secured it with some
rubber bands, it cascaded onto her back like a horses mane.  I had
considered removing the blazer before tying her but this power
dressing had reminded me of Samantha, so instead I had added to the
ensemble.  Her ankles where cuffed, good solid black leather bondage
cuffs bought from a sex shop in New York, in many ways they matched
her pumps and proved I could "Accessorize".  At the moment they were
fastened together with a padlock and linked by a long leather strap to
her wrists.  Smaller straps clinched her legs together just above and
just below the knees effectively immobilizing them.  I had done the
same at her elbows but had used duct tape to secure her wrists and
hands.  Even her fingers where covered in a mass so thick it appeared
that she was clutching a bowling ball.  As well as securing her hands
the mass also stopped another leather strap from biting into her
wrists and it was this strap that was also secured to her ankles.

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that clear!" I snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shut up," I said, "I didn't say you could talk."
"You didn't say I couldn't."
"You'll learn," I said and reached for the sponge ball.
"No! " She said quickly, "Look I'm sorry. I'll be quiet, promise!"
Without a word I held the first burger to her lips  and she started to
eat. There continued a strange silence until she was finished.  I
reached back, plucked the toy bag from behind her seat and started
to root around inside. At length I found what I wanted and pulled out
her collar.  Seeing it she started to protest but then she caught my
eye and sat meekly as I locked it around her neck.  Then I pulled out
a leather gag, this time she couldn't stop herself.

"What..."
"It's your gag."
"But I thought...." She nodded towards the sponge ball.
"That design is very effective but the adhesive from the tape damages
the skin. This is a better long term solution. Now open wide.."
"But..."
"Are you breaking your promise?"
"No but..."
"Then open up!"
She sighed resigned to her fate and opened her mouth to let me put the
gag inside, then she bent forward as I secured the straps.  The gag
had a wide padded leather section that covered her lips and a strap
that tightly fastened around her head.  I could tell that she'd worked
out that the ball in her mouth was a lot smaller that the last one.
She made a number of muffled sounds that were much quieter that they
should be.  I think she thought that I'd overestimated the gag's
effectiveness and she could exploit that later.  I reached into the
bag and got the pump.  At first she didn't recognize what it was and
it was only when the ball in her mouth started to inflate that she
realized the truth.  Eyes wide and bulging she started to protest, her
whines becoming steadily more muffled as the ball inflated.  When I
was satisfied that she was gagged as effectively as before I replaced
the pump in the bag and withdrew the padded leather blindfold that
matched the gag.  She spotted this and wanted nothing to do with it
she shook her head, struggled and whined as I strapped it in place.
I pulled back and she sat there  shaking. Deprived of sight she felt
even more vulnerable. Her almost covered face, gag and blindfold
scanned the car as if waiting for something to happen. I left the car
and walked around to the passenger side with the bag. Opening the
door I swung her bound legs out and  clipped a short length of chain
between the D rings of her ankle cuffs. I  removed the padlock joining
the cuffs and then the two leather straps leaving her legs free but
hobbled at the ankles. Then I secured another chain to her collar to
act as a leash and pulled her upright. A little unsteadily she
followed me to a tree where I secured the leash to a low branch.

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

"Hey sweetheart." Her leather covered face turned towards me. "I'm not
a bad guy I know it can be boring in here. I have some entertainment
for you." With one quick motion I slipped the vibrator into her pussy
and turned it on low. A strangled moan came from behind the gag and
she started to struggle as I secured her knees and trapped the buzzing
intruder inside her. The moans and groans continued but the hogtie
deprived her of the movement necessary to remove it, if of course
that was her intention. Her hips moved as much as they could and
muffled moans came from behind the gag. Once again I tucked the
blankets around her for sound insulation and shut the trunk. In the
eerie silence of the woods I could still hear her faint moans.
Satisfied that the vibrator, with it's long life batteries, would keep
her distracted until we returned home I returned to the drivers seat
and drank my coffee.......

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

Chapter 1: The Selection and Capture of a Slave.
=========================================


It had been fate that delivered her to me. I discovered that a
small software house was holding a product demo in the town I'd
selected as my hunting ground.  A small startup company made up of
young graduates, they where based near the university.  I was
preparing another blab piece on innovation in the computer industry
and so had an excuse to go, it seemed like a good opportunity to scout
around.  I think the company had been surprised when I accepted, I was
the only recognized hack that had bothered to attend.  In any case
they were all over me, I got a private demo and enough disks and
promotional material to supply the whole press corps.  They were keen
young men desperate to make a good impression.  One even
showed me the local night life and over some beers he told me of the
best student hangouts, information which I stored away for later.

The next day was to have been the main demo and having seen the
package already I had intended to send my apologies and use the time
to check out prospective targets. In the end however I elected to turn
up for at least the first half hour. They had hired a couple of girls
from a local  modeling agency to look pretty during the presentation.
Neither was exactly what I was looking for  but on a whim I hung
around until lunch to practice my stalking skills. The girls headed
off downtown to a small restaurant where they met with friends. It was
here that I first saw her, tall, shapely, blond, Caroline. With a
decent makeup job and some reasonable clothes she could have made a
good living on the modeling circuit. As it was she had a fairly poor
dress sense, which reduced her from stunning to just good looking. I
knew then that this was the one I wanted. Not only could I train her
as my slave I could eventually mold her into the kind of escort to
make the Sam Prescotts of this world seem ordinary.

After her meal she said her good-byes and left. Once outside I
followed
her back to a local department store, here she worked as a cosmetics
saleswoman. She seemed to be fairly junior, supplying free makeovers
to women brought to the counter by more senior staff. I went to a
rival company's stand and made some excuse about needing a last
minute birthday gift. The girl was helpful and I managed to keep
her distracted enough that I could watch Caroline across the floor.
She had a certain intrinsic elegance that shone out despite her dowdy
looks. Trade was slow and from the banter I picked up between the
other saleswomen it became clear that Caroline was a student working
here part time. Realizing I couldn't continue to hang around without
attracting attention I purchased enough perfume to keep the girl happy
then left and headed off for the rest of the day.

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

The morning she was working in the store as usual, during the night
I'd formulated a plan.  First I hired a cell phone from a local
company that were happy for me to take it for a few days when I
claimed mine was damaged.  This gave me a local number.  I had spent
most of the previous evening filling a small notebook with cryptic
notes and I put a woman's name on the cover.  I had noticed that
Caroline carried a small black leather purse with her at all times.  I
guessed that they may be available from the store where she worked.
Another quick `birthday gift' shopping trip and I had it's twin
together with a woman's billfold.  In the stores toilets I assembled
my decoy.  I placed about $300 in the wallet and dropped it into the
bag, then added some old keys, some change, the notebook, a pen and
some of the perfume I'd purchased the day before.  I figured it would
weigh about right and that she may not immediately realize it wasn't
her own purse.  I assumed that she would eat lunch in the same place
and again fate was with me.  I sat on the next table just behind her
as she sat and gossiped.  I paid for the salad I bought and while the
waitress took their order I quickly swapped purses, stuck hers under
my coat and left.  I explained to the cashier that I was waiting for
a friend who hadn't shown and that I was off to find out where he was.
Would she hold my table for fifteen minutes until I got back?  A
large tip ensured she would.  I knew I had little time, there was a
key and heel place down the block and a hardware store a little beyond
that.  Out of sight I removed her apartment and car keys and ensured
they had no ID.  I stopped at the heel bar first, dropped off the car
keys and paid for a duplicate set.  With the excuse that my lunch
break was almost over and I had shopping to do I left them with the
promise that the keys would be ready when I returned in five minutes.
Then I went to the hardware store where I got the apartment keys done
quickly. In their toilets I quickly went through the rest of the
purse.  I was relieved to see that she had no bottles of medication or
cards indicating a serious medical complaint. What she did have was a
large number of unpaid bills, and of course a motive to disappear.
Collecting both sets of keys I headed back.

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

I tailed her back to the store to ensure this wasn't a college day,
then went to her apartment. I rang the bell first in case there
 was a room mate or a boyfriend, then went up and scouted things
out. I discovered that she was a psych major struggling to meet the
demands of the course and of her day job and that she apparently
lived alone.  She had awful dress sense seeming to choose baggy
clothes that hid her figure and colors that didn't suit her.  Although
this was puzzling her wardrobe did provide me with details of her
clothes sizes that would let me order some of the more exotic outfits
before I collected her.  The absence of a boyfriend and estranged
letters from the family assured me she wouldn't be missed for some
time.  I was almost tempted to wait and take her then, but I didn't
want anyone to place me near the scene so instead I decided to wait a
month and returned home to prepare...

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

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

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

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

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

The only real opening was that she left the store slightly later than
everyone else. I could in theory jump her in the back alleys leading
to her car. Unfortunately *MOST* of them were well used short cuts
which was probably why she felt safe using them. The only exception
was an alleyway close to the store, here at that time I could expect
to have her alone for perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes. Unfortunately
the alley was too narrow for a car, it did however lead into an
wider alley linking two blocks. This wide alley was quiet enough that
I could get perhaps five minutes parked there before I congested
traffic but simply put it was too busy for me to leave a car there
during the kidnapping.  For a while I played with the idea of stashing
her in a dumpster while I went for the car, but even with the best gag
in the world she'd make too much noise for me to leave her the twenty
minutes I needed.  I started to wish I knew more about drugs so that I
could knock her out, but I knew that unless I was very careful I
could kill her.  What I needed was a way to overpower her and to make
her invisible for perhaps twenty minutes.

Then fate again stepped in. During another shopping trip to NYC I made
the mistake of taking a short cut through a particular alley. About
half way through I became aware of someone by my side, before I could
react someone pushed something into my side and it was all over. A cop
told me later that it was a stun gun, an electrical device that
delivers the victim a debilitating charge. I figure I was out of it
for perhaps ten minutes, which had been enough time for the guy to
make off with my wallet. The police had got there so fast because a
bum sleeping in the alley had flagged them down. I had to confess that
I hadn't noticed him, and neither it seemed had my attacker, as the
cops caught him at the next block. I slipped the bum  a C note for his
help before heading off to my destination. I was more careful from
then but it got me to thinking.

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

We worked out what she called a "scene." She would enter her bedroom
as a "tired business executive." I as a passed over rival would jump
her, bind and gag her then "punish" her for getting "My promotion."
The plot was lame but apparently a popular one with her other
customers, she offered several others but all I wanted was to refine
my technique on a real struggling body. After the first time I made
some changes, she was to make as much noise as possible at all times,
she would get a hundred dollar bonus if she kept me from tying her for
two minutes and I was allowed to tie her as I wanted. The first couple
of occasions she was up by two hundred bucks but after that it became
easier to subdue her. I tried out several types of ties and gags
looking as much for the type of movement and sounds the victim could
make as for the degree of immobilization or silence. Finally I was
happy I had found  what I wanted so I packed my equipment and started
the long drive that would end with Caroline.

That Friday I followed her around. I kept fairly clear of the store as
it had security cameras and store cops but I attended her regular
lunch break. Her two model friends were off to a trade fair in
Chicago, bad news it seemed as she needed somewhere to stay for a few
days.  The landlord was apparently evicting her on Monday and she
needed to move that weekend.  With a put upon sigh one of the girls
offered a spare key to
her apartment but made it clear this couldn't be a permanent
arrangement.  For a second I considered rethinking my risky plan in
favor of taking her there but I figured with my luck this apartment
would be even worse than the current one.  What was clear though was
that I needed to move quickly, for some reason and despite the fact
that I had intended to kidnap her the next day I felt compelled to
move things forward.  Trailing her back to the store I slipped off
down back alleys to the place where she parked her car.  Then I stole
it, simple when you have the keys.  I'd already been warned about the
"bad" side of town so that was were I headed.  I parked in a back
street and left the car open with the keys inside before making it to
a more busy street and flagging down a cab.  I had been away from the
car perhaps five minutes before the cab drove past the back street.
By then the car had gone, destined for the chop shop or perhaps a new
identity like it's mistress.

I was dropped off in the town center and recovered my car from the car
park. Next I drove out to her place. The block was as quiet as it got
as I walked up the back stairs in my disguise. I was wearing jeans and
a hooded track suit top and had a couple of books under one arm. As
the
"instant student" I went into her apartment unobserved.  To my
surprise the contents of the rooms had been packed into a number of
largish boxes.  Only a little food and the pillows and bedding were
still out.  Good fortune having smiled on me again I started to move
the boxes down the back stairs to my car.  Several people seemed to be
moving at the same time and it became easy to loose myself coming in
and out.  I ensured that I was relatively unobserved loading the car
and hung around in the stairwell to ensure no one saw me enter her
apartment.  It took perhaps twenty minutes to do the whole thing.  I
searched afterwards to ensure that nothing valuable was left behind
but
deliberately left the place untidy.  As a final gesture I left the
final notice on the table together with enough cash to cover the back
rent.  I reasoned the super would find it on Monday and assume she'd
moved out.  I'd put the boxes on the back seat of the car but I put
the pillows and comforters in the trunk as added sound insulation.

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

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

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

The handcuffs were first, unclipped from my harness and then fastened,
one pair on the wrists the other on the ankles. Next came a dense
sponge ball apparently designed for people to practice games near
glass windows. It was quite unyielding and despite the lack of
resistance it took some pushing in. I sealed it there with two quick
strips of duct tape, each starting along the jawline, crossing over
her lips and ending on the opposite cheek. Again I checked for people
aware that this alley would be at it's busiest in a few minutes.
Fortunately I was still safe so I continued to cover her mouth with
strip after strip of tape. Then following the plan I strengthened the
bonds before she could move again. Four leather straps, two above and
bellow the elbows, the same at her knees. I quickly removed the
handcuffs from her ankles and from the box pulled out a pair of
bondage cuffs already locked together with a padlock. I strapped them
on her ankles and she attempted to kick  me and made the first
sounds since the stun gun was fired.  The sound was soft but still
wasn't quiet enough, turning her on her side I gathered her hair into
a single bunch, holding it with my right hand I used my left to move
an elastic band from around the right wrist on to the hair.  A couple
of quick flips and the hair was bound into a pony tail and kept out of
the way of the next stage.

 I could hear people leaving the shops down the alley. I thought of
leaving her like this but she was still too noisy. Quickly and
brutally I wound an elastic bandage around her head and over her taped
lips. I knew it was really tight but at that moment all that mattered
was the effect it had on her cries. Not only were they more muted,
they also became lower and more guttural as she had to do more with
her throat. I could see shadows moving in the far end of the alley. By
now it was too late to escape. I would have to hide and hope that my
idea would work. Rolling her on to her stomach I used a spare strap to
hog-tie her wrists to her ankles. Satisfied I threw the other end of
the sleeping bag over her and zipped it up. After some fumbling it was
zipped, because she was near the bottom of the bag it closed over her
head. Quickly dumping the other rubbish from the box, I used the top
of the sleeping bag to pull her head up and pushed the box down over
her upper body.  Dumping half a bottle of cheap whiskey and some
rubbish on the bag I stood the half bottle strategically next to the
wall and slid behind the dumpster.

She must have heard them because she tried to struggle and scream as
the first people walked by. Of course she was too late, the passers by
smelt the strong alcohol, saw the ripped sleeping bag and cardboard
box and "saw" a bum not a kidnapped girl.  Social conditioning being
what it is the more sound she made the more she became invisible to
the passers by.  Just another street person best ignored lest they
tap you for pocket change.  I hid and watched,  pleased that the plan
had worked but still a little disturbed at how faceless society had
become.  As I crouched there I went through her purse, found a hastily
written notice of dismissal from the store and understood the tears.
Just before it was quiet enough for me to leave for the car, two of
the women from the cosmetics counter where she worked stopped by the
dumpsters.  I froze convinced they had recognized something that I'd
forgotten.  In the end however they just lit cigarettes, and gossiped
about how "that stupid bitch, Caroline" had pushed her luck too far.

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

I released the hog-tie and started wrapping duct tape around her
wrists, when I had built up enough I removed the handcuffs and
continued over her hands. I was able to force her to lace her fingers
together with threats of a knife and taped her fingers into a solid
mass. The result was that when I reapplied the hog-tie strap it bit
into the tape not her wrists. She seemed happy that the pain had
stopped so I re-interred her in the sleeping bag and box.  Then I
piled
other rubbish around her and went to get the car.  That trip took me
twenty minutes and it was with some trepidation that I approached the
dumpsters again.  I pulled off the box and was relieved to see her
gagged face rather than the street cop I'd half expected.  She was
sobbing, huge tears ran down her face.  Quickly I blew her nose and
warned her to stop blubbing or risk suffocation. I don't know how many
people walked past her as she lay bound and gagged in the alleyway,
but the experience of being so helpless yet so close to rescue had
filled her with despair.  She gave me little trouble as I moved her
from the alley into the trunk of my car.  I quickly packed the
blankets and pillows around her to further muffle her and to minimize
the risk she could somehow pound on the metal of the car.  Satisfied I
quickly cleaned up, dumping most of the stage dressing for my "bum" in
the dumpsters.  I started to throw the whiskey in too but an impulse
stopped me and instead I placed it where only an invisible man would
look and left to take my prize to her new home.

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Chapter 2: An Introduction to Slavery (M/f, NC, B&D)
================================

Sitting there sipping the coffee and reviewing the past few weeks I
felt the tension slowly drain from my body. I had her. Not only that
but as far as I could see I had left no clues other than ones that
pointed to her leaving of her own free will. Police don't handle
missing persons cases promptly anyway because the majority of people
turn up in the first few days. Seen from their point of view we have
Caroline Conway, struggling student already being evicted who suddenly
looses her job then disappears with all her possessions. Not a good
candidate for being a criminal case. I packed everything away and
started to put the pieces of her gag into the McDonalds bag along with
the wrappers. At length I picked up a piece of tape with traces of her
lipstick on it. The color seemed in some way wrong for her and it
struck me as being a little odd that someone who made money applying
makeup should botch her own so badly. Still this was a mystery I would
have plenty of time to investigate at my leisure.

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

 It was about four when I pulled up outside my house. A
stand of trees and a high brick wall shields it from the road so I
could remove her without attracting any attention. Again I hobbled her
legs, though this time she was more cooperative probably to speed
removal of the vibrator that still buzzed inside her. Her thighs were
slick with her cum  and the sweat told of her exertions. Taking the
leash I lead her into the house and down into the basement. I'd left
part of it unfinished so that the odd nail or hole wouldn't look out
of place.  Originally I had planned a large lab under my office but
now that section of the basement was hidden behind a swinging bookcase
in the corner.  For now I locked the leash over an exposed beam and
left her there.  Racing upstairs I changed into my master's outfit, a
cotton shirt, black leather pants, boots and matching gloves, after
all my first act would be to dress my slave appropriately and the
least I could do was reciprocate.  I returned to the basement where
she was trying the extent of the leash and screaming behind the gag.
Without saying a word I moved the bookcase and stepped beyond.  This
space had been designed to be fairly large.  Originally I had intended
to surprise my friends with this room and so had kept it a secret.
That
was useful now it's purpose had changed as it stopped embarrassing
questions..  At the far end I had built a small room with a heavy iron
door.  Inside was quite spacious,  enough room for a double bed, a
chair, a table and a chemical toilet.  That was her cell the rest of
the place could best be described as the dungeon.  On one wall I had
cemented in a steel latticework that stood out a couple of inches from
the wall itself.  This provided ample anchoring points for straps and
restraints.  The other wall had a number of large rings for the same
purpose.  Near the door was a locked steel cabinet and an old wooded
wardrobe.

Going to the wardrobe first, I selected an outfit for her to wear
from the clothes I kept there.  The visit to her apartment had
shown me that she was a conservative dresser. This outfit
screamed slut and sex and was guaranteed to embarrass her. I had no
doubt the kidnapping had rattled her, now I had to keep her hesitant,
uncomfortable and unsure as I started to mold her as my slave.
Most of the clothes here were off the shelf vinyl, leather and rubber
stuff from the sex shops of New York. Being her first night however I
went for something special.  I'd ordered this ensemble from a
specialist shop in LA. using the  measurements I'd taken from her
clothes.  Their catalog had contained several more specialist
creations which I intended to order once I'd broken her in.  Next I
unlocked the cabinet a removed some restraints, a new gag, a pair of
shears and a small riding crop then returned to the main basement.

By now she had given up struggling and just stood in the center of the
room shifting her weight from foot to foot. I let her stew a little
longer as I walked around and surveyed her fine body. Then I walked
over and removed first her heels then the cuffs from her ankles. The
sudden loss of height made the leash pull tighter at the collar and
she whimpered slightly. I reached down,  placed the shears against
the hem of her skirt and with one movement cut it all the way to her
hips. Of course I could have removed the skirt without
cutting, but these clothes were her last personal possession, the last
vestige of her personal identity. Destroying them was a symbolic act.
The skirt was relatively simple, the jacket took more time, the blouse
shredded in seconds. By now she was yelling and thrashing around, but
the ever present bite of the collar kept her in check. I felt a little
guilty cutting off her bra and garter belt, I loved lingerie, but
accepted it had to be done. Finally I pulled off her stockings and she
stood before me naked but for the bondage, her blindfolded face
tracking backwards and forwards waiting for the next attack. Her
breasts heaved as she sobbed silently. I looked at the matted triangle
of her pubic hair, damp from the vibrator but still too thick for my
taste, she had an appointment with a razor tomorrow.

Next I moved a small table close enough to her
that she could reach it with some effort and placed the outfit on it
Then I cut the tape from her wrists and her hands before removing the
 blindfold.

She stood blinking as sight returned. then immediately her hands flew
first to the back of her head where the gag was secured then to her
neck and the collar. In both cases she found small padlocks making
removal impossible. She murmured something then turned to face me. I
flexed the crop and smiled.

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

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

"Understand?"
 She nodded.
"Good, lesson one obey first time every time and you'll avoid
punishment. If you don't you'll soon understand what pain really
means.
Clear?"
She nodded, this time the response was much quicker.

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

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

"Put those on."

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

"Put it on."

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

"Ready to cooperate?"
She looked at the floor, then nodded.
I offered her the bustier, but when she reached for it I snatched it
back.
"First, dance for me."
She looked confused.
"Obey me first time, every time remember? This is your punishment,
I'm going to go easy on you  this time. Now dance or I'm off to bed."
Slowly she started to gyrate as much as the chain would let her.
"Is that the best you can do? Sexy, Slave I want you to dance sexy."
I didn't think she was really trying so I applied the crop to the
sections that didn't move enough. She yelped a little but after about
the first dozen she was doing the best she could. I could tell that
the nakedness troubled her. Right now she would rather wear the kinky
clothes than stay like this. Most of my blows had been to make her
move her hands from breast or crotch, I figured if she wanted to touch
them that much I should encourage her.
I smiled, "I'm afraid that you've proved you don't deserve this fine
outfit.  If you want it then you are going to have to earn it piece by
piece.  Now cup your breasts and offer them to me.  A muffled sound
came from behind the gag."  "First lesson!"  I said as I settled back
in a chair.  She cupped her breasts in her hands and thrust her chest
at me while all the time gyrating to some imaginary tune.  "Now play
with the nipples. When she hesitated I flicked the crop towards her.
She sobbed but her hands slid up her breasts and her thumbs flicked
the
brown nubs which soon hardened before her.  I tossed the bustier to
her.  "Slide it up and down your body."  This time she complied
quickly, making involuntary crooning sounds as the cold latex touched
her hard, sensitive nipples.  Finally I'd seen enough.  "Ok now put it
on."  She struggled into it, all the time eyeing the crop fearfully.
It fit her better than expected, forming a shiny second skin from just
below her nipples to just above her crotch.  It was so tight that her
navel was clearly visible and her tits were trust up and out making
them appear even more prominent. The hard brown nubs of her nipples
stood to attention just above the top of the cups and just cried out
for attention.  I began to regret not bringing some clamps with me.
Still there was time for that later.

 I held up a long black latex glove.
"Play with yourself, you don't get it until you're wet."
She glanced at the glove then at the stairs. Then, while one hand
continued to stroke and fondle her latex covered breast and
nipple, the other drifted to her clit where she started to finger
herself.  I looked at her, the eyes where now glazed and full of
silent tears.  I tossed her the glove.  "Get off with it, " I said.
She looked up eyes full of both humiliation and confusion.  Grabbing
the other glove I passed it between my legs then with one hand holding
from the front and the other from the rear I slid it backwards and
forwards across my crotch.  She looked on horrified and I was sure she
would die rather than do it.  Then slowly with hands shaking she
copied my action dragging the slick glove backwards and forwards
across her cunt until the surface was wet with her cum.  I made her
repeat the procedure for the second glove. Her hands were shaking
when she slowly pulled the gloves up her arms. I made her continue to
play with herself and the tactile stimulation of the smooth latex
seemed to seize her. Suddenly she closed her eyes arched her back and
started to play in earnest, oblivious to my presence. At first I was
tempted to whip her, then I remembered the discomfort she had shown at
my seeing her naked.  Quietly I slipped back to the dungeon and took a
loaded camera from the cabinet.  By this time she was so far gone that
she didn't realize what I was doing until I already had three shots.
She stood there horrified at what she was doing and of the thought
that
it was captured on film.  I seized on her confusion and quickly tossed
her the latex stockings with instructions to put them on.  I took more
photos as she pulled them up her legs and fastened them to the garters
of the bustier.

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

"Fuck yourself with the heel."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Put them on."

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

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

I removed the gag and offered her a drink. She accepted then asked,
"Why me?"
"Because I wanted you," I said.
"But I ha..."
I slapped her mouth. She looked at me stunned. "Not *I*," I said,
"Only
a person can be an *I*. You are not a person, you're an object like
any possession. *YOU* don't exist anymore and haven't done since the
moment I took you. The only identity you'll have from now on is the
one I choose to give you."
She looked up, terrified tears welling in her eyes again.
"From now on you will refer to yourself as `slave', understand."
That's all you are for the moment, just a thing for my pleasure.  I
may give you another identity some day but you'll have to earn it
first. Say, `I am a cock sucking slave slut.'"  She shook
her head her self esteem denying
this last humiliation..  I brought the crop down hard on her right
nipple, she yelped.  "Say it!"
"NO!"
I spun the chair around.  Now had access to her uncovered cunt and her
legs were strapped to the chair where she couldn't close them.  I
whipped her exposed pussy.
"I am a cock sucking slave slut!  Please Master stop...  " she
screamed then started sobbing.
I pushed the ball gag I'd taken from the cabinet between her teeth and
fastened the strap.  Her brief show of resistance had crumbled, I
unfastened her from the chair and lead her into the cell.  There I
fastened the collar to a steel wire attached to a pulley wheel on the
ceiling.  The wheel ran on a small track which lead from the bed to
the toilet.  I kept her hands cuffed behind her but removed the
hobble.  She lay on the bed sobbing.  "Hey cunt," She looked up, "Just
something to contemplate, I haven't punished you for your insolence
back there.  I have something in mind but it will have to wait until
morning, you might want to ponder that."  I closed the cell door on
her muffled cries.

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Chapter 3: Opening Events (M/f, NC, B&D)
=======================



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alternatively they could find a witness who remembered the strange
student in Caroline's building on the day she disappeared or someone
who could place a man in the alleyway that evening.  I needed to buy
time for memories to fade or better yet, direct people's attention
away from that area all together.  In short I needed letters, cheery
postcards sent to favored relatives, excited jottings to friends all
in saying the same thing.  "I'm alive, free and happy living in
another state."  I had no doubt I could get her cooperation, apart
from physical torture I controlled all aspects of her life from food
and drink to when and if she went to the toilet.  Eventually when
she'd been conditioned to obey that would be unnecessary, but for now
I needed information.

I needed a source from which I could verify birthdays and the
existence of relatives. Whilst I intended for her letters to appear
self absorbed and mention as little as possible that could be
verified, missing a favorite aunts birthday could give the family a
clue that something was wrong.  Yet I had to be able to check her
writings so that she could not pass a distress message in the letters.
The diaries would be my verification.  I started sorting through the
books wondering how difficult it would be to break the spines and scan
them into a database.  Then suddenly I came across something odd.  One
of the pretty notebooks with the brass clasps had been forced.  At
first I assumed she'd lost the key though this didn't make much sense
as the locks are principally decorative and a key from any of the
earlier diaries would fit.  Then I noticed that some of the pages had
been torn out.  The book covered summer of three years ago around the
time of her fifteenth birthday.  I decided to look into this later,
for now however I divided my time between eating breakfast, reading
her mail and watching "Caroline TV".

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

Looking down I found I was hard again. Summoning up my self control
I managed to go to my study and knock off a quick thousand words on
"Power PC vs. Pentium" for my New York publisher.  In breaks for
inspiration I continued through her mail and made a startling
discovery.  Caroline was the daughter of the REVEREND Charles Conway
and his wife Judith. Quickly I paged through the photo albums until I
found what I wanted.  The family portrait was not inspiring, an older
dour looking man, the picture of a bible bashing Baptist stood next to
his younger dowdy, once pretty wife. He looked fierce and unbending,
Judith looked down, the perfect picture of subservience. One of the
reverend's  eyes seemed fixed on the girls Caroline and her younger
sister Anna, who stood with military stiffness before him.  Now
Caroline's drab taste in clothes began to  make sense.  Suddenly I
could
also see a way to get her to write me those letters. It would
require some planning so I shelved it for now but the thought of  it
 clawed at my mind and in the end I could resist no longer.
I quickly finishing up the article,  hurried to the kitchen and made
her
a light breakfast of  cereal and coffee then took it down to the
dungeon.  In one corner of the room was a large heavy wooden kitchen
table I had bought at a garage sale.  It had looked like the kind of
thing grandma Walton used to bake pies on.  For my needs numerous D
rings were attached to the frame, legs and top giving it a more
sinister purpose.  For now however I needed it to be just a table.
Pulling it into the center of the room I cleared the top of
bondage paraphernalia then added an old wooden chair to which I had
also added straps.

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

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

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

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

Caroline and the chair were now effectively bolted together,
there was no way she could stand or walk and without a wrench and a
lot of time no way she could get free.  Now, with her legs strapped
open the wooden intruder was obvious but I could see that hidden
beneath a full skirt it would be difficult to see anything amiss.
I thought of the other chair I had upstairs, the one with the nice
finish and just the mountings for the dildos.  Dressed in regular
clothes and bolted to the chair I could take photo's of Caroline with
no obvious restraints.  I smiled, the family could expect a few
pictures with her letters.  Returning to my slave I chained her
collar to the table, freed her hands and pulled the gag from her
mouth.  Rather than remove it completely I let it hang around her neck
like a strange fetish necklace, a constant reminder that I could
enforce her silence at any time.  She picked up the coffee and drank
greedily, I topped up the cup.

She drained that also, then as I moved the cereal towards her she
spoke.
"Sir....."
"I prefer Master," I said with a smile.
"Err, Master.... Erm please let me go...... I promise I won't tell
anyone about this. I want to go home, please."
I suppose that my sadistic side had free reign at that moment because
instead of telling her to shut up and eat her cereal I decided to play
with her.
"You must realize, Cunt, that taking you wasn't a whim. I've invested
quite a lot of time and money in this affair. To return you now would
put me at a lot of risk even if I could trust you not to run to the
police. What could you offer me in return?"
She swallowed nervously, calling her `Cunt' like that had rattled her
self confidence.  "I...I could suck you...."  The look on my face must
have told her this wasn't enough for in a whisper she added, "Or we
could do it.....  If you want."
"I'm sorry," I said, "Were you offering sex?"  She nodded,
speechless.  "In that case I want you to say, you can FUCK me Master,
If you want."
"You can....  fuck me Master. If you want."
"Louder!"
"YOU CAN FUCK ME MASTER, IF YOU WANT..."
"Much better.  Tempting as your offer is, the reality of your
situation is that I could tie you to this table in five minutes and
fuck your brains out whether you liked it or not.  I could do the same
tomorrow and the next day and the next.  You can't bargain with what
you don't own, and your body, together with the rest of you is now
mine."  She looked dejected then she started jabbering. Telling me I
would be caught and punished and she wished I was dead and...
In the end only the threat of the gag got her to shut up and eat.


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

"Did you use the John?" She looked at me speechless.
"The chemical toilet, did you use it?"
She nodded.
"Good 'cos that's the last chance you'll have for a while."
I took her to the wall and chained her to the  gridwork whilst I
collected a few things from the cabinet.

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

 I smiled. "You must really like to be punished," I said, "It's going
to take me most of the day just to work off what you've earned so
far."
Her eyes widened.
"Oh yes you're going to be punished for last night, you didn't think
I'd forgotten did you?" I could tell by the look in her eyes that
*SHE* had forgotten."

"Open up like a good girl and I'll forgive you this time. This is
pointless anyway, the room is soundproofed so even without the gag you
are just as helpless."
She shook her head defiantly, I could see that a lesson was in order.
Going to the cabinet I retrieved a posture collar and a roll of duct
tape. Removing the ball gag  from her neck I fitted the
posture collar firmly in place.  Of course she resisted but the
ponytail made an excellent handhold and after five minutes her old
collar was replaced by a high stiff one that stopped her turning her
head.  A couple of straps between the gridwork and the collar and she
was fastened to the wall facing me.  Slowly, deliberately, I stuck
strip after strip of tape over her closed lips.  I think she thought I
was trying to gag her a different way because she just stood there
smugly.  She seemed a little amused when I went into her cell and
returned moments later with a strip of toilet paper.  One thing was
certain however she wasn't laughing when I shoved a small ball of
toilet paper up each nostril and sealed it there with tape.  She
started to cry out and thrash as much as she could.  I just added tape
if a leak appeared in her mouth covering and waited.  All the activity
burnt the air in her lungs quickly and before long she stopped
thrashing, face red, eye's bulging as she strained against the bonds,
lungs screaming for the oxygen I'd denied them.

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

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

That settled I continued with the preparations. I replaced the hobble
with a spreader bar forcing her legs open into a wide triangle. I
could tell that she didn't like being this exposed, but experience was
starting to teach her that resistance could offer worse things than
just pain. I left her wrists cuffed together but added straps to her
upper arms that also helped to pull her shoulders back and push her
tits out.  To help this along even further I threaded a rope from her
elbow straps to her wrists then from there through a D ring in the
center of the spreader bar.  Pulling on it pulled her arms down,
arched
her back and thrust the tits out further.  Releasing her from the wall
I dragged her under a ring to which I attached her collar.  Next
came the butt plug.  She looked at me puzzled as I approached her with
it then as I pushed it's greased surface inside her ass she squirmed
and made small noises behind the gag.  I started to unwind the wires
attached to it, before packing her cunt with a large metal studded
rubber dildo with similar attachments.  I fastened the wires to a
small metal box which I clipped to the spreader bar, covered twat and
ass with a pair of snap on leather panties and I was almost set.

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

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

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

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

"Frustrating isn't it?" Of course she had no way of answering, the
posture collar stopped all head movement and gag and blindfold dealt
with everything else. "The good news is that the vibrator will go
faster the further forward you lean. She lent forward a little  and
sure enough the pitch of the vibrator increased, of course the clamps
did painful things to her nipples. She leaned back and suddenly when
crazy struggling and screaming in pain.
"Lean forward!" I commanded. she seemed in too much pain to notice me
so I grabbed her shoulders and pulled forward. Immediately the
pressure on the nipples increased and she tried to struggle more. I
held her there and the pain subsided.

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

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

I looked behind me at the camera that would let me watch all this from
the comfort of my office then prepared to leave.  Reaching up I
released her hair from the pony tail and let the blond locks cascade
around her shoulders. Finally I fitted her with a pair of light
headphones which I attached to the AV. grid. She twitched and leaned
forward obviously too late to stop the shock. I stood silently for a
few minutes watching her move the little she could in response to my
computer generated instructions. The moans issuing from behind her gag
showed me that she had discovered the other benifit of obedience, the
sudden high speed burst from the vibrators that came when she reacted
immediately.
The rewards were short so that she wouldn't be able to cum but in her
painful position these flashes of pleasure would be very welcome. She started
to obey the commands with increasing enthusiasm and I noticed that her
cunt was already juicing up again. I watched for a few more minutes hen  left
to watch "television".

The rest of the morning I worked, easily clearing the backlog that had
built up during my preparation for the kidnapping. On the TV I
watched as Caroline continued to thrash around. A window on my PC
monitor showed the current score. Shocked twelve times she was
currently on her 150th order and getting tired.  I smiled, Caroline
would have spotted immediately that I was using an aversive
conditioning technique.  As a method of  brainwashing it was slow and
primitive but it was also effective. As a Psych major Caroline
probably understood that her brain was being conditioned to obey my
voice. She may even have noticed that the headphones, gag, gloves and
blindfold had enforced a kind of sensory deprivation and that the
insistent buzz of the vibrator was robbing her of the ability to
focus. However just as you can shoot a ballistics expert, her skills
could not protect her against this application of her science.

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

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

She stood, legs trembling. I could tell that she wanted to slump down
but the tether at her collar prevented it. Her latex stockings were
again coated in her juices her body covered in sweat.  I freed her
ankles first holding her steady as she moved her legs for the first
time in several hours.  Next I disconnected everything, though I left
the vibrator and butt plugs in their respective holes.  Finally I
freed her neck and fastened a leash to the collar.  Taking the
spreader
bar along I lead her up from the dungeon and into the house.  This
is not as risky as it sounds, I have an excellent security system that
warns me of any visitors and a gate ensures that they can only reach
the house if I want them to.  I sat her on a kitchen chair and gave
her water.  She said nothing but "Thank you Master" at the end all
fight temporarily gone.

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

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

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

I was intending to give her demerits based on lousy technique. Sam
gave great head and I had come to expect a lot from my partner. It
soon became apparent though as the tip of her tongue played lightly
over the engorged head that Caroline was a virtuoso on the skin
flute. I gasped, struck dumb as she sucked on my balls, next she deep
throated me quickly and easily with no hint of gagging. I looked down
at her blindfolded face, mouth around my dick a dribble of my precum
on her chin and the only thought on my mind was that I was glad she
couldn't see the stupid grin on my face. Somehow through the haze of
rapidly mounting pleasure I remembered what I'd planned to do during
this occasion. Hands trembling I reached for the remote control unit
on the table beside me. I still don't know how I found the right
button (she was licking the length of my dick like a lollipop at the
time), yet I managed to push it. Then I sat back enraptured whilst
somewhere in the bowels of the house a computer executed it's program.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I strapped the gag tightly ensuring that she could make only the
slightest of noises, then I dragged her across the room and behind a
large couch. The spreader bar hog-tie arrangement was strict enough,
but to avoid her rubbing her crotch against the floor I turned her on
her back so that her heels and shoulders formed a tripod arrangement
with her knees and pussy thrust high in the air. She moaned slightly
at the uncomfortable position but hey, she's the slave. Still I did
feel a little guilty after she gave such good head so I ran quickly to
my office and got a little battery box for the dildo and butt plug.
A few second to connect everything and she was buzzing away again. I'd
set the device to a level that I thought was close to her orgasm
point; it was possible she could get lucky and cum but restricted as
she was I doubted it.

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

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

Across the room came the sound of the door opening.
"Ah Bob," My disembodied voice said, "What can I do for you?"
"Sorry to trouble you Dick, but the portable printer I have seems to
be broken." Bob Cummings was perhaps my closest neighbor and one of
those people who are destined to be victims of technology. When he had
discovered that I was a computer columnist he had immediately assumed
that I would provide free technical support for his every problem. I
had recorded this incident a few weeks before when his inkjet had run
out of ink ("Oh, you mean I need to refill it??"). Since then I'd
spent a couple of weekends making sure that it would sound like a real
live event to someone on the floor in Caroline's position. The test
was clear, she had been ordered not to draw attention to herself, yet
as far as she knew a total stranger had just walked into the room.

I watched her as the conversation turned to printers and refills.  She
moved occasionally, mainly thrusting her crotch in the air, but it was
unclear if her intention was to get off or get free. In either case
she made no obvious sounds. I began to wonder if she had discovered
the deception, but I couldn't see how. The floors were concrete
ensuring no conduction of footfalls and the sound quality was
excellent.  I sat and watched her as she made small movements
behind the couch. This was not the thrashing and screaming I'd
expected at this point but by now the voices could be heard only
faintly from one of the other rooms. Several minutes passed then the
conversation reentered the room from my study with Bob
asking about the list price of my desktop printer ("I guess you don't
know huh? I mean you journo's get given this kind of thing...")

Phantom Bob was leaving, if she thought that there was any possibly
of rescue she would have to make the move soon. I held my breath,
waiting for the faint muffled scream the sudden thrashing of limbs but
it didn't come. The posture collar made head movement impossible but
with the little leg movement she had left she had turned on her side
to face the departing sound. Yet despite the fact that "Phantom Bob"
and I held a conversation just in front of the couch behind which she
was hidden and she must have known that her gagged screams would carry
at least that far; she made no attempt to alert him to her presence.

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

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

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

It was about twelve when I took her from the cell and back into the
dungeon. She started to ask questions so I regagged her, she gave me a
betrayed look but didn't kick up a fuss when I lead her to the table.
I did have some trouble when I strapped her down so I upped the
pressure. "Well well well Cunt.  So this is a demonstration of the
of your obedience to your MASTER. All you are doing is making your
punishment far worse."  She stopped struggling and looked at me with
big frightened eyes, I continued to tighten straps.  I stood back and
surveyed my handiwork.  Her gloved hands where cuffed above her head,
her collar fastened to the table.  I had fastened her waist to the
frame of the table with a wide leather belt and had cuffed her ankles
to the two table legs.  She was spread and vulnerable, her pussy on
the
very edge of the table and at the perfect height for sex.  She must
have realized this because she continued to struggle as best she could
as I went over to the basement room.  Here I collected a towel and a
basin I had brought from upstairs.  Coming back to the table I put the
basin down next to her and reached inside.  The gag barely muffled her
scream when I opened the straight razor in front of her.  It was a
family heirloom left to me by some great uncle.  He had apparently
taken it with him in his journeys around the world but I suspected
that he had never taken it where I was about to.

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

 Holding the razor up menacingly I smiled. "I'd stop that if I were
you, this isn't the kind of place I'd like a nick." I played the light
reflecting from the blade across her face.
 She froze, eyes firmly closed, breathing in short bursts, as still as
a
statue as I shaved her pussy. I didn't completely denude the area, I
left a small oval patch just above her clit for decorative purposes.
I had to confess that I'd done a good job as I ran my fingers over her
smooth soft flesh. She groaned a little and I was suddenly aware of my
almost painful hard on. Reaching down I opened her cunt lips and
lowered by face onto her exposed clit. It would appear that the shave
had been stimulating to her also, for the little nub was already
engorged. Gently my tongue touched it, she heaved in a huge gasping
breath, her hips straining against the imprisoning belt. I licked and
a muffled groan issued  from her gagged lips. I started  in
earnest, each lick, nibble or suck accompanied by a gasp groan or
murmur from the far side of the table. I thrust my tongue deep in to
her, savoring her salty flavor mixed with the smell of the soap and
listening to her muffled whinnies as she went wild.  I paused and
looked up, fingering her with my gloved hand as I watched her,
tear-filled eyes closed, hard thrusting nipples, mouth straining
against the ball.  I smiled, my slave on the brink of orgasm.  She
noticed the drop in sensation and looked up.  "Want me to fuck you
Slave?"  She shook her head defiantly, I just fingered a little
faster.  One set of her lips slid helplessly over the rubber ball, the
others over my leather fingers.  Her breathing and moans came in
staccato bursts and I knew she was close, so I stopped.  She squealed
something and tried to trust her hips up against my hand.  Helpless,
so close to cumming but unable to stimulate herself that extra little
bit, she thrashed against her bonds.

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

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

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

At last she spoke, "You raped me!"
"WE had sex," I corrected, "Rape implies lack of consent, YOU asked me
to fuck you twice and that nod wasn't my imagination either."
"I'm your prisoner, you would have done it to me anyway."
I smiled, "Be very careful what you say Cunt or you could make life
hard for yourself. Truth is that you wanted it so bad you
begged for it, and now that it's over you are horrified that you
actually got off on it so suddenly you are the poor victim again."

She was silent deep in  thought as I eased her off the table and
fastened her hands behind her. I reached for the gag.
"Please don't," She smiled at me, a warm deep smile that convinced me
that I had chosen the right girl. "Please Master, I thought we could
talk for a while, if you explain what you want....."
"Humm, obviously you paid more attention to your psych lectures than
your grades suggest." She went pale.
She swallowed nervously. "Who are you?" She asked, "I never said I was
a psych major."

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

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

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

"Please," She said her voice full of desperation, "You don't have to
gag me again. I hate it, I can't swallow properly and it hurts.  This
place must be sound proof or you wouldn't have risked leaving me
ungagged earlier.  You don't have to do it I'll be quiet I promise."
I smiled.  "You misunderstand Cunt, you are gagged because I want you
gagged.  You're right about the room being soundproofed, but the real
point here is that I own you.  Whether you are, awake or asleep, hot
or cold, noisy or silent *I* decide.  If you want to talk to me, that
is a privilege you earn through your obedience, not a right.  Property
doesn't have rights slave I suggest you remember that."  I looked at
the despair in her eyes as I pushed the bright red ball between her
teeth.  Reaching behind her head I tightened the strap.  "Later today
you'll get a chance to show your obedience slave, If you follow orders
you'll have a few hours ungagged, we'll talk then."

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

Part 4 of an ongoing story. Thanks to everyone who wrote with
encouragement. All praise and suggestions gratefully received. I'm
sorry for the delays in publishing new sections, unlike my "hero" I do
not have a lot of time to dedicate to writing.

As a suggested innovation this story comes with an associated image.
Those that are interested should check out BISH0325.JPG recently
posted on Alt.Binaries.Pictures.Erotica.Bondage (from now on
A.B.P.E.B), those who prefer to let their imaginations do the work can
avoid this. Subsequent installments will have one or two images
associated with them. Unfortunately I can't send these to people
directly (just as I've been forced to turn down requests for story
reposts:- I don't have enough time to write without doing other
stuff).  However the folks at A.B.P.E.B are friendly enough and will
probably oblige.

Your varying requests have been taken on board and will start to
appear
in part 5.

The Mighty Quin
*****************************************************************

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Chapter 4: "A Timetable for Domination" (M/f, NC, B&D)
==================================


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

Slave and I would enter a fashionable New York night club (dressed in
tasteful fetishwear naturally).  I would spy Samantha at the bar and
signaling Slave to come close (she always walks two steps behind as a
sign of respect for her master) I instruct her to seduce Sam by any
means possible. Slave (she hasn't answered to Caroline in so long she
doesn't even recognize the name) smiles and happily complies, this is
far from the worse thing I've ever asked her to do and the thought of
disobeying never crosses her carefully conditioned mind. Later I would
reveal myself to Sam forcing her to do unspeakable humiliating things
less I publish the photos of her lesbian fling. The circle would be
complete, capturing Caroline to enact my revenge on Sam.  Then using
her to get that revenge. But of course that was fantasy and reality
wasn't proving to be that simple.

In my mental timetable things were certain and secure her reactions
easy to envisage.  First would be denial, a refusal to face up to
the kidnapping and her new position as my sex slave. This sort of
thing wasn't supposed to happen to her!  This happened to bad
girls who talked to strangers or accepted candy, or hitchhiked.  She
had avoided everything that her mother had warned her about and yet
she was still bound and gagged, chained up in a guy's basement and
forced to do....  things.  I'd figured this attitude would probably
persist for a few days then I expected her to redouble her attempts at
escape.  Then slowly would come acceptance and a listless despair.
Finally under the strict domination and conditioning she would adapt
and begin to accept her new life as my slave.  I firmly expecting to
be able to take her on our fated club date inside of two years.

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

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

Over the past few months I'd read a lot of bondage fiction. Every time
I stopped off in New York for dungeon supplies I'd included a magazine
or two and a few videos for "research" purposes.  One of the real dumb
things that these stories tend to say is that there is always a reason
to punish the slave. "The slave is always guilty," is a favorite line,
written by a guy whose closest link with slavery is the pittance he
pays his models. In truth you should never punish the slave for
nothing, you are trying to impress your values on her, they must
always be consistent. Obedience means reward, even if the reward is
something she had as a right in her former life like spending time
ungagged. Disobedience means punishment, you can always substitute a
lesser punishment than the one you threaten and you can offer the
possibility of redemption or reduction in exchange for some service
but in general if she's bad she's punished.

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

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

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

One of the fringe benefits of living with an editor at Vogue is your
access to models, designers and photographers.  One of the few people
 I met through Sam who I really liked  was a talented fashion
photographer called Andy Pearson.  Most people probably haven't even
heard of him but if you have ever glanced at the cover of a fashion
magazine while waiting in line at the checkout chances are you've seen
his work.  Andy is a guy's guy, a big brash New Zealander who came to
New York via the far east and a large chunk of Europe.  He is also one
of that growing club of Sam's cast offs.  In fact it was he who helped
me pick up the pieces after the wedding was canceled.  I really don't
know how I could have managed without his help and in the process he
became my best friend.  If Andy is a great guy he's a
brilliant photographer.  With seeming ease he juggles the twenty or so
variables necessary to make a good photo, great.  His pictures make
his models beautiful and show off the clothes to maximum effect.  A
classic "Pearson" has a spontaneity about it that makes a carefully
posed piece look like the kind of shot you would take of your
girlfriend on an outing (well it *would* be if you were a top
photographer, and she was a supermodel).  What he does he does so
well that at least one magazine calls the cover photo, which is of
course the most important in any issue, the "Pearson shot".  I've seen
him coax fantastic poses out of young girls just starting in the
business then slap down a "difficult" supermodel in successive
breaths.  He moves, molds and commands women in a way that few BDSM
doms could even hope to match.

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

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

I ate a light lunch, one of those pizza bag things that I'd bought
with the idea of eating cold on the road. Needless to say it was
disappointing but I suppose it hit the spot.  I checked on Caroline,
who was still sobbing on the bed, then locked up and went to the
garage.  Inside was a large Chevy van that I'd bought because my main
car, a 1958 Triumph TR2, doesn't have much carrying space. The van was
a sort of half conversion, it was carpeted and had a couple of
captain's chairs but with the exception of a largish bench seat
on one side everything was removable for maximum cargo capacity.
I backed out, careful to miss both the roadster and the big old car
I'd used for the kidnapping.  I looked upon it with some regret, it
was a large powerful landboat that had been a pleasure to drive but
my safety came first. I had already made arrangements to scrap
the car and intended to watch it being crushed so that I was sure that
the evidence was destroyed. For now I locked up the garage and headed
for town.

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

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

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

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

"Master, what's all this for?"
"For you slave," I answered innocently, "We're going to take a few
pictures."
I watched her swallow, her eyes panned around the room to the small
table I'd set up near the camera. I'd put an array of vibrators,
dildos and floggers out for her inspection, it didn't take a genius to
figure out what kind of pictures these were to be.
"No," She said, "I can't."
"*I* slave? I thought we had this discussion last night," I said
starting to up the pressure.
She paused, her brain going through the mental gymnastics necessary
to convert the sentence into a more acceptable form, when she finally
spoke I had to admit she'd done a pretty good job.
"Master, your slave, she really can't.....  Please."
"*MY* slave can and will do what I order her to," I said deliberately
pouring as much menace as I could into my voice.  "She's a slut whore,
she likes doing slut whore kinds of things.  Right now all this whore
wants to do is jam this dildo up her crack while I take pictures.
Isn't that true slut?"  Her eyes filled with tears, "Please......"  I
pulled her close and stuck two fingers in her cunt, with her hands
still cuffed behind her there was little she could do.
"Isn't that true!"
She nodded wordlessly, my other hand started to massage one of her
latex covered tits and was surprised to find the nipple already hard.

"Why don't you say it slut."
"Your slave..."
"NO!" I shouted, "Say this whore."
"The..the..this whore...."
".....Wants to jam this rubber fuck toy up her crack until she cums."
"Wha..."
"...Wants to do this 'cos she's a cheap painted slut. Who needs to
fuck. Anything will do as long as there's a tool inside her."
She stood there, mouth working silently, tears once again in full
flow. I continued to massage cunt and tit.
"Does that feel good slave," I asked watching the confusion on her
face, "You know why don't you? It's because you're a whore, you like
being used by men don't you?"
Still silence.
"You wanted to know why I took you? It's because the first time I saw
you I thought, now there goes one hot little slut I'll bet she
fucks like a train." My hands continued but this wasn't a gentle
teasing, this was an all out degrading grope. I pulled her close while
burying more of my gloved fingers in her wet pussy.
"I noticed the way you suck whore. You may be a parson's daughter but
you ain't no choir girl.  Now tell me, did you get that good playing
nurse with the local farm boys or did you have an evening job I didn't
know about?"
I watched her intently, there still wasn't the reaction I'd expected,
she cried, she whimpered but she didn't fight back.  I needed a method
to push this further but I couldn't think of a suitable way.

"Say it!"  I hissed, "Tell me that you are a cheap slut."
"I..I'm a chea...."
"This whore!!"
"Th...is whore...."
"Sexy slave, say it sexy! I want you to pant in out like a bitch in
heat! I want you to sound like the filthy little tart you really are."
I grabbed a huge black rubber dildo from the table and waved it in
front of her startled eyes.
"Beg me for it slave! Nice and sexy  I want you to tell me what a
worthless whore you are, and how you'll do anything to have this up
your crack."

She started, stammering to fit all I'd wanted into the sentence, tears
in full flow.  Disappointed I decided to let her finish and snap a few
photo's for the collection in any case.  Now her eye's were adjusted
to the light she had started to scan the dungeon.  Most was covered
with dust cloths to hide it's true nature all except for one corner
which I'd been deliberately set dressing so it looked more like
dungeons in TV shows.  By that I mean that I'd fastened bits and
pieces of bondage paraphernalia to the gridwork on the wall.  There
were
leather masks, gags, hoods, cuffs and harnesses all strapped to the
wall in a hap hazard fashion.  Caroline's eyes flickered from one to
the other deducing each time what they were used for and realizing
with certainty that they had been bought to use on her.  Finally her
eyes had rested on one harness arrangement that I'd bought on the spur
of the moment just before I'd gone to pick her up.

I must confess to always liking the idea of girl on girl action.
One of the contingency's that had worked it's way into the
"timetable" prior to the kidnapping had been the idea of the capture
being discovered by another girl, perhaps a coworker, and my
having to overpower and take her too so that she couldn't identify me.
It was in truth a fantasy, a wet dream, I cared too much for life and
liberty to have risked a casual discovery.  Yet the fantasy had been
so strong that I'd even taken along an extra cuff and gag set just in
case.  It had also caused me to buy this item on impulse.  The owner
of the sex shop had called it a "Lezbo Harness", simply this is a very
long dildo fastened to a pair of strap on leather panties.  One half
of the dildo goes in one girl and she uses the second half to fuck a
friend and all the rocking back and forth brings them both off.  Lot's
of people wouldn't recognize one if they saw it, but the strange look
on Caroline's face told me she knew exactly what it was.  I didn't
know what the story was but I could tell she didn't like it.  Her
concentration was broken and she stammered to a halt.

And in that second I had an inspiration.
"Pathetic slave," I said forcing my face close to hers, " I hope
your sister is better."
"M..my sister?"
"Yes, Anna isn't it?" I asked cooly, "Quite a well developed girl for
sixteen. She's obviously a little whore as well. When I found out
about her I got to thinking what a wonderful matched set you two
would make.  Anna looks like a goer, I bought that harness today so
that I could see just how you two would do together. You know
sisterly love and all that"

She looked stunned, shaken, I pressed my advantage.
"I know where she lives, know where she goes to school. Being a farm
girl you must know just how quiet the country is, how many lonely
places she must walk through every day. Compared to you she'll be
easy. Where you comfortable in my trunk? She's got further to travel
than you have so if you have any suggestions on how we can make her
more comfortable do speak up."
Caroline went white, I continued to fondle her.  "Just imagine how
ironic it will be that the first your parents will know about your
disappearance is when they try to tell you that I've kidnapped your
sister."  I smiled and made a dismissive gesture, "You know I think
you're right, we'll hold off on these photo's until Anna gets here."
I snapped my fingers (not easy when you're wearing gloves), " I know,
we'll send a couple of prints to your mother, a momento to console her
in this time of loss!"  By now I was in a really evil frame of mind.
"How about the two of you bound and gagged to the wall....  Better yet
she's bound and gagged and you are eating out her pussy....  NO!  of
course, she's bound and gagged wearing the harness, you're kneeling
bound and gagged in front of her and she's reaming your ass out!"

I leered at her, "Has to be one for the album.  Eh slave?"  By now her
tears where in full flow and through the hand I had buried in her
pussy I felt her body tremble.  "NO!"  She screamed and kicked me
knocking herself off balance and teetering on the tall stiletto heels.
She would have fallen but for the hand I had inside her.  Sure it was
painful, but the hobble was still in place and so the kick was no
real power.  She caught her breath almost immediately, a look of
horror spreading across her face as she realized the enormity of what
she'd just done.  She now knew that I could be brutal if pushed and
that look told me that she'd remembered the incident with the gag that
morning.  "Please....  I'...  this whore...  is sorry."  She must have
seen the anger in my eyes.  "Please master......this whor..re will
obey.  Please don't hurt me!"  I dragged her towards the cell, she
hesitated, her position was helpless, she couldn't resist and if she
tried she risked further punishment.  Yet part of her mind told her
that if she was lead back to that cell she would have no way to
defuse the situation.  She sort of half fought as I returned her to
the cell and reattached the wire to her collar.  She begged, pleaded
and wept as I filled a plastic beaker with water and brought it over.
She was in full panic offering herself, any photo I wanted, anything
at all, because she said she'd remembered that the penalty for
attacking me was disfigurement and the incident with the gag this
morning had convinced her that I would carry through.

Now it was my turn to be shocked. My mind flashed back through
everything I had told her about Rule 1 and the cost of disobedience. I
could remember telling her something about threatening my safety but
by that I'd meant trying to escape or seriously hurt me. Knocks and
kicks I'd expected in the early days which was one of the reasons for
the hobble.  Somehow in her terror she'd misunderstood. She was
heading towards hysteria and I almost considered correcting her but
then she was rapidly approaching the frame of mind I would need for
the plan.  In the end I got her to drink then offered the ball to her.
She wanted to talk, to plicate while there was still time
but she also knew the penalty for refusing the gag.  Terrified she
opened her mouth and I gagged her fastening the strap a little tighter
than was strictly necessary to reinforce my "anger".  The moment I
let go she rubbed her gagged mouth against my arm, making little
noises, begging wordlessly for it's removal.  I rechecked her bonds
and made to leave she continued to whine, eyes huge, imploring.

I looked down on her, "Sleep slave," I said, "Don't worry about the
punishment, it will come soon enough."
Then without looking back, I left securing the door behind me; and
breathing a huge sigh of relief. It had taken a lot of effort but
finally I had her where I needed her. Alone in her cell her mind was
already magnifying her crime and it's imagined punishments.
By tomorrow she would be ready.

I worked on until about ten, mainly doing preparatory desktop
publishing work upstairs. Like all writers I built up a hoard of
unused material against the day when tight schedules or the dreaded
writers block would leave me without copy.  The kidnapping had been in
the planning stages for several months and during that time I'd been
collecting idea's and information in a similar way.  I had a
collection of things I'd intended to send to the Conways to make them
believe Caroline was elsewhere.  One of these, a holdout I'd only
intended to use if they seemed to be going to the police, now had a
more cunning use that would hopefully ensure that they would
never know their daughter was missing.  Finishing up I visited
the cell before going to bed.  The cameras were well hidden and there
was some benefit in making her believe that I needed to check on her
personally . The tight gag was giving her trouble so after giving her
another drink (during which she was warned not to speak), I refastened
it in a loose hap hazard kind of way.  Again she rubbed her mouth
against me and again I refused to ungag her and talk.  I left and went
to bed.

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

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

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

She woke with a start as I entered the room.
"What's the meaning of this slave?"
"Meaning?"
She was obviously a little slow in the mornings. I waved the ball
under her nose.
"I left you gagged slave, I expect to find you gagged when I return is
that clear?"
She nodded silently.
"I left it loose last night so that you could sleep easier and you
repay my kindness like this!"
"It hurt...."
"I know lots of other things that hurt slave," I said menacingly, "As
you'll discover later."
"Master please, I didn't mean to kick you!"
"I'd thought it over last night and I *WAS* thinking of giving you a
break...."
"Oh yes, please master."
"Then I find you've disobeyed me again."
She looked downhearted. I was generally pleased, she was starting to
call me master with none of the self-conscious hesitation that had
troubled her the day before. For the time being I was letting up on
her use of *I* but when *MASTER* became totally natural to her I would
insist that she call herself *SLAVE* to emphasize our relative
positions and the name Caroline would begin to be wiped from her
mind. For the time being I gave her a drink then freed her hands.

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

I'd left a pile of straps and rods on the table and the look on
her face told me that she didn't know what they were. The look of
fear told me that she didn't want to find out. Amongst the pile the
only obvious things were the snap on leather panties, butt plug and
vibrator.  Remembering the day before she gave me no trouble,
spreading her legs when asked, in return I paid more attention to her
pussy than was strictly necessary to lubricate the vibrator.  A
couple of snaps later and the tight leather panties held both
intruders firmly in place.  The vibration levels where set high enough
to keep her occupied but not quite enough for her to get off.
Still she had started an involuntary squirming by the time I got to
the next item.  For this I laid her on the floor then started by tying
one of her ankles to one of the rods that formed the strange
apparatus.  I think at first she thought it was a standard spreader
bar
despite it's length.  She only started to see the truth when I tied
the other end along her opposing thigh rather than the ankle.  I roped
the end to her leg just below the knee then used another line to tie
the ankles together.  It's complicated to explain but in essence I had
tied her in the standard "kneeling to propose" stance.  One high
heeled boot was planted flat on the ground, leg rising vertically to
the knee which was bent.  Along the thigh of this leg a rod was tied
and it's far end attached to the other ankle.  The other leg rested on
it's knee unbound until the ankle was tied to the rod.  A cord between
vertical ankle and horizontal ankle held her legs in a rigid
triangle.

She realized immediately that this was very uncomfortable and tried to
struggle into a better position but of course there wasn't one.  I
removed collar and gag, she knew better than complain guessing that
this was one of the punishments I'd promised.  I gathered her hair
back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way then started fitting
her with a head harness.  First up was the gag, a large dense sponge
ball attached to a strap.  She gave me no trouble, opening up as it
approached.  I stuffed the rubber into her open mouth then tightened
the chin strap, this ball wasn't slipping out.  It took a while to fit
everything but when finished a nest of straps covered her head in such
a way as to hold the ball in her mouth and then clamp her jaw closed
around it.  As an experiment I seized one of her nipples and squeezed
hard, almost no sound emerged from behind the straps though her tear
filled eyes where full of pain. The harness was obviously too
complicated to fit quickly but if I ever needed to transport her any
distance this would keep her quiet enough to hide almost anywhere.
In addition to the gag the harness had several mountings for other
things like additional blindfolds, but two large buckles at the back
were designed for attaching to a special posture collar.  The collar
was fitted to a rod which in turn snapped into the rod used to secure
the legs.  Fastening harness to collar, and collar to rod held the
head firmly in place and meant that any tension in the head harness
was
transmitted directly to the rods and not the wearer.  This was needed
because the harness had a suspension loop on the top of the head.  I
attached this to the pulley in the ceiling then pulled everything
tight.  As an afterthought I used some spare cord to tie her wrists
and elbows to the vertical rod then stood back and viewed my
handiwork.

She rested fitfully, all her weight on one high heeled foot and one
knee, tied into a rigid triangle. Her gloved arms were pulled back
along the supporting rod, dragging shoulders back and thrusting naked
breasts outwards. It was a tight uncomfortable position but very
little complaint could emerge from her well packed mouth. In fact as
she stood there and the little beads of sweat broke out across her
exposed skin the most prominent sound came from the vibrator, pressed
hard against the taught leather panties and using them as a sounding
board.  The bondage seemed to have robbed her even of control of her
internal muscles, for despite the dribble of juices that had started
down her leg and the tiny almost negligible thrusting of her
pelvis, the vibrator did none of the ins and outs of the day before.

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

I busied myself cleaning the cell and changing the toilet, once I
paused briefly and ran my gloved palm over the hard nub of one of her
erect nipples. I thought I heard a sigh, though her gag was so tight
that seems unlikely, in any case her fingers flexed briefly  in
response, that being the only movement she could make.  For a while I
just sat and watched her as the droplets of sweat rolled over the
uncovered portion of her torso.  I became aware of the tiny gasps and
moans that escaped her mouth, sound that would have been screams and
groans but for the gag.  For I was in no doubt that she was in agony,
the human body is designed to move and we twist and turn even in
sleep, to be held so rigidly in one position starts out uncomfortable
and rapidly becomes torture.  Almost all of her weight was on one heel
and one knee, her shoulders pulled painfully back.  Deaf and dumb,
blind and bound her only active senses where filled by pain.

I paused a moment, then went upstairs and called the photography shop
I'd been referred to the day before, placing an order for immediate
pickup.  Then I started into breakfast.  Usually I'm a cereal man, the
day is too short to waste cooking breakfast, but on this occasion I
started into a full spread including pancakes and syrup.  As I poured
a fresh coffee I was for some reason reminded of the "Phantom Bob"
episode of the day before.  Puzzled I walked over to the large couch
and pulled it away from the wall.  Here was the spot where Caroline
had laid during the recording, her position marked by the tiny
depressions made by her stiletto heels in the new carpet.  Out of
curiosity I put down the cup, picked up the remote and lay as she
had.  I punched in the code and closed my eyes using only the sound
and feel as a guide.  The recording was perfect, I lay there until the
toast started to burn but could find not one thing wrong.  I got up
even more confused yet the truth was the truth, she had been given a
chance to escape but had decided to obey me, her kidnapper, her rapist
instead.

I made breakfast, eggs, sausage, bacon, toast with pancakes and syrup
and a new mug of coffee. Putting everything on a tray I headed down
to the dungeon. I knew that she could smell the food, though of course
she could give no physical indication in her current condition. I
busied myself preparing table and chair then went over to her. It had
been about an hour since I'd left her but it was clear that it had
been long enough. I released the pulley then freed her legs but left
her hands bound to the vertical rod and the head harness in place. I
helped her up, it took a couple of minutes before she could stand
unaided, then I led her to the table. Still staggering a little and of
course still blindfolded she needed my help for support and guidance
her naked torso pressed against mine, and suddenly I was hard again.

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

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

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

"Didn't think I'd forgotten did you slave?" She of course had no
way to answer. I picked up the little jug of syrup and very slowly
dribbled some on to her exposed breasts. It was cold, she jumped a
little, but in the end she had two little streams of brown running
down her chest and over the hard brown buds of her nipples.  I started
to lick it off.  At first I think she was outraged to be denied food
then used as a plate.  Yet as I pressed on she became visibly aroused,
closing her eyes and arching her back even more than it was already.
She was panting and just a little flushed when I got the last drop.
She was so distracted I don't think she saw the blindfold in my hand
until it was snapped in place.  I lead her back to the rest of the
apparatus and started to reapply it, I think she was tempted to
struggle but realized it was useless.  In five minutes she was back on
one leg and the torture began afresh.

I went back upstairs then headed to town for my supplies. I made a
significant purchase, enough to get the attention of the manager. We
chatted and I fed him a line about being a keen amateur wanting to
branch out into the pro circuit. As I suspected he had connections
with several local modeling agencies and he kept small portfolios so
that photographers could choose their models. I went through the books
picking models that could pass for Caroline at varying distances and
noting their details. One girl in particular caught my eye, her name
was Vicky and with the exception of her hair color she matched
Caroline in build and looks. I took careful notes then collected my
supplies and returned home.

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From: huntrrz@newsguy.com (Hunter Rose)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.bondage
Subject: [ASSB] Captured Caroline (PT05: "The Pearson Shot" 
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2000 01:07:27 GMT
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Part 5 of an ongoing story. Thanks to everyone who wrote with
suggestions some of which are enacted in this chapter

 This story comes with an associated images.
Those that are interested should check out BISH0323.JPG and
BISH336.JPG recently posted on Alt.Binaries.Pictures.Erotica.Bondage
(from now on A.B.P.E.B), those who prefer to let their imaginations do
the work can avoid this.  Subsequent installments will have one or two
images associated with them.  Unfortunately I can't send these to
people directly (just as I've been forced to turn down requests for
story reposts:- I don't have enough time to write without doing other
stuff).  However the folks at A.B.P.E.B are friendly enough and will
probably oblige.


This section is dedicated to Carrie because it turns her on.



The Mighty Quin
*****************************************************************

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Chapter 5: "The Pearson Shot" (M/f, NC, B&D)
==========================





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

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

 And of course they look sexy.

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

"Gag yourself."
She picked up the ball and looked at it doubtfully.
"You removed the last one without permission, from now on you're
responsible for being gagged. You'll put it in and you'll ensure it
stays there! You have thirty seconds or you have another punishment
session."
Argument was useless and she'd been ordered to keep quiet. She paused
for only a second then did something she had never done in her life
before, with hands trembling  she started to cram the hard
sponge ball into her mouth.  It proved to be quite a struggle as the
ball was the largest I had. Finally however it was firmly in place a
large phosphorescent yellow mass completely filling her mouth. I
wondered for a moment  if the people at Nerf had ever thought of
marketing their product for this use then I casually tossed her a long
length of white cotton cloth.  "Tie it in place, good and
tight."  With my encouragement she placed the cloth band between her
teeth and pulled it tight.  I got her to tighten it until her cheeks
bulged over the white cotton band and the horrid yellow ball was
completely covered then I had her knot it firmly behind her head.
Finally I tied her gloved arms as I had her legs and stood back to
admire the view.

Call me old fashioned but there is something about a girl tied with
rope that always reminds me of Saturday morning serials. Modern
restraints are good, I couldn't hope to keep Caroline as secure as I
do without them, but they lack a certain spontaneity.  In the old
serials the young heroine would stumble on the villain's plan and end
up tied with rope and gagged with a handkerchief struggling on the
floor.  Rope and cloth are common, you could imagine the villain
digging some up on the spur of the moment but ballgags, cuffs and the
like aren't the sorts of things you find just lying about.  So
Caroline
lay struggling like the Republic heroines of a bygone age, the
difference being that "King of the Rocket Men" was not about to save
her.

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

"These are only temporary," I said reassuringly as I wiggled the
chain.
"They'll do until I can have you pierced." Her eye's flashed open in
shock and a startled sound erupted from her gagged mouth.
"Well, I told you the consequences of attacking me," I said, "I'm
thinking of a little gold ring for each nipple and maybe one for your
nose."  She shook her head and made muffled sounds.  For the first
time since she got here she really struggled against her bonds, but
the
ropes held firm.  I ignored her but reached down between her legs.
"Maybe a couple down here," I said slipping my hand inside the
panties.  She looked horrified at the prospect.  I smiled sweetly and
cranked  the vibrator up a notch.
"Have fun!"  I said and left bolting the door behind me.

By now I was sure she was almost ready, she was tired, hungry and very
frightened.  Further she knew that she needed to get back in my good
books as soon as she could if she was to avoid mutilation.  I let her
stew a while longer and prepared a light meal. As I ate I went through
the list of models I'd compiled. There was quite some variety
ranging from obvious professionals to girls who only worked part time
for the local agencies spending their days serving behind shop
counters or in restaurants.  Vicky, the girl I'd initially selected,
had been in what the manager had called his "Blue book" which was
apparently for girls who didn't go through an agency.  I had mixed
feelings about this, on the one hand I wanted as little record of our
relationship as possible but at the same time I needed her to be
professional.  Too much time can be wasted with an inexperienced
model.  In the end I risked it and gave her a call.  I got her machine
meaning she probably had a day job so I left the barest details and
asked that she call me back.  Then I pressed on with the plan.  I
found Caroline's makeup box amongst the things I'd taken from her
apartment.  For a girl who sold makeup she had a surprisingly limited
range.  Fortunately Samantha had left a lot of things behind when she
moved out.  An assistant editor at Vogue must receive a lot of free
makeup samples because even the small box she had forgotten was packed
to the brim with lipsticks, blushers and eye makeup.  Sam had also
left behind one of the dresses I'd bought her, a black silky evening
dress whose only crime was not coming from a major designer.  I moved
them downstairs to the dungeon and added some things from the
wardrobe.  Recovering the leather blindfold and the crop I returned to
the cell and removed the nipple clamps and the bindings for her legs.
Her nips were still red and engorged and obviously very sensitive.  I
pulled her body over mine and placed one hand on her breast as I
removed the panties.  I ran my hand over her nipple and made some
comment about silver being perhaps a better match for her complexion.
She lay helpless in my arms weakly shaking her head and attempted to
speak, her eyes large and frightened.

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

After removing vibrator and buttplug I replaced the cloth with her
usual ballgag. I did it myself as I didn't want to untie her but I
made it clear that I would still hold her responsible for presence of
the gag then I fastened a leash to her collar.  Reaching down I fitted
the hobble on her ankles and covered her large questioning eyes with
the blindfold.  Then I led her upstairs.  Once in the house I took her
up to a bathroom on the second floor where I removed the blindfold,
boots and hobble and helped her into the bath.  Near the shower head
was a D ring set in the ceiling nominally used to hold up a shower
rack.  With the rack removed the true purpose was apparent and I
locked her leash to it.  She watched as I started to undress, getting
her first real look at my naked body.  I'm not a big man, certainly
not by porn film standards but I'd been ignoring this erection for the
better part of two days.  Now with the proximity of her helpless naked
body it came back with a vengeance.  Her eyes bulged as it slapped
against my leg, I tried desperately to imaging people gutting fish (an
old trick my father told me to rapidly get out of the mood).  Then I
stepped in behind her.  For the first time in out relationship she was
wearing more than I was though I think the irony of this was lost on
her.  I turned on the water letting it play over her head and down the
flanks of her body.  The light here was better than in the dungeon and
I could clearly make out last summers bikini line.  Almost as expected
she wasn't radical in her choice of swimwear and there were large
areas that had never seen sunlight.  I left her for a moment letting
the water do it's work.  Then I picked up a bottle of shampoo and
started to massage it into her thick mane of blond hair.  My fingers
worked into her scalp in gentle smooth caresses....

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

And Caroline, bound and gagged in my bathroom was now benefiting from
Maria's legacy, eyes closed, she moaned softly, as I shampooed her
hair.  We rinsed, rewashed and conditioned, and I began to feel the
tension leaching from my slaves body.  Right now her captivity was
forgotten, lost in a primal grooming ritual that was already hardening
her nipples.  Then I moved on to the rest of her, spreading fragrant
shower gel on my hands and massaging it into her soft flesh.  Her
small noises and the pattern of her breathing told me of her enjoyment
as I soaped her firm pert breasts.  She had been encased in sweaty
rubber for the last few days and before that was the trip here in my
trunk now she was enjoying the sensation of being clean again.  I
pulled her closer letting my hands follow the trim contours of her
athletic body.  Suddenly I felt her gloved hand slide over my cock and
balls.  I stiffened, thinking this was an attack but instead her
strong
latex covered fingers started to play up and down my shaft.  I'd
clinched her wrists so tightly that her hands were effectively one
unit.  If she was playing with the head she was limited to the shaft
for the other hand but closer to the base she teased my balls with
deft flicks of her gloved fingertips.  In response my hands moved down
into the silky smooth folds of her womanhood, feeling the heat
building there.  She looked up at me with those large doe like, need
filled eyes, making little noises behind her gag, rubbing her wet
slippery body against mine.  Begging for release, begging for...

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

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


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

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

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

"Ok slave make yourself pretty."
She looked confused, "But Master these aren't my colors..."
"They are now. Do it slave or maybe a flogging will persuade you?"
She started, a little hesitantly at first and I had to point out what
colors to use, but in the end she looked radiant confirming everything
I had seen in her that first day.  I had her put on the gloves, she
frowned a little when she discovered that the top three inches seemed
stiff but when I tapped the crop she speedily put them on. I had to
remove the collar before I  helped her into the black evening gown.
She was obviously confused wondering just why I would want to dress
her in this way.  Her ankles where still fastened to the chair but
with the collar gone this was the closest she'd been to freedom since
I took her.  I started to change that.  First up were the cuffs, thin
silver bands about an inch and a half wide that looked just like the
kind of bracelets some women wear over long gloves on social
occasions.  These however were the product of a fetish jeweler in San
Francisco, once closed a special tool was needed to remove them.  In
addition each had a tiny D ring set into the underside, though small
they could support a persons full weight.  For the time being I
fastened them with a cable tie.  Next I squeezed the tops of the
gloves and felt them ratchet down until they were tightly gripping her
upper arms.  Each had a small black D ring in it that I joined with a
thin black wire effectively pinning her arms to her side.  I added a
thin black choker, again from a distance a fashion accessory but
hiding a thin leather collar, the silver clasp really a small strong
padlock.  I freed her wrists then refastened them with more wire.

Finally she spoke, "You're tying me so that no one can tell from a
distance." Her voice was flat and calm like someone  discussing a
science experiment.
 I was unfastening her ankles from the chair, "Very good slave,"
I said.
"No gag?" She asked raising an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

 I started to fill her glass.
"Master, what is this for?"
"For you slave," I said, "To celebrate your capture."
I could tell that this wasn't a celebration she was keen on.
"I can't," she said.
"Nonsense, this is your Capture Day party. You get it only once a year
like your birthday.  Play your cards right and in future years you'll
even get presents" She seemed surprised by the mention of presents but
the idea that it was an annual event rammed home the fact that her
captivity was permanent.
"But Master I don't drink."
 "Yes you do, " I said lightly.
 "I don't....."  she began
"Slave you really don't get it do you?"  I said, "You drink, smoke
pot,
molest little children and fuck animals.  You'll do what I say, when
I say it.  What Caroline Conway did or didn't do is of no interest to
me or my slave.  Now drink up."

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

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

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

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

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

Adjusting the lights I pulled away and took a longshot. Caroline stood
as I told her, with one leg slightly bent,  patent heels shown to
maximum effect, then the long majestic line of her silken legs. The
stockings, a designer pair with a monogrammed patterned top, ended in
garters about four inches below her crotch.  From then on up it was
all black leather.  The briefs, a tiny black triangle which would have
barely covered the thatch of her crotch hair (if she'd had any), were
so tight that you could easily make out the outline of her pussy lips
in their shiny surface.  Yet these were nothing compared with the
corset.  Tight and black it hugged her body like a second skin from
the bottom where it's garters held up the stockings to the top where
it's soft underwired cups shoved her breasts up but barely covered her
nipples.  The slick black gloves flowed up her arms, leather fingers
caressing a wine glass with obvious suggestions.  Black gloved hand
raising the glass to those fabulous cherry lips.  Click!  A fetish
goddess in all her finery, her orientation  ill defined, which
is how I wanted it.  I took another couple of quick snaps then tossed
her a crop.  Suddenly she was a leather Dom.  I had her flex the crop
and look menacing, had her slap it against her hand, along her thigh.
Then I had her ditch it and threw her a ballgag, taking a whole series
of her gagging her own sweet mouth.  I was pleased to see that the
lipstick I'd chosen matched the color of the ball exactly.  More shots
of her handcuffing herself and she was suddenly a leatherclad slave
girl.  I had her kneel and look up beseechingly feeling all the time
the heat in my crotch.  Keeping her hands cuffed I removed the gag,
adjusted the tripod down to her level and undid my fly.  My erection
almost slapped her in the face.  I had her give it a sexy, hungry look
then use her talented mouth on it while the motorwind kept the shots
coming.  Suddenly I exploded into her mouth.  Somehow in the ecstasy
I'd managed to pull out freezing my erect cock, her rapt face and the
small trickle of cum down the side of her mouth forever on film.

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

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

At length I stopped her, she resisted a little and pouted.
"You promised!"
"Don't worry slave," I said rolling her onto her stomach so that  I
could strap her hands together, "I'll see to you personally!"
Did I detect a little shiver of anticipation? In any case she gave me
no more trouble as I bound her arms and replaced the ballgag and
hobble. She seemed a little confused when after snapping some shots of
her standing I came over and released her hair from the pins that held
it up. It cascaded in rich golden blond curls around her shoulders and
it's wonderful aroma flew up to greet me.  If the change of hairstyle
confused her it was nothing compared to what happened next.  Over her
face but under her hair I fastened a soft leather mask.  It took some
adjustment but once in place the effect was outstanding.  The mask
covered her face from the hairline to her cheeks in a smooth expanse
of black leather leaving only the area around her mouth and her large
expressive eyes uncovered.  Framed by the canopy of her blond hair and
matching the rest of her leather ensemble it transformed Caroline into
a sexy bondage mystery model.  She seemed a little surprised but gave
me no trouble as we reproduced some of the earlier shots with a small
handheld camera.  I finished off with one of Caroline on her back, the
wine bottle cruelly inserted in her sopping pussy.

Then as I promised I took her, pounding away at her soft flesh,
driving deeper into her hot pussy to the accompaniment of her husky
moans and the squeak of leather. Unlike last time she was desperate
and almost willing. There was no suggestion of a struggle and I knew
this time she would not argue, in as much as a slave can consent to
anything this was consentual. Sam had always liked to be on top
claiming that it gave her more sensation. I didn't like it that much
but it did seem to do something for her. Now I changed our relative
positions lying on my back and positioning her on top. Her arms were
bound but she had strong legs and arching her back she came down on me
again and again screaming into the gag with every thrust.  I knew I
was close but she had been a good girl who though she didn't know it
yet had just delivered her sweet ass into my hands.  I felt I owed her
something.  So the images of fish gutting returned holding off my
final explosion just a little longer, allowing her to cum in a climax
so violent that her bonds struggled to contained it, and her gag
barely muffled it.  When we had finished she tried to say something
behind the gag then almost immediately fell fast asleep as if only the
sexual frustration had kept her conscious.  I gently removed the gag
and replaced her own collar.  Then I carried her sleeping form back to
the cell and reattached the wire.  She looked so content as she lay
there newly washed blond hair framing her masked face that something
gripped me and I found myself kissing those soft lips in a moment of
weakness that could only be the wine.

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

The pictures were good.  Most had been posed to match the desktop
publishing work I'd already done and as a result to my critical eye
lacked a certain spontaneity.  These I left to dry as I worked on the
other prints.  Part way through I stopped and went upstairs for more
coffee and to microwave a snack.  Whilst I was waiting I scanned one
of the masked Caroline photo's. Part one of the plan went into effect.
Firing up the computer I used a free trial  account from a well known
commercial service to telnet a university computer in Scotland.  I
then
used a bug in the old copy of VMS it ran to give me superuser
privileges. The machine was one of the primary internet routers for
northern Europe and it proved easy to fake a message that would appear
to come from Caroline's university account.  I posted the picture to
an internet sex group via an anonymous server.  Next I sent a covering
message telling those interested that my name was Elizabeth
(Caroline's middle name) and my interests included kinky clothes and
bondage.  I was new to the internet I said, and wasn't sure if this
would work but if it did more would follow.  I also hinted that
Elizabeth would be willing to pose for money and had photosets for
sale.  It took a while to clean up the various security logs and shut
down but it was worth it.  Anyone looking into Caroline's
disappearance would have to conclude that she was really desperate for
money and would do almost anything to get it.

It was early the next morning before I found what I wanted. The photo
at first sight looked like any of the others I'd taken.  Caroline
looked out at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and great
need.  A silent solitary tear streamed down her smooth cheek towards
her stoppered mouth which almost blended perfectly with its color
coordinated ballgag.  Her full, shiny, red lips wrapped around the
ball
and the black leather strap cut into the corners of her mouth.  She
had been bent at such an angle that her nipples peeped slightly over
the soft leather cups and the straps binding her arms helplessly
behind her were just visible.  I looked at the eyes again and saw the
beginnings of an acceptance of her fate.  This I knew was the one.  It
would never grace the cover of Vogue and would remain forever on the
wall of the dungeon, but though unseen it's quality and life marked it
apart.  There could be no doubt, this was the Pearson Shot.

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From: huntrrz@newsguy.com (Hunter Rose)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.bondage
Subject: [ASSB] Captured Caroline (PT06: "Paper Chains" 
Date: Fri, 21 Jan 2000 01:07:42 GMT
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Part 6 of an ongoing story. Thanks to everyone who wrote with
suggestions some of which are enacted in this chapter

Sorry for the delay in writing this section, put it down to two finger
typing and a hectic schedule :-)This will also be the only section for
a couple of months as  I move into my new home.

For those who have written encouragement, I thank you it has been a
great help as I've struggled to make each new section. I will still be
contactable via tmquin@ibm.net but there may be delays in getting
replies.

No as much sex in this piece as in the others but nescessary to
advance the plot.



The Mighty Quin (tmquin@ibm.net)
*****************************************************************

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Chapter 6: "Paper Chains" (M/f, NC, B&D)
==========================


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

I selected the best ones then went back upstairs.  A quick look at the
cell showed her still asleep so after checking the progress of the
toast I went to my office.  Probably the best part of computer
journalism is the access to new and interesting equipment.
Manufacturers are well aware that the endorsement of a well known
columnist can boost sales significantly.  One of my editors has eight
computers at home only one of which he actually paid for (and that was
at a substantial discount).  Over the years my stated interest in
graphics had resulted in a variety of equipment, most of it state of
the art at the time.  My current scanner is on long term loan from a
major Japanese company.  A 48bit color drum scanner with a clever
sheetfeed mechanism and a ten thousand dollar price tag.  It was
intended for publishing and photo process houses but it was also
perfect for my needs.  I loaded the pictures into the sheetfeed and
setup the computer to dump each successive scan into a working
directory on my network.  I hit start and the machine sprang to life
weaving the invisible chains that would tie Caroline to me forever.

I took breakfast in my office surrounded by the material from
Caroline's box. For now I set the diaries aside and concentrated on
her recent mail and the letters she'd stuck to her refrigerator door.
Almost immediately I got a real find, an unposted begging letter home
to mommy. No real news just brief and to the point  "wire money or
I'll be evicted." The writing was very neat especially considering the
difficulty of the subject. As a hunch I sifted through the box looking
for the pad and envelopes that matched the letter. Opening the pad I
found I'd hit paydirt.  Caroline seemed to work by writing a rough
draft first then copying the final version out neatly. She left the
originals in the pad, giving me names addresses and a basic
understanding of her writing style.

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

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

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

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

"Feeling a little fragile?" I asked.
"Urggg," She said, which seemed  quite apt at the time.
I put the coffee cup to her lips and she drank greedily. I stopped
short of letting her finish it all and set the cup aside.

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

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

"Take these."
"W...what are they?"
"What are they MASTER!" I corrected, "In answer to your question, they
are aspirin for the headache."
She seemed unconvinced.
"Look slave if I wanted to poison or drug you I could do it anytime.
Now, do you want them or not?"
She opened her mouth and I popped them inside using the remainder of
the coffee to wash them down. It was only a little lie, one was an
aspirin, the other was a contraceptive pill, one of which would form
part of her daily diet from now on.  Then while she was still thinking
how to ask, I stripped off a glove, bent her over and cleaned her up.

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

I pulled her head forward so that I could get at the buckle of the
leather mask and found her strangely resistive.
"Please master..."
"You like the mask slave?"
She nodded and looked down avoiding my eyes.
"Why slave?" I asked genuinely puzzled.
She remained silent kicking her heels against the leg of the table
like a shy schoolgirl.
"Answer slave!" I said pressing on her crotch and increasing the
butterfly's stimulation of her bare clit. She gasped  and shuddered a
little.
"Please master..... It makes me...feel sexy." She seem embarrassed  I
was sure that there was a blush hiding behind that mask.
" Not good enough slave, but I'll do you a deal.  You can keep it IF
you can give me a good psychological analysis of why you need it."
Her shocked eyes peered out from behind the soft leather.
"Well slave?  You were a psych major, you should be able to give me a
good technical answer."  Her eyes filled with conflicting emotions,
her mouth worked silently.  She wasn't an accomplished liar, I'm sure
I would have come up with some bullshit in her position and  it was
obvious that the anonymity the mask offered some attraction to her,
perhaps a way that Caroline the reverend's daughter could distance
herself from the slut I was turning her into.  Yet I also felt, as I
watched the struggle behind those pretty blue eyes, that this was an
ancient demon she was fighting, not one that had surfaced in the past
few days, traumatic as they were.  In the end she didn't speak so I
removed the mask and pulled her over to a chair.

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

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

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

Next I untied her from the chair and removed the boots. I tied her
arms and legs as I had the day before, clinched rope around ankles and
knees with a matching set for wrist and elbows. I wrapped some more
rope above and bellow her leather covered tits to bind her arms behind
her before removing the gag. I'd found before that kneeling she was at
a perfect height to service my engorged cock which was by now pressing
painfully against my leather pants. Without saying a word I unzipped
my fly and shoved my dick into her face. In three days Caroline had
already accepted her role as my cockslut, no other commands
were necessary. She licked and sucked, teased and tormented as I
started knotting the length of cloth. When I seized her head she
finished me off, deepthroating and sucking with the same wonderful
mind numbing intensity she had shown the first time. One thing seemed
clear, one day I had to find the guy who taught her this trick and
thank him personally.  I came and came, noticing in a strange detached
way that she swallowed every drop.  Sam, though she gave great head,
would always spit it out afterwards which had left me feeling
dirty and awkward.  Caroline swallowed it greedily and  I realized
that my cum was the closest thing Caroline had to a meal in the past
few days.

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

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

We finished with pancakes and syrup which she seemed to really enjoy
After the pancakes I had her lick the syrup from my gloved fingers
Then I picked up the gag and forced the knots back behind her teeth,
before tightening the knot behind her head. She gave me her
"Bambi in the headlights" look and chewed on the gag as she tried to
say something. I smiled then pulled her tits free of the restraining
leather.  As before I spread a little syrup in her nipples and began
to lick and suck it off.  She moaned and more muffled sound emerged
from her gagged mouth though it was unclear if she wanted me to stop
or wanted more. Her nips however had no doubts, standing out hard and
firm as my tongue danced over them. It was time to up the stimulation
a little so I started to press the butterfly against her clit feeling
her body stiffen and tremble.

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

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

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

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

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

"Please master......."
"Want to cum slave?"
She nodded silently, I pressed the butterfly a little harder smiling
at her startled gasp.
"Well slave if you want it you're going to have to do something for
me."
She glanced down at my crotch, it was obvious from her expression that
she felt she'd done enough already, that the blow job was payment for
bringing her off. I just smiled.

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

"I'm going to ask you a few questions slave. Answer them for me and
I'll see you right." She looked into my eyes.  By now she was panting
she was so close, she just nodded and looked away.

"How old were you when you had your first fuck." She hesitated, I had
no way to verify her answers but I was betting that she would have
difficulty lying effectively while she was this turned on. I began to
stroke her, upping the general tactile stimulus while keeping her
erogenous zones as they were. My hand moved quickly over the leather
of her panties and came to rest on the inside of her thigh which I
gently caressed.

"Six....sixteen." She panted. I let my hand stray a little closer to
the buzzing butterfly.

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

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

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

"F..ff four or five," She gasped.

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

"How many did you have before you came here?" The question popped out
without me thinking about it. I had also started to unconsciously
fondle her again and she was now very close.

"Twice...." She shuddered as she said it, drawing her breath in
explosive bursts.

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

She stammered, gasped and trembled.

"You will tell me slave!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I left her for a few moments watching her deft leather covered fingers
as they probed poked and shoved but it was to no avail. She soon found
that she could not move the former and the drawstrings at her thighs
prevented her from working her fingers between the plastic and her
body. I decided that the design was quite successful though it was
still obvious that the former was not her real mound. Still now that I
had her I could make the necessary measurements to get even tighter
ones made. The designer had even provided instructions for making
casts of the necessary areas.
 By now Caroline had realized that it was futile. She gave a
strangled, frustrated moan behind her gag, stamped her booted
foot and then turned to look at me accusingly.

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

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

While she was mourning I threw her the cuffs.
"Put them on slave," I said, "It's time to put you away."
She complied, what else could she do?  I also had her change the
cloth for a leather pad gag to match the outfit. Then I attached her
right wrist to the belt of the chastity pants but kept her left hand
free.

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

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

"I expect you to know all of it, understand?"
She nodded.
"If you have time read this." I threw her a copy of "The Joy of Sex".
She tried to say something.
"Read it! You are a sex slave now. All I want you for, all you need to
be good at is in these two books. Your life is in these pages so read
them real carefully. Otherwise I may have to replace you." I stuck
enough menace in those words to convince her just what replacement
would mean.

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

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

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

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

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

In this case I removed the background of the dustsheets from behind
Caroline and transplanted her to another background that I'd already
scanned and analyzed.  Then the computer went to work, matching the
lighting of Caroline's picture with that of the new background. It
added shadows, highlights and reflections to both parts until it
appeared that she belonged in the other picture.  The technique isn't
perfect, the composite image still needs a lot of manual adjustment to
appear totally realistic and I didn't have the time for that now.
Fortunately even the simple run through looks wonderfully effective
and that was all I needed. Caroline stood on a damp, well lit street
after nightfall. She smiled at the camera, the streetlights glinting
from her jewelry and her heels reflecting in the puddles on the
sidewalk....

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Please master......." her questions were now ended. All the horrors
that had been forming in her mind as she lay, bound and alone in her
cell had now be confirmed. What more was there to say?

"Now I have a question for you slave," I said noting the renewed
tension in her shoulder muscles. "A couple of days ago when my friend
Bob came over and I hid you behind the couch, why didn't you try to
scream to him?"

"I was gagged..."

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

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

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

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

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

I waited until the look of despair had started to subside.
"Don't knock yourself," I smiled, "You didn't know and besides no
one knows you're missing so he wouldn't have recognized you anyway."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I tossed her a large white business envelope.  She caught it and
looked at it blankly.  I watched as her eyes scanned it, they darted
quickly over the return address, someone in an unfamiliar sounding
street in Seattle.  Her reaction was more pronounced however when she
saw where the package was going.  It was addressed to her but the
address was her parent's house in Iowa.  With trembling fingers she
opened it.  The package contained four pages pinned together.  The
top sheet was a piece of good quality company headed note  paper
bearing a stylized almost art deco logo of a beautiful woman bringing
a wine glass to her lips, underneath in a tasteful script font were
the words "Cachet Escorts."  The company's office was the same
unfamiliar address as on the envelope which I knew to be in a half
empty office block in a rundown suburb of Seattle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I remain as ever yours.

                Brenda Evans.


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

Cachet was now out of business, it's offices raided amongst great
scandal a few months before. I had no doubt that there would be at
least another two or three 'Cachets' by now hoping to pull in the
defunct agencies clientele, so my fake would probably be written off
as
a short lived imitator.
By now Caroline was scanning the second sheet.  It was a supposedly
the agencies private file entry giving age, height, weight, interests,
address and next of kin.  Not too different from the personnel file
any
company would keep.

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I finished up with her signing a couple of checks. Then I produced a
tape recorder and a few sheets of paper.
 "This is a script," I said pushing the paper over to her,
"You will say the words exactly as written, understand."

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

"You did well," I said as I reached over and shoved the gag back into
her sobbing mouth. "I'll forgive you for the temper tantrum this
morning. Tell me slave, are you still horny?"
Still sobbing she nodded her head.
"Good. I have to put you away for a while because I have to finish
upstairs," I gentily stroked her thigh. "Afterwards though I'll reward
you."
I had her replace the gloves with a clean latex pair and replace the
cuffs.  I strapped her arms behind her and freed her from the chair.
I pulled her close to me felling the hardness of the chastity corset
as it pressed into my chest.  The light of hope was gone from the tear
filled eyes that stared at me over the gag.

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

Part 7 of an ongoing story. Thanks to everyone who wrote with
suggestions some of which are enacted in this chapter

Sorry for the delay in writing this section, I spent most of
this summer moving house and things are only just settling
down.

For those who have written encouragement, I thank you it has been
a great help as I've struggled to make each new section.  I will
still be contactable via tmquin@ibm.net but there may be delays in
getting replies.

This section has associated images that will be quoted on
subsequent reposts. I'm looking into setting up a Web site
with story sections and images. Watch this space.



The Mighty Quin (tmquin@ibm.net)
*****************************************************************

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Chapter 7: "Sleepwalking on Bourbon Street" (M/f, NC, B&D)
======================================


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

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

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


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

The big problem was that I couldn't do anything that involved her
turning up in person. Things like applying for a Washington state
drivers license would need a woman to stand in line for a couple
of hours. Of course in fiction it is easy, the evil organization
of white slavers have entire departments dedicated to erasing
"volunteers" past lives.  Female accomplices are ten a penny,
all officials can be blackmailed or bribed.
Reality though was less perfect, still I was happy with what I had
achieved.  There was now a large body of evidence which pointed to
her having moved to a run down suburb of Seattle.  The area was
well known as a red light district.  The sort of place a pretty
young thing could disappear without trace.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I didn't bother with a hobble so it proved a quick and easy
journey to the upstairs bathroom.  Once again I removed the boots
and blindfold but kept her gloved and gagged.  Then I padlocked
the leash to the ring before stripping off myself.
I punched a button on my remote control and the hidden speakers
started the buildup to a classic operatic aria. Then the tenor
joined in his voice full of passion and heartbreaking emotion.
I started small, deftly shampooing her hair as I had the night
before, listening as she moaned with pleasure. All through
this she was happy, no one in her situation would turn down a
bath.  After suitable warnings I unstrapped the gag so that I
could remove all the old makeup from her face. She looked at me
as I gently stroked her cheek.
"Please..." She whispered the edge of desperation in her voice.
An idea came to me and I drew her naked body close feeling her
hard nipples dig into my chest.
"Soon," I said.
She didn't fuss when I put the gag back. She seemed strangely
subdued, both horny and melancholy. Time had come to warm
her up. My roving hand moved on, gently stroking and caressing
her helpless body. I cleaned parts in a random order, teasing her
with my touch, listening as she moaned and caught her breath.
Finally my hand drifted down, finding her pussy warm and very damp
as I gently cleaned it.  There was the suggestion of a fine
stubble on her pubis and I wondered about the possibility of home
electrolysis.  I was careful that as I cleaned her pussy of the
days accumulated juices I didn't up the sensation to a level she
could find useful.  She moaned in frustration as the heat in her
crotch increased.  I unfastened her elbows and started washing her
back.  She made a little mewing sound and as my hands slid
forwards to caress her breasts and their erect nipples, hers
drifted down to gently brush against my balls and the insides of
my thighs.  The message seemed clear, I wasn't the only one who
could tease.

I let my hand hover round her abdomen then slide back to the
silken folds between her legs. I was rewarded by the slick touch
of her latex covered fingers on the head of my cock.  Then we
traded, finger on nub for thumb on head.  It seemed like
masturbation by proxy but it was also a big turn on.  I soaped her
down using handfuls of shower gel to make her body wet and
slippery.  She started to slide her body against mine making sure
that the outside of her thigh slid up and down my steadily
mounting erection.  I gasped and started to caress her, one hand
cupped her breast while the other slid down to finger her hot
cunt.  I started to nibble her neck between the gagstrap and her
shoulder.  She moaned then arched her back, fingers straining
against the single imprisoning strap.  I gasped as she started to
work on my balls and thighs, carefully avoiding the shaft,
denying me an orgasm as long as I denied hers. Above it all
the tenor sang of loves lost and hearts broken in a mounting
crescendo of emotion.  Through it all I dimly wondered how long
we could stay like that, how far we could push it while still
keeping the other from release.  Part of my mind had decided to
take her right then and there against the shower wall, I even upped
the pace a little, listening to her excited yelps as she came
closer and closer to the edge.  Then dimly I became aware of
something else in the environment, something noisy, insistent,
something cutting through even the vibrant music.

It was the phone, I suppose it was to be expected after all we
were in the shower.  Part of my brain said leave it, let the
machines pick it up, but they didn't and the ringing continued as
insistent as ever.  It says a lot about the power a ringing phone
has over us that I got out of the shower.  Caroline gave a little
scream and when I looked at her she tried to say something.  Too
well gagged to be intelligible she shook her head, thrust her
shaved cunt towards me and wiggled her hips.  It was an invitation
good in any language but the little dictator kept ringing.  In the
end I threw on a robe and squelched off to the handset in the
upstairs hall.  I mean, there I was about to have sex with a
beautiful, naked and helpless girl, I could have let it ring
until the guy at the other end got the message and rang off.  Yet
I didn't; I didn't  because I am an idiot.

The idiot picked up the phone. "Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line then a hesitant
female voice asked, "Mr. Thomas?"
I was about to yell no, tell the stupid bitch she had the wrong
number and slam down the phone, then I suddenly remembered that
I'd used the name Thomas when I'd left the message for Vicky the
photographic model.
"Yes that's right, is that Vicky?" I asked as calmly as any guy
could with a raging hardon.
 She stammered out a yes, though it was hard to hear over the
operatic background music. I realized that I'd left the remote
behind.
"Thought I remembered your voice from the answering machine, " I
lied. "Look I'm sorry for the noise, can't reach the stereo from
here.."
"I was w..wondering if you still needed a model.  I realize it's
been a couple of days since you called but I've been away......"
She seemed apologetic, weak and unsure.
"No I still need a model," I said wanting this over as soon as
possible.
She seemed relieved but even in my ardor alarm bells were already
starting to ring.  "Vicky, sorry to ask this luv," I said
switching into classic Pearson, "But you do seem a little nervous.
Do you have much experience?"

At first she tried to bluff it out. Then her confidence failed and
she twittered on for a while. I really didn't have time for this but
the explanation she blurted out I gathered that the camera shop
where I had found her name did portrait and ID pictures.  The
photographer had persuaded her to try modeling and had suggested
that she leave her number.  I was her first call.  To be honest I
was tempted to turn her down, but she looked so much like Caroline
and there was so much I could do with her unwitting help.  So
patiently I spun her a line.  I was an amateur trying to make a
break into the pro circuit.  I would need a model at various times
and various places to take shots for my portfolio.  She must be
willing to appear in a variety of shots, in various outfits and
perhaps nude.  The nature of the work would be experimental as I
would be trying out different films and effects.  Some of it
wouldn't make sense.  I would pay her by the hour, irrespective of
the number of shots or what they entailed but I promised that I
would give her copies of some shots for her private use.

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


To this day I don't know what it was, though I suppose I could
have heard something subconsciously. I managed to tell Vicky that I
had another call and  I had just hit the hold button when the
screaming started. The closed bathroom door was at one end of the
corridor, the phone at the other I have no doubt that some land
speed records were broken  in the next few seconds as I raced
towards the noise. Caroline was cutting loose but good. I bounced
open the door to find her half out of the shower one hand holding
the still attached leash to stop it pulling tight as she lent
forward, the other hand questing for the door latch. The
situation had come close to a complete disaster. The strap that
bound her wrists was lying in the shower, the ballgag was pulled
down around her neck, only the presence of the padlocked collar
and leash had stopped her from getting completely free.  How had
it happened so fast?  I'd kept her bound for the last few days
without her budging a single bond.  One thing was clear I needed
to reassert control fast!

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

I had become so used to her being so cooperative that I'd started
to cut corners.  Locked in the cell she had worn tight leather
cuffs, but these were expensive and the finish easily damaged by
water so before the shower I had swapped them for two basic
leather straps, one at the wrists one at the elbows.  When I had
started to wash her back I'd removed the elbow strap to allow for
access. Then things had become more heated so I hadn't put it
back. When the phone rang I'd just left, closing the door behind
me so that her little gagged noises wouldn't be heard..
In short I  had left her alone, unobserved and with only one strap
holding her.  She had managed to squeeze shower gel on to her
latex gloves near the wrist and use the lubrication to work her
hands free.  The collar, gag and leash were all padlocked but she
had managed to roll the gag out of her mouth and scream to
alert the caller at the other end of the line.  The hairs on the
back of my neck prickled, I had come within seconds of being
caught.

Silently I gathered her wrists turned her towards the wall and
restrapped her arms at wrist and elbow.  She didn't resist seeming
more than happy that I hadn't hit her.  After the arms were done I
used the shower to clean the gel off of her body and gloves
thought to be honest I doubted she could slip her hands free with
her elbows clinched.  Next I released the leash and forced her
down onto the showermat.  Using the belts from the bathrobes I
bound her legs together and hog-tied her wrists to her ankles.
Then I went to the medicine cabinet and got some sticky plaster, a
bandage and few pads of cotton.  First I replaced the ballgag
fastening it tighter than I ever had before pulling the ball
further into her mouth.  She complained, it probably hurt like
hell, but I didn't care.  Next I forced the pads between her lips
in front of the ball until her mouth was fully packed and used
the sticky plaster to hold it in place.  A nice tight Ace bandage
wrapped tightly over the top and she was gagged as well as I
could manage at the moment. It was important that Vicky heard from
me as soon as possible so with Caroline rolling on the bathroom
floor in plain sight I went back to the phone.

"Sorry Vicky love, you have no idea how some people carry on." I
said looking at Caroline. My slave quaked and tried to say
something. Vicky seemed pleased that I hadn't hung up on her and
we made plans for the next day.  All the time I was aware of
Caroline struggling a few yards away.  The gag proved
very effective and her desperate screams became muffled moans
easily drowned out by Domingo in full voice.
Vicky never once commented on any sounds (though I had a good
explanation ready if she did.)  I signed off and walked back
towards my slave.

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

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

Then the music seemed to seize her. I don't think she knew Italian
and there was nothing in her tape collection that suggested that
she was a big opera fan. Perhaps something in the man's mournful
song to his lost love reminded her of a freedom denied. In any
case she started to sob, though I missed it at first, the gag
muffled all sound and the water dripping from her hair washed
away her tears.  In the end it was the gentile quaking of her
shoulders that gave it away.  I turned her around and looked into
her eyes.  I'd expected to see anger, sorrow, something I could
understand but whatever demons she had were playing games behind
those pretty blue eyes, and all I could see was pain, deeper and
older than I expected.  She didn't struggle when I replaced the
boots and hobbled her, she must have realized that she'd blown it
and there seemed no point in compounding things.  I got dressed
with her chained to the top of the stairs the phone just out
of reach.  Strangely her escape attempt had made the erection
worse.  I don't know if it was the danger of discovery or just the
excitement of the chase.  I really wished I could set that talented
mouth to work but I wanted her to wear the uncomfortable gag a
little longer.  I checked the building security logs while I
dressed.  During the 30 Seconds or so of her screaming there were
no intruders, there wasn't even a car passing the end of the
drive.

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

Modern bondage photography is good, but the scenes seem far too
posed, the women either too perfect of too ordinary. Over the past
few months while "researching" the kidnapping I'd come across a
number of photo's from the 1950's taken by artists like Irvin Klaw
and John Willie. I suppose part of the attraction had been the
concentration on fetishwear especially the high heels, though the
fact that the models tended to be "resting" 1950's B movie
actresses probably brought back memories of my beloved Republic
serials. In any case two things from these photo's had influenced
my plans for Caroline. The first was the pony girl rig that was
sitting in the room behind my garage along with Caroline's few
belongings. I'd finally found a place in Arizona that made the
things and had one shipped to New England  in a crate marked
"Cycle spares." This would have to wait until Caroline had been
"broken" of course but the other idea, that of posture training
would get an unexpected early trial.

The corset came first.  All the previous fetish "corsets" she had
worn had really been tight leather tops capable of pulling in and
pushing up a little but without the facility for tight lacing.  Of
course Caroline didn't understand the difference, the corset I now
brought to her seemed perhaps only a little more old fashioned
than previous ones.  Certainly she didn't resist, stepping into it
when ordered and holding still while it was pulled up her body.  I
left it loose for now and instead replaced her usual collar for a
high leather posture collar.  This involved releasing her from the
leash but she gave no trouble, probably deciding to get it over
with rather that risk greater punishment.  New collar in place and
leash again secured I removed the damp latex gloves and replaced
them with an elegant leather pair that came to just above her
elbows.  I loosely fastened a leather pad gag around her neck,
though I had no intention of using it paid to remind her that
speech was a privilege I controlled.  Next came the return of the
leather cuffs which I used to fasten her wrists to the ring at the
back of her collar effectively fastening her hands behind her
neck.  She tugged on the gagstrap giving me a big eyed helpless
look.  In the end I relented and removed the gag.

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

"I'm sorry Master, I didn't mean it.."
"Liar!" I said. Whatever she had been expecting this wasn't it,
she floundered for a while so I decided to help her.
"What did you do and why are you being punished?" I asked.
She looked down, the collar stopped her from bowing her head.
"I screamed and tried to let someone know that I was here," She
said.
"Which means you did what. Why are you being punished?"
She swallowed, "For trying to escape."
I made a deliberate effort to look amazed, "Is THAT what you
think. That you're to be punished for trying to escape?"
She looked up eyes wide. "Isn't it?" She asked weakly.
"Oh no!" I said, "The escape is a perfectly normal reaction, I was
stupid enough to give you the opportunity, you were resourceful
enough to take it. I have no problem with the escape attempt
in fact I think it was very well done. I can't blame you for
giving it a try it was my fault leaving you like that."

I wandered off towards the cupboard and returned with some balls,
some tape and length of kitchen roll.
She looked confused, "Then why?"
"You removed your gag without permission ."
She glanced down at the kitchen roll in my hand, her face suddenly
filled with horror and at that moment she went hysterical.
 "No Master, oh please no!  I'll do anything, oh please, oh God
NO!"  I tore a piece of the paper off and brought it up to her
nose.  I could tell she wanted to move her head but the collar
made that impossible.  She cringed and whimpered as I placed it to
her nose.

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

I held one of the balls up so that she could see it.
"Know what this is slave?"
She looked intensely at the small metal sphere for a few moments.
A few inches wide it had a little string attached to it. At the
end of the string was a tag not too different from the ones found
on teabags.
For a second she hesitated then said, "Is it a Ben Wa ball?"
Now it was my turn to look surprised.  "Very good slave," I said,
"We are full of surprises today! Now can you explain exactly
HOW you know that?"
She blushed, "Brenda...., a friend showed me one once."
"Ever use one?"
She went to shake her head but couldn't.  "No."
"But you know what they are for."
Again I think she would have liked to just indicate in the end she
answered very quietly, "Yes."

"Good," I said, "That will save us some time. Now spread your
legs." She complied being in no position to do otherwise. Her
cunt wasn't quite as juicy as usual and it took a few minutes of
gentle play before she was damp enough to allow the first ball in.
I pushed in the second and left her standing there with  the
two little tags dangling from between her pussy lips. I tore off a
strip of tape and stuck it firmly over her cunt repeating the
process until a little white PVC triangle covered her crotch
completely. I unhitched her and  walked her over to the table. I
could tell that the devilish little balls were already at work by
her expression as  I helped her on to the table. I locked the
leash in place then had her move forward so that she was perched
on the edge. I discarded her old boots and reached down.

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

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

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

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

The effect on her figure was startling. Caroline would never have
the "hourglass" figure of those '50's starlets, she simply wasn't
built enough up top but the corset maximized her assets to a
really quite rewarding extent. Of course she couldn't breath but
that seemed minor for the moment. I helped her up and on to her
feet, and she nearly fainted.  In the end I found I had to let the
corset out an inch if I wanted her to stand.  With the wind
literally out of her sails it proved easy to pull her arms behind
her and cuff them in place.  I ran a small length of chain through
her collar and fastened a wrist at each end effectively chaining
her hands in a kind of hammer lock behind her back with her arms
crossed.  This had the additional effect that it forced her
shoulder back and improved her posture.

I retrieved a flogger and unchained her collar.
"Tell me slave, what is the minimum punishment for attempting to
escape."
She looked at the flogger, "But you said you wouldn...."
"I didn't say that you would be punished I was just checking that
you had read the book."
She swallowed. "A pussy whipping," she said nervously.
"How many lashes?"
"Twenty, with ten extra each repeat offense."
"Tell me slave have you ever been pussy whipped?"
The answer was predictable, "N..no."
I lashed out with the flogger catching her firmly between the
legs. She was surprised, and had no time to dodge. She let out a
little scream then doubled over in pain as far as the bondage
would allow.
"That was one," I said, "Given purely as an example of what you
can expect if you attempt anything that stupid again."
"Understand?" She was breathing heavily and still doubled over.
"UNDERSTAND?"
"Y..yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes master."
"What is the punishment for removing your gag without permission."
"The tape...."
"Louder"
"The Tape, " She sobbed.
"Tell me slave have I whipped your pussy twenty times?"
"N..no"
"And the tape, have I used that?"
"NO."
"Then shouldn't you thank me for not punishing you?"
She paused, "Thank you Master."
"Good girl. Now thank me for whipping your pussy."
"Th..thank you for whipping my pussy Master." By now she had
straightened up.
"What won't this cunt do."
"Th.. this cunt won't try to escape, this cunt won't remove her
gag without permission."
"Very good slave," I said, "Now walk to the wall and back."

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

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

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

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

"Good slave," I said encouragingly as I clamped her left nipple.
Each clamp was separate, and made up of three parts. The clamp
itself was of a devilish design which bit harder as it was pulled
and fastened to that was a short length of chain with a small
weight at the end. Any large movement would set the weight
swinging increasing the bite of the clamp and torturing the soft
nipple flesh. Realizing this she refused to move and it took a
couple of quick slaps of her butt with the flogger to get her
moving. Still the improvement was dramatic. The constant bite of
the clamps actively discouraged upper body movement while the
throbbing balls buried deep in her cunt rewarded hip movement.
Within a few minutes these competing influences found balance and
she started to walk as I'd intended, hips slinking, body almost
still, the characteristic strut of the high heeled slut!

By  the time she had done her third lap she was starting to get
the hang of things. She still wobbled a little and I'd had to
catch her a few times when she'd mistimed a step but as her
confidence grew she accepted my direction more readily. As a
reward I removed the clamps and was pleased to see that she didn't
return to her old ways. Still some problems persisted. She seemed
self conscious about strutting in front of me and it was this
rather than any lack of ability that seemed to be holding her
back. We took a rest, I helped her sit on the table to take the
pressure off her feet and gave her a drink. During those few
minutes an idea started to form. She was hot having been denied
most of the day, if I could harness that I could banish some of
her self consciousness. What I needed was something sexy,
something dangerous, the breaking of a taboo or two. The Reverend
Conway didn't look like a liberal, one taboo struck me straight
away.

I helped her back up.
"Close your eyes."
She looked at me doubtfully.
"Look," I said, "this is your choice we can do this with a
blindfold if you want."
"But what if I fall."
"Then I'll catch you," I said, "Now close them."
She did and I moved in close so that I could speak softly into her
ear. Using the remote I selected a disk on the CD machine
upstairs. The opera was gone replaced by smooth sound of classic
Jazz.

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

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

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

You push open the door.

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

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

"Suddenly you see him, his colorful shirt so different from the
overalls he wore this morning when he was clearing your garden.
He stands by the bar, holding a trumpet in his strong brown
fingers waiting to go on. He looks up and sees you, his warm brown
eyes drinking you in. The heat in your pussy increases, your
breath becomes ragged. Then you see her, the half-caste girl handing
him a drink. Her legs are strong and oh so long, her tight white
dress clings to her body like a second skin. Brown ringlets frame
such a beautiful face, but her eyes look at you with contempt.
Just another white whore, and you know it's true, that you came
here like a painted slut for a night of forbidden passion with him.
Now she has him by the arm, sliding her thigh up his leg,
looking at you daring you to compete with her.  You have to cross
that floor, cross it in a way that will make him want you, make
him fuck you, end the torment."

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

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

"Hey baby, what are you doin' here?"
"I had to come, please don't send me away."
I slid my hand over her leather flank, she responded by moving her
leg up stroking my thigh with hers.
"You are one sexy bitch." I ran my fingers along her thigh ending
by tracing the outline of her pussy lips through the tape on her
snatch. She gasped and trembled a little.
"Man you're hot," I kissed her, "Hey babe I keep a room here,
maybe me an' you?"
She moaned which I took to mean yes so I lead her back towards the
cell. Once there I caressed her, using the opportunity to loosen
the corset. Opening my pants I pulled her to me, seized the tape
that gagged her hot snatch and tore it free. She gave a little
gasp, I think I was right about the stubble, then the drawstrings
came tight and the Ben Wa balls popped out. By now she was
quaking and I was very hard. I lay down positioning her on top and
she trust down, her hot damp hole enveloping my shaft in one
velvet swallow.
Then she clamped down hot and tight on my throbbing cock. With her
hands still hammerlocked behind her I was forced to steady her
hips as she moved slowly up and down.
She moved faster and faster and as her passion built so did her
volume. Up until now she had always been gagged when I fucked her
and as her sharp animal cries increased I was tempted to reach up
and  shove the pad gag into her mouth. Of course to do so  would
need much more willpower than I could have mustered right then.
Pleasure flooded my brain and from the wild look on her face I'd
say most of her higher brain functions were paralyzed too. So we
rutted and screamed like two wild animals until finally I exploded
and she came, the two event's separated by less than a heartbeat.
Without her hands to hold her up she collapsed on top of me
exhausted. We panted together for a second or so my cock still
deep inside her.

Then she looked up at me a tear in her eye and said, "Oh Josh, I'm
so sorry." For a second I was confused, thinking she was talking
to me. Then I realized.
"Who's Josh?" I asked softly.
"He was my boyfriend."
"Was?"
"He's dead."
"I'm sorry," And I genuinely was. She seemed a little
uncomfortable and managed to move over to one side, I slipped
out.
"What happened?"
"Hunting accident," She said and I felt her shiver.
"If you want to talk about it..."
She went to shake her head but of course that was impossible so in
the end she whispered "No, thank you Master."
I felt overjoyed, she had used the word "Master" totally naturally
as if she had accepted the situation. I decided to test this
further.

"Who are you?" I asked brushing my hands over her leather flanks
and down over her ass.
"I am your slave," She whispered.
"Louder."
"I am.... your slave."
"Who am I?" I asked, my voice warm and kind like a parent helping
a child prepare for a pop quiz.
"You are my master," She replied, no hesitation or hint of self
consciousness.
"What are you?"
"I am a s...sex slave. I use my body to give pleasure to my master
or any others he commands."
I felt my throat tighten, I knew the next question held part of
the answers I sought. It was a question I had never answered.
"Why did I choose you?"
She looked down, "Because I am a victim," she said.

Part 8 of an ongoing story. Thanks to everyone who wrote with
suggestions some of which are enacted in this chapter

Unfortunately delays are becoming a fact of life made worse by
malfunctioning software. I thank everyone for their patience and
encouragement. BTW some of you may notice that the spelling on this
one is a little odd, for some reason the Lotus WordPro 96 Beta for
OS/2 defaults to a British dictionary and insists on changing ize to
ise. Anyone know a fix????

The web site is still under investigation and I'm in the process of
posting some stories to an FTPable BBS, more later.

 The associated images this time are JO13, JO14 and JO15 which are
recent posts to A.B.P.E.F (for fetish). Not strictly bondage but then
when you see them you'll understand. As always I can't provide images
or reposts.

The next section may be ready in as little as 3 days!!!!


The Mighty Quin (tmquin@ibm.net)
*****************************************************************

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Chapter 8: Stories of Death (M/f, NC, B&D)
=======================





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

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

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

Then in my senior year at High School he died, no illness, no warning
just one day I came home from school and found my mother crying in the
kitchen.  The shock and the grief hit her all at once and she was
never quite the same again.  As for me?  Well one of the constants in
my life was missing and the pain was worse than anything my young mind
could imagine.  Then I did a foolish thing.  My parents had always
treated me as an adult and I was graduating High School at the age of
fifteen.  So I tricked myself into thinking that I was an adult and
bottled the grief inside so as not to upset my mother any further.  I
played the dutiful son and buried my feelings so deep that when it was
all over and I wanted to cry I found I couldn't.  That feeling stayed
bottled up eating away at my guts every day for eight long years.
Then late one night as I lay alone in a hotel room in San Francisco
all that burst to the surface and I cried all night.

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

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

Then when she was fourteen he had asked her out on a date.  It seemed
to have come without warning and I got the feeling that she had
accepted almost by reflex.  Almost accidentally she had fallen into
the relationship, then deliberately she fell in love.  Knowing that
her father would not approve, she had kept their romance a secret.
Over that summer they had seen each other more and more, meeting in
private, lying to friends trying to keep the truth away from the tell
tales and gossips common to all small towns.  As she was underage they
had agreed to limit themselves to oral sex and heavy petting until her
sixteenth birthday.  For six months they had done what kids do and I
think these were the happiest weeks of her young life.

Then Josh started to busy himself on some project.  He was unavailable
most weekends and would not tell her why.  She became jealous, and
started to think he had another girl.  When she finally confronted him
he'd just laughed and asked her to meet him at a small empty cottage
on his father's land.  His family called it "Patrick's House" and his
grandfather had built it for his parents when they were first married.
She had been there before of course, it was one of the few places were
they had any privacy.  This time she went with some trepidation
thinking that perhaps he wanted to break up.  Instead he surprised her
with an engagement ring on a silver chain she could wear it around her
neck and a promise of marriage.  Then they walked through the empty
rooms looking at the work he'd done to make it their home and planned
their new life together.

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

It took a lot of coaxing to get her to tell me about his death.  I
knew from experience that it was necessary, that if she didn't get it
in the open it would continue to haunt her.  It was painful and she
cried like a child as she went through his last day.  They'd had a
fight, he'd wanted to formally ask her father.  She had said no.
Angry words were said then he'd stormed off.  He'd apparently gone
hunting, something he did quiet often when he needed to think, when he
didn't return this family sent out search parties.  They had found him
at the bottom of a dirt bank in a lonely wood.  She told me how he had
slipped and fell shooting himself in the process then bleed to death
unable to climb out again.  At that moment she broke down completely,
it took another hour before she was cried out.  I held her until the
end encouraging her to let it go providing the physical comfort a
person needs at that time.  When she finished she was weak and
emotionally drained.

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

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

"Who are you?"  I asked gently.

"A slave for your pleasure, Master."

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

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

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

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

Then I remembered the little "I'm sorry Josh" line she'd said.  Did
she feel unfaithful to his memory?  I could force her to have sex, I
could even make her body betray her so that she enjoyed it but I
couldn't make her invest any emotion involvement.  Was that the
answer?  Had sex meant something more than pleasure to her this time?
Had the guilt of that discovery burst the dam wall of all that pent up
grief?  I didn't know and felt not for the first time that a degree in
psychology would be more useful right now.  Then I remembered
Caroline's textbooks still sitting in the back room of my garage
awaiting the furnace.  Perhaps the answer was in there?  I decided to
rescue them and find out.  Now though it was time for bed so I started
the dishwasher and headed upstairs.  I settled down and for the first
time that I could remember I had a dream.

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

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


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

She was looking at me, big blue eyes above the wide padded strap that
gagged her.  Much to my surprise there was non of the accusing looks
she normally gave me.  Instead she had a rather pained expression,
eyes slightly puffy like she had wept for a long time.  I found myself
opening the big knife my grandfather had given me and I nervously
stepped forward.  Bringing the knife to the crotch strap I cut the
thin leather lace above her pussy and started to pull it from between
her cunt lips.  Much to my surprise it refused to budge.  I pulled
harder and was shocked when a large ball of the leather cord popped
out of her hole.  Almost immediately she started to thrash and moan
behind her gag and I realised she was orgasming.  More blood poured
down her body as the straps literally cut her limbs.  I felt
frightened but somehow stepped forward.  Her rapid motion caused her
to slip from my grasp and a found her drifting off in the wind like a
bizarre fetish balloon....

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

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

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

It was a picture of Josh and Caroline.

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

Except this one hadn't.

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

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

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

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

"Put these on, everything but the gloves."  She complied quickly and I
stood back to admire the result.  The outfit was not that much
different from what she had worn on her first night.  A shiny black
latex halter top came first.  The rubber was ribbed to give it a
corset like effect.  It hugged her upper body pushing her tits up and
out in a pleasing way while leaving her stomach bare.  Next came a
matching black latex garter belt, I'd removed the elastic so it was
really only being used as a sash to cover the area between her hips
and her shaved pubis.  The latex boots which came to the top of her
creamy thighs were little more than thigh high latex stockings with
five inch heels attached, they tied at the top and hugged her legs
like a second skin.  At this point I had her stop and apply makeup as
directed.  The last time I'd been concerned with her having a natural
look so her makeup had been underplayed.  Now I wanted the young vamp
look, lot's of makeup but applied in a way that still left her looking
young and fresh.  I selected a baby doll pink lipstick and blusher
combination and waited for her to apply it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I had her stand and using the remote I programmed a track into the
sound system.
"Now slave we are going to try something freeform.  I want you to
interpret the music for me just do whatever you feel."  She looked
unsure so remembering my experience from last night I suggested that
she closed her eyes.
"Ok slave I want you to imagine this.  You are still a student, and
have one day to get enough money to pay your rent or you loose the
apartment.  One of your friends has told you of a club she works at
when times are tough.  She says that they always need dancers and that
a girl willing to work at it can make some good money.  You asked the
owner but he thinks you are too dowdy and plain. You beg you are so
desperate and in the end he gives you a trial; if you get a good
response from his customers he'll give you the job."

I could see her trembling, one latex covered hand had made it's way
down to her crotch and she was already rubbing the slick palm against
her hot lips.  Encouraged I continued.
"You look through the wardrobe, they have all sorts of things, nurses
and cops uniforms, bathing suits but realising that you have to make a
good impression you pick the riskiest outfit you can find.  It's slick
black rubber and it clings to your body like a second skin.  You can
feel it's touch, smell the scent of hot rubber mixed with the sweat of
all the other girls who have worn it.  Can you feel it slave?"

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

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

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

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

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

Then I suddenly realised that in my excitement I hadn't taken any
shots.  I quickly started taking a series of her roving hands
drifting between tits and cunt.  She arched her back eyes once again
closed one hand drifted up and released her hair which tumbled around
her shoulders.  A quick quarter turn of her head and she flicked it
out so that the golden strands now covered her tits as well.  Then
as I watched both hands drifted backwards towards the
straps that held the halter in place.  It had been designed for easy
removal, always a consideration when the wearer is intended to be
bound.  She found the release and it dropped away from her shoulders.
One arm kept it clutched to her body and then she started to move it
rubbing it's silky smoothness over her tits and belly.  She arched her
back teasing the imaginary audience with a suggestion of breast all
the time getting the tactile stimulation from rubbing the latex
against her hot body.  Finally she tossed it aside leaving her erect
nipples free to be played with.  I focused in for a close-up as she
took both nipples between thumb and forefinger and gently rolled them,
then she flicked her head back and moaned.  Again she arched her back
and one hand returned to her dripping box.  Using the two outer
fingers to spread the lips she started to tickle her clit.  She
slipped a finger inside, then two by now the moans were rapidly
becoming squeals.  Two more quick photos, one a close-up of her finger
fucking herself the other showing her enraptured face so her identity
was in no doubt and I found myself out of film.  I could account for
less than half of the 36 frames.  Still I knew I had some hot shots
and I looked forward to seeing what else I'd taken.

Looking at her I could tell that she was close and I had already
decided that for the time being she should only cum by my hand.  I
didn't like being a party pooper but it couldn't be helped.  I pulled
a pair of handcuffs from my pocket and quietly came up behind her.
Not that being quiet was necessary the music was loud and she was too
far gone to care.  I took the hand that was playing with her nipples
first, she didn't resist I don't think she even noticed as I closed
the cuff around it.  Pulling it down behind her I grabbed the other
wrist.  Now she resisted, she was so close she would have killed at
that moment.  Still I was stronger and in a better position so after a
brief struggle I managed to cuff the other wrist in place.  She
moaned and started to rub her thighs together.  When that didn't work
she turned and started rubbing her cunt against the thigh of my
leather pants, I twisted her around.  I had intended to deny her an
orgasm and keep her wanting it for the rest of the day but she had
danced so well I decided to give her a break.  I twisted her to face
me, pulling her close until I felt one erect nipple embed itself in my
chest.  Grabbing a handful of hair I twisted her head until she was
looking into my eyes.  Then very deliberately I slowly finger fucked
her with my free hand.  One finger tickled her clit as I thrust
another as deep as I could inside her.  She clamped down squeezing the
finger tightly.  Leaving my thumb to work on the nub I thrust two more
fingers inside and was rewarded by a gasp as she trust her hips
towards me.  Then I slowly brought her off, listening to her cries as
the decibel level rose.  All the time I was watching her emotions
though the lust glazed windows of her eyes.  First came need mixed
with a little embarrassment.  As she came closer the need started to
take over completely and her cunt started to clamp down even harder on
my leather covered fingers.  Next came a look of rapture which
coincided with the spasm my fingers felt deep inside her.  Then she
gave a look of fulfilment, a deep sigh and then she smiled in a dreamy
way.  For a second there was something new and something totally
unexpected.  For an instant before she broke my gaze there was
something that just possibly could be love.

I brought my gloved hand up to her mouth and had her suck the fingers
clean.  This took longer than I'd thought and her little tongue
movements were deliberately suggestive.  It also seemed that she liked
the smell of pussy juice and leather which is useful when you are
trying to make a girl into a leather slut.  I lead her back to the
table and replaced the collar fastening it again to one of the chains
over the table.  I freed her hands and for a moment considered
retrieving the halter.  In the end I left her topless and busied
myself tidying up the dungeon.  She sat on the edge of the table
licking the juices from her fingers deep in thought.  In the end I had
to know.

"Ok out with it Slave."

"Sorry Master?"

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

She took a deep breath, "My college tuition, it's a scholarship."
I must have looked surprised, certainly that wasn't what I'd expected
her to say.  It seemed as relevant to what had just happened as the
gross national product of Guam.
"So?"  I asked.
"If I let it lapse then I won't get another opportunity.  I know you
intend to keep me for some time, perhaps for years but sooner or later
you'll get tired of me and let me go.  I want a future Master, I want
an education."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How about a brand?"  I asked innocently, "Something to mark you as
mine, let those horny college boy's know that they are messing with
someone else's property."  I could feel her stiffen.
"How about here," I said indicating a spot just above her right
nipple.  A bra or regular dress would hide it, but itsy bitsy bikini's
or dresses with radical necklines would be out.

She swallowed, "Fine..."

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

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

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

"And the child?"

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

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

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

As promised Chapter 9 and in fact chapter 10 may not be that far in
the future. Again apologies for strange spellings as I still haven't
figure out the spellcheck.

Associated images are PJW00332.JPG, PJW00331.JPG, BISH0020.JPG and
BISH0021.JPG. Which are recent posts to A.P.B.E.B. As always I cannot
provide reposts or images.

Just a note on the images. They are not illistrations of the Caroline
story, they are just images that are close to what I have in mind. In
most cases the story is written first and close images are then found.
Sometimes the text can be modified so that it more perfectly reflects
the image, but in most cases it can't because the exact details of
bondage and costume differ too much. So to answer those people who
like to point out that in picture X she isn't ball gagged or not
wearing gloves. The story is right the image is close.

Quin

*****************************************************************

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Chapter 9: Meeting Maggie
=======================

And strangely enough it was my geekyness that saved her.

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

Suicide was one unpleasantness that I'd been forced to consider.  Some
people don't react well to being locked up.  Taking their own life is
sometimes preferable and any prison warder can tell of ingenious
suicides even when the inmate was being closely watched.  When
Caroline collapsed she had enough slack chain to fall perhaps 3 feet
before it became taught.  At the very least that could hurt as the
collar pulled tight, at worst she could break her neck.  The moment
the mounting point came under load a strain gauge registered the
sudden impulse and this was sent to the computer.  Now the computer
understands the difference between static and impulse loading, it will
let much more than Caroline's weight be applied to the chain but not
suddenly.  In the instant she fell at a speed far faster that any
human could react the machine determined she was in danger and fired
an explosive bolt severing the mounting at the ceiling.

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

"What the fuck is the matter with you!"  I almost screamed, "Are you
trying to kill yourself."
"You...you said...."
"What the fuck does that mater!!"  I shook her.  For the first time I
came within a heartbeat of hitting her. She started to cry.

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

"A joke," I said, "That's all.  If I'd realised there was lemming
blood in your family I'd have been more careful."
"So it's a joke?"
"We need to discuss this, " I said, "But not now."
I pushed her back against the table and locked the chain to one of the
tables mountings.  I wanted her secure before I proceeded any further.

"Now take the gloves off."

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

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

"Please?"

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

She hesitated but not for long and I pushed the large rubber ball
firmly into her mouth.  For some reason they call this a ball gag
trainer, despite the fact that it is considerably better designed than
a ball gag.  As well as the usual ball and strap there is a harness
that attaches to the strap then runs either side of the victims nose
to buckle at the back of the head.  A second strap passes under the
chin to force the jaw tightly closed around the ball.  It is very
effective and has the added advantage that once locked in place it
can't be worked free even if the victim has the use of her hands.
Yesterdays fiasco would not happen again.  Once everything was
strapped and locked I decided to keep her entertained and distracted.
I showed her what I had in mind, a vibrator and harness just as
inescapable as the rest of the bondage.  It had an added twist, a
block of tiny rubber fingers that fastened over the clit and which the
designers claimed increased the stimulation without improving the
chances of achieving orgasm.  This seemed like a good time to test it
out.
There was a bit of a struggle getting it locked in place but when it
was finished the harness looked just like a tight pair of latex
panties.  The only exception was the speed control knob which jutted
out between her legs.  Reaching down I set her to simmer, and listened
to the small moans that escaped from behind the gag.

The head harness had a number of additional components which I'd put
in my pocket I quickly retrieved the blindfold section and fastened it
over her eyes using the snap fasteners provided.  She just stood and
shivered as I completed my preparations.  She didn't resist as I
fastened a pair of leg irons to her booted ankles.  I looked down and
started to breath again, she'd been made safe.  I didn't know what all
that was about but I was sure that there was no way she could hurt
herself now.  I took her back to the cell, she started to whimper and
tried to say something.  The trainer had been modified so that I
didn't need to remove it to get at the ball.  I gently unlocked a
small padlock, undid a couple of buckles and popped the ball free.

"Please," She said, "I'm sorry I didn't mean....."
"You have one minute to furnish an explanation, or you are on
punishment Slave."

"Please, I can't."
"Who are you?"  I demanded.
"A ss..slave Master."
"What do slaves do?"
"Give pleasure to my Master and all others he designates."
Which was true but not what I wanted her to say.
"What is rule number one."
"Obey first time, every time."
"And if a slave doesn't."
Her lip trembled, "She is punished."
"So I'm giving you a direct order, I want you to tell me what this is
about right now!"
She paused, even with her eyes and most of her face
covered I could see a conflict underway.

At last she said, "It was what you said about a baby girl."

I smiled, though of course she couldn't see it.  "What of it Slave," I
said, "As Master that is my right!"

It was the wrong thing to say. She started crying again. I tried to
get though but is was no good.  In the end I attached the wire and
left her sobbing on the bed.

I now knew absolutely that there was something wrong.  Her reactions
hadn't been right from the beginning.  Her sudden mood swings, her
lack of backbone and now this.  I had a number of theories most of
which revolved around major mental illness.  One thing was certain I
was going to need expert help.

I made two calls.  First I called Vicky at work.  I explained that a
last minute personal problem had come up and that I'd have to postpone
things for a week.  She seemed disappointed until I offered to pay her
for the cancelled session and take her to lunch to discuss future
plans.  Next I called an old college friend, much to my relief she had
most of the afternoon off so I arranged to meet her at a bar we both
knew.  I made my preparations, gave Caroline a drink and helped her to
the toilet.  She was silent though out and I said as little as
possible.  Then satisfied that she would be all right for the next few
hours I left.

Vicky worked as a Dental Hygienist in a section of town that didn't
have many good restaurants.  I'd arranged to meet her outside the
front of her building then go to a little bistro I knew.  As she
walked towards the car I knew I'd made a good choice.  She was almost
exactly Caroline's height and build.  Instead of Caroline's mane of
golden blond hair she had a short mousy bob and they didn't look much
alike in the face, but all in all I was satisfied.  Any of the outfits
I had bought should fit with little difficulty and most importantly in
a blond wig and wearing Caroline's clothes they would be
indistinguishable in long shot.

Once we were at the restaurant I showed her my portfolio, shot's I'd
taken with Andy Pearson using some of his models.  I had a few photo's
taken in Paris last year; Sam, Jean Paul and me, the two of us
chatting with Claudia.  I'm not usually a name dropper but this was
the girl's first modelling job and I felt the need to convince her
that I wasn't some random freak.  I paid her and apologized again then
we ordered.

She had a pleasing if somewhat dull personality and tended to limit
conversations to subjects she felt comfortable with.  For the first
part of the meal the subject of teeth made up a large part of the
discussion.  Then I lucked out and discovered she had a liking for
motorcycles.  This was more up my alley and the second half of the
meal was more entertaining.  I said my goodbyes, promised to call and
headed for Boston.

Mike's is one of the hidden gems of Boston night life.  Those who know
it call it the real "Cheers" a quiet unassuming Irish American bar
with a loyal clientele which doesn't feel the need to advertize or
cash in on the tourist trade.  The regulars keep it their little
secret and to be accepted there feels as much a privilege as being a
member of some exclusive gentlemen's club.  Mike's draws most of it's
regulars from the academic staff of the local universities.  No one
knows how that came about but I suspect that it is far enough away
from any of the colleges to be outside undergraduate stagger range.
This allows the professors chance to meet, talk and drink without the
risk of student interruption.  I arrived early and bought the first
round planting myself in my usual booth and waited.  A number of
regulars passed and a few stopped to chat and the business of Mike's
flowed around me.  I was part way through the Globe crossword when a
damp figure noisily shook her umbrella next to me.

I glanced up, "Hello Maggie, is it raining?"
"No," She said, "I just like carrying wet umbrellas about.  For a
supposedly intelligent man Richard Cody you do say some of the most
stupid things."  She pointed at the pint of Guinness on the table, "Is
that mine?"  When I nodded she drank it at a surprising speed.  The
waitress had already seen that coming and was heading in for the next
round.

"Same again?" I asked.

"Hell no.  If you asked me to drop everything and head on over it
means you've got yourself a problem and that being the case I'm on a
professional rate."  She smiled at the waitress.  Tell George I'll
have a brandy and ginger ale, and I want VSOP non of that cheap
rubbish.  Mr Cody here tells me he's a paper millionaire lets see if
we can't make him spend some of it shall we."

I'd met Margaret O'Hanks during my postgraduate research.  She was a
short slim redhead with wonderful green eyes and a pushy personality.
I can't remember exactly how we met but I think our attraction was
based on common need; I needed a friend and she needed a TV set.
I could virtually guarantee that three minutes before the start of
"Saturday Night Live" there would be a knock at the door and she would
just walk in sit down and watch it as if she owned the place.  She had
also been my first gay friend and we spent many happy hours cruising
the bars for chicks.  It hadn't done my ego any good that she seemed
better at picking up women than I was.  For a time we had shared a
house forming an unlikely threesome with a tall, willowy, bisexual
blonde called Kathy.  Three in a bed sessions had been quite common
though Maggie and I only ever did it together once which had been
enough to persuade her that penile sex was over rated.  She was a keen
if sometimes viscous practical joker, and being her friend was no
protection.  Some of her exploits had become legends yet surprisingly
she had been asked to stay on after graduation and had been there ever
since.  She was now a well respected researcher in experimental
clinical psychology. As always she had guessed right, I needed
advice.

She hung up her coat and deposited the umbrella in the stand making it
back to the booth about the same time the drink did.

"Keep an eye this way dear and keep them coming," She said to the
waitress who sensing a large tip in the air started to orbit a
discrete distance from our table.  Maggie took a sip and then looked
up and smiled.

"So Cody how's the love life, finally got over the Ice Queen."

"Her name is Samantha."

"I know what her name is," She said sharply.  "And I also know that
you're well rid of her.  Jumped up little bitch.  Some women are made
too beautiful for their own or anyone else's good."

"You're only saying that because she turned you down!"

"She was tempted boy!  Little miss smarty pants likes the boys all
right but she's got an itch in her pants only another woman can
scratch."

I smiled, this was an old argument one, we'd started almost
twenty years ago and it was still going strong.  It was Maggie's
contention that everyone was bisexual, that screaming hetros and gays
were just extremes being 90% plus in one direction or the other.  She
believed that it was only social taboo that stopped people
experimenting and realising the truth.  Of course she was willing to
help any girl who wanted to see if this was true, but that she claimed
did not invalidate the point.

I felt it was time to change the subject.

"Talking about itches how's things with you?"

A strange mixture of emotions played across her face, "I'm thinking of
becoming a nun."

"Why?"

"Hey, I've been celibate for almost nine months.  If I'm going to do
without then I may as well get the recognition for it."  She spat it
out with a bitterness I'd never seen before.
"Cheers," She downed the drink and as if by magic the waitress
appeared.  "Same again."

"Look," I said feeling uncomfortable, "If this is a bad time..."

"No, look I'm just a little pissed off right now."  She gave a deep
sigh.  "Last Christmas there was a bit of a scandal, girl claimed a
professor offered to fix her grades for sex.  Now just about everyone
knew she was lying, the guy she accused was more interested in this
years star quarterback for one thing but the Provost's office sent
around a memo about fraternization.  Well you know."

"And you're taking it seriously?"

She scowled again, "It hasn't really stopped anyone.  I don't think
anyone really trades grades but there are a lot of smart young women
attending college these days.  If you're getting close to a girl,
especially if she's gifted and you want to give her extra help.  Well
you know."  She took another sip, "Current Provost doesn't like me.
Oh he'll turn a blind eye while some of this male friends play around
but you can bet that if I so much as look at a girl."

 I nodded.

"And it's so unfair," She continued, "I'm interested, she's interested
and I know that if I see her some stoolie will blow the whistle so
fast I won't even have time to take my pantyhose off."  She sat
and moped for a while I could tell she was twisted up inside.  I
started to wish that I'd kept in contact more, but after Sam dumped me
I was too preoccupied and the past few months had been full of
preparations for the kidnapping.

Eventually she looked up and smiled "Anyway what about you."

I was tempted to forget about it, but that would leave me with a
dysfunctional and potentially suicidal slave.  So I let another round
come by before I started into my story.  I couldn't tell her the
complete truth of course, Maggie was ok but I couldn't really start
with "There is this girl I kidnapped..."  So instead I told her the
story I had concocted in the car on the way up.  I said that I'd met a
girl called Elizabeth at a college party.  That we'd been attracted
and started dating, I said that she liked bondage sex and rough trade
that we had been going steady except that she had these little
incidents.  I recounted the stories as close to how they happened as
possible omitting only the non consensual nature of her imprisonment
and the existence of the dungeon.  Maggie listened without saying
anything but I noticed the occasional flicker of interest most of
which coincided with details of the bondage.

"You think she's crazy."  It was a statement and her green eyes
watched intensely.

"I think it's a possibility," I said, "If I hadn't made such a bad job
of tying off that rope she could have hung herself."

"I'd really need to see her, do a full interview."  She paused, " Look
I have a little practice outside the university she could go there."

I shook my head, "If she even suspects that I've spoken to a
psychiatrist she'd walk, I'm sure.  She's a very private person if she
won't tell me, then god knows how she'd react to you."

She sipped her drink and in a quiet voice said, "Was she abused as a
child."

I frowned.  "I don't think so.  Her father was a minister," I said
hoping I hadn't given enough way that could link Caroline with
"Elizabeth".

"That doesn't mean anything.  Nine times out of ten families involved
in incest look perfectly respectable from outside.  It doesn't even
have to be a family member just someone with perceived authority over
the child.  One thing to me seems telling, the girl has difficulty
attaining orgasm except when forced."

I scratched my head, I didn't see that but then I wasn't the
professional.

She glanced out of the window.  It had stopped raining and was already
quite dark.  A young woman was crossing the street dragging her seven
or eight year old daughter with her.  For a moment I thought of
Caroline's imaginary dusty faced daughter.  "Look at that child,"
Maggie said, "Assume that you wanted to have sex with her."  I pulled
a face.  "Look just concentrate on the practicalities.  She is smaller
and weaker than you, something a lot of pedophiles find particularly
attractive.  She has no chance of stopping you but when you're done
there is a problem; what if she tells.  You could bribe her, but that
may not work, you could kill her but that's even worse.  Threats are
much better and the best yet is to suggest to the child that they have
done something wrong.  You see if you threaten to kill her or her
parents that may work, but even a child knows that you can't watch her
all the time.  Sooner or later they'll feel safe enough to talk.  Now
what if you tell her that she was responsible, that she was the one
that caused it and that if she is found out she will be the one
punished?  Then she is never safe.  The trusted adult that she may
otherwise talk to becomes a potential enemy.  The rapist and the child
share a secret, one which the child believes is her fault.  She
believes that any adult discovering the truth will punish her."

"I still don't see."  I said, "Sorry if I seem a little slow but what
does this have to do with orgasms."

"Ever have performance anxiety Dick?" She smiled when she saw my face.
"Men's sexual wiring is fairly straight forward, stimulus, erection
ejaculation.  Yet despite that a bit of emotional stress and the whole
thing shuts down.  Women are far more connected emotionally far more
susceptible to emotional shutdown.  Suppose that little girl grows up,
she thinks sex is dirty, evil and her fault.  All the stress and
trauma get transferred to the act whenever she has sex she associates
it with that trauma and she shuts down.  Now you perform a highly
symbolic mock rape one were she is told that she is nothing, a slave
with no choice, no responsibility.  Do you see if she is forced she
has no responsibility.  If you then demand orgasm as part of the
ritual not only is part of the opposing stimulus removed you are
adding extra incentive through threat of punishment."

"Seems somewhat unlikely," I said, "And it doesn't explain the recent
incident."

"Has she had an abortion?"

"Hell I don't know, it's not something that comes up in conversation.
She's a bible belter, I doubt she could find a clinic that hadn't been
burnt down."

"Exactly!  To me that clinches it.  Suppose he got her pregnant, he
knows the baby means discovery so he want's her to get rid of it.
She's been told all her life that abortion is evil so she resists.  So
he threatens her, there is still a lot of stigma associated with being
an unmarried mother in some places, she's probably seen what happened
to other girls.  So he tells her that her life is over if she keeps
the baby, tells her about the pointed fingers, the accusing looks."

The waitress swung in with yet another round.

"I need to see her Richard.  If I'm even a little right about what's
going on here she needs at least counselling, possibly therapy."

"I don't think she's ready for that.  What could I do for her, perhaps
if I could start the process then she may realise she has a problem."

She shook her head, "You know my feelings about amateur psychotherapy.
You're likely to do more harm than good.  What you need to do is get
her to acknowledge the problem then find someone willing to take her
case.  My offer still stands and you get the added benefit that I
can't hit on her if she's a patient."

I felt the need to extricate myself from the conversation.

"What else are you doing these days, at college."
She took the hint, "The physiology of social responsibility.  We have
the use of an MRI.  I'm trying to find what makes Mother Teressa
different from Ted Bundy."

"Oh," I said starting to wish that I hadn't changed the subject.

"What we discovered is quite interesting.  Sociopaths tend to be very
intelligent, fastidious beyond belief and have real difficulty dealing
with people.  Bit like you in fact."

"Thanks," I said, "Now you must excuse me I haven't killed someone for
over an hour."
She rolled her eyes, "We also discovered that under an MRI they have
certain abnormal characteristics, a general change in brain
morphology.  The surprising thing is that this abnormality is shared
by 10 to 20% of our sample usually the more intelligent ones, yet
serial killers represent less than one percent of the general
population."

"Great," I said, "And I didn't feel secure before."

"What it means is that the structure of your brain has less impact on
what you do than the conditioning it receives through life.  The
Manson family for instance.  When we ran tests on Charlie we found
that he was far gone, but other members even those who committed
murder would be considered normal according to the scan.  It's almost
as if they somehow became an extension of Manson, playing out his
madness."

I started to get interested. "How is that?"

"It's not that uncommon actually, over time people can become totally
dependant on one another even to the point where a person is basically
just an extension of someone else.  They continue to function as
individuals but act in concert with another to the point were that
persons wants and desires become more important than their own.  The
so called Stockholm Syndrome is a minor manifestation.  I wrote a
paper on it last year something you would know if you bothered to look
me up now and then."  The hint of bitterness had returned and I was
confused.  We had only ever really been close friends, given her
sexual preference that was all that we could have been.  Yet she
sounded like a neglected lover.

"Well I have to go," I said, "Got a trip to Seattle day after tomorrow
and I still need to pack."

"Wait," She said and I recognised the look of need in her eyes.

"Maggie?  I didn't think?"

"Desperate times," She smiled weakly, "I have an itch.  Don't worry I
won't hold it against you if the answers no."

"But why now?"

"What I said, about the child and the guilt.  It wasn't entirely from
clinical experience."
She must have seen my shocked face.
"It was my uncle, both my parents worked and he was a postman.  After
work he used to collect me from school and I'd stay with him until my
father came home.  I always felt that was why I preferred to do it
with women, no bad associations.  I can't even masturbate properly."

"Oh god!"  I said and I was genuinely sorry.
She smiled weakly, "Nine months...."
"What do you want?"
"Do what you do with her," She begged, "I think it can work. It
removes the responsability, the feeling of guilt."

"I can't," I said as the dark side of my brain screamed YES.
"Please, just this once.  I won't blame you either way."
I looked into her eyes.  "Have you done this before?"
She shook her head and my mind went into turmoil.  She was almost
begging and it would answer some of the fantasies I'd had since
college.  On the other hand I stood every chance of blowing things
with my oldest friend.

"If I agree there are a few ground rules.  First you must call me
Master and yourself This Slut. Second for the next three hours you are
mine, you have no right to question any of my decisions. You will obey
first time every time.  If you don't think you can do that walk away.

She looked up.  I could tell it was a struggle, if there was anyone I
knew with a dominant personality it was her.  To go to being a sub was
the most dramatic change I could think of.

She looked up, "Master, this slut is ready."
"Go into the bathroom and remove your panties and hose.  Put them in
your bag."  She blushed but stood and headed for the ladies.  I
whistled the waitress over and settled the bill.

She came out of the toilet so red that several people enquired if she
was all right.  To look you couldn't tell that she wore no panties but
she knew and she walked very carefully again causing comments from the
others.

I pulled her over, "What are you doing?"
"Please I...."
"This slut!" I hissed
"Please, the..this slut doesn't want them to see....."
"They won't if you move normally.  You just bought your first
punishment, if you don't put your head up and strut out of here like a
slave slut should we'll make that two."  Then we left, as ordered she
took long strides with her head back and when she found that her long
skirt still hid everything she started to relax and enjoy things.
She'd taken a taxi to get here so we wandered up the rapidly drying
streets towards my car.

I think she thought we were off to her apartment but I had other
plans.  The sex shop was not one of my usual haunts, the ones in New
York carried a better stock, but I'd made a point of finding it in
case I had any special needs.  This one had a female cashier which was
not as unusual as you might think, sex shops obey the same economic
laws as your local deli.  The cashier looked up from her paper as we
entered but was smart enough not to comment.  My principle interest
was restraints, I didn't carry any with me in case the car was
stopped.  However that night I was feeling especially generous so I
browsed the female apparel section.  The choice wasn't that good
mostly cheaply put together PVC and rubber items at over
inflated prices.  Fortunately Maggie was relatively small and I found
a nice leather corselet that had obviously been overlooked.  I
couldn't find matching gloves and boots but cheap PVC pairs would do
for now.  I handed her my choice and nodded towards the changing
rooms.  She blushed and started to open her mouth to say something but
catching my eye she stopped and did as she was told.

While she was gone I took a pair of handcuffs, a ball gag, a
blindfold, a collar, some cuffs and a pair of nipple clamps.  I had
them put rapidly into a plain bag so that she couldn't see what I'd
bought.  I glanced back towards the changing room and saw a gloved
hand reach out through the curtain and beckon.  Smiling I asked the
cashier for another bag which I stuffed in my pocket.

Pulling aside the curtain I glanced inside.  The change was
astonishing, it seemed that the leather loved her body, flowing over
her torso like fine black paint.  Her nipples were already very hard
and pushed uncomfortably through the peepholes cut into the cups.
Down by her crotch traces of pubic hair showed around the point were
the corselet passed between her legs.  I also noticed the zipper that
passed between her legs allowing easy access without the need to
remove the whole thing.  All in all I was quite taken with the design
and decided to have something similar made for Caroline.  The boots
and gloves were a bit of a disappointment, but if Maggie took to this
look I could always get her a decent set for next Christmas.

"Well Master what do you think?"  The thrill was starting to get to
her and she was more like the fun loving kid I first knew.  I
scratched my head as if undecided.  In truth I'd already paid for
everything but I had something in mind.

"Don't know," I said, "Why don't you show the cashier?"

She looked shocked. "No I couldn't!"

"Why not?"  I asked, "She doesn't know you and you'll never meet
again.  Besides if she likes it you may have found someone who will
scratch that itch a bit more regularly."

Her nipples had hardened some more and I knew it was only a few
minutes before her brain did what her body already wanted.  "Strut
slave, remember you are your Masters slut.  Do it with pride."

She started to walk towards the cashier slinking along with no
difficulty.  Maggie had always loved high heels and had quite a few
years practice on poor Caroline.  There were no accidents, no
tottering, she just oozed towards the desk while behind her I pulled
out the bag and got busy.

She was a big hit with the cashier as I walked towards the counter
they were already exchanging numbers.

"She likes it," Maggie said with some glee, "Are you going to buy it?"
"Already have, " I said and passed over her jacket.  Then she realised
what was in the other bag.  I followed her gaze, "Yep we're wearing it
out."  Her face was filled with horror.  I had given her a short
leather jacket, her overcoat, and purse were with the rest of her
clothes in the bag.  Before she had time to think I picked up the bag
of restraints and headed for the door.  It took a while for her to
catch up I was walking deliberately fast and running in high heeled
thigh boots isn't easy even for an expert.

"You...You.."
I smiled, "I knew you couldn't take it," I said, "So you want to give
up."
Maggie never gave up.  It was her creed, she would never admit that
she couldn't cut it.  I knew that she was fuming but in the end all
she said was, "You are walking too fast Master!"  I smiled and slowed
down.  We'd parked a fair distance away and the walk was quite
interesting.  She managed to fasten the jacket over her erect nipples
but is was obvious from her breathing that they were rubbing on the
lining.  A faint odour told me that she was now truly damp.

At the street corner two working girls stood and touted for custom.
Hearing the click of heels on concrete they turned.  Maggie was quite
a sight, The jacket hid most of the outfit down to the waist but her
shiny gloved hands gave some hint of what was underneath.  The leather
covered crotch was a bit of a give away too as were the vinyl thigh
boots.  They made the obvious conclusion that Maggie was intruding on
their territory.  If she had been alone they would probably have taken
it from her hide but I was either a customer or her pimp and whore
etiquette meant that nothing would happen now.  Maggie could sense the
hostility and started to fall back.

"Hey mister, she with you?"
"Yep," I said stopping at the corner to allow her to catch up."
"How much she charge you?" The shorter one asked.
Maggie was close enough now to hear the conversation. I turned towards
her.
"A C note wasn't it love?"
She was lost for words, the short whore wasn't.
"Hang on I know her."  Maggie winced, the thought of anyone she knew
seeing her like this was unbearable.

"Hey Red didn't the doctor tell you not to go out again until the
infection cleared up!"  The taller one got the idea and ran with it.
"That's right Red you have to finish all the tablets."  Maggie was too
horrified to speak.  "I'd leave her alone if I was you, she's got the
clap.  Now both me and Trudy are clean and we'll even take you at
the same rate."

I turned to her looking shocked, "Is this true?"  I could see she
wanted to die.
"N.....no please."
It was time to put her out of her misery.
"Sorry ladies but the police doctor assures me that my partner here is
free from all diseases."
Now it was their turn to wince.  The small one swore.
"You lucked out girls, we're not Vice and we're too tired to work out
jurisdiction.  I turned to Maggie.  "If we let them off we can get
back sooner. What do you think?"
Maggie had pulled herself up to her full height and was smiling, she
gave the girls a reasonable imitation of a thousand yard stare.

"I should run you in buy rights," She said sounding unsure, "But then
there's the paperwork."
Feeling uncomfortable and afraid Maggie would change her mind they
moved on taking the occasional glance back at us until we were out of
sight.

She felt better when we got in the car.

"Can I ask for a time-out here."
"What's the matter Slave can't cut it."
"I can cut it. All I want is a 2 minute time-out.
"Ok," I said,"But we add the two minutes on at the end."
"Is this how you treat this Elizabeth girl?"
"Nope, it's the way I treat you?"
"Why?"
"Well for a start theres my twenty first birthday party when you left
me naked and handcuffed to that tree. What was it you said, something
like if you can't torture your friends who can you torture? "
She turned white, "God I forgot all about that."
I turned and smiled, "I didn't."
"That was different, it was a joke!"
"It was snowing."
"Not when we started.  Do you mean that you've been
saving that for all these years"
"Revenge is a dish best served cold," I said with the biggest smile I
could manage.  Then some of the tension broke and she started
laughing.
"God I feel like I'm eighteen again.  Were we nuts or what?"
"Still are!"  I said, "You only grow old if you want to.  End of
time-out!"

We stopped of at a seven eleven on the way back to buy some general
supplies.  I felt sure that the cashier should have figured out what I
was doing, buying duct tape, clothes line and the like.  He didn't
seem to think it odd or pass comment, probably relieved I wasn't
trying to rob him.

I got back to find her rubbing her crotch.

"Naughty slave," I said and reached for the restraints bag.  I'd
already tried the key in the handcuffs and added them to my key ring
so all I needed to do was feel for the metal object.  I made her lean
forward and before she knew what was happening I'd cuffed her hands
behind her.

The smell of hot cunt still filled the car and she squirmed
occasionally looking to get a bit more sensation.  We drove to her
apartment complex, she didn't have a car but she did have a space in
the basement car park. I used her key and headed down.  Once there I
relented a little and fastened the overcoat about her shoulders.  Of
course it couldn't do anything about the fuck me heels but it hid most
of the outfit and the handcuffs.  Her apartment was near to the
elevator so I decided to take one last risk.  While we waited in the
empty car park I went through the bags and collected a few items.

"Open wide."
"What?"
"I'm going to gag you," I said sweetly.
A look of horror suddenly spread over her face.  "Oh god not here.
These are my neighbors!"  She saw the look in my eye and opened her
mouth.  I shoved her panties firmly inside, of course she was no
stranger to pussy juice so they probably tasted familiar.  I few
strips of duct tape later and she was effectively gagged.  I was
pleased with the result but it was a little obvious.  As Maggie was a
consensual partner it was not quite as critical as if I was
transporting Caroline, if we were caught we would be embarrassed but
non of us would go to jail.  Still I wanted to give her the thrill
with minimal actual risk.  So I took a head scarf I'd bought at the
convenience store and tied it around her head.  I deliberately tied it
a little forward so that it concealed the gag from the side.  If
someone looked her square in the face they could see it easily but I
had no intention of giving them that opportunity.  The elevator
arrived, mercifully empty and we went to the back.  There I had her
turn towards the side wall allowing the scarf to hide the gag more
completely.  The elevator went up slowly.  I gradually became aware of
the smell of hot pussy; for all her protests this was obviously a turn
on for her.  Maggie lived on the fourth floor and we had both hoped
that the lift would stay empty but at the first floor the door opened
and a middle aged couple got on.  I thought I heard a little gagged
squeal and I thought they must have heard it too.  Worse the hot pussy
smell was very obvious in such a small space.  Any second I expected a
comment so trying to head it off I went into my planned routine.  Of
course unlike a real captive Maggie had no intention of drawing
attention to herself so she was already facing the wall and looking
down at the floor.  I stepped between her and the couple and started
to continue an imaginary conversation, a long involved discussion on
the Boston Tea Party that I'd had to memorise for school.  As planned
the couple phased us out and we could have been painted pink for all
they cared.

They got off at the next floor.  The one risk now was that there was
someone waiting for the elevator on four.  Not only was there little
chance of us getting off unnoticed but the chances of someone
recognising her were greater.  She realised this and rubbed her taped
mouth against my arm in a very Caroline gesture.  I pulled her forward
so that she was near the controls and positioned myself in front of
her.  Her eye's were wild she made a few gagged noises obviously
wishing to be ungagged.

"Trust me?"
She closed her eyes for a second then nodded.
"Good girl."
The events were having a great effect on my erection and secret
bondage in public had always been one of my fantasies.  I imagined the
other couple going back to their apartment and continuing there lives
never realising that the girl in the elevator was a prisoner.  "Now
when the lift stops go between me and the right wall.  I will move
with you.  If there is someone in the corridor turn to face the wall
and act upset."

It turned out to be unnecessary as four was empty.  I played around
finding the right key for a while feeling her panic mount.  Finally I
got her inside.  The smell of hot cunt was now overpowering.  I took
off scarf, overcoat and handcuffs.  She reached for the gag but a
quick slap on her hand stopped her.

"Not yet!"  I handed her the shaving supplies I'd bought and pointed
at her crotch.  "I'm sure you know the routine now loose it.  Leave a
little for decoration but the rest goes."

While she headed for the bathroom I started to prepare the bedroom.  I
tied a couple of lengths of cord to the legs at the bottom of her bed
and waited.  She came out with the crotch zip open to show her nude
cunt I passed her the cuffs.

"Wrists and ankles, now!"
She complied and I rewarded her by removing the gag.
"Ok Slave, dildos and vibrators, where?"
She pointed at the bedside cabinet.  There was an impressive
collection and I had no trouble finding a nice powerful little friend
to keep her company.  I made her turn and fastened her cuffed wrists
together with a short length of cord.  Then I introduced her cunt to
the vibrator and pulled the zipper up to lock it in place.  Her hips
started to quake and while she was distracted I pushed the ball gag
into her mouth and fastened it tightly.  She complained but there was
little she could do.  "Dance slave," I said, "Do a good job and I'll
release you."  She danced, not as well as Caroline but then I doubt
she had the same imagination.  Towards the end she moved her body
against mine her eyes sparkling when she saw the size of my erection.

I took her to the bed and used the cords to spread her legs.  I chose
now to show her the nipple clamps.  This she didn't like as much but
with her erect nipples still poking through the peepholes she had
little protection.  I applied the blindfold and felt her body tremble
as her helplessness increased.  I knew that she wasn't very good at
the old skin flute so I didn't bother to ungag her.  Instead I removed
the vibrator from her damp box.  Sam had demanded oral sex and had
taken the time to school her various beau's on the correct technique.
I know that I probably wasn't going to be as good as some of Maggie's
partners, ownership promotes a certain understanding, but the little
noises from behind the gag told me that she appreciated it.

I teased, deliberately denying her completion, she groaned.  A gentle
tug on the nipple clamps every now and then kept her interested and
when I knew she was ready I stopped.

I reached up and removed the nipple clamps.  Then momentarily freeing
her legs I tied her ankle cuffs to her thighs using large hanks of
cord.  When I'd finished she was helpless and unable to protect her
naked cunt.

I smiled "Well Slave time has come to fuck your worthless cunt.  It's
no good resisting because you're helpless.  Struggle slave and see!  "

She did, it was futile.  I'd practiced on Caroline were escape meant
prison, Maggie had patiently let me tie her up.

"Scream slave. Perhaps the neighbors might hear."
This had worried me.  Not knowing how thin the walls were I had the
roll of tape nearby in case the gag needed supplementing.  It didn't,
even when I encouraged her to really let rip there was nothing that
could attract attention.

"Guess not," I said and slowly removed my clothes letting the bound
girl shiver in anticipation.

I pulled her over and as with Caroline positioned her on top.  Her
bound legs would mean that I'd have to do most of the trusting and
that would make it slow but the feeling of complete helplessness was
what we were after and she was.

"I'm going to rape you now," I said "I'm going to force you to cum you
little whore if you like it or not.  And if you don't cum this time
perhaps a pussy whipping will persuade you."

I felt her tremble.  Then I started and as the excitement built I
taunted her.  Telling her to scream, that it made no difference
because the gag kept her silent, that the bonds stopped her struggles.
That I had made her helpless and I was in charge and that I decided
her pussy should be fucked and that I wanted her to cum for me or she
would be punished.  Each time I emphasised the *I* hammering the
message home that she was helpless that it was my will and my
responsibility.  I felt the heat rising as those nine long months came
bubbling to the surface and heard the gagged screams as she came again
and again.

Afterwards she made me a light snack and a drink.  She seemed quiet,
subdued and quite happy.  She told me that it had been all that she'd
wanted, and the first time she had ever orgasmed with a man.  The
cashier from the sex shop was apparently a sub in search of a
mistress, and Maggie thought that she might give it a try now that she
knew the ropes so to speak.  She was happy and I felt relieved, the
entire event practical jokes and all seemed to have strengthened our
friendship.

Maggie hinted that she might want to try this again and an evil
thought came into my head, after all I'd always liked the idea of two
girls in bondage.  So with that happy thought I departed back to the
house and Caroline.

It was nearly midnight when I returned to the house.  A quick video
check found that she was well and still as tightly bound as I left
her.  I made two coffees and headed down.  She moaned and attempted to
move when I entered.  Helping her up I removed the blindfold then
waited as she greedily downed the coffee.  Then she looked at me with
those large expression filled blue eyes.

I smiled, "Slave, we have got to talk."

=============================================================

First up we now have an FTP site thanks to the people at the English
Palace BBS. The previous Caroline sections can be got from

http://www.palace.com

and are placed in the newusers library (ie the public part of the
board).

Still no news on the website.

The associated images this time are BISH0392, BISH0370 and
0086_38A.JPG. As before I have no method of sending these
on an individual basis.

Quin
*****************************************************************

                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin
                            ======================

 Chapter 10: "Patriarch Games"
 =========================


I helped her up.  She seemed apprehensive.  I suppose I couldn't blame
her -- we had hardly parted on the best of terms.  Her eye makeup was
smeared and I could tell she'd been crying again.  I looked into her
eyes and she tried to look away.  The posture collar made that
impossible and I grabbed her chin and forced her to look at me.

As I looked into those need-filled eyes, I knew that I'd succeeded,
that over a period of just a few days I'd made Caroline Conway -- the
preacher's daughter, the good little girl -- hopelessly addicted to
sex.  She thrust her hips against me again and moaned.  She was
ungagged and perfectly capable of asking for what she wanted, but
these were animal needs and she begged as any animal in heat would.
There was more in that look, a silent capitulation that told me that
she was all set for another back down.  If there was ever a time when
she was disposed to talk, this was it.

I led her to the toilet and removed the vibrator.  She sat,
embarrassed as before to have me watching her.  I looked at her damp
box, no surprise there.  She was the juiciest female I'd ever known.
She squirmed a little but did her business and afterwards I cleaned
her up, finishing by pushing the vibrator back inside and upping the
setting slightly.  Subconsciously, she thrust her latex covered twat
in my direction and her eyes asked a silent question.  Just last week
she had been a struggling student living in a tiny apartment.  Now she
stood next to me, a fetish queen begging a man to fuck her, almost a
nymphomaniac, and very nearly a slave.  The thought amused me.

I smiled, caressing her naked breast for a moment to ensure that her
nipples had some attention too, then led her into the dungeon.  I
forced her onto the bondage chair (without dildos) and started to
strap her in.  I paused, letting my touch linger, as I fastened her
ankles to the legs.  She was hot and ready so I reached down to her
throbbing crotch and as she gasped, begging soundlessly for more,
removed the vibrator.  She cried out in frustration, horny but denied.
I just smiled.  That would make things easier.

"Ok.  I've calmed down a little and I want to hear what you have to
say."

"Please. . ."

"Want to cum, slave?"

"Oh. . .yes."

"Then you won't have any problem telling me what it's all about."

She looked up hopefully, "What, about my offer?"

"No, not about your offer."

"Please Master, I will do any. . ."

"Enough!"

She fell silent, sensing my annoyance.  I reached down and forced her
to look at me.  Best get this over with.

I smiled.  "Ok, so you want to talk about your *offer*.  So let's deal
with that first, shall we?"  I wanted to make sure that she realized
the permanency of her position.  It would perhaps persuade her to tell
me what I needed to know.  "It is my intention to keep you forever,
but assuming that I did tire of you, what makes you think you would be
released?  How do you know there isn't a shallow grave in your
future?"

She shuddered and for an instant a look of fear crossed her face, but
then she tried to shake her head.  Finding that impossible she licked
her lips.  "I don't think you could do that," she said quietly.  There
was perhaps a little flicker of doubt behind those blue eyes, but she
did her best to sound sure.

I laughed.  "What do you base that on?"  I asked.  "And I hope that
isn't a psychological opinion.  I wouldn't bet my life on it, not with
your grades!"

"No," she said, her voice almost a whisper.

"Then what?"

"A slave must know her Master's mind," she said.  "I don't, not
completely, but I do know that rules are important to you.  I don't
think you'd kill me for no reason, I realized that yesterday."

I was beginning to see.  "You thought I was going to kill you?"

She looked up, "I thought that it was likely," she admitted.  "I
thought I'd have a couple of weeks, a month at most.  I tried not to
provoke you, not to attempt to escape unless I knew it was going to
work.  . .yesterday, when I tried to escape, I thought you would kill
me for sure, but you didn't.  Then I realized that you were serious
about keeping me as a slave and that I had a future to plan for."  She
looked at me with those big blue eyes, pleading.  "My offer is good,"
she said.  "I'll willingly be your slave, do anything in return, the
piercing, the brand, even a baby if that's what you want."

I smiled again, as I understood.  "What you're offering is to be my
girlfriend," I said.  "Well, it may surprise you to learn that I can
get a girl with no trouble whatsoever.  If not from love then form the
fact that I am a very wealthy man."  I brought my hand up and stroked
her cheek, again.  She didn't try to stop me.

"If I'd wanted, I could have bought your pretty little ass," I said.
"You could deny it but think; how much did you owe?  If I'd have come
to you and offered say a thousand dollars for one night would you have
really turned it down?"  The look on her face told me she didn't know.
"We could go on," I said.  "How much would the piercing cost me, or
the brand, or the baby?  Probably a lot less than it's already cost me
to bring you here.  You remember the outfit you wore last night.
Those boots were probably the most expensive footwear you've ever had,
that corset alone cost more than half your wardrobe.  Taking a slave
is a very expensive hobby but it's worth it because in return I get
something I could never buy -- complete control of your life.  If I
decide to throw you out in ten years and you are forced to make your
way in the world with no education, that's my choice.  I could just as
easily sell you to a brothel in Mexico, that's my choice too.  That's
what ownership buys me."

She'd looked upset, almost terrified when I mentioned the brothel.

I smiled as I explained, "Caroline Conway doesn't have a future to
plan for, slave.  She died in that alleyway.  My slave has a long and
interesting future ahead of her once she accepts her situation and
starts looking forward instead of looking back."

She was silent, fidgeting nervously like a schoolgirl in front of the
principal and perhaps sulking a little.

"Now, slave, what I want to know is why you almost hung yourself
today."

She said nothing.  I thought back to Maggie.

"Did you have an abortion?"

She looked shocked, scandalized.  "No.  I. . ."

"Then what?  Why such a dramatic reaction?"

Still nothing.

"Slave," I said as kindly as I could, "Ownership means responsibility.
You are my slave, I am your Master.  I want to help you, and you must
need that help otherwise you wouldn't have done something so
melodramatic.  Now tell me!"  I could tell she wanted to but something
deep and old was fighting me for her soul.

"Tell me!"

Still nothing.  Then I remembered what Maggie had said, that she may
have been threatened punishment if she told.  Well, two could play at
that game.  I allowed the vicious quality to creep into my voice.

"I don't have all day, Slut!"

"I'm sorry Master."

"That is nowhere near good enough," I said coldly.  "What is rule
one?"

"Obey first time, every time."  She said without hesitation.

"Or?"

"Be punished," she whispered.

"And this is the creed you live by, the rules you say I always keep."

"Yes."  It was almost a gasp.

"Well then, I have given you a direct order.  You are that far away
from a major punishment, Slave.  That close.  You are going to tell me
all about whatever it is that's going on here and I mean *now*."  I
slammed the crop against the table.

She started crying.  "Please, I can't," she moaned.

"A pussy whipping then?  Twenty lashes?"

She stiffened.  One had been painful enough, twenty must have seemed
unimaginable.

"Please!"

"Do I hear thirty?"

"No!"

"Thirty from the dumb bitch tied to the chair!" I said like a mock
auctioneer.

"Please!"

I could tell she didn't want to say it whatever it was.  Coercion was
obviously needed and I had to sell her on the idea that major pain
would result from a refusal.  In an instant my decision was made.  I
brought the crop down hard on her unprotected nipple and yelled,
"Sold!"  She screamed and cried but still said nothing.  I waited a
few moments, then shook my head.  "I see.  A pussy whipping it is
then!"  I said with a trace of disappointment in my voice.

"No, please!"  she screamed.  It was agony for her, torn between
wanting to obey me and the fear or embarrassment holding her back.  I
stood and turned towards the cabinet.  I'd deliberately left it open
so that the floggers hung on the back of the door were visible to her.
Of course I knew that these were designed for sexual play, and at
worst they could deliver only mild pain and discomfort.  But God, they
looked marvelous.  I heard the gasp as I went towards them.

"I. . .I. . .I'm a bastard!"

I stopped.  Not the sort of thing you expect a lady to say, especially
about herself.  It took me a moment to realize that she meant it
literally.  Thinking about it, I kicked myself for not spotting it
sooner.  Caroline's parents' wedding date had been one of the first
things I'd checked, as it wouldn't have done for the dutiful daughter
to miss such an important anniversary.  The date popped into my head
and I realized immediately that it was wrong.  Or rather, that it
didn't match up with Caroline's age.  In my defense, a lot of my
married friends have cohabited for a while and I no longer tend to
directly link married time with length of relationship.  The Reverend
Conway did not strike me as the cohab type.

A quick calculation told me that Caroline was almost eighteen months
old when the happy event happened.  Then my words came back to me:

". . .if it's a girl, you can look after it yourself.  I don't want to
be stuck with your bastards."

"You're illegitimate," I said with some relief, remembering the horror
stories told by Maggie.  Part of me thought she had overreacted; after
all, huge numbers of kids are born out of wedlock these days.  Then I
remembered she hadn't grown up in the real world but in the weird
twilight zone that was small town middle America.  I could imagine the
comments, the knowing looks, the gossip -- and then, another part of
the puzzle fell into place.

"The Reverend Conway isn't your real father, is he?"  I said softly.
"He married your mother after you were born."

"Yes," Her face flushed with shame.  She looked like a heroine from a
Victorian melodrama, the foundling child born from sin.

I couldn't even begin to imagine the Reverend's motive for marrying a
single mother, but knowing the Bible Belt I felt sure he could find
some way to sell it to his loyal congregation.  "So who is your real
father?"

She tried to shake her head.  "I don't know."  She started to cry and
my concerns returned.  So she was a bastard, but even in darkest Iowa
it didn't constitute this much grief.  Then I remembered her reaction
to my words, the begging letter home to her mother.

Mother.

"So the good reverend isn't your father.  So what?"  She said nothing.
I took a risk.  "He still scares you that much?"

She looked at me in surprise, obviously disturbed now.  "Y-you know?"

"Tell me!"

She wobbled her head, sobbing.

It was so clear.  I don't know why I didn't spot it sooner.  I turned
to her, making a sweeping gesture with my hand.  "All this, all the
histrionics," I demanded.  "It's all about your father, isn't it?"

A look came across her face, a strange mixture of fear and relief.  If
Maggie was right, Caroline had carried a dark secret with her for many
years, afraid to tell anyone because she thought they would hate her.
Part of her mind wanted so desperately to tell, to free herself from
the guilt.  Confession is a powerful aid to conditioning someone; it
builds trust because inside we all have something to hide.  It's
hardly surprising that it is used extensively as part of the
brainwashing process.

I nodded to myself.  "I want you to tell me all about it.  Everything,
understand?"

"No, please--"

"Not the right answer!"  I said.  "Slave, there is nothing you can
tell me that can shock me in any way.  It's not possible for me to
think any less of you than I do at the moment.  Make no mistake -- you
will tell me, sooner or later.  I have a lot of interesting and
painful ways to make you tell me.  Speak now before I have to whip it
out of you, and you may buy a little of my respect."

She looked up at that.  "Respect?"  Her voice was quiet but emotional.

"Winning her Master's respect is the only thing that should matter to
a slave," I said.  "It's the only way she'll ever be anything more
than an object."

"Please."

"What's the matter, afraid I'll spread it around?  What do you think
I'd say?"  I slipped into a fake Texas drawl.  "Hey, Bob, old buddy
old pal.  You'll never guess what I found out -- Caroline, the
kidnapped girl I have locked in my basement?  Hell, I found out she
fucks farm animals."

That caused her to smile a little, but there was still the fear in her
eyes.

"No matter what you did, I'm not likely to throw you out," I
continued.  "You might as well tell me.  Now."

"He said he'd.  . ." She closed her eyes, the tears gleaming on her
cheeks.

"You're afraid he'll hurt you!"

She would have nodded but the posture collar prevented it.  "Yes," she
whispered.

I laughed harshly.  "You've been kidnapped, taken countless miles
away, locked in a hidden room behind a door a tank couldn't get
though, and you're still afraid he'll punish you?"

"Yes."

"Well, he won't, " I said, leaning down until I was almost nose to
nose with her.  "Because to get you he has to come through me, and I'm
the scariest thing in heaven or hell that bastard will ever meet."

She looked at me with those doe eyes. She wanted so much to believe.

"I am your Master, slave," I said, in the purr of a jungle cat.  All
sleek and powerful and razor-tipped, something that could kill in an
eyeblink.  "You are my property and I defend my property.  No matter
what."

I released her, then, sitting down and pulling her onto my lap.  She
curled up like a frightened little girl.  I held her close, letting
her feel the warmth of my body, the tangible physical contact.
Remembering what Maggie had said, I gently brushed her breast in a
deliberately calming sensation, especially for someone as needful as
she was at that moment.  "Tell me everything," I said.  "No one will
punish you for what happened."

She looked up at me.  It was so close to the surface.

"Tell me," I whispered.  "I can free you from the guilt."  For a while
she cried, but I knew it would be soon so I punched a button on the
remote.  Somewhere upstairs the sound system started recording.  . .

She had begun speaking like a child, using simple ungrammatical
sentences like a five or six year old.  As the story progressed, her
use of language improved, almost as if she'd been hypnotically
regressed.  Or perhaps she had rehearsed it in her mind for all those
years, waiting for that trusted adult that had never arrived to save
her from the hell that was her home.  In any case, it took several
hours for her to get through it.  She would periodically break down
and I would have to comfort her before she went on.  She recounted it
slowly, and at my insistence she had described everything in a vivid,
almost grotesque detail.  When she had finally calmed down, I
retrieved a bottle of whisky from the cellar and we drank ourselves
into a minor stupor.  This time she hadn't argued, as grateful for the
liquor as I was.  Then I had taken her back to the cell and reattached
the wire.  She just looked up at me, and I felt the need to hold her.
She was stiff and tense, and I knew she could never sleep like this.

I started to caress her, rekindling the burning need buried deep
inside her womb, feeling her body relax, finally accepting absolution
and the freedom from guilt.  Then I very gently parted her legs and
started to lick and tease her pussy, feeling the warmth, the need
sweep across her, obliterating all other concerns.  I concentrated on
her clit, building the sensation still further, listening as she lost
control and her screams of lust filled the room.  Then, when I judged
the moment was right, I stopped and shifted so that I could gently
play with her nipples, listening as the volume of her cries increased
still further.  I prolonged the moment, kept her on the edge for
minute after minute, knowing that to her it was an eternity of sweet
agony, a torture far more intense than any pain.  I found myself
thinking of Maggie and her moment earlier that night, had it been this
intense for her?  Did I really care?

Then I slipped my cock into her warm hole and fucked her slowly,
feeling her tightness drawing me in, enveloping me completely.  For
the first time, I was aiming to give her maximum enjoyment, matching
my stroke to her needs and feeling her body strain against the bonds
as she crawled over the edge.  Then she came again and again, a
bursting chain of climaxes, as if all those orgasms her guilt had
denied her had finally found release.  Slowly, finally, she smiled and
almost instantly fell asleep.  I paused to loosen some of the straps
and relieve the pressure on her arms.  She looked like an angel, fine
wisps of blond hair framing her beautiful face.  She seemed calm, with
that strange look of peace in her face that you only associate with
children.  It was as if all those terrible years had just slipped away
and she was a little girl once more, enjoying the deep sleep of a
renewed innocence.

I was not so lucky.  At first I had been enthused by my new power.  I
knew that the demons of her past were the only obstacle to my total
control of her, and went to bed in hog heaven; I had tied up and
fucked two beautiful women today, and perhaps Vicky would be number
three.  I remembered the embarrassment of Maggie in her hooker outfit,
those huge begging eyes above her gag as we had traveled up in the
lift.  I heard Caroline's screams as she came again and again,
remembered the sweet taste of her pussy, the look in her eyes that
told me she was nearly mine.  I had drifted off feeling drunk and very
satisfied.  It didn't last.

I awoke around three with the unpleasant feeling that I'd just had
another bad dream and a pounding headache.  It had taken two Advil,
three cups of coffee and almost two hours of Animaniacs before I felt
I could sleep without nightmares.

The next morning I woke early.  The suggestion of a headache still
lurked in the back of my skull so more tablets and coffee were in
order.  A quick check showed her still asleep, so I cleaned myself up
and trudged into my office.  I unpacked her little box, quickly
sorting the diaries and pictures from the rest of her life.  Then I
replayed the recording, editing out the pauses and the worst of the
anguished cries.  Over the next few hours I systematically took her
story and turned it into a continuous monologue, telling a harrowing
story of her life.  I played it a few times to get a feel for it, then
used the pictures in the albums and those little locked diaries to add
in those little details she had missed.

She had begun with a simple statement.

"Momma didn't really want me.  She never told me so, but I know.  I
guess I was an accident.  It's kind of weird to think about it like
that, but it's true.  It almost sounds like a movie of the week -- a
cheerleader and some high school kid got together in the back seat of
one of those big old cars, took their clothes off, and.  . .well, you
know.  Momma said they had used protection despite her being Catholic,
but God had punished her anyway and she got me.  I used to think that
I could remember the days.  . .before, but Momma says that isn't
possible.  My first real memory is of him throwing me to my mother and
ordering her to make me stop crying.  If she couldn't, he hit her.
Somehow, I understood even then that the only way to stop him hurting
her was to do as he said.  That was the first time he told me not to
tell the neighbors or anyone outside our house about what he did to
Momma.  He said he would hurt her even worse if I did."

I looked at her first school photographs, of the sullen blond-haired
girl at the back of rows and rows of smiling children.

"I didn't understand that we were different until my first day at
school.  Momma took me to the gate and waved to me as I went inside.
The other mothers waited around for a while.  They stood there
talking, exchanging favorite stories about their children -- normal
stuff.  But Momma went straight back to make his breakfast.  If she
had stayed like the other mothers, he'd have gone hungry for a few
minutes.  Then he'd beat her.  That's when I started to understand.

The other kids told me that their parents married because they fell in
love.  I guess I thought mine had, too.  And maybe, if they fell out
of love, that maybe it was my fault.  As I started getting older,
though, I realized that she had been young and pretty with a daughter
and no husband.  Momma was -- I don't know.  Vulnerable, I guess.
Vulnerable, and weak, and she couldn't stand the gossip and the
pointed fingers.  So when he offered to make her respectable, she took
it even though he demanded her soul in return.  You know, she actually
told me once that even though she knew he was cruel, she thought she
could change him.  But he was the one who destroyed her."

I looked at the family portrait again.  At that stern look, at the way
Judith looked down in subservience.

"She wasn't really human anymore, the way she'd do anything he said.
She.  . .God.  She degraded herself on demand.  He'd make her do
horrible things.  I could never understand why -- I didn't know about
what it was like for a single woman with a daughter.  He held that
over her head.  Every so often, he would get so mad and threaten to
throw us out, tell everybody that Momma was a ten-cent whore who would
sleep with anyone.  She would cry and beg, and throw herself at his
mercy.  He never did it, of course -- it was just a way of exercising
his power.  But she couldn't take that risk."

I plucked out a picture taken on someone's backyard.  Pretty little
girls in light summer dresses, smiling, laughing all except the blond,
freckled Caroline.

"When I was six, he started.  . .he.  . .he started getting interested
in me.  Before that, he just used to call me "the Bastard" when we
where at home and hit me if I got in the way.  But all of a sudden he
started to be nice, almost like other fathers.  I could tell Momma was
scared, but I didn't know why.  She kept trying to make sure we were
never alone together, but he started to beat her more and more.  Then
one day he went out to visit a sick parishioner, some old woman who
didn't get a lot of visitors.  He kept complaining that she'd almost
talk his ear off, but he had to go visit her.  After he left, Momma
said we would play a game.  She gave me a suitcase and said we would
pretend to pack for a vacation and would see how fast we could get
ready.  I pretended we were going to Hawaii, and I packed all my
bathing suits so that I could be a mermaid when we got there.

We almost made it.  We were on the stairs when he came home.  I
remember his face, and his eyes -- they scared me so much.  He ran
upstairs and grabbed me, then he told Momma to get upstairs into the
attic.  I could tell she was scared -- she kept looking at me, then at
him.  Looking back on it, I now know that he was standing by the rail
on purpose.  If she put up any sort of a fight, he would have thrown
me over.  he could always claim later on that it was an accident --
kids love sliding down banisters, she must have overbalanced, slipped.
.. .

I can still feel his hand holding my arm, almost crushing it, and how
Momma slowly put the suitcases down and walked up the stairs to the
attic.  He sent me to my room, and then I heard his steps on the attic
stairs.  I didn't see Momma again for nearly two months."

I listened on a ghostly chill spreading through my body, the almost
primeval feeling of being in the presence of pure evil.  I stopped the
recording and made myself a drink.  Then I spun on.

"After Momma went up to the attic, he found a lady to come in and do
the housekeeping.  The Peterssons took Anna -- he told them that Momma
had gone on retreat, and he needed help with the baby.  They were
happy to help out -- I mean, this was Reverend Conway, right?  The
nicest man in town.  Of course they'd take Anna.  He kept telling
everyone about Momma's retreat, how she was trying to find some
spiritual strength and get some rest from caring for two small girls.
It was summertime then, and since school was out I'd stay in the house
all day long.  I remember people would stop by and ask him questions
about the socials, or talk to him about church business.  Sometimes I
went up to the attic, when I knew he was talking to someone, and I'd
tap on the door.  Once, I thought I could hear something moving
inside.  But nobody ever answered.

Then, one day, I came in from playing in the back yard.  He was in the
kitchen, doing something at the sink.  I don't know why I did it, but
I went up to the attic.  The door was open, just a little bit, and I
stepped inside.  I remember how dark it was, with just a tiny bit of
light coming in from the dirty windows.  At first, I couldn't see
anything, and I thought maybe he let Momma come back downstairs.

Then I heard the noise.  And I turned around.

She.  . .oh, Momma.  She was hanging from one of the roof beams.  He
had tied her arms behind her with thin cord, the kind that you used
for baling hay.  It was wrapped tight around her arms, from elbows to
wrists, and the skin was bulging purple at each end.  It couldn't have
been used just to tie her -- it was there to punish.  One leg was
trussed up tightly against her body, forcing her to balance on the
other leg.  On that foot, she was wearing the highest heeled shoe I
had ever seen -- I didn't understand how she could even stand up in
it.  Then I saw the rope above her.  It was tied to her elbows,
yanking her arms back at this horrible, hurtful angle.  She had to
stand there like that, her arms almost pulled out of their sockets
from the rope tied to the beam.  She wobbled a little, and I saw all
these red marks and welts across her back, like somebody had been
whipping her.

Him.  He had been whipping her.

I must've made some sound, then, because she turned around, and I saw
my Momma's face.  I almost didn't recognize her -- she was gagged with
this filthy rag, and her eyes were huge.  They stared at me, and she
tried to say something.  I took a step forward.  . .she didn't want me
to come any closer.  She tried to stop me, and she lost her balance.
She made the most horrible noise, then, as she fell and her whole
weight came down on her arms.  I could have sworn I heard a crack as
they jerked back in the air.  She screamed behind the rag and wiggled,
wriggling until she could get her foot under her again.  It was
horrible.  She finally managed to get her balance back and stood
there, staring at me.  And I stared back.  The only place that wasn't
bruised or welted or hurt in some way was her face.  Somehow, I knew
she wanted me to run away and hide.

I did.  God help me, I did.  And I almost knocked him over on my way
down the stairs -- he was coming back up for more.  The bastard
grabbed me and clapped a hand over my mouth, then picked me up and
carried me into his bedroom.  He threw me onto their bed and shoved a
handkerchief into my mouth, tying it there with one of Momma's summer
scarves.  I couldn't stop him.  I tried, but he was bigger than me,
and so strong.  He tied my wrists behind my back, then tied them to my
pony tail, jerking my head back.  I read about it later on -- it's
called a hammer lock.  Then he started tying up my legs and all I
could think was oh no, oh no, not like Momma, please God not like
Momma.  He would have, too -- he would've carried me upstairs and hung
me up next her, I know it.  But the doorbell rang right then.  He
swore at me and dragged me to the closet.  He stood me on a clothes
hamper as he tied my neck to the clothes rail.  Then he told me what
would happen if I moved.  He said I'd fall over because I couldn't use
my legs, and I'd hang myself.  I'd hang myself and die.  That if I
wanted to live I should stay still and quiet.  Then he closed the
closet door.  I heard the key turn in the lock, and his footsteps go
upstairs.  The attic door slammed shut, then he went downstairs and
answered the front door.

I don't know how long I stood there.  I could feel my legs getting
numb from the ropes, and I stared into the darkness, praying for him
to come back soon because I didn't want to die.  I started crying, and
I almost choked under the gag as my nose got stuffy.  Then I heard
steps on the staircase, and a lady's voice.  I screamed, then, as loud
as I could.  All I heard was this muted sound, like a bird cry.  I
kept screaming, and she walked right past the closet.  I kept
screaming, and she never even heard me.  She used the toilet because I
heard it flushing, then she went back downstairs.  Finally, the door
slammed, and I heard him coming back upstairs for me.

He opened the door and untied the rope, then took me down off the
hamper.  He was.  . .nice.  I don't know why.  He started untying all
the ropes, rubbing my legs when they cramped.  He said it was all just
a bad dream, and that everything was all right.  I knew it wasn't, but
I thought he'd hurt me again if I said so, so I didn't."

Her father was kind to her for the next three days, playing and
laughing with her, to the point were she almost believed that that
terrible sight upstairs was only a nightmare.  On the fourth day he
introduced her to the game.

"It started with syrup.  He liked good maple syrup, not the stuff that
you got from the store but real maple syrup from Vermont.  He'd pour a
few drops onto his finger, then tell me to pretend that I was a kitten
and lick them off.  So I did.  It was fun, and the syrup tasted good.
I never got candy because he didn't believe in it, so something like
the syrup was a special treat.  Then he told me that if I was a good
girl and did all my chores, he'd give me another lick of syrup.  I'd
clean up my room, and take out the garbage, and put the papers in the
bin on the porch, and he'd pour more maple syrup onto his fingers and
I'd lick it off.  Like a kitten.  Then, one evening, he took me into
his bedroom.  He said we were going to play a new game with the maple
syrup.  He took off his pants and got into bed, and told me to get in
with him.  I didn't want to look at him -- it was all funny and hairy
between his legs, and there was this thing hanging there.  He took the
maple syrup and poured a little bit onto his thing, and told me to
lick it off.  It was just a game, he said.  So I did."

I remembered the embarrassed look she gave me.

Gradually the amount of syrup was reduced and poor technique
discouraged by frequent beatings.  By the time Judith "returned,"
quiet and broken, her daughter was an accomplished cock sucker.  For
the next ten years, her warm mouth would service her father at least
twice a week.  As Maggie had predicted, Charles moved the blame for
this abuse to his daughter, telling her that she was evil and that she
and her mother would be punished if anyone found out.  He got his
broken and submissive wife to support him and the frightened child
never told.

I fast forwarded, moving through ten years of systematic and frequent
abuse in a matter of moments.

"Sometimes, it seemed like Momma was about to stand up to him again.
Then he'd take her back up into the attic for a few days, or a week.
She'd come back downstairs, quiet and moving carefully.  You could
never actually see anything wrong with her -- he was too smart for
that.  He made sure all the welts and bruises could be covered by her
dress.  When I got old enough, he'd make me sleep in his bed during
these times.  He'd make me suck him, and swallow afterwards, and he'd
push his thing into my ass even though it hurt horribly.  But he
wouldn't actually fuck me -- he said it wouldn't do for the reverend's
daughter not to be a virgin.  Then he'd laugh and tell me he was
saving that for when I was older.  He did other things to me, too,
things he'd read about in books, and sometimes.  . .I.  . .I don't
know.  Sometimes it felt.  . . but he told me only bad girls liked
that sort of thing.  If I liked it, I was a slut, I was evil and
worthless.  Just like my Momma.

He never did any of this to Anna, though.  Anna was his ango was find
this
little nub between your legs and rub it gently.  I didn't believe them
at first -- it sounded stupid.  Sex wasn't fun, sex hurt.  But one
time, when I was taking a bath, I decided to look for the nub.  It was
kind of hard, but eventually I found it and rubbed it like they said.
At first, nothing happened, but then I started to get this funny
feeling down low in my stomach, all warm and tingly.  Kind of like,
sometimes, what happened when.  . .you know.  I kept on trying it in
the bathroom, and sometimes in bed.  One time, it felt like fireworks
were going off down there, it felt so good.  That was my first orgasm,
I suppose.  And that was when Anna walked in and caught me.  I was in
bed, under the covers, but she knew something was wrong and started
chanting, "I'm gonna tell Daaaddy, I'm gonna tell Daaaaady."  She ran
out before I could stop her, and a few minutes later I heard him
coming up the stairs.  He opened the door and stood there, staring at
me.  I couldn't move, couldn't even breathe, I was so afraid.  He
closed the door and walked over to the bed, grabbing the covers and
ripping them off me.  It happened so fast.  He grabbed my legs and
yanked them apart, staring down between them, then said that I was a
wicked, sinful girl and would burn in Hell from what I just did.

He took one arm and one leg and flipped me over, onto my stomach, then
pulled up my nightgown.  I hid my eyes in the crook of my arm and
waited.  I heard the hissing noise before I felt it.  It was a wire
hanger, just like in the movie 'Mommie Dearest.'  And they hurt like
fire, thin lines of fire all up and down my back, my ass, my legs.  I
started crying, then I started screaming.  He stopped just long enough
to stuff a handkerchief in my mouth, tying it with a pair of panties,
then kept whipping me with the hanger.  He spread my legs and started
whipping my thighs, then whipped me once right between my legs.  I
screamed and fainted.

When I woke up, I was tied spread-eagle to the bed.  He left me there
like that all night as punishment, and Anna laughed at me from the
doorway.  I had to sleep on my stomach for two weeks.  I never touched
myself down there again, until.  . .until you.

This went on.  . .God, for years, until I got into high school.  Then,
about six months before my fifteenth birthday, I met Josh Petersson.
That isn't exactly right -- I mean, the Petersson's had lived in the
town all my life.  Our families hung out together.  I just never paid
very much attention to Josh before -- I mean, he was just some boy in
the neighborhood.  But in my sophomore year we both entered projects
in the science fair.  He had the table next to mine and we started
talking.  We started to study together sometimes in the school
library.  Since the Petersson farm was out of town he always offered
to walk me home after school.  Our house was on the edge of town you
see, near the church.

That's when it started.  He was so sweet and funny, and I loved
listening to him tell about his family's trips to the Grand Canyon or
what he wanted to do when he got older.  He'd tease me, trying to make
me laugh, and I started to feel safe with him.  Somehow, we started
holding hands on the way home, and then I let him kiss me.  It was
nothing like.  . .him.  Josh was sweet, and innocent, and it felt so
wonderful when he put his arms around me.  He asked me to be his
girlfriend, and I said yes.

Oh, God.  Now, I wish I had said no.

But I didn't care then.  I was so happy that Josh liked me -- it was
something all my own, something pure and good.  On the other hand, I
was terrified that.  . .he.  . .would find out, from Anna or one of my
friends.  I told Josh that we had to keep it secret -- I made up some
lie about reverends' daughters not being allowed to date until they
were sixteen.  He believed me and promised he wouldn't tell a soul.

We kept it up like that for months.  Sometimes, I'd manage to sneak
away and meet him at this little house on his parent's property.  He
called it Patrick's house, and said that it would be his someday.
We'd wander through it, pretending that we were married and living
there, and it was the happiest time of my life.

Then, the day before my fifteenth birthday, Josh said that he had a
surprise for me and I was supposed to meet him at Patrick's
house in the afternoon.  I told Momma that I had to stay after school
and help one of the teachers mark papers.  I don't think she really
believed me, but she let me go anyway -- it sounded reasonable, and
would keep him happy.  After school, I ran to Patrick's house, dodging
showers feeling somehow alive.  Josh was waiting for me inside, and
swept me into his arms the minute I came through the door.  We just
stood like that for a minute, the two of us safe against the world, as
he kissed my hair and told me that I was beautiful, wonderful, that he
loved me so much.  I looked up at him, and saw the love in his eyes.
I knew, then, that he was the only one I wanted to spend my life with.

He led me up the dark, narrow stairs, to one of the little bedrooms.
There, he had set up a checkered red cloth on the floor with this
gorgeous little picnic lunch -- he even managed to filch a bottle of
wine from his dad's basement.  We sat down, and he insisted on serving
me my fried chicken and salad and cookies.  It was all part of the
service, he said, laughing.  My first glass of wine was in one of
those little plastic wineglasses, like you can get in the grocery
store.  It was the best meal I ever had, and I leaned over to kiss him
afterwards, as a thank you.

I'm not quite sure how it happened.  I don't remember a lot of it -- I
thought later on that maybe I was blanking on some of it, because of
what he did to me.  We lay down on the blanket, in a square of
sunlight that came streaming through one of the windows.  It was a
funny day, sunlight and showers, like the world couldn't make up its
mind.  I do remember watching the dust motes dance in the sunlight,
like golden bubbles in the wine.  I remember I was happy, and I
remember Josh kissing me, and telling me that he loved me.  I must
have helped him take off my dress -- I don't see how he could've
gotten it off in one piece, otherwise.  He kept kissing me all over,
telling me I was beautiful, so white and smooth, like ivory.

He.  . .we.  . .made love, I guess.  It wasn't just sex, like with
him.  It was love, and Josh cried out my name at the end.  I lay
there, under him, and felt the love coming out of him, and tried to
ignore the voices in my head telling me I was dirty, a whore.  I
couldn't be -- someone like Josh wouldn't love a whore.

He held me afterwards, and told me not to worry -- he wanted to marry
me, and if I got pregnant he'd just marry me that much sooner.  He
even brought out this little box, covered in velvet, and gave it to
me.  It contained a thin gold band, his great-grandmother's wedding
ring, he said.  It would do until he could afford a real engagement
ring -- then he stopped, and looked at me.

Will you marry me, Caroline, he asked.  I said yes, and started
crying.

That's.  . .that's when it started to go wrong.  Josh wanted to talk
to him and get his permission to marry me.  I told him he couldn't --
my father would never agree.  He insisted that this was something he
had to do, that he was proud of his love for me and didn't want to
hide it anymore.  We fought about it, and finally I stood up and
grabbed my dress, crying.  I told him that if he really loved me he
would listen to me and not say anything to my father.  I was so scared
-- for me, for him.  Somehow, I knew what would happen if anyone tried
to take me away from the Conway house.  I ran out of there, buttoning
my dress and crying.  I could hear Josh calling my name, but I just
kept going -- I couldn't think, I was so confused and scared.  The
next day, I had my birthday party.  He had allowed me to invite some
of the kids from school, but Josh didn't come.  I kept checking the
door, hoping that he would forgive me and come anyway.  I wanted to
see him so badly.  But he never showed up.

The party was nice, I guess.  I had a cake, and candles, and presents
from everybody.  I couldn't really enjoy it, though, I was so worried
about Josh.  I didn't really notice as all the guests started leaving,
until the house was quiet again.  Just us four.  Anna wound up going
to sleep early -- I think she was mad that I was the center of
attention for once, and she couldn't do a thing about it.  Maybe an
hour later, he took me by the shoulders and said that he had a special
present to give me.  I still remember that smile, and Momma sitting at
the kitchen table, not daring to look up.  He took me upstairs, to
their bedroom, and told me to pull my shorts down and unbutton my
shirt.  I thought we were going to do what we'd always done, but he
pushed me on the bed and told me to stay on my back this time.

I closed my eyes, and prayed to God to let me die.  I heard the
zipper, then the rustle of cloth as he took his pants off.  The
bedsprings creaked as he climbed on.  He.  . .he.  . .oh.  He got on
top of me, and I could feel it between my legs, poking me.  Then he
pushed it in, hard.  He.  . .I know now, he must have been trying to
break my maidenhead.  Josh had been so careful, so gentle.  All he
wanted to do was hurt me.

His face.  . .changed.  I could see it, see the realization that there
was nothing in his way.  I wasn't a virgin anymore.  He leaned back,
staring at me, then took his full weight on one hand and slapped me
hard with the other one.  "You WHORE!"  he screamed, right into my
face.  "You filthy whore!  You've been fucked before!  You let someone
fuck you!"

He kept slapping me, knocking my head from side to side with the
blows.  I tried not to make a sound, but soon I started screaming.  I
couldn't help it.  He pushed himself up, then, and grabbed me by the
hair, dragging me off the bed and opening the door so that he could
throw me into the hallway.  My head slammed into the wall opposite,
and I shut up, breathless from the pain.  I thought he was going to
kill me, somehow I got enough of my breath back and flung myself down
the stairs.  I still don't know how I managed it but I kept my balance
and somehow realized I had to get to the door -- to Josh.  He screamed
something and started down after me and I started wards the door
knowing he wouldn't reach me in time.  Then suddenly someone grabbed
me by the hair, I spun around willing to fight to get away.  If it had
been Anna I would have smashed that smug face into the wall......  It
was my mother.  I couldn't believe it, and I don't think she wanted
to.  She was broken you see, at the time I couldn't imagine why she
would side with him, didn't fully understand the fear and the
pain.....

Then he clamped his hand over my mouth and told her to get a rope.
She did, like a zombie and held me as he tied me up.  He gagged me
with a knotted towel then her pulled and pushed me upstairs.  I looked
down at her as she stood there and part of me knew he'd won, knew what
he'd do next.  He'd tied my ankles but it was proving too hard to move
me like that so he pushed me over and retied them as a hobble.  I
tried to kick but I knew it was useless.

Snarling, he grabbed me by the hair again and forced me to stand up,
then pushed me --

Pushed me --

Towards the attic stairs.  He took me up to the attic, just like he
had taken Momma almost ten years before.  And he retied me, with my
arms roped to a beam in the ceiling so high that I had to stand on my
tiptoes, then he spread my legs and tied each foot to old, rusted
eyebolts in the floor so that I was stretched even further.  I read
later on that people could suffocate in that position, that it was the
way people died when they were crucified.  I could hardly breathe, and
my face hurt so badly as he grabbed my cheeks, and pulled the gag
tighter.  I could feel my lips puffing up, the blood making them sting
in the hot, stuffy air.

He cut my clothes off, shredded them with a craft knife, and I thought
he was going to cut me for sure.  But he just stood there, examining
me like I was a piece of sculpture.  And nodded, as he took a bullwhip
off a hook on the wall.  He said I had sinned against my God and my
religion, but most importantly I had sinned against him.  I had denied
him what belonged to him by marriage, and was now lower than anything
that crawled in the dirt.  I had to be punished.

I couldn't move as he walked behind me.  I could only wait, and
breathe, and hope to die.

I heard the sound first.  Then I felt the burst of fire across my
back.  It was the worst, most intense pain I had ever felt, worse that
his slaps, worse than the pain when he pushed into me.  I screamed
into my gag, arching my back, trying to move away from the pain.  He
whipped me again, and again.  He told me later on that he had whipped
me 40 times, one more than Jesus because I was a worthless slut.  I
didn't know -- I fainted after the sixth lash.

When I woke up, all I could feel was the pain.  All up and down my
back, my ass, my legs.  I blinked, trying to breathe through my
stuffed nose.  And I saw him sitting on a chair in front of me.  He
straddled the chair with an elbow propped on the back, chin on fist.
Just staring at me.  When he saw that I was awake, he smiled at me,
and asked me who had fucked me first.  I don't know how I did it, but
I shook my head.  He said, very gently, that God would only forgive me
when I told him who had defiled me.  But I wouldn't.

Afterwards, I found out that I had spent two weeks up there.  Two
weeks in that hot, filthy attic, while he.  . .experimented on me.  He
had all these books and magazines, things that he bought mail-order
from special companies in the city, from farm supply stores, from all
kinds of places.  And he tried them out, one by one, on me, always
asking me to tell him who had fucked me first.  He tied my legs to a
board and forced my feet down until they were pointed, then strapped
them down and left me there while my calf muscles cramped in agony.
He smeared Ben-Gay on a huge dildo and shoved it up my ass.  He told
me about female circumcision, and said he was gonna cut off my pussy
lips and clit and sew up my pussy so that I'd never enjoy sex again.
In between, he beat me and whipped me, just for the fun of it.

I held out until.  . .he had installed a workbench up there, some kind
of heavy-duty wooden table.  He strapped me to it.  He forced my legs
into these homemade stirrups, spreading them wide so that he could get
at my pussy.  He'd been at it a lot, pushing dildos and other things
into me, fucking me over and over, fisting me until I thought I would
die from the pain.  But nothing he had done was as bad as this.  I. .
..I didn't like needles.  I didn't like the idea of things being stuck
into me, being broken off so that I couldn't get at them.  He found
that out when he started sticking pins through my nipples, and . . .he
had this little board, made of thin wood and shaped like a butterfly
with an oval hole in the middle.  He called it his butterfly board.  I
thought it was because of the shape until.  . .until he put it between
my legs and pushed it up against me, hard.  Then he pulled my pussy
lips through the hole.  He pulled and stretched them until I could
feel the wood scraping against my clit, the insides of my thighs.
Then he held up the pin.  And I screamed.  I screamed and screamed,
and he pushed that pin through my pussy lip, pinning it to the board.
I couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the feeling.  And he kept doing
it, stretching the lips until they were completely pulled through the
hole and he could pin them to the board like a butterfly.

I. . .went crazy, I guess.  I thrashed my head from side to side and
cried and begged underneath that gag, and all I could feel were those
pins opening me up, stretching me wide.  Then he held up another pin,
and touched my clit.  He was going to push it through my clit, he
said, and rip it through unless I told him what he wanted to know.

I could feel myself snap.  I couldn't stand it anymore.  I made these
animal noises and nodded as hard as I could, trying to make him come
up and take the gag off so that I could tell him, tell him all about
Josh.  When he did take the gag off, I started babbling, saying that
Josh loved me, he wanted to marry me, I would never tell anyone about
this, oh please please.  . .

He smiled down at me, and brushed the hair out of my eyes.  He said
that I had finally pleased God.  Then he pushed the gag back in my
mouth.  And he went down and pushed the pin through my clit.  And he
left me there like that, for the rest of the day, screaming.

I finally stopped screaming, I don't know when.  I just drifted, blind
in the dusty darkness.  He would always find me, always make me do
whatever he wanted, always hurt me.  He enjoyed pain, enjoyed watching
it in other people.  I. . .gave up.  There was nothing I could do.
And that's when I heard the doorbell.  Even up there, I could just
hear the voices at the door, and I recognized Josh's voice.  He had
come for me, after all, but it was too late.  I tried to warn him tell
him where I was but I was gagged.  The voices faded, and I fell into
the darkness.

Sometime later, I felt an aching, gnawing pain and woke up.  He was
standing at the foot of the table, pulling the pins out and pushing my
lips back through the hole.  He told me that Josh had come and asked
for my hand in marriage.  I said I needed time to consider the offer,
he chuckled, and asked Josh to come back in two days.

He unstrapped me from the table and helped me sit up.  It hurt to
close my legs, both from the muscle strain and from the damage to my
pussy lips, but I managed it.  Then he put a little padded bed desk on
my lap, with a piece of my notepaper, and pushed a pen into my hand.
I was to write down exactly what he said -- I was to tell Josh to meet
me in the woods, where he usually went hunting, tomorrow at three
o'clock.  I wrote the words automatically, my mind blank, and I signed
it at the bottom.  Then he pushed me back onto the table, strapped me
carefully into place, and covered me with a blanket.  I stayed up
there for another five days, doing whatever he wanted when he came to
see me.

When I finally came down, I found out about Josh.  He had gone
hunting, his mother said between sobs in our front parlor, and must
have slipped near a gully.  Josh's body had been found at the bottom
of it, half his side blown away in the shotgun blast.  His funeral had
been the day before.  She sniffled and said she understood why I
couldn't come, being as sick as I had been.  I shouldn't feel bad
about it -- Josh would understand, too.  Then I remembered the note
and realized that my weakness had killed him, that if I had resisted
he could still be alive.

I sat there, silently watching as he held Mrs.  Petersson's hand and
patted it.  Then he turned his head and smiled at me.  And I knew I
would never get away."

I stopped the tape again, the sick feeling returning to my stomach.
After this it all made sense, her actions, the way she always backed
down and those looks of fear always out of all proportion to what I
was doing to her.  And above all there was that question, "Why me?"
Any kidnap victim may think it but they usually refocus on the more
basic questions of survival.  In Caroline's case?  Well to be
tormented by one maniac was bad enough but by two unrelated
individuals?  I could see what she was thinking, did she attract them
in some way.  I scratched my head remembering back to my first sight
of her.  I was sure I'd been attracted to her amazing good looks but
was that true?  Could I have instead reacted subconsciously to some
quirk, some submissive body language that marked her as a victim?  Was
it important?

I looked again at Conway's picture.  He was a large stocky man with
thin graying hair and a thick curly beard.  In his middle to late
fifties I thought and more than a match for a terrified girl and her
mother.  Then I thought of tall, lanky, naive, Josh --he hadn't really
stood much of a chance either.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  My
father's strong Irish temper had already brought a flush to my face
and once again I thanked my kind gentle grandfather for contributing
his strong Russian genes through my mother.  Heavy, agile and
resilient I knew *He* would have a harder time with me.  Even then I
knew that there would have to be a reckoning, that a slave can have
only one master.  He was a sadist, but Maggie said I was a closet
sociopath, and I was infinitely patient.  When we met it would be at a
time and place of my choosing and I knew I would take great delight in
crushing him.

It was almost time to wake Caroline I started towards the door when
the phone rang.  Puzzled I answered it but with the exception of a few
booming noises there seemed to be no one there.  I was preparing
coffee when it rang again.

"Hello?"

"Huuumph."

"I'm sorry?"

"Oomph Hee!"

"Sorry?"

"Ummph!" More insistent this time and my brain suddenly clicked.

"Maggie? Is that you?"

"Mmmmm!"

"Don't tell me, you decided to try self bondage and now you can't get
free?"  There was an embarrassed silence.

"Mmmmph"

"Ok, I'll be there in two hours."

 "Ummmphhhh!!!!!"

"I'm sorry that's the best I can do.  I don't live in Boston remember!
 If you like I can call the fire department for you?"

"Nnnnmmm!"

"Was that no? Grunt once for yes twice for no."

"Mmmm.......Mmmmm!"

"Ok about two hours then, try to sit quietly until I get there."

Nine in the morning and already a freaky day.  I looked at Conway
again, at those cold dead fish eyes and shuddered.  Then I headed off
to see my slave.

First up sorry for the delays on posting this section.  Of course 
those people who can remember when I posted quarterly may consider 
this early. 
 
The next section of Caroline will be delayed until the short story 
"Iron Maiden" is finished and published.  This is the name of the 
"Bureaucrat in Bondage" story.  That means that there is still time to

enter the competition.  If some minor functionary has made your life 
hell send me his name and the reason he pissed you off.  At the end I 
will pick two male and two female candidates and use them to generate 
composite names for the two victims of the story.  The winners will 
have the story mailed directly to them and with a nifty text editor 
you could make it a customised revenge fantasy of your very own!!!! 
 
This section is dedicated to Hunter Rose who has been a great help 
during the past couple of years.  Not only has he provided the BISH 
images that accompany most of the story sections, he has also 
frequently reposted the story when I've been unavailable.  This 
section contains some ideas we spoke about nearly two years ago.  I 
hope he likes what I did with it.  . . 
 
Tom Quin 
 
============================================================ 
 
First up we now have an FTP site thanks to the people at the  
English Palace BBS. The previous Caroline sections can be got  
from 
 
http://www.palace.com 
 
and are placed in the newusers library (ie the public part of  
the board). 
 
No associated images this time though there will be before  
this section goes on the web. 
 
Still no news on the website. 
Quin 

************************************************************ 
 
                            Captured Caroline.  by Quin 
                            ====================== 
 
Chapter 11: "French Lessons" 
========================= 
 
 
 
I wandered into the kitchen thinking again of Maggie's predicament. 
She'd always been impulsive, liable to go off and do strange things 
for no good reason.  This wouldn't be the first time I'd been forced 
to bail her out when things got out of hand. 
 
An image of her bound and gagged flittered through my mind and I was 
suddenly and unexpectedly hard.  Wow!  On one level I realized it was 
wrong; here was a long time friend in an embarrassing and potentially 
dangerous situation.  I shouldn't be getting off on it but it was such

a turn on I simply couldn't help myself.  I could imagine her lying 
there, wrists raw from her frantic struggles, body coated in sweat. 
At first she would have been too embarrassed to call for help -- after

all she wouldn't want the neighbors to find her like this.  But as she

tired and that knot of fear grew in her gut, she would have abandoned 
any thought for her dignity.  After all, survival is of primary 
importance.  I suppose she would have tried screaming first, but the 
gag was so tight I'd had problems hearing her close to a phone.  Then 
as her neighbors started to leave for work and she could hear them 
passing her door, I could imagine her desperate attempts to attract 
their attention -- the thrashing about, the gagged screams too quiet 
to be heard, then finally that desperate, frantic phone call. 
 
The drama of it appealed to me.  The reality, the danger, it was like 
our little adventure of last night.  There had been something, perhaps

her look of humiliation in the slut outfit, or the risk of discovery 
in the elevator, that had given the experience more of a kick. 
Whatever it was, it seemed to be missing from my relationship with 
Caroline. 
 
Don't get me wrong; nothing in my life compared with the  
immense thrill of the kidnapping.  The first time I'd raped  
Caroline as she lay there bound and helpless --- when I'd  
felt her struggles, heard her gagged moans I'd been in  
ecstasy, but after that it had started to become a little  
tame.  I still got a huge kick out of just having her.  She  
was young, sexy, beautiful and completely in my power.  I was  
in control freak heaven.  I could degrade her anyway I liked;  
I was the one with the Power.  It was the ultimate geek's  
fantasy.  I had a pretty blonde cheerleader tied up in my  
basement.  Yet strangely enough, bondage sex with my real  
prisoner did not seem as real as my little act with Maggie.   
I think it's lack of spontaneity.  Although I keep Caroline  
bound and gagged most of the time, it's mainly for show.  She  
spends her days locked behind an armored door in a sound- 
proof room; escape is impossible and the bonds are overkill.   
I thought again of Maggie lying helplessly in her room.  In  
her case the bonds were real, the cuffs constrained her, the  
gag stole her voice and any chance of rescue.  And that  
rescue is so tantalizingly close. . . 
 
I looked at my watch.  Two hours I'd told Maggie.  Two hours if I'd 
been ready in my car.  Two hours if I did eighty all the way and 
dodged the state troopers.  Two hours if I didn't have a slave to 
feed.  She would understand my lateness, I was sure.  Then a strange 
thought struck me.  Suppose I was killed in a car accident on my way 
to save Maggie?  I realized immediately that both girls would be 
doomed.  Maggie would eventually be found when the police searched her

apartment, but Caroline?  Caroline would die of starvation alone and 
helpless and the chances were her body would never be found. 
Strangely, I found the thought thrilling; to think that two other 
human beings were so dependent on me that they would die if I did. 
What a feeling of Power! 
 
Caroline. . . 
 
To be honest, I couldn't think about Caroline without feeling a little

numb.  I can't really say that I was emotionally drained; I am by 
nature and training an analytical person, and emotion doesn't come 
easily to me.  But the horrors of that attic room continued to haunt 
me as I started the coffee and began to prepare breakfast.  I forced 
myself to analyze the situation in depth, going backwards and forwards

over a tale that seemed more and more incredible.  Last night when she

had first told me the story, I had believed her completely.  But now 
in the cold light of day I started to doubt.  I suppose I didn't want 
to believe that a father could do this to his own daughter, and 
instead I started to wonder if this was some elaborate hoax. 
 
At first I couldn't see a motive for such a flagrant lie.  Then the 
cynical part of my brain found a reason -- to somehow shame me into 
freeing her.  Of course, that must be it!  I could almost imagine her 
lying there alone in the dark, concocting a story loaded with all the 
abhorrent images her psych training had taught her.  She was just 
trying to manipulate me, trying to escape.  Happy to find an 
explanation, I started to pick holes in her story.  One thing hit me 
immediately; surely such torture as she had described would leave 
scars, huge horrible scars like in the movies.  No scars meant no 
torture, which meant she was playing me for a sucker!  Suddenly I felt

very angry.  I wanted to go down there and introduce her to the lash, 
help put that added bit of realism into her story.  . . 
 
Then I wondered just why the lying bitch should have a breakfast when 
poor Maggie was all alone and helpless. 
 
Alone and helpless. . . 
 
Then, an evil thought struck me.  My old accomplice Fate had once 
again delivered me a wonderful opportunity, if I chose to take it.  Of

course it would be expensive, but as I'd pointed out to Caroline 
taking a slave was far from cheap.  As the plan started to form, a 
gut-level thrill went through me, and I started putting together a 
list of things I'd need. 
 
I was tempted to forget about Caroline and let the bitch fend for 
herself, but in the end I relented and decided to make her a health 
drink for breakfast.  After all, I did want to put her on a diet and 
I'd already decided to give her low residue foods while I was away in 
Seattle.  The image of a helpless Maggie flashed through the window of

my mind.  Yes, it would be worth it.  My hand shook as I took some 
Gatorade and a box of protein powder and loaded up the blender.  For 
my plan to work I needed to get to Boston *fast*.  Fortunately, I knew

a way.  All I needed to do was make a few phone calls and find 
something for Caroline to do this morning. 
 
The calls were the easy part.  Traveling as much as I do has a few 
advantages, one of which is that lots of hotel chains and car rental 
agencies see you as a valued customer.  They're more than willing to 
provide an extra service for you, rather than lose you to a more 
compliant competitor.  Fifteen minutes later and everything was ready.

Now all that was left was Caroline. 
 
I went downstairs with the protein shake and a flask of coffee.  I 
paused at the table and retrieved some new clothes and restraints. 
Then I crumbled a contraceptive pill into her coffee cup and topped it

up.  So far she hadn't noticed anything wrong, and soon I'd start 
ordering her to take it, adding her reproductive ability (or 
inability, as it were) to the things under my obvious control. 
 
She was still asleep when I went inside.  I was tempted to shake her 
awake and have it out with her right then, but common sense finally 
fought through.  Instead of waking her, I put the cup on the dresser 
and bent down to examine her naked crotch.  I had been right about the

stubble -- she would need a shave soon -- but of more interest to me 
were her pussy lips.  Very gently, so as not to disturb her, I 
examined the folds.  Even in the dim light, I could see a series of 
irregular pockmarked scars about a sixteenth of an inch from the edge.

As I looked closely at the tiny pits, I felt my stomach turn.  Any 
doubts I still had evaporated as those scars, so exactly like the ones

from a hypodermic, told me that the "butterfly board" was real. 
Gently I examined the other side, noticing the corresponding marks 
that showed how the needle had gone right through the delicate 
membranes.  Above me, she moaned, her tongue darting quickly across 
her other lips.  There was already the suggestion of moisture in her 
cunt from my handling of her pussy lips, and her nipples had started 
to harden again. 
 
Then I realized what agony it must have been for her; to be this 
sensitive and for him to do *that.* I wasn't surprised that she'd told

him about Josh -- in a similar situation, I'd have done anything to 
stop the pain.  I felt a momentary flash of guilt for having doubted 
her, so I reached over and gently stroked her cheek.  She woke slowly,

smiling as she attempted to stretch then found that she couldn't.  For

an instant she seemed puzzled, then she remembered.  Her eyes 
flickered open. 
 
I smiled at her.  "Time to wake up, lazy bones." 
 
Surprisingly, she smiled back.  "Hi Master." 
 
"Not yet, but the day is still young," I said flippantly, and slapped 
her bottom. 
  
I helped her up and we went through the coffee and toilet ritual.  She

seemed happy; our first therapy session together appeared to have 
relaxed her.  I knew that she hadn't told me everything, though.  Her 
story had stopped soon after Josh's death, with three whole years of 
horror left.  One thing I did find out last night was that the 
Reverend Conway could pack a lot of suffering into a year.  The thing 
I most wanted to know was how she'd escaped.  Had she run away?  Did 
that explain her destitute condition and lack of letters home?  I 
needed to know before I posted something out of character to her 
family and gave the game away. 
 
Still, that could wait.  She seemed much better than last night and I 
started to feel happier with the idea of leaving her alone for a 
while.  I led her into the dungeon and removed the posture collar from

her neck, replacing her old collar.  After I chained her to the table 
I removed the rest of the single sleeve and smiled again.  "Ok, get 
naked!" 
 
She didn't hesitate, stripping off the remaining latex in moments.  I 
circled her body, admiring her slim athletic build and small but 
perfect breasts.  I had come to appreciate just what a find she was 
and I could understand why any man would kill to keep her.  I tossed 
her some leather cuffs which she put on without comment.  To put on 
the ankle cuffs, she put one foot at a time on the bondage chair and 
bent over, and I took the opportunity to look at her back carefully. 
The lines were faint, so faint that I wasn't surprised I had missed 
them.  These were not the vivid scars so beloved of Hollywood, and I 
suspected that Conway had been very careful to ensure that all 
tell-tale wounds healed properly.  Yet faint as they, were the scars 
were there.  It was more support for her story. 
 
By now she was waiting expectantly, so I handed her the shake. 
"What's this?"  she asked, looking at the concoction with some 
distaste. 
 
"Breakfast," I said.  "Michael Jordan's secret recipe.  Denis would 
*kill* to know what's in it." 
 
She looked blank.  "Not a big basketball fan then?"  I asked.  Again 
getting no reply I went for the less subtle approach.  "Just drink it,

slave.  It's all the meal you're getting this morning." 
 
"Why?  Have I upset you in some way?"  she asked, almost fearfully. 
"Because if I did I'm sorry.  . ." 
 
"No, it's just healthier than the cooked breakfast.  Now drink the 
fucking shake!" 
 
She chugged it down.  I got the feeling that she was trying to avoid 
any confrontation, which suited me fine.  Most of the last few days 
had revolved around her, a situation that couldn't continue if I 
wanted to keep working.  Now was the obvious time to acquaint her with

the lowliness of her new position; that as a slave, she was just a 
possession like any other and had only a limited influence on my life.

 
Once the shake was finished I clipped her wrists to her collar and 
began to dress her.  First up came a black leather bondage belt.  This

was about three or four inches wide with rings equally spaced around 
it.  It had buckles on the front and a small catch, and after 
tightening it firmly about her narrow waist I locked it in place with 
a padlock.  She didn't struggle or even comment -- cuffs, gags and 
chains were a part of her life now, and I think she'd started to 
accept that.  Once the belt was locked in place I helped her on to the

table and used cord and straps to tie her down.  As before, I strapped

her with her legs parted and her pussy exposed.  I wished I had the 
time to shave her twat again but I had a lot to do and the clock was 
ticking. 
 
Once Caroline was secure I reached over and took a packet from the 
table.  The packet took some opening as it was designed to keep its 
contents sterile.  After a struggle I finally got it open and was able

to remove the catheter.  This was a small hollow tube surrounded by an

inflatable surgical balloon.  I looked for a reaction but it was 
obvious she didn't recognize it.  She was still wearing the training 
harness, so after a little thought I reached over and pushed the ball 
against those cherry lips.  She opened immediately and I pushed the 
gag in, loosely fastening it just enough to hold it in place.  Then, 
using a small jar of lube, I greased the end of the catheter and 
parted her pussy lips.  Her clit had already started to swell and as I

gently pushed it out of the way her whole body trembled.  Very 
carefully, I placed the catheter against her urethra and pushed.  A 
muffled squeal erupted from the far end of the table, and her hips 
quaked as her body fought against the imprisoning bonds.  The thin 
tube slid home into her bladder, and I slowly inflated the balloon the

small amount needed to seal it in place.  Then I removed the pump and 
waited for her to calm down.  Needless to say this took a while, but 
eventually she was ready for the next stage. 
 
I call the device a McGuffin.  It's a small oval piece of latex a 
little bigger than a woman's labia.  One side is plain, and the other 
is studded with electrodes and small piezo-electric buzzers.  This 
particular one had been designed for use with the catheter and had a 
small hole between the cluster of electrodes for the clit and those 
for the rest of the pussy.  Sliding it down the tube, I gently moved 
it into best contact . At the other end of the table the moans started

again.  Once it was in position, I sealed it in place using surgical 
tape, then released Caroline.  She stood a little uncertainly; it must

be odd for a woman to suddenly find a pipe between her legs, and she 
struggled a bit more than usual as I covered the arrangement with a 
special pair of spandex pants.  I used a locking belt to fasten the 
pants in place then started to apply electrodes to her breasts.  She 
struggled and moaned into the gag as I stuck a couple of other 
McGuffins on top if each nipple.  I finished up with an spandex 
athletic bra just like those in the shops except modified to lock in 
place.  Then I removed the gag. 
 
"What are you doing. . .Master?" 
 
"Careful, slave.  You almost bought yourself a punishment!" 
 
Her eyes were wide.  "Isn't this a punishment?" 
 
I laughed and kissed her forehead.  "Why, have you done anything 
wrong?" 
 
She thought for a while.  "Not as far as I know." 
 
"Then why should I punish you?"  It seemed straightforward to me, but 
then Conway had never needed a reason to punish her.  I smiled.  "I 
have to go somewhere and I need to keep you busy while I'm gone. 
Trust me, all will be revealed!" 
 
She squirmed.  "That thing. . .it's uncomfortable." 
 
"Yep, it is."  I pushed her back onto the table and locked a pair of 
shoes with sensible heels on her dainty little feet. 
 
Realizing she wasn't going to get any sympathy, she pouted for a 
while, then seemed to realize that she was ungagged and could talk. 
She looked up.  "Master?"  she asked softly. 
 
I stopped for a moment.  "Yes slave?" 
 
"Can we talk about your mother?" 
 
I was puzzled but willing to play along.  "I suppose so." 
 
"Do. . .do you love your mother?" 
 
That caught me by surprise.  To be honest, my mother was a bit of a 
bitch.  While my father was tending the store, she'd ruled our 
household like a petty tyrant.  When it had become clear that I was. 
.. .different.  . .she had pushed me towards greater and greater 
academic achievement.  If for some reason I didn't jump a grade or 
score better than anyone else on a test, she wanted to know why. 
Thinking back on it, if it hadn't been for my grandfather's gentle but

firm insistence on letting me have some free time to myself, I don't 
believe I would have had a childhood at all.  It was my belief that 
most of my problems with women had come from her; my desire for sexual

dominance, my status as a power freak, was a subconscious backlash 
against her total domination of my childhood. 
 
"Of course I love her," I said, and it was true.  After all, you'd 
have to be really screwed up not to love your mother. 
 
She gulped a bit.  "If something.  . .bad was going to happen to her, 
something you could prevent, you'd do it, right?" 
 
I attached the leash to her collar and led her over to part of the 
dungeon near the cell.  "Yes," I said.  Caroline seemed to prefer 
straight answers. 
 
The floodgates opened.  "Please, you have to let me go or he'll kill 
her," she begged. 
 
"He'll kill my mother?"  Needless to say, I was shocked. 
 
"NO!  He'll kill my mother!" she wailed. 
 
I stopped.  "When did we start talking about your mother?"  I said, 
sounding confused.  In the back of my mind I could imagine the laugh 
track, like this was some weird sitcom.  In my head I could almost 
hear the intro -- 'New this fall, the hilarious new show "Master and 
Slave," coming soon on NBC!  Richard Cody, successful author, kidnaps 
a girl and keeps her in his basement -- you'll be rolling with 
laughter as he tries to keep this fact secret from friends and family,

often with hilarious results!' 
 
"Perhaps if you start again," I said smoothly.  "Who's going to kill 
who and why?" 
 
She took a deep, halting breath.  "Momma wanted me to go to college, 
but at first my father wouldn't let me," she said.  "Then she talked 
him around, but he said he was going to call me every week.  If I ran 
away or if he found out I'd told anyone, he'd kill her and then 
himself--" 
 
"How could he find out?"  I asked, annoyed.  "That's stupid, he can't 
be keeping track of you all the time." 
 
She shook her head.  "He has friends in the police, lodge buddies, he 
says they'd warn him if the police started getting interested in him. 
He'll do it, I know he will!" 
 
So she hadn't escaped him.  She was still as much his prisoner now as 
she had been in that attic.  Conway still had her on a tight leash; 
only the nature of the chain and its length were different.  While I 
could believe that he had contacts in local law enforcement and even 
see how they might tip him off, there was no way he could have 
everything covered.  Then I looked at Caroline and saw the fear in 
those blue eyes, and I realized it didn't have to make sense as long 
as *SHE* believed it.  Still, I was intrigued enough to want to know 
more. 
 
"So he let you leave town on the understanding that he was to know 
where you are and that you were to keep quiet about the things he 
did," I said. 
 
She nodded and looked down. 
 
I reached over and forced her to look at me.  "What if he were to 
order you back?" 
 
She sniffed.  "I had to come at once." 
 
"He specifically told you that?" 
 
She nodded again.  "He said that if I disobeyed, it would be Momma who

was punished because it was her idea." 
 
Somehow I didn't think he would limit the punishment to just the 
mother.  So he'd let Caroline go.  Suddenly, the alarm bells in the 
back of my mind were on overload.  One thing I'd learned was that he 
did nothing without a reason, and I knew for sure was that whatever 
that reason was, it hadn't been to please his slave wife.  No, if 
Charles Conway had allowed Caroline out of town then he had something 
in mind and from experience it wasn't going to be pleasant.  Conway's 
plans tended to be pretty straight-forward.  He didn't mislead or 
bluff; instead, he relied on using his position in the local community

to best effect.  I was sure that had the Conways not been the family 
of the local minister, someone would have spotted the abuse long 
before now.  But then, as Caroline had said, who would suspect the 
nicest man in town?  Hell, even I'd thought she was lying.  I guess 
people just don't want to believe something like that. 
 
I analyzed the problem.  I could see no obvious benefit for getting 
her out of town, but then I didn't have all the data he did.  However 
I knew there was a reason and it would be obvious from Conway's point 
of view.  Then something else popped into my head. 
 
"Hey, wait a minute!  If he's told you that he intends to call you 
back, then what was that 'offer' of yours?" 
 
"My offer was good." 
 
"Bullshit!  If he called you back to Iowa, how could you have been my 
slave here?  You lied, you little bitch." 
 
She flushed.  "I don't think he'll call.  I've been away almost eight 
months and I've been able to avoid going home even during vacations. 
He hasn't said anything.  I'm almost free." 
 
I shook my head.  "No you're not.  He's just played out the line a 
little, that's all.  He has every intention of reeling you back." 
 
A look of fear crossed her face.  "Oh no.  I mean, he wouldn't--" 
 
"He would," I said harshly.  "My guess is he was going to do it soon, 
otherwise he'd have given you some more money." 
 
"I don't see. . ." 
 
"You're on a scholarship, right?"  
 
She nodded.  
 
"What is it, a hundred percent of tuition costs?" 
 
She nodded again, a worried look spreading across her face. 
 
"And he pays for your rent, food and things.  I mean, he gives you 
money for that." 
 
"Yes," she whispered. 
 
"Let me tell you what's happened and you correct me if I'm wrong. 
He's never really given you enough to live on, so it's always been a 
struggle.  He's said something about working your way through college 
builds character.  He hasn't worried when your grades have suffered as

a result.  Recently, he's sent you even less money, and he's been 
making noises about coming for a visit." 
 
By now the look of alarm had turned almost to panic.  "Next month. 
But how.  . ." 
 
"I'm afraid it's obvious.  He's coming to get you to take you back," I

said. 
 
Her face filled with horror.  "Back. . ." 
 
"Probably straight back to the attic, so that he can purge you of any 
independent thoughts." 
 
"NO!"  she shrieked.  "Please God, NO!  I've left, I'm independent. 
Never again!  Oh, God, never again!" 
 
"You never left," I said sadly.  "He wanted you out of the way for 
some reason.  He never had any intention of letting you finish that 
course."  I continued to lead her gently towards the far corner of the

dungeon.  "You see, if you fail or he brings you back, the tuition fee

will be wasted but he doesn't care because he's not paying it.  The 
maintenance fee is something he *does* pay, which is why he's keeping 
it as cheap as possible.  That's why he never gave you enough money, 
and he hasn't sent you any more because he knows you won't be needing 
it.  Besides, he figures you may fear the attic more than what he'll 
do to Momma, so the less money you have, the less chance there is that

you'll run." 
 
The tears streamed down her face.  "No!"  she screamed, "you're just 
saying that so you don't have to let me go!  He couldn't.  . .*I 
can't!*" 
 
I looked her in the eye.  "Slave, I don't have to let you go.  Even if

he was intending to flay your mother alive, it's no skin off my nose."

I winced at the subconscious pun.  "What I mean is, I'm the only one 
who has no problem being honest with you because I *know* what you're 
going to do." 
 
"And that is?" 
 
"Exactly what *I* tell you," I said. 
 
She looked down deep in misery. 
 
By now we had come to the far corner and a couple of items which were 
covered by dust sheets.  Still sniffing, she looked at them with some 
trepidation, probably thinking they were some arcane torture device. 
And in fact she was right, as she saw when I pulled the sheet aside. 
I'd seen this thing on a late night infomercial about a year ago.  It 
was an exercise machine that looked like a cross between a bicycle and

a rowing machine.  You sit on it and while your legs turn some pedals 
your arms pull the handles towards you.  I used it successfully until 
I moved into the house and had access to a dedicated multigym, at 
which point I moved the machine down here.  Of course, I had to modify

it for its use as a slave trainer.  First, I welded extra cross 
members to the frame, to strengthen it and make sure it couldn't 
collapse.  Then I added some mounting points for restraints.  Finally 
I attached some accelerometers and tension gauges so that the computer

could monitor its use. 
 
She looked stunned.  "I said you needed exercise," I said cheerfully. 
 
"Please no!  We need to talk about Momma. . .I need to talk." 
 
"I'm sorry, but I don't have time.  Now do what you're told or I'll 
find something even more uncomfortable to keep you occupied." 
 
She lowered her head and sobbed once, then nodded. 
 
I removed the gag trainer and helped her on to the machine.  I 
fastened her right wrist to a small length of chain attached to the 
handles.  I needed to leave one hand free for drinking, so I made sure

it wasn't her 'good' one. 
 
Finally she spoke.  "Why did he let me go if he was going to bring me 
back?" 
 
"He has a reason," I said.  "The fact that we can't figure it out 
doesn't mean it doesn't exist." 
 
"But my Momma said--" 
 
"She said what she wanted to believe, or what *he* wanted her to 
believe.  Ask yourself this:  how could she persuade him to do 
anything not in his own interest?  Can she withdraw sex?  Can she go 
away?  Can she even have a fight with him?" 
 
"I never thought.  . .I mean, I was just so happy to be leaving." 
 
By now I'd fastened the bondage belt to chains coming from the seat so

that she couldn't stand up.  Then as she sat thinking, I used small 
chains to secure her feet and ankle cuffs to the pedals.  Once she was

strapped down I started with the rest.  I attached a small box to the 
back of the bondage belt.  This had a number of wires which I 
connected to the electrodes on her body and to the McGuffins. 
 
She sobbed a little.  "I'll never get away, ever." 
 
"You are away," I said lightly, "and you're never going back." 
 
She looked at me, her eyes full of a curious mixture of hope and fear.

"But my Momma?" 
 
"I have an idea," I said.  "But it will require your complete 
co-operation." 
 
"Anything," she said. 
 
"You said that before and didn't mean it." 
 
"To save my Momma, anything!" she said firmly. 
 
"Good girl," I said, smiling.  Always praise the slave when she does 
well. 
 
I put a sweat band on her left wrist and showed her the small table 
with the water containers on it, then made the final connections.  I 
fastened a small hose to the end of the catheter that poked through 
the pants.  This ended in a bucket behind the machine.  I got her to 
pee and confirmed that there were no leaks and that the amber liquid 
flowed easily into the container.  Finally, it was time for the final 
piece.  I showed her the light weight VR helmet before I put it on her

so that she wasn't too frightened.  I'd modified the basic unit quite 
a bit to ensure that it couldn't be removed or tampered with, but in 
essence it is similar in design to the ones Sega sells.  The only real

technical difference was that it uses a flat CRT rather that an LCD 
module.  After I told her what it was for, she seemed happy for me to 
strap it on her. 
 
The helmet would display a crude VR environment for her to cycle 
through.  The virtual course was divided into sections.  If she made 
the sections on time, the McGuffins would reward her with a little 
sexual stimulation.  Failure meant a shock.  At random intervals she 
would hear my voice giving her some new instructions.  Obedience meant

reward, and she figured out what happened if she disobeyed.  Happy 
that she was set, I kissed her cheek for luck and started the program.

 
Once she was started, I looked at my watch and cursed.  My schedule 
was slipping.  Locking the dungeon door behind me I ran upstairs. 
First up was the utility room and the pile of dirty clothes from the 
last week.  Rooting around, I finally found the sweats I'd worn during

the kidnapping.  As I hoped they smelt of old sweat and dirt, with 
perhaps a hint of Caroline's perfume.  There was still a ski mask in 
the pocket which I'd intended to wear.  I thought again of how I 
rushed out and took her.  I must have been insane.  I opened one of 
the closets and got out a huge duffel bag.  When I'd been working 
through the kidnapping I'd toyed with the idea of carrying Caroline 
out of her apartment block in this.  I'd come to the conclusion that 
it could work but would look so unusual that it was bound to be 
remembered.  So the idea was discarded, but I'd kept the bag. 
 
In went the sweats, some sneakers and a couple of rolls of duct tape. 
Charging through into the kitchen I added some Saran wrap and a small 
pile of Ace bandages.  Last stop was my office.  I found the DAT 
recorder straight away but couldn't find a blank tape.  Searching my 
desk drawers, I finally found one and as an unexpected bonus a bottle 
of a cheap and very nasty aftershave someone had bought me one 
Christmas.  Everything went into the bag.  As a final thought I threw 
in my Powerbook and portable printer.  As I didn't have time to change

out of my master's outfit of shirt and leather pants, I pulled on my 
favorite leather flying jacket so that at least my clothes matched. 
Still cursing the clock, I charged to the back of the house and waited

by the back door. 
 
By now Caroline would be part through the first section.  Soon she 
would be getting her first taste of the obedience test.  Not being a 
cruel man I'd decided to help her out.  Every time my voice gave her 
an order the helmet would briefly flash the word "OBEY," driving the 
command subliminally into her subconscious mind.  She was so 
suggestible, I was certain she would make a good subject.  By the time

I came home her mind would be a little closer to being mine. 
 
I was still thrilling at the thought of it when the helicopter landed 
on the back lawn.  I grabbed the duffel bag, locked the door and ran 
out. 
 
I climbed in.  "Mr Cody?"  the pilot asked.  The guy looked like the 
chopper pilots you see on TV -- short haircut, aviator shades, 
baseball cap and a huge pair of headphones. 
 
"Yes," I bawled, trying desperately to be heard. 
 
He offered his hand.  "Bob Wilson -- I'll be your pilot today."  He 
showed me how to fasten the harness.  I put on the headset he gave me 
and was relieved when the wall of sound subsided.  "I was told you 
want to go to Boston?" 
 
"Yes, a panic business meeting. I need to get there ASAP." 
 
"Understood, Mr Cody.  ASAP is the only way we work around here." 
 
Bob seemed a pleasant enough fellow.  I got the feeling that perhaps 
some of his customers weren't that comfortable flying, as he had this 
patter worked out where he gave a running commentary on everything he 
was doing.  He kept cracking jokes and making light of the fact that 
we were shooting cross country at better than 100 miles an hour.  For 
the most part I let him talk while mentally building up checklists of 
things to do.  I was so distracted that it seemed like no time before 
we were setting down at a small private airfield just outside Boston. 
 
Thanking Bob and giving him a generous tip for his speed, I started 
across the grass towards the control tower.  Nearby a pretty brown 
haired girl stood near the driver's side door of a Chevy mini van. 
Her blue blazer and sensible gray skirt identified her as a 
representative of a well known rental agency.  I was looking at the 
grass for most of the time in order to shield my head from the wash of

the departing helicopter, and when I looked up I got a shock.  For an 
instant I thought the girl was gagged; it seemed that a large red ball

had been pulled between her teeth.  As I got closer I realized it was 
just imagination. 
 
She smiled and stepped forward, offering her hand.  "Mr Cody.  I must 
say you know how to make a spectacular entrance." 
 
I looked her over.  She was perhaps three or four years older than 
Caroline, with large, almost luminous gray eyes.  She wore her hair in

a business-like shoulder-length bob.  Her makeup was conservative, 
except perhaps for her lipstick which was a shocking red.  Suddenly I 
realized what had just happened -- the color was the same as the one 
Caroline used, one I'd deliberately picked to match the red of her 
ballgag.  Mental association, or something more?  In that split second

I checked out her ring hand, the state of her shoes and her name 
badge.  Her name was Peby with a 
bored looking young man behind the wheel.  Still, I took her business 
card so that I could arrange pickup later, then I threw the duffel bag

in the back and headed for town. 
 
On the way in I daydreamed; pretty little Penny bound, gagged and 
struggling.  Penny and Caroline, girl to girl.  Of course any thoughts

I had of adding her to my little harem were just a fantasy, although 
the thought of a brunette to round out my collection was quite 
tempting.  With some difficulty I refocused on Maggie. 
 
It was now over an hour since I received the call, but my two hour 
estimate had been very optimistic, something Maggie would have 
realized.  Bottom line was that I could now reach her apartment long 
before she was expecting me.  Now was time to finalize the plan.  The 
core idea of the plan was fairly simple:  Maggie is bound and helpless

in her apartment waiting the two or more hours it will take for 
Richard Cody, her trusted friend, to speed to her rescue from the 
backwoods of darkest New England.  However, before he gets there she 
has an unexpected visitor in the form of a sneak thief who happens 
upon her as he's turning over her apartment.  There she is, helpless 
and in a sexually provocative position with a complete stranger. 
Well, not exactly a complete stranger. 
.. . 
 
The reason I'd rushed to Boston was so that I could play the intruder.

Maggie was fairly smart and being a practical joker herself she was 
likely to smell a setup.  I was hoping that the 'stranger' arriving so

early -- long before I could be expected to show up -- would sell it 
to her. 
 
Unfortunately I was likely to blow the plan the moment I opened my 
mouth.  I'm fairly good at accents but the basic tone of my voice 
remains the same.  I experimented with different voices as I fought 
the traffic but it was still no good.  Then I had a revelation.  If I 
were a foreigner, then I might stand a better chance of pulling it 
off.  Broken English with a scattering of foreign words and 
expressions might just disguise my voice enough.  In addition, it gave

me a good excuse not to say that much in English. 
 
I speak six languages, four fairly fluently.  The obvious choice was 
Spanish but I knew that Maggie spoke it too and could probably spot my

accent.  Russian would be good, especially with all the news coverage 
the Russian Mafia have been getting lately.  The problem was, Maggie 
knew I spoke Russian.  In the end I settled on French; internally it 
made more sense anyway, what with Quebec only a few miles to the 
north.  I would be a French Canadian burglar, down in Boston to pull a

few jobs before heading north again.  I practiced the accent, trying 
hard to lower my voice a little.  In my mind he started to form, 
taking on more and more substance as I worked out a back story.  I 
stopped and wondered if she deserved it, but the twenty-first birthday

thing had only been one of the awful practical jokes she'd pulled on 
me and payback was long overdue. 
 
I checked into a mid-priced motel about three blocks from Maggie's 
apartment building.  I had a reservation so things went relatively 
smoothly.  I shot the guy on the desk a line about needing a quiet 
place to work in and a large tip got me a room in the next block with 
no neighbors.  With time now a factor, I went inside and got set up. 
For the most part this involved getting changed into the sweats I'd 
brought, slapping on some of the aftershave and recording a couple of 
things on the DAT machine.  I placed a call to Maggie's department at 
the university and told them that she had a bad headache and wouldn't 
be in today.  They accepted it easily, since her job was pure research

with few teaching commitments.  I unloaded the things I wouldn't need 
from the duffel bag and set off. 
 
I had a copy of Maggie's key, an arrangement that dated from the time 
I lived in Boston.  I don't know if she even remembered giving it to 
me but it would make things a lot easier.  Like the night before, I 
entered the basement car park and found Maggie's space.  Then I 
hoisted the duffel bag over my shoulder and headed to the lift.  The 
trip up was uneventful and this time there were no interruptions apart

from the hideous muzac they seemed to play during the day.  I reached 
Maggie's floor without disturbance and was relieved to find that the 
corridor outside her apartment was empty. 
 
Pausing outside, I deliberately fumbled with the lock for a few 
minutes.  I can actually pick locks, a skill I learned at MIT, but it 
took some time and though I wanted to give the impression I was 
breaking in, I didn't want to chance her neighbors calling the cops. 
Finally, I inserted the key in the lock and waited.  I had the ski 
mask in my pocket and I could have put it on, but again knowing my 
luck someone would come past right then.  I took a deep breath.  If 
Maggie had decided to tie herself in the living room then all this 
trouble and expense would be for nothing.  Gently, I opened the door 
and went inside. 
 
The room was dark as the drapes were still drawn, and it took a few 
minutes for my eyes to adjust.  By the dim light of the one working 
lamp, I could see that the room was pretty much as I'd left it last 
night.  Maggie wasn't there.  Taking the DAT machine from my pocket I 
quickly rewound the tape, deliberately making noise as I circled the 
room.  When the tape was rewound and I was sure that any occupant of 
the apartment had heard me, I pushed play and set the machine on the 
coffee table. 
 
A shaft of light shone from beneath the bedroom door.  As I drew 
closer, I could hear faint movement inside.  I took another deep 
breath, pulled on the ski mask and quietly opened the door. 
 
Maggie lay on the bed.  When she heard the door open, she made a 
supreme effort to sit up.  She was dressed in the hooker outfit I'd 
bought her, all shiny leather and PVC.  As she managed to face the 
door , I realized that the ski mask was unnecessary.  Her eyes were 
covered with the light padded blindfold I'd bought.  Her mouth chewed 
on the ballgag, and she groaned and thrust her crotch up into the air,

making suggestive little mewing noises.  Then I realized that she had 
no way to measure time.  To her it must have seemed like several hours

since the call.  She obviously thought it was me and her waving hips 
were a clear invitation. 
 
As I got closer I admired her handiwork.  She had used a good part of 
the cord I'd bought to tie her ankles to a broom handle as an 
improvised spreader bar.  Her wrists were pinioned behind her back, I 
assumed with the handcuffs.  A small length of yellow cable came 
through a gap at her zipped crotch and ended in a small battery box. 
 
"Hummmph," she moaned. 
 
"Merde!"  I knew immediately that I'd hit the right tone perfectly. 
 
Maggie stiffened.  As I'd intended, she was surprised by the response.

The first part of convincing her I was a stranger had begun.  I 
muttered a few things in French about who had done this and what was 
going on.  Getting no indication of comprehension, I felt it was safe 
to come closer.  Hearing me, she started struggling in earnest but it 
was obvious she wasn't going anywhere.  For my imaginary stranger, the

French Canadian burglar, there was only one question: 
 
"Etes-vous seule?" I demanded. 
 
"Hummphh. . .UM Iee Eeee." 
 
"Pardon?" 
 
"Hummm." 
 
"Oui.......le baillon!  Errr, Mademoiselle. . .you must  
promise.  No noise, oui?" 
 
She paused, then nodded so I reached behind her head and released the 
strap.  As with Caroline, I left it dangling around her neck. 
 
"Water," she croaked, so I poured a glass from the jug by her bedside 
and held it to her lips.  She drank greedily for a few seconds, then 
started sniffing near my sleeve.  The smell of sweat and cheap cologne

hung in the air.  This was not a Cody smell, and yet another part of 
my deception was established. 
 
I put the glass down and we waited a while, the room quiet but for the

insistent sound of the off hook telephone.  Reaching down, I picked it

up from the floor and replaced the handset, then noisily placed the 
phone back on the bedside table.  She jumped and 'looked' around 
nervously.  I felt she was starting to buy my act. 
 
"Please can you untie me?"  she asked, twisting her shoulders around 
so as to get her bound hands as close to me as possible.  I could see 
I'd been right about the handcuffs.  I could also see what a struggle 
she'd had.  The once glossy surface of the PVC gloves near her wrist 
had been worn away.  In fact, the cheap gloves had been what had kept 
her prisoner; they had slipped during her struggles but only enough to

stop any chance of her working her wrists free of the cuffs. 
 
"C'est. . .it is impossible, handcuffs.  No key, eh?" 
 
"The key is on the bed somewhere."  I looked and after a while I found

it under a pillow.  She seemed to sense this because she thrust her 
arms towards me.  I reached down to the cuffs -- and closed them an 
extra click. 
 
"What are you doing?"  Her voice had that edge of panic that I liked. 
 
"My job," I said off handedly and reached for the gag. 
 
"No please. . .who are you?" 
 
At last, the question I'd been waiting for.  "How you say -- le 
cambrioleur?" 
 
"I'm sorry?" 
 
"Le burglar...?  My gloved hand covered her mouth just as she was 
about to scream.  A faint shriek came out and she struggled wildly but

her position was hopeless. 
 
I grabbed the ball and started to bring it up to her mouth; a gagged 
Maggie could ask no questions and so reduce the amount of talking *I* 
needed to do.  Sensing I was about to silence her again she started 
struggling and shaking her head.  For my own reasons I would need to 
work on the gag soon anyway so I decided that "le cambrioleur" should 
have a change of heart. 
 
"Mademoiselle, please."  She stopped struggling.  "I will leave.  . 
..le baillon?"  I tugged at the strap until she realized what I was 
trying to say. 
 
"The gag?" 
 
"Oui.  No baillon if you quiet until I am gone." 
 
She understood and nodded.  I removed the gag from around her neck and

pocketed it.  Then I started to noisily search the rooms.  Maggie 
didn't have much, almost all her unspectacular pay went towards the 
future purchase of her dream house.  In addition she was a bit of an 
intellectual elitist and shunned such items as a TV.  Consequently, 
her apartment had little a burglar would find interesting.  But I 
stayed in character and searched the place methodically while she 
struggled on the bed.  Two things I did check was the availability of 
Saran Wrap in the kitchen and that she had bandages in the bathroom 
cabinet.  I had brought my own, but I didn't want to give the game 
away by using something unusual that she knew wasn't in the house. 
 
"Please," she called.  "I need the toilet?"  That was good because I 
needed her to go anyway, so with much gallic swearing I undid the 
spreader.  I found the rope looser than I expected -- she was probably

only minutes away from freeing her legs.  I gathered up the loose cord

and tied it to the leather collar she wore and using it as a leash 
guided her to the bathroom.  I reached between her legs and opened the

zipper and was rewarded by the smell of hot pussy.  Removing the 
vibrator, I noted the dampness of her crotch.  She turned a bright 
beet root color from the embarrassment but the sight of her erect 
nipples as they pushed through the peepholes in the leather cups gave 
the game away.  The little slut was getting turned on!  Like Caroline,

she seemed to get quite uncomfortable having me watch while she peed, 
but in the end she had to put up with it.  Then I dried her and led 
her back to the bedroom. 
 
"Please, you should leave now, my boyfriend will be back soon." 
 
I grunted.  "This boyfriend, he tie you?" 
 
She turned red again.  "Yes, it's a sex game, you know?  He only 
stepped out for some cigarettes.  He'll be back soon." 
 
I let the sentence hang in the air a while as if I was considering it.

 
"Non, you lie. If boyfriend tie, *he* would have key." 
 
"But--" 
 
I placed a gloved finger to her lips.  "Shussh!"  I took her head and 
forced her to nod and then shake.  "Just this, eh?" 
 
She nodded. 
 
"Magnetoscope, stereo?"  She shook her head.  "You have jewels?  A 
safe?"  She shook her head again.  I went through her purse checking 
credit and cash cards.  "The cards, tell me the numbers!"  She 
stiffened.  I knew one of these was the dream house account and 
contained almost all the money she had made in her life.  I had the 
feeling that she wouldn't give me that without a fight.  Pursing her 
lip, she shook her head. 
 
"C'est la vie!"  I said and stuffed the gag back into her mouth.  She 
complained, but there was little she could do.  She fought a little 
when I removed the thigh high boots and tied her ankles to the bed, 
but the blindfold kept her from seeing just what I had planned.  I 
went to the linen closet and removed what I needed. 
 
At the first touch of the feather duster against the bare soles of her

feet she gave a strange little gurgling sound.  Soon the room was full

of muffled laughter.  She thrashed around as much as the bonds allowed

and the first tears started to creep from behind the blindfold.  I was

glad she'd used the toilet because by now I was sure she'd lost all 
body control.  I'd left the zipper open and gradually started moving 
the duster up her legs, against her thigh, her pussy lips.  She went 
crazy in a strange flux between being tickled and turned on.  Her 
gagged voice begged for mercy but I was relentless, working her over 
until all the fight had been laughed out of her.  The duster danced 
over her body, driving her more and more wild, pushing her way beyond 
any reasonable limit.  Then when she was almost completely out of her 
mind I stopped. 
  
"Enough?" I asked.  She nodded weakly. 
 
I removed the gag and asked for the PIN numbers and the amounts in the

accounts.  She seemed drained and strangely submissive.  I noted the 
information for later.  The figures for her main account were not that

impressive; she always transferring any excess to the house account. 
However the dream house account was different.  I couldn't tell if she

was lying but the amount seemed about right.  I made a point of 
whistling when she gave the balance.  While she was weak I asked other

questions like where she worked and how much she could take out of the

accounts in a week.  I think she was too far gone to see where this 
was heading and gave fairly truthful answers.  While this was going on

I was wrapping an Ace bandage around the ball of the gag making it 
larger.  In the back of my mind a counter that had started when I 
entered her apartment was counting down. 
 
Then the knock came.  We both jumped, but in my case it was to clamp a

hand over her mouth.  Then from outside the room my voice said, 
"Maggie?  Are you all right?"  She stiffened, then started to struggle

in earnest, trying to throw me off.  I clamped my hand harder over her

mouth as she continued to scream.  Then the voice continued. 
 
"Maggie, listen, I need to find the super and get him to open the 
door.  I'll try and keep him out of there but there may be nothing I 
can do -- is that all right?" 
 
She screamed into my hand. 
 
"Look, I can't hear you.  I'll be fifteen, twenty minutes tops, okay?"

 
That had sold it to her.  I think half of her suspected it was a joke 
and that I was the Frenchman.  To some extent she had played along. 
Now, thanks to the recording on the DAT player, she had heard me 
outside and suddenly in her mind she was alone and helpless with a 
stranger. 
 
She struggled as I forced the enlarged gag into her mouth and pulled 
the strap tight.  The bandage covered ball was a real mouth filler and

her screams were reduced to almost nothing.  She must have realized 
this because she stopped screaming at once and just lay there 
trembling.  I went to the duffel bag and got out more bandages, the 
duct tape and the plastic wrap. 
 
Looking at the small pile of discarded cord I suddenly had an idea. 
Quickly I fashioned a device I'd learned about in books.  When I tied 
the cord around her waist she didn't seem to notice, being more 
concerned with chewing the ball.  Even when I pulled one end between 
her legs she didn't understand.  Still, she would find out more in a 
second.  Taking the roll of Saran Wrap I went to work. 
 
She struggled as I wound the Saran Wrap around her legs.  As I wanted 
to be able to bend her knees I carefully left them unwrapped but 
continued with her thighs.  Then I rolled her over and did the same 
with her arms pulling her shoulders back and thrusting her breasts out

in the process.  Her struggles became weaker as she had less and less 
to work with.  When I went over the Saran Wrap with the duct tape she 
became even more helpless.  As I used the tape to secure the tops of 
her arms to her torso, the fight left her.  She just lay there as I 
hog-tied her, though she showed some interest when I took the rope 
between her legs and secured part of it to her wrists.  As a crotch 
rope this was a masterpiece.  Two parallel cords held apart by a 
massive knot ran either side of the pussy holding the lips open and 
exposing the clit.  A third rope passed between them, deliberately 
passing tightly through the pussy and bringing several rough knots in 
contact with her nub.  It was this rope that was bound to her wrists 
and it took her no time to realize that she could vary the pressure 
and move the knots over her sensitive bud with the little hand 
movement she had left. 
 
However, she also found out how frustrating it was; while almost any 
movement brought some stimulation, getting enough to make a real 
difference would take a lot of effort.  Still, her 'struggles' again 
became quite animated and the smell of hot pussy started to fill the 
room. 
 
We both knew that a line had been crossed.  This was the first overtly

sexual thing the "Burglar" had done.  Before now he had been content 
to keep her quiet while her searched for valuables, now he was making 
it clear that he had found something of value between her legs. 
Maggie shivered and moaned, though it was hard to tell if this were 
fear or anticipation. 
 
I stroked her cheek.  "You like, Mademoiselle?" 
 
She shook her head defiantly.  I looked down and saw her hard little 
nipples where they poked through the peepholes.  They told another 
story. 
 
I brushed a hand over her exposed clit, felt the moisture and heard a 
muffled gasp.  "You little flower says different, eh?" 
 
She turned away.  As she wasn't saying much I didn't feel too bad 
strengthening the gag a little.  As I'd done with Caroline I covered 
the lower part of Maggie's face entirely with duct tape, criss 
crossing her mouth and sealing the ball in place.  Then I wound a 
tight bandage over the top, squeezing her cheeks in and reducing her 
moans to whispers.  The tweaked nipple test showed that she was 
effectively muzzled and the partial mummification had robbed her of 
her ability to move.  Opening the duffel bag up on the bed next to 
her, I rolled her inside.  Then she suddenly realized what I had in 
mind.  She screamed but I could barely hear it even this close and her

struggles only succeeded in rubbing that frustrating crotch strap 
against her exposed pussy.  Even as I was pulling the bag closed 
around her I could tell that she was more intent with getting off than

getting free. 
 
I put the slut boots into the bag, together with some of her more 
slutty street clothes and a little makeup.  After all, Maggie would 
need something to wear later . Besides, it helped make the bag appear 
less body shaped. 
 
"Mademoiselle, ecoute!  We will leave now before your friend returns. 
You will be my guest for a few days only."  I took the knife I'd used 
to cut the saran wrap and teased her neck with the point.  She 
stiffened and the cold steel touched her skin.  I moved the knife 
away. 
 
 "Trouble me and I have a knife, comprendre?" 
 
She nodded and I zipped the bag closed.  She was quite heavy and I was

glad I didn't have to carry her any distance.  Throwing her over my 
shoulder I went out into the living room.  Quickly pocketing the DAT I

went over to the door and opened it a crack.  The corridor outside her

apartment seemed quiet enough.  I was so caught up with the thrill of 
it all that for a moment I forgot I was wearing the ski mask.  I 
snatched it off and stuck it in my pocket then, trying to move a 
loosely as possible so as to disguise the weight of the bag, I ambled 
towards the elevator.  It seemed to take forever to arrive and even 
before the doors opened I could hear the voices inside.  Maggie had 
heard them too because I could hear the gagged moans close to my ear. 
It was a 50/50 chance which way they would turn on leaving the 
elevator but there were fewer apartments to the left so I quickly 
darted to that side and waited, my heart in my throat as Maggie 
continued to squirm behind me.  The door opened, and they turned 
right, two guys dressed like they were back from jogging.  Before the 
doors closed I'd dashed inside.  I doubt they even knew I was there. 
 
I held my breath as we neared the lobby.  Some elevators automatically

stop and open at the lobby even if they haven't been called.  The last

thing I wanted was for the doors to open and there be a dozen people 
waiting, especially as right now I had the biggest hardon in my life. 
Fortunately, that didn't happen and the elevator continued to the 
basement car park.  Maggie was struggling as much as she could and 
trying desperately to scream, but her cries were ineffective.  I doubt

they could have been heard more that a few feet away.  Still, her weak

struggles did shift some of her weight and made her difficult to hold.

I staggered over to the mini van and used the famous self-opening side

door to get the struggling bundle into the back seat.  I strapped her 
down with a couple of lap belts, then pushed the seat as far forward 
as I could.  Climbing inside I moved the driver's seat hard back, 
trapping Maggie in a small padded box formed from the seats.  The van 
had tinted windows so no one could see in through the sides, and 
arrangement of the seats hid her from oncoming traffic.  I was careful

in positioning the bag; when opened, it would be easy to see her face,

and tits and cunt were strategically close to the gap between the 
front seats for easy access.  In fact ,when we were out of the garage 
I felt comfortable enough to open the bag and look at my captive.  I 
was relieved to see she was breathing normally, and though most of her

face was covered the little moans she made told me of her appreciation

of the crotch strap. 
 
Though I had a room a few blocks away I decided to give Maggie an 
adventure and plotted a route that would take me out of the city via 
the Tobin Bridge.  After the bridge, Highway 1 heads north and I 
suppose it could be an eccentric way of heading for the Canadian 
border.  The important thing was that it had toll booths and Maggie 
would hear the sound and know we were leaving town.  I think there was

construction because there were jams on the approach to the bridge and

I had to keep stopping.  Still, I had Maggie's compliant if not 
necessarily willing body to play with as I waited.  I stroked and 
teased listening to the little sounds that she was making and smelling

the perfume of her hot pussy.  For a few blocks I played tag with a 
little red open top with an out of state license plate reading MISS T.

I don't know if this was a pun on Misty or if she was some beauty 
pageant winner but the car's owner was a real looker and knew it.  She

was in her early twenties, with fluffy blonde hair, dark glasses and 
an attitude that needed serious adjustment.  I accidentally blocked 
her way at an intersection and at the next block she deliberately cut 
me up.  Five minutes later we were parked side by side and she looked 
over at me like I was dirt.  I smiled and she tossed her head back 
again making it clear she didn't want my company.  I had my hand down 
between the front seats playing with Maggie's nipples and listening to

her muffled protests.  My hand drifted down and played with the crotch

strap, Maggie moaned some more, but despite the window being open Miss

T heard nothing.  She continued to pretend to ignore me while I 
thrilled with the knowledge that she would never know I had a helpless

girl bound and gagged on my back seat.  At the lights she squealed 
away, gaining perhaps a car length on me for her trouble.  I smiled, 
thinking just how easily it could be Maggie in the little sports car 
and Miss T on my back seat. 
 
Finally we reached the bridge.  The tolls are automated so there was 
little chance of detection, and soon I was the other side of the 
river.  I did a large circle using Highway 28, imagining Maggie's 
despair and desperation mounting with every mile.  I zipped up the 
duffel bag and stopped at a gas station to get some chocolate.  The 
place was quiet but there were enough people around for Maggie to hear

and try to contact.  Needless to say, no one noticed anything wrong. 
I headed back towards Boston with the biggest hardon in history, and a

helpless captive ready to satisfy it.  The traffic was better on the 
way back in and in no time I was at the motel.  I zipped up Maggie's 
bag in case a passerby looked through the driver's window, and opened 
the door to the room.  I spent a moment drawing the drapes against 
inquisitive eyes then brought Maggie inside. 
 
She was in quite a state.  Her body was covered in sweat, hair 
plastered down to her skull.  Her erect nipples were poking through 
the peepholes in the corselet and seemed a little red.  I could only 
assume that she had been using the rough fabric of the bag to maximum 
effect.  Needless to say her clit was engorged.  I had almost expected

friction burns but apparently there was more than enough lubrication. 
 
As I eased her out of the bag, she started floundering about like a 
fish out of water.  For a moment I thought that she was struggling to 
escape but then I realized the truth, she was trying for an orgasm.  I

sat and watched the valiant struggle.  She came close on a number of 
occasions but finally she fell back, exhausted and frustrated.  I 
smiled, thinking how strange it was that reality so closely followed 
art.  I had got the design of the crotch strap from a trashy bondage 
novel about a white slaver.  After capture he fits one to all of his 
'recruits' in order to prevent escape.  The idea was that any attempt 
to struggle causes sexual stimulation which distracts the victim, 
causing them to fail to get free.  Though Maggie could not possibly 
get free the strap was having a similar effect.  She would struggle 
and build up her level of excitement, but only being able to nose 
breathe she was unable to get off before oxygen debt forced her to 
stop.  She panted and shivered.  Ready if not exactly willing, she 
waited for her kidnapper to take her. 
 
I smiled.  She would have to wait a little longer.  Using the knife I 
cut her legs free.  Instead of the kicking I'd expected, she pushed 
down, thrusting her shaved crotch upwards.  The little slut was 
begging for it, but I would not oblige just yet.  I improvised a 
modified hogtie using tape and cord.  First I taped both ankles 
together with each foot against the opposite calf.  This forced her 
legs open into a rigid triangle with knees horizontal and out of the 
way.  It left her pussy exposed and gave her no way to protect it. 
Then I bound the ankles to the wrists, making her body rigid and 
reducing her movement to virtually nothing.  She moaned and struggled 
but could do nothing more.  Satisfied that she was under control, I 
removed the gag.  As expected she wanted water first so I placed the 
glass to her lips and let her drink just enough to take the edge off 
her thirst.  Then I turned her so that her head was over the side of 
the bed and undid my fly.  She knew what was coming and lay quietly 
while I explained the penalty for biting.  As it turned out I needn't 
have worried.  The gag had strained her jaw muscles to the point where

I doubt she could bite anyway.  Needless to say, it wasn't the worlds 
greatest blow job.  I did consider punishing her for bad technique but

there seemed little point since she was physically unable to do 
better.  Finally I came, though it was more through my efforts than 
hers.  I forced her to swallow, then moved her into the center of the 
bed. 
 
I spent a few minutes stripping the sodden bandage off the ball gag 
while she worked on putting her jaw in order.  We both finished about 
the same time, and I pushed the ball against her lips. 
 
"Please no," she begged. 
 
"Oui," I said.  "I must go to le Banque." 
 
"Bank?  Please no!  That's all I have!"  Her voice was panicked. 
 
"That is all right, mademoiselle, it is all I need!" 
 
"Please," she said thrusting her chest outwards.  "I have other things

I could offer.  . ." 
 
I laughed, a gravelly, hearty sound that surprised even me.  "Do not 
worry, mademoiselle, I will taste those fruits on my return." 
 
She struggled but the result was a foregone conclusion.  I tightened 
the gag strap and left her alone in the dim motel room. 
 
I didn't go far, just out to the car to use my mobile phone.  First, I

called my accountant who I hoped could help with the problem of 
Caroline's mother.  We talked hypothetically about a couple of ideas 
I'd had and he confirmed what I needed to know.  Now I knew that my 
plan stood a chance, I called around and talked to a number of other 
friends to arrange meetings.  Finally I called a fine Deli I knew and 
ordered the makings for dinner.  It was then I made the mistake. 
 
I'd been eating a bar of the chocolate while I made the calls and 
finished up quite thirsty.  As it was too early to arrive back at the 
room, I decided to go in search of the Coke machine that motels always

have.  The first machine I found was broken so I went further afield. 
.. . 
 
As I walked back towards my block with my 3 cans of coke and some ice,

a movement caught my eye.  She was young, very young -- sixteen, maybe

seventeen at most, dressed in the brown uniform of a maid.  In her 
arms she carried a huge pile of towels almost as tall as she was, in 
her hand was a key and she was heading for my room.  She ignored my 
shouts and as she got closer to my door I realized I had no option. 
Bursting into a sprint I closed on her.  I was lucky -- fumbling with 
the towels, she dropped the key.  But for that, she would have been in

the room long before I reached her.  As it was, I made it just as she 
opened the door. 
 
Perhaps I should have been an actor -- despite the danger, I stayed in

character.  "Mademoiselle, what are you doing?"  I demanded, pointing 
to the 'do not disturb' sign I'd hung on the door.  I was acutely 
aware that Maggie was just feet away and could probably be heard 
easily with the door open. 
 
The girl looked at the sign, and for the first time I noticed her 
olive skin and those dark brown eyes.  "Perdon," she said.  "No hablo 
ingles!" 
 
A moan emerged through the open doorway and the little Spanish girl 
moved forward curiously.  Quickly and as gently as I could, I reached 
forward and closed the door.  I could still hear faint sounds from 
inside, but the gag was good enough to prevent Maggie from drawing too

much attention.  I knew she could probably hear us clearly and I knew 
she could speak Spanish so in the worse accent I could manage I asked,

"Habla usted frances?" 
 
"Oui," she said with a smile.  Immediately there was a bond between 
us.  We were both foreigners now. 
 
"Tres bien!"  I smiled.  "Mademoiselle.  Je suis fatigue.  Je ne 
voudrais pas ma chambre a ete faite."  I tapped the 'do not disturb' 
sign for good measure. 
 
She blushed.  "Excusez-moi Monsieur."  Then she hurried away. 
 
Relieved, I opened the door.  A Spanish girl who spoke French but no 
English?  I wished I'd had the time to know more.  Of course, a real 
desperado would probably have pushed her inside and tied her up as 
well.  Still, I'd dealt with it in a way consistent with my character,

and I was sure Maggie was none the wiser. 
 
Putting down the supplies I removed the gag.  "You lie!"  I accused. 
"The number was no good!" 
 
"Please no.  I told you the truth." 
 
"The card, it has gone." 
 
"The machine ate my card?"  Her voice was a strange mixture of panic 
and relief. 
 
"Oui!  I have lost one day.  I have nothing!  Comprendez- vous?" 
 
"Yes, but what can I do?" 
 
I waited a while as if he was weighing up his options.  Then I reached

over and pushed the gag firmly into her mouth.  Fumbling for the 
phone, I made a number of calls to my house and talked to the 
answering machine.  For Maggie's benefit, I made out that I was 
talking to someone at the other end.  The first ten calls were 
entirely in French and after the first Maggie gave up trying to alert 
the person at the other end of the phone and waited patiently.  Then I

sprang the eleventh on her. 
 
"Bonjour, John.  Comment ca va?  Bien.  Listen I have something 
special.  Non, a woman.  Oui la prostituee.  . .how you say, a 
hooker?" 
 
Maggie raised an muffled objection but I ignored her.  
 
"The bitch ripped me off.  . .stole my money.  . .oui.  . .non I 
caught her.  She is my guest.  . .oui.  I need to get my money back 
before I go 'ome to Quebec.  . .exactement!  I think the same.  . 
..oui.  . .anything you like for two hundred dollars.  Oui?  Tres
bien! 
A tout a l'heure.  . .oui!  Au revoire." 
 
Maggie moaned and struggled as I made the next four calls in English. 
Each was approximately the same.  I claimed she was a hooker that had 
stolen money from me and offered to sell her ass for two hundred bucks

in order to make my money back.  Each call varied a little and I 
gradually filled in the details, assuring one party that she would be 
blindfolded or telling another she was an accomplished liar.  The 
setup was obvious -- sometime later tonight Maggie was going to be 
gang-banged by fifteen guys at two hundred dollars a head.  She would 
be bound and blindfolded, gagged for much of the time but even when 
she could speak she would be unable to persuade them to stop. 
 
I noisily flicked through the pages of a book.  "Fifteen men a night? 
That is three thousand.  In a week.  . ." Maggie moaned, in a week she

would have fucked over a hundred guys. 
 
"Do not worry Mademoiselle, we will 'ave the money soon, non?" 
 
Her nipples were hard, her pussy damp.  Maggie could only orgasm with 
a man when forced and soon fifteen guys were going to have their way 
with her.  She'd be fucked, sucked, groped and I'd made it clear that 
she could be used in anyway those men wanted.  I watched the crotch 
rope as it rubbed against her clit.  This gag allstop beating her 
and that would mean she could get some sleep. 
 
Before the next fifteen guys arrived. . . 
 
All through this she struggled and screamed and fought and when I 
finally cut the crotch rope and entered her she was more than ready. 
The hogtie was a masterpiece, giving her no way to stop my 
penetration, making her more powerless, less guilty. 
 
I still believe she orgasmed fifteen times, once for each imaginary 
rapist, for each imaginary violation.  Even gagged she made more noise

than I would have liked and I only hoped the little Spanish girl 
wasn't in the next room.  Finally spent, I collapsed on her and there 
we stayed 'till I we recovered our strength.  Then I removed her gag 
and blindfold. 
 
She blinked and smiled.  "Hi, Cody." 
 
"Okay.  When did you know?" 
 
"Know what?" 
 
"That it was me?" 
 
"I've always known," she said, a little bemused. 
 
"But I wore sweats and--" 
She smiled.  "It was very good, Cody.  Wonderful, in fact.  You were 
so convincing I almost thought it was real on a couple of occasions. 
In fact, if you hadn't worn the cologne I gave you last Christmas, I 
could have panicked and really thought it was real.  Very subtle clue 
by the way -- a masterstroke!" 
 
I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't said the aftershave was cheap 
and nasty. 
 
She continued, "Coming early was good, too.  In fact you almost caught

me out.  If you hadn't done that key fumbling thing outside the door, 
you'd have caught me in the living room.  As it was, I didn't really 
get chance to tie my ankles properly." 
 
"Whoa, wait a minute.  You mean you only tied yourself up when I 
arrived?" 
 
"Of course.  What kind of idiot do you take me for?  You don't really 
think I'd be stupid enough to tie myself up and not be able to get 
loose." 
 
"But the gloves?" 
 
"Nice touch, I thought.  Well, you kept saying they were cheap and 
nasty and I agree.  I was planning to get better ones so I could 
afford to sacrifice these." 
 
"So this whole thing was a setup?"  I demanded.  "You weren't really 
tied up at all?" 
 
The silly cunt grinned at me.  "Nope.  I just woke up with an itch 
this morning and I knew you were too busy to come if I asked, so--" 
 
"You incredible bitch!" 
 
"The one and only." 
 
I stared at her.  Then it was my turn to grin.  "Okay.  So I'm a 
sucker and I bought it.  Now you'll have to do something for me." 
 
"No, I don't," she pouted.  "You got off on it, too, big time.  I 
never realized what a power freak you are.  If I didn't lean in the 
other direction I might even fight this Elizabeth chick for you!" 
 
"Flattery will get you nowhere," I said.  "And you do owe me - *big 
time.*" 
 
She rolled her eyes.  "Fine.  So what do you want?" 
 
"You, to be my slave for one evening of my choosing.  No limits, no 
veto, nothing.  You do what I say, fuck what I say and the only 
acceptable answer is "yes, master."  Understand?" 
 
She pouted again.  "Why should I agree to this?" 
"Two reasons," I said.  "One, you'll get off on it big time.  And two,

you say no and I push this gag back into your lying little mouth and 
leave you here for the maid to find." 
 
She thought for a while.  "Okay.  But only for *one* evening." 
 
"Agreed," I said and started to free her.  Already my mind was working

on the plans to fulfill my deepest fantasy; to have both my slaves 
helpless and available at the same time. 

The End (for now)

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