By the time I see her she is little more than a package. A bundle of female flesh, mostly naked, gagged, blindfolded and tightly bound. She is a well-built redhead with classic Irish good looks, perhaps in her mid twenties. She is sitting in the back seat of Johnny Roma’s town car, helplessly waiting for whatever might come next. It makes my pecker stir and begin to stiffen just to look at her.

The driver slams the car door on her and says, "Her name is Connie McGuire. She works as a dancer at the LA Club. Johnny wants to know where she stashed some of his blingblings, also what kinda shit she’s been giving the cops."  Handing me the car keys, he continues, "He says she’s your problem from here out. Don’t fuck it up."

"She a cop?" I ask, moving toward the driver’s door, my dick getting stiffer by the second. This is the kind of work I like best.

"We’re not sure what she is, thief, cop, it makes no difference.  Whatever, Johnny is pissed!  What we want you to find out is where the boodle is and if she’s been informing on us.  Find out those two things, call in so we can confirm her story, then dispose of her some place where she won’t be found. Ok?"

I look at the open driver’s door and realize that Connie now knows she is marked for death.  This is not going to make my task any easier.  I say, "Sure, I’ll call you as soon as I get back." tossing my bag on the front seat beside me, starting the motor and driving the town car out of the parking lot.

As I wheel the car out onto the street I hear Connie trying to talk around the big knot of scarf tied between her teeth.  I try to think of someplace I could stop and switch that gag for something effective but I fail.  The city is simply too crowded this time of day.  It will just have to wait until we are out of the suburbs, I think, wondering why they’d used that stupid scarf on her instead of something that would keep her quiet, like an inflated penis gag or perhaps a Nerf basketball and some Newskin to hold it in.

Instead of listening to her, I turn up the stereo, letting some of the Boss’s Benny Goodman cover her gag garbled attempts at talking. 

I nearly miss the turn onto the bridge, watching her in the mirror.  Pay attention to what you are doing, idiot you’d have a hell of a time explaining her to the cops. I think, switching my mirror so I won’t be as distracted by her naked body.  I wish there was some way I could close my nose.

Even before we reach Treasure Island I know I am in trouble.  Traffic on the bridges and freeways of San Francisco is always a wild card.  It can and does snarl at any time of the night or day.  Right now, at ten o’clock on a Monday morning it was about a one in five chance that we will get stuck in a traffic jam.  Ahead I see too many brake lights and know I should have taken a chance and fixed that gag while we were still in the city.  We come to a stop trapped in the far left lane and going nowhere.      

I’m not too worried that my prisoner will be discovered.  After all, the car is armor plated.  It has excellent sound-proofing and the bullet-proof windows are deeply mirror tinted.  As long as I have the jammies jammin’ I don’t think she will be heard.

Just to remind her that screaming for rescue will be painful, I touch her shoulder and say, "If I get tired of listening to you I have the means to shut you up."  She shakes her head, promising to be good.

The cops who are trying to direct traffic are letting each lane go for 30 seconds at a time in their turns.  I sit behind the wheel trying to endure the wait, my mind more on what will happen tonight than on my present circumstances. 

The second time our lane moves we end up beside a big semi truck loaded with live pigs, the sound of his airbrakes clearly audible inside the car, even over the music.  Instantly Connie forgets her promise and begins screaming, the gag knot doing little in the way of silencing her.  I turn the music up even louder, letting the power amp cover her screams in Gene Krupa drum solo and hope the trucker too has air-conditioning and a taste for loud music.

After two endless minutes Connie is exhausted and horse and not one person around us has shown the slightest interest. When the middle lane begins to go, taking the truck with it, I let out my breath and relax, knowing it will be my turn to go next and this time we should get past the wreck ahead and safely away.

And then we are moving, passing the too busy cops, the wreckage, the fire trucks and finally seeing the open bridge ahead.

To discipline her I reach into my flight bag and take out a pair if my nipple bells.  I jingle them, watching her stiffen and go white with fear.  Good, that means she has heard of my little silver beauties.  I wish I could stop and put them on her but that too will have to wait.

I turn down the music enough to be heard and say, "No-one noticed a thing back there, Connie, but I think you need a little lesson."  I again tinkle the bells and watch her cringe.

Somewhere in the wilds of suburbia I decide to take the chance.  I take an off ramp, park the car out at the deserted back corner of a Safeway lot and join Connie in the back seat, my bag of toys in hand.  Working quickly I replace the knotted scarf with my idea of a gag, an inflatable penis that seals her mouth tight when I squeeze the bulb a few times.  Now, no longer worried about any noise she might make, I place one of my special little bells on her left nipple, letting the spring-clamp’s single needle sharp tooth begin chewing its way through her nipple.  She snorts and bucks her body, trying to throw it off her body, only to discover it firmly attached and painful beyond belief.

I sit with her a moment, enjoying her shuddering pain, then go back to the driver’s seat, needing to get her to our destination quick, before lover’s nuts set in.

The rest of the trip is boring.  Connie learns her lessons and I think about my plans for her.  She is mine to do with as I please.  I own her. 

As the San Francisco Hump Hump Club’s "Human Resource Manager" I take care of employee discipline.  In other words it is my job to deal with the girls who piss off the boss.  Most of the time this is just a word whispered into an ear and maybe a slap on a rump.  Sometimes it’s a night in my soundproof subbasement dungeon, two floors below the club.

If the girl is expected to be dancing on stage the next night I am kind of limited in how much I can mark them up.  This does not mean they get off easy.  But if the boss is really pissed the girl will get a two week vacation while the bruises and welts heal.  He tried making them work that way but found that the signs of abuse seem to give johns ideas, painful ideas, dangerous ideas, bad for business ideas.  So now he takes them up to his mansion in Arrowhead and lets them serve his pleasure as they heal.

Usually the girls are very, very good after spending a night with me but some get cocky, thinking they might like to try my brand of discipline a second time.  I have found only a favored few who ever wanted a third visit to my dungeon. 

Usually I will let them stew a while, naked and bound, blind and silenced.  Then I will toy with them, with a feather, with a vibrating dildo, with a pinwheel.  When my victim’s skin is fully sensitized I like to switch to a four alarm spanking, using my textured rubber glove on her bare bottom until it glows crimson.

That usually leads to her getting thoroughly fucked, about three hours worth.  Then, when she can no longer sustain her sexual passion, I switch back to pain, starting with the silver nipple bells and going on from there. 

In the morning I usually give the poor girl something to eat and then take her up to see Johnny so they can come to a better understanding.

It’s a tough way to make a living but I like it... Like it just fine.

When we get up into the high mountains I get off the freeway and on to a two lane road that soon begins to switch-back and climb.  I drive on, smiling so much my face hurts.  It’s only a few miles more and then the games will begin.

Behind me, Connie makes some pleading noises in her throat, afraid of the other nipple piercing clamp but needing to tell me about her bladder.

Even though it’s only a little way further, I stop the car, walk around and open the door beside her.  After all, it’s the boss’ car, I don’t want to have to clean up a mess before I return it.  Picking her up in my arms, I walk her back into the trees at the side of the road.  I stand her on her bound feet, rip away the remains of her panties, force her into a squat and hold her there with a grip in her hair until she stops peeing.  Then, while holding on to her elbow to steady her, I whip out my cock and pee on the same spot.

Behind us a car rolls to a stop behind the town car.  Quickly I whisper into Connie’s ear.  "Your only chance to stay alive is to be very quiet until I get rid of this nosy old woman."  I lower her to the ground and lay her out flat behind a clump of brush.  "If you cause trouble both of you will die."  By this time I can see the fender of a sheriff’s patrol car and now a pair of Corfam shoes standing where the trail enters the woods.

I walk out, making a show of pulling up my zipper.  Putting on my best innocent man face, I quietly say, "Afternoon officer, you caught me draining my lizard."

His eyes are unreadable behind his ray-o-bans and his smile seems distant.  Unconsciously lowering his voice to match mine, the cop says, "You don’t want to get too far off the road around here sir, there was trouble with a bear last night.  We think he’s wounded and dangerous."  He says; trying to look into my car to see if I have any passengers he has to worry about.

I smile and say, "Thanks for the advice, I’ll be careful."

"Is there someone inside the car?" The cop asks, looking suspiciously at his reflection in the car windows.

I laugh and say, "No sir, this is a dry run, the boss took a plane.

"Where you headed?" the cop asks, his mirrored lenses seeming to be looking right through me.

"I’m going to Reno, my boss wants his car there but hates to drive through the mountains."

"So this isn’t your car?"

"No sir, I’m just a chauffer." I say, reaching for my wallet.

Suddenly I am looking down the barrel of his Glock.  "Keep your hands where I can see them please."  He says, watching me like a hawk.

I hold my hands out from my body, not up but away from my sides.  I try to dazzle him with one of my best smiles but he is unimpressed.

"Please turn around and place your hands on the hood of my car."  He orders, loud enough now that Connie hears, realizes that my "Old Woman" is really a cop and starts screaming.  The deputy, distracted by the unexpected sound makes the mistake of looking.  Before he remembers me again it’s too late.  I’ve cold cocked him with the blackjack I carry up my sleeve.    

Taking his gun and radio, I quickly drag him back into the woods, handcuff his hands together around a tree, then go and retrieve Connie.  Loading her back into the car, I leave her a moment as I retrieve the video tape from the camera inside the cop car, shift the transmission into neutral and watch as the cruiser rolls back down the hill and off the road into a gully where there is less chance of it being seen.  I then jump behind the town car’s wheel and drive away, hoping against hope that way up here in the mountains the cop’s radio might not have been able to broadcast my license plate number before he got out of his car.  I’m not too worried about the cop remembering my face, I’m wearing sun glasses, a false mustache and have a small bandage on my cheek.

Connie, resigned now to her fate, sits in the back seat like a statue, her head erect, her defiance clear.

Ten minutes later we turn off the road, through a radio-controlled gate and onto a winding dirt track that goes about a mile before we come to the cabin.

I untie Connie’s feet but leave the ropes tight around her knees.  Using the ankle rope to tie a noose around her throat, I use it as a leash as I lead her, stumbling blindly, across the meadow and into my cabin.

Putting her on my workbench, I quickly fasten her down with three way restraints, the noose on her neck pulling tight against the leg irons.  Made from a converted iron bedstead, I am certain my workbench will hold her.  Still lashed together behind her back, her arms force her breasts up as if in an offering.  I take a moment to caress her naked, available body, touching then tugging on her nipple bell until she screams for mercy through her nose.  Then, without a word, I get up and walk out of the cabin, taking the big corn broom with me. 

In the time it takes me to walk back down to the road the sun is setting, turning the mountains into a painting too beautiful to describe.  I sweep the car’s tracks away, starting at the edge of the pavement and continuing until the road can no longer be seen.  When I leave, the drive looks like nothing has gone up here since before the last rain.

By the time I get back to the cabin it is full dark and when I get the candles lit I find my captive still right where I left her, stretched out on the workbench, naked, smelling delicious and waiting for me.

I can wait no longer.  I quickly remove her leg irons and roll her over onto her tummy.  I untie the rope around her knees and use the it to tie her into a kneeling position, her butt high in the air, her face pressed against the padded bench; her boobies squashed against her knees, her wet pussy glistening in the candle light.

I pick up my favorite cane and swish it through the air, letting the sound tell her what is coming.  I wait a breathless thirty seconds then swish one in, marking her rump mine.  I watch as her pussy swells and blossoms to the pain. Ninety seconds later I hit her a second time, this time low and dirty so that her swollen labia feel the impact directly. 

When I begin to fuck her she hardly knows who she is.  But when my big cock stretches her beyond anything she’s ever known, she knows she’s in for the ride of her life.  I begin to fuck her, my cock driving in and out, her cane bruised pussy gripping on me like a limpet, so tight I’m afraid she might rip.

In the morning I get out of bed, check my prisoner and begin fixing breakfast.  As I work I think about what games we should play today.  I consider the high horse, thinking about the very first time I brought a girl up here.

Consisting of a horizontal bar fixed between two trees, too high off the ground for most girls to touch their toes, it gives a girl time to think about doing what she is told.  It’s also a hoot to watch.  The first girl I ever brought up here had been cute little Katrina, the skinny Russian from the San Francisco club.  New to the sex trade, just off the plane from Moscow, she’d tried to beg her very first john to call the cops, not knowing that he was a friend of Johnny’s.

That’s when I got the call.

Wanting to make an example of her, I brought her up here to the cabin, tightly hogtied and packed inside a crate.  Once here I handcuffed her hands together behind her back, hobbled her, removed her blindfold and turned her loose in the meadow outside my cabin.

I then went inside and watched her through the curtain.  She was looking around, seeing the deep woods, listening to the quiet, feeling how far she was from rescue.  She took a few tentative baby steps, testing the limits of her hobble chain, finding I had left her about three inches of slack.  She stared at the window, trying to see if I was watching her.  She brought her hands around to her side, looking at the handcuffs as if she could will them open.

Then she began to wander the meadow, innocently, as if simply tired of standing in one place.

I watched, noting that her wanders were taking her closer and closer to the woods.  Finally she made up her mind and plunged into the underbrush, learning, to her sorrow, that I have a lot of nettles, thorn, and thistle planted on my land.  Makes for more privacy.  Makes going off trail impossible unless you have the hide of a rhino. 

The thing is, trails lead to places.  Nasty places.

Pulling on a pair of thick rubber gloves, I grabbed my bag and followed her, easily keeping her in sight, more driving her than chasing.

She was game enough, but in the end I had her where I wanted her, the little box canyon clearing where I keep my punishment horse.  She was exhausted, scratched, bitten and reduced to turning on the waterworks.  Don’t you just love the smell of female tears?  It always makes my boner throb.

I grabbed her in a bear hug and put her up on the box.  Afraid to try and jump down she stood there as I tied her throat and then arms to the tree.  I unlocked the hobble shackles, lifted her leg over the horizontal bar and tied her feet back together and to the base of the tree.

I then yanked away the box, letting her weight settle down on the bar between her legs,         

The first thing that happened was she forgot her English and began screaming in Russian, demanding, beseeching, begging to be let down.  Reverberated by the rock walls of the canyon, her screaming echoed and echoed again, making her sound alien, unearthly, holy.  For me it was like a cathedral, the perfect place for dirty deeds.  I stood down wind of her, listening to the music of her screams, watching her body becoming excited, smelling her juices, her tears, her essence. 

After a while I bent for my bag of tricks. 

The pinwheel on her breasts got her attention off her crushed clit so I suppose you could think of it as a kindness.  The large silver rings I pierced through her nipples and clit nearly made me come.  It was the bundle of nettles whipping her naked body that finally did the trick for her.  And once she’d started I never let her stop, using her pain to keep her in sexual convulsions for the remainder of the day.

That night I rode that little Ruskie up a volcanic mountain of lust, pushed her screaming into its bubbling magma and descended with her into hell. 

The next day she had been like a different girl, polite, cooperative and trying very hard to please.

As I said before, most of my girls learn with one or sometimes two trips to the woodshed.  Some are more stubborn.  Like Helen, the one girl who always comes back for more

Perhaps Connie should try that thing I did with Helen last week! I muse, going to my collection of photos to refresh my memory.  Ah here they are! I think, holding the first photo up near the light and looking at Helen, hogtied and helpless in a web of rope and heavy wooden dowels, her eyes covered in a double thickness of canvas, her mouth stretched around an inflated gag.  I think the nose hooks were the perfect touch, robbing her of the least sense of privacy, making her look like some kind of a flying pig.

I look at the next picture, remembering Helen on my workbench struggling to escape her passion.  Fitted with a vibrating egg, a butt plug and nipple clamps, the rough rope cutting up through her pussy and sawing back and forth with her every struggle.

I take the pictures over to where Connie waits, attached face down to the bench by neck and ankles.  I carefully remove her gag and blindfold, give her time to focus and look around, then show the pictures to her.  She sees them, registers their message and begins to tell me about her bladder.  I think, What the hell, its been a long night.  I get out the jug and funnel.  When she is done I have changed my mind about today’s bondage.

Reluctantly I put the photos away and turn to Connie.  "No, I think a day in the stocks will be more your style.  You need a shower and these ropes need to be changed." I run my hand down her upper arm, feeling how her bondage is cutting into her soft skin.  Tied by Johnny Romano himself, her arms and upper body are fixed into one useless (to her) lump.  With her forearms lashed together in the middle of her back so that each of her hands is touching its opposite elbow, she cannot hope she’ll ever wiggle free.  Johnny knows the ropes, I have never heard of a girl bound by him getting loose on her own.

The trick is her bondage might be tight but it is also tight in the right places. Places where circulation isn’t affected so much, places that allow the ropes to be left on for days if necessary without damaging the merchandise.

Handy as it is for me to leave her arms as they are, I think I want to give her a break.  There are some answers I need and a little kindness might work well here.

Leaving the three way ligature in place, I begin untying Connie’s arms.  She screams a little as I pull the rope out of the grooves it has made, she moans as she tries and fails to bring her now free arms out from behind her back, cries out in pain as I exercise her stiff joints, cries out in alarm as I place the stocks on her, pegging the boards together so that they hold both her wrists and throat.         

We then go outside to the shower.  Standing naked in the morning chill, Connie shivers and looks around the mountain meadow.  "It’s ten rough miles to the nearest human being." I say, attaching a dangling chain to her stocks, forcing her to stand beneath the showerhead. "You can try running sometime.  It’s one of my favorite games."

Without warning I open the tap, letting the icy stream water flow down from its storage tank fifty feet up the mountain.

Connie screams and fights to escape the cold.  She can go nowhere, held to her tiptoes under the jets of icy stream water. 

It is quite a wake-up, I know, I’ve been there. 

After a few seconds she begins to cool off, so to speak, so I hit the switch to turn on the in-line water heater.  Setting the water temperature at 105F, I shed my clothing and join her, bringing soap, shampoo, conditioner, body oil and a big stiff cock.

Two hours later Connie kneels before me, sexually exhausted and staring with disbelief at my still stiff organ.  "What does it take to get you off?"  She pants, tasting my head cheese with her tongue.

"You will know when it happens."  I say, my fist in her tresses.  "You can’t miss it."

"Are you really going to kill me?" she asks, stretching her lips back around my organ, hoping thus to avoid punishment for the uninvited questions.

I fuck her face while holding eye contact with her for a full minute then say, "Johnny’s orders, sorry."

She bites me a little but continues doing wonderful things with her tongue.

I say, "To tell you the truth, if I had the money to run I’d try to save you.  It’s going to take a bundle to get us as far away from Johnny as we’d need to be.  Perhaps New Zealand, or up the Amazon somewhere.  I would never again be able to work.  The sex worker world is too interconnected for that."

Connie sucked hard and hoovered me, swallowing me right down her throat.  I held myself there, feeling her gag and struggle for air.

"If I knew what I was doing I would follow my orders and be done with you." I say, "But damn woman, you are good at that."

She pops my glans penis from her mouth and says, "I know where I can get my hands on twenty million in diamonds."

"Johnny’s blingblings?"  I ask, letting the woman suck one of my eggs.

After a long pleasant moment she looks up and says, "There are hundreds of big valuable diamonds stashed where only I can find them.  Promise to take me with you and I’ll get them for you."

Twenty million! I think, pushing her over onto my bed and lifting her legs up and apart.  Is spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder worth twenty million?

Hell yes, I think, I have to live like that now, the only difference would be I’d be rich!  If I do what she wants we would have the means to live in luxury.  And Johnny has been getting on my nerves.  Hell, I’d probably do it for one million.

Hah! My other self snorts. Are you forgetting Tom!  You will never leave Tom and you know it!

Connie, head and hands still trapped in the stocks, begins to fuck herself up onto my cock, humping her hips for all she’s worth, wrapping her legs around my hips and drawing me deep inside her.  I wonder if it will ever be as good with her again.  Right now she is fucking to save her skin.  She knows that her only chance is to make me go all goofy over her then do me in when I get careless.  I let her do it, enjoying her wet, clutching pussy for all its worth.

I put my head down and begin to rut, intending to turn the tables on her.  If I can get her goofy enough to trust me as much as she wants me to trust her, I can get this job done and get back to the city, where the real action is.

I let my mind wander, seeing visions of my lover Tom in my head even as I watch Connie becoming unhinged beneath me.

Call me a size queen, I don’t mind.  Tom is huge, and beautiful.  Tom is also my Master.  Tom knows where my buttons are and doesn’t mind pushing them.

Connie screams and fucks like a madwoman, fighting her stocks and clenching herself around me.  I redouble my stroke and grip her breasts in my hands, squeezing and shaking them to ring my little bell and driving for home, hammering against her cervix and then blasting it with hot cum.

But instead of being finished I keep on trucking, fucking her in a slow, grinding motion, wringing one aftershock after another out of my helpless prisoner.

Ten minutes later she spills her guts, telling me that the diamonds are in Johnny’s car, hidden under his spare tire.  And when that doesn’t work she drops her last defense and tells me how the feds have planted her to inform on Johnny.  "We... already... have plenty... of stuff... to put... him away... for life... but if you... turned state’s evidence... we could... put you... into the... witness protection... program."  She finished, panting from her exertions

"What about the blingblings?" I ask, fucking her in a slow thoughtful way.

"Sorry... we need those... for evidence.  We have to be able... to prove... he’s been cheating... on his income taxes."   

"How about we just go to Brazil and buy some land?"  I say, grinding away at her.  "I don’t think I’m cut out for the witness program."

"Then you’ll... help me?"  She asks, her pussy clenching in new hope.

"I would Connie, but how can I trust you not to double cross me?" I say, withdrawing my cock, pulling on my jeans and heading for the door, my car keys in one hand the cop’s gun in the other. 

I have decided to take Tom and the blingblings and run.  Perhaps, I think, I’ll drop a dime and tell the cops where she is, once we’re safe.

As I step through the cabin door the FBI marksman’s bullet hits my forehead, blasting my brains all the way across the cabin. 

As my fading shade floats above my dead body, I think, It is a better death than I deserved.