A Lady in Training
Jeannie is the picture of a successful career woman of the 90's. On the surface
she appears to have everything under control. The perfect job, perfect home and
the perfect husband. Inside she struggles desperately with her fears of being
unfulfilled, by her work, her marriage and her sexual life. Frustrated with her
"Plane Jane" life, she frequently slips into a fantasy world where she finds
excitement in playing the role of a sexual submissive, a bound and helpless
slave. At first her fantasies fill a void in her boring existence. They both
frighten and excite her. But as their intensity increase they begin to take
control of her life. She begins a desperate search to regain control. But does
she really want to? This is, after all, still a dream world, isn't it? Does she
want to rid herself of them, or make them real? Unfortunately for her she lacks
the courage to take action.
One day at work she accidentally stumbles upon a co-workers dark secret. Darla,
a mysterious young woman lives a secret life-style of fetishism and bondage.
Jeannie is at first repulsed by what she sees as the "Dark Side" of bondage. But
Darla is patient and takes the naive young woman under her wing and begins to
teach her about "Love Bondage" One thing is clear however, though she can see
what she wants, she still lacks the courage to make the commitment.
On a dark, dreary Wednesday afternoon, Darla and Jeannie were standing at the
exit to the office, looking out at the low slung clouds.
"It's going to rain," stated Jeannie.
"Yes, and its going to be a miserable night at home with nothing to do,"
expounded Darla. "Why don't you come over to my house for dinner, I know Jack
is out of town again and you don't have anything else to do, do you?"
Jeannie thought Darla was pressing a bit with her last remark, but she was
right. Jack was out of town again, and not due home until Saturday. Jeannie
felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into Darla's life and she knew she
wanted to learn more.
"Fine," she said, "But let's buy pizza for dinner, my turn to treat."
After dinner, a couple glasses of wine, and another revelation about Darla, (she
liked anchovies), Darla suggested they go downstairs to the recreation room.
Jeannie was getting nervous now. 'This is it,' she thought. She felt her palms
grow wet, her heart started to pound in her ears. 'Darla was going to take her
down to her dungeon!'
Darla turned on the light at the foot of the basement steps. Jeanie had barely
made it the last few steps. Her knees were weak and wobbly. She instinctually
closed her eyes at the sudden bright light. When she slowly opened them, she
could not believe her eyes. In the middle of the room, right in front of her,
was a pale green sofa. To her right was a recliner, on her left a 19 inch TV
and VCR.
"What did you expect?" asked Darla, with a chuckle in her voice. "Stone walls,
bars on the windows, chains hanging from the ceiling? I admit that would be
fun," said Darla, "but remember I have raised three kids in this house. They
may be gone now, but as far as they know, Stephen and I live a very dull,
sterile life."
She led Jeannie to a wall closet, the door was open but in the bottom of the
closet was a footlocker.
"Behold my treasure chest" beamed Darla.
She took out a set of keys and opened the trunk. Inside, there were many
compartments that Darla revealed, as she continued to remove the many wonders
from the trunk. Neatly folded lingerie, shiny leather garments, coils of bright
white cotton rope, fine chains, heavy chains, locks, handcuffs, leather straps,
chrome and leather apparatus of unimaginable function. Jeannie was both
excited, scared, tingling and tearful at the sights she was taking in, and the
visions they were conjuring up in her imagination.
"Here are the tools of my perversion" stated Darla with some exclaim.
Jeannie was startled by her use of the word "perversion." She didn't believe
she was perverted and told Darla so.
"Perversion" Jeannie asked. "You are not perverted."
"That may be what your lips say, but you still look at me and my lifestyle with
shaded eyes."
"You are right," said Jeannie, "but it's because I don't know any better. All I
hear or see about bondage and sadomasochistic behavior is what I get from the
media. Then you come along and paint this beautiful picture of two consenting
people passionately exploring each other's limits and emotions. Something I
have dreamed about for years. You tell me about your life and it excites me. I
catch a glimpse of you with your guard down and it shocks me, which is real?"
"This is real." replied Darla, picking up a neatly wound coil of white cotton
rope. "This can be as innocent as a clothesline, holding the morning's wash,
or, this can be a crotch rope wound tightly around a young woman's waist and,
pulled up snugly between her love mounds."
Next, Darla picked up a pair of bright, shiny chrome handcuffs.
"This is real!" she shouted. "These can be the instrument of the law that
cruelly and rightfully imprisons the man who forces himself on a woman without
her consent. Or, they can be the instruments of sexual surrender that a lover
uses to bind his helpless partner to the headboard of their bed while he uses
his tongue to bring her to the peak of orgasm. These are the tools," added Darla
"Just like foreplay is a tool to bring about an end - love making."
"And who are you, Tim the Tool Time girl?" asked Jeannie. They both laughed.
Now at ease, Jeannie looked into Darla's eyes and said,
"Tim the Tool Time girl, please teach me how to use these tools."
"I thought you'd never ask," said Darla. "Let's start with something simple,"
said Darla.
She took one of the coils of rope and unwound it. The coil fell to the floor.
"Seems like a lot of rope for such a simple job."
"All the better to tie you up with, my dear." replied Darla, sneering with her
best Snidely Whiplash impression.
She moved behind Jeannie and took her arms.
"Place your hands palm to palm," she commanded.
Jeannie obeyed. She wound the rope around the wrists several times then went
crossways between the hands at right angles to the wrap. This cinched off the
tie. A tingling feeling started in her hands and was slowly moving up Jeannie's
arms, to her shoulders. It was not painful, but a feeling like a prickling
sensation. When it reached her chest and breasts, her nipples began to harden.
She felt embarrassed at this. She was glad Darla was behind her, because the
thin bra and pullover sundress she wore did little to hide the excitement her
nipples were now announcing.
"Done," declared Darla. "Test it out."
Jeannie began twisting and turning her wrists. She had a surprising amount of
movement left in her arms.
"It's not too tight." she said. "Actually, it's even comfortable, I like it!"
Darla moved in front of her.
"The thrill is in knowing what you can't do." she said as her hands swiftly
moved to cup Jeannie's breasts.
She stopped short and did not touch them. That didn't matter, the message went
immediately to Jeannie's brain and triggered her pleasure zone. Now she was
starting to realize the helplessness she could only fantasize about before.
'The things she could do to me and I would be powerless to stop.' she thought.
"Can you do something else to make it more, you know, restrictive?" Jeanie
asked form out of nowhere.
"Honey, you can't imagine what I can do," replied Darla.
This further excited Jeannie. Her breathing began to quicken. Jeannie had no
lesbian fantasies, she had never and did not want to be intimate with a woman
and hoped that was not where this was leading. Jeannie did however have a
journey she wanted desperately to take. If Darla was the price she had to pay
for passage, she though she was prepared to pay it.
The next step was to tie her elbows. Darla wrapped several coils of rope around
Jeannie's arms just above her elbows. Each coil pulled them closer and closer
together.
"Will your elbows touch?"
"How should I know?"
"Few people are that limber," replied Darla. "It took months for Stephen to
train mine to come together."
"How close are they now? My shoulders are starting to hurt,"
"Then I will stop, they are about 2 inches apart," replied Darla. Jeannie,
drinking in every moment of this first-time experience did not want to miss
anything.
"Go for it." she cried.
With one final tug, Darla squeezed her elbows into each other, then cinched off
the knot and tucked in the loose ends.
"Good, bondage is always neat and aesthetic, no loose ends," she said, as if
Jeannie could see behind her.
The effect on Jeannie was instantaneous. She could feel her arms, shoulders and
hands merge together as if one. She tried to move them from side to side, but
found this much more restrictive. 'Much better.' she thought, though the ache
in her shoulders told her this was not a position she wanted to be in for a long
period. Darla turned her around to face a full-length mirror. She was stunned
to see her front view. It was hypnotizing. She looked as if she had no arms at
all. But, the most exciting and embarrassing detail was her breasts. Jeannie
was above average in size, but not large by her own standards. She had always
envied her sister who had a 38D cup. She remembered when she was 16 and her
sister, 2 years older was always complained about this burden of big boobs.
"Give 'em to me," Jeannie had always told her. "I'll show you what they are
good for." Jeannie loved it when men had fondled her breasts. Her nipples were
large and very sensitive. When they were dating, Jack had joked he could make
love to her nipples for hours, and Jeannie had loved every minute of it. Those
sensitive nodes were buttons hot wired directly to her love canal and never
failed to get her hot. Jeannie had never been into masturbation, but had
learned even her own touch was stimulating. Now, in her current state, every
movement rubbed her breasts inside her bra and dress, which were stretched to
the limit. The buttons on her bodice looked like they were going to pop.
'Darla had better stand clear, she thought, if one of these things pop off, it
could be deadly!'
The sight of her breasts in the mirror was a shock, with the elbows and
shoulders drawn back. Her boobs looked twice their size and were standing
straight up and thrust out beyond belief. No miracle of engineering Playtex
could make would surpass this.
"Wow," Jeannie said. "If Playtex could duplicate this, they would make a
fortune."
"They tried, but this one's a little hard to wear for 18 hours, cross my heart,"
Darla replied. They both laughed. "This is all you, too," said Darla as she
reached for the four buttons on the top of Jeannie's bodice.
Without a word, she undid them. One did pop off and bounce off the mirror.
Jeannie was stunned.
"It's bullet proof," joked Darla.
Jeannie laughed also; it broke the tension, and the lump she was feeling in her
throat at the boldness of Darla's moves. She finished with the buttons and then
reached for her bra. It was a front closure type. Darla popped it open, using
only one hand with the swiftness and skill of a high school varsity quarterback
in the back seat of a Chevy on Friday night. Jeannie's breasts bound out over
the material. They were still covered by the turned down bodice of her dress
but stood out even more now. The feeling was actually a relief and Jeanie took
a deep breath.
"There," said Darla. "That position can be hard to breathe with a tight bra on.
Feel better now?" asked Darla.
"Yes." replied Jeannie with a sigh of relief, both physically and emotionally.
"This is getting more interesting by the minute, what's next?" Asked Jeannie.
"Boy, you are eager!"
Once again, Darla went to her treasure chest and returned with another coil of
white cotton rope.
"Spread your legs," she commanded.
Jeannie now completely under her spell, obeyed instantly.
"Yes mistress."
Darla moved in front of Jeannie, placing both hands on her strained shoulders,
and with her face only inches from Jeannie's paused for a minute. She gazed
directly into her slave's eyes.
"You learn quickly Slave. It will be a pleasure training you." Jeannie did
not blush this time. The word slave did not embarrass her as she had expected.
Instead, she felt comforted and warmed by it. The cocoon surrounding her arms
felt like a shield protecting her. She welcomed Darla's web.
Darla pulled up Jeannie's dress. She wore only lacy, blue silk panties
underneath. It was a hot day and she chose not to wear pantyhose. Darla
doubled the rope and wound it around Jeannie's waist, just above the top of her
panties. She looped the rope at the small of her back and pulled the ends down
between Jeannie's buttock cheeks, and between her legs. She then pulled the
ropes up and through Jeannie's crotch.
"I must be careful to position this just right," Darla said. "Nothing is more
frustrating than a poorly positioned crotch rope." Then, she ran the rope
under the waist rope and pulled up. Jeannie raised up on her toes.
"God, that is tight." she said looking down to see that the rope had completely
disappeared into the fold of her love mound.
There was no pain, just the feeling of pressure. Pressure where a woman wanted
pressure. Jeannie felt a warm glow start to burn within her. It emulated from
her loins. Her breathing began to increase and she should tell she was getting
hot.
"This is what you wear all day?"
"All this and more," replied Darla. "Don't you ever wonder why I never complain
about anything in the office?"
Jeannie could feel the heat building in her lower body like a soft flame. She
took a step. Wow! Then another. With each step, the rope moved back and forth,
up and down, in and out, massaging her most sensitive areas. Her hips began to
gyrate involuntarily. The feelings became more and more intense. She was
getting hotter and wetter. The slow burn was turning into a blue flame.
"Not too fast slave," commanded Darla. "You do not have my permission to come."
Jeannie stared into her eyes.
"What, what, what do you mean, permission?"
"Nor do you have my permission to speak." While Jeannie had been lost in the
wave of erotic feelings she was encountering, she had failed to notice Darla
once again retreating back to the chest. She had something in her hand and has
moving behind Jeannie. Her hand reached up and grabbed Jeannie's chin, pulling
her head far back. Instinctually, Jeannie opened her mouth to cry out. Before
any sound could be released, Darla shoved a small, red rubber ball into her
mouth. It tasted awful to Jeannie. She tried to push it out with her tongue,
no luck. The ball spread her jaws wide and completely filled her mouth,
pressing her tongue down. She tried to scream, but her lips were sealed by the
gag. The ball gag had a leather strap through it, which Darla buckled behind
her neck.
"Bite down," said Darla.
Jeannie obeyed and the ball compressed, giving her jaws relief. As soon as she
had done that, Darla pulled the strap on the ball gag tighter by one more notch.
This pulled the gag deeper into her mouth and behind Jeannie's lips, which could
now close over the red ball.
"Very good, you took this well," spoke Darla, who had now moved back in front of
Jeannie. "Now you look and sound like a love slave should. But we are not yet
done."
Next, she produced a wide leather collar. This was all moving way too fast now.
"Mmamhmphmp-mahmp." was all the sound Jeannie could muster.
That was supposed to be a protest. But, Jeannie realized as she made the sounds
that had she not been gagged, she would not have protested; well, not too
seriously. She felt the wide band of leather encircle her slender neck. She
felt the snugness on her throat; she felt the collar press every inch of skin
like an expensive leather glove that conforms to every curve of your hand. Darla
buckled the back of the collar, first one notch, then two, then three, then a
pause and Jeannie heard a small {click}. A sound that did not register in her
consciousness at that moment because her brain was too busy taking in the
overwhelming flood of emotions coming from all sides now. But hours later, she
would remember that tiny metallic sound.
Next, Darla produced a long chain. Long is a very relative term. Three feet to
be exact. On a football field, three feet is very short; in a bathtub,
three-feet is quite long. When Darla snapped the hook on one end to the D Ring
on Jeannie's collar and attached the other end in a similar manner to the heavy
oak arm of the overstuffed couch in the middle of the room. Three feet suddenly
became the total measurement of the radius of Jeannie's world. Jeannie
carefully walked around the couch, keeping the chain tight, but not testing it.
She slowly measured her world. She still did not tug hard on the chain. She
thought she might break it and her world would shatter. She did not want that.
She was warm. Her body tingled with excitement. Every movement of her legs
caused the crotch rope to slide slowly through her love passage. Sending shock
waves through her hips and down her thighs. Every movement of her arms and
chest caused her breasts to move under her blouse. Her rock hard nipples
stressed out against the fabric gliding over them, teasing them and making them
beg for more.
She closed her eyes and drew a dark black velvet curtain around her New World.
Outside, she knew it was raining, but she could no longer hear it. Inside, she
knew the bright ceiling light above her was warming her face as she raised her
closed eyes up, but she could not feel it. Outside of this New World, she knew
the room held a sweet heavy smell of lemons, probably the furniture polish Darla
had used. The basement had been filled with many fine old pieces she would
remember later. But now she could see nothing. Her body was here, all around
her, but it seemed somehow detached. Jeannie could see a light in her mind's
eye, a very dim light. It was at the end of a long tunnel, no - it WAS the end
of a long tunnel. And she was moving quickly toward that end now. Suddenly,
she reached the end and abruptly stopped. She looked out over the edge and saw
herself from above standing in the middle of the room bound and gagged as she
was. Tethered to the couch with her three-foot tether. She saw how her breasts
rose and fell hard with her deep and quickening breathing. She saw the
pulsating, involuntary movements of her hips. She saw the beads of sweat on her
own forehead and looked into the closed eyelids of this girl on the chain.
Under them, she could tell the eyes were racing back and forth, ever quickening
their motion.
The focus of her vision drew back as if the director of this movie called for a
wide-angle shot. She saw Darla walk out of the room into another part of the
basement and then, in only a few seconds, return. She placed some objects on
the chair opposite where Jeannie was tethered and reached into her skirt pocket
for something else. She pulled her hand out just stopping inches from the edge
of Jeannie's world. She held out an object, about three inches long, made of
light colored wood in each hand and then walked directly into the front door of
Jeannie's world. The sound of crashing glass filled Jeannie's ears. The sweet
floral scent of Darla's perfume rushed into Jeannie's flaring nostrils.
Blinding light filled her wide-open eyes and much faster than her eyes could
adjust to the light and the reality of seeing again, her minds eye grasped the
image before it.
"Clothes pins!" she screamed into the gag. But the bright red ball, now blended
with her lipstick, absorbed her every word.
Darla's eyes took hold of Jeannie's as she spoke slowly and confidently in a
cold, menacing tone.
"You are learning a lot about pleasure, but you must also learn that the more
aroused we become, the hard line between pain and pleasure shrinks to a thread
and eventually fades to a whisper of smoke," spoke Darla.
Then, Darla's hands reached into the center of Jeannie's newly violated world.
Her fingers parted the center of her unbuttoned blouse and turned back the
lapels, exposing Jeannie's heaving breasts. Then, her fingers laid to rest on
each shoulder and slowly, with each fingertip traced a thin winding path down
her breastbone, onto her chest, and onto the soft upper flesh of her bosoms,
moving in a slow, zigzag motion, moving ever closer to her diamond-hard nipples.
Inside, Jeannie's brain, her conscious mind was screaming to get out, to be
heard over the clamoring overload of emotions filling most of Jeannie's brain
cells. "Oh, my God, no, no!" her inner voices screamed. "I don't care what I
said before, I am not a lesbian, I am not willing to do this in order for you to
experience your dark fantasies! The thought of having a woman do sexual things
to me is against everything I have ever believed in!" Her mind cried out. But,
Darla had not heard. So, her subconscious launched a new wave of attacks to get
Darla's attention. Jeannie suddenly began seeing visions of Darla and her lying
on the carpet. Darla had her head between Jeannie's legs and 'Oh, oh, no!'
Jeannie thought. 'This is not what I want, this is going too far!' Her stomach
suddenly began to react to the episode her subconscious was playing out on the
big screen for Jeannie's entire mind to see. All at once, Jeannie felt the urge
to throw up. A lump was climbing up her throat. She lunged forward at the
waist in an involuntary cramp and then, almost too late, realized - the gag.
That big, red, rubber ball buckled tightly between her teeth and behind her
lips. If she threw up now, she would certainly choke, and would Darla notice?
Could she unbuckle the gag and free her in time, would she even try? Jeannie
tried to push the ball out with her tongue and then her teeth. She bit down
hard. She managed to compress the ball some, enough to get some cool air in
around the sides. The combination of the air and the concentration she had
devoted momentarily diminished the threat of the lump in her throat. Just when
she was about to regain a sense of reality, a sensation of pain, joy, heat, cold
and ecstasy set her right nipple on fire. She opened her eyes to see Darla's
mouth encircling her nipple and sucking on it like a famished new baby. Jeannie
tried not to look at what was happening to her, tried to blot it out of her
mind. She had to; she could not deal with what was really happening to her.
Was this what she had wanted? Was this what she had brought upon herself? Once
again, her real mind began to close down, being overcome by the pleasure her
body was feeling. The heat building in her lower body was unlike anything she
had ever experienced before. If she did have an orgasm, she feared it would
blow her head off!
Her subconscious began to take over again, trying to rationalize her involuntary
passions. Those were not Darla's lips on her breasts, they were Terry's, or was
it Jack? The hand now pulling on the crotch rope around her waist, it must be
Brian, or maybe it was Richard, he had such strong hands. The thoughts of these
lovers, both imaginary and real helped her mind survive the next few seconds
until the lightning struck.
Two bolts of white, hot lightning emanating from the tips of her breasts shot
through like a freight train and descended straight to her inner thighs. Her
eyes flashed open and looked down to see the two tan wooden clothes pins. Now
locked on each nipple. Darla now stepped back a few feet to let her slave enjoy
her new torment. Jeannie shook from side to side, her boobs bouncing sharply.
The clamps jerked and twisted her nipples but did not come off. After the
initial shock, she no longer felt the pain, only great heat and pressure. More
like someone sucking hard and using moderate force with their teeth. Jeannie
had felt worse sometimes in their passionate moments when Jack had accidentally
gotten a bit too rough. She had liked it then, but Jack had always spoiled it
by stopping and apologizing instead of just backing off a bit and continuing on.
Something told her these little teeth were not going to back off a bit! As if
to read her mind, Darla spoke.
"You will get used to them quickly, but I warn you, they hurt twice as much when
you remove them!"
Suddenly, Darla's face went blank and she looked at the ceiling as if she heard
something. She backed away from Jeannie to the chair on the other side of the
basement room. She looked straight into Jeannie's eyes and spoke a single
phrase.
"You are on your own now, the choice is yours, remember, all yours."
Jeannie's glassy eyes watched in amazement as Darla walked to the chair at the
opposite end of the room and picked up the small bundle she had laid there
earlier. A black leather strap about 18 inches long with a blue rubber ball
impaled in the middle of it. Darla spread her jaws wide and inserted the ball
in her own mouth. She buckled it far tighter than her own, she guessed. Next,
she unbuttoned her blouse to the waist. As the two halves of the shirt opened
about two inches wide, it revealed a line of flesh from her neck to her navel.
Transgressing across that line was a fine gold chain at the center of Darla's
chest. The ends disappeared under the material, still covering her breasts.
Jeannie knew where the chain went, or at least she thought she did, or she
guessed she did. Oh hell! This all seemed too weird. Darla's life was like an
open book to Jeannie. Why then was this such a secret?
Next, Darla picked up the handcuffs she had also placed in the chair. The key
was no where in sight. Then, as she turned she saw it dangling from the breast
chain. 'Very cute,' thought Jeannie. 'Darla is still living out her own
fantasy.' With the calmness of a mechanic assembling, a wheel bearing, Darla
placed the first cuff on her left wrist and closed the shackle. She slowly
tightened it, paying no attention to the click, click of the ratchet until there
was no slack left in the cuff. Then, she placed both hands behind her back and
Jeannie heard the click, click, click of the ratchet, 5, 10, 12 times. Then
there was total silence. Just two bound and gagged women staring at each other
in a small room somewhere in the suburbs of a conservative mid-western city
where nothing strange, nothing kinky, and certainly nothing as sexually
perverted is ever supposed to happen. After all, that was the law, Jeannie
thought. Suddenly, she expected the county sheriff to walk down the steps and
point his finger at both of them and say, "No, no, no!"
Unfortunately, Jeannie was not going to be that lucky. The doorknob on the
basement door clicked open. Jeannie heard the creek of the hinge and footsteps
on the carpeted stairway. She tried to distinguish if they were a man's or a
woman's, tall or short, heavy or skinny. You know, all those things Indian
trackers are supposed to be able to do. But, Jeannie had only 1/16 Indian blood
and the carpet muffled any distinguishing sounds. One, five, ten, Jeannie
counted the steps. 'How many steps are on a stairway anyhow?' she thought. A
hand appeared around the corner of the stairwell wall. A man's hand!
"Darla, I'm home early, the softball game was . ."
Stephen's words stopped in his throat. He swallowed hard as his eyes met
Jeannie's.
"r-r-rained out."
The rest of the sentence spilled out onto the floor. He stood frozen in his
tracks by the two most beautiful creatures his eyes had ever beheld. Stephen,
who had appeared to be as cold and hard as stone when Jeannie first met him, was
now as shy and bewildered as a school boy at his first school dance. Jeannie
was about to bear witness, though, to how the power of a bound woman can turn
any schoolboy into a giant.
Darla walked over to Stephen and stood in front of him with her back to Jeannie.
She pressed her body firmly against his. She ran her lips, or actually, the
bright blue ball held between them up and down his neck as if she was kissing
him. She drew a line on him with the ball, down his neck and chest. She knelt
down on one knee and nestled her face into his stomach and then moved to his
groin. Stephen placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and lifted her up. The
expression was now that of the cold, hard Stephen. The schoolboy was
transformed. His hand reached for and found the small chain traversing across
Darla's partially exposed chest. He grasped it firmly but did not pull it taut.
Darla sprang to attention. Now, on her tiptoes she stood perfectly still. It
was she who was now transformed into the meek schoolgirl waiting at one end of
the gymnasium, hoping the cute boy would pick her to dance. Stephen bent down
to kiss her with his mouth open wide around the ball. Their kiss lasted for
only a few seconds. Then, Stephen pulled back and stared down into her eyes.
Neither blinked. Darla sunk to her knees before him and bowed her head. Darla
then turned her head and looked at Jeannie. The gaze seemed to look right
through her. She looked back up into Stephen's eyes and her head nodded.
Stephen kissed her gently on the forehead and then on each eyelid. He
relinquished his hold on her nipple chain and he stepped back.
Even before Stephen turned and began to walk toward Jeannie, her heart kicked
into high gear. All her nerve endings began to transmit again as if turned on
by a switch. As Stephen approached, she looked him over, up and down. He was a
rugged and handsome man, very muscular. He wore a dirt stained baseball
uniform. It fit very tightly, and the rain it had soaked up, made it cling to
him "everywhere." Jeannie's eyes stopped at that "everywhere." Stephen had
never been in a situation this erotic, this tempting, this exciting, and his
excitement was making itself be shown where Jeannie's eyes were now locked.
Jeannie took a deep breath. She pressed firmly against all her bonds. Her arms
were held tight. She wanted them, she needed them. But why? To push Stephen
away? Or to grab him and pull him to her breast. She honestly did not know
which. The heat in her loins generated by that damned rope rubbing all the
right places, coupled with the fire in her nipples had brought her emotions to
the point where they were in control of her body, not her mind.
But wait, her mind kicked in. 'He can't see the crotch rope or the clothes pins
on my nipples because they were hidden by my dress.' For if Stephen had seen all
of her charms, displayed the way Darla had imprisoned them, he certainly would
have blown his cork.
Stephen moved behind her. His hand reached to touch her cheek. Her nipples
cried out for his tongue, her love mound now pulsating under the crotch rope,
wanted to be set free to engulf his tall, throbbing manhood. Her mouth
desperately wanted to spit out the rubber ball that imprisoned her voice inside
and press her burring lips into his.
A battle for control was going on in her mind. Steven took control of the battle
by delivering the first blow. "Whack," Jeannie leaped as Steven's hand came
crashing down onto her tight buttocks. "Whack," before she could recover,
another blow. One minute, a slow passionate lover now Steven had turned into a
Satanic Torturer! "Whack," another, and then another as the blows came crashing
down. At first Jeannie tried to rationalize why he was doing this. She had never
been spanked before. Had she done something wrong, had she violated some sacred
rule of bondage? Stephen stopped for a moment. His hand now slowly but roughly
spread over her tight ass cheeks and squeezed and kneaded each. He lifted her
skirt higher to give him a better view of her bright red globes of fire.
"Beautiful, just fucking beautiful," he said to himself. He barely noticed the
crotch rope impaled so deeply in the fold of her cheeks. The touch of his hand
on her ass was like a hot branding iron tearing into her tender flesh, yet she
felt no pain from it. Instead it felt cool and smooth. She longed for more of
his touch.
"Whack," he was back at it again. "Whack," now she hardly moved with each smack
of his giant hand. "Whack," soon she lost count of the blows. Soon she no longer
cared why she was being spanked. The heat in her ass had spread deep, deep into
her pussy and that fire was rapidly taking control of her very being. The rush
to put out that fire would consume her every nerve ending and Jeannie had no
idea why.
Her body, now engulfed in heat from her burning flesh desperately needed relief.
Her ass, her arms and breasts, now racked with the pain of her bonds, were
actually amplifying her passion. The pain had turned to pleasure, and with
each twinge, as she fought the ropes on her arms, the more excited she became.
She was, as she had heard her dad say jokingly many times about the family's
favorite pet, "A bitch in heat."
What the "bitch" inside her needed most was now standing before her. A tall,
handsome, muscular man with a warmed soft hand caressing her cheek, a haughting
twinkle in his eye, and a now clearly visible bulge rising and falling with each
heartbeat, inside his tight, wet athletic shorts. Stephen now stood before her,
his hand moved behind Jeannie's neck and with it he pulled her close. His leg
moved between her thighs, his chest covered hers like a glove, her breasts were
pressed into her ribs, and the clothespins on her nipples dug deep into her hot,
sensitive flesh. The pain turned pleasure was excruciating. It alone would
have pushed her over the edge had he not kissed her neck. At that moment when
he bent his head to one side to take in the soft side of her neck, below the
left ear, Jeannie looked over his shoulder to see Darla.
She was on her knees about five feet behind Stephen, staring longingly at his
back. Her breathing was hard and fast. Saliva dripped from her ball gag. She
was trying to reach her breast with her outstretched fingers from behind her
back but the handcuffs yielded little slack. All this turned her on - big time.
Suddenly, her mind began to clear and Jeannie saw this scene as if she were
remotely detached from it. Finally, at last, she had almost everything she
wanted, the excitement, the fear, and the physical and emotional stimulation of
the bonds on her body; the feelings of helplessness and surrender. The strong,
dominant man with the soft touch and the hard tool ready to give her the relief
that her trembling, heat ridden body cried out for. In her wildest fantasies,
she could not have imagined a more exciting set of circumstances. Her minds eye
could not have painted a more beautiful picture. But, the picture was flawed.
Something was very wrong here. A great painting is priceless not because it
looks nice, but because it conveys the soul, the feelings, the passion of its
artist. Jeannie was not the painter of this picture, Darla was. Just whom did
Darla paint this masterpiece for, Jeannie or herself?
As much as she wanted to continue, as much as her body pleaded with her to
continue, as much as she wanted to wrap the warm trembling folds of her flesh
around Steven's hardness, she could not. Jeannie, if nothing else, was a very
strong willed woman. She might go to any extreme to satisfy her own pleasure,
but she would not do it at the expense of another woman's lover. As she looked
at Darla's face, a tear ran down her cheek and Jeannie realized what her friend
was sacrificing for her.
With a swift jerk, she stepped back from Steven. She began shaking her head
from side to side was fast as she could. She screamed the words "No, No," into
her gag but all that came out was
"mmmph, mmmph."
Realizing the futility of her screams, she tried to communicate with the only
thing she had left, her eyes. She looked deeply and pleadingly into Steven's
eyes. 'Please doesn't do this to me. Not here, not like this, not in front of
her.' Then, her eyes shot over to Darla. If Jeannie's glance had been laser
beams, Darla's eyes would have been burned out of her sockets. She continued to
stare at Darla with first a deathblow, then her expression turned into a plea.
'Please don't do this to me. I know you think this is what I want, but I can't
go through with this,' they said.
Steven turned and looked at Darla. In an instant, their eyes communicated.
Darla nodded her head vertically only once. Jeannie saw the exchange of looks
and the nod. "Yes," she took it to be.
Steven stepped to the shelf on the wall and picked up a short-bladed knife. He
moved behind Jeannie and placed his hand over her gagged mouth, pulling her head
back. 'Wait a minute!' she screamed inside her head. What the hell did this
mean? 'Yes, release me, yes take me, yes put me out of my misery! If you are
going to release me, there was a pair of scissors on the counter. Darla showed
them to me. Why did he need the knife and why are you pulling my head?' Her
mind screamed, 'My God girl what have you done to yourself?' Just when she was
sure she was going to die, Stephen's intent became clear. Jeannie felt his hand
at the small of her back. It encircled the rope that was knotted there. The
crotch rope that was buried so deeply within her soft, trembling folds of flesh,
imprisoning the tight center of all nerve endings leading directly to her brain.
He was going to rape her! And, after all, it was rape now, wasn't it? She was
no longer a willing participant of this. She had cried out, "No, No!" It
didn't matter if he had heard it or not. She had said No! 'Oh my God, what
have I gotten myself into now? Oh God, please help me, please save me from
myself!' She cried within her tortured mind.
Jeannie felt the pull at the crotch rope grow excruciatingly tight, and at the
same time her wrists, which she did not know had been tied to the crotch rope,
were pulled down tightening the strain on her shoulders. Suddenly, she heard a
"snap," and the crotch rope and wrists went slack. Another "snap," and her
elbows slipped their bonds and moved apart for what seemed like miles. She
twisted her wrists and felt the ropes slide off and fall limply to the floor.
Steven released his hand from her head, which he had placed there to steady her
because he did not want her cut by the knife because of some sudden and
unexpected move. Her hands, now free, shook involuntarily like the head of a
wild stallion, just freed from the noose. Her hand brushed the front of his
shorts. She felt his hardness. Her hand stopped and her fingers groped. She
felt his shaft, long and stiff. He was excited by her beauty, or was it the
power he knew he held over her that turned him on? The fingers of her other
hand found him and together they surrounded his shaft. She felt him tense and
heard his breathing quicken.
Steven had only been in the basement a few moments, Jeannie thought. Already he
was ready for sex. She suddenly remembered an old joke her grandmother had told
her not long ago. "When it comes to sexual arousal, men are like microwave
ovens and women are like crock pots." Well, Jeannie thought, 'my crock-pot is
going to explode if I don't get this lid off it.' Her muscles clenched the
crotch rope, buried deep within her thighs. Steven moved a step back, slipping
out of Jeannie's grasp. She turned to face him. He stood there still holding
the knife in his hand, the front of his shorts straining. 'Someone was building
a tent inside of those shorts and this pole is gonna rip something.' Jeannie
thought. 'Get the fuck out of here girl, you are still in danger!' cried the
voice within her brain. Steven, seeing the terror in her eyes, tried to relieve
her anxiety by tossing the knife to the side.
Jeannie was already in motion though and took no note of Steven's good will
gesture. She flew past the startled man with a move that would make a Notre
Dame running back envious. She bound up the stairs taking two steps at a time.
With each leap, the rope between her thighs dug deeper into her innermost
secrets and tormented the very heart of her sexual nerve center. She reached
the top of the stairs, her heart pounding 90 miles an hour. Her breathing was
hard and fast. Her legs trembled. Her nipples ached with their torment. She
looked to the left - the back door. She looked to the right - a hallway with a
bathroom. She did not know what she needed most, escape or relief. The brain
lost this argument with the body.
She locked the bathroom door and stood over the toilet. She tore at her skirt,
lifting it up to get at the crotch rope. There was no knot there, only a loop.
She reached around the other side. She found the knot but her trembling hands
could not loosen it. Her fingers clutched the rope and pulled, harder, harder,
deeper, deeper. Her other hand probed under the rope and tried to slide under
her panties. They were soaked now. She looked up and saw her face in the
mirror. Tears rolled out of her eyes. Sweat covered her forehead. And that
ball! That giant red rubber ball strapped between her teeth. She had never
been so turned on by anything that looked so menacing. It owned her, it
controlled her. It commanded her to come. She ripped open the top of her
blouse, popping one of the lower buttons. Jeannie looked down at her imprisoned
nipples. Her chest was heaving; the clothespins were jiggling wildly with every
uncontrollable breath she took. Her knees were growing weak; she was pulling on
the crotch rope as hard and as fast as she could. She was so, so, hot, so
close. If only she could reach just a little further.
She looked again at her nipples. Suddenly, Darla's words came into her head.
"They hurt the most when you take them off." Her free hand grabbed both
clothespins at the same time. Squeezing one and half jerking the other, she
pulled them both off at once.
The sensation was like jumping belly buster into a vat of hot wax. Shock waves
rolled from her breasts to her belly and deep inside her pussy. The waves came,
and came, and came. White lights flooded her sight. Her eyes, ears and all
sense of feeling were overloaded. After what seemed like an eternity, the world
went white.
Jeannie awoke sprawled out on the bathroom floor. She did not know how long she
was out. She felt exhausted, drained. She had never in her life had an orgasm
like that before. Or, was it a dream? No, the taste of the ball gag in her
mouth awoke her to reality. She reached around behind her head and unbuckled
it. She had to pull to get it to pop out of her mouth. Her jaws ached, but not
as much as her nipples and her poor swollen pussy. With steady fingers, she
untied the knot and pulled the ropes out of her body, slowly, only to find they
had been cut and would have fallen out, had her body not held them so tight. A
shiver hit her as the cool air reached her wet panties. She removed them and
threw them into Darla's bathtub.
After a few minutes of catching her breath, she unlocked the bathroom door and
ventured into the house. She reached the top of the stairs, still no sign of
Darla or Stephen. She opened the basement door and could clearly hear from the
muffled moans and groans downstairs that her hosts did not care to be disturbed.
She looked quickly around the kitchen. She saw her purse and keys on the table.
She started to toss the ball gag on the table, but paused and stared at it. It
seemed a part of her now and for reasons she did not know, she stuffed it into
her purse, grabbed her keys and rushed out the door towards her car.
The ride home was long and dark. Jeannie did not pass many cars nor see many
people on the street. This reassured her because she was beginning to feel
ashamed of her behavior. At an intersection, a young couple leaned over to look
with puzzlement into her car. Then they looked at each other. The lady blushed
and they both laughed. At a stoplight, a handsome young man pulled up along
side of her and smiled. She looked at him and he winked. The man spoke to her
but she could not hear through the closed windows. 'What is wrong with these
people? Haven't they ever seen a woman in a BMW before?' At the last stop
before her house, she saw a friendly face. It was Mr. Wilson, a kindly old man
whom she had known for years. He was out walking his little dog, Chi-Chi. He
recognized her and smiled as he approached her car from across the street.
Jeannie raised up to look at the rearview mirror. She wanted to make sure the
street behind her was clear for the old man to cross. Then she saw it! A black
line across her throat at the bottom of the mirror. Her hand went to it. 'My
God!' She was still wearing Darla's thick black collar! How could she have not
noticed it? She felt along the front for the buckle. Instead, she found the
large chrome ring riveted to the leather. Her hand traced the 2" wide leather
yoke to the buckle in the back, beneath her hair. Yes! She had it, and began
to tug on the strap. But, it did not budge. The buckle held fast against
fingers now desperately clawing away at it. Her eyes moved up to see Mr. Wilson
now only 10 ft. away. His eyes began to squint, as she could tell he was
puzzled by what he saw, or thought he was seeing.
"No, no, he can't see me like this. How can I explain?" Jeannie spoke out loud
with an irrational trembling in her voice.
In an instant, she stomped on the accelerator, flew past Mr. Wilson, startling
him and throwing him to the pavement. As she disappeared into the night, one
last look in the rearview mirror, she saw Mr. Wilson sitting up on the pavement.
Chi-Chi was licking his face. She had escaped, for now.
Jeannie slammed the front door shut as she entered the big, empty house. She
threw her purse across the foyer. It slid across the marble tile and crashed
into the leg of the antique wash stand, spilling its contents. She ran to the
wash stand and stood directly before the large mirror above it. She stared at
the collar. It was wide, very wide with a large chrome ring anchored firmly in
the center of her neck. It spoke loudly and boldly to Jeannie as if the words
were branded on the front, it said - "SLAVE". A blush ran over Jeannie's face.
It ran down her chest hardening her already sensitive nipples and ended up deep
between her thighs in a tingling shiver.
Quickly, she took hold of herself; she turned and flipped her long, dark hair
aside. She grabbed hold of the collar and twisted it. It was on so tightly
that she could not budge it an inch. She wrenched her neck and arched her
shoulders as far as they could strain to get a glimpse in the mirror of that
buckle. It was only jammed, she told herself. She knew she could free it if
she could only see it. Then, her horrified eyes saw clearly what her mind could
not have guessed, but something deep inside of her knew all along was there. A
padlock. A small, but sturdy gold padlock. Her fingers encircled and probed
every inch of it and the buckle it went through, but Jeannie knew it was no use.
She looked down to the floor at the spilled contents of her purse. She saw the
red ball gag at her feet. She picked it up. She looked at herself in the
mirror. Jeannie stared at the collar and the bold steel ring. The collar spoke
to her. "You are my Slave and I am your Master." Jeannie brought the ball gag
to her mouth and pushed it in behind her teeth. She buckled the strap behind
her head, pulling the gag inside even deeper. Her eyes were now as red as the
ball she now gripped with her teeth. Those eyes, now filled to the brim with
tears, rose to look into the mirror. "You are my Slave and there is no escaping
me!" Tears now poured from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. A shiver ran
up her back, making her nipples harden and her breathing stagger. Her hand rose
to brush aside the tears. She looked down at her finger now soaked. Not with
tears of sorrow, but at long last, tears of joy!
I hope you enjoyed "A Lady in Training" This short story is part of a larger and
more intense erotic tale named "Her Decision A Journey into Bondage." If you
are interested in obtaining this complete book of a young woman's journey into
self bondage and bondage submission, Click Here :
http://www.booklocker.com/erotic/69030.html
Review This Story || Email Author: HR Moody