Amyís Bondage
by Raul Roget

Copyrighted material, not for those under 18 years of age.

Chapter 1 - The Sacrificial Lamb - Or Is She?

Glen looked up at a slight sound. Amy was standing, posed, framed in the open bedroom door, the soft light escaping around her. She was nude.

He looked at her for several seconds, his thoughts racing. The male in him wanted to bound from the deep softness of the lounge chair, sweep her in his arms without pausing on the way to the bed. Neither of them moved. She broke the silence. "How do I look?"

She gave no indication of breaking the pose, the only visible change the smooth rise and fall of her superb breasts, the nipples boring upward from the shadows, hard, completely erect. The soft bulk of her shoulder-length blond hair fell mostly down her back, an errant strand following the line of her neck, reaching the upper curve of her left breast.

Glen shifted his legs imperceptibly, suddenly conscious that his cock was stiffening against the restraint of his shorts. The evening had taken an unexpected twist. Amy had acceded to his purposeful command, meekly inviting him in for a nightcap. There had been the usual small talk, she had a bottle of his favorite Cointreu, and they had found a mutual interest in the post mortem as they discussed the lectures.

When their drinks were half gone she had risen from the couch, excused herself and disappeared in the bedroom. Glen gave her high marks for avoiding the hackneyed "get into something more comfortable" routine and the vague anticipation of the direction the evening would take had suddenly sharpened. It was the first time in several months that he had "dated." Once more his hopes of finding someone with the same sexual interests were stirring.

The seductive smile on her lips was a mask. Behind it seethed a jumble of emotions. Need... Fear... Anxiety... Even as she smiled at the man seated before her. She watched him, taking in the effect her nude body was obviously having on him. Behind the smile Amy was cursing herself for a fool, railing at her stupidity. What was she thinking of? Inviting a total stranger into her home and unbidden offering her defenseless body - not just naked, but totally helpless.

She moved her arms slightly, feeling the steel - those damned handcuffs! The bands shifted loosely on her wrists. She stood there on display, knowing that despite their slackness the cuffs were locked. Her wrists, her hands were hopelessly lost to her, leaving her powerless to protect herself. She stared at Glen, searching his face for hope, even as her smile threatened to crack into a scream of fear.

She knew her handcuffs well, from dozens of experiments. Except in the two end notches there wasn't the slimmest of chances of slipping them, even with her hands greased. Ha! Fat chance! Her hands were dry, dry as her throat, except for the dampness of her palms. Besides, she had counted the clicks as the curved metal racheted through the lock. Five clicks. On each wrist.

"Oh, dummy you've blown it this time!" She could taste her fear, brassy in her dry mouth, the smile the biggest lie of her life. Well, not the biggest, but she refused to think of that.

Glen stared back at her, his poker face as put on as her smile. The one part of him that had moved when this naked girl had suddenly appeared in the bedroom door had been his cock. His eyes were locked with hers. He didn't dare to look down, certain that his slacks were obscenely tented, certain too that she had seen it, her smile the evidence of her amusement at his reaction to her ploy. He stared, savoring the beauty of her pose, even as his rattled brain caught something out of place, something... in her posture.

Could it be? She was nude, gloriously, unexpectedly nude, surprising him, pleasing him. Could she have....? He dismissed the thought as rapidly as it formed. Hope had been denied one too many times. Still, there was that hint of awkwardness about her arms...

Her eyes... They were fixed on his face, talking a completely different language than the smiling lips below. They had dropped, unable to meet his impassive stare, unable to mask the fear - and something secret - that bubbled and frothed behind them. Impulsively he ordered her to turn around, the words hushed, but firm.

Amy tried. She fought the fear, trying to raise her eyes to his again, desperate to read compassion in his gaze. She was certain that she was wrong, that all this was a mistake. She assessed her chances of reaching the bed, finding the key somewhere under her pillow, unlocking a cuff to use the bedside phone. Bleakly she recalled the long minutes of fumbling the key in cramped fingers that would be needed in order to get it blindly into the tiny lock opening. "A snowball's chance in Hell," just about covered the odds of summoning help. The terror screaming in her ears nearly drowned out his repeated command.

"Turn around."

She heard the words, but nowhere in her brain was there a coherent cell that could understand them through the panic. She shivered infinitesimally, as if cold, a muscle vibrating under the smooth skin of her inner thigh, taut, prepared to bolt and run. Insanely a passage from a book she had read sliced through her muddled mind, "A master does not repeat an order."

The message slithered through her mind, searching for her understanding. When it came, it was almost too late. Glen had reconsidered the absurd idea that this girl was bound, or restrained and for the second time discarded it as a figment of his overwrought imagination. Annoyed at himself, feeling the bitter pangs of disappointment, Glen opened his mouth to make polite noises, to remark on her beauty even as his prick began to soften. Just then she finally recognized, finally accepted the command and started to turn slowly, pivoting on one bare foot, the other arched and extended, as graceful as a ballet dancer.

She had been holding her hands behind her, as if concealing a gift, but her hands were empty. Glen suppressed a gasp of exultation, but his cock belied his calm, almost instantly swelling again as he saw her wrists, saw the glint of light from the polished steel. The engorged cock head caught in his shorts, bending his staff almost double, painfully trapped.

She was a gift! Even from a dozen feet away he could see the cuffs were not toys, but the real thing. She, Amy was offering her nude body to him already wearing one of the classic pieces of bondage gear on her wrists. He couldn't believe his eyes as he stared at the living dream he had masturbated to all his male life. His hardness was doubling him up with its trapped pain.

Amy remained motionless for a count of ten, letting Glen soak up the whole picture of her bonds. She looked away, staring into the far reaches of her bedroom. She wanted to run, hide, scrabble for the key, save herself from this stranger menacing her from the couch. Glen, despite his suddenly soaring hopes instinctively recognized Amy's fears, sensing her terror of the unknown but still underestimated its grip on her. There is a vast distance between fantasizing about a naked, bound woman, helplessly in your power and actually seeing a real live, living, breathing woman, dressed only in handcuffs. And, afraid. Deathly afraid.

For the first time Glen was about to step across that gap.He wanted to leap to his feet, rush to her, enfold her nakedness in his arms, reassure her with words and caresses, calm her fears. Afraid that she would panic and flee, breaking the tenuous spell, he instead got slowly to his feet, adjusting his pants to accommodate the stiffest boner he had ever experienced.

Amy heard him move. She heard the creak of a loose spring as his weight came off the couch, her eyes fixed on a spot somewhere in the bedroom that she did not even see. Her breath caught in her throat, acrid, threatening to strangle her, terror choking her again. She turned her head suddenly, tossing her hair away from her eyes as they widened, feeling the menace of the man hulking there. Glen stood still, far away from her, his hand dropping away from the obvious bulge of his maleness.

She erected the one barrier she had left, forcing out one single word after another to stave him off.

"Glen... Please... Don't... touch... me... yet..."

"I'm not about to hurt you." Glen kept his voice low, pouring all the reassurance he could gather into the simple statement, standing perfectly still. She looked at him, wanting to believe, remembering another man she had believed. Would this stranger in her own house be any different? As she stared at his feet, afraid to look at his face, his eyes, a new element entered the standoff.

With a start she suddenly realized she was dangerously close to an orgasm. The fear was doing it. The realization surged through her mind even as she suppressed any visible reaction, hiding it from this man who had already shown he could dominate her. If he touched her... If he hit her...

"Please... Promise me first, that you won't use your fists... on my face..."

The words hung in the silence as she remembered the pain, felt it again behind the tiny dark fleck at the corner of her eye that was the only visible mar to the outstanding beauty of her face and delightful figure. Glen searched for words, fighting to keep his dream from evaporating, fighting himself to keep from rushing to her, knowing she would scream and run if he moved toward her, knowing too that if she ran he would never get another opportunity to get anywhere near her. He tried to calm her again with his voice, "You don't really want to be hit, do you?"

"No." She was suddenly curt, trying vocally to reassert herself. She carried it off poorly.

"Then, why ask for it?" She flicked her eyes upward to his face, puzzled. Glen was smiling gently. Was he toying with her before he attacked? She remained silent, afraid to say the wrong thing.

"A woman should expect to be used as a punching bag." Glen said it deliberately, guessing he was close to her problem, knowing his words could trigger flight, daring it to bring her out of her panic. Her eyes flicked to his face again, accepting the invitation to make eye contact.

Half defiantly she answered with a question, "Isn't that what men expect from us?"

"I don't." Amy searched his eyes for confirmation, digesting a new fact, aching to believe. She smiled, suddenly shy. The smile broadened as she watched him again adjust his pants to accommodate his now raging erection. He was obviously excited by her tableau, but outwardly unconcerned that she was watching him. Somehow it made an impression on her, got through her to her rattled brain with what he had been trying to express with words. The terror ebbed as she realized he was human, just another man who was hot, a stiff cock, lusting for her.

Glen wanted her to watch, to know that she had that kind of an effect on him. His eyes never left her body, and when he had his cock arranged in temporary ease, and was reasonably sure he could control his voice, he spoke again,

"You didn't HAVE to make yourself helpless."

"But, this is what you expected." There was no hint of a question, the statement carrying several hidden meanings that both understood. He nodded in acknowledgment, continuing to devour her helplessness with his eyes. As he drank in her pose he ruefully shook his head, admitting,

"No, not what I expected. This was the LAST thing I expected, to be honest about it. I had you pegged as a submissive type, but only in one of my wilder dreams would a beautiful girl willingly present herself - nude and chained. You know, you're breathtaking."

Amy's smile took on an impish quality as she accepted the compliment, grudgingly giving him points for not resorting to flattery and for his openness. The faintest of hopes crept into a corner of her mind to curl, waiting, yearning for the man who would... who could... really dominate her.

Glen could see the fear leaving her eyes. Somehow imperceptibly her body softened, the tension lessening. Although this was the first time in his life that he had been confronted with a nude, handcuffed girl, he correctly surmised that she was at least as excited as he was. The rock hard thimbles that were her engorged nipples had not escaped his attention and they certainly hadn't withered a whit from the fear that had kept her heart pounding from the moment she had closed the bedroom door and unbuttoned the first button of her blouse. Glen didn't need a tutor to tell him that the fear was the primary reason they were so stiff.

Amy moved her arms, making the cuffs clash, the link jangling, drawing his eyes again. "I AM a submissive. That's why..." She didn't need to finish, or explain. The cold metal spoke volumes for her.

"So, you traipse off to a lecture, incite the first man you meet to bark at you, and then drag him home to bed..."

His tone caught her ear. Still unfamiliar, she wondered, "Is he angry?"

"You ought to be spanked!"

He WAS angry! She flushed, reddening at both the insult and the threat. She opened her mouth for a tart retort, but was cut short.

"And, not only that but you proceed to fix yourself up so that any wimp off the street could handle you like a feather. You ought to be spanked!"

The words were almost... not quite, but almost enough to set off the orgasm seething in her belly. She was on fire inside from the waves of domination he exuded. The man of her dreams. The man who would control her, master her, dominate her. He. Her master. He wanted to spank her. She nodded, fighting to hide the eagerness of her acceptance.

Glen in turn now knew one more new fact about this luscious vision in her bondage; that she would be turned on by a spanking, confirming her submissive nature. Exultantly he realized that at last he might just have found the girl who matched his needs and wants.

He had fully expected her to reluctantly accept the spanking. He had never gone out with a girl who had willingly accepted any "rough stuff," especially on the first date. It took a lot more experience than he had with domination before he could bluntly explain to a date that he got off on bondage. After so many dates with girls who didn't understand, or didn't want to understand the kind of foreplay that Glen enjoyed, Amy was a real find! Warily he watched her, drinking in her lovely pose.

For the first time feeling some trust toward him, recognizing his anger as real concern for her well being, Amy admitted, "It was stupid of me. It's just that..." She didn't know how to finish.

Glen did. " were getting desperate."

Color flamed her cheeks. He had the courage to say the words she was choking on. She drew from his strength to tartly ask, "Do you think it's so damned easy for a woman to walk up to a strange man and inquire as to his sexual preferences? 'Sir, I like being spanked. If you have your whip take me home and beat me.' Do you think it's so damn easy to guess what a man might, or might not do to you if you go out with him, or, yes, invite him home where he can beat you to a pulp in privacy?"

The tears were welling from her eyes as she ignored his long ago order and turned slowly back toward him until her full nudity was on display, not even realizing she had done it. "I just got through admitting to you that I am a submissive. I hadn't reached the point where I could tell you that I get off on pain. You would have found it out quickly enough for yourself - or at least you would have if you had started hitting me. You've got me about half convinced that you're on the level... So, maybe there's some hope left for this evening, and maybe I won't wake up in the morning with two black eyes, or dead..."

Glen saw that even though Amy was calming down, she still was bitter over some remembered pain. She wasn't ready for him to approach her. A bit more confident, he stepped back carefully until his leg brushed against the couch. Without taking his eyes off her for even a second he sat down again. When she was ready, she would come to him.

Amy's thoughts closely paralleled his. She shed another layer of anxiety as she saw him back away from her. Being able to look down at him again boosted her confidence and once more gave her some hope that this evening might not be the disaster she had dreaded. She was wondering, seriously hoping, that he would follow up on his threat to spank her. She could feel the cheeks of her ass tightening in anticipation.

At the moment Glen seriously doubted that he could take her across his lap and use his palm on the tempting roundness of her perfectly formed ass cheeks without spewing a load of come into his shorts. Despite his good build and really handsome face which had drawn a number of girls in his direction he had never found one who showed even the slightest interest in getting her ass whacked, especially on the first date.

As far as that goes neither had Amy. None of her boy friends had ever laid a hand on her, other than a playful feel disguised as a pat. The last spanking she remembered was a strictly non-sexual paddling given to her by her father when she had an argument at school and had talked back to a teacher.

Now, she had already agreed with a simple nod to being spanked, knowing the effect it would have on her before Glen's hand fell even the first time. His would definitely not be the only orgasm, but she was too inexperienced to realize that Glen had the same "problem," or the full effect she would generate lying across his lap.

While both of them were agreed on a spanking as the first symbolic act of this sexual drama, neither was really ready to take the first step. Glen was still steamed; unhappy that this lovely girl had unnecessarily exposed herself to some really serious consequences by going on her manhunt without regard for the dangers she had exposed herself to. He eyed her quizzically, wondering if she had the slightest idea what could have happened to her. His comment came out sounding like it was straight from his ego.

"You're a damned fool! Do you have any idea what a stupid idea it was to go hunting a man like that?" Her shudder was answer enough, reaching a sympathetic chord. She nodded, acknowledging that she realized how reckless she had been, but her response dripped sarcasm, "Of course YOU know a better way to find a compatible date!" Glen shook his head, angry. Mostly at himself for choosing the wrong words.

"Look, I know it's tough. Out of the dozens of girls that I've dated, not one showed the slightest interest in bondage. You're the first and right now I'm not even sure that this isn't some kind of an act. IF you really are a submissive, you're exactly what I've been looking for but I can't say that I'm happy that we met this way. You could just as easily have gotten yourself killed!"

Amy's composure was down to about zero, actually verging on imminent collapse, despite the front she was hiding behind and despite the empathy she was beginning to feel toward Glen. She began to realize that he was genuinely concerned about her safety. She shuddered again, mental vistas of unspeakable dangers evoked by his words flitting in and out of her consciousness. The vague outline of a plan of action surfaced in Glen's thoughts. Curious to see her reaction, he quietly ordered,

"Kneel down. Here in front of me. Tell me exactly what it is you want."

Amy's eyes darted to his, reading his expression. Somehow reassured but masking her reaction, she unexpectedly stepped backward into the bedroom, sending a flicker of new fear through Glen's mind as for a moment he thought he had said the wrong thing and frightened her into fleeing. Puzzled, he saw her turn away, but her movement was only to put her back to the wall. Stooping she grasped something with her chained hands. Gracefully she stood up and walked purposefully toward him.

When she reached a spot at arm's length she sank to her knees in a fluid motion that was one of the most erotic vistas that Glen had ever witnessed. It instantly put a new strain on his constricting shorts. She shoved her bound hands sideways, twisting her body to lie a nearly yard long wooden stick directly in front of her knees. Fascinated, Glen watched her obviously well practiced movements, instinctively realizing that this was far from the first time she had ever bound herself. There was one nagging doubt. How many men had sat on this couch and watched her go through this bondage ritual?

As if reading his thoughts, Amy spoke, matter-of-factly, "I've done this a thousand times in my dreams, practiced it a hundred times before an empty couch, but this is the first... You're the first man to ever see me willingly submit myself to being mastered... controlled..."

As she spoke she had moved the stick into position. It was a narrow, triangular piece of oak. Laying on one side it presented an angular edge that was only faintly rounded. Unbelieving, Glen watched as she composed herself, spread her knees and calmly walked them forward onto the waiting implement of pain. Once in position, the triangle's edge buried in her flesh just below her knees, she deliberately rocked her body, separating her knees by another three or four inches, her legs nearly at right angles, fully exposing her neatly trimmed blonde bush.

Glen's hand instinctively reached for her, to caress her, but she stopped him with her next words, "Glen, if you touch me, I'll come. Please, it will be better later."

His hand halted in mid air. He tried hard to assess the conflicting signals she was sending his way. Pursuing his earlier thought he resolved to get her talking, hoping that it would break down the barriers still between them.   For the first time his confidence began to build as she confirmed her earlier hints and began taking him into her confidence. Smoothly, belying his inexperience, he directed, "When you talk to me, or when I talk to you, I want your eyes on mine, where I can see them. You can bore holes in the floor with them if you want to the rest of the time."

Amy looked at his face, ordered, but for the first time Glen could see the smoky haze in her eyes that told him she was thoroughly aroused. He still couldn't quite believe that touching her would trigger an orgasm, but he had to admit that she was obviously "high" from her self bondage, her exposure and not least, the self imposed and painful torture instrument she was deliberately kneeling on. She waited until his hand fell back into his lap, half hiding the bulge of his rampant cock, before she obeyed his instruction to talk about herself.

"You want to know what I want. It's very simple, really. I want to be dominated. I want to be mastered by a man who will turn me to his own pleasure, who will force me to submit to his every whim. I need to be controlled, bound, shackled. I dream of being a prisoner, helpless to resist or evade anything my master wants to do to me, anything that pleases him, anything that gives him pleasure..."

"Except a fist."

"Except your fists," she agreed. "You need to know that I married a man who was dominant - or at least I thought he was - but his idea of domination was to get drunk and use me for a punching bag. I could tell that you suspected as much. For the moment let's just say that he nearly did some permanent damage to my face, forcing me to beg this indulgence on your part. If you want to use your fists, I certainly can't stop you now." There was a tinge of bitterness in the words as she pointedly moved her arms behind her, making the cuff link jangle. Glen watched her face, silent. He wondered if she remembered that he had already indicated that he was not about to hit her.

"I might as well admit right away that I really get off on pain. I guess it's all part of the same thing. Without pain, or bondage, or both, I'm your typical 'dead body.' I don't get anything out of it, don't get aroused, and the man who is screwing me might just as well use his hand. You can believe it or not, but I went through my honeymoon and the first five months of my marriage without an orgasm. It didn't happen until my husband came home drunk and knocked me across the room."

"So you're not just showing off, kneeling on that triangle?"

"I was coming to that. As you can see, I'm into self bondage, the one way a single submissive can safely get her kicks. I said you were the first man to see this, and you are. This piece of wood is a potent aphrodisiac for someone like me. To kneel on it AND have a man staring at my exposed body is pretty powerful medicine!"

"Well, it's not exactly a downer from this side either. You make quite an erotic picture. How long can you take that thing anyway?"

"Handcuffed and blindfolded I've stood it as long as four hours. If I come beforehand, about an hour."

"I suppose you come a couple of times while you're kneeling on it, even without your hands?"

Amy flushed. "I don't even have to tell you my 'secrets.' You already seem to know them. When I first got this I'd come before I could get both knees on it. I've had lots of time to train myself not to do that."

"So, what do you do, lock the thing away as punishment?"

"For a week," she nodded.

Glen shook his head, unbelieving, secretly elated that he was able to relate to her motives and read between the lines of what she was telling him. "Tell me more about this business of coming if I touch you. I can't really say I've had THAT effect on a girl before."

Amy's body twisted, her arms dragging against the imprisoning metal on her wrists. She dropped her eyes momentarily, the flush in her face creeping down her neck before she locked her eyes on his with a visible effort. "I... I've... waited so long for this... Dreamed of it... Wanted it so badly..."  Her voice trailed off into silence. She was looking straight at him, but Glen could tell that what she was seeing was something totally different. He felt a momentary doubt that he could live up to the fantasy she was conjuring.

"To be helpless at the feet of a man?"

The answer was as faint as a breath, "Yes."

"So, if I felt between those nicely spread legs, you'd have an orgasm, and I'd come away with a wet hand."

The lovely girl was instantly brick red as she heard Glen calmly reveal his knowledge of another of her secrets. She knew she was dripping juice, feeling it running down her thighs, awash with lubrication, his words slamming her into the fringe of the climax she was trying to avoid. "You... wouldn't have to touch me... there..."

"On your cunt," he supplied.

"...touch me on my cunt to make me come. Your fingers on my skin, anywhere... would do it." She had repeated, used the obscene word, knowing from his tone that he wanted her to use it, wanted to hear her say it, anxious to please.

"God, you'd think you hadn't come in a week to get that hot."

Her eyes oozed smoky fire as she dropped her bombshell, "It's been a month."


"It took me that long," she said, "to build up my courage enough to go looking for someone. I've had to wear a pad for the last two weeks because I was aroused around the clock. It didn't help a bit that I had to wear my handcuffs to keep from playing with myself in my sleep, because they made me so randy I could have come without even touching myself, if I had let it happen."

"You must have a tremendous amount of self control," Glen said admiringly.

"Well, I'm sure you're aware that denial can be an erotic stimulus. I just made up my mind that until I was willing to go look for the man who could dominate me that I wouldn't permit myself to have an orgasm. I guess it's pretty obvious that I had to have something like that to force me to strip myself and offer my body to a total stranger like this."

"And now, you'd like to postpone that orgasm until we've gotten to know each other better?"

"Something like that." Her eyes sparkled, "After all, I'm the only one here in the buff."

"I think that can be straightened out. You're sure you want to go through with this? If you still have some doubts, all you have to do is get up and walk back into the bedroom and I'll see myself out."

There was no question in her eyes, or the slightest hesitation in her voice, "Glen, thank you for the offer... and I think you would really do it if I insisted, which helps my peace of mind tremendously, but I have dreamed of this encounter for years and I'm not about to chicken out now. I asked for it. I want it. I'm ready for it. Just tell me what you want me to do."

"Bring me the key."

She looked at him, momentarily puzzled. Her small store of bravado and self confidence shattered like a pane of old glass, crumbling. Fear looked out of her eyes and saw the bleakest of futures. The doubt returned; magnified a hundred fold. She had made a mistake in succumbing to his domination. She blinked back a tear, damning herself anew for making the same miscalculation she had made with her ex-husband.

Amy opened her mouth, but suddenly though better of it, grimly determined to carry on with her role of helpless slave, the question unuttered and to hell with the consequences. She began steeling herself for the pain that she knew would come. Seeming to float, she came off the floor in a lithe movement, gazed down at him for a fraction of a second and hurried to the bedroom.


Chapter 2 - The First Night - Friday

The nude, bound girl knelt before him in that single fluid motion, her lips parted to avoid the tiny key clamped between her teeth. He drank in her nudity and pinioned arms like a man drinking his fill at an oasis. At last he held out his hand. She bowed over it, kissing the palm with gentle lips as she released the key. She barely controlled the threatening orgasm at the touch.

"The other key."

The order had a slight edge to it, a nuance that struck instantly renewed terror in her soul. Later when she was more familiar with him she would learn even more certainly the true importance in his tone. She was afraid to raise her eyes to his, to expose the raw fear that captured her mind. Her safety was in serious jeopardy if she didn't have her emergency key to fall back on. But, the order had been given, and now she had no choice but to obey.

Her body responded, seeming to float from the floor almost without effort, her firm breasts bobbing only slightly of their own weight. Again his eyes savored the enforced rigidity of her carriage, glowing in the light reflecting from her nakedness, gloating in his power over her. She was hiding her fear well, but not from his knowing eyes. It was a first, but he was learning fast.

Her muted terror continued to feed the burning ache in her loins. Each step toward the bed raised her level of arousal, knowing, feeling his eyes boring into her naked back, savoring her clamped arms. She backed against the nightstand, pulled open the drawer with her fettered hands, and reached awkwardly into the very back of the drawer, pushing aside the familiar roundness of the cream colored plastic-cased vibrator to find the key in its hiding place in the corner. She straightened, turned and dropped the key on the bed behind her.

Again she slipped to one knee, worked the key into position with her lips and clamped it in her teeth. She went back and knelt on her triangle.

She waited, a full minute, timed by a pulse behind her ear that suddenly seemed to fill her head with throbbing. At last his hand appeared below her downcast eyes and accepted her sacrifice.

"What else is in the drawer?"

She flushed, streaks of pink darkening her breasts as deeply as her cheeks.  "I, I... there's... It doesn't matter..." Trailing away, her lame evasion died on her lips, her throat choked by the abject fright that stoked her inner fires with new fuel. Glen could feel her fear, and deliberately played on it, now confident that she would build her own heat with it. She made the mistake of raising her head, an unconsciously proud gesture that animated her displayed charms, but was impermissible for a chained female kneeling before her Master.

Still, there was his order. She looked into his eyes, measuring the temper of the steel, knowing as she did that she was acknowledging his mastery. There was a plea in her eyes that did not go unnoticed even as it was ignored. "Bring them to me."

Blushing, sudden reluctance again in every movement, she dropped her eyes and rose again to move silently back into the bedroom, not waiting for his directive. She debated trying to shove the things under her pillow, cursing herself for not hiding them on the upper closet shelf with the other items she had collected for her intimate pleasure. If only her hands were free, she could stave off this new and unexpected disaster, but her hands were not free. They were locked behind her back, and she didn't have to remind herself that she was the one who had closed the cuffs and locked them. Locked, and she had just given the keys to this man.

Handling the drawer was an unexpected challenge. Rather than try to clutch the variety of objects in it - risking dropping them from her awkwardly shackled hands - she simply pulled the drawer out. It sagged dangerously, nearly defeating her purpose, her clutching fingers strained by the weight. Feeling it slipping, she swung hurriedly and dropped it on the bed, then crouched back against the edge, suddenly breathing hard, waiting until she had a better grip. A better grip on both the drawer - and her nerves.

She desperately wanted to watch his face, knowing already that he could maintain a poker face that wouldn't give her the slightest clue to his inner thoughts. She settled for offering the drawer as she knelt facing away from him, seconding the thought with the sure knowledge that he could read her face like an open book. Too late she realized that she had made a mistake - another mistake! Amy cursed herself, angrily. A slave does not turn her back on her master.

Apparently ignoring the breech, Glen bent forward to examine the drawer. At the front a few feminine frills, a garter, a bar of fragrant soap, a comb. At the back, closest to him were the items of interest. The vibrator loomed large, the first to be mentally cataloged. A leather belt which at first Glen assumed to be a whip substitute until he saw the holes punched with the point of a scissors half way down its length. Wooden clothespins. He reached over her shoulder with one. "Tell me about it."

Amy squirmed before she even darted a sidelong glance at it, knowing instinctively what was coming. Among a lengthy catalog of quirks in her character was a near total inability to lie, most especially when she was on the brink of an orgasm, an event which was only a matter of one or two more shocks to her nervous system away. "I put them on my nipples when I... when I..."

"When you... what?" The flush slid like a curtain down her face, circled her neck and faded slowly when it reached the level of her nipples.

"When... I... play... with... myself." She gritted out each word, triggering a new flush of redness that washed down her heaving breasts and beyond. Embarrassment dripped like melting ice cream from each word. Amy would never willingly tell anyone - especially a man! - anything so personal.

"The word is?"

"M.m.m.m....masturbate." The pinkness reached her pubic hair.

"That's a bit too formal..."

"When I... diddle... myself."

Glen chuckled. "That's cute. You could also call it 'jacking off.'"

She flushed again, nodding, then watched his other hand coming over her left shoulder. "You have six nipples?"

There were five more of the pain makers jumbled in the palm of his hand. "No, I... I put them on mmmmy... lower lips."


"My... cunt lips." She forced herself to use the word, knowing now he wanted her to humiliate herself with the crude expression. "Now," she thought, "he's going to ask it."

Instead there was the rattle of the pins going back in the drawer. She felt the change of weight as he picked up something, but she was afraid to look.   She suspected it was the ping pong paddle. She squeezed frantic fingers to hold her grip when he dropped it deliberately onto the pins, causing the drawer to bob up and down, nearly falling. "All right."

He was through looking. He had seen and heard all he needed to know for the moment. The knowledge, really confirmation, brought a tiny smile to his lips for a moment, disappearing before she could turn and see it. The dismissal brought her to her feet. What little composure that she still had was slipping away as rapidly as her grip on the polished wood. The last thing she wanted to do was drop it, dreading an angry reaction from Glen. If the bed had been one step farther away she would have been helpless to prevent the entire contents from crashing to the floor. Peering around her side she backed the drawer into its slot, thankful that Glen hadn't followed her to watch her fumbling awkwardness.

As she started to close the drawer, she paused, her thoughts flitting rapidly. Resolutely she reached in, found two of the pins and the paddle, transferred them to one hand and pushed the drawer closed with the other, a hopeless plan forming. She lost her nerve on the long walk back, and knelt, controlling her face carefully as the wood found the indentations in her knees, facing him. Shoving her linked arms sideways she managed to offer the paddle around her body, hiding the pins in her closed hand. "Which side do you use?"

He made no move to take it from her. She colored again. "Usually the rubber."

He accepted it from her, and made a deliberate show of examining both sides, close before her staring eyes. Deep in her gut the molten lava was pushing, a living thing that fed on her terror. She was already certain her foolish little plan had failed. She was trapped. Now he would show his contempt by tossing the paddle aside.

A single glance had shown Glen that the paddle had long since departed from its original purpose. The surfaces on both sides had been skillfully replaced. The "rubber" side now had a waffle iron pattern of stubby rectangular studs, blunt but potent. The fine sandpaper on the other side was gone and in its place a layer of course, visibly angular grains. He rasped his thumbnail across it, testing; the scraping sound loud in the silence, nearly causing Amy to flinch.

He weighed it in his hand, bobbing, then a trial swing for the benefit of his audience of one. Her eyes followed every movement like a trapped mouse before a snake, widening when he tossed it casually aside.

"Please. Don't use your fists on me." The words were out, repeated before she could stop herself. Glen looked deep into her eyes, read the naked emotions, the abject fear she could not hide. "I don't use my fists," he rumbled. low, emphatic.

She flushed, believing him more this time, knowing the mistake she had made in bringing it up again. She was doing everything wrong. Would he? She offered her last available sacrifice. "Please. Spank me."

The appeal would have melted stone. Glen waited, his handsome face as immobile as if he hadn't heard. She squirmed, her arms tugging impotently against her cuffs, the link making a loud noise in the hushed room. Slowly she forced her arms sideways, offering the twin clothespins in her open palm, making a final appeal. "Please. Pin my nipples first."   

He took them. Juggled them. Then he tossed them a few inches in the air, watching her eyes. He watched as she matched her eye movements to the rising and falling, following them. "Why?"

"Because I haven't pleased you. I should be punished."

"And, you need the pain."

Her "Yes," was barely a whisper. He knew.

"How would you like them - pointing up, or..." He let the question hang.

She responded like a child reciting a school text, "For punishment they should be sideways so that the core of the nipple will fit in the hole and the rest will be pinched between the jaws."

"You said you'd come if I touch you. Are you ready for that?" She nodded,

"It's time." Tentatively, curious, he bent forward. She watched his hand at the edge of her vision, her eyes locked on his, as ordered, feeling the rising climax welling in her, showing it in her eyes. Glen almost hesitated an inch from her skin, but smoothly touched her shoulder with his fingers. He read the explosion in her eyes, heard her soft groan of pleasure.

"Just like that."

"Yes, just like that. It's as easy as that. You have a powerful effect on me."

"Well you have plenty of effect on me too, but I'll be damned if I can make myself come at a touch."

"I've had a lot of practice."

"You're positively amazing. Everything you do, every move you make, is unexpected."

"Hunh! That from a man who seems to be reading my mind."

"I suppose I'd be stepping out of character to admit that I've been making some lucky guesses, although part of it is from reading the literature."

She walked her knees apart on the wood, pressing against his opened legs. Her back arched, forcing her chest even further forward, her shoulders finding their way even further back, a classic pose, offering her magnificent breasts.

For torture. That was the first thought that flashed through Glen's mind. The way she wanted them put on was past punishment, far too strenuous, and certainly a lot more stringent that what he had in mind.

Curious, he squeezed one of the pins open, holding it out where she could see it, inches from one turgid nipple. She licked her lips and swallowed hurriedly. He let her wait, watching the anticipation build, her face straining, willing his hand toward her. She begged, "Please."

Unbelieving, Glen grasped the tip of the nipple with his finger and thumb, pulling it toward him, elongating it, the breast flowing up and out in a cone behind the stretched nipple. In a second it was done, the jaws closing and the sides of the nipple spreading like miniature wings into the clamping wood on each side of the protruding tip.

He raised his eyes to hers in time to catch the flicker of her second, lightning fast orgasm. It was all well and good to read about this kind of thing, and Glen had even seen a couple of movies involving bondage in the plot, but to actually watch a girl accept the pain and get off on it was a first for him. His cock was literally aching and he was seething inside his calm exterior.

Not that Amy was any calmer. Inside she was a total wreck, each orgasm setting every nerve jangling to the point where she barely felt the smarting sting of the nasty little jaws; barely felt the secondary micro orgasms that went past before she could even groan to acknowledge them. She hadn't ever gotten herself this worked up before, no matter how she pinched herself, slapped or paddled. She jerked out of her reverie as Glen loomed before her. He penetrated the self induced haze as he caught her attention with the other pin.

As he started to pull on the nipple with his left hand, he rolled the very tip between his thumb and first two fingers, applying pressure. She felt it, suddenly moaning in a steady sound that stopped only when he stopped twisting. She grunted when the jaws closed on the sensitized flesh, and again the lightning flashed in her eyes. Glen could see the mottled flushes on the upper surface of her breasts and her neck that confirmed the third quick orgasm.

With both pins in place she remained kneeling, suddenly as calm as if she were dressed in her finest clothes and taking tea. Once the flush faded there was absolutely no hint that she was in pain, not the slightest stiffness, not even in her expressive eyes. But, there was still the faintest trace of the fear. Glen was literally spellbound by this erotic woman who could adsorb so much without reacting. He exulted, deciding her pain tolerance must be way off scale!

As far as Amy was concerned, she was floating. She felt like a thin balloon surrounding a rapidly expanding gas cloud that was rapidly building toward bursting in a gigantic explosion. The glowing coals in her belly, so long banked, were white hot, throbbing, fanned to new fury by the twinkling orgasms, demanding. Somewhere out in space there were twin pinpoints of pain that languidly sent their messages back toward the center of her being, but they were isolated, remote, more in her subconscious than real. Indeed, Amy had an extremely high level of pain tolerance, well above normal.

Glen had never seen anything - anything he'd read, or heard, or watched - that was as arousing as the girl before him. She was beautiful, she was pure sex, and she was his, to do with as he wished. Still there was that one thing... "Why are you so afraid of me?"

Amy met his eyes, searched. She shook herself as if waking from a dream, her twin globes with their pinching adornments bobbing slightly. "My husband was a sadist. He hit me. With his fists."

"You said that before. And, you think... I'm just like him."

"Yesss," She dragged it out. "There's something... No, I'm... I'm nnnot... I... I don't kkknow..."

"You don't trust me."

"I've known you for all of four hours. That... You have no idea what an effect you have on me. Anyone would think that you had hypnotized me."

"Is that really what you think?"

"No, it's something totally different." She searched for the right words. "I've never met anyone who exudes raw power the way you do. All you did was threaten to spank me for being rude, and all my... everything inside me collapsed, all my defenses."

"Do you fear power? My power over you?"

"Not so much as I fear my own reactions. Look at me! The old cliche - 'I hardly know you.'" Her words took on a bite, self critical, almost sarcastic, "But I can't wait. I break my neck to invite you into my house, rush to strip off my clothes and handcuff my wrists so I can play slave girl for my new Master. Without your even so much as snapping your fingers..."

"Then, you trust me, rather than fear me?"

She paused, examining her soul. "I have to admit, not so much trust, as... as hope."

"That I'll satisfy you, without breaking your arms or legs?"

"That's no joke. Ralph broke my nose and fractured my cheekbone the last time. I wouldn't survive a repeat of that."

"But you do need someone to dominate you."

"Do you think it's easy for a woman to walk up to a man and ask him to tie her up so that she can get turned on?"

"You're answering with another question."

"YES! Damn it, it's what I need!" She rocked back on her heels slightly, and then leaned forward again, pushing against the thoughts that were closing in on her.

"You're being impertinent," a slight teasing tone in his voice.

"I'm sorry. I feel pretty strongly about it, and I'm still in a fix, trying to figure out where you are coming from. All I have is your word." The remark was deliberately leading.

"Impertinence and impudence! This might be a good time to go get your bands." The bantering tone belied the implicit order.

"My... what?" For a moment she didn't understand, then she colored again even as he spoke.

"The rubber bands - in your drawer." As she stood, he could see wetness on her thighs. She felt it, the coolness as she moved. Suddenly embarrassed by what it revealed about her, she squeezed her legs together. Moisture was beading on her pubic hair, and she could feel a drop fall onto the warmth of her inner thigh. The last time she had juiced like that was when Ralph had.... She closed her mind to the all too vivid picture of his sadistically drunken beatings.

As she worked to retrieve the bands, tangled in the bottom of the drawer, she tried to calm herself. So far, everything seemed all right. Glen was a dominant, but apparently still fairly inexperienced, although he certainly was displaying a natural talent for turning her on. It was too soon to tell, as she knew from bitter experience, whether his fantasy was blood or whether he turned on to the power of command. All the signs seemed to point to the mental control, but the evening was just beginning.

Back on her knees before him, she offered the two wide strips of rubber with something approaching practiced smoothness. It was amazing how much could be accomplished even with her wrists linked behind her back. The hours she had spent in self imposed bondage were beginning to pay off.

The bands had been cut from a balloon bicycle tire, cut at a slight angle so that they were about four inches long unstretched. "If I release your hands can you put them on?"

"I'm not strong enough to stretch them. I've never been able to get them more than part way. I tried rolling them on, but it didn't work. They pinched me bloody."

He dropped one band over his fingers and thumb, and tried to open them, with limited success. The rubber was strong.

"Please, if you will stretch it with both hands, I'll push into it." He followed her directions, holding the band on his extended fingers at arms length. She bit her lip in concentration, slid sideways to avoid snagging the clothespin adorning her left nipple, and then pushed her breast into the opening until his fingertips touched her chest.

Deftly, as if he had performed the feat a hundred times before he relaxed his fingers and withdrew them in a swift motion that left the band in position at the very base of her tit.

The constricted breast instantly bloated into a bulbous cone closely resembling the nose of a torpedo, sticking straight out from her chest, the pin at the tip quivering. Her only reaction was an almost inaudible gasp that accompanied her fourth "quicky" orgasm.

The band went onto the other breast almost as easily, except that Amy misjudged, and snagged the clothespin in the rubber, jerking it harshly enough to "blip" another tiny climax through her nervous system, closely followed by a slightly stronger surge in acknowledgment of the equalized pressure on each breast.

"Stand up a moment." Obediently she got to her feet, again demonstrating her fluid grace. Following the motion of his hand she turned sideways to offer her profile. Glen's cock tried to poke through two layers of cloth to freedom. Amy in bondage made all the remembered books and pictures in his mind fade to insignificance. The tight rubber and the bobbing pins gave a completely new meaning to eroticism.

"Let's pretend that your ankles are tied. Hop into the bedroom and get the rest of your pins." Amy hopped, futilely trying to cushion the shocks with her knees, her encased tits bobbing merrily with each jolt, the strained flesh pulling against the tight rubber while each beat of her heart forced more blood into the already engorged tits. Her nipple tips were mushrooming out over the jaws of the clamps, dark purple and swollen. She was nearly out of breath when she once more stood before him, partly from the exercise, partly from her new heights of arousal.

"Legs apart... Wider." She came down on his hand, grinding her hips as he fingered her pinkness, separated a protruding lip, clamped it. Smoothly, without a fumble, two pins were placed on each outer lip.

The inner lips winked at him, telling him, "She did it again." Part of it had been the thrill when she came through the door and discovered that Glen had stripped off his clothes, all lying in a tumbled heap beside his chair. The sight of his rampant cock added one more glowing lump to her inner fires. Each tit felt like an erupting volcano, fire from base to tip, fire somehow channeling deep into her body to join the big conflagration there. Now there were four more pinpoints of pain trying to join the main ache, and they were closer. Much closer.

She could feel her clit shoving out from under its hood, exposed to the air, already tingling, begging a caress from her helpless hands. She knelt in self imposed penance on the triangle between his bare legs, rubbing her thighs against the pins, her mouth watering in anticipation. He took her head again between his hands, holding her, forcing her downcast eyes to his, dragging them from admiring his cock. He wanted to watch her reaction to his directions.

"We're going to play a game. You are going to suck my cock for exactly 20 minutes by my watch, and then make me come. If you hurry and I come before the time limit, there will be a suitable penalty. You are not to remove your mouth during the entire time, you will keep your tongue in contact at all time. If I feel your teeth I'll start the time all over."

He glanced around, making sure that there were no clocks in sight. "Oh, and one more thing - you will have to time yourself. I'll give you 60 seconds leeway on the exact minimum time. Think you can do it?"

Knowing she had to, excited by having to, she nodded, "Yes, of course."

If a heart could "sink" and "leap" at the same time, that would be an apt description for Amy. From her limited experience with men and their fixation on getting a woman to suck them off, she realized that unless Glen was a frozen balled brass monkey he would blast her mouth full of sperm in a lot less than 20 minutes! She knew that Glen was already completely aroused by the foreplay involved in getting her clamped and squeezed and chained and would most likely drown her throat about three seconds after her tongue made contact. At the same time she thrilled to the threat of the unknown "penalty," she faced if she failed. It had a portent of more sexual enjoyment for her, no hint of the violence she had at first feared.

She was right in guessing the penalty, but dead wrong in her assessment of Glen's staying powers. Amy quickly found she had a conflict of interest. She had celebrated each new attachment to her body with a quicky come, or a "minigasm" as she would later refer to them, but now the pain was beginning to batter down her defenses. Like water rising against a dam it was threatening to overflow, and with it would go her control. She wanted to hurry, to reach another peak when Glen came in her mouth, before she hurt too much.

Perhaps you have been in her situation, trying to estimate time without a clock. Under the calmest of circumstances the tendency is to "speed" by as much as 10 to 20 seconds each minute over a short span; and by a much wider margin over a longer time period.

Since Amy was anything but calm, her time sense was under considerable stress. All things considered, she did very well. The sweep second hand on Glen's stopwatch had just passed the 16 minute mark when Amy shifted from the feather light tongue and lip contact to a firmer grip as her cheeks suctioned and her tongue began a series of swoops and glides around the bulk of the organ stuffing her face.

The feather touch had nearly finished Glen in record time, as he finally lived a fantasy he had nursed since he was a teenager. He had dreamed up the rules for the game while beating his meat one day, and it became his favorite means of building a cockstand and blowing his wad. Not that he would have expressed it quite that crudely after a private school education, but you can get the idea.

By concentrating on some other topic - anything but sex - he could shut off a pending orgasm as effectively as turning a valve. Simply put, he was getting too big a charge out of what he already had done to Amy, and quick flashes of what he could do in the future to and with her, to have the slightest desire to speed her up. He glanced at his watch as she shifted gears, noting the time and in the process breaking his concentration. He lasted 23 seconds more, then as one of his cruder school chums had put it, "he gave her tonsils a bath." As the last spurt passed over her tongue, he regained a small part of his composure. He turned his wrist so that she could see that she was more than a minute early.

She rocked back on her heels, licking a pearly drop of ooze from the corner of her mouth. The look of satisfaction on her face would have done credit to the most Cheshire of cats. Glen noted that there wasn't a hint of repentance in her smug gaze. The only thing he could read was excitement, and anticipation.

His hands dropped to her constrained breasts. Grasping them firmly he heaved her to her feet, rising with her, his cock still stiff and swinging. She had vented a considerable portion of the orgasmic pressure building in her when he came, savoring her momentary power over him, but she was still way up, still ready for more. She was still waiting for that total climax that so far she hadn't been able to reach.

"Penalty time," he announced, and scooped her helplessness in his arms, her flesh burning against his chest as if she really was on fire. He sidled through the doorway, and deposited her on the bed. She looked up at him with a half shy grin and nodded toward the foot of the bed. "There are straps at the corners, under the mattress."


Chapter 3 - The Penalty Phase

He lifted the spread, and grinned back. "You come well equipped. Do you do this for a living?" The tone was bantering, as he pulled out one of the straps, tested its firm attachment, and then dropped it on the mattress.

"No, Glen. You are the first man, person, that his been in this... has seen any of this," She responded matter of factly as he walked around the end of the bed and checked the other strap. At the upper corner of the bed he came up empty handed, looking at her quizzically. She responded to the unspoken question, "There wasn't any way I could use them on myself. They're on the upper shelf in the closet if you want them."

"Maybe later."

Amy mentally filed the cryptic comment to study, sometime. Not now. She adjusted her arms across the small of her back, one above the other, and laid back, looking up at him, expectantly. Both seemed to realize at the same instant that the fear was gone. She lay, spread before him like a feast, twin turrets pointing straight up, her blond bush black with dampness, the four pins pointing the way to her inner core. His question was a shock, "Where is your sewing basket?"

Sudden doubt again seared its way past her defenses, the shadow of fear again in her smoky eyes. Needles! Pins! She could think only of things that hurt, a mental picture of her lovely breasts turned into pincushions flashing before her eyes. She gave a tiny shudder as one of the imaginary needles went straight into a swollen nipple.

Was that how he got his kicks? She hesitated just long enough for a broad grin to spread over his face looming above her. She licked her lips, stalling, mollified by the grin, but still suspicious. "It's... It's in the third drawer of the dresser over there." She nodded her head toward it, "On the left, at the back."

She raised her head, watching intently. He slid the drawer open, rummaged, picked up the wicker basket and set it on the dresser. He poked for a moment, then turned toward her, holding a spool of thread. As he walked back to the foot of the bed he glanced at her, making sure she was watching, unrolled a short length and snapped it easily between his fingers. The fear turned to puzzlement, and then to comprehension as he bent down and attached the end to the bed post. The thread then went to her big toe, around it twice, and was tied off. Seconds later she lay spread, her legs held open by the fragile yarn. Taut to his satisfaction, he moved onto the bed beside her, lying close, idly caressing the nearest breast, as if to show that he was in no hurry. "What do we do now?"

His tone was bantering again, teasing her for her matter of fact presentation of her bondage equipment. Amy raised her head again, made a production out of eyeing her rampant tits and pinioned legs, then looked at him, shrugged her tractioned shoulders and smiled, impishly. "It doesn't look as if I'm allowed much choice in the matter. I'm about to get fucked. But, why the thread?"

"Just testing your self control. We both know if I use your straps, you have no choice but to lie there with your legs spread. This way you are just as bound, but you have to maintain your own bondage. Sort of gives your Lord and Master a special kind of control over you."

"And, makes me have to concentrate on keeping my legs still while you're doing everything to make me forget to control them."


"Plus, I suppose if I slip up and break position, there is one of your now famous punishments waiting for me......"

"You learn fast." Unspoken was yet another new level of trust between them. Even though Amy had mentally prepared herself to relinquish her body to the straps, she felt a new surge of confidence, realizing that Glen was subtly avoiding anything "heavy" until she had a chance to get better acquainted with his motives and just what made him tick. Glen of course was thinking along the same lines. It took a massive dose of self discipline to ignore those waiting bonds that Amy so freely offered. The trust he could read in her eyes and in her reactions was very, very fragile, and a momentary lapse into the role of an Arab slave merchant could spoil the whole scene, permanently.

She lay, silent, unmoving, waiting for his next move, expecting the unexpected, arousal and excitement competing in her mind with the new twists to her bondage. She wanted desperately to writhe, twist, throw her legs open even wider to his all knowing eyes, but the orderly part of her mind had already decreed perfect obedience to the design of her Master, locking her legs in the grip of her will power, tighter, heavier than the most massive iron links.

She watched his cock, stiff with desire, hard, oozing clear drops from the engorged head, the one part of Glen which he could not control, could not hide. It was excited, ready for her, demanding in its attitude. She squirmed her upper body slightly, feeling her weight on her pinioned arms, feeling the bob of her trussed tits, the throbbing sting of the clamping little jaws which had long since met through her engorged nipples.

She fed her submission on the sensations, drawing her climax closer and closer. Glen's eyes followed hers to their target, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned, realizing his total power over this willing subject. His hand dropped to the closest proffered breast, fingers splayed, touching, caressing, moving the pin in a short arc around its tortured pivot, drawing a moan from the lips that were moist from her licking tongue. The moan deepened to a groan as his tongue touched, swirled, teased the firm bullet that peeked above the punishing jaws.

His hand went to her lower lips, feeling the wetness as she strained against her own will, wanting to spread, wanting to jerk her legs wide, bend her knees, frame the target she wanted him to plumb to its hot, juicy depths. She felt his fingers on the clamps, tugging at her tender flesh, making her hotter and hotter. Glen drove her crazy with his hands and tongue. Crazy with desire, crazy with lust, crazy with the need to move, to blow apart, to come. The groan was continuous, somehow not even pausing for the great gusts of air she sucked into her lungs to fuel the sighs as she exhaled.

All but one tiny corner of her mind forgot that she was bound with only the most fragile of restraints, that small speck of conscious thought wrapping the threads into a rope of steel. For nearly an hour her legs remained locked securely in place only by her mind as Glen played out his own song of lust on her willing instrument.

She came, several times. First from his mouth on her imprisoned, helpless nipples. Again from his mouth on the center of her universe, his cheeks shoving the pinned lips aside as his tongue savored her juices, carrying them up to her straining clit, exciting her with her own self imposed bondage, proving his mastery of her mind and body.

She was very vocal, somehow compensating with her voice for her physical restraint. When at last he allowed her to come down from the repeated peaks his tongue was creating, he moved up her body, caressing as he went, renewing the fires in her waiting nipples, carrying the scent of her steaming cunt to her mouth, letting her taste her own arousal.

Amy screamed in his ear as he slid into her, full length, easy, in the open, wet and willing cavity that she wanted filled. The wooden pins were clamped between his groin and hers, holding her open, singing their message of pain that delighted her beyond anything she had ever felt before.

He hung above her, carefully supporting his weight to avoid mashing her tender torpedoes, driving his throbbing length into to her over and over and over and over and over. Amy grunted, rooted, pressed to meet him, gasping her way to still more climaxes, coming, coming, and again, glorious, a volcano, an atom bomb.

In the afterglow, she watched as he pulled away from her, kneeling beside her on the bed. She watched his eyes as he checked her over, read his concern as he examined her. She waited until he turned his head to glance down at her feet, and deliberately raised one leg, bending the knee until the delicate yarn stretched and snapped, the faint noise lost in the sound of her still heavy breathing. Glen's eyes met hers, and she knew that he knew that she was inviting - asking for - some "real" punishment.

Glen was pleased that his symbolic bonds had served their purpose so well, and equally pleased that the night was just beginning.

"That was wonderful." Amy at last had her breathing under control, her voice oozing sex.

"That's my job - pleasuring damsels in distress."

"Can I say thanks for not overpowering me with restraints this... this first time? I offered the leather straps, but I'm happy that you crossed me up with that thread stunt. You do know how to build a gal's confidence."

"You're no slouch at crossing ME up, either." He let the words hang, a compliment that she savored and accepted, gratified that despite his domination of her, he was accepting her in some way as an equal. The warm glow that suffused her body should have sated her desires, but she found instead that she wanted more, the new experiences with bondage creating an itch that demanded to be scratched. The fear was forgotten, slowly ebbing into the background as her confidence in her new lover grew.

Glen curled up on the bed beside her, molding his body against hers, reaching across to caress her taut, upright cones, his gentle touch revving up her pulse at once. She pulled at her cuffs, moved her tractioned hips to feel the lower pins move, reminding herself of her bonds deliberately, wanting to touch in return, touch the limpness that had so recently been hard and insistent at the gates of her inner being.

Something made her raise her head to look down her body, past the twin peaks that were happily accepting Glen's roving fingers. She couldn't suppress the gasp of pleasure when she saw stiffness instead of limpness, Glen still hard, ready. Amy glanced up at Glen's face in time to see the broad grin that was spreading from ear to ear as he watched her admiring his cock. Unabashed she smiled back.

"Glen, this time... Will you use the straps, please?"

"Hmmn. Afraid you'll rack up some more punishment?" Amy stared at him, smoke drifting into her eyes behind the glitter of excitement. She looked down her body again, willing his gaze to follow hers as she made a production of lifting the other leg.

The yarn went taut, then snapped with the faintest of noises, loud even over their breathing. She barely suppressed a grin.

"A slave has been disobedient. She begs punishment from her master." Glen watched as the arched foot tugged the yarn apart, then stared into her eyes again, serenely masking the astonishment this wanton vixen was generating with her unexpected passion for bondage.

The formalized request sent a thrill through him that he could barely conceal, his turgid prick leaping in the one visible manifestation that escaped his iron control. Somehow, even with her eyes locked to his she saw, or sensed the movement, her eyes widening a hair as desire surged in time with it. Carefully keeping his voice even, Glen made a suggestion. "You need a safe word. If things get too rough, or you get scared, say it, and I'll stop, immediately. How about if you use 'Park Avenue.' It's not something you would normally say, so it's easily recognized. OK?"

Amy looked at him, feeling his warmth. She nodded, then archly asked, "Think I'll ever use it?"

Without comment Glen raised his body, slid smoothly off the bed and in a matter of moments had her ankles pinioned in the firm grasp of the waiting straps. He paused at the foot of the bed, looking up into the inviting target her widespread legs offered at their apex. Amy was watching, flushing as she realized the picture she presented, yet proud of her obvious effect on him. Her eyes widened, startled, as he suddenly moved over the end of the bed to curl up comfortably between her legs. She groaned her excitement even before his tongue reached its target, her head falling to the pillow, turning from one side to the other, her hair whipping about her face. He stopped, raising his head,

"Your first penalty will be to keep from coming until I give you permission. If you can't hold it, let me know."

Her only answer was an even deeper groan, a fraction of a decibel away from a climax that would wreck the bed, and her with it. She withstood his tongue for three centuries and a couple of extra decades. In real time about three minutes and twenty seconds. "Ggggllennnnnn! I'm about to... to... come. Please, let me come?"

He paused, lifted his head, letting her down a fraction of her arousal. "Hold it as long as you can, then go ahead... if you dare!" He resumed his task, listening, feeling the gathering storm in her loins through his sensitive tongue.

She squirmed like a hooked trout against her splayed legs, rubbing her clit against his mouth, grinding her hips against the fast weakening control her brain exerted in carrying out his command. She enjoyed one more century of bliss, then screamed her release from bondage as she came, nearly fainting from the overwhelming sensations that racked her lovely, sweating body.

Glen moved up, entered her, sliding every iron inch into her dripping cavern, catching her as she came down from miles up, and carried her again into the stratosphere, joining her in a flight to ecstasy that peaked, and peaked again for her until he finally came again, flooding her with his sperm. With a drawn out gasp Glen pulled out, shifted away from her, and then lay beside her, watching her intently as she slowly returned to the earth she had left so far behind.

When she opened her eyes, she looked directly into his, felt the tenderness washing over her, glowed in the tiny aftershocks that still twitched in unexpected places in her body. Glen turned, picked up the key from the nightstand, and moved toward her, putting his hand out to remove the wooden clamps from her nipples.

Her eyes followed, at first uncomprehending. "Glen! Please. No, I... Please, leave them..." The plea was urgent.

"No way!" Glen's emphatic statement startled her. She tried to read his expression, a tendril of fear poking back into her mind. She let her facial expression ask the question, afraid to betray herself with her voice. Glen glanced at his watch, then held it where she could see it. "You've been in this fix for more than an hour. If I left you like that your nipples - and your pussy lips - would be sure candidates for gangrene by midnight."

Amy realized she was holding her breath, and let it out thankfully. "Besides, it's going to hurt a lot worse when I take them off." He watched as relief strangled the last shred of fear in her expression, then her eyes widened as she realized the truth of his last comment.

"Then there's the little matter of a penalty, for being over anxious, hasty, disobedient - and a few other matters. Perhaps, since you seem to have a warehouse full of bondage equipment you'd like to suggest your own punishment?"

Amy colored at the sarcasm, even while she secretly complimented Glen for his devilish plan. She was already in painful bondage, and now she must choose something which she could enjoy, and which would satisfy Glen's increasing thirst, without going overboard. She was so relieved by his expressed concern for her nipples that she willingly decided on a scheme that would make the first part of the evening seem like child's play. She began to speak, describing the coming event.

"There are six clothespins attached to me. You can remove them, one at a time, using your tongue to restore circulation. By the time you get to the last two, on my tits, you will need the extra straps to keep me from flopping off the bed. I will not be permitted to come until they all have been taken off, and you have finished with your tongue."

Glen listened to her self-sentence with private admiration that he carefully kept from showing. His cock had quickly revived, and just as she expected, he had every intention of using it. He turned and put the key back on the stand. "Glen, umm, before the next main event, I... I need to pee. Would you let me loose long enough to go to the bathroom?"

He looked down at her and chuckled as she reddened. "As a matter of fact, I'm glad you asked. You do know that as a slave everything you do with your body requires my approval?" The red turned a shade darker. Her eyes dropped away from his for a moment, and came back, acknowledging one more new plateau of his domination of her.

"I know. I've read..." She didn't need to finish, already picturing what was about to happen. This total stranger, this man she knew for only a matter of hours, was about to become involved in the most intimate acts of the life of a woman. She would not be released from the cuffs that held her hands helpless behind her. Oh, no. It would be HIS hands, wiping, washing, drying, powdering, touching, arousing. He broke her reverie, grinning again as he read her thoughts,

"While I'm getting the straps, think of a better word than 'pee.'" Even as he moved off the bed her lips were playing his little game, saying the dirty words that titillated them both, "Glen, please may I take a piss? My cunt is swimming in come and I need to be douched."

He shook his head in mock disgust. "God, the things I have to put up with just to keep a slave happy. Next you'll be wanting breakfast in bed." Amy giggled, unrepressed.

"Sounds like a great idea. Were you planning on staying the night?" Glen deliberately stifled his grin, locking her eyes with his, teasing her with his power over her.

"Sarcasm is a grave mistake for a slave, one that leads to unendurable pain and suffering. Lots of sorrow, tears, self recrimination. That sort of thing..."

The threat implied was very real in the room, even though both knew that the game plan wouldn't be fun for either one if Amy became the perfect, totally obedient slave to his all powerful mastery. Amy by the barest of margins suppressed the next giggle, dropped her eyes and... almost... controlled her voice.

"I'm sorry. It just slipped out. You can punish me for it in a few minutes, but right now, I need your permission - and help - to take a piss."


Amy would gladly have drawn a veil over the next twenty minutes of her life. She tasted embarrassment beyond endurance, a humiliation of catastrophic proportion as she was forced to sit naked on the toilet and share the intimate and extremely noisy splashing of her emptying bladder for the first time with a man.

First she had to stand impatiently, semen running in rivulets down her thighs, as Glen lifted the seat and demonstrated the male method of relief, dryly commenting for her benefit, "Either I go first or this will be so stiff that I'd have to stand on my head to piss into the bowl."

It had been an accurate prediction, because long before he had completed her toilette his staff was bobbing impatiently erect, spearing her in the belly, or thigh, or the curving cheeks of her ass as he moved her from toilet to bidet to shower. Through the haze of emotions overwhelming her mind she felt each touch, each caress. She felt the texture of the paper, the rough fabric of the washcloth, the terry cloth of the towel, rubbing, caressing, drying, and constantly, unceasingly arousing her at the same time. Her most conscious thought was the marvelous sensations generated by the gentleness flowing from Glen's hands through her skin into her body.

As so often happened to her, one small part of Amy's mind was careening ahead in time, planning, hoping, trying to decide what to do next. Her intuition told her loudly and clearly that she had found the man of her dreams. This time she had picked the right male to dominate her and bring her secret wants out of hiding and make them happen. It was so strange to feel the reality that once was hopeless fantasy, so strange, but so wonderful, so exciting.

For the first time since... since Ralph's fist had sent her crashing to the floor screaming in pain she felt alive, whole, complete. This time, she felt safe in believing that the pain she craved would be hers without the battering, the blood or the terrible hurt of ignorant cruelty. She was so aroused by the time he finished her to his - and her own - satisfaction that she considered begging him to take her right there on the cold tile floor, but the bed, and its straps beckoned, so she meekly allowed herself to be led back into the bedroom. Glen cradled her in his arms as he laid her back in the bed, kissing the tip of her nose as he grinned down at her.

When the straps were in place again, not quite slack, he laid down beside her, gesturing toward the clothespins that still punished her dark nipples.

"Time to take some of these off." Amy stirred, reluctant to loose any of her bonds, savoring them. She tried again. "Glen, please leave them on, for the night."

"Nope. You're now in trouble."

"Why?" She turned her head to stare into his eyes, puzzled.

"Have you looked at yourself lately?" Her eyes hung on his for a moment, reading only mystery, then she forced them down, raising her head to look at her nipples, and beyond to where the wooden jaws reared from her lower lips. Her nipples were mushroomed out over the edges of the wood, and nearly black. Looking directly at their pain was an unexpected shock, but she still wanted to keep them on, despite his earlier comments. Her eyes, half defiant, locked with Glen's penetrating stare.

"I can stand them."

"Your body is under my control, right?" Amy nodded, still resisting. "Then, why the deliberate attempt to do yourself some permanent damage? Those nipples of yours would be dead meat if I let you talk me into leaving the pins on there even for another hour, let alone all night!"

Amy stared into his eyes, amazed at the genuine concern that flowed from Glen. "They're coming off right now, and from now on, you are never to do, or even suggest anything that could do any permanent damage to your body. It's a lovely body, and I'll be dammed if I let you mess it up... Just so you can get your kicks!" There was a considerable amount of anger in his voice, especially the last phrase, leaving absolutely no doubt in her mind that he was the answer to her prayers. She colored, suddenly ashamed.

"Glen, I'm truly sorry. I didn't know... I just got caught up in the excitement, trying to please you, and I goofed. Please, take them off."

Glen grunted, mollified, but still annoyed with her. His hand reached for the closest breast, grasping the jaws, squeezing them carefully open. Blood, trapped in her swollen breasts by the bands that still circled their base surged into the vacuum. Nerves pressed by the swelling resumed functioning. Amy started to groan, and fainted.

Glen took one look at the angry flush flowing into the once tightly pinched flesh and dropped the pin and grabbed the other one away from her body in a single sweeping motion. His concern mounted as he felt her pulse, relaxing as he realized she had only fainted. Bounding off the bed he reached the bathroom in three strides, slammed the cold faucet on, soaked a towel and was back at Amy's side in less than half a dozen breaths. Amy moaned as the cold laved her forehead, her eyes fluttering, opening, almost instantly fully awake. She peered down at the mottled, angry erections that once had been nipples, comprehending her mistake. She spoke, softly, "Boy! Did I goof."

"You're an idiot."

"I deserve that - and a lot more."

"Any chance you remember what I told you before you... ummmm, passed out?" Ashamed, she lowered her eyes and whispered, "That... I was never to do anything to myself that would cause any permanent damage."

A shadow of a smile flitted across Glen's impassive face, gone before she was even sure. "Your good memory just saved you from something or other that might have been classed as 'cruel and unusual.'"

"Well I do deserve to be punished. It was a stupid stunt. I'm sorry."

The grin whispered past again. He leaned on the first word, "WE'LL think of something, won't we." Amy's eyes were pensive as she stared up at him, nodding, already searching her mind for something suitable. Glen stirred, glanced down her nude body, noting that the color was already evening out on her turgid nipples. His voice suddenly dripped sarcasm. "Guess I'd better check the rest of them to see if gangrene has set in."

"Oh, Glen..." Amy wanted to say more, apologies jumbling at her tongue, but she forced herself to be silent, waiting to see what would happen next.

Glen raised himself carefully over her thigh, making himself comfortable between her spread legs, and symbolically bit the first pin, closing his jaws to open the wooden jaws which had buried themselves in the pinkness of her slit. Amy writhed and groaned, clenching against the straps spreading her open, denying the pain that pressed for a climax. Glen's tongue felt like sandpaper on the tiny square of flesh that throbbed with the returning blood, slowly fading to a normal pink.

Eventually the last of the four on her lower lips were lying in a pile between her thighs. Amy's body was in constant motion, her head tossing back and forth, blond hair flailing on the spread, her cased tits bobbing like buoys in a heavy sea. She was moaning steadily, incredibly surviving, locking her orgasm in some dungeon in her very soul. She had been right, he needed the straps. Quickly he moved over her, pulling a strap from above, looped it through her armpits and anchored her to the posts at the head of the bed. The additional restraint brought the first plea to her lips, "Please, let... let me come?"


"Glen," she begged, "I... I can't hold it. I thought I could, but your tongue... Please..." she moaned.

"No way." Soundlessly she gritted her teeth and lapsed into a private hell of pain and arousal. She had invited sentence, passed sentence on herself. Glen was the willing executioner. Glen paused in his caresses, moved over her again to nurse one tortured nipple with tongue and lips, reinforcing his mental resolution to punish Amy for suggesting the potentially harmful method of pinching her flesh. Amy fought her bonds, words gushing and tumbling from trembling lips.

"Glen... Please, I've got to come. I've GOT to! Please... If you let me come, I'll let you chain me to the bed every night for a week. Please! You can do anything to me - anything!"

The anguish was clear in her strained voice. Glen immediately fastened on the potential in her offer. If getting her hot was all it took to get her to start dreaming up things that he could do to her, he would have no problem keeping her in a permanent circle of desire and punishment. He continued to suck on the now purple nipple, teasing it with his tongue, nipping it gently, keeping her off balance with the pleasure she was beginning to feel from her pain. Amy hung, still on the verge, so hot she literally hissed at him,

"Glen, you've got to let me come! You can take me dancing with a vibrator in my cunt every night for a week, but pleeese, let me come..."

"Not yet."

She groaned, frustrated. "Your nipples are pretty much back to normal, although you will be answering to me later for risking them like that. Now, I am going to work on your clit for exactly five minutes. You are not to come, and you are not to move. If you even wiggle, I'll start over, and then you'll spend the rest of the night standing spreadeagled in the middle of the floor to bring you down without letting you come. Understand?"

Amy groaned again, "Yesssssss!" The penalty struck home!

Somehow she survived the next 300 seconds, although later they nearly got into an argument. She claimed that Glen had far exceeded the time limit. It seemed to her like at least a half hour of the most agonizing torture. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, and even her painful nipples were once more stiff and proud, fiery red twin beacons perched atop her taut jugs. Her sigh when he stopped licking came from somewhere very deep within her, somewhere close to the prison where her orgasm waited....

Glen lunged up her body, just as hot and ready to come as she. His cock homed in on her dripping, wide open gap - and sank straight to the bottom in a single stroke. She was tight, tight, tight, and wet, and hot, and he could feel muscles twitching tighter around him with every stroke. "Now!" He gritted the words, "NOW! I'll come, and you'll come right with me..." To his amazement she stopped moaning abruptly and began talking, half whispering, her voice driving,

"Just picture me... I am being punished for playing with my clit... You get two vibrators and stick one in my cunt and one in my ass, and then turn them on... and then you lock my chastity belt on over them. You make me get dressed and go with you...all over town, shopping, eating in a restaurant... then you bring me home and make me change into shorts and I have to run with you for miles with those things buzzing inside me, building me up. But you've ordered me not to come, won't let me come, won't let me... forcing me to hold it in... then you take me into the bedroom and strap me to the bed, arms outstretched, legs wide, and you start licking me, and you order me to come, and I AM COMINGGGGGGGGGGGGGG! EEEEEYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH..."

Inflamed by the fantasy she wove, Glen had pounded into her harder and harder, feeling her respond as if her bonds had suddenly fallen away. Her hips rose against him, her mound driving up, her body glued up against him until her rubber walled tits were crushed against his chest. For the second time he could feel the come boiling up from his balls, spewing into her convulsing cunt, until he exhausted the last of his strength, collapsing diagonally across her body.


Through some final reserve of inner strength Amy had remained conscious through what amounted to a rerun of the final battle of World War II. She was determined to enjoy every bit of the landmark orgasm induced by the combination of her bondage, Glen's domination, and finally her own talent as a weaver of fantasy. The lassitude she now felt was the logical sequel to such a lengthy period of arousal, and she was tempted to simply lie there as Glen held her close - but there were more urgent matters...

She felt his fingers insinuating between the flesh of her breast and the taut rubber band. She opened her eyes to find him carefully removing the tightness. Thanks to the powder he had doused it with, it came off fairly easily, but the fumbling was enough to get her started toward arousal again. In a matter of seconds the tight band slid off her left breast, and the twin mounds collapsed into a semblance of normality, the flush of compression making the residue of the powder appear pinkish. The returning circulation set both to tingling as if electrodes were attached to her nipples charged by a telephone magneto.

Amy looked up at him, squirmed and said, "Your slave girl has to go to the can. I'm swimming in sperm, again." Grinning, Glen swung around and released the straps holding her arms and legs.

She promptly squeezed her thighs together as she slid awkwardly off the bed to put her feet on the floor. She waggled her wrists, clinking the handcuff link, looking at him with an impish grin over her shoulder, holding them out to be released. She was half shocked, half resigned when he ignored her silent plea to be released, stood up and grasping her elbow escorted her firmly toward the bathroom door. She automatically resisted, blushing furiously, but her resistance melted instantly at a warning squeeze of his powerful fingers. Once more she was about to be "helped."

To Amy it was a tossup as to whether the second round of bathroom "training" was as humiliating as the first session had been. Knowing what was coming thrilled her as much as the initial surprises had, and she was just as close to coming when the last drop of moisture was dried and the last errant wisp of hair was neatly combed back in place. Before taking her back to the bedroom, Glen looked her over carefully, shaking his head, marveling at her thirst for bondage. Trying to give her an opening to ease up he growled, "You still hurt. You're black and blue, or have scrapes from the ropes, cuts, scratches..."

"Glen, I love it. I want it. I need it. I have my safe word and I know you will stop when I use it, or even before if you think I'm exceeding my limits. Please, don't just arbitrarily set what you think should be the limits. I can take a lot of pain if there's sex tied to it - that's a bondage pun, Glen - and even though I admit I'm a rank beginner at bondage, I know I can take a lot more than you think I can."

"That weak joke ought to earn you a swinging six of the best!"

"Oops, my irrepressible sense of humor cropping up again. Glen, please keep reminding me to keep it under control. I dread the day when I catch you in the wrong mood with one of my impossible cracks."

"Just keep practicing your safe word."

"Ummm, Glen, have you ever whipped a girl? I mean, with a real whip?"


Chapter 4 - A Discussion Over Whips

"Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?"

"Glen, I'm serious."

"To answer your question, No, I've never whipped anybody. For that matter I've never been near a horse, so I've never used a crop either."

"Would you like to try - on me?"

"Amy! I thought I just got through..."

"Glen, It was I who just got through explaining the difference, but you weren't listening. I want to try it, and I can't think of anyone safer than you to use a whip or a crop on me."

Glen glanced at the bedside clock. "Let's see, you have known me for exactly five hours..."


"I may be the serial whipper in disguise. Do you have any idea what I might do if I get my hands on a whip and a helpless victim?"

"You'll lace her six ways from Sunday, and she'll have more orgasms than a popcorn popper."

"I'm not that sure..."

"That you know how to use it? Practice makes perfect, and I'm here to tell you that I am the best practice dummy in the whole state."

"You ought to be strung up on tiptoe, by your thumbs, with the biggest gag I can find, and then we'll SEE who's the dummy."

"Promises! Promises! Ulp, GLENNNNNN!"† She struggled, futilely. In seconds she was hanging from her wrists over the door, tip toes barely reaching the floor, a gag in place. She was also about to come, again.

"Since you are gagged, and this is a practice session, I will accept either a nod or shake of the head as an answer, without penalty. Your finger signal - fingers crossed - is your safe word to stop the whip. Are you ready?" Amy nodded, emphatically, erasing any last doubts in Glen's mind. He still had reservations, but now was sure that she would enjoy the whip.

"First, the six for that very bad joke. Ready?

The nod had lost none of its clear message, "Whip me!!!" He hefted the whip and crop in each hand. A little unsure, he decided on the crop, leaving the whip for an advanced course, after he had some practice. He knew that the whip could be dangerous in inexperienced hands. The crop would be simpler. He lad the whip down and took a practice swing with the crop. It felt alive in his hand, almost anxious.

In all of erotic literature there is perhaps no more significant rite of passage than the experience of the first stroke of a whip, or crop, both by the whipper and the whipee. Glen's first swing of the crop bisected both ass cheeks, pressing its kiss deep into the flesh that turned white and then fiery red. Amy moaned into her gag, appalled by the unbelievable pain. She had been so close to orgasm! If he had tapped her lightly with the crop she would have come. But this! It was long seconds before the aftershock of pain hit her like a second blow of the crop. It was the pure eroticism of her position, the swelling pain from her ass cheeks that vortexed straight to her cunt.

Glen walked slowly toward her, worried that he had hit her too hard/ Even as his concern mounted, he admired his work, the near perfect placement of the mark across the very center of her ass. He faulted himself on the one hand for hitting too hard, even as he justified it against her plea to be used. To be on the safe side he removed her gag, just in time to get the full benefit of the delayed reaction orgasm that racked her body even as the full throated groan of pure enjoyment roared from her wide open mouth. It brought his cock up hard against his belly, threatening to blow his load all over the floor. "Are you all right?"

"Glen, would you please fuck me, NOW!"

"That's an answer?"

"Glen, darling. Either fuck me, or whip me. I want to come again."

"Tell me about it!" He was on the edge of being testy, deeply concerned. Amy could be suffering from shock.

"Glen, it hurts!"


"Please, Glen, let me finish! It hurts. It was supposed to. A whip isn't a toy. But it also gave me a landmark orgasm that I'll be comparing new sensations with for years. I can't believe how much it hurt. For about two seconds, until it connected, I was ready to call this off - AND call the cops. But, My God, when my circuits opened up it was everything I had ever dreamed of."

She paused, pondered, considered, With a wry grin she looked up into his eyes and allowed, "If you unstrapped me right now and went home, I could diddle myself for the rest of my life remembering how that one stroke felt!"

"It might interest you to know that most of the mark has already faded out, while you've been talking."

"Glen, darling, you can't see inside. There's a red hot wire running across my ass, through my gut, and wrapped three times around my clit. I'm about to come again!"

"And if I order you not to come?"

"Whip me again and find out!"

"And if I order doubles for disobeying?"

"Then, get out your adding machine - and I'll be needing a soft pillow for a week or two."

"I think that's enough for one day. We can try again tomorrow."

"Glen, look at me. Do you see any blood? Am I screaming with pain? Am I begging you to stop? Put the gag back - no, please leave it out so that you can enjoy the noises I make - and then WHIP ME!!!"

"Bossy little bitch, aren't you! OK, I'll get some more practice. I can see I made a mistake in not using the whip first. Now THAT would have changed your mind in a hurry!"

"Glen, you're wasting your breath. You got me dead center with the crop, but you aren't exactly a pro with that whip, and without some practice you might have done some damage we'd both regret. Don't worry, I'll be doing my best to crawl out of my skin before the other five - and whatever I've earned on top of that - are done. Glen, please whip me."

"Good enough. That first one was a practice swing. The count and the proper thanks begin, and then you ask politely for the next one. Ask, and ye shall receive!" The crop landed again, slanting slightly to cross the now faded out first mark at its far end. Amy yelped, jamming her body forward against the wall, feeling the crop clear to her bones. Almost, but not quite to another climax.

"One. Thank you, Glen. Glen, please whip me."




"Five. Thank you Glen. Glen, please whip me, HARD!!!

He hadn't been laying back on her, but now, resigned to her demand for pain, he put more of his arm behind the stroke. Amy shrieked, coming a second time. He waited for her breath to steady, and was bringing his arm forward to tap a warning when she cleared her throat.

"Six. Thank you Glen. Please, I am ready to be punished. Whip me, hard. Very hard, and teach me my place as a slave."

In the next fifteen minutes Amy got six more strokes, as hard as she requested. She reveled in the whipping, even as she screamed out her pain. When it was finished, she had learned a vital lesson. She liked to be whipped, just as she had expected. Her master had learned a lesson too. He discovered he enjoyed wielding the whip, enjoyed the power over a helpless human body, most specifically he got his kicks from whipping Amy.

With each stroke his desire rose, his confidence and ability soaring to match. When he reluctantly stopped, he had passed one more major milestone in this new relationship. Before letting her down he examined, and felt her welts, tracing them with his fingers, drawing a moan of remembered pain - clearly mixed with pleasure, from her panting lips. He let her down, and carried her to the bathroom, sharing a kiss that seared his tonsils.

She came, when the toilet paper touched her clit, exploding, draining herself completely. The rest of the time she stood mute, until he carried her back to the bed.


Glen expertly smoothed the rumpled satin sheets. He murmured admiringly at her taste, lifting her again like the proverbial feather onto the bed.  Amy looked up at him expectantly, glowing from his ministrations. She made a face, remembering, "Glen... We forgot something."

Glen eyed her, curious. After exploring every inch of her body with his tongue, the crop, his hand and soap, what on earth had he missed?

"I never did get my spanking!" After all this! He burst out laughing, even as she saw the humor of it, and giggled right along with him. Lightly, treading dangerously close to an un-slavish refusal, she chuckled, "It's going to have to wait until tomorrow night. I'm pooped!"

Fortunately, Glen was equally drained, and loath to initiate another period of erotic arousal as strenuous as spanking her would entail. Even with a minimum of experience with bondage he realized the tremendous strain it had placed on both of them. Besides, there was an implicit invitation to an extended relationship that was not lost on him.

"Rebellion in the ranks," he announced, assuming a pompous tone that broke them both up. Amy giggled as he slid onto the bed beside her,

"I don't recall inviting you to stay the night."

Glen jumped to his feet as if stung, grabbed the straps and again shackled both her ankles to the posts, made a big show of grabbing the key to her cuffs, and started to dress. "I'll come back and unlock you sometime tomorrow."

She raised herself up on her elbows. "Glen?" He stopped buttoning his shirt and eyed her quizzically. "I'm sorry. I've been a bad girl. Please, stay with me and make me into a good girl?"

"Bad girls get punished. Severely!"

"I know. Come to bed, and I'll help you punish me. Severely!"

"It may take several days, even a couple of weeks..."

"I'd be happier if it took months or even years, the way you 'come on' to a helpless girl!"

He came back to the bed and looked down at her, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She glanced up at him, then dropped her eyes, nodding self consciously. He took the shirt off again, tossing it casually on a chair, then lay down on the bed beside her.

She snuggled up to him as well as she could, and he began caressing her, working first toward her breasts, gently moving the still smarting nipples, then his hand glided down across her navel to her still faintly damp bush. She held her lips up to be kissed, tongues greeting like long lost friends. She moved against his hand, her hips picking up a jittery rhythm, her strapped legs open, with ample playing room for his finger. Glen rolled and rubbed her tenderest flesh in a counterpoint to her movements. "There are going to have to be some changes - some law and order..." He spoke into her mouth, nipping gently at her lip.

"Umm, Yes, Master."

"Sarcastic little devil, aren't you?" he chided. "Sarcasm gets punished."

"Yes, sir." Very proper and ladylike.

"I don't like that, either. Glen will do fine - and in public too."

"Yes, Glen."

"That's better."

"Your finger is getting me hot." She was nibbling on a convenient ear.

"That's the effect it's supposed to have. Then there are a few matters that need attention. For instance, I counted at least seven little orgasms that you were busily enjoying in private."

Her cheeks flamed. "I'm surprised too," she admitted, "You have a very unusual effect on me." Then, she giggled, "The first word that came to mind was 'minigasms.'"      

"Sounds appropriate, and also illegal. Retroactive to noon today you will announce that you are about to come, will ask permission to come, and will not have an orgasm without permission. And, when - and if - you have permission; you will make the appropriate sounds and motions associated with a climax whether it is a 'minigasm' or a full scale block buster. Clear?"

"Ummn, yes, Glen."

"Show me," he ordered, bearing down with his finger, and nipping a nipple with his teeth.

She squealed, came, and showed him she knew exactly what he had in mind.

"That's better, but you forgot to ask permission."

"Oh, Glen," She whispered the words, still coming down, "Punish me, please... Glen, I... I'm about to come... May I, please, come?"

"Of course!"

So she did, doing an even better job of sharing her ecstasy with him. When she could talk, she giggled again, "I can take a lot of punishment like that."

"That wasn't punishment, that was practice! Now, comes the pain..."

In seconds he had her panting, then reached over and turned off her bedside light. She said, softly, "Glen, you'd better gag me, or I'll keep you awake all night sucking on things - since I can't play with my own."

He rolled back to her, shaking his head.

Much later Glen picked up the key and rolled over to loom above Amy once more, reaching for one shackled wrist to release it. To his surprise she wriggled away from him as far as the limits of her bondage would allow.

"Glen, please. Leave them." She contorted her body, pulling her arm back underneath her, the sated look on her face disappearing momentarily as she moved, returning as a satisfied grin.

Glen's arm halted, hand poised over her. Amy murmured, "This is pure heaven. To be bound, chained, tied, absolutely helpless. To know that I am totally at the mercy of a man. To fully realize that even though I put these cuffs on, it is by your will they remain. I will never be allowed to remove them. I haven't the slightest control over what is done to me, to my body. It's bliss that I only dreamed might exist."

Her whole body shuddered with delight, her hips unconsciously pumping into thin air, remembering, obviously close to orgasm. Glen remained frozen, arm still extended, utterly amazed at this lithe, sexy body that soaked up punishment like other girls accepted caresses. Amy turned her head away for a moment, turning back with a serious look on her face, smoke welling into her eyes. "Glen?"


"I'm pooped and ready to go to sleep. Will you tighten my cuffs, please?"

"Whaaat! They're already too tight!"

"I'm already used to them. I've never dared sleep with them this tight before. Just this once," she wheedled. "I promise if they hurt too much I'll wake you."

With considerable reluctance Glen nodded slowly, mentally considering the possible dangers. Deciding that they would be more painful than threatening to her circulation he shoved his hands beneath her, feeling the warmed metal against his palms as she pushed her twin peaks up toward his chest. Purposefully he locked her eyes with his. "Since this is just an excuse on your part to enjoy one last climax, you get to feel the pain without any gain. No coming. No complaining. You do either and the consequences will be baaaad! Understood?"

Thwarted in part of her real life replica of her secret fantasy, Amy grinned, sticking her tongue out, impishly, eagerly nodding her agreement, almost too eager, Glen decided. Watching her eyes he closed his hands. The faint click was muffled beneath her body. The body stiffened, arched, muscles taut, rigid. The orgasm was there in her eyes, half concealed by the swirling mists, demanding release.

Her will denied it, forced it back even as she winced as the pain took over, but she drew it into herself, and in a moment was panting with desire again. "Glen," she begged, "Please gag me."

He shook his head, half in anger again, "Too dangerous. I can't leave you gagged all night, and besides you'd drool all over your pillow. Here, this will fix you," Reaching over her he reattached the strap from the bedpost through her linked arms. She was now packaged for the night, unable to slide down, or up.

"This is for your own good. Remember, no playing with yourself." He kissed her, and turned out the light. She sighed, contentedly.

"You'll never know," she said quietly, looking into the darkness, "how much better this evening turned out than I expected."


Chapter 5 - The Planning Stage

"For me, too," he admitted. "It sounds to me like you enjoy being a little slave; ready to obey her Master's every little whim."

"Yes, I do," she agreed. "This is so much better than what I was used to."

"How did you go about fixing things up like this, getting the handcuffs and all?"

"Through a girlfriend of mine. She gave me the handcuffs and vibrator as a gag at a party. The straps came from a luggage shop. The odds and ends just seemed to accumulate."

His hand came unerringly through the darkness, making direct contact with her clit. Silently he massaged it until the first weak groan escaped her lips. He spoke again, as if nothing had happened, "How long have you been doing this self-bondage bit?"

She thought for a moment, "Oh, about two years. It was about six months after I got my divorce."

"The straps wouldn't be too much of a problem, but how did you handle it with the handcuffs?"

"They were a real problem at first. I was scared stiff that I'd get them locked on and then couldn't open them again. But once I got used to them locked in front, I gradually switched to putting them on in back, but I practiced a lot before I did it. I had to be very careful not to get them too tight. Then I couldn't bend my wrist enough to get the key in the hole to unlock them."

"It's more of a thrill when they're in back."

"Of course. I feel so helpless, and then there's that thrilling scared feeling that something might go wrong, the lock jam or something... Or lose the key."

"How could that happen?"

"Easy enough. I kept the key on the nightstand here beside the bed, where I could just reach it with my lips and teeth. Then I'd pick it up and sit up, and drop it on the bed where I could roll over onto it and grasp with my fingers. One morning, after I'd slept with my cuffs on all night, I accidentally knocked the key off the edge of the night stand, and it bounced way under the bed. I panicked..."

"And came," he interrupted.

She shivered, shaking the bed as she remembered. "And came," she agreed, "A real wall banger!"

His finger was back again insinuating itself into her slit, frog marching her bound body up the slope toward the forbidden orgasm.

"The straps on my ankles were just long enough so that I could hang over the side of the bed, with my head and shoulders just touching the floor. It took me quite a while to work up enough courage to try it, because I knew that once I got that far off the bed I'd never get back up on it again."

The moving finger was making talking difficult, but at the same time the titillation was forcing her to talk, revealing events and inner feelings that otherwise she would never have revealed. "You could have suffocated, hanging head down."

"I know," she assented, recognizing the concern in his tone, "but the only other choice left was to somehow get the phone within reach and call the cops and tell them I had been tied up by a burglar."

"A likely story!"

"I had a mental picture of some young cop breaking down the door and finding me spread out like a Christmas feast. Anything was better than that."

"How did you work it?"

"I could get just the slightest leverage with my shoulders, so that with most of my weight off the bed I could move it about a quarter of an inch at a time. What with rests in between it was noon before I felt the key on the floor under me."

"And came again."

"How come you know so darn much about when I have an orgasm?" she exclaimed.

"Mostly from reading. A lot of women - and men too - are turned on by fear."

"I was beginning to think I was the only one, but anyway, the worst part was that I was so pooped from inching that damn bed across the floor - and two orgasms - that even after I got my wrists free, I couldn't pull myself up. I had to wait until I had calmed down completely, before I could get a grip on the bed rail and push with the other hand."

"I suppose you swore off for all of a week or so, after scaring yourself like that?"

"Four days, to be exact. I dreamed up a little gimmick. I put the key on a string around my neck. By working my head around... Gen, I am just about to come... Please, may I come?"

The finger stopped. "You're being punished, remember? Now, where were you?"

Frustrated, she moved against her bonds, changing position as much as the slight amount of slack would allow. "Ummn, I had the key on a string, and by working my head around I could get the string over my head, then slide the key down to my hands. But, that didn't work either..."

"Why not?"

"The second time I tried it I got a strand of hair knotted around the string. Wound up having to chew the string in two, and even then I had to pull about a dozen hairs out by the roots..."


Amy sighed, once more caught out in a reaction that Glen knew about even before she could admit it, "And had a lovely orgasm for my trouble. You may have gathered that I dig pain..."

"You've certainly offered enough hints," he teased, matching her wisecrack.

"So next, I got a leather bootlace, and tied the key around my neck with that, making the loop tight enough to just barely fit over my chin."

"What was to stop you from chewing through the lace immediately?"

"That's where my imagination came into play. I went to the drugstore and got some of this concentrated gunk they sell to keep children from biting their nails. It's harmless, but given a choice, I think I'd eat a plate of shit before I'd willingly take some of that in my mouth. All it took was a quick soak in the stuff, and I'd literally have to be at the end of my rope before I'd go for the key. I could only chew for a second or two, and then I'd have to stop and spit like a drenched cat."

"Are you ticklish?" he asked, suddenly and completely changing the subject. He could feel her tense.

"That's dirty! That's unfair! That's... That's..."

"That's rebellion," he countered, gently tweaking a handy nipple, and as if discovering it needed the circulation restored, for the first time began to roll it back and forth.

Holding it by the base he gave it the full treatment with tongue, lips and teeth until she was squirming and whimpering rather than giggling, "Glen, please, I'm about to come. Please, let me come?" she pleaded.

"Not till you answer my question. Ticklish?"

"Yeesss, damm you." She was reluctant, but helpless to avoid the admission. Between her bondage and extreme state of arousal she couldn't have lied to win a million dollars. Helplessly she volunteered, "I've never been tickled and tied too. But I expect you'd need some lengths of anchor chain to hold me down. I get just plain violent!"

"I'll have to see about that," he muttered, "and in the meantime you can hold off on that orgasm until you curb that naughty tongue. Such language!"           

Amy started to murmur a reply, and thought better of it. She was thrilling to the rhythm of their exchanges, and was anxious not to provoke a permanent delay in her relief.

"Now, let's find out exactly 'where' you are ticklish." He moved, as if to go for her feet, eliciting a startled protest,


"Tell me, or do I go hunting?"

"All right! My feet, my ribs, my armpits, my upper arms, my stomach, the backs of my knees. Touch me, anywhere and it tickles!"

"That's better. Do you come from being tickled?"

"IÖ I don't know. I've never tried... nobody ever could hold me long enough to get me aroused."

"Guess we'll have to leave that for some kind of punishment. I'll keep it in mind."

"Yes, you'll certainly want to have a few feathers to decorate your torture chamber."

"For a girl who is bound hand and foot you have a lot to say!"

"I'll be quiet," she replied meekly, as two fingers wreaked their vengeance on a helpless nipple. The promise was futile as Glen profited from the contact by rapidly racing her up to the next major peak. She resisted as long as she could, then ran up her white flag. "Glen, please, I'm ready to come... Please, let me come?"

"In a minute. First," he said reaching over her and releasing the strap around her arm, "I have about half a hard that you might be interested in. I liked that little story you told back awhile ago, so let's see if you can come up with another one that will get it all the way up. If you can, then you get to come, and your choice of where I stick it."

It was like punching the 'start' button on a tape recorder. Amy was primed, ready to talk, the words gushing out before Glen had finished. "I am about to be punished for not making you come in the time limit you demanded. You take me to a tennis court, and put the rubber bands around the base of each tit so they stick out, then little rubber bands around the base of each nipple, so they stick out too. You make me put on a white blouse without any bra, and then thrust a pair of matching dildos in my ass and cunt, locking them in place to a tight belt around my waist. You tighten the strap between my legs, making me press down with all my weight to help you reach the last hole.

You make me go out on the court and play, with all the people watching, and you promise me a whack with the racquet for every point I lose, and... ulppppppppmghm!"

Glen simply pulled her down to him and put a very stiff stopper in her mouth, long enough to stop her from talking and then pulled it out... "Glennnnnn, I'm coming, pleeese..."

His "OK" was drowned out by her cries of pleasure as she expended the energy she had stored from the hours of repeated arousal. He didn't wait for her to choose, simply rolled her on her side and slid full length into her drenched pussy from the back. In a matter of moments she came again, right along with his spurting finish.

Exhaustion was waiting in the wings for this little drama to finish. Contentedly Amy allowed herself to be rolled onto her back again, and with his last energy Glen re-fastened the strap through her arms. She could feel his come draining out of her swamped pussy and draining down between her ass cheeks, but she was too tired to care.

Twice during the night she awoke to find Glen's head on her chest, his lips nuzzling her nipples. She smiled to herself in the darkness and went back to sleep.


Chapter 6 - The First Morning - Saturday

Brilliant sunshine was streaming into the bedroom when they woke up again. Amy struggled up out of a dream - one of her all too realistic erotic nightmares in wide screen, glorious technicolor that would have done credit to any movie studio as a period piece - but no movie studio would have dared film all that she dreamt!

She winced as she adjusted her arms, stiff, one of the cuffs digging into her back. Glen turned to her, kissed the end of her nose, then full on the lips, greeting her wakening tongue, toying with her nipples, making no move to release her.

"Dreaming?" he asked.

She nodded, recalling it as she blinked against the sun. "I was in a cell, or a dungeon, chained tightly to the stone wall, with my arms and legs spread wide, and a woman wearing a mask was whipping my breasts with fine wires that felt like they were red hot..."

"Boy! You do dream some wild ones, don't you! Suppose you got yourself hot with it too,"

He reached for her mound. She squirmed away from his hand, embarrassed by her come-matted pubic hair which was pulling with every movement. He ignored her evasion and she found herself trapped as the finger tested, and found her wet with renewed lubrication. She put on a face and made a mocking sigh,


Glen chuckled, kissed her again, then unbuckled the straps, ostentatiously coiling them neatly ready by the bedposts, grinning at her. She raised up and sat on the edge of the bed, only a few faint kinks reminding her of her night in bondage. Being young and healthy has its advantages, especially the way she had been restrained. "I suppose you want to play 'lady's maid' again this morning?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Besides I get to touch all those nice places..." He took her arm, but this time she really needed no urging, although she still flushed as she visualized the coming "events."

As it turned out, she especially enjoyed the shower after Glen used the bar of soap to rub her clit while he sucked on a nice clean tit, bringing her to a crashing climax which fed on her dream to jar her to her very bones. She was in a euphoria as he moved her compliant body from toilet to shower to bidet and back, accomplishing everything she would have normally done with her hands free. Only when Glen had finished rubbing her up with a coarse bath towel to the point where it was impossible to tell where the blushes left off was she allowed back into the bedroom.

"Now for the plan of the day," Glen announced, "Being Saturday, there is no plan."

He surveyed his nude captive speculatively. "You know," he commented, "without a doubt you have the perkiest set of nipples that I've ever laid eyes on." He made a show of bending down to peer at them from close range, teasing her at the same time that he inspected for any damage from the too-stringent clamping they had been subjected to. There was still a bit of discoloration, but it would fade. He was mock serious, asking, "Are they always stiff?"

Amy accepted his jibe with a shrug and a giggle. "With you around, they certainly don't get much rest."

 "If I wasn't around, like last night, you might have lost them." His voice was calm, only a trace of his concern showing through, but enough to make his message clear.

Amy dropped her eyes, accepting his chastisement. "I was wrong. You did say you were going to punish me?"

"You bet. Since your nipples were the target of your self destructive tendencies, how about if we involve them in a contest? Sort of let them get even with you for unnecessary roughness."

"Contest?" she asked, both puzzled and curious, "How... what do you mean?"

"Beginning right now," he looked at his watch, "at exactly 9:03 AM, your nipples are stiff. The question is, how long will they stay stiff?  I'm guessing that with that cunning and delightfully creative mind of yours that you can dream up enough excitement to keep them up all day. Right?" He looked at her expectantly.

Her cheeks reddened. "Oh, you!" She shivered, her mind already anticipating pleasure.

Bantering, he added, "Tell you what. To make it easier, I'll let you pick some bondage item that you have stashed away, that you can wear. That's besides the cuffs, of course."

The nuance wasn't lost on Amy. For the first time he was indicating that she had no immediate prospects of being freed. The idea sent her thoughts into overdrive. She had read enough books to expect an evening, or even a night of bondage, but to add on the next day... †Or more... †It was powerful stuff. But more pressing, what to choose.

Amy pondered her options momentarily. The idea intrigued her, sending little thrills coursing through her. She was fully conscious of the fact that her nipples had already been erect for most of the night, and they were still extremely tender from her abortive attempt to magnify the effect of the clothespins. Searching her limited store of bondage equipment mentally, she suddenly had an idea. "Glen, in the closet, up on the top shelf, there's a big box. Can you get it down for me please?"

He walked over, opened the door and eyed the shelf. "That one?" He pointed.

"No, the other one - the brown box."

Lifting it down, he set it on the bed, and removed the lid, then cocked an eyebrow at Amy. "Boots?"

"Not 'just' boots, silly. It's a pair I bought at a boutique that was going bankrupt. I didn't have a chance to try them on until I got home, and then I discovered that the size was mislabeled in them. They're at least a full size smaller than the label says, but it was too late to exchange them. I managed to wear them once. It took a pair of pliers to zip them up - but I gave it up after a few minutes."

As she explained, Glen had picked up one of the boots and examined it. The rich dark leather was soft to the touch as he unfolded it and held it by the top.

It was a full length boot, reaching all the way up the thigh, but flaring only slightly. The foot part was different than he expected, with a rounded front rather than a point, more practical than stylish, but with the narrow arch rising to a three inch pencil heel which by contrast was anything but practical.

"The pliers are in the cabinet left of the dishwasher."

Glen took the boot with him into the kitchen, rummaged in the rudimentary toolbox, found the pliers and came back into the bedroom. "That's some beautiful leatherwork," he admired.

"I was lucky, they were on sale and I got them for $10."

Glen whistled. "Quite a bargain! Those must have been $300 boots."

"The original price tag was still on them - $495."

He whistled again. She sat on the edge of the bed, and he knelt at her feet. He slid the zipper to the bottom and fitted the boot to her foot, the top flopping away. With the pliers he gripped the pull and managed to get it past her ankle, grunting. "Are you sure you can stand this?"

"Do I have any choice?"

"Not really, but let's not do a repeat of your pin trick."

Once started, the slide went fairly easily up her calf almost to the knee. Amy stopped him. "Glen, in the closet, on the hooks at the back is my corset."

"I said one item, not your whole roster!"

"No, not to wear. Get it, and I'll show you." He pawed through and between the clothes hanging from the rack and found the stiff laced leather corset, opened and hanging over two hooks, discretely hidden. He brought it to her and held it out.

"On the side, right there at the top, next to the laces. That's the tip of a stay. Pull it out." The long thin strip of steel came out easily.  "Get two."

"Now, slide one down in the boot beside my knee."

"But then you won't... Oh, I see."

He slid the zipper past the knee as she straightened her leg. The stay, aided by the tight leather held her leg in a vise-like grip that now would not bend. She explained, "If I try and bend my knee, the stay will buckle and dig into me - if it gives at all."

"Well, since this is your idea, you'd better start thinking up some penalty for yourself if you can't take it."

"Oh," she said lightly, "I've already got some ideas."

"I'll bet!" He grunted again as he strained to close the last inch of the zipper, noticing for the first time that there was a small ring conveniently attached to the top of the boot right where the zipper stopped. All that was lacking was the tiny padlock.

The boot fit like it had been made from a plaster cast of her foot and leg. Amy had good legs to begin with, and the expensive leather firmed and enhanced the curve of her instep, her calves and her perfectly tapering thighs. She displayed the leg, turning it back and forth so that the sunlight glinted on the polished surface. She tried moving her ankle, but there was only the slightest bit of play. A twinge of misgiving bothered her, wondering if she had again gone too far, but she shook it off, caught up in the sexy feel of the leather.

After admiring it with her, Glen stooped to fit the other boot. He too was wondering if she was going too far, too fast. He was still amazed that she had not only stripped and chained herself, but then had spent the evening and the whole night without complaining about the handcuffs, or giving any indication that she wanted to be set free, treating them as if they were familiar pieces of jewelry.

Beyond making certain that she didn't injure herself, as she had nearly done with the wooden pins, Glen decided to go along with her, letting her initiate her own bondage, and adding some of his own ideas as things progressed.

Closing the zipper was equally as difficult on the second boot. Glen inserted the stay, and pulled the slide to the top, making a mental note to get the locks for the rings. Their soft jangle as she moved would add a delightful sound effect to his visual enjoyment.

Amy tottered to her feet, as he lifted her toward him from the bed. She stood, teetering, with quick grace catching herself so that in a moment she was able to twist and turn, even stand on one foot while holding the other out on display. Her blonde triangle, bare tanned skin and the dark leather made a spectacularly striking contrast. Glen whistled again. "Verrry sexy!" He drew it out, complimenting her.

Besides, the bondage boots were having the desired effect. Amy's nipples stood out like plump dark thimbles, fully extended, an effect not lost on Glen. "Think you can keep them up all day?"

She nodded her head. "No problem. Oh, if you look in my sewing basket again, down on the bottom there are two padlocks that would ensure I don't get any ideas of taking the boots off."

"Well if it's going to be that easy let's just add the stipulation that there will be no sneaking in an orgasm before tonight. You can think up a penalty for that too while you're at it."

With that he went first to the sewing basket, found the two little heart shaped locks and the tiny key, walked to his side of the bed and pulled the handcuff key out of the drawer. First he padlocked the boots, then unlocking one wrist, he pushed her arms forward. She spun on one heel, looking at him curiously as he relocked her wrists in front of her body. "Darned if I'm going to make breakfast too," He grumbled the words by way of explanation. "I don't know about you, but I'm starved."

Amy moved her arms about, relishing the relative freedom, then tried walking, with an unexpected result. The stiffness around her knees and ankles made walking a lot more difficult than she had expected. However after a couple of trial steps she was able to strut, after a fashion, swinging her hips in a lewd parody of a whore's walk.

He slapped her inviting rump playfully as she went by, warning her, "No touching! Those three things up front - tits and cunt - they're under my command now, so leave them alone, or you'll be making a reality out of some of your fancy dreams." She just shook her head at him. At the moment she was too hungry to think about sex, at least for at least the next thirty seconds.

Glen followed her down the stairs and into the kitchen, close behind in case she stumbled in the unaccustomed boots, admiring the view each step of the way. Her legs were far enough apart so that he could see the sun glinting on the pubic hair that peeped between them. He rummaged through drawers, starting to help her, discovering a tiny, postage stamp size apron, which he tied around her waist sending them both into gales of laughter. He embraced her, rubbing his hairy chest against her twin erections, feeling the slick leather against his legs as he prodded her mound with his semi-erection.

Her darting tongue found his, retreated, attacked and retreated again, her breathing suddenly strained as breakfast was momentarily forgotten. "Keep that up, and you'll be on the table, served up as breakfast." His eyes were laughing.

She made a sour face. "Promises, all I get are promises." The exchange ended with a resounding slap on a handy ass cheek, which sent her stumbling forward, heels clicking across the floor as she caught her balance, paused, and then began to put the food on the table. She had automatically set two places, but she suddenly stopped. "Glen, I won't be able to sit down - in these boots. Or, do I even get to sit down?"

"Oh, yes you will! And that's an order." He walked around the table, picking up two chairs as he went. He set them down, then picked her up off the floor in his arms and sat her down on the third one. She found herself in an instant "fix." Less than a third of her ass cheeks rested on her chair straddling the corner of the table, her legs spread at right angles, one heel barely resting on a chair at each side. She was at once helpless, because to move would mean falling off her chair. Her pussy was right at the edge, and she was leaning so far back that her breasts rolled upwards, her nipples nearly vertical, like twin lighthouses. The tiny apron was pulled high across her hips, barely hiding the extreme upper edge of her pubic hair. There was nothing between the hard wood of the table leg and her mound.

Glen brought the rest of the food, and sat down across from her, pushing down the toaster lever with two slices of bread. Sex again was temporarily forgotten as they attacked the food. They took their time, made it a leisurely occasion, and chatted like two perfectly "normal" lovers after a night in bed together. The one jarring note in this breakfast scene that would have startled the casual observer, once he or she had accepted that both were nude, were the silvery cuffs on her wrists. They didn't bother Amy in the slightest, as there had been many a solitary meal that she had eaten with them on, practicing for this moment when it was a man who had locked them on her wrists, a man who held the key, who would unlock them only at his pleasure, if ever.

During a lull, after Glen had refilled their coffee cups, he glanced up and realized that Amy was staring, her unseeing eyes glazed. He reached across to her, waved his hand. "Hey, wake up!"

She jumped, startled, almost losing her tenuous perch and then grinned embarrassedly. "Daydreaming?" He questioned.

Amy nodded. "Thinking up a penalty for touching... diddling myself. This is pure torture, having my hands in front and not being able to use them."

"It certainly helps keep your play toys up and ready. What's the punishment going to be?"

She smiled with a coy expression. "I'll tell you when it happens."

"I can wait, but meanwhile, you can give me some regular reports on what you are thinking about. That way we both can get some benefit from it."

"OK," she agreed, "but about all that will do is give you a pair of aching balls if you don't do something to me, especially if you aren't planning on anything until MY erections go down."

"Ah, but that's one of the benefits of being a Master. I get to come any time I please - and in any way I please. Your job is to keep me aroused. Without coming yourself."

She glared at him in mock anger, opened her mouth to make a crack, read his eyes and thought better of it. She could see him mentally noting her almost rebellion for future punishment. Deep in her brain her wrought up emotions were going "Wow! Wow! Wow!"


Glen carried the dishes to the sink, then bent down to give Amy a kiss, his hand going unerringly to the center of her straddled legs, fingering her moist slit. Skillfully he brought her clit to life, enjoying her helplessness until she was once more squirming in her arousal. Lifting her, he stood her on her feet again and with a final touch broke the clinch. She drew a gusty breath and sighed, "Looks like I'm going to be... going to be, Hell! I'm already suffering a case of blue ovaries! Glen, please take me back to bed?"

"Ummn, maybe later. Right now there are dishes to do, slave."

As Amy started the cleanup, Glen went back in the bedroom and got some fresh shorts. Being around Amy when she was in any kind of restraint was keeping him in a permanent state of erection, and his thighs were just as damp as hers as repeated drops of lubricant oozed from the head of his cock. He shook his head in amazement as he thought about the previous evening and his - and apparently her - introduction to real live bondage.

Amy was having very similar thoughts. After so many frustrating experiments with self bondage, discovering a dominant bondage fan who was so compatible was fueling her lust for restraints. She already realized that reality was even more exciting than the fantasies that she had become expert at weaving. Once her fear of physical mistreatment had dissipated, her confidence in Glen began to grow and she started to relax, and with that came even greater enjoyment. She basked in the knowledge that he was concerned for her safety and was masterful and tender at the same time.

For the first time in her life she was being dominated without being afraid, a voluptuous feeling that she was enjoying to the fullest. She hadn't realized that being mastered would so totally arouse her. Thinking back, she realized that she had been juicing ever since she began stripping off her clothing last evening. Glen, and that ever hard cock of his was keeping her constantly hot, and awakening an insatiable appetite for sex. Despite the fact - or more frankly because of the fact - that her feet already felt like she was standing ankle deep in a bed of white hot coals, she was on the verge of climaxing.

Her engorged clit throbbed and demanded attention as her daydreaming continued, and before she even realized she was doing it she had silently laid down the plate she was washing and reached with her linked hands between her legs, straddled before the sink, bending forward in a slight crouch. Her fingers splayed and touched, the soapy water lubricating. She moaned softly as she felt the first surges deep in her loins.

Glen had busied himself cleaning up the wreckage strewn around the living room and the bedroom. Obviously it had been an eventful evening! He picked up his pants and shirt and hung them in the closet, already acting as if he had moved in permanently. He examined the corset, evoking a mental picture of lacing it in place around Amy's lush body, then reluctantly hung it back on the closet hooks, to await another day. She already had enough to contend with from those tight boots, but she would have made an even more delightful picture!

Deep in thought, he suddenly realized that it was quiet in the kitchen. The routine sounds of dishes being washed had stopped. Curious, he padded silently across the rug and stopped in the doorway. Amy was totally unaware of him, hunched forward and working her hips against her frantic finger. "Naughty! Naughty!"

She jerked guiltily at his words, flinging her long hair sideways as she turned to look at him, her fingers redoubling their labors, only to be jerked forcefully away as in two quick steps he reached her side. She whimpered, whispering, "I was so close..."

Holding her cuffed wrists firmly, he pulled her, unresisting, up the stairs and into the bedroom, connecting with her ass like claps of thunder with his open hand. For a moment hope leaped, then sank as he picked up the key, opened one cuff and quickly pinned her arms behind her again. "Can't leave you alone for a minute," he muttered.

"I'm sorry Glen. I... I started thinking about all the nice things we did last night, and about you and that big lovely stiff cock of yours... and I didn't even realize I was rubbing my clit."

"Oddly enough I'm beginning to believe you, but that still doesn't excuse you for disobeying orders. Remember, you were told 'No playing.'" She nodded mutely.

"O.K. Now, try and get loose." She looked at him over her shoulder, not understanding. He nodded at her manacles. Gracefully, she twisted her arms, worked them back and forth, loosening and tightening the connecting link with a pleasant metallic clashing, clearly demonstrating the futility of any hope of escape from the tight bands.

"That's going to be another rule, especially for any bondage you put on yourself, so that there won't be any tricks, and we'll both know you are safe. And, while I think of it, let's make another rule. You can put yourself in bondage at any time, but only I can release you. Clear?"

"Yes Glen."

She instantly connected it with the incident with the handcuff keys the night before, and thrilled. He was keeping one jump ahead of her!

"Now, tell me what this fancy punishment is that you dreamed up for yourself. Or, have you forgotten already?"

"No, Glen." She twisted her arms against the cuffs, shrugging. "You've got part of it done. My hands, behind me. First you need to take the stay out of my right boot."

Suiting action to her instruction, he unlocked the padlock, got the pliers and quickly zipped her right boot to the knee, stopping first to inflict some unexpected - but enjoyed - attention on her tingling clit. He slid the stay out of her partially opened boot, leaving a clearly outline pressure mark on the side of her leg. The steel strip had fitted, but only by pressing itself into the flesh.

Up went the zipper again, the fingers played a tattoo on her nub, and Amy was able to suppress a teeth grinding climax only with the greatest difficulty. Shaking her head to clear it, she murmured,

"Now, hand me my foot. I am to be punished by standing on one foot, holding the other foot behind me. If I lose my grip and the foot touches the floor the time starts over. If I fall, I will spend two hours kneeling on a rolling pin. Your order that I am not allowed to come is still in effect."

"What a woman!"

The exclamation was purely mental, as Glen's admiration for Amy went up another notch. He kept his face composed, emotionless, as he went about positioning her in the middle of the floor, so that she wouldn't hurt herself if she did fall. Facing her toward the bed he reached down, grasped the tightly compressed ankle and started to bend the leg backward. The leather resisted, but the warmth of her skin had given it some slight flexibility, so that it bent at the knee, but with difficulty.

When it came within reach, Amy grasped it with both hands, helping to overcome the tight bend. Glen marveled at her composure. With all that tension it would be like holding a suitcase full of lead bricks behind her, and then to stand on one foot!

She got her hands into position, clasping her fingers together over the instep, locking them together, a look of determination on her face. Glen stepped back, drinking in this erotic statue, checked each nipple with his fingers for stiffness, as if he couldn't see them literally poking him in the eye, then thrummed her clit to the moaning stage before going to the bed, where he lay down on his back.

He focused on her loveliness, savoring the power he held over her, then raised himself up and slid his shorts down his legs. Amy's eyes glistened as she eyed his rampant cock stand. So near, and so far away!

She was already regretting having dreamed up this bondage position, but she realized that after all, punishment is to make you penitent. In this case, also to make a girl very, very horny!

"How are the boots doing? Time for a report."

She thought a moment, composing a frank answer. "I lost contact with my toes right after you put them on me. By the time breakfast was over it felt like I was standing ankle deep in hot coals. Right now it is more like wading knee deep in molten lava. As you may have noticed, my nipples have remained erect the entire time, and at the moment they feel as if they were squeezed in between my toes down there somewhere. They're burning just as bad as my feet, if that's possible!"

"I do like a girl with a sense of humor! What's it doing to your sex urges?

"Let's put it this way - if you were the one wearing these damn handcuffs and perched here like a stork, you'd shoot your load so fast your head would swim! I am hot, I am horny, I feel like I swallowed a volcano, and I'm ready to fuck your ears off!

"My! You certainly are prim, proper and prissy when you want to be. Since you have so much to say, how about entertaining us with the story of your life? It's going to be quite awhile until lunch." He glanced at his watch.

Amy was slightly unnerved. He was hinting that she might be playing stork for hours. Although it had been only a couple of minutes it already felt like she had been standing for hours and hours.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"Let's skip the non-essentials and get right to your sex life. I have a feeling you've been a busy girl, but remember, a slave cannot lie to her master, or evade a question without serious consequences. Just how sexy have you been?"

Amy hesitated, almost long enough to reap a penalty before she had said a word, her mind racing over her past. She had her story ready, but could she tell him all of it? She drew in a deep breath and started, almost, but not quite, at the beginning.

"Not as much as you think. I led the typical 'sheltered life' in high school. I pretty well knew what turned me on by then, but I was too shy to share my feelings with any of the boys. There was one other girl," she reminisced, "A mousy little thing with thick glasses that never seemed to have any boy friends, but I found out later that she was the secret mascot of the football team. Her specialty was giving the entire team a blowjob after each game. A friend who went to the same college told me about her one time when we were out on a date. He had been on the team, and said that as a joke they had tied her to a chair and that she got so excited she was coming steadily, begging for more cock, so after that they automatically tied her up.

"His talking about it got me hot enough so that I just about raped him, but when he stopped talking and started banging me, I cooled off so fast that even he noticed it. It was a big disappointment for both of us, and I still didn't realize the reason.

"It wasn't until about a year later when I happened to be assigned a research topic on the Indian tribes in Arizona which closed the gap, putting pain and sex together."  She was looking directly at Glen, but her memories sublimated the scene before her, and she kept on talking for several minutes before it suddenly penetrated. Glen was leaning on one elbow, pillows stacked behind him, listening intently, his eyes never leaving her restrained nudity, beating his meat.

Unconsciously aroused by the visual and vocal stimulation, his other hand had crept to his pulsing cock, fondling it, then slowly encompassing it, moving gently with the flow of her narrative. She wondered if he was doing it deliberately in order to get her hotter, but she could see that he didn't even realize he was doing it. Deliberate or not, it had the same effect - it got her even hotter.

"I had to get several books from the library to take home to the dorm and study. One of them had some first person quotes from a woman who had been taken by Indian warriors, describing the ways they tortured their captives. There were some very graphic descriptions, especially of how they stripped her, tied her wrists behind her to the tips of a warrior's bow, and marched her with a leash around her neck back to the camp. I remember getting excited when I read it the first time, but my roommate was studying too, so I couldn't do anything about it. There was quite a bit more - about how the women were so rough with the white captives, staking them out on the ground and poking them with sharp sticks, but it was this idea of the bow that I think really got me started - or woke me up to what I needed to enjoy sex."

As she talked, her mind was concentrating on two things now. One was the memories, the other was Glen's cock, the focus of her staring eyes. Glen seemed to be in a dream state, mesmerized by her words and her beautiful body. She swallowed, and continued, aware that her mouth was watering, salivating for that hunk of man meat.

"That night I had my first really wild erotic dream - or at least the first one that I can remember. I was the captive, the one who was being tortured. They left me tied to that bow for days, while the men raped me and the women pinched my tits and burned me with hot coals. When I woke up, I had both hands between my legs, bringing myself off. I was groaning so loud I woke my roommate. I don't think she believed me when I told her I'd had a nightmare, but she never said anything."

"That wasn't the first time you played with yourself, was it?"

"Oh, no. But, it was the first time that I had a real, five alarm climax. Always before it had been these little 'minigasms.' Up until then I had always thought that was all there was to coming. I couldn't believe it. After that I had that exact same dream again and again. Not every night, but maybe once every week or ten days or so. Carol, my roomie, was beginning to get worried, and suggested I ought to see the doctor about my nightmares, but I put her off. There was no way I was going to tell her, or a doctor, about my sexy dreams. Then one Sunday I went for a walk in the woods near the campus. I stopped to rest near a small tree, and I happened to notice that it had two branches, just at shoulder height, that bent back behind the trunk, just like the arms of a bow. On an impulse, I backed up to the tree, held my arms up and back against the branches and grabbed them with my hands, just as if I was tied to them. I just stood there for a minute, looking to see if anyone was watching me. Then I looked down at myself, and when I saw what the position did to my tits - how it pushed them out and up - it blew my mind, and my ovaries! I had an orgasm that put my dream jobs to shame. I screamed, and doubled up like someone had punched me in the stomach, and collapsed on the ground. Another student heard me, and came running around the corner to help me, but I was back on my feet by the time he got to me. I gave him a lame story about screaming at a snake and sent him on his way, but the whole thing really shook me up. Walking home, I did some serious thinking, and it gradually came to me that I must need some special kind of erotic stimulus to make me reach a full climax. Once I got started in the right direction, it didn't take long to put some of the past events together and realize that pain was what I needed to enjoy coming. From the Indian stories I associated pain with bondage. At the time I didn't see the difference, and it took me a long time to understand the causes and effects. After all, there weren't any handy corner sex shops where a horny girl could walk in and stock up. For a college town, it was pretty prudish, and it wasn't until I was about to graduate that I even saw a bondage magazine. I was as green about all this as I could be, and right after I graduated, I met Ralph at a high school dance, of all places. I had been asked to chaperon the kids, and Ralph was another of the group of adults they had picked for the job. He had a very forceful personality, bossing everyone including the other chaperons and the teachers, and I kind of fell under his spell.  To make a long story short, he swept me off my feet, proposed and married me within a space of two weeks. Our honeymoon was a disaster. He was issuing orders like a drill sergeant - 'Put your legs here, touch me there, kiss my ear,' and on and on like he was making love to a puppet. I didn't have a single orgasm with him until several months later."

"One night he came home loaded, and when I said something about it, he blew up and belted me across the room with the back of his hand. Of course I came instantly, with enough sound effects so that even in his drunken stupor he realized the connection. He had his clothes off and was on top of me on the rug before I could get up. He shot his wad in about three strokes and collapsed before he got half way done tearing my clothes off. A couple of days later he came home randy and when I didn't respond immediately he cocked his fist and popped me one on the jaw. Same effect, only this time he was sober and dragged me to the bed and took his sweet time raping me. I was so dazed I couldn't move, even though I was hotter than a pistol from the pain in my jaw. He screamed at me for not responding, and started on my face with his fists, breaking my nose and my cheekbone. A neighbor heard me screaming and called the cops, and they took one look and called an ambulance."

"Ralph got two years for it, and served eight months, and I got an immediate divorce. I was my own best witness, as I had to appear in court with two black eyes and tape all over my nose and face. The Judge took one look at me and complained loudly that the law only allowed him to give Ralph two years. There was a provision in the state's divorce law covering wife abuse which gave the judge the power to set me free at once. During the trial it came out that Ralph had a lot of property that he had carefully hidden from me. I wound up with a lot of it, so I wasn't hurting for money."

"It wasn't long after that my folks died. My mother was killed in a car accident - ran under a gravel truck at a road construction project. My dad sued and got a big settlement out of them, and then a few months later keeled over with a heart attack at work. It took some time to get over my grief, and I began to seriously study sexual variations as a means of getting my mind off my loss. It helped, even though I was still hampered by a lack of information."

"Textbooks, yes, but you don't find any textbooks that tell you what a yummy feeling it is to get tied to a bed and fucked. My girlfriend helped, and it was through her that I saw my first real magazines and books on the topic. There was a mention or two of self-bondage, and since I had already been burned badly I wasn't about to walk up to some stranger and invite him to tie me up so that I could come. I wore those magazines to shreds, until I could recite every story, every letter by heart. I'd take them to bed and tie my ankles and put my handcuffs on my wrists and I'd diddle myself until I couldn't keep my eyes open, but I loved it because it fired up my fantasies. Between those and my dreams, I kept myself aroused most of the time..."

She stopped. "Glen, do you have any idea what you are doing to me? Making me stand helplessly and watch while you stroke that big beautiful mouth watering cock of yours. That's mean!"

He jerked, startled by her words, lost in the word picture she had been so skillfully weaving. He grinned, half sheepishly, eyeing his now motionless hand gripping his erection as if he'd never seen it before. "I'll be dammed! Do you have any idea how sexy you look, and what kind of an effect you have on me?"

"We could keep going with this mutual admiration society all day. More importantly, if you keep on doing that while I'm confessing my sins, will you please shoot your load on a plate and then make me eat it for lunch?"

Glen got up off the bed and padded past her to go to the kitchen, murmuring as he went out of her range of vision, "Got a better idea." He came back moments later with a small water glass, not much bigger than a shot glass. He set it on the nightstand, and made himself comfortable again on the pillows, and began stroking with obvious purpose. "You were saying?"

"I said, you are mean. How can I talk when my mouth is watering like this?" She swallowed, demonstrating. He eyed her calmly. "Would you like to skip lunch so you can keep on watching?"

Amy cringed inside. The lava was well up her thighs already, and she couldn't tell which leg hurt the most in the over tight boots. Subdued, she conceded defeat, "All right, I'm sorry I said you were mean. I'll talk."

Unerringly she picked up where she had left off, "I was just about to tell you about my dreams. After I got used to my Indian dream, as I call it, there was a period until after I divorced Ralph where I dreamt it only occasionally, but after than I began to incorporate the things I was learning about sadism and masochism from my research into dreams, and they became a nearly every night happening. Especially when I was devouring those magazines, I'd go to sleep and dream that I was taking the place of the subject of one of the stories. Or, I'd dream something about some other thing like the Indians, being captured and tortured by pirates, or the Spanish Inquisition. Somewhere I read about a king or some ruler in Arabia who took a white woman who had been kidnapped for his harem and put her in a tiny cage after she tried to escape. He hung the cage beside his bed and made her watch every night as he made love to the other women in his harem and his female slaves. He kept her in the cage, in heavy chains until the night she broke and asked to be allowed to crawl to him and beg to be his slave, and then... Oh, Glen!!!"

She watched him spurt three huge gobs of semen into the glass, filling it nearly to the rim. With horror she realized that she was about to climax too, triggered by the sight of his coming. It was the first time she had seen a man masturbate and come, and the thrill was too much for her. She fought against it, satiated by the knowledge that later she would get the full benefit of that rampaging prick. From some inner reserve of strength she found just enough control to stop at the very brink. Glen set the full glass back on the stand, using a tissue to wipe the last dribble of come from the purple head. "Go on." It was as if nothing had happened.

"I... I dreamt that one so vividly that I had marks on my body from the bars of the cage for days afterward... Glen... Do you think you could make a cage for me?"

"Shouldn't be too hard. I'll check on it... "You had what?" His tone, as he did a double take, was disbelieving.

"I had marks on my body from the cage bars, from where I'd been lying on them. I know," she stopped him, mouth open, "I didn't believe it either, but it happened more than once. Marks of ropes on my wrists, even a couple of whip marks."

"Lady, you have one powerful mind!" Glen shook his head in amazement. "And, while I'm asking, what is a punishment helmet? All I have ever seen are vague descriptions, but no specifics."

"It's a leather, or sometimes rubber, helmet which fits over the head. It covers the eyes, but has holes for you to breath through your nose, and has a hole for the mouth, or has some kind of built in gag to go in the mouth. There are lots of ways of making one, with zip openings, or covers that snap or strap on, with locks, usually a lock at the neck. The rubber ones fit on like a glove, but the leather ones usually have laces at the back to make them skin tight too. I've seen descriptions of some with heavy padding over the ears, so that the wearer can't see, talk or hear."

Amy shivered with delight at his graphic description. It sounded like a piece of equipment that she would gladly beg to have Glen use on her.

"Can you buy one of those too?"

"No problem. I've got several catalogs that list them and they are readily available on the Internet."

"Catalogs! You mean you can order things like that?"

"Or make them. One of my hobbies in high school was leathercraft, and my Dad gave me a whole toolbox of equipment to work with. As for catalogs, they're not in every mailbox, but you can get them if you look in the right places. There should have been some ads in the magazines you saw."

"There were some ads, but it was an old magazine, and apparently the laws were stricter, because there were only vague references to the things they offered. I was always afraid to have the mailman see me getting anything like that."

"Things have eased up considerably now, and you can find some pretty explicit ads these days. I'll bring over some catalogs and some of the magazines, and let you read them."

"Considering the fix I'm in, I guess it's high time that I learned more about what bondage is all about. I might just get some new ideas at the same time."

"You seem to have plenty of ideas already, although it's always nice to keep up with the state of the art. You've got the imagination to make do with a minimum of equipment, so I'm really curious as to what you'll do when you have more to use, designed for the purpose."

She nodded in agreement. "There have been so many times that I wished I had something or other that I read about. It wasn't a problem with money, just that I had no way of getting to the sources."

"Money isn't to be taken lightly in this case. Most of the equipment is expensive, and some is so way overpriced that it's crazy.  There are only a few manufacturers, and they know they can get whatever they ask. Hell, most of them want $10 or $20 just for a simple leather strap. You can get the same thing in a harness catalog for a tenth of that."


"Sure, for horses. They call the equipment 'tack.'"

"Oh, yeah, now I remember. There's a connection there I'd missed, even though I've read a couple of things about pony girls."

"You've still got punishment time going - time enough to finish telling me about your dreams."

"I did get away from the topic, didn't I. The odd part is how realistic the dreams are. You know, sometimes you realize that you are dreaming, but with me, I AM the Roman slave displayed in chains to the mob, or the spy captured and tortured by the Nazis, or the kidnaped heiress. The really weird part is that the next day I am sore in all the places where I had dreamed pain. If a soldier used a whip on my back, it will sting and burn all day long, and quite often I will have welts on my wrists and ankles, just like the marks of the cage I told you about, and Glen I'm about to come, and this time I CAN'T STOP IT PLEASE, MAY I COME?"

"You have three minutes to go."

The admonition was lost on Amy. It was too late, and too little to impede the tidal wave of lust washing over her. She dared to come, but she dared not move, afraid if she closed her eyes she would lose her balance and fall. The only release left her was vocal, and her scream of pleasure filled the room, exploding in the silence, sucking the pentup energy she had been storing, drawing on her pain, draining her. It was enough to nearly send Glen into a second orgasm as well, the erotic fulfillment of his dreams.


Chapter 7 - Putting her foot down

It was more than a minute before her breathing returned to normal. Amy stood like a statue, her eyes open, but fixed on some horizon far beyond the walls of her bedroom, as if in a self induced trance. She was relieved, both that she had climaxed without literally blowing up, and that she had been able to retain her balance. It had been very close, fighting the waves of dizziness.

"Time's up. You made it."

Was there a hint of admiration in his voice? Amy shivered like a cat unexpectedly drenched with a bucket of water, again nearly losing her balance.

"You can put your foot down," he added.

Foot. Somewhere at the far end of one of the two white hot steel needles her cunt was impaled on, was a foot. Made of lead. She had it right there in her hands, but she couldn't feel it. She couldn't feel her hands for that matter.

"Glen, please, you'll have to help me. I... I can't move it."

Bounding off the bed, cock swinging, he caught her as she swayed dangerously. With one hand he tried to free her foot, and then had to brace her against him and use both hands to pry her laced fingers apart. She winced as streaks of pain shot through them with circulation returning.

Released, her knee remained bent, then slowly the weight of her foot pulled the leg straight, gravity overcoming the stiffened muscles and formed leather. Gingerly she put some weight on it, still nestled against Glen, feeling his pulsing cock against her bare thigh just above the boot top. He walked her slowly across the room and back and her control returned almost immediately, even though it was instinct rather than any sensation in her leather encased feet. She nodded toward the door. "I need to go to the bathroom."


"I need to pee."

"Try again."

"Please Glen, I need to piss."

"Atagirl! You ALWAYS ask for permission, and you use the dirtiest words in your vocabulary."

"Yes, Glen. Now, will you please help me take a piss?"

"Gladly. Thought you'd never ask."

He was teasing her again, covering his admiration for her staying power, getting a kick out of her minor humiliation. Helping her sit on the toilet, he stood and watched as she overcame her embarrassment and relaxed enough to splash loudly, but still blushing slightly at her noise. When she was finished, Glen made her move over to the bidet, then stand bent over with her legs spread while he dried her from the back. His skilled fingers had her right back at a peak in a few moments. She moaned and grunted, backing into his fingers, hungering. His hand pulled away, then caught her cuff link and pulled her upright. Holding her cuffs, he steered her back to the bed. "After all that, I think you need a bit of rest."

"Fat lot of rest I'll get with you working me over!"

"If that's a formal complaint, I can have court convened in about one second."

"With you as judge, jury, jailer and executioner I suppose!"

"You got it. They don't call me the hanging judge for nothing! My record is unblemished - not a single defendant has ever been found not guilty in my court."

In the course of the exchange, Glen had helped Amy onto the bed. With the pliers he unzipped the boots, concerned this first time that they might have caused some problems. The soft leather crumpled as it fell away from her smooth legs, now marked with every stitch, every seam in the boots. Her feet seemed to literally ooze out of the confinement.

"Owwww... I do have feet. Oh! Glen, you're making me come..."

"Careful! Nobody said anything about enjoying this."

"Ummmn, There's no way a gal could go through this and NOT enjoy it."

"You're unbelievable!" The exclamation came, unbidden from Glen's lips.

"Nope. I'm just your standard, A-1 glutton for punishment, I guess."

"Well, right now the verdict is REST. Damned if I'm going to wear you out in one day."

He tossed the boots on the floor, then installed her on her back with her ankles strapped to the foot posts of the bed. He made sure her arms were crossed with some degree of comfort behind her and then curled up beside her and began idly playing with one of her two rock hard and evenly purple nipples.


"They feel like you bit down on them day before yesterday and haven't let loose."

Glen slid his feet to the floor and went to her dressing table, returning with a bottle of skin lotion. "How's this stuff taste?"

"You don't drink it, silly."

"No, but I might be tempted later to do a little licking here and there, and I wouldn't want to have to stop and puke."

"Oh, ick! It's just a cream lotion." He started to apply it, then a better idea came along. He dipped a finger into the semen filled glass, and wiped it lavishly on both nipples. She looked concerned, so he reassured her, "There's plenty left for lunch." Then he stuck his tongue out as far as he could, barely grazing the nipple, sending Amy into shivering delight.

After he had worked his cream into both nipples and she got her breathing under control again, she looked at him with heavily lidded eyes, "Glen darling, while I'm lying here 'resting' as you call it, why don't you tell me about how you came to be so dominant?"

The "darling" wasn't lost on either of them.


"Before you start, would you gag me? I've had it on a lot of times, but never when I couldn't reach it to take it off. I've got some punishment coming for coming without permission too." As he looked for the gag in the drawer, she added, "It will keep me frustrated, because I want to be a pest and interrupt you with a lot of stupid questions."

Holding the ball and strap in his hand he asked, "You understand that wearing a gag doesn't relieve you of having to obey orders?" She nodded agreement. "That means if I ask you a question and you don't answer, it's the same as refusing an order." She nodded again. "Same thing when you want to ask permission to come."

"Yes, darling."

"All punishable conduct for a slave girl."

"Yes, Glen. Please gag me." She was asking for it, in unmistakable language. "Any last requests?" She gave him a look that would have melted steel, tendrils of smoke creeping into her eyes. "Keep me hot!"

With that she opened her mouth for the ball, raising her head so that he could buckle the strap under her hair. Not that he needed any urging! Without prompting she rubbed her head against the pillow and tried to talk through the gag, obediently demonstrating that she could not remove it or make any intelligible noise. If she wanted to be gagged, Glen decided it would be a perfect opportunity to make her have some second thoughts about it. Up on his knees, he straddled her chest, waving his pole at her, directly in front of her nose. "How'd you like to suck on that for awhile?"

She fumed. She said "YES!" into the gag, but all either could hear was a strangled gurgle. She pleaded with her eyes, and then nodded her head frantically.

"I can't hear you." She nodded her entire body, gurgling frantically, totally frustrated. "Plain case of refusing to answer a question or obey orders. We'll discuss punishment later, so think of something, and be ready." He eyed her, waiting. "What, no 'Yes, Glen?' More rank disobedience - and on your first full day of slavery. Tisk! Tisk! Better think up something good - like being tied over the end of the bed and getting your ass fucked."

He was a bit surprised by the look of horror on her face, accompanied by a near violent shaking of her head. So! She didn't like it up the back way, a fact which Glen considered puzzling, but also filed away for future reference. "Then think of something better. This way you'll have some incentive." He left the threat hanging as he lay back down beside her. She was perfectly positioned. Everything he wanted to touch was within close range of his hand.

"From what you've told me," he began, "you've already had a lot more practical experience than I did. Mine has been mostly from reading, and a couple of movies, but as you might have guessed, you're the first real live slave that I've had anything to do with. There were a couple of girls that I paddled a few times, one of them on a regular basis for a couple of months, but she moved away and that ended it.

"My first introduction to bondage as a kid was pretty much the classical one - playing cowboys and Indians. I had two cousins my age, and one of them loved being the 'damsel in distress' and of course I was the one detailed to tie her up each time our gang captured her. It was typical kid stuff, a rope around the wrists behind a post, that she got free from in about 30 seconds, and the game went on. I got a kick out of it, but I was too young to know what it was all about, and by the time I did find out, there weren't any more likely candidates to be found.

"It isn't a bit easier, maybe even harder for a guy, because the minute a girl sees a rope she yells 'rape!' and that's the last you see of her. From reading the magazines, you'd think that there are thousands of girls out there just waiting for the right man to come along and tie them up, but I'd suspect that about 95% of that is wishful thinking on the part of the writers, and the editor who wants to sell more magazines.

"There are girls - and men too - that are like you and enjoy bondage to a degree as part of their sex play, but getting the dominants and submissives together is extremely difficult. I wouldn't doubt that hundreds, if not thousands of men and women go through life frustrated because they either don't realize the things they want, or else never run across the other half that it takes to make a pair.

"You may not know it, you sexy little slave, but you are one rare hunk of women flesh!" He punctuated his comment with a finger, loaded with juice from his dripping cock, which he applied liberally to her smoldering clit, fanning it rapidly into blazing excitement.

"I know where you are coming from, because more than once when I've been out on a date with a girl, I could barely get it up enough to screw her, and I'd have to lie there fantasizing that she was tied up or in chains before I could come. Seeing the real thing - you - in handcuffs was what I'd always dreamed about. He moved over her again, first kissing her nipples, then working down across her taut stomach."

Lifting his head he suggested, "If you'd like me to continue, just say the word." Amy moaned against the gag, nodding again, wanting him. Frustrated, but loving her very frustration because it was his hands that had gagged her.

Glen grinned at her, but continued. "The college I went to must have been quite a bit more liberal than yours, as there were three sex shops in the downtown area, and even a red light district. That might sound like a lot compared to what you had, but it really wasn't. Only one of the three stores had any bondage magazines, and their selection seemed to always be picked over, but I slowly managed to accumulate a library of reading material. Then just when I was going good, I moved back home from college and the box of magazines disappeared during the move. Probably some kid helper discovered them and thought he'd found paradise. My family situation is much like yours. My mother died of cancer right after I graduated. It was a sudden thing - she went in for a checkup, feeling perfectly normal, they found something in her liver and two weeks later she was dead. My dad was killed in a cable car accident in the Swiss Alps while we were skiing there. I was an only child, and there are no other near relatives. By the way, you didn't say if you have any brothers or sisters?"

She shook her head helplessly. "Still not answering questions, eh? How about it, would you like me to stick this between your legs and ride you awhile?"

She stared at him, the wanting and needing clear in her eyes. She spoke into the gag, but did not move her head. "Not even a negative response! You're stacking up a lot of punishment time."

Too late, she nodded, cursing herself for being over eager and falling into a trap of her own making. Continuing as if there had been no interruption, Glen talked about his post-college career, taking over his father's highly successful real estate business and settling down into a fairly routine bachelor life. As he talked, he watched her expressive eyes, occasionally breaking away to admire the rest of her nudity, his hand touching constantly, moving from one point to another, keeping her riding an unreachable high.

"I went on a buying binge not long after Dad died. A business trip to New York exposed me to the full scale sex shops on 42nd Street, and I spent three entire evenings going from one to the next, picking up anything that looked even remotely interesting. That was before they closed them down. I wound up having to buy an extra suitcase to hold it all for the trip home. That weekend I holed up in the house, making it look like nobody was at home, and read my way through everything in the bag. There was a lot of trash and junk that I tossed out after just glancing through it. The publishers knew what sells, so they put a picture of a girl holding a whip or with her wrists loosely bound with rope on the cover, even if it has nothing at all to do with the contents. A few went out because they were just too rank. Breaking bones and spurting blood may turn a few people on, but I'm not one of them."

Amy blinked, a triple X rated mental picture displayed before her eyes, and signified her silent agreement with a nod.

"Most of them had pictures of course. The quality was something else though, as a lot of them were fuzzy, out of focus, poorly lighted or looked like they had been recopied from a negative that they scraped out of the bottom of a gravel pit. Then again, most of the pictures look like the models had been tied up by an eight year old. A lot of them look so faked that they turn me off, rather than on, just as if the rope had been laid across them, and not even tied. Now that we are in the age of the computer itís a different story. The pictures are often professional quality and there is more than enough to pick and choose from. Rope is cheap, so that's what most of them use, but a few of the higher quality publications and web sites go in for chains and handcuffs, or leather or rubber restraints. A lot of the writing was at about the eight year level as well. A few pages of 'See George tying Jane's wrist. See George tying Jane's ankle.' 'See George whipping Jane,' and you've lost all interest. Fortunately there are now some excellent writers among the chaff."

"One of the odd things was that you almost never found any reference to sex. The bondage or the punishment was always for the pure joy of it, with not a hint that it would lead to anything else, or that 'heaven forbid' George screws Jane after he ties her up. It isn't that they couldnít  get away with it, because you could find bondage magazines on the rack side by side with what they call 'fuck books.' Those are nothing more than a string of four letter words strung together with a few commas and periods. The guy starts fucking the girl on page one, and is still at it on the last page. Say, speaking of which, aren't you ready yet for some cock?" Amy made eager noises. Her eyes said "Yes!" in the clearest possible message. Glen frowned, mocking her. He shook his head. "Can't understand a word you're saying."

Then he suddenly remembered. "You've got to have some kind of a way of letting me know if something is wrong, or if something is too strenuous for you. It's important, so pay attention. If you aren't gagged, of course you have 'Park Avenue.' If you are gagged, then blink your eyes rapidly, and make 'beep' noises through your nose. If you are blindfolded then cross the first two fingers of each hand, or rap with the tips of the fingers. Got it?"

Her head moved up and down in agreement. She was again pleased by his concern. Glancing at his watch, he announced, "Lunch time." Getting up he quickly released one of her strapped ankles, squeezed the foot, which had quickly returned to a normal pink, back into the boot and zipped it up. Around on the other side of the bed he repeated with the second boot, then helped her to her feet, legs stiff.

With the handcuff key he switched her arms back in front, warning her, "Playing stork will be child's play if you touch either your clit or your nipples. Do you know what I mean?" A nod was all he got. "That's no answer. We're going to be a busy girl after lunch."

The refrigerator held all sorts of food. Glen issued orders. "Fix me a couple of sandwiches from that left over roast beef, while I get your lunch ready." He moved aside so that she could reach in to pick up the platter, her cuffs impeding her not at all. As Amy moved to the work counter, Glen reached into the freezer compartment and got out two ice cube trays.

At the sink he ran water over them, loosened the dividers and pulled them out, leaving the cubes in the trays. He glanced over at Amy as she bent over her cutting board, as if measuring her for size. He was, as she discovered a few moments later. She set the table, for one, and put the sandwiches and a bottle of beer beside his plate. Out of the corner of her eye she tried to follow what he was doing with the ice, but avoided showing any obvious display of interest. Glen had plenty of ideas of his own at the moment without needing her suggestions.

"That looks good," he praised, as he came back into the kitchen with the glass of his come. It went onto the counter near the back, behind the two ice trays. Politely, he escorted her to the counter and drew her attention to the arrangement. A suspicion of what was about to happen zinged through her mind, and only with the instant application of her mental control was she able to escape succumbing to a minigasm on the spot. Watching her eyes, Glen assessed the close call. "As you may have gathered, I decided to order a cold lunch for you. It's a special diet as well, high in protein to give you instant energy. I'm going to take the gag out, but you are not to speak unless I ask you a question. Your hands go behind you again."

He kept talking as he removed the gag and changed the handcuffs, "In order to enjoy this to the fullest, you will have to spread your legs to bring your body down to the counter height. Then you can lean forward, resting your extra curves in the receptacles I have so thoughtfully provided. Then your task is to eat up the entire contents of the glass, licking it carefully clean. All of this must of course be accomplished before I finish my lunch. You may not know that I am a fast eater, so if anything is left in the glass, I know a couple of convenient holes where I can store any of the ice cubes that are left over. In the meantime, I'll sit down at the table behind you and enjoy the view with my lunch, and perhaps even think about an afternoon snack. If you should happen to finish your lunch first, you will stay in position and wait for me. You need those nipples cooled off a bit anyway."

The position was obscene for one thing, intentionally humiliating but no less blush producing for Amy. She spread, leaned, and steeled herself for the icy contact. Her nipples led the way bravely into the Siberian ice floes. Even prepared for it, she jerked, but forced her nipples, then the lush forward curves of her breasts into the trays. The metal edges along the sides of her fleshy mounds seemed twice as cold as the ice itself. It was an exercise in will power, but the intimation that she would wind up with her cunt and ass stuffed with ice was a powerful inducement to comply with Glen's commands.

The semen was cold, and starting to dry at the edges. Unappetizing in appearance to anyone else, it sent Amy soaring. The congealed fluid was a treat she had been anticipating. She attacked it with her tongue, scooping it up into her mouth, savoring the manly tang, her mouth watering in enjoyment. The narrow glass was barely wider than her extended taster so that it rasped on the dried edges. She worked swiftly but carefully, needing no warning that if she were clumsy and the glass tipped over it would mean disaster.

Behind her, Glen feasted on the pose, listening to the slurping sounds she made as he very slowly nibbled at his lunch, stalling to give Amy ample contact with the twin ice trays, testing her reactions. Her idea of lunching on his come, embellished with his own inventiveness provided a pleasing diversion that was designed to accomplish a joint result - to arouse both of them. It worked.

The very bottom of the glass was her final target, her fantasy filling her mouth with the bulk of Glen's organ. She dreamed of sucking the very last drops from the tip, another part of her mind rigidly controlling and protecting her from the orgasm that she was building with both her fantasy and what Glen was making her do.

Her turgid nipples had bored their way down between the cubes, now pressed against the bottom of the frosty metal tray, nesting the front surfaces of her breasts in full contact with the melting ice. She had half way expected her heated nips to sizzle when they first touched the ice, her imagination playing delightful little tricks on her that fit right in with Glen's inventive ideas. Glen was just as horny. The sight of her pert ass cheeks spread wide, her brown hole clearly visible and her mound bulging down in twin fleshy folds between the tops of her boots was enough in itself, but adding the slobbering noises that Amy was making - was she doing it deliberately? - as she rooted in the glass, Glen was equally ready to shoot another load.

He finished the last sip of beer and stood up. Amy was motionless, her task completed, forcing her body to remain still, pressing her chilled tits into the ice, shivering both with cold and excitement as she fought to stave off the burgeoning orgasm building in her belly. She stiffened momentarily as she felt his hand thrust between her thighs, fingers probing, coming away wet. It was too tempting a target.

Glen altered his tentative plans to include a quick stand-up fuck, and suiting action to the thought he stepped forward, his stiff pole aiming itself, his hand providing a last second centering movement, and he was home, driving to the bottom of her slick walled cunt. She reared up off the ice like a walrus preparing to do battle, only to fall forward with a splash as his cock filled her to her throat.

Burning hot below the waist, ice cold above, Amy was torn bodily between the conflicting extremes, evoking a whole new range of sensations. As Glen moved in and out, filling and emptying her quivering cunt, the lust spilled out in a moaning scream that peaked as she came. Her body slumped even as she felt the warm spurts of his come flooding her, and she rested her cheek on the counter beside the empty glass. He raised her up, lifting her by the shoulders. Icy rivulets ran from her bobbing breasts, sending ripples of muscle tremors across her taut stomach at the same time that his hot jism was seeping out of her slit, soaking her thighs and the tops of her boots.

Glen grabbed a paper towel and caught most of it, wiping it away and discarding it casually into the garbage can. Amy didn't even have time to follow it with a longing look when she was pushed forward again, this time her mouth aimed at Glen's dripping cock. "Cleanup time," he announced. He held her lightly by the shoulders so that she wouldn't overbalance, and encouraged her to lick away every trace of her juices.

She was shivering with a chill when she finished, her nipples and the rounded masses of her breasts numb. He felt it and straightened her up, then shifted his hands to her waist, easily lifting her until she was sitting on the counter, legs jutting out in front of her. He stepped between them and mouthed a jutting nipple. A moment later Amy cried out in pain. It felt as if he had bitten her, but the pain was from a completely different source.

The heat of his mouth applied to the ice numbed surface had the same effect as using a blowtorch on a frozen water pipe. It was intensely painful to the delicate nerve endings under the skin, even though it was, unlike the torch, completely harmless. When he moved to her right nipple, she cried out again, and this time climaxed unmistakably.

When they were both through in the bathroom, and had cleaned up the kitchen, washing the dishes together, Amy was put back to bed like a child, as Glen cradled her in his arms, using the opportunity to give her a lingering kiss on the lips. She returned the kiss with fervor, still high, but calming down after an exciting - and painful - warming with a pair of hot washcloths. Her nipples were unscathed, if slightly red at the edges of the purple, still as erect and hard as the carved stone of a Greek statue.

By now they were so sensitive that she could feel the air movement on them as her chest rose and fell with her breathing. Using the handcuffs, Glen attached her wrists above her head, running a loop of rope through the link, tying it off at the post, out of reach. Her booted ankles were together again, strapped, and attached to the foot. She tested each bond, found them tight and secure. Glen adjusted a pillow to make her comfortable, then started to dress.

"Glen, what are you doing? Are you going somewhere?"

"Have to. I've got to check on the house." He grinned, "I didn't expect to be gone all night."

Amy smiled back, sharing the memory. The smile changed to anxiety. "Glen, you can't leave me alone - tied like this!" The exclamation was automatic, and Amy instantly regretted it.  "Oops, I'm sorry. Your slave girl spoke out of turn again. Please, punish me, Glen."

"You think up a suitable penalty while I'm gone - something to fit the crime. But, don't forget if I don't think it's enough, you get two punishments." With that he bent and kissed the tip of her nose, and walked out of the bedroom, glancing back at the door for a final glimpse of her in bondage. He mouthed the words, "No coming." She made a face at him, not quite daring to stick out her tongue.


For the first time in almost 18 hours Amy had the opportunity to think two consecutive thoughts without some kind of sexual interruption. Even as she mentally put all the loose ends back together she realized that she already missed Glen's constant attentions. She had his bonds as a surrogate lover to keep her occupied - and positioned - and hot! - until he came back, but there was a pang of loneliness that made being tied to the bed hard, even as she thrilled to her first experience with being tied up and left alone.

The momentary panic she had felt returned, full strength, almost making her come. What if Glen had an accident? He had the key, and it might be days before she was found, if at all. Her friends would call, and getting no answer would assume she was away on a trip. She twisted against the rope and cuffs, but there was no way to reach Glen's cunning knot. She considered rubbing the cuff link along the rope, but it was smooth nylon and she would wear herself out long before she made a dent in the strands.

Fighting the fear, she looked up at the ceiling, drawing deep breaths. Her head rolled to the side, and she noticed for the first time that the telephone had been moved to the edge of the stand, close to the bed. She breathed a sigh of relief. Glen hadn't left her totally helpless. In an emergency she had enough slack to reach the phone, pick up the receiver in her mouth and then use her nose to push the buttons. One more mark in his favor - Glen cared.

Reviewing the rapid pace of the hours since she met Glen she remembered the numerous other little things that had occurred as he cared for her at the same time that he was fulfilling her - and obviously his - fantasies. She could see in Glen everything that she had hoped Ralph would be, and more. With her limited experience she had expected that all sadists were as cruel and bloodthirsty as her ex-husband. She had accepted Glen's advances at the seminar in desperation, hoping for sexual fulfillment with a minimum of physical damage.

That the only thing approaching injury had been her own misguided misuse of the clothespins on her nipples was unbelievable. There was no doubt that Glen was a sadist, but was there such a thing as a gentle sadist? Amy was rapidly beginning to believe there was.

Things had been happening much too rapidly to focus her thoughts. Was she in love with Glen already? Or, was it her sexual needs, her craving for restraint and domination, her thirst for new sexual adventures in an area that she was only beginning to understand?  Feeling a bit frustrated, she tried to assess Glen's feelings toward her. Caring? Definitely! Understanding? Of course. Masterful? Inexperienced, but learning fast! Was he taking advantage of her submission?

She couldn't answer that question yet, but she felt sure the answer would be negative. She had called him "darling" without a definite or clear response but her intuition told her that while he might not respond in words, he was giving every indication by his actions. She thrilled as she remembered his kisses, and the feeling of his arms around her, and the feeling of his cock plunging into her cunt, or her mouth... and then had to postpone further thinking along those lines to avoid a quick climax. Glen, or any part of him, was potent stuff!

At the same time, she also realized that both of them had been discussing things and making plans as if this was already a permanent arrangement. She remembered asking Glen about the cage, and his ready agreement. If he came up with a cage to match her long time fantasy, it would be... Amy refused to finish the thought, bewildered by the vistas that it opened up. More importantly, how was she going to explain a man living in her house?

Things had loosened up a lot in the town, but barely to the point where unmarried couples openly lived together. It was a new decade now, but still not a new moral code away from the big cities. That might take care of itself, so she decided to wait and see what happened. One thing she was certain of, and that was that she was thoroughly "hooked" on bondage, or B&D as Glen referred to it. The orgasms she had achieved with the aid of fumbling self bondage were a far cry from the full blown megablasts that Glen's restraints had induced.

She was satisfied, but anything but sated by the new sex she was experiencing. She was enjoying it to the fullest, but each new peak was making her thirst for still another. One problem loomed. What was she going to suggest for a self-punishment? As she cast about for an answer the first thing that came to mind was an enforced session with her vibrator stuck up her cunt, but she instantly discarded it as being both not strenuous enough to be considered punishment as well as being a clear case of self indulgence.

She mentally reviewed some of her dreams, gradually slipping into a trance like state where the day dreams intermixed with reality. She tugged fitfully at her bonds, anxious to begin the caressing and fondling that had become an automatic part of her fantasizing, frustrated by the unyielding cuffs even as she was excited by her first experience with complete submission to someone else's will.

Rapidly she skimmed through the highlights of her recurring dreams, foiled at each new memory by a lack of the necessary equipment or implements as well as the fact that most of the "events" would result in the need for a week or two of recuperation. She was learning quickly that translating fantasy into fact was not always as easy as it seemed. All she accomplished was to increase the tantalizing itch in her cunt that begged to be scratched, frustrating her even more as she was forced to idle away the time until there could, or would be relief. Where WAS Glen, anyway?

At that moment, Glen was just getting ready to leave his house. Everything had been in order, but there were two calls from clients on his answering machine that he had to return, making appointments to show different properties. The delay made him impatient, anxious to get back to Amy, concerned about having left her alone in bondage for so long, especially the first time. He focused on the phrase, and its automatic assumption that there would be more times, even as he was politely trying to cut the talkative woman on the phone short.

He wondered idly what her reaction would be if she could see Amy the way he had left her, shackled to her bed. That just might stop the flow of words! Either that or a gag for her, he thought grimly, then grinned at the phone, savoring the idea. He had a small box under his arm as he locked the door, twisting the knob to check it, and walked into the garage, to his car. He slid the box onto the seat and followed it in to sit behind the wheel. The Saturday traffic was light, giving him a chance to do his own review of the unexpected events of the evening, night and now.

He had accepted an invitation to the seminar more for business reasons than anything else, expecting rightly that he would be bored. During the intermission, Amy had been standing talking next to the table where he was seated, and had set her drink down in a seeming moment of distraction on his papers. He had been a little over firm in asking her to remove it, annoyed by his own boredom, then startled by her literally melting at his order, making profuse apologies and all but asking him to punish her on the spot.

Sensing her submissive nature, roused instantly out of his boredom, he played a wild hope and deliberately dominated her. Without being crude or rude he had skillfully parried her apologies and then separated her from the woman she had been talking to. Before Amy really realized what was happening she was not only accepting Glen's polite demand that she join him after the seminar for a drink, she was begging him to make it a nightcap at her place, and renewing her apologies.


Chapter 8 - Reading Time

The next few hours, merging into their all night session and their morning continuation were already like a dream. Following her home in his own car, he had planned and discarded a dozen gambits to draw her into submitting to his special sexual needs. Once in her living room he had a chance to confirm her submissiveness, to the point where she was fully accepting his suggestions as orders. The incident with the handcuffs stuck out in his mind, as he realized that he would never forget the first sight of her lush nude body posed in the bedroom doorway.

And then to find out she had already handcuffed herself! It was almost too much. It was the stuff fiction writers would use, and never in his wildest dreams had Glen ever expected to see it happen in real life, let alone to him. As he had learned the cause of her fear he had relaxed, and it had a calming effect on her just to talk to someone, especially someone with at least a little familiarity with the world of domination and submission. He had easily spotted her growing excitement and interest in him, her acceptance of his total sexual domination and her willingness to participate both as a "victim" and as a prolific source of new ways of playing the game.

She seemed thrilled by being able to set her own punishments. It was an unexpected quirk he quickly incorporated into his plans, and a factor that he was certain would play an increasing role in their relationship. A significant fact was apparent. Not once had she complained about her bonds, even the pins which had nearly wrecked her nipples. She had been wearing the handcuffs for the entire period, and undoubtedly would continue to wear them without complaint for as long as he chose to leave them on. As long as he kept a watchful eye on her to avoid her self imposition of too stringent or too strenuous penalties, he was certain that she would be a constant source of arousal for him.

He noted with pleasure that just thinking about her lying on her bed, tied and waiting, was more than enough to keep his cock at full stand. That, despite the successive orgasms of the past hours. Very briefly he considered the possibility that she was putting on an act, somehow planning to trap and blackmail him, but all the evidence he had seen argued against it. So far as he could tell she was incapable of lying, although he had to admit there had been little opportunity to put that to a test. But, any actress talented enough to put on that show would be long since gone to Hollywood!

The next step was going to be the difficult one. Amy seemed just as ready for a long term relationship as he was, recognizing the fact that both had by accident found their ideal partner. She had been obviously more than willing to invite him to move in. But, besides the problems with explaining this to the neighbors, he couldn't leave his own house alone for long periods, since he had his office there.

He chuckled to himself as he remembered how she had immediately backed down when he threatened to leave, and invited him to stay the night. As his car rolled into her driveway, he noted the fact that it was secluded enough so that few, if any of her neighbors would realize that a strange car had been parked there all night. He decided he had things going very well and he would just have to make decisions as the problems presented themselves.

In the house, lying impatiently on the bed, Amy had come to a number of matching conclusions by the time she heard his car. Her heart leaped, unsure whether it was Glen or someone else, not yet familiar with the car sounds.        Glen parked, picked up the box, and using her key let himself into the house again. As she heard the key in the lock Amy gave a sigh of relief and relaxed as much as her bonds would let her. He left the box on the couch and walked into the bedroom, eating her up with his eyes. He bent down and kissed her waiting lips.

"Miss me?"

She sighed, "Yes, darling."

"How did you enjoy your first time alone and tied up, helpless?"

"It was quite a thrill. Even better than I had expected, although I was scared until I saw that you had fixed the telephone for me. It... Being helpless has a powerful effect. It kept me aroused and horny the whole time, even though I was trying to think about other things."

"Such as?" He began to untie her as they talked.

"Ohhh... about us, and what a wonderful time we had last night. And this morning. How lucky we were to meet, and to be so compatible."

Her frankness pleased him immensely. She balanced on her toes, flexing her legs slightly to restore her sense of balance. He bent down and kissed her again, capturing and raping her tongue with his. Her hands were behind her again as he led her by the elbow to the living room. She saw the box.

"A present. For me?"

"Of course. Sorry, but I couldn't find a flower shop open this afternoon."

"May I open it?"

"How? I'll do the honors, but first I have to get you in the proper position to appreciate it. I want your undivided attention."

"Sounds thrilling, and if it's what I think it is, you'd have my complete attention anyway." "Just want to make sure." As he said the words, he stood her at the end of the coffee table, and quickly tied her ankles to the legs, spreading and holding her thighs well apart. A rope went over a hook where a hanging plant was supposed to be suspended, tugged with Glen's full weight to assure the hook was solidly embedded, then tied through the cuff link.

He gave it a tug, and Amy bent forward at the waist helpless to resist as her shackled arms rose behind her. Glen watched her carefully as he tightened it, tying it off when she was hanging flat over the table, her arms pulled well up behind her. The hanging globes of her breasts dangled enticingly, her unfailingly erect nipples taut and boring straight down. "Comfy?"

"Strained, would be a better word."

"Just wanted to introduce you to a classic bondage position. It can get worse. If for example you were in the hands of the Gestapo and they wanted to learn the name of your contact in the underground, a bit more of a pull and you would be on tiptoes. If you still wouldn't talk, the toes come off the floor, the full weight is on the shoulders, and the pain becomes unbearable."

"I know," she agreed, "I've dreamed the same plot a hundred times, and read about how they would drop the victims of the Inquisition to dislocate the shoulders. It's simple, but it's effective! I've never been able to try it before."

In spite of the obvious discomfort, Amy was clearly enjoying being bound for the first time with rope, even in such a contorted position. Glen considered tightening the rope some more, but decided to wait and see how she reacted to the initial stressing of her arms, not wanting to push her too far, too fast. "I've brought along some of my own stuff, but first I'd like to see those worn out magazines you were talking about."

"They're in the closet, on the top shelf at the back, under the blue blanket."

She could hear him rummaging, then he came back with her entire collection, four magazines and half a dozen books. She turned to look at him, hair falling in her eyes. "I told you my reading had been limited."

He laid them on the coffee table, directly below her head, giving her a bird's eye view as he skimmed through them quickly, nodding a couple of times. "I have duplicates of all of these." He held one up where she could see it. "This is the only one of the four that is worth anything. The models in the other three are faking, and the drawings are mostly of acrobatic positions that would rupture a trained athlete."

"Yes, I liked that one. They were all given to me, so I didn't waste any money on them." Glen opened the box and started laying things out as she watched. Her eyes followed his hands, then examined each new item intently. There was a pair of handcuffs similar to hers, a leather gag, lengths of small chain and padlocks, leather straps, a tape recorder.

"A tape recorder?"

"The better to keep up with all of your delightful ideas for bondage, my dear." His tone was that of the villain in a Victorian play. "I also plan to record for posterity some of the sensuous screams and other arousing sounds you make when you come." 

Her "Oh, Glennnn!" was a wail of embarrassment. He checked to make sure the tape was ready and turned it on, then stacked a half dozen cassettes beside it. It would take a lot of screaming to fill all those, she decided, turned on by the very idea.

At the bottom were a dozen magazines and catalogs. He let her look at the cover of the first, a photo of a model in bra and panties, tied with her back against a post, then began turning the pages. She was at the right height to read the captions comfortably, although her position put a constant strain on her neck muscles to hold her head up.

She soaked up the pictures, wanting to read the accompanying stories and articles, but Glen was deliberately hurrying her. Even though she was motionless, her breathing sounded as if she were running hard. Pictures caught her eye, positions that intrigued her, bondage gear she had never seen before, some of which she could hardly believe. A drawing of a woman straddling a wooden plank, legs tied in a wide "V" with her arms pulled up behind her in the same way that she was tied. On another page a girl stood in a doorway, chains holding her in a wide "X" that left her fully exposed, even if scantily clothed.

Another was tied by the ankles to the back of a straight chair, bent forward over it with her wrists tied to a front rung. On the same page was a girl bent over a tall stool, strapped to it by wrists and ankles with heavy leather straps, with a man leering at her exposure, threatening her with a cane. "Stop a minute please, Glen. Turn back a page."

He flipped the page, giving her a better look at a young woman locked in a wooden device on a stand, a split plank pinioning her neck and wrists. She drank it in. "That wouldn't be hard to make, would it?" Her interest and desire were obvious.

"A good one evening project in my workshop," he agreed, "A couple of pages further, she's in a portable stocks - a Chinese cangue."

He found the picture for her. "They used them for punishing criminals. Once the convict was locked into it he - or she - had to depend on others for food and water, and usually slowly starved to death. There are all kinds of possibilities," he continued. "They used them as a form of torture too. By setting the ends on two posts the captive could be forced to stand on tiptoe, or by putting weights on the ends forced to squat in a hole in the ground. To prolong the punishment they cut a slot in the wall or floor into which the side or end of the cangue would fit so that the victim could get a bit of rest.

"Somewhere I read about something similar, probably borrowed from the Chinese, used to imprison a couple found guilty of adultery. They were locked in a double cangue, back to back, so that they were touching, but powerless to help each other. One thing about it, the cangue made a name for itself because it was a cheap, easy to make device that could serve a multitude of purposes. The Chinese liked to have the punishment fit the crime, and they could make them as big or small as they chose, add metal straps until they weighed a hundred pounds or more, or make a thin light one that was more of a humiliation than a punishment."

Amy was visibly reacting to the pictures and Glen's vivid description, squirming gently against her bonds, her long hair moving with the slight trembling of her body.

"The big ones were of course reserved for the worst criminals, because they were an automatic sentence of death. There was no way to sit or lie down when you were locked in, and falling down meant a broken neck. But, women weren't exempt from wearing them. A prostitute would get thrown out on the street in one, since there was no way she could sell her body. They were also a favorite with the rich Mandarins, who would take two of their wives or concubines that were fighting and lock them both in cangues and put them in a room together. They couldn't feed themselves so one had to feed the other, taking turns. They usually wound up as fast friends by the time they were released. The cangues were a very economical portable prison for the poor districts too." As he talked, Glen was watching Amy closely as she projected herself into a fantasy centered on the stimulus that the pictures and his words were producing.

Her breathing was becoming even more rapid, her eyes glassy, focused on some ancient Chinese prison where even now her jailers were preparing a cangue for her that would be riveted in place, to wear for the rest of her life. As the first rivet was driven home one of the guards jabbed his hand between her legs and she jerked against her tied ankles to discover that the hand was Glen's and that her clit was about to short circuit again. "Glen, please, may I come? I'm about to come, please?"

"Go ahead, but let me hear it!" She had forgotten the tape recorder, and was too busy yelling her lungs out to remember it until she came back down again, hanging limply from her racked arms. 

"You recorded all that," she accused.

"Sure. Want to listen?"

"Do I have a choice of programs?"

"Sorry, only one station, Y-O-U." He manipulated the buttons, the tape reversed, stopped, started, and Amy listened for the first time to her own coming. The sounds in themselves were exciting, even to an uninvolved listener, and the startled girl discovered that they were a very potent aphrodisiac, carrying her right back up the path to a second orgasm in as many minutes.   She echoed the plea on the tape in time to avoid any additional punishment, and for the second time used her vocal cords to convince her audience of one that she was enjoying her orgasm to the fullest.

"Guess I'll have to get two recorders," he murmured as he stroked her breasts, bringing her down from her high, "one to record the first come and the other to record you listening to yourself come. That was a doozy!"

"That was wonderful," she whispered, savoring his tender touching. Gathering strength, she became almost gay, pouring out a new found desire that was as old as her first consciousness of bondage.

"Sir, you've done such a wonderful sales job on this cangue that I'd like to buy one. What colors do they come in?"

Entering into the game he shot back, "Any color you wish madam. We have a special on them this week, so if you'll just sign right here... Oops, I must apologize, I forgot your hands were occupied elsewhere. Just kiss the salesman, and you'll get immediate delivery." 

He leaned forward to make it easy, his tongue nearly getting raped as she ground her lips against his in an urgent demand. Whew," she exclaimed pulling away to avoid a third spend, "Did you say immediate delivery or immediate orgasm?"

"We aim to please." His fingers aimed, finding new targets of opportunity. She was powerless to avoid them, drained and, you might say, strained.

The pages began turning after several minutes of finger dexterity training which sent Amy's pulse rate soaring again. Each new picture was like a treasure chest to the bound girl, each triggering immediate, if momentary fantasies, ideas, desire. Especially desire. "You know," she admitted, "I'd love to start at page one and have you fix me up like every one of the pictures."

He peered up at her face, smiling. "You know, I think that could be arranged." The pages went by, one by one, Amy peering intently, asking questions, expressing interest. The tape recorder was on again so that Glen could remind himself of her likes, and the extremely rare expressions of a dislike. One came when she saw a picture of a man kneeling in bondage before a man dressed in leather.

"You mean the..."

"Gays," he finished for her.

"They dig bondage too?"

"It's just like the rest of the population. A certain percentage go for it. From some of the literature it can get pretty rough."

Amy shook her head in amazement, learning.

A drawing of two girls caught her eye and she stopped Glen to study it more closely. Both were wearing high heeled shoes, standing on one foot, holding the other leg straight out in front. Each girl had her wrists in manacles, the chain passing under the outstretched leg. Both were holding trays, with a whip in each tray. "An exercise in endurance," Glen pointed out. "The first girl to tire drops her leg, the whip falls to the floor, and she gets punished by the winner."

"One thing about it, it would be a short contest," Amy commented, "because that would be an impossible position to hold for more than a couple of minutes - especially in heels."

"No doubt." was his cryptic response. "Now, you were asking about a punishment helmet. How does this grab you?" he asked, turning to a new picture. "It's not the best photography, but at least it will give you an idea."

Amy drew a deep, ragged breath. "Wow! That's even better than I imagined it! All right, I'll beg. Glen, darling will you please make me one of those too?"

"Afraid that's a bit more than I could handle without some practice. But, there are several models listed in one of the catalogs I brought." He dug down toward the bottom of the box. "Here, take a look." He spread the double page before her excited eyes.

"Three hundred and thirty nine dollars! They've got to be kidding!"

"I told you leather bondage gear was expensive. The outfit that puts out this catalog is one of the less expensive ones. The guy that runs it seems to be a bondage fan himself, and he tries to make it as easy as he can on his customers. There's an order form at the back, giving all the measurements I'll have to take so that I can send for it."

"Gee, I never even thought about measurements. That could be a problem with some things - making sure they fit."

"Even the helmets cause problems. There are a lot of different sized heads. Then, when you get into things like leather pants or bras there are several other measurements that are needed. Then come the accessories, whether you want locking buckles, wide or narrow straps, etc."

"Well, a girl can't just dash into her local sex shop and try one on. You just about have to do it by mail to protect your privacy."  

"That's true, although you'd be surprised. There's usually at least one girl in the shop I go to, almost every time I go in. Some of them look like they are picking up things for their 'clients' but fairly often you'll see a girl in there with her boyfriend, or a husband and wife. It's amazing how fast things are changing."

"I don't think I'd have the courage to go in one of those places, much as I'd like to see everything."

"Then I'd just have to handcuff you, put a collar and a leash on your neck, and drag you along."

"GLEN! YOU WOULDN'T!!!" Amy was almost screaming with shock.

"I just might," he threatened. I saw a guy do that with his girl friend one evening. He made her pick out a dildo and pay for it, and then wouldn't let the clerk wrap it. Made her march out holding it in her fist. I got the feeling she was being punished for something."

"God, I'd come on the spot if you did that to me. That is, right after I died of embarrassment!"

"I'll keep that in mind, so just consider it a promise, if you get too hard to handle."

"Now that you happened to mention handling, I'm about to burn out my circuits from all the excitement. That's pretty potent stuff to spring on a country girl fresh out of school."

"Ummn, methinks the lady doth protest too much." His chuckle joined her girlish giggle.

"Right now I could stand a quick feel to put me over the top.....Ohhhhh, Glen!"

He had both hands on her before she could finish. She protested, "Glen, please! The rocket's ready to go, but first would you tighten the rope so that I'm on tiptoe? I've been in this position so long I hardly feel it."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to the way you gobble up pain like you were having a Coke." Her answer was lost in a sudden moan as he adjusted the rope, her arms coming up a seeming impossible distance before she began to rise onto her toes. She hung head down for a moment, then raised it, flailing her hair, grunting from the pressure on her shoulders.

Glen made sure the recorder wasn't going to run out of tape at the crucial moment, stalling a bit to let her savor the new strains on her body. If this was what she wanted, she was certainly going to get it! On a scale of 1 to 10, the ensuing climax was a strong eight, complete with body thrashing, head flopping, a mixture of loud gurgling cries and semi-screams and finished with a rousing thump as Amy jerked her body with her racked shoulders, pulling herself and the table into the air for a long moment. Glen could only stare in amazement at what he had accomplished with a few moments of finger play.

The rope was still holding her on her toes when she came down far enough to focus her eyes again. She groaned with relief as he untied it, her arms flopping uselessly against her back for a moment. Even though she enjoyed it, it still hurt. Stooping, he untied her ankles from the table legs, then moved her cuffs to the front. He dug into the box, and pulled out a lengthy piece of chain, and several padlocks. "Here, fix yourself up with this, and we'll see about some supper."

Not quite sure what Glen had in mind, Amy took the chain, and after one false start bent double and locked the end to her left ankle with one of the locks. Measuring accurately with her eye she left a long length and locked a second loop around the other ankle, leaving just enough to reach her neck. She worked the end around her neck a bit awkwardly, then locked it.

She straightened up, moved her arms up and down, testing, then picked a link and ran the hasp of the last padlock through the center link of her cuffs. There was just enough slack in the chain dangling from her neck so that she could reach her arms out straight, but she was unable to reach her waist, a point she demonstrated for Glen's benefit, turning and twisting, with a musical swirl of the links.

It was music to Glen's ears of course, and he exerted all of his restraint to keep from grabbing her in his arms and carrying her back to the bed. She grinned impishly, reading his thoughts even though his face remained impassive. It would be play time later! She got down to the business of preparing a meal for them.    "How about a couple of thick steaks? Just happen to have a couple in the fridge."

"Dunno about you, but I'm starved. Come to think of it, you look good enough to eat, too."

She smiled to herself, thinking, "He sure knows how to keep a gal's blood moving!" Aloud, she teased, "Maybe you'd like to have me for dessert?"

"You were already on the menu." She made a face, her clit suddenly joining her turgid nipples which were tingling in anticipation, and turned to the refrigerator to get the steaks out. As Glen set the table, he watched her testing her chains, having to lift one foot to get enough slack to reach the meat, the action as unconscious as if she had spent her entire life in restraints.

As the steaks sizzled on their plates, Glen set her in her corner chair again, this time unlocking an ankle long enough to pass the loop behind the table leg before relocking it. He went to the box, got out a dildo, and a few seconds later slid Amy and her chair firmly against the leg, which pushed the last of the dildo into her cunt and held it there.

It was a big one, and Amy felt stuffed, even as she began to fill her stomach with food. By the time the last bite had been washed down, Amy had slid forward far enough so that all but the very base of the dildo was inside her, her outer lips peeled back around the curve of the wooden leg. Her clit was only a fraction of an inch away from the in curving design of the wood, frustrating her efforts to bring herself off. All it did was make her hotter and hotter.

While they were cleaning up, Glen stopped long enough to rewind the recorder, and entertained her during the dish washing with a replay of her comments and questions about the magazines and catalogs, culminating with her plea to be pulled higher and the crashing climax. Amy stood hunched over the sink, listening with rapt attention to each sound that she had made, her eyes glazing as she remembered making them, fully aroused again. Her thighs rubbed together, clinking her chains, and drawing a warning from Glen, "Keep that up, and I'll have to put a spreader bar between those pretty knees."

Obediently, if reluctantly she spread her legs apart, making more lovely chain noises for both of them to enjoy. "Let's see whether rigor mortis has set in your nipples. It wouldn't hurt for you to get your circulation in your feet moving again before bedtime too."

He unlocked the padlocks, laying the chain aside and getting the pliers. He stooped at her side, caught the slide in the jaws and with a single motion slid it down from her thigh to the sole of her foot. The boot stood for a second, loose, then collapsed of its own weight. Swiftly Glen repeated on the other zipper, then held the boot as she pulled her foot loose. She squealed as the sensation returned, doing a spirited dance on the cool floor as her bare feet reacted to it.           

Her legs and feet looked like she was wearing dead white stockings, with tiny dots marking every stitch in the leather. Seconds later her legs were suffused with color as if she had changed to a pair of red silk hose, and it was several minutes before the deep red faded to a healthy, if somewhat flushed pink.

"I can see where I'll be wearing those a lot more often," she enthused. That was a super idea - even if I did think of it myself!" She displayed her legs for Glen, wriggling her toes for the first time in hours.

"If you can take those walking torture chambers in stride like that, I can see that you're going to need some pretty stringent bondage to keep you happy."

"Don't worry! If you keep coming up with items like my afternoon at the end of a rope, I'll be more than happy."

"I can't believe the way you take all this in stride and keep coming back for more. I'm not being insulting when I say that I think you are insatiable!"

"It isn't all me. It takes two to do this right, and with someone like you around to arouse me, I just want to go on and on. Meeting you was about the best thing that has ever happened to me." She walked over and offered her lips. "All those 'goodies' you brought along were just about the best birthday present a girl - a slave girl - could ask for."

"Birthday! How come you didn't say anything? Which one is it?"

"I'm proud to announce that today I am 24. Uulp! Glen!!!" The two exclamations came as Glen sat down in the kitchen chair, pulled her to him, and across his lap. With one hand he grabbed her cuffed wrists, and with the other laid the first of her birthday smacks on her taut buttocks.

"There was a little matter of a spanking that we postponed last night, so 24 birthday spanks ought to be a good starter. You've read the books, so I'm sure you know the routine?" He paused, waiting.

"Unhh, Yes, Glen. That was one, and... Thank you, Glen."

Smack! "Two. Thank you, Glen." She learned, quickly.

The twin globes were red by the time she counted to 24. Very red, and stinging. Amy hardly felt the pain, as she was too busy transferring the sensations from her butt to her groin where her orgasm was waiting, motor revving up, as it were. Each spank carried her a little higher, and at 24 she was so close... Hand poised, Glen eyed her. "Ready?" She twisted her head, looking up at him devotedly. She nodded, poised.

SMACK! "And, one to COME on!!!" So she did, loudly. She would carry the hand print of the last one for at least 24 hours. Glen shook his tingling fingers and grabbed her to keep her from flopping onto the floor in her excitement.

Amy's nipples had been boring holes in his thigh the whole time. He rolled her over in his lap, shoving his stiff pole to one side as it dragged against her, leaving a damp trail across her smooth skin. "Now, a kiss for the birthday gal. Happy birthday, honey." The kiss was full of promise for both of them, and when he broke at last they needed no words to understand each other.