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This is a work of fiction. None of the events depicted in this story should ever be attempted or recreated in real life, in any degree, for any reason. The legal council stated in this document may not be accurate, and should not be taken for fact. Replication of any of these events may result in fines and/or imprisonment. This work is copywrited by the author, Samsara. Any similarities to any person, place, organization and/or event are purely coincidental.

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In retrospect, I'm not too pissed I ended up completely blowing my Bar Examination.

I mean, fuck it, I was going to fail it anyways. I done jack shit during the year and I didn't intend for that to change in the eleventh hour, contrary to what the stacks of textbooks stacked on my kitchen counter my suggest. No sense getting all agitated about it - that'd be my motto, if I had one. Right now, I'm perfectly at ease to just watch COPS and drink beer. That, and hope the late-forties couple next door decide that it really doesn't matter that he left the toillet lid up. It's about 3:45 PM now, which means they've been at it for, Christ, four and a half hours.

So, it's a little early for a beer, but I'm a kind of 'spur of the moment' kind of guy. My name's Mark, Mark Vladivstock. I'm Caucasian, (second-generation Lithuanian), about six foot two, a hundred and sixty pounds with short brown hair and steel grey eyes. I've been pretending to study for the California Bar Exam for months now, although really, I've just been working out at the gym. I'm twenty-five, with no emotional relationships of any significance and only a handful of comrades whom I cheat cash off a poker ever second Sunday. They still haven't figured out the deck is rigged - the type stage magicians use, really. Well, no need to reveal my secrets.

I'd actually just come out of the washroom when I heard somebody knocking on my door. This, I assure you, is unusual. I live seventeen stories up in a complex on the outskirts of San Diego, California, which keeps me from getting the usual charity/evangelical/salesman crowd. Furthermore, you need a key to actually get into the complex, and even after that, the doorbell outside my place is broken, so a lot of people end up standing around for a few minutes thinking I'm ignoring them. If they're knocking, well, that means they want to see me. And that doesn't happen often.

I swung the door open to find, to my surprise, not any of my poker friends, the landlord (fuck, I hadn't paid him this month!), or even a family member, but a stunning girl wearing a schoolgirl uniform with a smile on her face.

She was perhaps sixteen or seventeen years old, five and a half feet tall and a hundred or so pounds, with a tanned skin that suggested some Arabian blood in her. She had straight, jet-black hair that was cut off at her shoulders, high cheekbones and emerald green eyes. She was wearing what could only be a school uniform of some sort. I'm guessing the school's color was a dark green, because that was rather dominant in her uniform. She was wearing a white blouse, a green tie, a knee-length green skirt, green stockings that went half way up her shins, polished black leather dress shoes and a green blazer, complete with an Anglican Cross and four-leaf clover. Perhaps most interest, however, was a tin can with the word 'DONATIONS' written on a piece of mascing tape hanging around her neck from a loop of string. In her right hand was a bundle of yellow flyers, suggesting that this was, in fact, a rather determined fundraising effort. As I unintentiionally gaped at her, the girl grabbed the fringers of her skirt, curtseyed, bowing her head as she did so, then clasped her hands behind her back, talking to me with her head still bowed.

"I'm sorry to bother you, sir," said the girl, in that soft tone of voice that simply screams 'submission'. "My name is Kaliqa Quintas, I'm from St. Andrew's Holy Catholic School. I'm part of a fundraising effort to raise money to build a school in rural Colombia. I was wondering if you'd like to donate to our cause."

"Uh, I'm a bit short right now, but sure," I replied. Damn, she was beautiful. Not in that Miss America dumb-blonde kind of way, but in that sincere, genuine beauty that comes from some degree of emotional serenity and not Hollywood magic. My wallet was lying on a bedside table next to the door. I grabbed it, pulled out two one-dollar bills, and placed my wallet back down on the counter. As I did so, Kaliqa took a step forward into my apartment. She placed her flyers down next to my wallet and made eye contact with me for the first time. She had truley magnificant eyes. She leaned forward, the tin can resting on her sizeable breasts, pushing her chest closer to me so I could stuff the dollar bills into her can. Awkwardly, I managed to get the bills into the tin. As I did so, however, I felt her left hand slide down my back, grabbing my ass, whilst her soft lips pressed up against mine. As we kissed, I felt my hands reach around her hips to her ass cheeks, both of which were promptly squeezed. She pressed our hips together, and I'm sure she felt my erect dick pressing agaisnt her thigh.

She pulled apart in a sudden jerk, although she didn't seem the least bit offended, or surprised. In fact, I'd say she looked rather pleased. A genuine smiled played across her face. The flyers were back in her hands again, which were now clasped behind her back. She licked her lips.

"Thank you very much for your contribution," she said, in a tone of voice suggesting I'd done that and only that. "I hope to see you again soon."

"Yeah, me too," I said, almost fumbling over the words as a I closed the door behind her. Well, that reminded me to go pay the landlord, something I could actually do with a credit card and Internet connection nowadays. Booting up my Sony laptop, I went back to the nightstand to retrieve my credit card from my wallet.

Days later, I'd actually worked out how she'd done it. It was pretty damn ingenious, too. She'd gotten me to put my wallet down in clear sight, covered it with her flyers, than blinded me with her fucking lips. While I was busy handling her ass, she'd slipped my wallet into her blazer pocket, broken away, collected her flyers and left. Of course, that was days later.

I bolted out of my apartment, just in time to see her stepping into the elevator at the end of the hallway. All those weeks of cardio training paid off as I covered the distance in a few seconds, just managing to slip my hand between the two doors before the elevator began its descent. As the doors opening automatically, she managed to slip beneath my arm and bolted for the stairwell. My right hand shot out and grabbed her by her hair, and her legs flew out from under her as her head was snapped back. She landed hard on the carpetted floor. My left hand, meanwhile, raced around her head and hand gagged her, pressing against her skin in order to keep her shouts from beind heard. Letting go of her hair, I pinned both her elbows behind her back with my right arm, then hoisted her to her feet. The corridor empty, I force-marched her back into my apartment. I pushed her deep into the room, then locked and bolted the door behind us.

"You!" I barked, pointing a finger at her. She was on her knees on the floor of my apartment, hands on her thights, panting. "Just what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I- I'm just trying to raise money for charity," she feebly retorted, employing a crushed-flower tone of voice. I wasn't falling for it this time. Stepping over her, I yanked her green blazer off her and, to my not-at-all surprise, found my black leather wallet resting inside. I pulled it out, tossing the blazer onto a nearby sofa, and held it in front of her.

"That's a rather sizeable donation, don't you think?" Kaliqa said nothing. I opened the flap. "Do you know how many things I could have you charged with attempting here?" I spilled a handful of identification documents on the ground. "Identity theft." The keys to my Honda Civic. "Grand theft auto." Several bills of varrying denominations. "Theft, fraud, impersonating a charity." I'm actually not sure if that last one's real. "You could be spending years behind bars for this!"

"Honestly, sir, I'm just trying to raise money," she pleaded. Some angel on my shoulder told me this was true, although I can hardly approve of this style of fundraising. Maybe gunge tanks would've been more conventional.

"Alright, Kaliqa, if that is your real name." Damn, I'd always wanted to say that. "I want to make sure you're sorry for what you've done."

"I'm very, very sorry, sir," she pleaded. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. She looked even sexier without the blazer.

"Those are just words," I retorted. "I have to *make* you sorry. But where to begin?"

"Please, sir, if you let me go, I'll never trouble you, or anyone else, ever again," pleaded Kaliqa.

"Oh, sure. I can let you go to the police. They're very good at sorting out these kinds of things. Now," an idea had turned on the lightbulb over my head, "I have to make sure there are no more unfortunate victims of this fraudulent theft like myself. I order you to strip so that I may make sure."

Kaliqa managed to get a hold of herself, or at least, stop pretending to not have one. I sat on an old sofa next to her blazer, whilst she stood directly in front of me, about two feet away. Kaliqa undid the knot in her tie, unbuttoned her blouse, pulled down her skirt, untied her shoes and stripped out of her stockings. After each garment was removed, she tossed them to me on the sofa. After about half a minute (it wasn't much of a striptease), she stood there, wearing only a black thong and bra. An almost begging look came into her eyes, but I nodded, and she somberly undid her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts were somewhat larger than normal, although not freakishly so. She didn't instinctively try to cover her chest, as many nude women due, but instead proceeded to step out of her tight thong.

Once she was completely nude, I stood up, and proceeded to do a COPS-style patdown, although that was largely unnecessary. My hands went up her thighs, around her crotch, up the ticklish sides of her stomach, over her boobs and armpits, and finally, through her hair. Her body tensed up at just the rights times. She had nice teeth, too, now that I was up close and personal with her (and not so surprised).

"Well, now that that's all taken care of," I continued, as if correcting a pricing error at the grocery store, "let's think of some proper restitution. Any ideas?" Kaliqa remained silent. "Well, that doesn't surprise me. Stress sometimes clouts the creative process, doesn't it?" It was just then that the phone rang. I eyed both the phone and Kaliqa. She was completely nude, so I figured the probability of her booking it was rather low. And besides, the phone was next to the door, which was behind me. I picked up the phone, putting my index finger to my lips.

"Ah, Mr. Vladivstock?" It was the landlord, fuck.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Resetti?"

"I'm not sure how they do it in the Soviet Union, but here, we pay our bills on time."

I was just about to offer my haphazardous excuse when I saw Kaliqa take a deep breath and her mouth open. I slammed my palm over the speaker, just in time to muffle her cry for help. Cursing, I pounded the HOLD button, dropped the phone, and rushed over and once again hand-gagged Kaliqa. Her hands instinctively grasped my forearm, trying to rip it away, but it was of no use. Looking around, I spotted the black thong lying in a pool at her feet. I quickly stuffed it into her mouth, than awkwardly dragged her over to the couch, picking up her untied tie, and hastily applying a cleave gag, tying a tight knot in the back of her head. She attempted to yell again, but it was muffled by the panties. I proceeded to grab her stockings, and tied her wrists together behind her back, then her ankles together, finally hogtying her with the leftover material. I was no Boy Scout, but the knots looked secure enough to me. Less than a minute later, I walked back to the phone and tapped the HOLD button again.

"Mr. Ressetti?"

"Mr. Vladivstock, that was-"

"I'm quite sorry, sir, a pigeon just flew into my apartment."

"A pigeon?"

"Yes, ah, it's gone now. Made quite a mess, I might add. Anyways, I have my credit card in front of me, if you'd like to get this over with now."

Four agonizing minutes later, it was done. I hung up the phone, and again stood over the nude Kaliqa. She was struggling in her hogtie, although the bonds were tight. I was somewhat worried that the material of her pantyhose wouldn't hold, but so far, it did. She was cleave gagged, and seemed to have given up on the moaning.

"Well, my little thief," I said. "My bathroom is quite a mess, I'm afraid. How would you like to correct that mess for me?" Kaliqa locked eyes with me, a combination of fear and anger in her emerald greens, but she slowly nodded. "Ah, good. I was afraid I'd have to call some other service. Now, you are to wear your uniform whilst cleaning this bathroom. Make any attempt to call for help, or escape, and I won't be so gentle this time."

I undid the ropes binding her wrists behind her back, and then let the girl do the rest herself. Kaliqa first undid the restraints around her ankles, than undid the cleave gag, pulling her thong out of her mouth. I stepped in at this point, grabbing her thong and bra and tossing them away from her. Kaliqa seemed to get the message. She dressed herself again, doing up the top button on her collar and straightening her blazer. By the time she'd finished knotting her shoelaces, I'd returned from the kitchen with a large roll of grey duct tape in my hands.

"Hate to compromise your freedom from bondage so quickly," I smiled, "but I have to make sure we don't have another Harry Houdini on our hands." I once again stuffed her thong into her mouth, this time along with two (clean) kitches clothes. Her cheeks properly inflated, I wrapped the roll of duct tape around her head several times, tangling up her hair in overlapping layers. By the end, the tape covered everything from her nose to her chin. I proceeded to wrap the tape around her wrists another dozen times, this time in front. Of course, you may point out that this allows her to remove her gag, but I proceeded to make an improvised tape chest harness. Her wrists were taped with one crossing over the other in an X. From there, I wrapped the tape around her wrists and her waist several times, pinning her wrists to her belly. I wrapped her in duct tape twice more, once above and once below her breasts, ensuring her arms were completely immobolized. She'd be completely unable to reach her face. I proceeded to wrap tape both above and below her knees, and around her ankles, for added immobility.

Properly trussed up, I led my captive to the bathroom, which was, as promised, quite a message. I gestured to a pile of unused cleaning instruments next to the toilet.

"Get to work."

I have to admit, she did a very good job. Of course, it took her longer than a typical hotel maid, probably because of her bound hands, but she did it. I watched as she scrubbed the tiled floor clean with soap water and a spunge, cleaned the inside of the toilet bowl, washed out the sink and polished the shower. Every time she bent over I had an excellent view of her ass thanks to the material of the stuff gag, whilst there was an undeniable sexiness to watching her struggle to polish the mirror with her hands bound at waist-level. An hour later, she presented herself to me, a sparkling bathroom behind her.

"Now, I hope you learned a valuable life lesson today," I said, as I began to unwrap the tape around her hips. "Stealing is a very bad thing, especially when the person you're stealing from might take offense." With her wrists no longer bound to her hips, Kaliqa undid her tape gag, wincing in pain as her hair was tugged for the umpteenth time that day. Pulling her thong out of her mouth, she used her teeth to undo the tape binding her wrists, than freed her legs. "Now, I wish you all the best in your trip to Colombia."

"Thank you for your donation, sir," said Kaliqa. Fuck. She had that *exact* same tone of voice as she had when she had left my apartment the first time, my wallet in her blazer. "I hope to see you again soon."

"Likewise."

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AUTHOR INFORMATION

This work was produced by Samsara. Samsara may be contacted via e-mail at:

discrete_services@hush.com

This work my be reproduced and editted by any person or organization, assuming such party does not charge a fee for accessing this file.

This author is open to requests in any and all genres of erotica, although bondage is a specialty.