It was snowing heavily now and it was getting chilly in my very small cabin out in the wilds of Colorado. The cabin was at the back of a five acre lot on a seldom-traveled road. The road was rapidly filling up with snow, and I was going to be snowed in very soon now.
I didn’t mind. I am a lead programmer for a small Colorado software company. I write code on my own computer and then upload it to the company site for them to test and assimilate into their code package.
I was self-contained as to food and propane heat. It would be no problem at all to wait out the blizzard in quiet and relative comfort.
I had just finished uploading my latest code and was ready to quit for the day when I was very startled by a loud knocking on my door.
It was a woman -- a girl really. She was dressed in a ski outfit with tight pants, and a hooded jacket that came down to her waist. She came in as if she owned the place and made a beeline for the fire.
She introduced herself as Belinda Browncastle and then paused, waiting for an exclamation of recognition from me. When I looked blank, she added that her father was Henry Browncastle who was CEO of Browncastle, Inc., a large conglomerate. He is a billionaire, she added with a very superior air.
She imperiously handed me some keys and said that I could fetch her luggage from her car which was in a ditch close to where my long driveway intersected the road. She clearly considered me a lackey who would jump to do her bidding. She added with a sniff of disdain that what with the blizzard, she would have to stay here until it blew over. She looked appalled as her gaze traveled around the one-room cottage.
"You seem to be in good physical shape. You come with me and show me what to bring in." I declared. "There isn’t much room here for a lot of extra stuff."
"No, you can handle it." She declared. "And bring in all five suitcases. Where is the toilet? "
I pointed to a small curtained-off area in a far corner and sat down in my easy chair. "Help yourself. And I guess we forget about the luggage."
She was very annoyed by my last remark. "I told you who I am. Now go get my luggage."
But I remained comfortably sitting and just stared at her. She disappeared behind the curtain and did her business. When she came out, she was red in the face. "Go get my luggage!" she demanded.
I continued staring at her. "Is there anyone that you would like to call?" I asked. "My phone still works. But I expect to lose it before too long. Be my guest."
She stared back at me for a moment and then picked up the phone and dialed a number. When she reached her dad, her conversation went something like this: "Dad, I took a wrong turn in the mountains and my car is in a ditch. I am stuck in a godforsaken hovel in the middle of nowhere with a rude and insolent man. There is only one room and one bed and the snow is so bad that I am stuck here until the road is cleared." She listened for a moment. Then she handed the phone to me.
Her dad quizzed me as to who I was, where and how I worked, and the situation of the blizzard. I volunteered the GPS coordinates of my "hovel" as well. He took my phone number and said that he would call me back in a little bit.
So I sat and she stood while her dad checked up on my bona fides.
When he called back, he sounded reassured. "You check out as a very responsible young man. You company vouches for your integrity. I think that Belinda lucked out. Belinda lost her mother four years ago and it really affected her. You may have noticed her arrogance. I apologize for that. She really isn’t so bad underneath it all. You have my permission to treat her anyway that you want. Just no physical abuse. Don’t you dare hurt her. It might be better to tie her up if she gets out of hand. That always used to work on her mother." He sighed deeply, clearly thinking of olden days. "Belinda needs firm guidance. As to the single bed, again you have my permission to sleep with her but not to have intercourse with her. That is out! But aside from that, deal with her as you will. Now let me talk with Belinda again."
Belinda listened to her dad, protesting vehemently as he apparently laid down the law. "But dad, he is a nerd. He is a nothing. You should see the state of this place. He can sleep in the chair. I don’t want him in bed with me. And tell him to fetch my luggage from the car. He is arrogant and rude. Tell him who I am."
She listened some more, and then hung up with a long-suffering sigh. "Why are men so obsessed with tying up women? He said that you had his permission to tie me up if that was necessary to keep me in line. You male chauvinist pigs! Perverts!"
She looked around and sat in my office chair. "Now please get my luggage."
"Only if you come also." I declared with some amusement.
"You bastard!" and she stomped to the door.
It was tough going, trying to hike to her car. And when we got there, she wanted to haul five suitcases up to the cabin. I put my foot down, and she compromised on two suitcases. She mumbled that she wouldn’t need any of her good clothes in such boorish company anyway.
She expected me to carry both suitcases, but I picked up the heavy one and started up to the cabin. She watched me for a moment, and resignedly picked up the other one. She was furious, and showed it by banging down her suitcase when we reached the hut and stomping around noisily.
"I am not going to share the bed with you," she declared, "You can have the chair."
I amusedly pointed out that it was my bed and my cabin, and that I would sleep in the bed. She could join me or not as she chose. If she preferred the chair, there was an extra blanket that she could put around her. But the heat was going to be turned way down overnight, and she would be both cold and uncomfortable.
But I did reassure her on one point. "Your dad said that I could tie you up and force you if necessary. But I am not going to tie you up and drag you to bed. Have the chair with my blessings."
She took off her jacket and huddled in front of the propane heater. She was moderately attractive. She was very thin: a "stick insect" as Bridget Jones would describe her. Her breasts did push out her sweater in a satisfactory way. Her waist was very slender, and she had long, thin legs encased in tight ski pants.
She looked around the cabin. It was large enough for one person, but it was too small for two. It was going to be very cramped and we would definitely get in each other’s way. The toilet was behind a curtain that also concealed a shower. So we could have a modicum of privacy. But not much.
She examined my library. There were the usual programming manuals, and a number of biographies and books on business mergers and business catastrophes. "What are you doing with the complete works of Jane Austen?" she asked. "I had to read her ‘Sense and Sensibility’ in college and it was a real bore."
I explained that Jane Austen gave wonderful insights into human character and human social idiosyncrasies. She has been compared to Shakespeare in that regard. She was a fantastic novelist. It was a real pity that she died before she realized the full extent of what she had accomplished.
Belinda was not impressed. She rolled her eyes.
I asked her about her background and about her plans for the future. She had graduated from college with a major in Home Ec. She had no plans for the future except to go skiing and attend fancy parties. Paris today and Hong Kong tomorrow. There may be advantages to being a billionaire’s daughter, but trotting around the globe to parties didn’t sound like one of them to me. I was far happier in my isolated cabin in the woods.
Finally it was time for bed.
She tried the easy chair. I told her where to find the extra blanket, which she bundled around her shoulders. There were sounds of her moving around, trying to get comfortable. But, as I knew from experience, it was impossible.
Before too long, I heard her open her suitcase and then heard the rustling of clothes. Finally she cautiously slid into bed next to me. "If you touch me I will scream!" She declared forcefully.
I laughed. "How horrible! It would be catastrophic if you screamed. The world would end."
She got my point. We were alone together, a hundred miles from the next person. I was bigger than she was. So she had better pick her way cautiously.
I fell off to sleep, and when I woke up in the middle of the night, she was laying half on top of me in my arms. Although I knew that she was huddling for warmth rather than for affection, it did please me more than I wanted to admit.
In the morning, I was enjoying the feel of her warm body next to mine, when she suddenly woke up. She jerked away from me in horror. "Let go of me you pervert," she demanded. "Pervert" seemed to be one of her favorite words.
I pointed out that she had come over to my side of the bed. She was the intruder, not me. Then I reluctantly got out of the warm bed, turned up the heat and light, got some fresh clothes and went behind the curtain to shower and dress. When I returned, she was still in bed.
"I’m hungry," she declared. "I would like some scrambled eggs and bacon on toast. And I will eat it in bed."
"I want you to make it for me." She demanded.
"Nope," I replied, "make your own breakfast or go hungry."
"You are a bastard. Do you know that?" she spit out.
"I thought that I was a pervert." I replied. "Can I be both?" She didn’t think that that was funny.
But she did, very reluctantly, get up and disappear behind the curtain to shower and put on some clothes. She came out in another sweater and tight pants that highlighted her thin body. But she stomped around and emitted heavy sighs, making it very clear that she was being put upon by a dilatory servant. Last night’s physical intimacy came to naught.
After breakfast, she absolutely refused to do her dishes. I insisted. She refused. She had never, ever done dishes, and she never would, she declared. I pointed out that in a hut this small we both had to cooperate to make the place livable. And that clean dishes came under that category. But she was absolutely adamant. No dishes! And she also had her suitcase open on the floor with her soiled clothes lying everywhere.
It was time for me to make a stand. "I can’t force you to clean dishes or to be tidy, but I do have carte blanch from your dad to punish you by tying you up. And if you don’t behave yourself, I will do it. I will hogtie you on the bed while I do your chores. And I will tie you so tight that you will soon beg me to do the dishes. What do you say?"
"What is it with men and bondage, anyway?" she asked. "What is so sexy about tying up a woman? It just looks very uncomfortable to me."
"Well," I pointed out, "women are generally unapproachable. They have their guard up against unwanted advances most of the time. They have to do so to protect themselves, but they appear prickly to shy men. We get the impression that we will be slapped down if we get too close to a woman. But when a lady is bound and gagged, she is vulnerable to our advances. We are in control, and their guard has been dismantled. There is nothing as sexy as a helpless and submissive woman, open to anything that the dominant male wants to do to her."
She was not impressed. "You are all wimps. It is pathetic that you have tie a woman up to feel manly. Just pathetic!" I waited for the inevitable "Pervert." But it didn’t come this time.
"Are you going to clean your dishes and tidy up your clothes?" I asked.
"Go to hell!" was the answer.
I didn’t go to hell right then. That would probably be a later destination. But I did go over to a utility cabinet and get out a large ball of heavy twine, along with a sharp pocket knife.
She looked alarmed. "You wouldn’t dare, you pervert."
I cut off thirty feet of twine and started towards her. She backed away from me until she ran into the bed, where she sat down very abruptly. "Get away from me! Don’t you touch me! I will tell daddy and he will ruin you."
"Your dad told me to tie you up if you wouldn’t behave. You are not behaving. Therefore... this is your last chance. Will you tidy up your mess?"
After the predictable "Go to hell." I pinned her down on the bed. She started cursing in a most un-lady-like fashion as I rolled her over face-down and brought her wrists behind her back. I crossed them high on her back and ran twine around them many times. I ran the twine over her shoulders to anchor her wrists high up on her back, and then under her arm pits where it was again tied around her wrists.
She suddenly fell silent and stopped struggling. "I don’t like this. Let me go! Damn it. Let me go. Pervert!"
I kept winding twine around her arms and body. I used slip knots as I would want to use the twine again after I had freed her. In spite of her indignant protests, I cut off another forty feet of twine and used it to tie her legs tightly together at her ankles, and above and below her knees. By this time she was completely helpless, and her protests were dying down. She knew that she was "had". She made a neat sexy package.
Another twenty feet of twine was used to attach her ankles to her upper-body harness, putting her in a stringent hogtie. I then pushed her onto her side and got up from the bed.
She lay there helplessly. "How do you like them apples?" I asked.
I got another "Go to hell!" for my trouble.
So I cleaned her dishes and put away her clothes while she glared at me. If wishes were horses, I would be dead by now. Or something like that anyway.
Just then the phone rang. It was daddy checking up on his daughter. "How are you all making out up there?" he asked. I described our disagreement and the present state of his daughter. He asked to speak with her, so I brought the phone over to where she was lying hogtied on the bed.
She let out a torrent of complaint to dear old dad. She wanted me castrated at the least and preferably murdered -- certainly ruined financially and professionally.
But dear old dad told her in no uncertain terms that she had gotten what she deserved. "If I have to back you or Rob, I will back Rob every time," he told her.
I then took the phone back and he reiterated his support of my drastic actions against his daughter. "Just remember: Don’t you dare hurt her, no intercourse and no lasting marks on her body. But if you can make her an acceptable member of the human race, you will have my eternal gratitude."
When I hung up the phone, she was still defiant, but was definitely weakening. She lay shivering in her hogtie glaring at me. I winked at her and pulled a blanket over her bound body. "Just lie there a while and meditate on your sins." I suggested.
"Go to hell, pervert!" was her very predictable response.
I sat down in front of my computer and started shooting a very annoying program bug. I stepped through the program, carefully examining the situation at each line of the program. I was deep into the process when she broke into my thoughts. "I have to go to the bathroom. I don’t want to soil your bed. You have such a fetish for cleanliness." There seemed to be some sarcasm in her last sentence.
So I got her out of her hogtie and leg bondage. I didn’t touch the twine wrapped around her upper body. I helped her up, marched her to the toilet, pulled down her pants and panties, and sat her down. She glared at me.
When I came back, she looked triumphant. She had had a bowel movement and thought that I would have to free her arms so that she could wipe herself. But I had taken care of my mother a few years ago. She had Parkinson’s disease, and I had gained ample experience in tending helpless women. So I wiped her, and restored her panties and pants. I latched her belt very tight around her waist. I have always liked women with small waists.
"Are you going to keep me tied up like this all the time?" she asked. "If I am tied up I can’t help around the cabin."
"As I recall, you are in this position because you refused to help out around the cabin." I responded.
I got another "Go to hell." for my troubles.
So I pushed her down in my easy chair and again bound her legs in twine. Then I returned to my debugging. But she saw my deep concentration, and started chanting loudly to annoy me, "Pervert. Pervert. Pervert..."
"You are begging to be gagged," I threatened.
"Go to hell." was the defiant and rather predictable reply.
I sighed and got a large washcloth. She eyed it apprehensively. "You wouldn’t dare. Pervert!"
But I did dare. I pinched her nose until she opened her mouth to breathe, and jammed in the wash cloth. It was really too large, but I kept forcing until her face bulged and it disappeared behind her closed lips. Several pieces of tape across her mouth ensured the permanence of the gag. She glared at me, but was blessedly silent. I returned to my debugging.
I lost myself in my work. When I came up for air, it was 11 am. I looked around at Belinda. She looked definitely bedraggled. She was lying back with closed eyes. Her face was white. She seemed to be in considerable pain. "Hey, kid. How are you doing?" I asked. She groaned and mumbled thru her gag. She clearly wanted it out. So I obliged. Out came the gag.
"Water, please." came the plea. I noted the "please" with pleasure. The "Go to hell!" was missing, at least for the moment.
So I got a glass of water, pulled her forward in my arms and helped her drink. She closed her eyes wearily. "I have had enough. I give up. I can’t take much more of this. Untie me and I will do my share of the cleaning." She appeared to be utterly defeated.
After a lunch for which she did the dishes, I returned to my debugging. She was bored, so she picked up Jane Austen’s "Pride and Prejudice". Soon she was deeply immersed in the book. When daddy called again to see what was happening, her chief complaint was that I wouldn’t tell her how it came out. She wanted to know if Darcy and Lizzie got together at the end of the novel. Daddy seemed to conclude that if that was her chief worry, things were going well.
She read late into the evening, sitting in my easy chair with a blanket around her shoulders. She was moderately civil to me, and, to tell the truth, I was enjoying having some company.
When it was time for bed, she emerged from the curtain wearing a very sexy animal skin leotard. It started with stirrups around her feet and ended in a turtleneck. There was a large shiny zipper running from her crotch to her neck that made my fingers itch. It was just begging to be unzipped. She saw the effect that it was having on me and smiled.
But when she got in bed, she again started chanting "Pervert! Pervert! Pervert!" in a very provocative manner. She was clearly inviting trouble, but this time I thought that I definitely detected a twinkle in her eyes.
So out came the inevitable twine and before long I again had a very well trussed up and very silent lady in my arms. My fingers and hands did some extensive tactile exploration of virgin territories. And the virgin territories did some pushing and retreating in their turn. It all ended with a violent climax for both of us, but via fingers rather than direct contact of the involved organs. I repeated this very satisfying exercise several more times before we were both too exhausted for any more.
I then humanely removed her gag, but kept her trussed up with twine. We fell asleep with her nestled in my arms. Around 1 am, she woke me up with her stirrings. She wanted out of her twine. I obliged, and we spent the night mutually holding each other.
In the morning, she got her own breakfast and did her dishes. She then settled down in my easy chair to follow the adventures of Lizzie and Darcy in "Pride and Prejudice". Before long, we heard the scraping of a snow plow on the distant road. Her face fell, and I felt as disappointed as she looked.
It was over. There came a knocking at the door. Two chauffeurs appeared. A tow truck was extricating her car from the ditch. Jake would drive it to Denver, while she could ride in the limo with Tony. She packed up and was gone.
The cabin seemed very empty and lonely after her departure. I moped around, unable to generate any enthusiasm for my programming.
Later she did call me from time to time -- from London and then from Sydney, then New York, then LA. But we really had little in common and the talk was awkward. The calls eventually ceased and we lost track of each other.
I did get a very gracious letter from her dad. He was grateful for my service to his daughter. He didn’t want to cheapen our relationship by offering money, but I could always call on him in the future for favors and recommendations. I felt honored that he declined to offer me any financial reward. It meant that he didn’t consider me a lackey or servant or employee.
I ended up liking Belinda. But she didn’t have the intellectual heft that I was hoping to find in a woman. So we had fun together, but it ended as it should have ended.