Compelled
by F.E. Campbell


PROLOGUE 

I was moaning and panting and making a fool of myself but it was wonderful. 
The fact that I was also trying to stop myself from rushing headfirst into 
the incredibly fine orgasm my body was working up to didn't seem to matter 
much. At that moment I was vividly alive, much more so than I had ever been 
during sex -- normal sex, that is. At the moment I'm talking about, the 
sexual act I was engaged in would hardly be called normal. But I didn't 
care. It was incredible even I hadn't wanted it and still didn't. 

Does this sound a little strange? Well, consider that in addition to heading 
towards an orgasm I didn't want, having sex with a man I didn't even know, I 
was also vividly aware of the tight ropes wrapped around my body holding my 
arms firmly secure behind my back. And that my bottom was stinging and 
burning from a fresh spanking I had not wanted but nevertheless had asked 
this man to give me! 

I know it doesn't make sense. But it was real. I, Nancy Blake, an innocent, 
very conservative young girl of twenty- one with very little sexual 
experience, had sought out this man, asked him to strip me naked, bind me 
with ropes that I had even brought with me, spank my bottom until both of us 
were panting with passion, and then to screw me as hard and long as he 
could. And all the time I did those things, I was telling myself not to. 
Part of me wanted to call an immediate halt, but the rest was moving right 
along like a freight train. It was almost as if I were merely an observer 
going along for the ride and with no power to change the script one tiny 
bit. 

When these things first started happening to me, I thought I was going crazy 
-- you know, schizophrenia, multiple personalities or something like that. I 
mean, how does a girl explain that suddenly she doing things that she would 
never in a million years do, and can't stop herself. But I'm not crazy. Not 
a bit. Just haunted. 

It's a really weird story about how I came to be in that bachelor pad, tied 
up and being screwed by a man I had met only half an hour before when I 
knocked on his door. Hell, I didn't even know his name. What a picture I 
must have made, my big breasts bouncing with each thrust of his hips upward 
and my pumping my hips against him. And my long blonde hair flying up and 
down and lashing my breasts as I contorted with passion. I was kneeling over 
him on his bed, his hips between my legs and his rod deep inside my pussy. 
My arms were tied behind my back and many winding of additional rope held 
them tight against my body. My eyes were closed and I was biting my lip to 
keep from loudly crying out the passion flooding over my body. 

The climax came for both of us at the same time, wonderful waves of heat and 
flashing lights and nerves tingling -- totally unlike anything else in the 
world. 

Later, after both of us had come down, I lay at his side, his arm around my 
shoulders and his hand resting against the ropes holding my elbows together 
behind me. He asked if I would like to be untied and I remember hearing my 
voice telling him that I would not like that, to leave me bound for the rest 
of the night. I heard myself promising that if he would do that for me, I 
would use my mouth on his penis in the morning to wake him up. 

As I lay along side him in the dark, physically satisfied and contented, but 
mentally disgusted with the strange power that compelled me to such 
incredibly wanton sexual acts, I thought about how it all began. 

 CHAPTER ONE - HAVE YOU A PAIR OF HANDCUFFS? 

It was the day I bought my new car. It was a 380SL Mercedes Benz 
convertible, fire engine red and looking all sleek and sexy and exciting. 
How exciting and sexy I had no idea on that sunny spring day when the car 
became mine. 

I had always wanted such a car, the prestige, the pride of ownership of such 
a precision-made German automobile. And there is the feeling of whizzing 
down the highway with my long blonde hair streaming out behind. It had taken 
me two years of saving to get enough money to have this dream car, but I 
really wanted it. 

I would love to say that it was brand new, smelling that new car smell and 
every tiny part shining in the sunlight. But fact is that I'm not rich and 
the odometer informed me that for seventy-five thousand miles this car had 
belonged to someone else. But I didn't care. It ran beautifully, looked 
beautiful, and was everything I had ever wanted. 

I should have been a little suspicious at the low price. Those cars are not 
cheap, even used. But it ran smoothly, didn't seem to have any problems, and 
how could I refuse? Mrs. Sterling was the name of the woman who sold it to 
me. One would think that she should have shown some emotion at parting with 
such a beautiful car but her face showed no emotion, happy or otherwise. In 
fact, I got the impression that when she first saw me she was ready to tell 
me that the car had been sold or something. But she sighed and handed me the 
key, telling me to drive it as I wished. Then she went back into her plain 
house. 

I drove it and fell in love. It was powerful, smooth and seemed to almost 
anticipate my every wish. It was all I had dreamed it would be and some 
more. I thanked my wisdom for getting up very early on Saturday and being 
the first person to come looking at the car. I parked it and almost rushed 
up to her door with check book in hand. I wanted it. 

Mrs. Sterling was waiting with the papers in hand, already signed off. 
Without even a consideration of offering a lower price as the beginning of 
bargaining, I wrote out a check for the full amount she asked and handed it 
to her. 

I remember her last words to me as she handed me the extra keys. "I hope 
you'll survive," she said. Then she turned her back on me and the car, and 
never looked back. I guessed that she meant I should be careful because of 
its high performance. But I didn't care. Taking only enough time to lower 
the fabric top into it's well, I hopped into my new car and drove happily 
away. 

I took a small trip that day, what girl wouldn't? As I drove along the 
coast, warm spring sun on my face and the wind tugging at my hair, I was 
happy. Let all those other poor people on the road look and envy me. I was 
something special -- I had THE CAR. 

The next day I took another trip, this time down to San Diego, loving the 
wind in my hair and the looks of beach boys whenever I stopped for a light. 
I drove it to my work each day of the next week, proudly showing it off to 
anyone I could comer in the parking lot. 

My first hint of something not quite right came the next Saturday. 

I had driven to the store for my weekly shopping, taking a very long away 
around, and had no plans to go anywhere that night. But after dinner I began 
feeling restless. Just staying home to watch another movie just didn't sound 
good. I felt myself being drawn to the garage and the car. I made some 
popcorn and tried to watch a movie on TV but found myself unable to even 
recall the movie's name after fifteen minutes. I went to the window and 
looked out. From my apartment, I could see a comer of the car in my parking 
slot. It was there and everything was alright but still I couldn't get the 
car out of my mind. 

Then it began. Without really thinking about it, I found myself in my 
bedroom, changing my clothes. Now I'm not a clothes horse and don't buy my 
clothing to look sexy. But I found myself standing in front of the mirror, 
looking at my totally naked body in a way I had never done before. What I 
saw was good, a fine young body with good muscle tone, large breasts with 
good shape and firmness, and long, shapely legs. My golden hair hung to the 
middle of my back and was real as the light curls of my pubic patch 
attested. 

I had never considered myself a sexy woman -- pretty yes, and with a good 
figure, but not sexy. Yet as I stood there, I felt more sexy than I had ever 
in my life. It was a warmth in my loins, but that was only part. More it was 
a mental attitude. I simply felt sexy. 

I had one pair of lacy black panties that I had purchased to go with a black 
dress I had worn once and then put away because it was too tight and showed 
off too much of my legs. That night I took the black panties and put them 
on. Then I put on a pair of pantyhose, followed by that black dress. It was 
suppose to be a party dress, but I hardly ever went to parties, and had been 
embarrassed the only time I ever wore it because of how low it was cut in 
front and how high the slit on the side came up. It was black velvet with a 
slit showing one leg to mid-thigh. I remembered how the eyes of every man at 
that party had gone straight down the front of that dress to ogle the tops 
of my breasts. I was so embarrassed that I went home early. 

But as I put the dress on that Saturday night, I didn't feel embarrassment. 
As I smoothed the material over my hips, I felt totally different. It was a 
sexy dress and made me look and feel like a real woman. I stood before the 
mirror and ran my hands down my hips, feeling the smooth velvet against the 
bare skin of my middle. It was then that I realized I had put the dress on 
without a bra -- something I had never done since I began wearing bras. 

But instead of immediately taking the dress off, I stood there, admiring the 
way my breasts looked with black velvet pushing them up. Not that my breasts 
needed much uplift, they were quite firm and stood out without help. But 
that dress... So much of the tops of my breasts were visible. But that was 
good. I picked up a small purse and left the apartment. 

You should understand that this was not me. I had promised myself that I 
would never be seen in public again with such a dress, yet here I was 
walking from my apartment, wearing the dress and without a bra, yet. I 
remember hearing the swishing sound of my nyloned legs against each other as 
I got into my beautiful little sports car. What an exciting sound that is. 

I drove aimlessly for a while until I spotted a department store that was 
still open that Saturday night. I parked and went inside, not sure why but 
following a feeling. For one thing, that would allow me to show off how I 
looked in that dress in public. Inside, I found myself in the shoe 
department, telling a male teenage clerk that I wanted a pair of those black 
patent leather high heels in size seven. Then I sat down and crossed my 
legs. When he brought back the shoes, he almost dropped the box. Like he had 
never seen a woman with a slit in her dress that went all the way up to the 
tops of her thighs before. 

I slipped on both high heels and stood up. I should have been wobbly on 
them, the heels alone were at least four inches tall, maybe four and a half 
inches, and I was simply not used to wearing heels. But I didn't wobble. 
Instead I walked up to a mirror and enjoyed the way those heels made my legs 
look much more sexy. Something about the way the muscles are different when 
a girl's toes are pointed, but very nice. 

I could feel the teenager's eyes on my legs and bottom as I walked, and 
liked the feeling that it gave me to know that men found me desirable. Not 
that I was attracted to the kid at all, but it was still nice. I leaned 
forward on the counter while he ran up my purchase and let him have a good 
view of a fine pair of breasts. He made a five dollar mistake in counting my 
change but I didn't correct him. It was a small price for him to pay for 
such a nice show. 

I walked out with the heels on and dumped my comfortable, sensible flats in 
the trash can. 

I wondered why I had done that, and why I could walk so easily in heels far 
higher than any I had ever tried. But it somehow felt right and I didn't 
feel like fighting it. I drove along the main street, slowly with no 
particular place to go. 

Half an hour later I was pulling into the parking lot of the Sand Pebbles 
Restaurant, an expensive eating place on the beach, and one which my limited 
funds would normally never allow me to visit. I walked in the front door and 
turned left just like I knew where I was going. 

The lounge was dimly lit and had soft music from a live combo in one comer. 
I made my way for the bar to perch on one of those stools, just like I did 
this every Saturday night. As I slid one nyloned leg over the other and 
allowed the dress to show me off, I told the barkeeper that I would have a 
Manhattan. While I sat there waiting for my drink, I was wondering inside 
what the hell I was doing. I never went into bars, never showed myself off 
in public like this, and didn't even know what a Manhattan was. What was 
happening to me? 

Have you ever felt you had to do something but didn't now why? That was what 
was happening to me. The really odd part was that I didn't feel like there 
was anything wrong. In a funny way I knew what I was doing was unusual but 
it also seemed right. That's the best way I can describe the feeling. 

I sipped the drink and found it strong but pleasant. I looked around. There 
were dark booths around a small dance floor but no one was dancing. A few of 
the booths might have been occupied, it was hard to tell unless someone 
moved in the very dim light. Cozy and intimate, they call such places. The 
booths were taken by couples, the bar held three other drinkers, all men. 

I sort of giggled inside and wondered what I would say if one of those men 
tried to pick me up. This was definitely not the usual habits of Nancy 
Blake. Almost immediately one of the men approached me, so I told myself 
that I was about to find out what I would do. 

"May I buy you a drink?" he asked smoothly. 

"I have one. But you can sit down," I heard myself saying. 

He was on the wrong side of thirty, probably edging very close to the big 
four oh. Not bad looking in his business suit and receding hairline, but 
certainly not the kind of man I would ever consider dating. 

He sat down, placing his drink on the smooth bar surface. He was trying so 
hard to smile and look handsome. I was asking myself what was going on. I 
didn't want to sit there with this man who was almost twice my age trying to 
hit on me. 

"I couldn't help noticing how beautiful you are," he began. Truthful enough, 
but hardly a new line. "My name's Karl. What's yours?" 

I turned a bit towards him, shifting my hips just a bit, knowing that the 
move pulled my dress up to expose another inch of thigh. I saw his eyes 
flash down then reluctantly return to my face. "I'm Nancy. Do you know how 
to treat a woman?" 

Why the hell did I say that? 

He smiled. "I know how to show a girl a good time," he came out with. The 
guy was almost licking his chops and drooling all over the bar. 

"I asked if you knew how to treat a woman. The way a woman should be 
treated." 

He frowned. The conversation was not going quite the way he expected. I 
could say the same thing. It was obvious sex was on his mind, but he didn't 
know how to answer me. Finally he settled for, "Girls don't complain." Kind 
of weak. 

"What would you do with me?" I asked. Then I wondered if the puzzlement I 
was feeling showed on my face. Probably not. It was almost as if someone 
else were in control of my body. 

He actually licked his lips and I could see wheels twirling inside his head. 
So this babe wants to come right out and talk about it, he was thinking. 
"I'm a very good at pleasing a woman," is what he said. 

"You are." It sounded like I didn't believe it. I didn't. 

"Why don't we go to a place I know and I'll show you. You'll love it." He 
was really shoveling it with both hands. 

He "knew a place." Probable a cheap motel room because there was a wife 
waiting at home. 

"Do you have a pair of handcuffs?" I asked. 

"Ah... no," he stumbled out with. "But we can... improvise." Fast recovery 
but not cigar. 

"If a man doesn't own a pair of handcuffs, then he doesn't know how to treat 
a woman," I said casually over a sip of that Manhattan. 

He was silent for a few moments as he tried to come to grips with this 
strange conversation. So was I. "I could get a pair," he offered lamely, 
knowing it was a lie. He had no idea where to buy a pair of handcuffs and we 
both knew it. I sipped my drink and knew that there was a smug little smile 
tugging at the comers of my mouth. 

The man made a couple attempts at getting a sentence out but failed. I 
ignored him. Finally he sighed and went away. 

Which left me with some time to think about this strange course of events. 
Handcuffs? Why had I spoken those words? I'd never even touched a pair of 
handcuffs on in my life and certainly didn't want to try on a pair. If I 
wasn't careful, my mouth was going to get me into a lot of trouble. A lot. 

Five minutes later the next man came up to make his attempt. I allowed him 
to sit down after his polite inquire if he could. From the smell of it, this 
one was drinking rum and cola. That was different, I thought. Then I 
wondered how I knew that most men wouldn't drink rum and cola in a bar. 

"From the look on his face, I'd say that you really shot down that other 
guy," he said, but he was smiling politely as he said it. 

"And you're wondering why?" 

"I am curious. Yes, I would like to know why he struck out. Might save me 
from making the same mistake." 

I looked at him carefully. He was about thirty, tall and handsome in a 
rugged way. He looked trim in that sports coat, and his face was reasonably 
suntanned. I liked him immediately but was surprised at the way my body 
reacted to him. My loins were heating up, and I simply don't do that kind of 
stuff. I'm not that kind of girl, as the saying goes. 

"He didn't have a pair of handcuffs," I heard myself saying. 

He smiled. "Is that all?" he said. Then he reached down and opened his coat 
slightly, just enough for me to see his belt. On one side was a leather 
pouch about the same and shape of a pair of handcuffs with metal edges 
showing under the flat. On the other side was an automatic in a holster. 

"You have a badge to go alone with those?" I asked calmly. The part of my 
mind that was still little miss innocent was hollering loudly to get out of 
there. 

He showed me the badge. He was an detective from the police department of a 
nearby town. 

"You looking for pros?" I asked, then wondered what I meant by that. 

"No. Off duty. You selling?" 

"No. Never. I'm just looking for a man who knows how to handle a woman." I 
smiled at him, just a small smile. 

He returned the smile with genuine warmth behind it. There was some kind of 
communication going on between us and I wasn't sure just what it was. Didn't 
"pro" mean "professional," as in a prostitute? Was he asking me if I was a 
prostitute? Part of me was shocked, part accepted it as a compliment. A 
compliment?! 

"My place or yours?" he asked. But he wasn't being funny, he was asking if I 
would like to find out if he really did know how to handle a woman. 

"No wife at home?" I asked. 

"No wife. She found that she didn't like being married to a cop." 

"No wife. Then we'll go to your place." I downed the rest of my drink in one 
gulp and wondered at the fiery sensation as it slid down. I'd never done 
anything like that before. Nor anything like was I was about to do. 

I got up and headed for the door without looking to see if he were 
following. In the parking lot I headed towards my shiny red sports car. 
"I'll follow you," I called over my shoulder. Then I turned to see which car 
he headed towards. 

I followed him a few miles to his place, an average apartment, not too 
unlike mine own. I guessed policemen didn't get paid too much. Inside was 
simple but clean and neat. He took off his coat and then the gun in its 
holster. He put it on top of the refrigerator. Then he took off the handcuff 
case and handed it to me. "Would you like a drink," he asked. 

"Whatever you're having," I told him. The handcuffs were heavy in my hand. 
"Rum and cola is fine." I sat down on the couch. "Why do you put the gun on 
top of the refrigerator?" 

He looked up at the weapon sitting there. "Children," he said after a 
second's pause. "Always up it up high out of the reach of children." 

"You have children?" I asked. 

"Two. They're with my wife." He came into the front room with a drink in 
each hand. "But I'd rather talk about you. What's your name?" 

I told him. He told me that he was Ken Tolber. Then he asked me, "Those 
handcuffs good enough for you?" 

I took the offered drink and set it down on the coffee table. Then I 
unsnapped the handcuff case and took them out. They were shinning steel and 
very solid looking. I worked the swinging part of one of them, pushing it 
into the other half until it clicked. Then I pushed it all the way through 
until it came out the other side. I had never seen a pair of handcuffs up 
close, but somehow they weren't strange. But what was really weird was that 
they excited me. 

I put them down and took a sip of the rum and cola. It tasted good. I think 
he made mine with less rum than his own. I picked up the handcuffs again. 
Then I did what was right. 

I stood up and put my hands behind my back. Without having to think how to 
do it, I closed one cuff around my left wrist then the other around my 
right. In a few seconds both of my wrists were locked in steel circles 
behind my back. Then I tightened down each cuff a couple more clicks until I 
could feel the steel pressing hard into my flesh all around each wrist. It 
was a good and very exciting feeling. I turned towards my policeman and 
simply stood there, hands secured behind my back and showing off my body in 
a dress I should have been too embarrassed to wear in my own bedroom. 

"They'll do," I said. Then I smiled softly at him. 

I wish I could convey to you how right this all seemed while at the same 
time I was telling myself that I was crazy to be doing things like this. The 
amazing part was that I didn't feel crazy, and knew that I wasn't loosing my 
mind. It was simply right to act like a wanton, loose woman. And apparently 
a kinky one, to judge from the fact that I was standing in a revealing dress 
before a man who's name I had heard only a minute before, locked in his 
handcuffs. 

He stood, the smile faded from his face and a more serious look replacing 
it. Gently he took my shoulders in his hands and softly kissed me on the 
lips. It was a very gentle kiss but it sent tingles racing down my spine. 
There was a real warmth growing in my loins. I wanted to kiss him back long 
and hard, but he held me at arms' length. 

"One thing," he said. "No rough stuff. I don't go in for hurting women. If 
that's what you want, I'll unlock the cuffs and you can go back to that 
bar." 

How can I tell you of the thrill of being handcuffed with his strong hands 
touching my flesh? How very helpless and wonderful it made me feel? How much 
I was aware of that strong male body only inches away from mine. Maybe I 
can't. But all I felt right then was like a small, helpless girl before this 
man, and it was good. I leaned forward and said in a husky voice I hardly 
recognized, "Kiss me." 

He kissed me and this time allowed me to press my body against his. I let my 
body do the talking after that, and just sat back to enjoy. Not that I 
really sat back, just mentally, I mean. What was going to happen was right 
and I wanted it. At least my body did. And part of my mind, too. 

After some stand up groping, mostly on his part, my hands were locked behind 
me, he picked me up and carried me into the bedroom. It would have been nice 
had he thrown me on the bed and raped me right then hard and long. But he 
set me on my feet and gently removed my dress, taking care not to tear it. I 
kicked off the high heels. He pulled down my pantyhose and the black lace 
panties. 

I was trembling from desire and other emotions I had never felt before in my 
life. And they were more intense that I had ever felt before. I guess I 
should tell you that I was no virgin. But I was far from a loose woman. To 
be exact, I had done IT with three boys, the first time at the age of 
seventeen. It had been hurried and messy and I hadn't gotten much pleasure 
out of it. The second and third times was when I was nineteen. They had been 
better but I had only partly reached any kind of orgasm when the boy 
finished and lost interest. I had always suspected that there was more to 
sex but didn't really know. 

But that night I found out that sex was not what I had always thought it 
was. Ken left the handcuffs on me, probably somehow sensing how much I 
wanted them left on. It was the way this game was played and he understood. 
As he had said, he wasn't into the rough stuff. He was gentle, considerate 
and made damned sure that I had a good orgasm, the first in my life. He 
sucked on my nipples and used his hand to make sure that my pussy was 
excited and juicy before he entered me. And he made sure that he didn't come 
early and spoil the fun. 

And, lordy, was it fun! It was sex more intense than any I had experience, 
and something more. The extra was the wonderful way I felt helpless. I could 
not ignore those tight steel cuffs cutting into the flesh of my wrists, nor 
the way my wrists could not separate by more than a few inches. Constantly I 
felt the helplessness, even when it blended into the most incredible orgasm 
of my young life. I really believe it was one of the reasons that orgasm was 
so intense. 

Later I lay beside him and was content. I still didn't understand what had 
happened to me, but the end results was good and that was enough for the 
moment. The half of my mind that had been pushing me along and the half that 
had been dragging its heels were in agreement. It had been good. 

Still later he unlocked the handcuffs and put them on the night stand. In 
the middle of the night I awoke and put them back on. In the morning we made 
love again and he made no mention of the fact that the handcuffs were back 
on me. 

It would be nice to say that they lived happily ever after, the rugged 
policeman and the submissive little secretary who had discovered a joy in 
sex that she never knew was possible. But it didn't work that way. Only in 
fairy tales. In real life, the force that had driven me into the whole 
incredible series of events reasserted itself and I gave him a phone number 
not really mine. Then I drove away, knowing inside that I would not be 
visiting him again. It was not logical but it was what I felt inside. I 
didn't regret it, it was -- like everything else that had happened that 
night -- simply right. 

I drove home and spent most of Sunday afternoon putting a coating of wax on 
my sports car and buffing it to a high polish. 

 CHAPTER TWO - SECOND TIME 

The next week went by pretty normally. I drove to work, worked and drove 
home. No urges to do strange things. I thought about what I had done many 
times that week, but the best guess I could come up with was that I had 
simply built up too great a hormone balance and my body had driven to do 
things I normally wouldn't. A girl who hadn't had sex in almost two years 
can get pretty frustrated I told myself. That didn't make much sense but it 
was the best I could come up with. And everything was back to normal. The 
black velvet dress was back in the closet, those high heels resting under 
the dress, away from my normal shoes. There was a nagging feeling that 
perhaps I have been living my life wrong if I could be experiencing such 
wonderfully intense orgasms, but the mental guardian of my virtue was back 
in control again and I had no desire to run out and get screwed again. 

All went well until Saturday afternoon. I was walking through the shopping 
mall, just window shopping, something I often did. A girl can't stay cooped 
up in her apartment all weekend, you know. Well, I happen by this swim suit 
store and froze in my tracks. There, in the window, was the tiniest string 
bikini I had ever seen. It couldn't have weighed even half an ounce. The 
tiny bit of material that covered each nipple was only a couple square 
inches. And I do mean that it covered only the nipples, not the breasts. And 
the material was very silky and thin. On the store dummy there were no 
nipples to show through but I was sure that on a real girl every bit of her 
nipples would show right through. The material would sort of mold onto her 
flesh. The triangular piece that covered the pubic area was not much bigger 
than those tiny pieces over each nipple. The part that went around the hips 
and up the bottom in back was only strings. I couldn't imagine a swimsuit 
that covered any less and could still be called a swimsuit. 

The whole effect was to make a girl look more naked than if she wore 
nothing. I had to compare this tiny thing to the bathing suit I had back in 
my dresser. You could have made a hundred of these out of the material in my 
conservative one piece suit. Maybe two hundred. 

Suddenly I was inside the store asking if they had one of those black string 
bikinis in the window in my size. A minute later I was walking out with a 
tiny package tucked into my purse. 

Strange happenings, indeed. I had no idea why I had bought it, nor where I 
would ever wear it. Maybe on my wedding night, whenever that might be, for 
my husband. Certainly not to the beach. 

The afternoon was only half gone. My 380SL purred all the way back to my 
apartment. Once inside I took that package out of my purse. As I held the 
bit of paper in my hand, I wanted to laugh, it was so incredible that I 
would ever think of wearing such a thing. But, since I had bought it, I told 
myself that I might as well try it on. 

It fit, I had to give it that. And it looked incredibly sexy on me. The girl 
in the mirror would turn heads on the beach, no question about that. I 
lifted myself up on toes and did a half turn. Very nice, I heard myself 
saying. Very nice, indeed. 

You can probably guess what happened next. I found myself putting my pair of 
high heels on -- they matched, both were shiny black -- and taking my keys 
and driver's license in my hand. Then I left the apartment. 

I could not believe that I was walking out to my car dressed in next to 
nothing! Fortunately no one saw me and quickly my bare bottom was on the 
genuine leather seat and my 380SL was purring as it headed towards the 
beach. It found a parking place only a block from the sand and surf. I 
marched towards a scene that could only end in extreme embarrassment. 

The beach was crowded for it was a warm afternoon. Not as crowded as the 
summer would bring, but there were a fair amount of people. Of both sexes. 
Slowly I walked out along a sidewalk, my high heels clicking against the 
concrete. Then I turned and walked across the sand towards one of the rocky 
breakwaters. Every quarter mile along the beach the city had piled up a line 
of huge boulders stretching a couple hundred feet into the water. I think 
that was to break up the rip tides or something. Mostly fishermen used them 
like piers. But that was in the evenings and mornings, this was still too 
early for most fishermen. 

Walking in sand with high heels takes a great deal of skill. I know. Yet I 
managed not only to keep my balance, but to also put on a pretty good show 
of wiggling my ass from side to side. I told myself that it was just the way 
I had to walk with those heels in the sand, that I was not showing off. But 
either way, the effect was the same. Heads turned. Tongue hung out and drool 
dropped to the sand. The teenage boys and young men openly stared and smiled 
after they recovered from the first shock. The young girls looked and 
frowned. This was unfair competition, they seemed to say. 

I reached the rocks and found one with a bit of flatness on top. There I 
planted my bare bottom and arranged my legs in a graceful display. I leaned 
back on my hands, thrusting my breasts out to the sun. I couldn't have posed 
better had I been a fashion model. I was showing off and, oddly, didn't mind 
it. 

When I first headed towards the beach I was sure that I would be blushing 
from head to toe, and in that outfit every square inch of blush would be 
seen. But once I was in front of those sun worshippers I didn't feel 
embarrassment at all. Pride, that's what I felt. What I had to show was 
every bit as good or better than anything they had. This was incredible! 
Wondering if that sex the week before had loosen some nuts in my brain, I 
sat there on the rock and displayed everything I had for all to see. And 
inside I was telling them to eat their hearts out. I felt sexy and knew I 
looked sexy. 

Actually, the sun was warm and felt pretty good. Getting a good tan had 
never been a big thing for me, but right then I knew that my untanned skin 
would look better after a few days in the sun. And I didn't really have to 
worry about an all-over tan with the bikini. There wouldn't be much in the 
way of tan lines. 

I also knew that in addition to attracting attention, I would pull the male 
hunks that hang out at the beach like a magnet. I had been to the beach a 
few times and knew that there was a crowd of good looking and well built men 
who hung out there, working on their tans and flexing their muscles at 
anything female. It was a youth courting ritual. When the sun went down, 
each successful hunk would haul off his catch of the day for some dancing 
between the sheets. The beach was a great sexual hunting ground. 

And into that hunting ground came I, about as naked as you can be without 
being arrested, a choice target. I could feel male radars homing in on me. 
And, to be honest, I wasn't too sure about not being arrested. Just because 
I bought the swimsuit in a store doesn't mean that it's legal, does it? 

I hadn't been enjoying the warm sun too long when the first predator struck. 

"Hello, babe! I haven't seen you here before." 

I opened one eye and beheld a six foot, two inch pile of muscles standing 
over me. "Can't you do better than that?" I asked. 

"Huh?" 

"The line. Why can't a man come up with something different to say now and 
then." I smiled sweetly at the Greek god. Inside I was wondering if that 
line about knowing how to handle a girl was going to come out of my mouth. 
"My name is Nancy," I told him. "And if you want to stand a chance with me, 
you'll have to do better than that." 

"Huh? Like what, babe?" 

"For one thing, you can stop calling me 'babe.' That's degrading. And then 
you can tell me why I should even keep taking to you." 

He looked puzzled at that but was up to the occasion. "Cause I'm the 
bitchinest guy on the whole beach." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" 

"Huh? I'm the best, that's what it means." 

"The best at what?" 

"Everything." 

"Can you play chess? Quote Shakespeare? Paint a seascape? Write a book?" 

"Huh? What you talking about?" Then, suddenly a light bulb went on in his 
head. "I'll tell you what I'm best at -- I'm the greatest in bed." 

"Probably at sleeping. Look, beach boy, if you had me, a piece of fried 
chicken, a loaf of French bread, two pillows, and some rope all in a motel 
room, what would you do?" 

"Well...." I could see the wheels slowly turning, trying to made some sense 
out of a conversations not going as they usually did when he hit on a 
skin-flashing "babe." 

"We could make love," he offered with what I'm sure he thought was a sincere 
smile but looked more like a leer. 'Then we could eat." 

I sighed. "Wrong. Get lost." 

"Well, what am I suppose to do with a loaf of French bread? Oh, you don't 
mean...." 

"No, I don't. You're just not my type. Now, how about moving? You're 
blocking the sun." 

He frowned but did move away. And I had lied, he hadn't been blocking the 
sun at all. 

A couple other beach bums came up but I sent them away after demonstrating 
that when a male body contains too much muscle, there's no room for brains. 
Most of them seem to think that all they had to do was pose a bit, flex some 
muscles and hint that you were the lucky one. Except for one guy who, having 
undoubtedly witnessed his friends doing the crash-and-burn, simply walked up 
and asked, "Wanta fuck?" I gave him the slow look over from head to toe, 
then shot him down. "Does your handler know that you've gotten out of the 
cage?" 

It's really great being a beautiful female, you can say anything to a guy 
and get away with it. Had I been a male, most of the things I said would 
have gotten me punched in the nose. 

The muscle building bunch finally gave up on me, which, to be honest, was a 
bit of a surprise to me. Not that they gave up in the face of constant 
rejection, but that I was rejecting them. I had assumed that my strange 
actions were the results of an over production of hormones making for a much 
increased sex drive. But here I was, turning down some pretty nice physical 
specimens. Real hunks, as they say. What the hell was my hormone-driven body 
thinking? 

I stood up to leave, but something wanted me to stay there. And on the 
rocks, which didn't make much sense since the sand was much softer on my 
bottom. Idly I walked out to the end of the rocks. The ocean was making 
hissing noises as the waves caressed the rocks, and the gentle afternoon 
breeze caressed my skin and teased my hair. For a while I stood on the last 
large rock and looked out over the ocean, enjoying the view and wondering 
what would come next. I had reached a stage where I didn't fight these 
strange compulsions coming over me. I simply went along with them. So far 
all that had resulted was a pleasant night with a police officer and my 
exposing my body to a bunch of beach bums who saw plenty of nearly naked 
female bodies every day. I was a bit puzzled about the handcuffs bit, but at 
least that hadn't been painful or harmful. In fact, it had been rather 
exciting to have my hands locked behind my back. 

I heard a noise behind me and turned to find a fisherman setting down a pole 
and a sack. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, somewhere in his 
forties, a little grey hair at the temples, and with a face tanned from time 
out in the sun. I watched as he sat down next to the sack and took up the 
pole. From the sack he took out a small piece of newspaper wrapped round 
some small frozen fish. He cut a piece of the fish off and put it on the 
hook. Then he cast out the line and settled down to wait. Fisherman have so 
much patience. 

It was then that the strange urges kicked in. I noticed a small piece of 
rope sticking out of the sack, and went to sit down next to that sack. 
"Hello," I said. He turned to look at me, an open and honest appraisal of my 
fine figure and face. He was not leering like the beach bums did, but his 
smile included a healthy dose of honest sexual interest, along with 
puzzlement at why one of the sun worshippers would come over and talk with 
him. "Hi," he offered. 

I looked out at the ocean for a minute. He did the same. "Catch much here?" 
I asked. 

"No. Don't really care about catching. I just like to fish." 

That didn't sound so stupid. I reached over and toyed with my fingertips on 
the rope. It was more like thick twine than rope but I found myself 
attracted to it. "What's this for?" 

"To string fish," he replied. "If I were to catch any." 

"Every catch any girls?" I asked sweetly. Oh, boy! Here it goes again, I 
told myself. Then I waited to see what this hormone-driven strangeness was 
going to get me into this time. 

He gave me a puzzled look. 

"One time I saw a photo," I began. "It was on one of those docks with 
fishing boats in the background and there was a... what do you call it, a 
thing for lifting up large fish." 

"A hoist." 

"Yeah. Well, there was this guy standing there with a fishing pole in one 
hand and the other hand touching his catch. Only it wasn't a fish, it was a 
beautiful woman. She had been hung up by her ankles just like she was a 
fish. Her hands were behind her back, I think they were tied there. Couldn't 
see because she was facing the camera. She was smiling. She had a nice 
figure. I guess any fisherman would be glad to catch one like that." I 
paused to see how he was taking this. He was looking me right in the eye but 
not frowning or anything. I continued, "It was an interesting photo. Have 
you ever caught a girl like that?" 

"I've caught girls," he said with a trace of smile. "When I was younger. 
Lots. But if you're asking if I've ever strung them up by their feet to take 
a prize photo, the answer is no." 

"Could you do it?" I asked. 

He paused a moment before answering. I think he was beginning to catch on to 
my drift but not sure where it was going. "I have some beams in the garage. 
They would be strong enough to hold a girl-fish easily. And I have rope." 
His raised eyebrow asked why I wanted to know. 

"I was just wondering what the girl in that photo felt like. I mean, hanging 
upside down by your ankles. I don't think it would hurt too much, but it has 
to be a really weird feeling. Maybe an exciting feeling." I trailed off the 
last two words. Inside I was amused at this new turn. Here I was strongly 
hinting to a strange man that I wanted to be tied up. Or something like 
that. Hanging by my feet, no less! Now that made being handcuffed seem down 
right normal. And the whole story about the photo was a fake, I'd never seen 
such a photo in my life. 

His smile was larger now, and I liked it. When he smiled, I felt that he 
wasn't laughing at me but really cared about me. Not that he wasn't 
interested in my body - - what healthy male animal wouldn't be, considering 
how good it was and the way I was displaying it. 

"Probably would be exciting," he said. "For both the girl and the 
fisherman." 

The ball was in my court. Swing at it or quit the game. "I think that I 
would like to try that. Would you like to help me? I'll let you take a 
photo?" 

He looked out at the ocean for a few seconds then began reeling in his line. 
"I'm not catching anything today, anyway," he said. "Sure, I'll help you 
find out what it's like to be a caught fish. Might be fun." 

He threw away the bait and attached the hook to his pole. Then he picked up 
the sack and started back along the rocks. I followed beside him. 

"My name is Nancy," I told him. "What's yours?" 

"Phil." 

"Glad to meet you, Phil. And... And thank you for helping me." 

He smiled at me in an odd way but said nothing. Out of the comer of my eye I 
could see the beach boys staring at the two of us. Heaven only knows what 
was going through their tiny minds. This gorgeous blonde was walking off 
with a fisherman!?! And one old enough to be her father??? 

His car wasn't too far from mine but for some reason I didn't want to tell 
him that I would follow him. Instead I got into his old pickup truck. Once 
we started, he glanced over at my figure then asked, "You're not just 
playing a game are you? I mean, you could be planning to go along until we 
get to my place and then laugh at me and walk away." 

"I really want to see what it is like to be hung upside down like a caught 
fish," I assured. "I won't back out." We drove a bit and then I added, "Do 
you have a camera?" 

"Yes. Your really want to have your picture taken?" 

"Yeah. Should be interesting. So long as you give me a copy of the photo, I 
don't mind if you keep one for yourself. You can show all your friends so 
they'll believe your wild story about this crazy girl who came up to you on 
the beach one day, and asked to be hung upside down." 

He laughed. "Okay. We'll do it. That should be one very interesting 
picture." 

His house wasn't too far from the beach, a modest home on a quiet street. As 
the truck pulled into the driveway, I suddenly had a thought. "You don't 
have a wife here, do you?" 

He laughed again. "No. She took most of my money and departed years ago. No 
one there." 

"Good. I'm not sure how a wife would take to your bring home a good looking 
girl and then hanging her by the feet in your garage." I laughed at the 
thought of this man trying to explain to a housewife that it was all the 
girl's idea. 

We went right to the garage. It had the usual collection of extra tires, 
tools and miscellaneous junk that most garages are filled with. I looked up 
and there were several rafters crossing the open space, all looking solid 
enough to hold my weight and more. Phil stood there looking at the rafters, 
too. Finally, I said something to get things going. "What kind of rope do 
you have?" 

He went to a shelf unit and took a coil of rope out of a box. Then he 
reached in and took a second length of rope out. When he came back, I could 
see what he held. The coil was white cotton clothesline, about fifty feet of 
it. It looked a little soiled, as if it had been used. The other rope was 
thicker and made of nylon. It looked a lot stronger. I pointed to the nylon 
rope. "That looks stronger. You've got a big fish here, you know." 

He put the clothesline down on a washing machine and opened the nylon rope 
until he had one end in his hand. Then he just stood there like he wasn't 
sure what to do next. My guiding power, as I was coming to think of it, 
kicked in and I took over from there. 

"Get a chair," I said. "Or a blanket. Something for me to sit on." He left 
and returned a minute later with a chair. While he was gone I looked at the 
rafters and at the ropes and felt a little shiver race down my spine. Was it 
fear, anticipation, excitement, or all of the above. 

I sat down in the chair and held my legs out in front of me. "Okay, you can 
tie my ankles." 

He knelt down and began wrapping the rope around my ankles. When he had a 
dozen windings, I suggested that he pass the rope between my legs and around 
those windings. That would tighten all them down and give him a middle 
position to take the strain of my weight. After he had wrapped the rope a 
couple times around, he looked up to the rafter. He tossed the rope over the 
rafter and caught it as it came down on the other side. 

"Now all we have to do is find someplace to tie that end to when you have me 
pulled up," I said. "Someplace solid so I won't fall." He looked around and 
found a couple of hooks screwed into the wall. Originally they were meant to 
hold tools or a bicycle or something but they looked solid enough. "Okay, 
let's give it a try," I said cheerfully. 

Phil pulled on the rope. My feet rose before me, taking my legs along. When 
my feet were about the level of my head, I had to shift my weight down on 
the chair and hold on to the edge of the seat. When my legs rose some more, 
I found myself sliding off the seat. "Hold it," I said. Then I eased my back 
off the chair and pushed it way with my hands. "Okay. Up some more." My head 
was only a few inches off the floor. Phil pulled until my feet were nearly 
at the rafter. That put my head about the level of his hips. 

It was exciting! The ropes around my ankles tightened up until they hurt, 
but not much. What was the big thing was the way I felt. Hanging upside down 
was something I hadn't done since I was a child and then it was not by tied 
ankles. I swayed a bit back and forth, it was fun. I let my hands hang down 
and found that I could not touch the floor. It was then that I began to feel 
the helplessness. I couldn't touch anything. Even with hands free, I was 
helpless. I saw an upside down Phil tying off the rope to one of those 
hooks. Then he was standing there, looking in amazement at me. 

I guess I was a sight. A nearly naked young woman hanging by her ankles in 
the middle of a garage. It was wild and I was honestly finding it exciting. 
I bent my body, mostly to test my limits, and found that it made me swing. I 
guessed I could have gotten myself swinging pretty far back and forth that 
way. Then I found that by swinging my arms around me, I could get myself to 
twisting around. Like a school girl I was having fun. 

But I knew that I wasn't there to imitate a swing. There was more to this 
than making like a school girl. "Have you got your camera?" I asked. Phil 
sighed and told me to wait right there. During the couple minutes before he 
returned, I swung back and forth a bit, and tried to bend myself up to see 
if I could touch my ankles. If I could reach my ankles, perhaps I could 
untie them. I'm in pretty good shape and flexible. I found that I could put 
my hands behind my legs and pull myself upward. My fingers just reached the 
ropes around my ankles. But then I found that just touching them would do 
nothing to help me escape. The ropes were very tight against my skin. A 
little thinking told me that I would have to begin untying the rope around 
my ankles at the hook on the wall. At the very least, I would have to pull 
myself up until I could grab the rafters and crawl up there. That would take 
my weight off my ankles and allow me to escape. Which meant, if I was 
figuring properly, that I could escape if my hands were left free. 

Phil came in just as I was trying to reach the rope between my ankles and 
the rafter. 

"Trying to escape?" he asked. 

"Yes," I answered honestly. "Just wanted to see if I could." Then I lowered 
myself back to a hanging position. "With my hands free, I think I can climb 
up to the rafters. Okay, fisherman, take your photo." 

I let my hands hang down for the first photo. "Go ahead and take another," I 
prompted. "I'll pose differently." Differently meant that I put my arms 
along side my body and held them against my side. He took one photo of my 
front and another of my backside. 

"Phil, does that camera have a timer? It would be nice if you were in the 
picture," I suggested. 

"Timer? Yes. I hadn't thought of that." 

"Wait!" I cried. "Before you take a picture with you in it, maybe you should 
tie my hands behind me. That's the way that girl was in the photo I saw," I 
lied. 

"Okay," he said happily. As he was wrapping the clothesline around my 
crossed wrists behind my back, he commented, "And this will keep you from 
climbing up your legs and maybe escaping." 

"I'm sure it will. You can wrap the rope a bit tighter. It will look better 
in the photos if the ropes are tight. And it will make escape harder. 
Impossible, even." 

I was having fun. What was that old saying, when rape is inevitable, relax 
and enjoy it? Well, this wasn't the same as being raped but I was begin 
driven along into things that my normal self would never even consider. I 
had tried fighting it before but these strange urges had overpowered me. Now 
I didn't fight and found it was exciting. It didn't make sense that I should 
actually like being treated this way, but it was exciting and I was liking 
it. I was going along for the ride, and a wild ride it was. I wonder where 
it would lead to. With Ken, the policeman, it had led to wonderful sex with 
my hands handcuffed behind me. But hanging like this made sex impossible. So 
what would my strange urges lead me into next? 

Phil took a couple more photos of me hanging with my hands tied behind me. I 
told him to get the camera ready, and then bent at the waist as hard as I 
could. I also flipped my head upward. I saw the flash go off and hoped that 
he had gotten a good shot of my head and body coming up with my long blonde 
hair flying upward. 

Then Phil put the camera down on the edge of the washing machine and set the 
timer. He came over by my side and stood there with one hand against my hip. 
I was going to smile but the touch of his hand on my bare skin sent a shock 
racing down my nerves. I'm not sure what kind of expression I had. 

At my suggestion, Phil took one more photo with him standing beside me, 
fishing pole in one hand and his other hand on my elbow. I smiled for that 
one. Then he put the pole down and stood there, a couple feet away, looking 
at my nearly naked and quite helpless body. "You doing okay?" he asked. 

"I feel fine. I could hang like this all day," I said. Which was the truth, 
it was a strain but I felt fine. As to being like that all day, that would 
probably be quite a different story after many hours had passed. 

"Phil, I'm going to try and escape. You want to watch to see how good your 
rope work is?" 

"Sure. Struggle away." 

I struggled. I twisted my hands and tried to reach the knots. I wiggled all 
over as if I were trying to get my feet out of the ropes. I bent backwards 
and forwards. I twisted my whole body. For a while I even fought the ropes 
in a manner that suggested I was angry and frustrated at my helplessness. 
Finally I settled back down, panting from my efforts. I knew it had been a 
really fine show and Phil couldn't have been unaffected. 

"Well, I guess you have me helpless," I panted. "I can't escape. I'm your 
prisoner." 

If Phil caught the change from "caught fish" to "prisoner", he didn't 
mention it. Instead, Phil looked like a man with a problem. We had done what 
we said we would. He had photos and I knew what it was like to hang upside 
down by the ankles. He seemed reluctant to suggest that it was time to take 
me down, and I did, too. Suddenly I heard myself speaking in a husky, very 
sexy voice, "Phil, you've been very nice to do all this for me. It would 
seem to me that you deserve a reward." 

His ears picked up. But he was still too much of a gentleman to say what was 
on his mind, or take a step towards me. 

I playfully swing myself a bit so I was swaying before his eyes. "I can 
guess what most men would like. But, as you can see, that part of me is not 
very accessible to you." I giggled as the thought of his climbing on a step 
ladder to try and screw my flashed into my mind. "But there are other ways 
to please a man...." I, the observer, was wondering just what was coming 
next. Other ways... Did that mean... ? 

"I'll give you a choice," my voice said. "You can spanking my bottom with 
your hand or a belt until I'm crying and my bottom is all red and burning." 
I paused to let that picture sink in. "Or you can unzip your fly and I'll 
use my mouth to please you." While I was pausing to let that picture sink 
in, I was wondering what the hell I was doing. I had never "used my mouth" 
on a man before and didn't want to start now. That was a dirty, disgusting 
sex act that my mother had warned me about. Only prostitutes did things like 
that. Besides, I didn't know how to do it. 

"Or you can take me down, then tie my hands over my head and hang me up by 
the wrists. If you leave my legs free, you'll be able to use that part of me 
the bulge in your pants wants to get at." 

I looked down and, sure enough, there was a rather large bulge in his pants. 
Oddly, the part of me observing was not at all sure which of these rewards 
mentioned I wanted most. A spanking or whipping with a belt across my bottom 
was something that would undoubtedly hurt a lot. I hadn't been spanked since 
I was a little girl and it was my father's hand doing the pain giving. Yet 
there was a certain excitement at the thought of that happening to me while 
I was hanging upside down and so helpless. 

Performing oral sex had to be on the bottom of the list. I didn't want to do 
it, didn't know how to do it, and prayed that his man didn't like it either. 
Still there was a terrible kind of fascination with the very idea. I was so 
helpless hanging there that he could easily force me to do it. Or anything. 

As to being retied so that I was hanging by my hands and my legs free to 
spread wide apart -- that sounded the best of the three. Not that I really 
wanted to have sex with a man I met just an hour before, in his dirty 
garage. I simply wasn't that kind of a girl. 

Phil thought for a few seconds. Then he came over to me and put his hand on 
my bottom. He turned me around and around a few times, twisting the ropes to 
my ankles up, then let go and watched me untwist. Then he felt my bottom 
again, caressing my bare skin softly. 

Then he backed up a step and looked down at my hanging head. More 
specifically, at my lips. My tip of my tongue was slowly, sensuously licking 
my lips. Fool, I told myself. 

Then he looked at my pussy. It was covered with a small triangle of material 
but that wouldn't offer any resistance if he decided he wanted access to my 
private place. 

Then he grinned. "I'll take all three," he said grandly. 

"Good choice," I heard myself say. Fool! 

Phil took the belt out of his pants, sliding it out slowly. My eyes were 
riveted to that length of leather. My bottom tensed at the thought of it 
crashing into my soft flesh. This was going to hurt. 

So he wouldn't have to go through the embarrassment of having his pants fall 
down, Phil took them off. And his shirt. And his underwear. Boy, had I been 
right! His rod was at stiff attention, more than ready for action. 

I had stopped most of the twisting, so he walked around behind me. As he 
disappeared from view, I saw a glow in his eyes that both thrilled and 
scared me. Then, very suddenly, a fire exploded in my bottom. I squealed and 
my hands flew to my bottom. The flesh, needless to say, hurt and burned. 

"Better keep your hands away from your ass," he said. "Wouldn't want to hit 
your fingers with this belt. Might break one of them." 

I jerked my hands back. A second later another fire burst into being in my 
poor bottom. I cried out and jerked my body sideways a few times. My hands 
flew back to my bottom and pressed against the flesh as hard as they could 
considering my wrists were crossed and tied that way. 

"You don't seem to be able to keep your hands away," he said. "We'll have to 
do something about that." He was gone for a few seconds. When he returned I 
felt him take my hands and wrap something around the wrists. Then I heard 
something being dragged along the concrete floor. I looked straight down and 
saw a large hunk of metal being positioned under me. The pressure on my 
hands increased and I felt my arms being pulled down behind me. There was a 
lot of strain on my shoulders when he finally tied the rope to that hunk of 
metal. 

"This vice weighs about forty pounds. It will hold your arms down." 

I tugged and had to admit that there was no way I was going to be getting my 
hands back up to my bottom. 

The third stroke of that belt across my ass was a little harder than the 
first two. I could tell because I cried out louder. Inside I wanted to 
scream for mercy and tell him that he had to stop that pain, it was killing 
me. But only cries of anguish and moans came out of my mouth. 

Like a lot of men, Phil had always wanted to whip a girl's bottom, to have a 
beautiful and very sexy woman naked and tightly bound and helpless before 
him. This was a sexual fantasy coming true. But he was still a gentleman, 
and he only delivered a dozen strokes to my bottom. Not that a dozen wasn't 
enough to make me feel like my rear was on fire. He got a lot for his dozen 
strokes. I twisted in mid-air, contorted, jerked around and cried out my 
pain. With my long blonde hair flying around, it must have been quite a 
sight. And I'm sure, based on what I saw of it when I got home and to a 
mirror, my bottom was quite a sight. It was purples and blacks when I 
finally saw it, I suppose it was all those colors and a lot more red just 
after he finished inflicting the last stroke upon that tender flesh. 

I was panting and tears were running up my face. Phil dropped the belt and 
knelt to untie my arms from the vice on the floor. Then he pushed it back so 
he could stand in its place. I don't know if he had planned it that way, or 
if it was an accident that my mouth was exactly at the level of his penis 
when he stood before me. My eyes were glued to that monster as it approached 
me. I had never seen one that large before, the teenage boys I had sex with 
were certainly nothing like that. And Ken, although huge, was still an inch 
or so short of this monster. 

I've already read that the bigger the penis, the more a woman enjoys sex. 
That was not what I was thinking as the beast approached my mouth. It would 
fill my mouth, I was sure. But there was no way that monster would fit into 
my vagina! My poor little pussy was just not up to taking such an over dose 
of male rod. 

But that was not my concern at the moment. A part of my mind was repulsed as 
that thing neared my lips, but those traitorous lips parted to make room for 
it to enter. What a strange sensation! For the first time in my life a male 
penis was sliding slowly into my mouth! It was both horrible and 
fascinating. Then someone else took control and I stood helpless by while my 
tongue began teasing that huge invader. It ran around his rod, tickled the 
underside of it, and made love to it. Meantime my head began slowly moving 
back and forth, making the rod slide within my mouth. I noticed how I kept 
my mouth open wide to make sure that my teeth didn't touch him. I noticed 
how deeply it slid into me at the end of each stroke. Having no basis to 
judge by, I could only guess that I was performing the legendary "blow job" 
in fine style. At least Phil didn't complain. 

For a long time I worked his penis with a combination of licking, sliding 
and gentle sucking. And I was amazed at the effect it was having on this 
man. He was making little animal noises sort of like whining with occasional 
gasps of pleasure. I picked up the speed until I was working his tool back 
and forth rapidly. At the end of each stroke, the head of his penis was 
pressing hard against my throat. Without even knowing what I was doing, I 
worked him up until his poor body could no longer take it. I felt a 
stiffening of his body and his rod, then he was shooting his load into my 
mouth. Before I could grasp what was happening, I was swallowing it eagerly. 

Now that is one thing that my poor, departed Mother had warned me against. 
She seemed to have some kind of theory that if a girl swallows what she 
called "a man's seed," she would become pregnant as surely as if he had 
deposited it directly into her vagina. Once she even used the term, "fate 
worse than death" to describe a girl that such a terrible thing had been 
forced upon. What she didn't tell me was that a girl in a high state of 
sexual excitement doesn't worry about fates worse than death. She simply 
swallows and enjoys knowing what incredible pleasure she is giving to the 
man. 

Phil cried out and grabbed my head with both hands to hold my face pressed 
against him while he shot his load. Finally he let go and staggered a few 
steps backward to lean against the washing machine. While he recovered, I 
found myself admitting that it hadn't been so bad. In fact, it had been 
rather pleasurable for me as well as him. I found myself wishing that my 
hands were not tied behind me. It would have been nice to play with myself 
right then. I was hot and ready for sex. But playing with myself was also 
something my Mother had told me good girls don't do. 

After a while Phil got to his feet. "Damn, that was good!" he said with a 
smile. Just sorry that I came in your mouth. I was going to save it and 
screw your pussy the way you suggested." 

From my hanging position, which was starting to get a bit uncomfortable by 
then, I said, "That's okay. You'll just rest up a bit and then do it." Was I 
crazy or what? 

"But that might take a while. When I was a teenager, I could do it two or 
three times a night, no problem. But now...." 

"Just leave me tied up until you're ready," I offered. "I'm not going 
anywhere." I illustrated by showing my bound wrists and jerking around a 
couple times. 

"I can't leave you hanging upside down all that time," he said. "I'll let 
you down and then tie you up again later." He began untying the rope from 
the hook. 

I waited until I was sitting on the floor with my feet flat on the concrete. 
"Wait," I said as he reached for the ropes around my ankles. "If you untie 
me, I'll just walk out on you," I said playfully. "If you want to screw me 
in mid-air, you'll have to keep me tied up." 

"Well, I'll be damned," he said. "You're one hell of a girl!" 

I looked down at the tiny pieces of cloth covering my rigid nipples. "You 
might want to go and take a shower," I suggested. "But if you do, you should 
take my bathing suit off. If I'm naked, I'll be a lot less likely to go 
running out into the street." 

He grinned at that one. Funny thing is that it was true. Even with only a 
tiny bit of cloth to cover her, a girl feels safer going out in public than 
she would if that bit of fabric were not there. I might well walk out of his 
garage if I were wearing my bathing suit, I had been walking around the 
beach in it, after all. But without it I would certainly hesitate. 

He helped me to my feet where I stood carefully on still bound ankles. The 
strings of the suit came easily undone. In less than a minute, my expensive 
and very tiny bathing suit was laying on his washing machine next to his 
camera. 

"I can still hop," I pointed out. "If you're going to take a shower, you'd 
better tie me so I can't get out of here." 

He grinned again. This might be a new game to him, but he was enjoying it 
and catching on fast. He looked around, finally settling on the hook that my 
ankle rope had been tied to. He picked me up and carried me over to it, 
putting me down so my back was turned to the wall. Then he took the rope 
still around my wrists that had tied them to the vice and pulled my hands up 
until they were right below the hook. Then he tied them quite firmly to the 
hook. It was at a height so that I had to bend forward a bit and my hands 
were almost at the height of my shoulder blades, but it wasn't too 
uncomfortable. 

But Phil wasn't quite finished. There was that rope connected to my ankles 
and currently laying on the concrete. He took that rope and brought it up to 
my neck. He looped it around my neck twice and then back down to my ankles 
where he tied the end. 

"That should hold you," he said. I tugged and twisted my hands around and 
had to agree that they were lashed quite tightly to the hook. I didn't see 
anyway that I would be able to get them free. And that rope around my neck, 
while not tight, did keep me bent over. He accepted my congratulations at 
having secured himself a naked girl so she would be there when he return, 
and then got dressed and left me. 

That garage had no window and, with the door closed, it was rather dark. 
Outside the sun was nearing the horizon and the shadows lengthening. I 
tested the ropes on my wrists until I was convinced that I could not undo 
them. Then I settled down to wait. It was a strange time. That force or 
compulsion or whatever that had gotten me into this mess was laying low for 
the time being, and I was back in control. Well, as much control as a naked 
and bound woman has. 

I should have been disgusted with myself but was strangely not. I had asked 
for and received the first real whipping of my life. And I had given the 
first blow job of my life, something that I had thought would be so terrible 
that I would die instantly if I ever had to do it. But I wasn't dead. 
Instead I was waiting around for a man almost old enough to be my father to 
get his vitality back so he could screw me. The funny part was that I was 
waiting with eager anticipation. The whipping had hurt but also, for some 
strange reason, aroused me. And having to take his penis in my mouth had 
been exciting, too. As I stood there a helpless prisoner of a man I hardly 
knew, my pussy was hot and I could feel the juices generated down there 
telling me that I was ready for sex. All I could think of was that huge 
penis at full attention again and being shoved into my poor, tight, little 
pussy. 

Phil returned about half an hour later. He was cleaner and wearing a pair of 
slacks and casual shirt. Without a word he untied the rope from around my 
neck and my wrists from the hook, then carried me to the center of the 
garage. He untied my wrists but immediately gathered them together in front 
of me and rebound them with the same rope, this time with the palms facing 
each other. He threw the rope over the rafter and tugged. My arms went up 
before my face until they were stretched out high above me. Then he took the 
rope over to the hook and passed it once around the hook. He pulled and I 
felt my arms straining above me. Then I was slowly coming off the floor. My 
toes stopped about an inch above the concrete. 

Phil tied off the rope on the hook. Then he came over and untied my legs. He 
took off his clothes and I could see that he was ready again. Very ready. 

"Perhaps," I began, "you should tie my ankles spread apart. That would be 
easier on me so I don't have to try and hold them spread. And it would make 
me feel ever so much more helpless." 

Phil did as I suggested. It was a good suggestion. With my ankles tied 
spread apart, it would be easier for him to enter me. And easier for me to 
keep my legs opened for him, too. 

He kissed my nipples and teased them with his tongue. His hands were roving 
over my body, squeezing my sore bottom, stroking my flanks, having fun with 
a woman who could not deny him anything he wanted. I could have told him 
that all the foreplay was unnecessary, my pussy was hot and juicy and ready, 
but I didn't. He was having too much fun. And all that attention was working 
me into a higher state of sexual arousal. 

Finally he could wait no longer. I was pretty excited by then, moaning and 
wiggling and thrusting my hips towards him. He took my hips in both hands 
and guided his rod towards me. Fortunately Phil was taller than I and could 
easily enter my sex while standing up. He bent his knees to lower his prick 
under my sex, then straightened up to drive the shaft home. I cried out in 
pleasure as the rigid shaft sank into me. 

Everything after that happened fast and sort of blurred together. I was very 
conscious of the tight ropes around my wrists and ankles, of the vulnerable 
and helpless position I was in, as well as the wonderful sensations 
generating from my sex. When the orgasm came, my whole body arched rigidly 
and I saw flashing lights before my closed eyes. 

Later, as I hung by my wrists and Phil recovered, I again wondered what I 
had been missing. If this was what sex was really about, I could only wish I 
had been doing it longer. And as I hung there, a strange realization came to 
me. Even thought it hurt, the tight ropes on my wrists was something that 
was right. It was a part of the whole scene, something very right and good. 

Phil let me down and drove me back to where I had parked my car. It was dark 
by then and those deep pressure marks on my wrists and ankles, although 
fading were hard to see, for which I was glad. By then my strange urges had 
backed off and I was in control again. It would have been difficult to have 
to explain to someone why my wrists and ankles bore rope marks. And the 
purple and black and blue marks all over my bottom would be a bit hard to 
explain, also. That tiny bikini showed off every mark on my poor bottom. 

Phil offered to take me to dinner. I refused. Then he wanted to know if he 
could see me again. In case I wanted to every get hung up again. Or 
something else. I gave him a phone number that was not mine and thanked him 
for everything. I told him to give me a call in a couple weeks. Then I put 
my sore bottom against the leather of my seat, whined a bit at the resultant 
pain, and drove off into the night. 

 CHAPTER THREE - ASKING FOR A SPANKING AND SCREWING 

I went home and stayed in my car until the area between it and my apartment 
was clear of people, then I dashed for my front door. I didn't want anyone I 
knew to see me in that tiny bathing suit, with fading rope marks, and with 
my bottom covered with bruises that could only have come from a whipping. 

My poor rear was sore for a day or so and that made sitting down a bit 
painful, but the hurt faded along with the colorful marks. By the end of the 
week my bottom was nearly in the same pristine condition it had been before 
my stupid remarks to Phil. I could have just offered him my body for normal 
sex, there was no reason to include a whipping and blow job, I repeatedly 
told myself. 

I also had to come to an understanding of what was happening to me. When a 
person suddenly changes and begins doing things she would never have dreamed 
of, there's something wrong. But what? Was I going crazy? Was it simply a 
hormone imbalance, as I had told myself? Or something else? I found it most 
strange that I only went crazy on Saturday nights. But then, when a person 
is going crazy, it doesn't have to make sense. 

When the next Saturday came around I awaited the coming of darkness with all 
the anticipation of a werewolf knowing that it was a full moon that night. I 
was both scared and eager. 

I'll have to admit that I was worried about these strange happenings. So far 
they hadn't gotten me into any real trouble, just a sore bottom for a couple 
days. But there was no guarantee any future adventures would stay so harm 
free. But mostly I just wanted to know what was going on. And I had to admit 
that along with the sore bottom there had been some incredibly wonderful 
experiences. Had I not become a victim to these strange urges, I probably 
would have spent the last two weekends at home, watching rented movies about 
other girls who were discovering love, while waiting for Mr. Right to come 
into my life. 

So I decided to "go with the flow," as they used to say. I wouldn't fight 
it, not that I could. As twilight descended, I was in my bedroom, laying out 
my sexiest clothing on the bed. The black velvet dress was there, along with 
my shortest skirt, those high heels I had brought, and a pair of jean shorts 
that showed my legs off pretty good. I also laid out my string bikini but 
shuddered at the thought of going out in public again with so little on my 
body. For good measure, I laid out my one pair of black lace panties. Then I 
stripped down to buff and threw my clothes into the wash. 

I stood there, jay-bird naked and waiting for the strange urges to kick in. 
Minutes passed. I sat down on the bed to wait. More minutes passed. I stood 
and began pacing the room. This was pretty silly, I told myself. Imagine a 
girl who stands around naked waiting for some strange power to take over her 
body and make her do things she never normally would. Maybe my hormones were 
in balance, and I'd just spent that Saturday night without even a movie to 
watch. 

In my pacing, I happened near the window. The blinds were drawn, of course, 
because I lived on the ground floor. But I peeked out of the edge. I could 
see the left tail light of my beautiful 380SL. The little I could see of the 
red paint glowed softly from a fresh coat of wax I had applied only that 
afternoon. 

Suddenly I was back at the bed looking down at the clothing laid out there 
as if I had never seen it before. My hand reached for the jean shorts but 
instead of putting them on, I went to the dresser and took out the scissors. 
Oh, boy! I thought, it's starting! 

I had thought the shorts were pretty short to begin with but the scissors 
shortened each leg until they resembled a pair of jean panties. A scanty 
pair at that. Then I put them on. Each side was cut high and showed a fair 
amount of my hips. But I did have to admit that they looked sexy. 

Then I went back to the closet. A blouse was selected, an old one made of 
denim, similar to the jean shorts. Using the scissors to make a small first 
cut, I then ripped several places on the blouse to create a well- worn and 
ragged appearance. There was a large hole in the side seam that allowed a 
goodly amount of skin to show through. And there was another tear in front 
that showed my navel and a good part of my stomach. Another tear above my 
left breast allowed way too much of the top of my breast to show. 

The appearance was of carefully crafted wear and tear. It was also very 
sexy. I put on the high heels and looked at myself in the mirror. Those 
shorts now looked a lot like the hot pants from the seventies. And the high 
heels really made my legs look really great. A bit like a streetwalker, it 
seemed to me, but really great. I left for whatever fate awaited me. 

Instead of cruising the beach or getting picked up in a bar, I drove out 
towards Del Mar. Fifteen minutes later I was knocking on the door of an 
apartment I had never been to before. The man who answered the door was in 
his late twenties, maybe a bit older, not bad looking, with a carefully 
trimmed mustache. He looked me up and down, smiled and asked what he could 
do for me. 

"You can tie my arms tightly behind my back, then spank my bottom until it 
glows red," I heard myself telling him. That caused one eyebrow to lift on 
this handsome face. "Come on," I continued without allowing him a chance to 
respond, "this is... Ah, a friend of Cindy's. I know how much you like to 
tie up girls and spank their bottoms. And then make pretty good love to 
them." 

I walked passed him into the apartment. He didn't try to stop me. Inside, it 
was a pretty nice apartment, far more expensive than my humble place. I 
turned back towards him. Without pausing, I unbuttoned the blouse and pulled 
it off. With no bra underneath, he quickly saw that I had a fine pair of 
globes. I tossed the blouse on the couch, then put my hands on my hips. 

"You keep the ropes in the bottom dresser draw in the bedroom. Do you want 
me to get them or will you?" 

He was off balance but recovering quickly. "Whatever any friend of Cindy's 
wants, I'll be happy to provide." And he waved a hand in the direction of a 
hallway. 

I went ahead of him then stood to one side so he could enter. It was what I 
guessed was a typical playboy bedroom. The bed was a water bed, very large 
and possessing large wood posts, like one of those old four- posters. The 
bedspread was some kind of fake fur, all black and soft. A couple erotic 
paintings depicted couples in various stages of lovemaking, but I didn't pay 
much attention to them. This man, whose name I still didn't know, was coming 
towards me with some rope in his hands and a leer on his face. 

I turned around, braced my legs wide apart, put my hands behind me, palm 
facing palm, and told him, "Elbows together like you usually do. Make it 
tight." 

Suddenly I felt rope around my elbows and then they were drawn together very 
tightly. As he wrapped rope around them, I wondered at the fact that my 
elbows could so easily touch behind my back. And at what the did to my 
breasts. They were sticking out and up like they never did normally. As the 
rope was being wrapped around my wrists, I told myself that this shouldn't 
be too bad. I had asked for a spanking, not even a whipping like I had with 
Phil. After having soreness each time I sat down for two days, a hand 
spanking would be mild. And as to this man making love to me... Well, he 
wasn't bad looking and his body was that of a man who exercised regularly 
and was in good shape. 

The final knot tied, he turned me around and kissed me hard. It wasn't the 
kiss of a man trying to seduce a woman, it was the kiss of a man really 
turned on and ready to get down to serious lovemaking. I kissed back just as 
hard. 

His hands were all over my breasts, squeezing them and flicking the nipples, 
while his mouth keep my lips busy. His tongue penetrated my mouth in a 
demanding way, almost like it was a replica of his penis and my mouth was a 
vagina. It was turning me on very fast. 

When his mouth descended down to my breasts to suck hard on the nipples, I 
had chance to speak again. "You'll want to take down the shorts," I told him 
in that husky, sexy voice I only used on Saturday nights. "You prefer to 
spank a girl on bare skin." 

"Cindy must have told you a lot about me," he said. "And you even sound like 
Cindy," he commented. But he sank to his knees to unbutton then pull down my 
shorts. Without panties under them, it wasn't long before my bottom -- not 
to mention my pussy -- was bare to him. 

He had a chair beside the bed. I knew, just somehow knew, that the chair was 
there for exactly the purpose he then put it to and no other. He sat down, 
pulling me with him until I was over his knee. He put one leg over my right 
leg to hold me down. His left hand took hold of my bound wrists and lifted 
my arms away from my back. That left my bottom available for this right 
hand. 

A hand spanking should not have hurt that much. My Father's spankings never 
hurt like that, but his man's hand hit my bare bottom very hard. I squealed 
with each impact. The smacking sound was quite loud in the bedroom and 
somehow that made the spanking hurt more. He covered my bottom evenly all 
over, taking his time and placing his blows where he wanted them. 

I wiggled, squirmed and tired to get my hands down to cover my bottom. But 
his hand easily held wrists that were bound with tight rope, and his leg 
over mine kept me from doing much beyond wiggling my bottom. Which was 
probably very pleasing to him. I could feel the bulge in his pants becoming 
very large and knew that my struggles against him were pure aphrodisia. 

When he could stand no more, and my bottom was on fire, he lifted me to my 
feet then tossed me on the water bed where I bounced. I watched him toss off 
his clothing in haste, admiring his fine body and that erect rod pointing 
directly at me. It might not have been as large as Phil's or even Ken's, but 
it looked pretty good and I could hardly wait to have him demonstrate how 
well he could use it. 

By now you should recognize the scene I began this story with. After some 
pretty much normal sex with him on top of me and me on top of my bound arms, 
he rotated backwards and pulled me up to straddle him, his penis never 
having left my sheath during the process. So I finished that round of 
lovemaking on top, pumping my hips up and down over his shaft, breasts 
bouncing, hair flying around, and all with my arms tightly bound behind me. 
We finished up about the same time, rather satisfying, if I do say so, and 
collapsed on the water bed. A while later he asked me if I would like my 
arms untied and I declined. I think he muttered something about my even 
liking the same things as Cindy, then we both drifted off to sleep. 

I awoke first, mostly because of the pain in my arms. I don't suppose you 
have ever spent the entire night with your arms tied behind you, elbows 
together, but I can tell you, it's not comfortable. My hands were a bit numb 
but mostly it was the strain on my shoulders and elbows that awoke me. The 
first hints of grey light were showing at the window. 

My moving around on the water bed didn't awake my companion, whatever name 
he went by. I considered just leaving but couldn't figure how to get my arms 
untied. And I wasn't about to walk out into the morning completely naked and 
with my arms tied behind me. Would be hard to drive home that way. 

Those strange urges or power or whatever was not driving just then, and the 
idea of giving this man a blow job, as I had promised the night before, was 
not what I would have wished do to. For a few seconds I considered simply 
waking him up, but something told me that he would hold me to my promise 
before untying me. So I pulled the sheets down and got on my knees next to 
him. His penis was limp, not nearly as exciting to a girl as it had been the 
night before. But I figured that status would change shortly. And it did. As 
soon as I took it in my mouth and began licking it with my tongue, it 
responded and grew. Before a minute was up, the rod was at full attention 
and Maurice was waking up. I was to wonder later how I knew his name was 
Maurice. It would prove to be important. But just then I was busy sliding my 
mouth up and down on his shaft. 

He didn't let me finish the blow job. With my arms bound behind me, it was 
easy for him to pull me away from his rod and push me over onto my back. 
Then he was on top of me, shaft buried into my sheath, which I was surprised 
to find was quite juicy and ready, and pumping away. 

It was a good coupling. Not an intense or satisfying as what Phil had given 
me while I hung by my wrists in his garage, but good. I guess there is truth 
in that old saying, "Even bad sex is good." It may not have been perfect but 
I was satisfied. 

He finally did untie my arms and for a while they hung limp by my sides. 
Then the pins and needles and other funny feelings came and I was moaning in 
pain. Returning circulation can be an agony all by itself. Still, I was glad 
to have my arms back. After five minutes I could use my hands again and the 
numbness was almost all gone. 

I declined his offer of breakfast and gathered my clothes together. To his 
question about his seeing me again, I told him maybe. If the mood stuck me. 
And I refused to give him my phone number. 

I dressed and left just as the sun was peeking over the distant mountains. 

 CHAPTER FOUR - AN INTERESTING EXPERIMENT 

I was surprised but my bottom was not a bit sore that Sunday. From the way 
it had been stinging and burning the night before, I had expected something 
a little more lasting. But a hand spanking, even if it hurts right then and 
there, isn't much in the full scope of punishments a girl's bottom can 
endure. 

I drove home, removed the modified clothes and took a shower. Standing under 
the hot water I found that my arms still held reddish indentations above my 
elbows where those ropes had held me so very tightly all night. But they 
were fading fast and the hot water seemed to help. 

Afterwards, after a breakfast and as I lay on my bed, I began thinking. 
Either I was going crazy or something very mysterious was happening to me. 
It was one thing to go to a bar and get picked up, some girls do it all the 
time. And it was not much different to put on a tiny bikini and go to the 
beach to get picked up. But to drive directly to some strange man's 
apartment, know that he liked to tie girls up and spank their bottom, and to 
get him to perform those tasks on you was something else. And there was the 
little point of my knowing his name the next morning. I was sure that he 
hadn't mentioned it the night before. We were in too much of a hurry to get 
to the bedroom to deal with such little niceties. 

So, how did I know his name? I was right, because I called him that when he 
was awake and he answered. For that matter, how did I know that this Maurice 
was into those things? It didn't take long for me to figure out that I 
couldn't be going crazy until insanity included psychic powers too. 

I got up from the bed, put on another pair of shorts and a light blouse -- 
it was going to be one of those hot spring days -- and opened the window to 
my bedroom. The sight of one comer of my beautiful little sports car 
suggested that a drive might help clear my mind of this mystery. 

It was an hour later, while driving down Pacific Coast Highway, that it 
occurred to me that this strange behavior had begun the same time as I got 
my new 380SL. But then I corrected myself, the first hint of madness was a 
week later when I went to that bar and met Ken. I really wanted to forget 
about my strange urges problem but it kept coming back to me. Finally I 
stopped and parked the car near the top of a cliff overlooking the lovely 
beaches at Del Mar. I sat near the edge of cliff and looked out over the 
vast ocean. Far below dozens of tiny people walked along the beach, busy 
about their own tasks, enjoying the sun and sand and water. 

I simply couldn't get the idea out of my mind that I had known things that I 
simply shouldn't have. And no matter how crazy I was going, or no matter how 
much my body pumped me full of hormones, I was not going to know things that 
I shouldn't. Something else was happening. But what? 

I decided to try an experiment. There was a shopping mall not far away and 
it was filled with stores anxious to sell me all kinds of clothing. I drove 
right there and made some purchases. I changed into my new clothes in the 
woman's dressing room. When I walked out to my car, I looked quite a bit 
different. Gone was the shorts and blouse. Instead I wore a sleek electric 
blue dress, sheer and form hugging. A new pair of high heels clicked on the 
pavement as I approached my car and tossed the bag with my old clothes in 
the back jump seat. I had no underwear under that lovely blue dress and I 
suspected that every male (or female) eye in the shopping mall had been 
aware of that fact. 

It had been a little embarrassing to walk around in that dress but it was 
the exact kind of dress my alter ego seemed to like. I thought of it as an 
alter ego but I wasn't really sure that was the right term. It was more a 
strange force that took over my body whenever it wanted to. Well, I was 
going to give it a chance to take over. 

I drove back to the beach area and looked for a restaurant with a bar. Being 
only noon on Sunday, I found not much in the way of open bars, so I settled 
for a place where I could get some lunch. The dress drew stares as I entered 
and found a seat. 

It would be nice to say that I remained embarrassed, but the truth is that I 
was beginning to enjoy all that adoration from every male in sight. It was 
like they couldn't stop themselves from staring at my figure. I liked that. 
Hell, any girl would if she would just admit it to herself. Girls like to be 
admired. And those wonderfully jealous looks from all the women... ! 

I enjoyed a crab louis salad and ice tea, then sat back. I was walking 
around in a dress designed to attract every male between fifteen and ninety, 
willing that strange force to take over, but nothing was happening. Maybe, I 
thought with a mental sigh, it only comes out on Saturday night. I paid for 
lunch and left. 

I wasn't really paying attention to where I was driving beyond the vague 
idea that I should return home. Suddenly I was parking the car and getting 
out. I looked around but didn't recognize the area except that it was near 
the downtown section of one of the small cities that dot the coast between 
San Diego and LA. I left the car and walked around the comer to find a main 
street with little traffic. I leaned up against the door of a closed store, 
legs out before me. The dress was short and my legs looked fine. 

As I was wondering what my alter ego was doing, I noticed that there was 
another girl across the street. She was dressed in hot pants, a tight 
blouse, and high heels. She seemed to be glaring at me. Then it hit me. This 
was a pick up point for hookers and I was standing there, dressed like one! 
Part of me wanted to get out of there but the strange power had me in its 
control and I stood there like candy in the window of a candy store. 

Several cars cruised slowly by, the male heads turned to look over the other 
girl and me. Finally one car slowed down and stopped next to me at the curb. 
The window nearest me came down. I walked over to the car window and bent 
down. Actually, I swayed my bottom over to the car, just like the classic 
image of a prostitute enticing the customer. The man inside was in his late 
forties, receding hairline, well dressed, and smiling like crazy. I could 
smell whiskey on his breath and wondered about someone who started drinking 
that early on a Sunday, or any day. 

"Hi, honey," he began. "Want a ride?" 

I could almost feel whoever was controlling me consider the man. Then I 
heard myself saying, "No thanks. I'm waiting for my husband, Killer, to pick 
me up." 

As I returned to my doorway, I heard some unflattering words before the 
window of that car rose to the top and cut them off. 

Well, who or what was pushing me along didn't like that guy. No wonder, I 
didn't like him either. Certainly not as a potential sexual partner. And the 
wedding ring on his hand said he was cheating on his wife. My Mother had 
warned me about getting involved with a man who would break the holy vows of 
matrimony and cheat on his wife. 

In a similar manner I listened to myself reject two other potential 
customers. I was beginning to wonder what my alter ego was looking for when 
a fire engine red 560SL pulled up. Now there was my kind of a man. His 
Mercedes was brand new, all shinning and nice, but I considered it a brother 
to mine. I swished over to his window and looked in. 

"Hi!" said the man inside. 

I looked him over. Thirties, plenty of hair, looked fit, like a tennis 
player, and not too bad looking. "Hi, yourself," I countered with. 

"You lonely?" 

Not knowing if that was a very original line with hookers, I responded with 
a neutral, "I've been waiting for someone." 

He lifted one eyebrow. I could see that he was just a bit put off by an 
answer not the one he expected. "But I think you'll do," I said. Then I 
opened the car door and got in. He pulled away from the curb. I saw the girl 
in the hot pants give me a very dirty look as we passed her. 

"How much?" he said. 

So he wanted to get right down to business. "Depends. What kind of action 
you looking for?" 

He cleared his throat. "I was sort of thinking along the lines of... Well, I 
would like...." He seemed to have trouble getting it out so I helped him. I 
put one hand on his right knee and said, "You can talk to me. I've seen it 
all." 

What the hell was my alter ego doing? I was relatively an innocent at these 
sexual matters and certainly hadn't "seen it all." 

"Well, I would like to tie you up," he managed to get out. Bingo! Like some 
kind of psychic, I had turned down customers until the right one came along. 
"Fine," I said casually, as if agreeing that the weather was hot. 

He looked at me to see if I was serious. I smiled faintly. My hand on his 
leg gave a small squeeze. Then I dropped the bombshell, "But only if you can 
tie me really, really tight. I hate it when I can get the ropes off." 

I think he almost shit in his pants right then. The car drifted out of its 
lane and he had to suddenly correct it. "That's... That's good," he got out. 

Once more I came to his rescue. "You got a place where we can play?" 

"Sure. We'll be there in a couple minutes. But you didn't say how much?" 

I smiled to myself. How much? How much does a prostitute charge to let a 
customer tie her up? I assumed that the offer included having sex after he 
had me tied up. But before I could come up with a price, my alter ego bet me 
to it. "Depends. How good are you at tying a girl?" 

"I've done it a few times," he said. "When I was a teenager. Had a couple 
girl friends who liked it." 

"Any wife?" 

"Never married." Then he gave me a look that asked what the hell a 
prostitute cared about whether he was married or not. 

"Tell you what," I said. "We'll go to your place. I'll let you tie me up. If 
I can get free, then I'll let you tie me again and have sex. But it will 
cost you a thousand dollars, twice my usual price. But if I can't get free, 
you can have me for nothing." His eyes widened. Twice he had to swallow 
before he could talk. "Fine. I agree." 

For a few minutes we drove without saying anything. So my usual fee was five 
hundred dollars? I didn't know that. I had a feeling that was high for a 
streetwalker. For the first time the thought occurred to me that I was being 
possessed by the ghost of a prostitute. Or something like that. Or maybe I 
had just pulled that figure out of the thin air. 

His place was up on a hill overlooking the pacific. I could see why a 
thousand wasn't any kind of obstacle to him. The house must have cost a few 
million. In that part of the state you don't get a magnificent house with a 
panoramic ocean view like that without paying for it. He drove into the 
garage and came around to hold open the door for me. 

He led me directly to the bedroom but I got enough view of the house to know 
that I would never see that kind of money. My high heels sank into the thick 
carpet and polished wood greeted, my eyes everywhere. The front room had 
large picture windows overlooking the blue Pacific. His bedroom was only a 
little smaller than my whole apartment complex. The bed was huge. 

I swished over to stand next to it and tested with by pushing down with one 
hand. I made no comment but walked around to the other side. Striking a sexy 
pose, I told him, "Get your ropes out." 

He was calmed down now but was almost as eager as a teenage boy on his first 
heavy date. He went to a dresser draw and took out four lengths of rope, 
each coiled up. He put them on the bed like a native making an offering to 
one of the village gods. I looked them over. White cotton clothesline, 
relatively new and unused. 

"That all you got?" I asked. 

"Yes." He looked down at the ropes as if he had just seen them for the first 
time. "I think there's enough there to do the job." 

"We'll see. I like lots of rope," I said. I did? 

I picked up the first coil and unknotted it. The end of the rope was tied in 
a small loop. I tossed the rest of the rope on the floor, keeping the looped 
end in my hand. Then I took the rope six inches from the loop and passed it 
through the loop. Then I pulled the rest of the rope through until I had a 
larger loop in my hand, one that would easily slide open or closed. I walked 
over to him and handed him the loop. Then I reached down and took the hem of 
my dress and pulled it up and over my head. 

Did I tell you that I had no underwear on? Probably did. I tossed the dress 
aside like it hadn't cost me half a week's pay. Then I spread my legs a bit, 
put my hands on my hips and challenged him, "Okay, do your best. You agree 
to the following rules. You can tie me anyway you wish. When you're 
finished, you give me half an hour to get free. If I get out, you can tie me 
again and have your sex but it will cost you. If I can't get out, you can 
have me free." I paused to blow him a kiss. "For all night," I added in that 
husky, sexy voice I was coming to know pretty well. 

He smiled but said nothing. Instead he came to me, walked around behind me 
and took my hands off my hips. I could feel the rope looping around my 
wrists and wondered how good he would be. Or, more exactly, would I be 
getting paid for this or going home with empty pockets. If I had pockets on 
that dress, which I didn't. 

The ropes on the wrists were pretty tight and cinched down. That meant, I 
knew without knowing how I knew, that there were additional windings of the 
rope put over the main ones. Those additional windings tightened down the 
main bunch and allowed you to make them all even tighter than it would have 
been. He knotted the rope several times, I was paying attention to what he 
was doing. Something told me that in order to have a chance at escape, I 
would have to know exactly how the ropes had been put on and where each knot 
was. 

Then he looped the next rope around my elbows and I knew I was not going to 
get paid. If he had only tied my wrists, I might have been able to work the 
ropes off or reached a knot with my fingernails. But with my elbows tight 
together, there was little chance of that. As each coil went on, I could 
feel how tight it was. And when he passed rope between my forearms to cinch 
down the main windings, I was certain that this man knew what he was doing 
and I would not be getting free. 

He checked the ropes after knotting them and was satisfied that they weren't 
loose. I agreed but without saying a word. These ropes were tight -- very 
tight. He asked me to sit on the edge of the bed and put my legs out. 

I did so and watched as he wound rope around my ankles then cinched it down 
and knotted several knots as tightly as he could. I noticed that he had left 
about three feet of rope " trailing away from my ankles, and wondered what 
that was for. Then he tied my knees together with rope just above them. My 
legs were tied pretty tightly but not quite as tightly as my elbows, I 
noted. 

"Please stand up," he asked and helped to my feet. My arms felt almost the 
same as Maurice had done, only perhaps a bit tighter. He turned me around 
and lowered me to the bed. Then he pulled me up until I was laying face down 
in the center of the bed. I felt him getting on the bed and wondered if he 
were going to try and screw me right then and there without allowing me a 
chance to escape. But I was wrong on that count. Taking the rope trailing 
from my ankles, he passed it between my forearms and then back down to my 
feet. He pulled and I felt my feet coming up as my legs bent. Soon my legs 
were doubled and my feet near my hands. He looped the rope around my ankle 
bondage again and back through my arms. Then he pulled tighter until I felt 
the backs of my ankles pressing against my palms. 

The name came to me: hogtie. It was a way that I had never been tied but one 
I just somehow knew was a mainstay of the rope crowd. And for good reason. 
It was a very good way to make a girl helpless without a great deal of rope. 
With her ankles tied to her wrists, she was doubled up backwards and very 
limited in what she could do. 

I felt him tying the final knots up to the ropes on my elbows and felt my 
heart sink. There was no way I was going to be getting out of this tie, I 
just knew it. I'd only a little experience in being tied, all of it over the 
last couple weekends, but I just knew, sort of like instinct, that I would 
not be working my way free of this one. 

He got off the bed and looked down at me. I could see that he was breathing 
a little hard and there was a bulge in .his pants. I looked up to meet his 
eyes, then asked, "This all?" 

"That's all. I don't think you'll be getting free from that." 

"You base that observation on experience?" I asked, my alter ego feisty up 
to the very end. 

"Yes. Had a girlfriend named Brenda who liked to try to get out of being 
tied up. She was pretty good. So I learned how to tie her better than she 
could get free from. The hogtie was the best way." 

"I'll bet. You have done a good job," I admitted. "I guess you have tied up 
a girl or two." 

"A few. But that was years ago. I'm rusty at it." 

"Pretty tight for rusty," I commented dryly. 

"Some things you don't forget. Like riding a bicycle." He grinned at me and 
I smiled back. 

"Could you do two things for me?" I asked. 

"What?" 

'Tell me your name." 

"Brian. And the other thing?" 

"Scratch my nose. It itches." 

He put his hand next to my nose and I rubbed it on his knuckles. "Thanks," I 
said. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some serious struggling to do." 

"Of course, my dear. One full half hour, I believe you asked for." Now that 
he had me all naked and tied up, he was more relaxed. "Will that be enough, 
or would you like a full hour?" 

He was teasing me because we both knew that I couldn't get out of those 
ropes. "That will be enough," I replied. 

He turned to leave. Just as he reached the door, I called out, "Brian?" 

"Yes?" 

"You're going to leave me alone?" 

"That way you can try all your tricks without having the customer watch." 

"I'd rather you stayed. You can watch to make sure that I don't cheat." Just 
exactly how I could cheat was something I would have been hard put to 
define. "You've done beautiful work with the ropes, perhaps you'd like to 
see me lose the bet." 

He pulled a chair over to where he could easily see the bed and sat down. I 
tried to look back over my shoulder at the way I was tied but couldn't see 
anything but my toes out of the comer of my eye. 

There began one of the strangest events of my life. I did some serious 
struggling, make no doubt about that. I strained to reach whatever ropes I 
could with my fingers, and tried to wiggle some slack into other ropes. I 
rolled around from side to side, shaking my arms and legs but to no avail. I 
arched my body backwards to pull at the ropes holding me but none gave the 
slightest bit. 

Sometimes I rested, usually laying on my side, panting from the exertion. 
You can't believe how much effort it takes to fight against ropes. Sometimes 
I was working very carefully with fingers to find some knot I could loosen, 
other times I fought the ropes with an intense emotional anger and 
frustration. 

And do you know the funny part? I was enjoying it! It wasn't comfortable to 
be tied like that. I could hardly move and there was considerable strain on 
my arms. But there was a strange kind of pleasure in fighting the ropes, in 
feeling how tightly they held me, even in the helpless feeling them gave me. 
And knowing that I was putting on a show for that man watching from this 
chair was a big turn on, too. 

But all good things come to an end. Eventually, Brian got up from his chair 
and came over to me to sit on the bed next to me. I was laying on my side, 
facing him. 

"It's been well over half an hour," he said. "I don't think that you'll be 
getting out." 

"You're probably right," I conceded. "Not even if you gave me all night to 
try." 

"Now that's an idea," he said slowly. 

"Don't you dare!" I cried. "That would be terrible!" I didn't tell him that 
I had spent the entire night before with my arms tied just as they were 
then. 

Very deliberately he reached over and cupped my left breast in his hand. He 
squeezed gently. It wasn't to hurt me, nor really to sexually excite me. It 
was to show that he could touch me anytime he wished, and would. It was a 
statement that I was helpless and he was in control. I liked the feeling. 

"I guess I'm am yours," I said in that husky voice. "At least for tonight. 
Will you keep me tied up all that time?" 

"In one way or another," he replied matter-of-factly. "That would be nice. 
Brenda used to like being tied for whole weekends at a time." 

"Good for Brenda," I muttered. "And when will you screw me? I can see that 
you're ready," I added with a nod in the direction of the bulge in his 
pants. 

"Maybe right now," he said. 

"Then you're out-foxed yourself," I assured him. "There is no way you can 
get to my pussy while I'm hogtied like this." 

He seemed to consider that for a while. Then he knelt down and began sucking 
on my breasts. It was then that I found I was in a pretty high state of 
sexual excitement. Whether it was the struggling against the ropes or being 
naked before a man I knew was going to have sex with me, I don't know. But 
his tongue and mouth sent electric shocks racing into my breasts and down to 
my pussy. For long minutes he worked my breasts until I was moaning with 
desire. 

After a few minutes I felt his hand on my pussy. He gently slid his fingers 
between my golden hair and spread the lips of my labia. His fingers began 
stroking my clitoris, which did wonderful things to my already excited body. 
I found myself thrusting my hips forward as much as the hogtie allowed me. 
He teased my most sensitive place with expert fingers that knew just where 
to rub, until I was gasping and trembling all over. 

When I hit the orgasm, it was like nothing else I had ever experienced. 
Being so very tightly bound up was a part of it, I'm sure. As I arched my 
body against the ropes and trembled all over with ecstasy, I was very much 
aware of how completely helpless I was. Those ropes holding my arms and legs 
were wonderful extensions of his control over me, like his own hands holding 
me prisoner. I cried loudly and shook all over. 

When I came down I was still tied in that hogtie and feeling very mellow. 
"Thank you," I said sincerely. It had been wonderful. "But that's not really 
what you wanted, is it?" 

"Who says?" he replied. "If you had charged me a lot of money and set a time 
limit to rush the whole thing, I would have screwed you with only my own 
pleasure in mind. But you made a game of it, allowing me a chance to get you 
for the whole night for free. That makes things different. It's not even 
evening yet, I'll get to screwing you a few times before I let you go 
tomorrow morning." A shiver raced through me at that. "But it pleased me to 
see you reach an orgasm first." 

"It pleased me, too," I agreed. I shifted position a bit so my head was 
nearer his. "And you do tie very well. Did you really have a girlfriend 
named Brenda who liked this?" 

"Of course. Why should I lie about that?" 

"Well, she was a lucky girl. You tie very well." 

"And I think you really like it." 

I paused before telling him, "Yes. I like it very much." 

"But that's not a good thing for a prostitute to like. Making bets like you 
did aren't good for your business. Didn't you think that I could tie you 
well enough to keep you from escaping?" 

"I hoped that you would be very good at it," I said. "There's some things 
more important than making money." What? Then I remembered that I wasn't 
really a prostitute. "You have very good hands." 

He stood up. "I'm going to take a shower now," he said. "Then I'll see about 
that sex you promised." 

"Are you going to leave me here, like this?" I asked. 

"Why not?" 

Why not, indeed? "I'll be here when you get back," I said honestly. "I can't 
get free." 

"I know." 

"And you'll really keep me tied up all night?" 

"In a hogtie if you aren't a good screw." 

"I'll try to be very good." 

He turned and left. 

While he was gone, I half-heartedly tugged at the ropes but escape was 
impossible and I knew it. I rolled around a bit, then got the idea of hiding 
so he would have to look for me when he came back. I rolled over to the edge 
of the bed. It looked a long way down to the floor, and my arms and legs 
were pretty tightly tied behind me. It took some courage to roll off that 
edge. I hit the floor hard and had to wonder why I had been thinking this 
was a good idea. But since I was on the floor, I rolled over and over until 
I was away from the bed and heading down the hallway. It was not easy going, 
and I had to stop often to wiggle a bit this way or that to set up the next 
roll in the direction I wanted to go. 

Rolling over was the only way I could move. Wiggling and squirming got me 
nowhere with my arms useless and my legs doubled up like that. But if I 
rolled over onto my side fast enough, I could continue the roll over onto my 
arms and legs, then over to the other side. Every few rolls I had to pause 
to check my direction and usually wiggle a bit to correct the path. And I 
hurried, trying to be in some other room when Brian returned from his 
shower. I could just imagine the puzzled look on his face when he found this 
tied up little prostitute gone. 

I pushed against the first door I came to and found it opened easily, so I 
went in. It was some kind of library with book shelves all over the walls. I 
rolled in and wiggled around until I could close the door with my knees. 
Then I struggled until I was behind an easy chair. Finally I rested after 
having exerted a lot of effort in my dash down the hall. 

I had no thought of escape. My struggles on the bed had proven to me that I 
wasn't going to get free of those ropes. And in a hogtied like that, I 
wasn't going to get out of his house. My "running" away was only a game. 
Like a child showing off, I was showing him that I was not totally helpless. 
I knew that he would find me within a few minutes of discovering that I was 
no longer on the bed, but it was fun to make him have to look for me. I 
wondered what he would think when he came back and found his bed empty. 

Well, Brian found me and carried me back to the bedroom. He wasn't mad, in 
fact he found my little game amusing and told me that he appreciated my 
ingenuity and resourcefulness. He also told me that he would make sure 
didn't do it again. Which meant, he explained, that I would be even more 
securely restrained during the night. I wondered what would be more secure 
than this tight hogtie but didn't ask. I would find out soon enough. 

As he said he would, Brian took his pleasure with my body. But I stayed 
hogtied. He lay down on the bed next to me and presented his erect penis 
before my mouth. Without any kind of demure, I took it in between my lips 
and began teasing the velvet head with my tongue. 

I made that blow job last as long as I could, teasing, sometimes even 
pushing it out of my mouth when he was getting too near his own climax. But 
finally I sensed that he was too close and I helped him over the brink by 
sucking hard. I swallowed all his cum gladly and licked his rod clean 
afterward. 

I felt very good about what I had done. I wanted to give Brian pleasure. He 
had done the same for me, and done it first. I wanted to give him pleasure 
and if he wanted to use my mouth that time instead of my pussy, that was 
fine by me. The poor little pussy would get its turn, I was sure. 

 CHAPTER FIVE - SOMETHING NOT ON THE MENU 

I stayed in that hogtie for the better part of the afternoon. Which didn't 
bother me nearly as much as I would have thought it could. It was 
uncomfortable but bearable. And I was feeling very good about this man and 
the way he was treating me. Maybe Ken and Phil and Maurice had prepared me 
for this, but being tied up and used sexually was rather pleasant. In an 
exciting in a very strange way. Well, whatever the reason, it simply felt 
good to be laying hogtied on Brain's bed. 

Eventually he did untie me, and as I unfolded stiff legs and eased my arms 
around to the front of my body, I wondered if the pleasure I had found in 
being hogtied had been my own or something shared with whatever my alter ego 
was. 

Brian allowed me to take a shower, which felt pretty good. When I came out, 
modestly holding a towel around me, he was waiting in the bedroom, toying 
with a length of rope. "Got plans for that rope?" I asked. I took a few 
steps in his direction and casually dropped the towel on the floor. I 
crossed my wrists in front of me and told him, in that husky voice, "I did 
say that you could have me all night. 

What's your pleasure, big boy?" 

Yeah! That was the alter ego talking. And probably about to get me into 
trouble. Or at least an uncomfortable position. 

"I was thinking about it. But it's getting towards dinner time and I have to 
make a decision. Do I tie you nice and tight and leave you here while I go 
out and have some good food in a nice restaurant? Or do I take you with me?" 

I was hungry, even my alter ego must have known that. I could almost feel 
the thoughts forming and knew that I was about to say something that would 
get me hogtied again and left alone. I tried as hard as I could to push 
those thoughts down. What came out of my mouth was sort of a compromise, 
"Too bad you can't have both." 

Brain smiled and tossed the rope onto the bed. From the same dresser draw 
that the ropes came, he extracted a pair of handcuffs. They were black 
colored, but still looked quite solid. "I know a place where the booths are 
so dark you can hardly see your food." 

"Delightful! I'll get my dress... Unless you'd like to have me walk in 
naked...?" I was teasing him and we were both enjoying it. 

"Get dressed. Not that your dress leaves much to the imagination...." The 
restaurant was called The Hideaway and the booths were, indeed, rather dark. 
Apparently they knew him from the way the head waiter greeted him. The booth 
was dimly lit and the table before us was covered with a table cloth that 
hung well over the edges. I noted that it would hide almost all of my legs. 
And the top of the table came to midway between my hips and breasts. I slid 
in and sat close to Brian. 

We had a cocktail before dinner, mine a Manhattan, only the second one in my 
life. I was beginning to wonder if my alter ego had different taste in 
drinks as well as sexual activities. Would seem so. I sipped my drink slowly 
but before the first course of dinner came I was feeling no pain. I wasn't 
drunk but approaching that giggly stage just short of it. I guess I was 
smiling too much and feeling pretty mischievous. 

Under cover of the table cloth, I reached down and pulled the edges of my 
dress up until the bottom was someplace under me. I had to lift my bottom 
off the seat but did it very casually so no one would notice that I was 
pulling my dress above my hips. When I finished, the hem was actually around 
my hips. It would have taken me only a second to pull the thing completely 
off over my head. 

If Brian saw what I was doing, he gave no indication. So I took his hand in 
mine and brought it down to my lap. I made sure that it slipped under the 
front edge of my dress. I could tell by the smile on his face that he was 
very aware of my nudity from the waist down. 

I was still not wearing any underwear, so I was, in fact, naked from around 
the waist down. His hand felt warm and good against the soft flesh of my 
thighs. I spread my legs a bit in invitation. The way I was feeling right 
then, I couldn't have cared less had he used that strong male hand to 
masturbate me to a climax right there. The rest of the dinners could just go 
get their own girls. 

Brian didn't bring me anywhere near a climax, but he did tease me enough to 
have me biting my lip to keep the moans of pleasure in. Then the waiter came 
with our salads. After the waiter ground fresh pepper over mine, he departed 
and I felt something pressing against my thigh. I looked down to see the 
pair of handcuffs laying on my right thigh. The temptation was too great. My 
hands went down below the table edge. In a few seconds my wrists were joined 
by blackened steel, clicked quite solidly down. Then I turned to Brian, 
moving my hands toward him so he could not miss seeing what I had done. I 
whispered to him, "Hope you have the key." 

"And if I don't?" he responded casually. 

"That's fine with me." Funny thing is that I meant it. Right then I would 
have happily stood up and walked out with Brain, allowing all to see the 
tight steel that held my wrists prisoner. 

Instead I ate my salad, carefully bringing both hands up with each forkful, 
glancing nervously around to make sure no one was noticing my handicap. 
Brian had been wise in picking black handcuffs, they didn't show in the dim 
light anything like a bright, shiny silver pair would. I finished my salad 
without giving myself away and was pretty proud of myself. 

I held my hands under the table when the waiter took away the salad plates 
and came with the main course. It was a little awkward cutting my steak with 
joined hands but I managed pretty well. It wasn't too hard, and soon I was 
cutting and eating without having to think about it. 

As the food began to fill my stomach, I sobered up a bit. Enough to wonder 
why I was doing such a silly thing as trying to eat dinner in a fancy 
restaurant with my hands cuffed. And my dress up around my waist. But there 
was nothing I could do about it right then, so I simply finished dinner, 
trying to keep the handcuffs below the table as much as possible. 

After dinner was finished, Brian ordered brandy for both of us. I sipped 
mine and was surprised to find it was such a strong drink. After a couple 
sips, Brian told me to put my hands over by him. He unlocked my right hand. 
For a minute or so I was free but with the cuffs still attached to my left 
wrist. I let it sit on my lap while I sipped brandy with my right. Then 
Brian leaned a bit towards me and told me to slide forward a bit and put my 
hands behind my back. With a fast beating heart I obeyed. 

When his hand came out from behind me, my wrists were again locked together 
but behind my back this time. I eased myself back as best I could and looked 
at him. I was quite helpless in that there was no way I was going to get up 
and walk out. Nor was I going to ask for help from anyone. And I certainly 
couldn't use my hands. I wondered if I would simply sit there until Brian 
finished his brandy and then he would unlock me so we could go. Or did he 
have something else in mind... ? 

He had something else in mind. His hand casually passed over my right thigh 
and descended between my legs. I spread them a little wider and gave out 
with a small gasp has his fingers touched my pussy. Expertly he spread my 
labia and found a part of me that was very sensitive and already primed. He 
began gently teasing me, slowly and with the lightest of touches. But it was 
effective, oh boy, was it effective! I could feel the warmth in my loins 
flaming up several notches. 

For a while I tried not to react but that was becoming harder and harder to 
do. Soon I was biting my lip to keep from gasping at the wonderful tingling 
sensations racing into my body. One finger slipped down to find my love 
tunnel juicy and ready. It teased me there, just entering then wiggling up 
and down. I wanted to shove my hips forward and force that finger deep 
inside me but held back. It was hard to understand how Brian could simply 
sit there, sipping brandy and making casual conversation, none of which I 
heard at all. 

I leaned back, spread my legs a bit wider and closed my eyes. The feeling 
was getting so good that I no longer cared if anyone saw me acting strangely 
or not. But part of me knew that the game was not to make a fool of myself 
and Brian, but to hold out, to try and take whatever he could dish out to me 
without breaking down into obvious orgasm. It was not easy. He teased, I 
fought down wonderful sensations, he stroked me, I blushed and whined as 
quietly as I could when the excitement grew beyond what I could keep in. 

It finally happened. Brian could have just excited me and then withdrawn his 
hand. That would have been torture enough and made the whole evening an 
incredible experience in excitement and frustration. But he sensed that I 
was controlling my reactions and went for the big show. I couldn't fight it, 
the sensations of being handcuffed and his fingers teasing my most sensitive 
place drove me beyond ability to hide it. I climaxed. My pussy opened up 
like a flower, radiating heat and wonderful feelings all through my body. I 
had all I could do to keep from crying out and arching my body forward 
against his hand. 

I think I did make some noise. My eyes were closed and I was fighting to 
suppress the shivers that raced down my spine. When I opened my eyes and 
could focus them, I noticed that a couple of the other dinners were looking 
my way. Or so it seemed. It was hard to tell in the dim lights. 

I leaned close to Brian and whispered in his ear, "You're a bastard." 

"Oh, you knew my parents?" 

We both smiled. A hand slipped in behind my back and unlocked one half of 
the handcuffs. I brought my arms forward, keeping the handcuffs below the 
edge of the table. He unlocked the other cuff and made them disappear into 
his pocket. 

We finished our brandy and left. I tried to look at the others to see if 
anyone had noticed my little display of sexual excitement and was taking 
particular interest in me, but many of the male heads turned my direction 
and it was hard to tell if they knew something or were just looking at a 
pretty girl. 

"I promised that you could have me for the night," I said as soon as we were 
in his house. "And I meant it. How would you like me, nude or clothed?" I 
reached down to take the hem of that dress, but I paused when the edge was 
just about to show my golden pubic hair. 

Brian smiled and shook his head. "You're really something. Nude it is." 

I pulled the dress off and tossed it on a couch. Suddenly his strong arms 
were picking me up and I found myself being carried into the bedroom. It was 
nice. 

It would be nice to say that we made long, slow, glorious love until the wee 
small hours. But my mischievous alter ego would not let such conventional 
happiness be mine. So soon as he lay me down on the bed and began to take 
off his clothes, I scurried to my kneel and asked, "What? No ropes? I 
thought you know how to keep a girl in line." 

Shut up, I told myself. Myself didn't listen. "I'm feeling catty. You had 
better at least tie my hands so I can't scratch you." I illustrated with a 
clawing motion in the air. 

"Catty? We'll see about that." He went for the ropes and I smiled. 

A few minutes later my wrists were crossed and tightly bound behind my back. 
Then Brian continued undressing while I wiggled around on the bed, hardly 
able to contain my desire. I moaned and posed this way and that, and in 
general acted like a cat in heat. When he came to me, I was quite hot and 
ready. 

Where I had thought of long, slow lovemaking on the drive home, we made love 
fast, hard and very intense. It was as wonderful as it was unexpected. We 
climaxed at about the same time, which makes it extra nice. I might have 
been little Miss Innocent, but I was learning a lot about sex. 

Later we lay in each other arms for a long time, my hands still bound behind 
me and my being very content to leave them that way. Brian talked a bit 
about himself, at my prompting, but really didn't say too much. I got the 
impression that he was actually a rather shy man. At least he was a wealthy 
man, having inherited a considerable fortune from his parents, but also 
having doubled it through his own business skills. And, as a woman will 
always try to ascertain, he had never been married and had no current girl 
friends. Which was why, he admitted, he had suddenly taken it in his head to 
cruise down to "hooker's alley" and pick up a little sex. Which is also, I 
gathered, not his usual practice. 

He wanted to know some things about me, but I parried most of his questions 
with evasions or lies. I felt comfortable with him but the part of me that 
steps in when I least expect it or want it, kept me from telling much about 
the real me. I found myself playing the role of a prostitute whether or not 
I liked it. 

Later we made love again, this time slower and much more relaxed. It was 
fine with both of us taking our times, and more satisfying in some ways than 
the hurried passion of the first time. He had more lasting power than any 
man I had ever known. There were times when I wondered if he would ever have 
a climax. I wasn't too experienced, but it seemed to me from what other 
girls had told me in high school, that Brian was stretching it out far 
longer than most men. 

Then came the moment when we were both satisfied, sleepy, and knew that the 
lovemaking was over for that night. Brian took me in his arms, kissed me 
gently, and told me that it was time for me to be tied up for the night. I 
pointed out -- quite reasonably, I thought -- that I was already tied, my 
hands still being secured behind my back, and that I really didn't need any 
more. That got me about as far as you think it got me. Nowhere. 

He brought over his pile of ropes and I sighed in resignation to the 
inevitable. "How tight can you take it for the whole night?" he asked. That 
was good. It was my chance to plead pain and get tied up in something 
comfortable for the night. The prior night spent with my elbows tightly 
bound behind me was still very vivid in my memory. 

"I like it tight," I said. Damn me! "You can tie my elbows together. Hogtie 
me, even, if you like." 

He frowned. "I know you took that hogtie this afternoon pretty good and that 
lasted a few hours. But all night? Axe you sure?" 

"I spent all of last night with my elbows tied together," I said truthfully. 
Perhaps he could tell that I was telling the truth, or perhaps he simply 
figured that I was asking for it and deserved everything I got. He untied my 
wrists, pausing after the ropes fell off to give me a chance to change my 
mind. I put my palms together and pulled my elbows in towards each other. 

When he was finished my elbows were bound together very tightly and my 
wrists equally as snug. I sat on the bed and watched him binding my legs 
together without saying a word. Part of me was satisfied with what was 
happening, the other part disgusted at the first part. It's no fun having a 
split personality. 

He made it, as I expected he would, into a hogtie by connecting my wrists to 
my ankles and pulling that rope until my hands were up against the back of 
my ankles. He tied the final knots up at my elbows and that reminded me that 
he was something of an expert, having tied other girls before. At least one 
Brenda by name, I think it was. He backed off and watched me. Obligingly, I 
wiggled, pulled and tugged, and rolled around a bit to show him that I was, 
indeed, quite tightly bound and helpless. 

The covers were pulled back and I was shifted over until I was laying on my 
side on the sheets. Somehow I had expected him to toss me on the floor to 
spend the night in misery. That would have been appropriate for a girl was 
submissive as I obviously was. Instead he lay besides me and covered us both 
with the blanket. My breasts were pressed up against the side of his chest 
and my legs along side his body, at least down to my knees. My legs below 
that were bent backwards and tied up to my wrists. He put his arm under my 
head and rested his hand on my side. It was very comfortable laying there 
with my head on his shoulder. I felt asleep a contented woman. 

In the middle of the night I awoke. For a minute I was confused as to where 
I was and what was happening. But the tightness of those ropes and the pain 
from my shoulders and arms informed me who, where and what. Brian was still 
next to me, sleeping comfortably. I stretched a bit, trying to ease the 
strain, but could not do much. I was really pretty helpless in that hogtie. 
So I lay just as I was, trying to keep still so I wouldn't wake up Brian. 

I fell asleep again a few times, but didn't sleep too well. When the first 
grey light of dawn crept through the windows, I was awake. But I waited 
until the room had lightened enough to see details before I woke Brian. 

I don't know if you've ever spent a whole night in a tight hogtie, but I can 
tell you that it's not that comfortable. I was hurting, plain and simple. 
Yet there was something about that treatment that did things to my body. 
Things like warming up my loins and filling me with desire that overrode the 
discomfort. Or maybe the discomfort and the helplessness it proclaimed were 
part of the stimulation. Whatever, I was homy and woke up the naked man next 
to me by kissing him passionately while pressing my breasts against his 
chest. 

He responded and quickly his hands were squeezing my breasts and grabbing my 
ass. Then came decision time. I said not a word, but watched in silence as 
Brian chose between using my mouth as a sheath for that rigid rod of his, or 
untying my legs and putting it into the love tunnel already juicy and ready. 

It didn't take him too long to untie my legs but he didn't waste any time 
with the ropes binding my arms. Which was fine with me. I had found that 
laying on arms bound with elbows together was very stimulating to me. As he 
pumped away inside me, the pressure of my weight on those bound arms was 
like an aphrodisiac to me, and perhaps to him. It was one of those fast, 
hard screwing of two young, hard bodies hungry for each other. And it was 
very good. Very good. 

At my insistence, he untied me and drove me back to where my car was parked. 
My baby was still there, for which I was grateful. It was not the nicest 
part of town. I made it back to my apartment to change clothes and then rush 
to work without being more than fifteen minutes late. I put on a long 
sleeved blouse and slacks to hide the rope marks on my wrists and ankles. 

Brian had asked for a way to get in touch with me and I gave him a false 
phone number. As I was getting out of my 380SL something fell on the ground. 
I reached down and found three thousand dollar bills rolled up and held with 
a rubber band. Brian must have put in on my seat when he leaned over to kiss 
me goodbye. He was a sweet guy. He didn't have to pay me, especially six 
times the usual rate. While I was driving to work, I had to remind myself 
that I wasn't a prostitute, even though it was surprisingly easy to fit into 
the role. 

Later on, during a staff meeting that I had trouble keep my attention on, I 
realized that having been paid, I was by most reasoning a prostitute in 
legal and moral fact. 

 CHAPTER SIX - PUNISHMENT FOR A PROSTITUTE 

The mystery was increasing. More unanswered questions piling up. How had I 
known where the prostitutes are to be found standing around on street 
comers? I was an innocent young girl who didn't know about such things. 
Well, okay, maybe I had seen some item on the news about prostitutes and it 
had stuck in the back of my mind where they were to be found. Maybe. 

But there was still Maurice. How did I know who he was and what he liked? 

What it added up to was that I wasn't going crazy. Which was a relief. Which 
left what was happening. Periodically I was being "taken over" by some kind 
of force which made me do things that I would never normally have done. The 
fact that I was coming to like some of those things was besides the point, I 
was still being compelled to do these highly erotic things. 

The fact that I really liked Brian helped me feel not so nervous about this 
whole scene. Before this whole unbelievable turn of events had begun, I 
would have run away screaming at the thought of what I was now ready to 
willingly do. But those things that Brian did to me... Well, some were okay. 
Well, more than okay... Alright! I'm admit it, I liked what he did to me! 
There, that's out in the open. It had been uncomfortable being hogtied as 
long as I was. Very uncomfortable. But I had been so excited, so turned on 
in fact, that the discomfort had been worth all the pleasure. In fact, I 
wasn't so sure that the discomfort hadn't been adding to the pleasure in 
some indefinable way. All I know is that I felt very secure and loved when 
he was holding my naked and tied up body in his arms. 

And that bit in the restaurant was something else! Making me climax right 
there in front of the whole restaurant while my hands were locked behind me 
and I couldn't do a thing about it! It was something incredible, that's for 
sure. 

Maurice and Phil and Ken were nice men and I enjoyed what they did to me. 
But Brian was something else. Why does a woman take a liking to one man and 
not another? It would have been fine by me if my alter ego forced me back to 
Brian. But there had been no repeats so far, so that didn't look likely. And 
I had a very strong feeling that if I tried to visit Brian on my own, I 
would be stopped. Just thinking about it, I felt resistance. 

So there I was. I went to my office and worked all week until Saturday was 
looming on the horizon. But what would this Saturday bring? While thinking 
about that over a salad Friday noon, it came to me that perhaps I could 
channel my compulsion into something more acceptable than the unknown. If I 
simply waited until Saturday night, heaven only knew where my alter ego 
would force me to go and what would happen to me. But perhaps I could push 
things in a way that I wanted. After all, the whole Sunday scene with Brian 
had been my idea. An experiment. I had - presented a chance and my alter ego 
took over. My rather nice time with Brian had resulted. 

So Saturday night was coming and I was ready to try another experiment. All 
was ready. I had done some shopping that afternoon, picking up several very 
sexy outfits at some specialty shops in the mall. Perhaps my alter ego had 
guided me because a couple of the outfits were not something I would have 
picked by myself. 

Laid out on the bed for selection was a pair of hot pants, actual hot pants, 
very, very short, very tight and made of rich blue velvet. Also laying there 
was a new dress of pink satin, tight fitting and very low cut in front and 
back. That was one of the outfits I didn't pick. Tacky. 

There was also a pair of fishnet stockings, a see- through blouse of misty 
pale blue, an extremely short skirt of leather, and a very tiny black lack 
bra and panties set. The high heels I had brought before were on the floor. 
I figured between these things and what I had in the closet, my alter ego 
could pick something to please it. 

I stood there, completely naked after my shower and fixing my hair, giving 
every opportunity for something other than me to pick out an outfit. After 
fifteen minutes I figured that the choice was going to be up to me. So I put 
on a pair of pantyhose, the hot pants, and the see- through blouse. The high 
heels finished the outfit and the girl in the mirror looked every bit the 
part of a hooker. And quite sexy. I picked up a small purse and slipped 
another purchase from that afternoon into it then went out to my car. 

The evening air was cool after a warm spring day and I left the top down on 
my sports car. It was hard to believe that I was actually driving around in 
public with a blouse that left nothing to the imagination concerning my 
breasts, but I was. And I didn't have the feeling that my alter ego had 
anything to do with it. This was me doing it. Of course, I told myself that 
if I hadn't picked out something sexy and revealing, my alter ego would 
have. 

The place to drive to wasn't hard to chose. That was the part of the 
experiment where, despite a feeling that I was not going to be allowed to 
get away with it, I was trying to guide my alter ego into an activity that I 
wanted. I drove up to Brian's house. 

I parked on the street and sat there for a while looking at the large house. 
There were a couple lights on, so I figured someone -- hopefully Brian -- 
was home. Since he told me he wasn't married, I figured it was probably him. 
I was going to give my alter ego the chance to play, but with the man of my 
choice. I took my other purchase out of my purse and removed them from the 
box. In the dim street lights, they were shinny. And each cuff clicked 
loudly as I closed them around my wrists. With my wrists firmly locked into 
handcuffs in front of me, I tossed the box and purse on the floor and got 
out of my car. I was going to surprise Brian. 

It might be a surprise, but I was sure Brian would take finding a 
sexy-dressed woman wearing handcuffs at his front door in stride. And if he 
wasn't alone, so what? The worse I'd do is surprise his date for the night. 
Which might be fun. 

As I approached his front door, I waited for something to happen. Nothing 
did. The thought occurred to me that my alter ego might not kick in tonight 
at all. I had simply assumed that it would, it had every Saturday night so 
far. Well, I told myself with a sigh, if it doesn't show up, I'll just have 
to wing it. Spending the night with Brian, even without my alter ego calling 
the shots, could be fun. I was sure that Brian was capable of planning out 
the evening without mischievous promptings from me. 

I reached the front door and lifted shackled wrists to knock when I froze. 
My hand just wouldn't come down to strike the massive wooden door. I tried 
to force my hand to knock, then to push the door bell after failing that, 
but my hands wouldn't obey. I then tried to call out, to let him know I was 
there, ready and willing. But I couldn't. 

My alter ego, whatever it really was, didn't want me in Brian's arms that 
night, damn it! I sensed anger but it wasn't my anger at being blocked from 
what I wanted. It was anger that I would try to push events the way I 
wanted. I felt that my alter ego was going to have no part with my plans and 
would shortly come up with plans of its own. 

And it did. After a minute of silent battle while standing on Brian's door 
step, I lost and was walking back to my car. I wanted to cry, which 
surprised me a bit. Apparently I had wanted to be with Brian more than I 
realized. 

Back in the car, I retrieved the box the handcuffs had come in and extracted 
the key. After unlocking my wrists, I put the cuffs in my purse and drove 
away. For a while I seemed to be driving aimlessly, with no destination. 
Then auto pilot kicked in again and I was going someplace. 

I parked the car in almost exactly the same place that I had the prior 
Sunday. The street was busier on Saturday night, more cars cruising slowly 
along, and more girls standing around or slowly walking the pavement, 
wiggling their asses and advertising their wares. I was disappointed that my 
alter ego would want to go the prostitute route again, but cheered up when I 
remembered that it had allowed me to meet Brian. I wiggled my bottom out to 
the main street and leaned against a convenient wall. 

There was another girl not far away, and I got a nasty look from her. I 
ignored her. From what I could see, there were plenty of cars slowly moving 
along as their occupants viewed the merchandise on display. I begin to 
wonder what kind of adventure I would have that night. 

Several times a car would come to a stop directly in front of me and I would 
stroll up to lean over and give the driver a good look at my breasts. But 
each time I turned the man down, and a few of them weren't bad looking. I 
also turned down a car filled with four teenage boys, all drooling. And a 
car with two gorgeous woman in it. That might have been an adventure, but my 
alter ego turned them down, too. 

Was this it? I began to ask myself, to spend the night standing on a street 
corner, turning down customers all night? Bummer! 

But that was not what was in store for me. I realized later that my alter 
ego knew exactly what it was doing and had maneuvered me into exactly what 
happened. After an hour or so a car stopped and two men got out. I stayed 
against my wall as they walked up, not wanting to even consider them as 
customers. They stood on each side of me for a few seconds, not saying a 
thing. I began to get a bad feeling inside. This was not the way customers 
acted. Then I was taken by the arms and lead towards the car. I resisted but 
with a man holding each arm I could do nothing. And I was sure that 
screaming would do no good. The only people who would hear me were 
prostitutes and customers of prostitutes, neither of which would come to my 
aid or call the cops. 

I was shoved into the back seat of the car and one of the men got in with 
me. Quickly, and with experienced hands, I was turned sideways and my arms 
pulled behind my back. I felt ropes going around my wrists and wanted to 
fight but was strangely helpless. It seemed as if my alter ego was still in 
control and wanted me to be taken prisoner by these two strangers. 

When we drove away from the curve a minute later, my hands were tied behind 
me and my ankles tied together. By Brian's standards, it was a simple piece 
of bondage, but it got the job done, I was helpless enough. As we pulled 
away, I saw the girl who had been next to me grinning. 

The ride was short and ended when the car drove into a garage attacked to 
some kind of warehouse or something. The inside was dark so I couldn't see 
much. I was pulled out of the car, set on my feet, then picked up and 
carried through a door. My heart was beating fast and my mouth going dry 
with fear. This was not a normal prostitute- client relationship, I could 
tell even with my limited experience in such matters. 

I was taken to an office, a rather nice one considering that the outside of 
the building was nothing worth mentioning. The carpet was thick, the walls 
covered in nice oak, and the desk large enough to play ping-pong on. I was 
set on my bound feet and helped to keep my balance by one hand on my arm. 
Then we waited. 

The man behind the desk looked up from some papers. He was middle aged, 
balding, and had the mild looks of an account, including glasses. He settled 
back in his chair and took off those glasses. His eyes were a watery pale 
blue, almost the same shade as my see-through blouse. When he spoke, his 
manner was mild and soft spoken. 

"You were working my territory," he said. "I don't allow no girls to work 
unless they're my girls. Freelance and amateurs ruin the trade." His facial 
expression didn't seem very put out by my transgression into his territory, 
but his words said otherwise. "I'll have to do something about this." 

What "something" was worried me. I wanted to speak out, to tell him that it 
was all a mistake, and that I would be happy to get out of this territory as 
fast as I could. But nothing came out. I had the feeling that my face was 
set into a faint sneer when I wanted it to show just how fearful and really 
meek I was. 

"Earl, take her down to the special room and show her what happens to girls 
who take work away from my girls. Afterwards, bring her back. When she 
understands how serious we are about his, we'll talk. She's pretty enough, 
maybe I'll be generous and let her become one of my girls." 

His faint smile at that last utterance didn't make me feel very good about 
my future. 

I was picked up and carried out. There were stairs going down and a passage 
so poorly lit that these two men must have known the way by heart. Then I 
was in the "special room" and I knew immediately that I didn't want to be 
there. 

It wasn't a large room, maybe fifteen feet by fifteen feet. But it was below 
ground, and there were no windows. None at all. The walls were concrete, 
bare and impersonal. The ceiling held only one light hanging from a cord. 
There was a small metal bed with a beat up mattress, a thick lead pipe post 
in one comer set into the concrete floor and braced to the ceiling with 
metal brackets. There was also a metal chair that appeared to have its legs 
set into the concrete floor. And there was a wooden box next to the chair. 
The box was filled with lengths of rope, mostly looking dirty and well used, 
handcuffs, chains of different types, and a couple whips that also looked 
well- used. I was sure I was not going to like this. 

While one man held my arms from behind, the other grabbed the front of my 
blouse and ripped it right off me. I was surprised by the action and gasped 
loudly. The material, being rather sheer, parted easily under his strong 
hand but did hurt my shoulders where material resisted a bit and dug in. My 
hot pants were not ripped from my body, they were cut off with short, 
vicious jerks from a knife. The pantyhose were also ripped off, including 
the high heels which sort of fell off as I was lifted to allow him to pull 
the pantyhose off my feet. 

I was breathing hard and very scared. These men meant to hurt me, that was 
for sure. And what scared me even more was the professional way they were 
going about it. Had they been drooling and making jokes about my naked body, 
and obviously eager to get their hands on me, I would have been scared but 
not nearly as much as their quiet, professional manner made me. I got the 
feeling that they had done this before -- perhaps many times. 

I was lifted up and set down on the metal chair with my arms over the back 
of it. One man held me down, pressing my bare flesh against the cold metal 
while the other one untied the ropes from my hands. My wrists had been 
crossed, but he took those ropes off and immediately retied them with the 
palms together. Being somewhat more experienced at such things now, I knew 
that meant my elbows would be bound together. And they were. Tightly. Very 
tightly, as if the bondage itself was meant to hurt. 

My wrists were tied down to something on the bottom of the chair and pulled 
very hard until the back of the chair was digging into the soft flesh of my 
armpits. I wanted to cry out, to beg them not to do this to me, but was too 
scared for that. Or maybe my alter ego was keeping me from talking. I had 
never been so scared in my life so I couldn't tell if I was reacting 
normally or not. 

My ankles were then untied and my legs savagely pushed apart. Each man took 
an ankle and tied a rope around it. Then my legs were pulled back alongside 
the chair until my feet were at the back of the chair. They tied my ankles 
to the back legs of the chair, up high near the seat. It spread my knees 
apart and made the edge of the seat cut into my thighs but they didn't care. 
When the knots were tied and done, my legs were very wide spread and held 
tightly that way. It was rapidly becoming a painful ordeal just from the way 
I was bound. 

One of the men casually went to the box and picked up a length of rope which 
he doubled up in his hand until the loops were only a couple feet long. He 
stood directly in front of me. 

"You can scream all you want. These walls are soundproof," he said. He was 
not being dramatic, just stating a fact, and it was all the more scary 
because of that. 

I was certain these men were very experienced at making a girl feel pain. 
"You can beg and plead all you want," he continued. "But you have to 
understand that you will be hurt. That is what the boss wants, that you will 
be hurt enough so you understand that you can't come into his territory and 
take business away from his girls. Richardo...." The other man so addressed, 
bent down into the box and came up with a small jar. Then he put on a thin 
rubber glove also found in the box. He unscrewed the jar and took a gob of 
cream onto his two fingers. With his ungloved hand, he spread apart my labia 
so he could apply the gop directly onto the tender flesh of that very 
sensitive placed. I was sitting down, but the way my legs were wide spread 
made most of my pussy available to him. His hand returned to the jar for 
another gob. That was shoved between me and the seat so that a good amount 
got onto my pussy. All I could feel was the coolness of the cream. 

Richardo finished his task and returned the jar and glove to the box. The 
other man, I sort of knew his name was Earl, was still standing in front of 
me with that rope in his hand. Without warning he suddenly swung the rope. I 
gasped as the cotton cord hit my breasts, racking across both of them. It 
stung. 

Earl then began a systemic whipping my breasts with that coiled up rope. He 
hit them across the nipples, on the sides, the top and even the undersides. 
The pain was not terrible but bad enough to make me cry. I asked him not to 
do it any more but was ignored, as he had promised. I did not count how many 
times he lashed my breasts, but it was enough to make all of them string and 
bum. 

Part of my mind was telling me that this torture, painful though it might 
be, was actually very mild compared to what he could do. If whipping my 
breasts with a rope was all I had to endure, I would consider myself lucky. 
But then what was that cream smeared onto and into my sex? 

What indeed? Near the end of the mild whipping of my breasts I begin to get 
an idea. For some stupid reason, that whipping of my breasts, perhaps along 
with my being tightly bound to that chair, had made my loins get all heated 
up and my nipples become erect, some of the signs of beginning sexual 
arousal. I was beginning to understand that being hurt can make a girl 
aroused, even though it doesn't make sense. 

But something else was happening, something much more than my pussy getting 
hot with sexual excitement. It was getting hot from something else, and that 
cream was a good candidate. When Earl saw that I was becoming increasingly 
uncomfortable down below, he stopped the lashing of my breasts. Both of them 
stood back to watch, and that didn't make me feel very good about what was 
to come. 

It was fire, pure and simple fire consuming my pussy. All the tender, 
sensitive flesh down there was rapidly becoming an inferno. I squirmed and 
wiggled but that did no good. My sex was on fire and it wasn't in the usual 
sexual sense. That cream, whatever it was, was burning my skin. No wonder 
Richardo had used a rubber glove, that stuff burned like fire! 

My agony lasted an eternity. Have you ever had part of you bum and you 
couldn't do anything about it? Sort of like an incredibly strong itch that 
you couldn't scratch, but much, much worse. That whole area was on fire and 
it was terrible. I remember moaning and groaning and whining with the 
growing fire, and struggling against the ropes. All I could move was my 
hips, my ankles and arms being very tightly and solidly bound down. Before 
long I was banging my bottom against the chair in agony. 

And not long after that I was screaming. I didn't want to but there are some 
things that you just can't stand and have to do something about. So I 
screamed, not too loud at first but more as the burning grew. There was a 
fear that this cream was doing some kind of permanent damage to my sensitive 
skin. I remember offering those two men anything if they would just stop the 
burning. I promised some pretty explicit sexual acts, a couple of which I 
hadn't even heard of before. But they did not reply. I think they were 
smiling at my agony but was too occupied with my own suffering to watch 
their reactions. 

The burning consumed itself eventually, but only after having driven me near 
the brink of insanity. Or so it seemed. Thanks to my alter ego, I had been 
getting used to being tied up and feeling pretty helpless. But the suffering 
I did while tied to that chair was something else, a whole new level of 
helplessness. 

When I stopped struggling violently and settled down to random wiggles and 
twitching of muscles, Earl took up his rope and began whipping the tops of 
my thighs. I think he was doing it mostly to add some marks to my body 
because the pain I felt from those lashes was not really bad. 

When the fire had died down to smoldering embers, they untied me from the 
chair, at least my ankles and the rope holding my arms down. Then they 
dragged me to the pipe and pushed my head down until they could force me up 
against the pipe, my arms raised high behind me and against the cold metal. 
The back of my head was against the pipe as I bent forwards, so that I was 
looking back through my legs. They then wrapped rope around my wrists and 
elbows until my arms were lashed to the pipe. 

It was an awkward position to be tied into but very effective, I soon found 
out, for two things. The first is that I couldn't move or get myself out of 
it. My bound arms held my body. My legs could move a little from one side to 
the other but that was all. I was stuck. The other fact I soon found out was 
that this position made my bottom very vulnerable. 

It was one of those whips from the box. Each stroke of the leather thong 
across the soft flesh of my bottom brought fresh agony and a scream from my 
throat. I did not try to hold back the screams, this was too much pain to do 
anything but scream and hope that you might faint. 

But Earl knew what he was doing. I did not faint. I suffered through a good 
whipping of my bottom. And when he had covered most of my bottom, he added a 
dozen strokes across the backs of my thighs. I'm sure that they got a kick 
out of the dance I did each time my bottom exploded into fiery pain, but I 
didn't care. 

The girl they untied from the pipe was a sobbing wreck, a girl reduced by 
pain to something who would have done anything they said, no matter what, 
just to stop the pain from coming. 

My arms were still bound behind me when they pushed me down on the seat. I 
cried loudly as my tortured bottom came into hard contact with that metal 
chair but they didn't care. For some reason beyond me, they put my high 
heels on my feet, but ignored the tattered remains of my blouse and hot 
pants. I was led back up the stairs to the boss' office. 

He looked me up and down. Earl and Richardo turned me around so he could get 
a good view of all sides. I must have looked a mess, but his expression 
showed no emotions, least of all pity. 

"Now you know what happens to girls who stick their asses not my territory," 
he informed. "And the next time will be much worse." He paused to let that 
sink in. "You're not bad looking. Good body. How'd you like to work for me? 
Good money, and you're protected. It's a lot better than the 
alternative...." Suddenly my alter ego kicked in. I took a step forward 
until I was standing at the edge of his desk. I spread my legs a bit so I 
was solidly planted on the carpet. Then I looked him right in the eye. 
"Carlos," I said firmly, "you're a bastard, always have been, and always 
will be. I'd sooner go to hell than work for you." 

Carlos frowned slightly then nodded to Earl. Suddenly I felt hands on my 
arms and I was being bent forward until my breasts were pushed hard into the 
wood surface of Carlos' desk. Then a dozen swift, hard strokes of a strong 
male hand landed on my bare bottom. They would have hurt under any 
condition, but with my bottom all sore from the whipping, they hurt 
something terrible. I tried to keep the screams in but was not entirely 
successful. 

When I was allowed back up, there were fresh tears on my cheeks and his 
desk. "What a big man you are, Carlos, to have naked, helpless girl beaten 
by your men." 

"So you don't want to work for me. Fine. Just don't come around my territory 
again." Carlos made a waving motion of dismal with his hand. I felt hands on 
my arms again. 

"By the way," I said, "how's your prick? Still got all those holes where 
that redhead nearly bit it off?" I was smiling sweetly. 

Carlos stood suddenly up and I thought for a second he was going reach 
across the desk and slap me. But he gathered himself together. 

"Dump her someplace where she won't be getting home for a while," he 
instructed his men, and I was dragged out of his office. 

The ride in the big black car was long. I was in the back seat with Earl, my 
arms still bound behind me with the elbows together. They had tied my ankles 
when I was shoved in, so I wasn't in any condition to try and get out of the 
car and run. I was still naked but the back of the car had those darkened 
windows and I was pretty sure no one could see my nudity. 

My ass was sore as hell and hurt against the leather seats but I was glad 
that the cream had finally died down totally. That stuff was powerful. I 
wondered if it was some kind of irritant and if my flesh had been harmed by 
it. 

It was well after midnight when we finally stopped the car. I had been 
trying to keep track of where we were driving but was lost after we left the 
city and took to back roads. This was some place in the mountains far inland 
from the coast. The door was opened and I was pulled out and left to stand 
there on bound ankles. Earl was looking around but at what I couldn't tell. 
It was a moonless night and all I could see were stars. All else around me 
was black, save for the two men illuminated by the car's inside light, and 
some trees lit up by the headlights. 

He seemed satisfied and turned to me. "The boss, he didn't say to kill you, 
so we won't," he said. I felt a bit of relief at that because I had been 
wondering about my fate. "But he wants you to learn a lesson. You'll have a 
long way to walk back from here." He looked me over from bound ankles and 
high heels up to lightly marked breasts and thighs. Then at the back of me 
where the more serious whip marks criss-crossed my bottom and the backs of 
my thighs. "Don't pay to mess with the boss," he said. 

"Carlos is an asshole and someday someone is going to put him down, hard," I 
said. 

Earl grinned. "Maybe," he agreed. "But tonight you've got other problems." I 
was silent but agreed with him. I had a sinking feeling what the next 
problem would be. 

But I was wrong. I had feared that they would simply drive off, leaving me 
naked and bound in the middle of some mountains. Instead they untied my legs 
and pushed me over to the trunk of the car. Richardo pushed me down until my 
breasts were hard against the trunk and held me there while Earl unzipped 
his pants. Just leaving me alone was not enough for those two. Not that I 
could blame then in one way, after all they had just spent the better part 
of the evening torturing a pretty, sexy, and naked woman and that had to 
have some effect on them. If they were normal, healthy men. 

And they were. First Earl, then Richardo raped me as I lay over the trunk. 
They took me from behind and did it hard and quick. Which was good from one 
point of view, it minimized the amount of time they were banging their 
bodies against my very sore, whip-marked bottom. 

Then they left me standing there, arms bound, naked, pussy dripping with 
their cum, and lost. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN - LOST IN THE MOUNTAINS 

I wanted to cry but the tears were all dried up so I just stood there in the 
dark, watching the disappearing tail lights. After a while I looked up at 
the sky and wished I were one of those people who could tell directions and 
the time just by looking at the stars. All I could tell was that there were 
a lot of them. 

Very slowly my eyes got used to the dark and I could make out vague shapes, 
sort of slightly different shades of black in the dim starlight. But that 
didn't help much. The road that we had followed for a while was dirt, ill- 
defined and impossible to follow in the dark. But I began walking in the 
direction I had seen the tail lights go. 

Oddly, I still had on my high heels. They were the only bit of clothing I 
had left but I was grateful for something on my feet. The ground was hard 
and rocky. I had been walking only a few minutes when I realized that I had 
left the road and was walking on grass. I immediately stopped and considered 
what to do. I didn't dare lose that road, it might well be the only path out 
of these mountains. I could turn around and find it again but following it 
in this darkness would be hard. Instead I found a place where the wild grass 
seemed a little thicker and lowered myself to the ground. With bound arms it 
wasn't easy but I flattened a patch to make a bed and lay down on it. 

The air was cool and it would have been nice to have a blanket but I didn't. 
It would have been nice to have hands that could cover me with grass for a 
blanket, but I didn't' have that either. Hoping that there were no wild 
animals who would be dangerous to a helpless, naked female, I tired to go to 
sleep. 

For a while sleep alluded me. This had been one rough night and there were 
times during it when I feared that I was not going to survive. I still 
wasn't certain about that. Carlos was obviously some kind of crime boss, at 
least over the local prostitutes, and he probably wouldn't think anything of 
killing me. He hadn't given much thought to having me tortured and dumped 
out here. It seemed to me that he didn't really worry about doing anything 
about my treatment. It was possible that I would be able to walk out of here 
and get home. He hadn't seemed concerned that I would run to the police, 
which meant that he wasn't afraid of them. As I thought about that, it 
occurred to me that he couldn't very easily keep his girls on the street in 
obvious prostitution without the police at least turning their heads the 
other way. Which meant he had at least some of the police in his pocket. No 
wonder he didn't worry about what a hooker would say to the police. 

Which suggested that it might be better if I didn't go to the police. At the 
best, it might get me nowhere. At worst, it might make Carlos change his 
mind about getting rid of a rival hooker permanently. I made a note to avoid 
the police on this one. 

Which brought my thinking back to why had I done this in the first place. My 
alter ego knew about prostitutes, enough to get me picked up as one by Brian 
the weekend before. Suddenly I realized that all which had befallen me that 
night was not random chance. My alter ego had known what would happen and 
set me up! And the reason wasn't hard to figure. I had tired to steer it 
into a game that I wanted, not what it wanted. So it punished me by putting 
me where it knew damned well I would be picked up and "taught a lesson" by 
Carlos. Damn! 

I felt asleep with troubled thoughts about this becoming more than an 
oddball sexual adventure each Saturday night. This was serious, as my sore 
ass attested to. 

* * * 

The morning sunlight awoke me. I must have been tired because the morning 
was well along and the sun was way up when I finally awoke. It was not easy 
getting to my feet with arms still bound behind my back. Wanting to keep the 
high heels on didn't help, either. But I didn't know how far I was going to 
have to hike and any shoes are better than no shoes. 

I looked around to find I was in a small valley surrounded by low hills 
dotted with clumps of trees. They weren't pine trees, so I guess I wasn't 
all that high up in the mountains. There was the trees, the wild grass, and 
the road -- that was all. With a sigh, I started out along the road. 

This marked the third night during which I had spent the whole time with my 
arms bound behind me and the elbows together. It was becoming a habit I 
could do without. Although with Brian's arms around me it wasn't so bad. But 
this morning had not been spent in a comfortable bed, instead laying on the 
cold, hard ground. I was stiff, my shoulders hurt and my elbows didn't feel 
much better. I've since found out that many women can't even touch their 
elbows together behind their backs, let alone stay bound that way for hours 
or all night. I guess I'm just lucky. 

The road was dirt, and I had to watch carefully where I stepped because of 
the rocks and holes. It was an effort getting back up to my feet and I 
didn't wish to fall to the ground too often. I was hurting and dirty but 
mostly I wanted a drink of water. 

It was sometime after mid-day when the jeep came along. 

I was still walking down the dirt road with no end in sight when I heard the 
sound of a motor behind me. I stood off the road and eagerly awaited my 
savior. 

He was young, probably only eighteen which made him younger than I, had a 
four or five day growth of beard and a silly grin on his face. Which I had 
no doubt was caused by the sight of a naked woman with her arms bound behind 
her. 

"Oh, please, can you take me out of these mountains?" I begged as soon as 
the jeep came to a halt. 

He stayed in the jeep, just eyeing my body up and down. "Gosh, gal, you sure 
got yourself into something. How'd you come to be way out here like... like 
that?" 

"It's a long story," I said, not really wanting to tell it. "It's a sorority 
initiation," I offered lamely. "My sorority sisters did this to me. I'm 
suppose to walk back to the highway and go through the embarrassment of 
being seen naked like this." Pretty poor story, I thought but he seemed to 
be buying it. 

"Well...." His eyes were fixed on my pubic patch. I wished I could cover it 
with my hands but that wasn't possible. "Maybe I could give you a drive. But 
it's a long ways to the highway. And I wasn't really going that way...." He 
was fishing for the right way to say he wanted a reward. "If you'll drive me 
back to my home, I'll be ever so nice to you...." I put in my husky, sexy, 
come-and-get- it voice. 

"With your arms tied like that, gal? Gosh, that would be different." 

"With my arms tied like this," I agreed with a sigh. His eyes were popping 
right out of his head and his tongue was hanging out on the steering wheel. 

"Hop in. There's a place just up ahead where we can do it." 

I got into the jeep, carefully because of the lack of hands and he took off. 
"Just ahead" turned out to be a few miles and I was afraid every inch of the 
way that we were going to crash. He kept looking at my body instead of at 
the road. Finally we reached a patch of trees and he pulled the jeep into 
them. Then he got out and took a sleeping bag from the back of the jeep. 
That was laid out in the shade of a large oak. Not being much of a 
gentleman, he didn't offer to help me out of the jeep, so I had to make my 
own way over to the sleeping bag. 

His technique was to grab parts of me hard, as if a girl couldn't respond to 
gentle touches. I was guided down to the sleeping bag and lay there while he 
did his thing. Maybe his technique worked with the high school girls, but I 
found it crude after Brian's gentle but firm lovemaking. Even Phil the 
fisherman was kind compared to these young hands on my body. 

He started out slowly and cautiously, but picked up speed when I found that 
I wasn't fighting him or even protesting. After what I had been through the 
night before, he wasn't so bad. 

"Gosh, your ass is all marked up. gal!" 

"The girls gave me a spanking with a belt before they put me out here." He 
didn't question that, which was good. I was making it sound like the 
sorority-from-hell. But he was more interested in trying to fit all of my 
breast into his mouth, an impossibility if ever there was one. 

Except for sucking on my nipples -- and biting my breasts -- he understood 
nothing of oral sex on a woman. As soon as he had worked me up enough to 
make my pussy juicy, he was shoving that rock-hard prick into me and pumping 
away with all the vigor of youth. 

The surprising part was that I responded and it did feel good. He came 
rather suddenly, before I really got worked up anywhere near a climax, but 
at least it had felt good while it lasted. For a while we lay there, he 
satisfied and I frustrated, but eventually he stood up and pulled up his 
pants. I struggled to my feet. 

For a while he just stood there looking at me and I began to worry that he 
was going to just drive off and leave me just as he found me. Then it 
occurred to me that he was trying to figure out some way of keeping me naked 
and tied, at least until he could screw me again. 

While he was trying to decide, I put in my pitch, "You've had your way with 
me, big boy, and it was good. But could you please untie my arms? I've been 
tied like this all night and it hurts." I smiled at him as if I were a girl 
who was very satisfied with his wonderful sexual performance. 

It worked. With a big grin he turned me around and began working at the 
knots. I sighed. I was getting untied and that was good, but I had paid a 
price. Funny thing is that I didn't feel my alter ego kick in at any time. 
Paying for freedom with my body had been totally my own idea. 

It was so good to bring my arms around in front of me. The red pressure 
marks were deep, especially above my elbows, and my hands tingled with pins 
and needles from returning circulation, but it was good to have arms back. 

"Gosh, they really tied you. I could hardly get the knots off," he said. 
Then he handed me the rope. I guess he figured it was mine. I took it and 
thanked him for untying me. 

"Would you happen to have something I can get dressed in?" I asked, 
resisting the urge to cover myself with the now freed hands. 

"Well...." I could tell that he had some clothes in that backpack but just 
didn't want to have my body covered. It could well be I was the finest naked 
woman he had ever seen. 

"I'll ride along with you naked," I offered, "if you'll give me something to 
wear when we get to where there might be other cars. You wouldn't want the 
police seeing you driving around with a naked girl in your car, would you?" 

"Hell, the sheriff would love that. Pa would kill me. Sure, gal, when we get 
near the paved road, I'll give you something." 

"Thank you." I immediately got into the jeep as a sign that we should be 
going. 

A few more miles and he came to a stop again. "The paved road is just over 
the hill. A lot of cars use that." He paused to look at my breasts again. 
"You sure are pretty," he commented. 

It was obvious that he didn't want to have all that nudity taken from his 
sight. If I pressed the issue, he might just kick me out of the jeep and 
drive off. With a sigh, I knew that the easiest way to get his mind off sex 
was to satisfy his hormone-driven teenage body. 

"Unzip them pants, boy," I said. "And get that thing out here." 

Apparently this teenager had never had oral sex performed on him. He kept 
moaning and making stupid comments about how good it felt. I took his rod in 
one hand to hold it still while I licked and sucked on the end. Sweet little 
Miss Innocent had learned a lot in the last few weeks, especially about what 
pleased a man. It wasn't long before he was trembling all over, yelling 
"gawd damn" loudly, and shooting his wad into my mouth. I swallowed it. 

As he lay there recovering from what must have been an incredible experience 
for one of his tender years, I went to the back and helped myself to a pair 
of jeans several sizes to large for me and a shirt, also too large. They 
probably looked silly with the high heels but it was better than nothing. 

"There a bus stop on that road?" I asked. 

"Huh?" He wasn't coming back to earth too quickly. 

I repeated the question. "Yeah, a bus stop." 

"Good. How much is the fare to San Diego?" 

'"Bout ten dollars," he said. 

"Good. Give me ten dollars." 

"Gosh...." The mention of money brought him back quickly. 

"Or would you rather take me to the sheriff? I could tell him what happened 
and he'll help me. Of course, I'd have to tell him what happened between 
us...." 

"NO! I mean, I'll take you to the bus stop. Here's some money." 

He gave me more than enough money for the fare. Amazing what the mere 
mention of the sheriff does to these rustic country boys. 

I made it home late that night, after taking the bus to near where I had my 
car parked. It was good to be back home. I tossed off the teenager's clothes 
and deposited them in the trash. There was a slight pang of guilt at having 
taken his clothes and money, but it passed quickly when I remembered that I 
had paid for them with my body. Twice, in fact. He was getting quality 
merchandise cheaply, I thought. 

Then it occurred to me that trading my sexual services for money made me a 
prostitute again. Well, tough! I did what I had to, and that was all there 
was to it. I took a shower and got to bed. Had to go to work the next 
morning. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT - A SEANCE AND A DOMINANT LADY 

I had some serious thinking to do the next night. It had been one thing when 
my alter ego had simply gotten me into sexual situations I would not 
normally have done. But what had happened with this Carlos dude was 
something else. My bottom was still very sore and had been giving me trouble 
all day. But worse was the very real possibility that a whipping and dumping 
in the mountains was nothing compared to what might have happened to me. I 
could have been killed. 

Something was going to have to be done! And before Saturday night. 

It was possible that I had evoked the dangerous act of invading the land of 
hookers by trying to force my alter ego into a night with Brian instead of 
whatever she wanted. And I found myself thinking of whatever force this was 
that took over my body as "she." If I had simply gone along for the ride 
with whatever she wanted, I might have simply had a fairly pleasant night 
with some strange man. Probably tied up and maybe spanked or whipped with a 
belt, but still not life-threatening. But could I be sure of that? 

I had to do something. 

If I wasn't going crazy, and I was pretty sure I wasn't, then whatever was 
taking over me was something outside myself. Logical. Okay, so what can take 
over a person and make them do things they normally wouldn't? Two 
possibilities came to mind: a demon or a ghost. Now, I'll admit, I don't 
know much about demons but don't they tend to turn you into a foul-mouthed, 
levitating, snarling beast? Like that teenager girl in the movie? Well, that 
didn't seem too much like what I was doing. 

So that leaves us with a ghost. I vaguely remember reading stories about 
ghosts taking over live people -- at least for short periods. Which sounds 
about right for what was happening to me. So what I had been calling my 
alter ego was really a ghost who took over my body whenever she wanted to 
use it... Sure! Well, it didn't sound like a very logical explanation to me 
either, but it was the best I had to go on. And I had to do something. 

So it was off to Madam Natasha's. Madam Natasha is the fortune teller who 
runs that little shop down on Mullberry Avenue. Seemed to me that I remember 
passing by many times and that among the other signs in her window, there 
was one that said, "seances." 

Now I never believed in ghosts. Sure my mother used to tell me all the time 
about ghosts in her home country and about the time that her dead sister 
came to stand at the end of her bed at exactly the moment she died across 
the country. But she also told me that sex wasn't fun and I should never do 
it. So much for my Mother's advise. 

Madam Natasha looked like a gypsy, which is good because that is what she 
was trying to look like. She had long black hair, European features of some 
kind (I'm no good at telling one country from another), a shawl over her 
shoulders, and more rings on her fingers than Ringo Starr. 

Her parlor was dark, lit only by candles and filled with miscellaneous junk 
designed to look like the inside of a gypsy's wagon. Or something. She waved 
me to a seat on the other side of her small table and looked at me over her 
honest-to-goodness crystal ball. 

"Want your fortune told?" she asked in a heavy accent. "I can tell if your 
man is true to you, if you're going to find love, and other things." 

"I want a seance," I told her. She lifted one eyebrow. "I want to find out 
if a ghost is haunting me." The eyebrow went up even higher. 

"I may be able to help you," she said with a faint smile. Then she named a 
price that should have, included dancing ghosts and full color souvenir 
program. I paid. "Take my hands," she said, offering her hands on either 
side of the crystal ball. "Close your eyes and concentrate. Do you know who 
you want to talk to on the other side?" 

"No. No name. It's just that someone has been bothering me and I want to 
find out how to stop it." 

She closed her eyes, so I did too. For a while she repeated some 
instructions to relax and let my mind open. I tried to but was beginning to 
get the impression that all this was a waste of time. 

Then the table began to lift up under our hands. I gasped and opened my eyes 
to see Madam Nastasha staring at her crystal ball with a very surprised look 
on her face. At first I suspected the levitating table trick was hers but 
the look on her face convinced me otherwise. She was as shocked as I ,was. 
Then came the voice. 

"What do you want?" It was the husky, sexy voice my alter ego used whenever 
she wanted to get men all turned on. And the voice was coming from me, not 
Madam Natasha! 

"I want to know who you are," I said. At least the conversation was two-way. 

There was a pause and I began to get the idea my ghost was not going to 
cooperate. Then I said, "Cindy. My name was Cindy." 

"Why do you make me do those things?" I asked. A very reasonable question, I 
thought. 

There was no answer. 

"You almost got me killed Saturday night, do you know that?" 

There was a laugh. "Carlos wouldn't kill you. Not the first time. He's 
mostly brag and bluster." 

"But why did you do that to me... us?" 

"Had to make you stay away from... from... that man." 

She couldn't say Brian's name? What the hell did that mean? I looked at 
Madam Natasha to see that she was wide- mouthed shocked by what was going 
on. There would be no help from her. 

Just then a couple pictures fell from the wall. And all the candles in the 
room flared up with eerie green flames. They died down in a few seconds but 
it had been a nice touch for a seance. 

"Why are you making me do these things?" I repeated. 

"Have to," was the reply. 

"Are you trying to hurt me? Did I do something to make you mad at me?" I 
asked. 

"Not mad at you. What we do is right. Good. Fun." 

Fine, I thought, a ghost who thought that being tied up all the time and 
sexually used by numerous strangers was right and good. "What do you want?" 
I asked. 

There was no answer. Either this ghost didn't know why she was doing this, 
or didn't want me to know. "Are the things you make me do anyway related to 
things that happened to you?" 

"Yes." 

Well, at least the dialogue was still open. 

"Did you like this kind of treatment?" 

"Yes." I was about to ask the next question when I was interrupted. "And no. 
Sometimes it hurts." 

"No shit! Now you tell me." 

"Sometimes it hurts. But it's always right." 

Great. A confirmed masochistic ghost. Now came the big question, "How do I 
get rid of you?" 

There was a pause, then, "You can't." 

Now if I were talking to a live human, I would have said that they were 
lying and had to take a second to force themselves into the lie. 

"Why did you pick me?" I figured that knowing the answer to that might help 
with how to get rid of her. 

"No reason. Just picked you." 

"I want you to leave me alone. Do you understand? Leave me alone!" 

For a second there was no response, then the table, which had been floating 
a few inches off the floor, crashed down, dislodging the crystal ball. Madam 
Natasha quickly caught it before it rolled off the table. 

"Cindy? Cindy?" I called but had the feeling that this seance was over. I 
looked at Madam Natasha for help. 

"Oy Vey!" she said in a perfect Jewish accent. "You really got a ghost 
haunting you." 

"That's what I told you. Didn't you believe me?" 

"Hell, no. No body with a real ghost ever came in here. I just tell 
fortunes, promise love and a great future and the customers leave happy. I 
don't do ghosts." She adjusted her black wig and looked up at the window 
signs. "Not any more. No ghosts." 

"So you can't tell me how to get rid of this ghost?" 

"Sorry." She looked really sorry. She also looked like she wished I would 
get out of her pseudo-gypsy fortune telling room and take my ghost with me. 

I left. But at least I knew a little bit more. And I had an idea. 

Mrs. Sterling didn't look very surprised to see me. She invited me into her 
house and waved at the couch. I sat down. 

"You want to know about the car," she said as a statement, not a question. 

"Yes. I've been having some rather unusual occurrences every since I bought 
it. And you did say something about hoping that I would survive owning it. 
At first I thought that referred to its high performance. But now I know 
better." 

"I should have had the car junked," she said wearily. "But I needed the 
money. And I couldn't go against Cindy's wishes." She sat down on a kitchen 
chair. "Yes, the car is haunted. By the ghost of my daughter, Cindy." 

"You know about the things she's been making me do?" I asked, surprised at 
how easily this was going. I had expected to have to force the truth out of 
her, if she knew anything. 

"You're the second girl that I've sold the car to. The car was Cindy's and 
she loved it. Now her ghost haunts it. She came to me in a dream and told me 
that I had to sell the car to a young, very pretty girl with a really good 
figure. Whenever a man comes to look at it, it won't start. When a girl who 
isn't pretty enough for Cindy comes, it steers funny or backfires or 
something. A girl named Marla bought it a few months ago. Three weeks later 
she was back, begging me to take the car back. She said it was haunted and 
that it made her do really strange things. She was a nervous wreck." 

"I can understand that," I commented. "Do you know the nature of those 
things?" 

Mrs. Sterling sighed. "Cindy... Well, perhaps I should start at the 
beginning. Every since Cindy was a little girl she liked to be tied up with 
ropes. She used to be tied up all the time in the children's games. Then as 
a teenager, I used to find her tying herself up in her bedroom. Or tied up 
by one of her girlfriends. Later, I found her all tied up and naked, left in 
her bedroom by one of her boyfriends. It was something that she couldn't 
stop herself from doing. Or having others do to her." Mrs. Sterling paused 
to ask if I wanted coffee. I declined but she went to the kitchen to get 
herself one. She continued the story as she poured it. 

"I remember her coming home from dates with ropes marks on her arms and 
legs. I finally gave up trying to convince her it was wrong. I just accepted 
that she was different. Probably from not having a father. Bastard ran away 
when she was a baby. 

"When she finished high school, Cindy didn't want to go to college. She also 
didn't want to become a waitress or a clerk in a store. She became a... a 
prostitute. She made good money at it but I couldn't stand her selling her 
body to strange men. And I knew that she was specializing in the kinky 
stuff, ropes and whips and all that. Some prostitutes do that. 

"Well, that might have been all until Cindy meet with Dean. He was ten years 
older than she and rather wealthy. She fell in love with him. I thought it 
was his money but later I found out that it was because he tied her up all 
the time. Almost every night she was tied up some way. And often she was 
kept a prison for a whole weekend, constantly tied up or chained somehow. 
She hinted that he sometimes kept her tied or chained for a week at a time. 
And he spanked her and whipped her bottom. But she loved it! Stupid girl. 

"It was Dean who bought her that 380SL. It was brand new and she loved it. 
Drove it for the three years they lived together." She paused to take a big 
breath. 'They were both killed in a car crash in his car. Six months ago." 

Mrs. Sterling paused to sip her coffee and perhaps remember something. When 
she continued, it was with a different tone of voice. "I can imagine what 
she's forcing you to do. I suppose you'll want me to take the car back." 

I thought about that. "Will that stop Cindy from haunting me?" I asked. 

"Marla never came back after she left the car here," she said simply. 

"And what will you do with it?" 

She sighed again. "I'll have to sell it. One time I tried to call a junk 
company to come and haul it away. Before I finished dialing the number, the 
phone jumped out of my hand and crashed against the wall. Cindy won't let me 
do anything but sell it to a young woman at least as pretty and well-built 
as Cindy was." 

Mrs. Sterling stood up and went to the mantle over a small fireplace with an 
electric heater in it. She picked up a framed photograph and brought it back 
to me. The girl pictured there was very beautiful, with long blonde hair and 
a wonderful smile. "You resemble her quite a bit," she said when she took 
the photo back. 

She sat back down. "Do you have the pink slip?" she asked, obviously 
prepared to take back the car. "I didn't cash your check right away. I can 
give you most of the money back, but you'll have to wait until Monday when I 
can get to the bank." 

"Mrs. Sterling... I want to keep the car." I was surprised a bit at what I 
said but, at the same time, knew that it wasn't Cindy talking. It was me. 

Mrs. Sterling stared uncomprehendingly at me. "You want to keep the car?" 
was all she could say. 

"I'll keep it." I really had not idea why I was doing that, except that it 
was really my idea. "You won't have to worry about it. Not ever again." 

She stood and came over to take my hand. There was a small tear in her eye. 
I told her I would take care of everything and she should not worry a bit. 

I had gone there ready to force the car back on her, or something. She 
hadn't warned me about the ghost that came with it, after all. But I just 
couldn't. That poor woman had suffered enough. 

Of course, one could argue that I had suffered enough, too, and it would be 
a valid argument. I drove home and prepared myself for another Saturday 
night. 

* * * 

I didn't bother laying out the sexy clothes, I figured Cindy would know 
where everything was and go get whatever she wanted herself. I did take a 
shower and shampooed my hair. It was early evening and the shadows were 
lengthening outside my bedroom window. It would have been nice to be able to 
visit Brian, but that was too dangerous. Cindy could easily force me to go 
stand on a street comer in Carlos' territory, and that could well ruin my 
whole evening. Maybe my whole life. Better to let her take me where she 
wanted. 

Actually, it wasn't so a bad deal. Until I had tried to force Cindy into 
what I wanted, she hadn't endangered me to any extent. She simply loved 
being tied up, and loved sex, and wanted to keep experiencing those things, 
even after death. At least I knew that there was life after death, which is 
more than most people know. 

I sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at myself in the mirror. "Okay, 
Cindy," I said. "You can take over. I'm ready. Just take it easy with my 
body, okay?" 

Did my features change a bit in that mirror? Or was that my imagination? I 
stood up and went to the closet, feeling the familiar sensation of Cindy 
driving. I picked the black velvet dress and the high heels. No underwear, 
that only got in the way. Quickly enough I was dressed to play and heading 
out the door. 

It was with great relief that I found myself driving away from the 
streetwalker section of town. For a while we drove along the beach front 
main road, and I began to think that Cindy was just going out for a drive on 
a pleasant early summer evening. But the drive did have a destination. It 
was a house overlooking Luna Bay. The whole neighborhood smelled of money 
with all those closed guard gates in front of mansions, most of them hidden 
in the trees. But our destination wasn't behind a guard gate, only a long 
driveway that wound up through a small forest. The house was large, looking 
something like a small version of Tara out of Gone with the Wind. I pulled 
up in front and parked the 380SL. 

The woman who answered the door bell was in her late thirties and looked a 
lot like the famous hostess of a midnight horror movie show on local TV. She 
wore a dark dress of silk that covered her legs all the way down to the 
floor but revealed a great deal of cleavage. It was sleeveless but would 
have looked appropriate with the flowing sleeves of Morticia in the Adams 
Family. 

"How may I help you?" she said coolly. 

"Well, you could let me in, Hildy, darling. I'm a friend of Cindy's." 

Hildy stood back to allow me inside. Most of the house was done in Chinese 
modem, and not to my liking at all. Lot's of reds and blacks and very tacky. 
I was led to a lounge. "Drink?" Hildy asked. 

"Sure. Make it an Alexander. You haven't changed the place a bit. Still 
looks like something out of a thirties movie." 

Hildy brought over my drink. "Did you know Dean and Cindy long?" she asked. 

"Long enough," I said. "Long enough to know about their lifestyle. And to 
play games with them." Hildy's eyebrow went up at that. "And to have Cindy 
tell me about you." I sipped and then continued. "You are a dominant and 
have a private little room set up like a dungeon. Used to be a small bedroom 
on the floor below this one. She says that you have some interesting devices 
there. And know how to use them." 

"Cindy was over here a few times. Mostly with Dean." 

"About five times with Dean," I said. "But about two dozen times by herself. 
She says that you know how to tie a girl with ropes almost better than Dean 
did." 

"Why are you here?" asked Hildy. Maybe this talk from a strange woman was 
making her nervous. 

"Oh, I thought that maybe I'd sample some of what you used to give to 
Cindy...." I sipped my drink but kept my eyes on Hildy over the edge of the 
glass. She was appraising me carefully. 

"What happened between Cindy and I is... was our business. You're not Cindy. 
Why should I do anything for you?" 

I stood up. "No, I'm not Cindy." Then my hands were behind me and pulling 
down the zipper on the black velvet. "But I'm just as good as Cindy was." 
The dress fell to the floor, leaving me standing there in birthday suit and 
high heels. "And I'm a sassy, mischievous little bitch who needs to be 
taught a lesson." 

Hildy fought a battle with caution and lost. She stood slowly up and took a 
step towards me. Suddenly there was a riding crop in her hand. Almost before 
the presence of the whip registered, the hand was swinging out and the 
leather end impacted on my left breast. I cried out and fell back, holding 
my injured breast. 

"You didn't have to do that, bitch," I spat at her. "That hurt!" 

Hildy took another step forward and swung the crop again, this time against 
my right hip. "Ohhh!" I cried and backed away. "Cut that out!" 

With expert use of the riding crop, I was herded out of the lounge and down 
a corridor to a small door. Without being told it, I opened the door and 
descended the stairs. Another door at the bottom was opened and I was in 
Hildy's "special room," which Cindy seemed to know pretty well. 

It was a bedroom, fair sized but with no bed. Where there had been a window, 
there was now iron security bars and some kind of covering. I guessed that 
the covering would be light proof and soundproof. The place reminded me a 
bit of the special room in Carlos' headquarters, but not in concrete. There 
was a chair and a post, both solid looking. There were numerous whips along 
the walls and ropes of different sizes and lengths hanging from pegs. There 
was also a selection of handcuffs, leg irons and straps. 

But what caught my attention was in the middle of the room, sticking 
straight up from the floor. It was a metal shaft on top of which was a 
replica of a male phallus, extra large size and apparently made of rubber or 
plastic. A shiver went down my spine at the sight of that, for there was 
little doubt that its purpose was to hold a girl in place, her pussy impaled 
on it. 

I had several painfully fresh red marks from that riding crop and really 
didn't want any more. Funny thing was that I got the impression Cindy didn't 
like the pain any more than I did. But she craved it for some reason. "Okay, 
you've got me in your dungeon! Now what, bitch?" 

"I've only just teased you with this whip," she said in a voice with much in 
common with a snake's hissing. "I can deliver much more pain. You will obey. 
Completely and without question." 

I gulped, knowing that she wasn't kidding. My bottom still remembered the 
whipping it had received at Carlos'. "I will obey. I won't like it, but 
please don't hit me." 

"That's better," she purred. "Now, stand by the shaft and spread your legs 
wide." 

I went to the shaft and spread my legs as ordered, looking nervously at that 
shaft all the time. With my legs spread wide, the top of the dildo was just 
at the level of the entrance to my sheath. This was not looking good. 

Hildy put the whip carefully on a chair and took some ropes down from the 
wall. She untied the end with loving hands and allowed most of it to drop to 
the floor, keeping the end with a small loop in her hand. "So Cindy told you 
I could tie girls very well, did she?" 

"Yes, Mistress." 

"Good. She also told you the proper form to address your better." She walked 
around behind me. "You will not resist," she informed. Then she took my 
wrists and brought them behind me. 

I expected to have her tie my arms together, probably with the elbows 
together. That was what knowledgeable people did with my arms. And it was a 
very effective way to bind a girl like me. But she didn't tie my arms that 
way. Instead she brought both hands up on my back, bending them at the 
elbows until my wrists were crossed and up by my shoulder blades. Then she 
began winding the rope around my wrists, very tight and precise. 

"Do you like being well tied?" she asked as she tugged each winding down 
tightly. 

"I like good bondage," I replied. "Cindy said that one time you kept her in 
a tight hogtie for two and a half days. Is that true?" 

"It is true. Cindy was very much in love with being truly helpless. Perhaps 
you understand her feelings?" Boy, that was an understatement. "Perhaps you 
share them?" 

"I love being tied well," I admitted. "Feeling helpless is exciting." 

"Good. You will feel very helpless before long." She finished binding my 
wrists and knotted the rope several times. But there was still more rope in 
her hand. She then ran the rope over my shoulder and down under my arm back 
to the wrists. That was repeated over the other shoulder, and several times 
for each shoulder. When she tied the final knots, my hands were not only 
tied, they were locked high up on my back. 

I tugged at them a bit, but there wasn't much hope of working anything free, 
this woman was simply too good with the ropes. "I believe my arms are bound 
beyond my ability to free them," I said. Or Cindy did, I don't usually talk 
like that. 

"Good. Now I'm sure that you won't mind straddling the shaft. You know where 
it goes, I assume," she said sarcastically. 

I moan a tiny bit to myself and moved over until the head of the phallic 
device was positioned directly under my sheath. It was just touching me, 
every so lightly. Hildy came over, smiling like a cat with a corned mouse. 
"You look very nice with your arms up and out of the way like that," she 
purred. "I like that." 

"You're not going to leave me tied like this very long, are you?" I asked 
nervously. "This could get uncomfortable." 

"I'm sure it will. And, as to how long you'll be tied, that depends on how 
long I want you tied. You did, after all, admit that you can't free 
yourself." She laughed softly and it wasn't pleasant. 

Hildy was behind me. And then her hands come around and cupped my breasts. 
She toyed with them, teasing them, and expertly stimulated each nerve. When 
she tired of teasing, she squeezed with surprising strength in those thin 
fingers. It wasn't long before she had me panting and becoming aroused. I 
could have fought it, but Cindy was driving and she wanted to be turned on, 
so I just relaxed and went along as an observer. 

Before long Mistress Hildegard progressed from my breasts down to my pubic 
patch where her fingers were wrecking havoc with my private parts. This was 
new experience for me but apparently Cindy was more than a little bit 
lesbian. I was simply not used to having another woman making love to me, 
but Cindy lapped it up. So to speak. 

When I was panting and could feel my pussy all nice and juicy, Hildy went to 
a wall and picked up a small black box. When she came back, she knelt down 
in front of me and pressed a button on the box. There was a hum from 
someplace and the shaft started to raise slowly. It was quickly pressing 
against the entrance to my tunnel with some insistence. Hildy used her free 
hand to part my labia and allow that beast entrance. I lifted myself up to 
the tips of my toes but could go no farther. The shaft, on the other hand, 
could go much higher. As it slowly entered me, I realized that it would be 
futile to stay on my toes. So I, or Cindy, whichever, lowered myself onto 
the shaft until I was flatfooted on the floor. 

I'd be lying if I said that standing there impaled on a dildo was 
unpleasant. Actually, it was rather nice -- once I got over amazement that 
my tunnel could expand to take in such a huge thing. The only question in my 
mind was how far would this mechanical monster be allowed to shaft me? 
Slowly it rose and filled my tunnel, and that felt good. Then it reached the 
end and I was totally filled. And that was good. But the shaft didn't halt 
it's upward motion, and that was not good. I was again up on my toes, 
straining to ease the pressure from below. 

"Alright! Enough! I can't take any more!" I cried in genuine distress. 

Hildy pressed the button again and the hum stopped. 

"Egad, woman, you've got me standing on my toes," I told her needlessly for 
she could easily see that. "Please, let me down some." 

Don't ever plead with a sadist. She touched the button again, just for a 
second, and I felt that rubber phallus being pushed even harder into me. I 
squealed. It again halted. I kept my mouth shut. 

"You look so nice, standing there. It must feel wonderful to be so filled 
like that." 

"I'll gladly chance places with you," I offered in a nervous voice. It was 
occurring to me that my feet could only take so much of the strain of 
standing on tip toes. And when the muscles couldn't support me any longer, 
I'd sink down and that damned shaft would split me in two. 

She laughed. "I have tried it," she said. "With this remote control, I have 
stood exactly where you stand and ran the shaft up into myself. It was most 
gratifying. A real experience. 

"Yeah, but you had the control to let yourself back down." 

"Yes, I did." 

"I don't have the control." 

"Yes. And that's the difference between a Mistress and a slavegirl." 

How do you argue with logic like that? Of course that was the difference. I 
was tied and shafted, and she was walking around with her finger on the 
button. 

"Eventually I'll have to lower myself. My muscles can't take this forever. 
And then I'll hurt myself." 

"A woman's vagina is a marvelous thing. It can take far more than you 
imagine. You'll survive." 

I should have been more nervous about that than I was, but I realized that I 
wasn't too worried because Cindy wasn't too worried. Apparently she had been 
shafted by Hildy's marvelous machine before and knew that no serious damage 
would be done. That, or she simply didn't care if the human she was playing 
with got hurt. Now that was a comforting thought. 

Hildy, meantime, hadn't been idle. She came up behind me and her arms 
encircled my body, hands cupping my breasts. She toyed with my nipples, 
teased them and stroked them until they were standing at rigid attention. 
Then the hands left only to return a little later in front of me and holding 
small metal devices. Each one had two bars with a shaft and a thumbscrew at 
the top. I didn't like the look of them. It even seemed to me that even 
Cindy was a little afraid of those things, but that could have simply been 
my imagination. 

I watched in fascinated horror as Hildy fitted one of the devices over my 
right nipple and screwed down the shaft. It soon became obvious that the 
shaft pushed the bars together and between them was my poor little nipple. 
The bars closed and my tender flesh was squeezed between the hard edges. I 
gasped in pain and tried to draw back my breast. But from the waist down I 
was held in place by the shaft and my arms were totally useless. Hildy 
easily continued to tighten down the metal clamp until I was whining with 
the pain. 

"Please, enough! That's hurting me." 

She tightened it down another quarter turn, then began attaching the other 
clamp to my other nipple. Those were really terrible devices. The amount of 
pain delivered was adjustable by how much the screw was turned. And once 
attached, they hung onto your nipple. I could see the ends of my nipples 
turning dark color and knew that I couldn't stand that very long. No girl 
can stand having her tits smashed. 

I tried to shake the clamps off but they held on and the shaking only made 
my nipples hurt more. Each nipple was burning and aching at the same time. I 
wanted those thing off real bad but couldn't do a thing about them. For a 
while Hildy simply watched me struggle with a smile on her face. 

I pleaded with my eyes for her to take the terrible things off but her eyes 
laughed back. It was then I realized something that Cindy had already known, 
I was a captive of a woman who likes to hurt other women. Hurt them a lot. 

When I again looked at Hildy, there was a small braided black leather whip 
in her hand and a glee in her eyes that I didn't like. She was slowly 
circling me. I tried to keep her in view but had trouble when she was behind 
me. 

"I used to begin by warming Cindy up with a little pain." She illustrated 
with a slash across my bottom. I cried out loud from the sudden pain. It 
felt like a fiery line had been drawn across my bottom. But the worst part 
was that I jerked when the pain appeared and that hurt the inside of my 
vagina. "She didn't like it any more than you do. The whip does, after all, 
hurt. But she could do nothing about it. The whip kept kissing her flesh," 
another illustration that brought forth a fresh squeal of pain, "until she 
could take no more and screamed with each touch of the leather thong." 

Maybe communication between Cindy and myself was becoming easier, but I 
knew, simply knew inside, that what Hildy said was true. Cindy did wind up 
screaming. Just as I was going to wind up screaming, and very soon. At least 
for now I was learning how to hold my body still so that the shaft inside me 
didn't hurt me. 

With the next lash of that whip, I screamed. It was because of the pain, but 
also because of the fear. I was totally helpless at the hands of this woman, 
and was coming to understand just how much she enjoyed hurting a girl. It 
was a frightening experience. 

But my screaming did not make the fiery kisses of the whip go away. Hildy 
was enjoying herself too much to quit just because what she called a 
slavegirl was suffering. 

Then a most strange thing happened. Suddenly I found that my loins were 
heated up to a white hot incandescence. Suddenly I was gasping and knew that 
in seconds I would explode in a very much unexpected orgasm. And I did. It 
was intense, it was powerful, it was like no other I had ever experienced in 
my life. 

When I returned to the land of the living, I was standing flatfooted over 
the shaft, my pussy still filled with the huge thing, and my arms still 
bound high up on my back. My poor titties still had those terrible clamps 
locked on them but the pain had reduced to an ache that was bad but not 
worth screaming about. I could figure if Hildy had been right and my vagina 
simply took the additional stress of my coming down off my toes, or if she 
had lowered the shaft a bit. Perhaps she knew that damage could result and 
lowered the shaft as I was lost in my climax. Or maybe not. I never have 
found out. 

I looked around and found Hildy sitting on one of the chairs, watching me 
with amusement in her eyes. "Not many girls will have an orgasm just from 
being whipped," she commented. 

"There was more than just the whip," I commented dryly. "My poor pussy is 
filled with that damned shaft of yours." 

"Yes, it is. But you're still something special. Cindy was just like that. 
She would have the most intense orgasms while riding that shaft and being 
whipped. I used to love the way she screamed when she came. Just like you 
do." 

I screamed with the orgasm? New one on me. Well, maybe I had. But I was 
tired and still hurting. "Would you let me down now?" I asked evenly. "I'm 
hurting." 

"I know. Why the hell do you think I left you up there? And you'll hurt a 
lot more before dawn comes. Since you're Cindy's friend, I guess it's only 
fair that I treat you the same as I did her. Cindy used to take it all 
night. Really could stand the pain, that one. Then, next weekend she would 
be back for more. Hardly had time for the whip marks to heal." 

I sighed. Cindy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. In more ways that 
one. 

I don't know how long I stood there, impaled by that shaft and suffering 
from tight ropes, clamps on my nipples, and Hildy's whip. She really didn't 
whip me much after that first time, but she really didn't have to do much to 
make me hurt. My bottom was so sore that the slightest touch with her whip 
make me scream. Not always very loudly but very sincerely. That small black 
whip could hurt! 

Someplace during the night I was let down. But not before Hildy had worked 
me up to another orgasm I did not want to have and would not have thought 
possible. Apparently a second whipping just wouldn't do it, so Hildy showed 
me the third button on the remote control. Number one made the shaft go up, 
number two made it go down. Number three made it rotate. 

She played with my pussy with her fingers until I was moaning and we both 
knew that I was excited again. Then she showed me the third button and 
pressed it. Slowly the shaft within my sheath began to twist. It was a most 
unusual sensation. No male member had ever begun twisting inside me. It was 
also quite nice. 

Between her fingers on my clit, that rotating dildo inside me, and her 
tongue teasing my squashed nipples, I didn't stand a chance. I was soon 
moaning loudly and thrusting my breasts against her mouth, seeking more 
attention. But the real inducement to orgasm came when I discovered that I 
could pump the shaft inside me by lifting myself up on toes and then 
lowering myself. I was soon pumping away, sliding that dildo inside me like 
it was a real male penis. 

The orgasm was as intense as the first and different. Different but 
wonderful. I cried out with pure pleasure and trembled all over as waves of 
heat swept over my body. 

It was sometime after the second orgasm that Hildy let me down. But my arms 
remained bound behind me, only my lower half was released from its captivity 
on the shaft. 

I was taken to Hildy's bedroom where I was introduced to more of the 
delights of lesbian lovemaking. Mostly the kind where I, as the bound up and 
helpless slavegirl, had to service Hildy. And Hildy wanted long, slow 
lovemaking with me starting on her breasts and working my mouth over most of 
her body before reaching that most sensitive part where some serious 
lovemaking could be done. I don't know if it was Cindy helping, Hildy's 
guidance, or instinct, but I was able to do some very acceptable (according 
to Hildy) lesbian lovemaking. Perhaps it was all three. 

That night I learned how to please another woman without using any hands, 
only my mouth and tongue. I also learned that a dominant woman has to be 
pleased properly or she causes considerable pain to her little slavegirl. 
Hildy only had to reach down and squeeze my sore bottom to remind me that 
she was in control and that I was helpless before her. 

I'll have to say that I learned a lot that night. I could have done away 
with the whipping part, but even that was educational. I'd never known that 
a woman could achieve an orgasm while her bottom was being whipped and she 
was in pain. I wondered if I would have had the orgasm if that shaft hadn't 
been filling my vagina. And many of the things I learned in Hildy's bedroom 
were actually fun. I found that I enjoyed having the power to make another 
woman experience an intense orgasm. It's fun to watch another woman go 
through what you know is the most incredible experience in life. 

It was actually dawn when Hildy dragged me back to the lounge to retrieve my 
black velvet dress. My body was battered and exhausted. She watched as I 
dressed, as the velvet covered up the marks from her whip, and seemed much 
happier than she had been when I first came to her house. She required a 
phone number, and ordered me to return the next Saturday night. I gave her a 
factious phone number and promised to return for more pain and pleasure, 
even thought I was pretty sure that Cindy wouldn't allow that. So far she 
hadn't allowed any repeats. 

I walked to my car just as the first sliver of sun was lifting itself above 
the distant mountains. The air was clean and cool and good to inhale. I 
winced and whined a bit when my bottom came in contact with the leather seat 
but in some twisted, illogical way, that was a good feeling. With a thought 
that I was getting more and more like Cindy, I drove away into the dawn. 

 CHAPTER NINE - TORTURE IN MY OWN APARTMENT 

My ass was sore for four days. After that it stopped hurting every time I 
sat down, but the marks stayed for more than a week. That little whip of 
Hildy's had really done a job on my bottom. Cindy went away and didn't 
bother me all week. Which didn't sit too well with me. Here she went and got 
my bottom all beaten and sore, and then she just goes away to leave me to 
suffer with it. It just wasn't fair. 

Each time I got into my shinny red 380SL, I thought about how much had 
happened to me since I bought it. I had learned more about sex than I had 
ever known. I had discovered that I could get a very intense sexual 
satisfaction out of being tied up, which is something that I would have 
never suspected had not Cindy come into my life. I also learned that there 
are such things as ghosts and that they can take over your life. 

I also was pretty sure I knew how to get rid of Cindy. The key was that cute 
little sports car. When it had been sold to Marla, Cindy had begun haunting 
her. When the car came back to Mrs. Sterling, Cindy came with it. Therefore, 
all I had to do was sell the car and Cindy would go with it. 

Simple but perhaps not as easy to do as say. Cindy had demonstrated that she 
could prevent the car from being sold. She had made it run poorly and turn 
away a potential buyer. She had even given her poor mother a shock when she 
tried to phone a wrecking yard. What if Cindy didn't want me to get rid of 
the car and her? 

I was about ready to try anything. Some of Cindy's ideas had turned out to 
be fun, but others had nearly gotten me killed. At the very least, I was 
tortured because of her love of all this kinkiness. We had to come to a 
compromise of some sorts. 

That's why I went to the hardware store and bought some chain and padlocks 
and a couple other things on Saturday morning. 

As Saturday evening came around I was prepared to put my plan into effect. I 
laid out all the chains and padlocks on the bed. Then I put the timer on the 
tall dresser, along with the keys to the padlocks. The timer was a simple 
device, merely a tall, thick candle that was marked with hour marks on the 
side. It was sold as a novelty clock, you could tell how much time had gone 
by from how far down the marks the candle had burned. I tied a thread around 
the candle at the ten hour mark, and tied the keys to the loose end of the 
thread. When the candle burned down far enough to either bum through the 
thread or let it slip off, the keys would fall from their own weight. I set 
the candle next to the edge of the dresser so that the keys hung over the 
edge. Then I lit the candle. 

That was the easy part. Then I had to chain myself up so that I couldn't 
move out of the bedroom. When the candle dropped the keys to the floor, I 
would be able to free myself, but not before. I figured that ten hours would 
take me into Sunday morning. Since Cindy did her work on Saturday nights, I 
figured I would survive this weekend without endangering my life or injuring 
my bottom. 

It took a little figuring out and experimentation to find a good way to 
chain myself. I had to be restrained well enough so that I couldn't leave 
the room. Also so that I couldn't stand up and reach the keys before the ten 
hours were up. And it had to be good enough so that Cindy couldn't make me 
escape early. 

I began by screwing a metal ring into the wooden floor on opposite sides of 
my bedroom. I had considered chaining myself to the bed but it was a small 
bed and could be pushed around so that wasn't solid enough. But with those 
metal rings screwed into the floor, I had something solid to secure myself 
to. I took one chain, locked the end to one ring and ran the chain across 
the floor to the other one. There I locked it so that the chain was taunt. 
Then I sat down in the middle of the chain and put my ankles over it. A 
small length of chain went around my ankles and was padlocked so that my 
ankles were held solidly in place. Before I clicked shut the lock, I made 
sure that I could just reach the spot were the keys would fall by laying 
stretched out on my stomach. Then I locked my ankles and felt better. 

With my ankles secured, I was safe enough. I couldn't reach the dresser to 
shake it and knock the candle down. My fingers could just reach where the 
keys would fall. And I certainly couldn't get up and leave with my ankles 
chained to the floor. I had even carefully checked to make sure that I 
couldn't reach the rings to unscrew them. I was secured. 

Perhaps it was a measure of how much I had changed because of Cindy's 
influence that I had chained myself to the floor just after taking a shower 
and while I was still stark naked. Somehow it seemed appropriate that I be 
naked while chained up for the night. 

And it wasn't just my being naked that showed my changing attitude. After 
securing my ankles in place, I reached up onto the bed and picked up my 
other purchase. It had come from a magic store, not the hardware store, but 
it went well with the chains. As I clicked each cuff of the bright and 
shinny new handcuffs on my wrists, I wore a smug smile on my face. Cindy 
could do her worst but I was not going to be leaving the bedroom that 
Saturday night. 

After an hour had gone by and the room grew darker from the coming night, I 
realized a couple mistakes I had made, but nothing serious. First off, I had 
not turned on any lights, which meant that I would be spending the night in 
darkness. Well, save for the little light that leaked in around the blinds 
in my bedroom from the security light in the parking area, and the candle 
light from my timer. The second realization was that I would be bored. It 
was only seven o'clock and I wasn't sleepy yet. I should have turned on the 
radio, or included a book to read or something. And the third mistake was 
that I forgot to put the pillow on the floor. Or, for that matter, any 
covers. 

Fortunately, I was within reach of the bed and could pull off the blankets 
when it got cold enough and I wanted to go to sleep. As to being bored, I 
would just have to make do as best I could. 

About an hour later I found myself looking intently at the chains on my 
ankles and growing mad at my stupidity for chaining myself up. It was then I 
realized that Cindy was taking over. I mentally sat back to watch the show. 

First off she tried to get the chains off. Then she glared up at the 
dressing and those keys hanging on the side of the candle. I could sense 
that she was rather unhappy. Then I couldn't sense her presence any more. 

Had she given up that quickly? Was that all it took to defeat her? Somehow I 
didn't think so. 

I began wondering what it was that ghosts do when they're not busy haunting 
houses or taking over humans. 

Cindy had to be someplace the other days of the week, didn't she? I had 
gotten through to her with that phony psychic on a weekday night. And she 
had done her thing one Sunday, that was true. But she preferred Saturday 
nights. Maybe that was the night of the week she was killed on, and ghosts 
have an affinity for the day of the week they died on. Well, it could be. 

About fifteen minutes later I found myself squirming around to look at the 
nightstand, and knew that Cindy was back. Hadn't thought she would give up 
so easily. 

The nightstand held only a reading light and the telephone, nothing else. 
Besides, it was well out of my reach, even if I stretched out on the floor 
and extended my arms. So what was she interested in it for? 

Then I was looking around the room, examining everything in the room, 
looking for something. Suddenly I focused in on the trash can. Then I was 
struggling to get to my knees on the other side of the chain stretched 
across the floor. It was a little effort with wrists joined by steel cuffs 
but I made it. Then I reached out and pulled the trash can to me. It didn't 
make much sense as the only thing in the trash can was a bent wire coat 
hanger I had thrown away earlier. But Cindy seemed very interested in that 
coat hanger. She pulled it from the trash can and straightened it out but 
left the hook at one end. Then I was wiggling back into my sitting position 
with legs straight out before me, but I didn't stop there. She soon had me 
stretched out towards the night stand with that coat hanger in my hands. It 
was the phone she was after, and with the coat hanger to hook it's cord, she 
got it. 

The phone fell to the floor and was hooked again and dragged over to where I 
could reach it with my hands. Then I was dialing a number I didn't know and 
waiting for an answer. 

I wished I had thought this thing through. The phone should have been a 
obvious thing to place out of reach. Was she calling Hildy to come over and 
whip my bottom? Or some other sadist who would give me a really bad time? 
And here I was, ready for whoever she was calling, naked and chained up by 
my own hand. 

"Hello?" 

'Tom. This is a friend of Cindy's." 

"Yes?" The voice on the other end was interested but hesitant. 

"I'm a really cute girl with much the same tastes as Cindy had. I'm sure you 
know what I mean." 

"In what way?" 

"Come on, Tom, you know what kind of things Cindy liked. Remember that time 
you hung her upside down from the beams in your patio, and then forced her 
to give upside down blow jobs to your male friends while her ass was being 
whipped?" 

"How do you know about that?" 

"Cindy told me. Before she died, of course." She paused only a second before 
coming to the point. "Well, I could use some tender loving care tonight. The 
kind you know so well how to give. Interested?" 

"Well, if you're sure you know what you're getting into...." 

"I know," I purred in that husky voice. "I like the ropes tight and a firm 
hand to punish me when I'm bad." 

"Why don't you come right over?" he asked. I could almost hear him drooling 
on the phone. "I'll give you the address." 

"Can't. You'll have to come here." 

"I have some special equipment you really should see. Why can't you come 
here?" 

"Can't." 

"Are you restrained in some way?" he sounded very interested. 

"Bingo, Tom! I can't leave the bedroom. You'll have to come here." Then she 
gave him and address. "The front door is unlocked, come right in." Then she 
paused dramatically before adding, "It will be worth your while." Damn! The 
front door was unlocked, stupid me. 

I hung up and could feel the satisfied, smug look on my face. Cindy was 
going to get her way after all. I could almost cry. 

Half an hour later I heard noise in my front room, followed by the 
appearance of a man. By candle light he looked pretty good, early thirties, 
tall, dark eyes and a rugged but not bad looking face. He smiled at the 
sight of my naked body. 

"You certainly are restrained, aren't you." He came closer to get a better 
look at me. "And you really are a looker. Nice job of chaining yourself up. 
I presume you did it yourself?" 

"The keys are up there on that candle," I told him. "You can do a better job 
if you wish." 

He looked at the candle and noted the hour marks. "You planning a timed 
escape, I see. Very good. Maybe I'll just leave you secured like that for 
now." He then explored my entire apartment. Satisfied that we were alone, he 
returned, only to tell me, "I'll be right back." 

When he came back from his car, he had a brief case. Out of that brief case 
came not briefs, but ropes, handcuffs and a couple whips. He laid them out 
on the bed. "First thing," I said, "is to assure that you don't make too 
much noise. This is an apartment complex, after all." 

I said nothing, which was probably for the better. He took that to be 
agreement and brought out a roll of wide, grey tape. Looking around, he went 
into the bathroom and returned with the pair of panties I had taken off 
before my shower. Knelling down, he grabbed my jaw in a strong hand and told 
me to open my mouth. I didn't want to, but Cindy was in the driver's seat 
and I felt my lips opening. He shoved in the panties. I wanted to gag. Not 
that they were really bad, but I had worn them for most of the day and that 
made them something I didn't want in my mouth. He used the wide tape to seal 
my lips and mouth with tape from ear to ear and under my jaw. My lips were 
sealed. 

"Get up on your knees," Tom commanded in a sterner tone than he had used up 
to that point. I looked up at him and saw the small, wicked looking black 
whip in his hand. Suddenly I had no desire to disobey. It's too bad I 
couldn't meet this Cindy in person, I would have strangled her. 

I struggled to my knees until I was on hands and knees with the chain 
passing across the room over my ankles. It was hard not to be aware of how 
much that made my bottom stick up. 

"Put your hands between your legs and grab that chain," he ordered. I tried 
and found that I could put my hands between my legs only by lowering myself 
until my head was against the floor. It was awkward to say the least, trying 
to reach between my legs to grab the chain but I did it. And that position 
really stuck my bottom up in the air -- just as Tom knew it would. He 
reached down and I heard the click of a lock. "You can let go now," he said. 
I did and found that he had locked the linking chain of my handcuffs to the 
chain over my ankles. There was no way I was going to pull my arms back 
through my legs while that lock stayed on. 

"So you would like to have some of the same treatment Cindy loved so much?" 
He grinned down at me. "Did you know that Cindy loved to have her bottom 
whipped? This is one of her favorite whips. It's short and easy to swing but 
has a very nasty leather thong at the end. It delivers quite a sting. Or so 
she said. I would, of course, have no first hand knowledge of such things." 

I'm sure you wouldn't, I thought. Then I mentally called Cindy some very 
unpleasant names for calling this guy over to my apartment. 

The first stroke was unannounced and all the worse for it. I heard a noise 
but before I could associate that swish with the whip in his hand my bottom 
was crying out in pain. His hand was strong and that whip really hurt me. I 
yelled but it was into my panties and tape and very little sound got out. I 
may have wiggled my bottom some, I'm not too sure about that because the 
next stroke came almost immediately and landed almost perfectly centered on 
my other cheek. I yelled again into my panties and jerked in my chains. 

The whipping was slow, deliberate and very effective. I was soon reduced to 
sobbing and wiggling my ass in futile attempts to get it away from that 
terrible whip. Being on your knees with your face buried in the carpet is a 
fine position for having your ass whipped. Tom methodically covered every 
square inch of my poor buns with the fiery kiss of that whip. I cried and 
whined through my nose, and gasped each time the leather touched my flesh. 
In a funny way, I was glad that he had gagged me, the noise I would have 
been making would have disturbed the entire apartment building. 

It was a while before I realized that the whip had stopped torturing my 
bottom. Then strong male hands clamped into that very sore flesh and began 
kneading it in a manner designed to hurt. And it did! My poor bottom was 
already covered with whip marks -- I could see part of it in the closet 
mirror -- and did not need any new torture. But this Tom liked to see me 
squirm, and digging his fingers into my pained flesh was one way to make me 
squirm. Also cry out with the fresh agony and jerk at the chains that held 
me. 

In the position I was, my knees were spread a bit but not too wide because 
my ankles were chained together. Mostly it was my arms between my thighs 
that forced my knees apart. But there was enough separation of the cheeks of 
my poor, tortured bottom so that Tom could insert a finger to play with my 
pussy. More than enough room. With one hand giving me pain by squeezing and 
digging into my sore bottom, the other hand was giving me pleasure by 
teasing my sex. And once again I discovered that being tortured can act as a 
sexual stimulant to a girl. My pussy was juicy and ready to accept his 
finger or anything other object that wished to enter within. It was 
disgusting but true, I was hot and "ready to trot," as the old saying goes. 

But Tom was a sadist, you must remember that. To work me up to an orgasm, to 
grant me any kind of satisfaction, let alone pleasure, was not his style. A 
good judge of when a girl was nearing an orgasm, he suddenly let go of my 
privates and left me to wiggle in frustration. It was so near yet so far. I 
couldn't reach up to touch myself, my hands were joined to my ankles by 
steel. I couldn't even rub my pussy on the carpet or edge of the bed, 
anything that might have pushed me over the edge into a climax. 

He let me come partly down then began teasing me again. He didn't know my 
reactions so he stayed on the conservative side and several times left me 
hanging only half way up to the orgasm I was wanting pretty badly by then. 
Half a dozen times he excited me then left me tasting bitter frustration. At 
the end of the final time, he delivered a stinging blow across my bottom 
with his open palm. It evoked a scream from me but almost defeated his 
purpose. The pain came very close to being just what I needed to reach that 
orgasm. I came sooooo close. 

"One of the things that Cindy enjoyed most," he began telling me after I had 
"cooled" down a bit, "was being tightly bound with ropes. She liked tight 
ropes like no other girl I've ever seen. Was crazy about being so tightly 
bound that the ropes were sinking into her flesh." 

I know, I thought. I'm getting to be an expert on Cindy's sexual 
preferences. 

"So I'm going to bind you in one of her favorite ways, he continued. "She 
used to call it a 'Ball Tie.' I'm sure you'll like it." 

He unlocked my handcuffs from the chain over my ankles. Then he got the keys 
down from the candle and unlocked my ankles from the chain stretched across 
the room. For a few moments I was almost free, being restrained only by a 
pair of handcuffs and those on in front of me. I looked at the door, 
wondering if I could make a rush for freedom. But when I ordered my legs to 
move, then did nothing. Damn you, Cindy! I cursed behind the gag- One ankle 
was grabbed and pulled until I was on my back with that leg straight up in 
the air. He grabbed my other ankle and began wrapping rope around them both. 
After the ankles were secured, he bound my legs just above my knees, both 
places being very tightly tied. It was only then that he unlocked the 
handcuffs. He wasn't new at this game of keeping a girl prisoner. With bound 
legs, I wasn't about to do much dashing for freedom. 

My arms were gathered behind me and bound there in a way I was pretty used 
to by then; the elbows were tightly locked together with rope. He paused to 
admire the way that bondage made my breasts stick out. I had to admit that 
it did have a beneficial effect when I saw myself in the mirror. Made for a 
pretty sexy package, I admitted to myself. 

His briefcase then produced a leather collar, sort of like a dog collar but 
wider and softer. That he buckled onto my neck snugly. There was a loop of 
leather in front to which he tied a short length of rope. Then he pulled me 
up on the bed until I was sitting down with my legs straight out in front of 
me. He threaded the rope from my collar through the rope binding my knees 
and pulled. I had to bend forward. He passed the rope through the small loop 
and back around the knee rope, then pulled some more. I bend more forward. 
My knees came up but he didn't seem to mind that. My head approached even 
closer to my knees as he pulled on that rope. Finally my chin was resting 
against my knees and I could be bent no further. He took that rope down to 
my ankles and tied several knots there. 

That was not all. He took another, much longer piece of rope, and made a 
large loop of it. That he passed around my body, below my legs and over my 
back and arms just about the level of my elbows. He wound that many times, 
pulling each one tightly so that my breasts were squashed into my thighs. He 
tied the final knots to those ropes already around my elbows. 

This would have been a bad enough bondage position if he had just left me 
like that. But he didn't. I was rolled over on to my side and a rope tied 
around the rope already on my ankles. I whined in protest for I knew what 
was coming next, and why Cindy had called it a 'Ball Tie.' He took that rope 
from my ankles and passed it between my forearms then back down to the 
ankles. Around then once more and then he began pulling. My legs bent double 
and kept going until my heels were pressed firmly into my sore ass and my 
arms were pulled down towards the same ass with great force. He passed the 
rope around my wrist rope a few times then up to the elbows were the final 
knots were tied. 

Now I was in a Ball Tie and knew with all my heart that I could never 
escape. Not only that, but I knew that this position would soon become a 
torture by itself. Almost every part of me was under some kind of strain. 
And all those parts were starting to hurt already. 

Tom looked down at me with a smile that can only be described as an 'evil 
grin.' "Cindy loved being tied like this," he explained. "She used to ask me 
to do it after her bottom had been whipped. Sometimes I would do it for her, 
sometimes not. One time I handed her clothes back to her and told her to go 
home. Talk about being sadistic...." he chuckled. 

"Well, this time you've gotten the Ball Tie, just as Cindy used to like it. 
Now you may be asking yourself just what good this Ball Tie is. It is, of 
course, uncomfortable, so it could be used to punish a girl. But there is 
one other advantage that perhaps you're not familiar with. I certainly made 
sure that Cindy became familiar with it." 

He stopped talking long enough to rotate me up to my knees and pull me 
around until I was at the edge of the bed. He left her there for a minute 
while he fetched a chair from the kitchen. That he put in the middle of the 
room. Then he picked me up and placed me on the chair. My feet were hanging 
over one side and my head was looking straight down over the other side. Tom 
then took some more rope and tied my ankles down to the rungs under the 
chair. He did the same with the rope connecting my neck to my knees. Then he 
tied some more rope between my elbows and the back of the chair. When he was 
finished, I was quite solidly lashed to the chair and couldn't move a thing. 

That was about the most restrictive bondage I had ever been in. I could move 
less and felt even more helpless than when I was in a tight hogtie. It was 
even more helpless feeling than when I hung upside down in Phil's garage. I 
could wiggle my fingers and toes a bit, and maybe shake my head from side to 
side a bit, but that was all. And I do mean all. 

Tom stood back to admire his handiwork. "I did this to Cindy more than once. 
She admired how completely helpless it made her. Of course, she didn't 
really like what comes next, but she was hardly in a position to do anything 
about it. Just as you're not." What comes next? With a mental sigh, I told 
myself that the bastard was going to leave me tied like this all night, 
which would be a fairly terrible torture. I'll admit that I was getting 
pretty used to being tied up, and there was an attraction to it. Being 
tightly bound up was... Well, how else to say it except that it was exciting 
to me. But even that excitement had its limits. For me to stay tied like 
this all night would be a torture -- no other word for it. I would probably 
hurt worse in those long hours than I did from his whip. If you can compare 
apples to oranges in this crazy area. I think I would have pleaded for him 
not to leave me but for the gag. And Cindy would have stopped me, I was 
pretty sure. This was her kind of action, no doubt. 

But leaving me was not what came next. I should have guessed that Tom would 
find some way to get his sexual satisfaction out of these games, and he did. 
Most of what he did next was behind me and I couldn't turn around to see it. 
There was the sound of a zipper and that suggested that his pants were 
somewhere down at half mast. Then there was a pause followed by the ropes 
between my hands and ankles being pulled aside. Apparently he had tied 
another rope onto the rope linking my hands and feet, and used it to hold 
that rope away from my bottom. Or, to be more precise, away from my asshole. 

And that gave me the cold shivers. Intentions were confirmed when he smeared 
some kind of cold cream or jelly all around and into my asshole. His finger 
actually enter my rectum to make sure that a goodly amount of that stuff was 
inside. 

What came next was something new for me and something I would have been 
disgusted at the mere thought of a few weeks before. But I was learning. 
And, besides, in case you haven't noticed, I was rather helpless and 
powerless to lift a finger in defense of my virgin asshole. I felt the head 
of his penis pressing against my rear and cried out my displeasure into the 
gag. Harder and harder he pushed it against that reluctant entrance, until 
mere muscles could resist no more. Suddenly he was inside me, and it was one 
of the strangest feelings I had ever felt in my life. Perhaps Cindy was used 
to such things, but I was a virgin when it came to sodomy. 

It hurt, I'll not deny that. But it was also somehow incredibly exciting. 
The mere thought of a man invading that private place was something that 
made me feel so very helpless. And that made me excited. It was not the way 
I wanted things to go, nor the way I would have predicted, but being raped 
in the rear was turning me on. 

Slowly, relentlessly, he pushed his rod into a part of me never before 
invaded by anything. I felt my bottom wiggling but the ropes gave me little 
freedom of movement. And I wasn't sure if my wiggling was to try and get 
away from this violation of my rear or to help that monster slide more 
smoothly into it. 

Then he began pumping. Slowly, almost gently, at first then a little faster, 
he began the ancient sexual act on my person. It was just not in the usual 
place. Not that I'm an expert on sexual practices through the ages. Perhaps 
men have been taking women in the ass for as long as they've been screwing 
them in the front place. 

How can I describe it? It was a sensual feeling, not doubt about that. It 
was painful but the pain soon faded away to a discomfort no more intense 
than the tight ropes on my body. Since I was only an observer without the 
power to change events, I could sit back and study the feelings with a 
certain detachment. The only trouble was that those feelings were becoming 
pretty strong, and beginning to occupy my mind to the exclusion of all else. 

To make a long story short, within five minutes his screwing of my asshole 
had worked me up to where I was nearing an orgasm, just as his screwing of 
my vagina would have. And that bend over, doubled up position I was tied in 
helped. I had already accepted that I was turned on by being tied up. And 
boy, was I tied up! Couldn't move a thing and really felt the tight ropes 
all over my body, cutting into my flesh and holding me prisoner. 

Then it happened. I don't know if he sensed how close I was to an orgasm, or 
if was just plain bad luck. But suddenly he was moaning, shoving his hips 
against my bottom as hard as he could, and shooting his load into my rear. 
If he had held off just a minute longer, I'm sure that I would have been 
close enough so that his climax would have triggered one in me. It was 
sooooo close! But that huge, pumping rod filling my asshole diminished 
quickly and then withdrew, leaving me with one hell of a case of 
frustration. 

I cried in anger and frustration and shook my whole body to the extent the 
ropes allowed me, which wasn't much. The funny part was that I could sense 
Cindy was right there with me, feeling the same frustration and anger. 
Served her right for getting me into this. 

It took a few minutes for me to come down from the high state of sexual 
excitement to where I was aware of what was going on around me. Tom had his 
clothes back on and was packing away some of the ropes and stuff he hadn't 
used on me. I tried to whine a plea through my nose, begging him to untie 
me. 

"Sorry, sweetie," he said with a very wicked smile. "But you wanted to be 
treated the same as Cindy, and she would have loved to spend the night tied 
as you are. So I guess it's only fair to leave you just as I would have left 
Cindy." 

I struggled mightily against the ropes but hardly moved an inch. I whined 
protests through my nose but was ignored. Actually, I was surprised that 
Cindy allow me to fight what was happening. Until I realized that she knew 
full well there was nothing I could do about it. I guessed she was enjoying 
the action. Cindy and I were going to have to have a talk when this whole 
thing was over. 

Tom left me. But before he did, he blew out the candle, telling me as he did 
that open flames shouldn't be left burning when the only person in the place 
was unable to put out any fires that might start. I was in total agreement, 
even though it meant I would be in darkness all night. 

He promised to drop by in the morning to check on me. "Of course, if you can 
work your way loose," he said sweetly, "then please call me to save me the 
trip. Bye!" 

Suddenly I was alone, in the dark, and quite utterly helpless. For the next 
hour or so I worked at the ropes, trying to find knots with my fingers, 
loose ropes that I could work on, anything that might help me escape. But 
the ropes were too numerous and too well tied for that to happen. I was 
going to perch on that chair until rescued in the morning. 

As a punishment, I hardily recommend the Ball Tie. The girl who is 
unfortunately enough to find herself so tied will be uncomfortable from the 
start, and that will grow until she is ready to scream. Can you say, 
"Ordeal?" 

That's what it was. Long before the night was half over, I was moaning from 
the ache in my shoulders and other parts. My feet and hands felt cold and I 
knew that the circulation was not doing so well. But I could move then and 
knew that it was not totally cut off. With my head tied down to my knees 
that way, I felt like I was going to fall off the chair but never did. The 
ropes holding me to the chair prevented not only my falling off but helped 
to make me even more secure. 

I sort of drifted in and out of a half sleep but never really got anything 
that refreshed me. I would have been happy to fall into a real sleep -- that 
would have helped pass the time. But the constant aches and pains were too 
much. Every once in a while I sort of went berserk and fought against the 
ropes. Didn't do me any good. In fact, it usually made the bondage hurt even 
more. I hoped Cindy was getting her money's worth, I was certainly getting 
full measure. 

When Tom came back for me, it was to find a very sorry little girl. I ached 
all over and had cried so much that the tears came no more. He stood there, 
enjoying the tear stains down my cheeks, the way those ropes dug into my 
flesh, and the pained look in my eyes. 

Then he screwed me in the ass again. 

It wasn't nearly as pleasant for me as the night before had been. I got no 
orgasm out of it, only a pain in the ass that was mildly sexual -- to be 
honest about it. He seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. He chatted about how 
beautiful I was all tied up like that, and how he was sure I had enjoyed the 
night just like Cindy used to. Then he came and filled my rear with his cum 
again. 

Even then, with his sexual satisfaction obtained, he didn't untie me. For a 
while, as he rested from his labors, he teased me with the possibility of 
his leaving me like that all day, then returning in the evening to screw my 
"wonderfully tight ass" yet again. I began to believe him. 

But he untied me. Even a sadist knows that all slavegirls have limits. I was 
glad he left the gag in my mouth as he peeled the ropes out of my flesh. 
Between the ache of moving stiff muscles and the pins and needles of 
returning circulation, I would have been crying out pretty loudly. 

Finally I was laying on the floor, my arms limp by my side, and the gag 
still in my mouth. Tom gathered up all his ropes and stuff, carefully 
leaving my handcuffs, chains and keys on the floor before me. He was 
cheerful, quite a contrast to my exhausted condition, and he thanked me for 
a wonderful time. He even expressed the hope that I had enjoyed the evening 
as much as he had. Then he told me to call anytime I wanted a repeat 
performance, and was gone. 

I crawled into the bathroom, peeled the tape off my mouth, a rather 
unpleasant task as it was very sticky tape, spit the panties out of my 
mouth, then took a hot shower. 

After that, I staggered over to bed and felt onto the covers. I was asleep 
almost immediately. 

 CHAPTER TEN - CHAINING A GHOST 

It was mid-afternoon when I awoke. Except for a rather sore bottom -- make 
that VERY sore -- I was in pretty fair shape after my ordeal of the night 
before. I stood before the mirror and looked over my shoulder at the 
battered and bruised bottom displayed there. It was worse than any of the 
other whippings I had received, or so it seemed. Each whipping seemed to be 
the worse. I would have trouble sitting down for a week, I was sure. 

The rope marks were gone, the serious ache in my shoulders and other parts 
of my body were gone, and I could finally say that the taste of panties was 
gone from my mouth. All in all, I was lucky, no serious damage done. My 
bottom would recover, given time. My asshole might not be a virgin any 
longer but it felt pretty much normal. 

But there was something else the ordeal had taught me, namely that Cindy 
could be dangerous. Tom was only having his fun with me, but there was 
Carlos. And perhaps other dangers in these waters. Cindy could still get me 
killed or seriously injured with these games. 

I had to do something. But what? 

I had a late lunch and thought about the problem. I could just try to sell 
the 380SL but would Cindy let me? I doubted it. She had what she wanted, a 
good looking young woman whom she could take over and enjoy the kind of 
things she used to have with. I doubted she was going to give that up. 

I cleaned up the chains and handcuffs, putting them away in a half empty 
drawer of my dresser. When I finished, only the candle was left to show that 
a heavy duty game of ropes and chains had taken place in that bedroom. 

While I sat there, looking at myself in the mirror, I got to thinking. Maybe 
what I needed was come communication. I had talked with Cindy in that 
fortune- teller's place, perhaps I could talk with her again. 

"Cindy! I want to talk to you. I have to talk to you," I told my image in 
the mirror. Nothing happened. "Listen, I can come up with a variation of the 
chain routine that will work. You know I can. I'll disconnect the phone. 
I'll gag myself so I can't call for help. I'll chain myself so well that it 
will take me an hour to get out of all the chains and handcuffs even after I 
get the keys. And I'll find or have made a box that will open with an 
electrical timer so there's no way the keys will fall early. I'm sure the 
electronics store will have something along those lines." I paused to catch 
my breath. "I'll fix myself up every Saturday night so that you can't make 
me play your games." 

There was no reply. Was she just refusing to talk or was she really gone 
someplace where she couldn't hear me. 

"I'll get a friend to take that 380SL to the junk yard and have it smashed 
into a tiny cube of metal." 

Suddenly I was standing up and going into the kitchen. There I got a pad of 
paper from next to the phone and a pencil. I sat down on the bed and began 
writing a note to myself. Cindy apparently didn't want to talk but was 
willing to communicate. Or maybe she couldn't use my voice for some reason. 
I don't understand all this ghost stuff. 

"Don't destroy the car," I wrote in a handwriting not my own. "Love car." 

"I love the car, too," I told her. "It's a beautiful car. I've always wanted 
one of those." 

"Me too," she wrote. 

At least we were talking and that's a start, I told myself. "You keep doing 
things like this Tom or Carlos, you'll get me hurt. Do you want me hurt?" 

"Pain is okay. Part of the game," came the reply. Then, "You have not been 
hurt." 

"What do you call having to spend all night tied in that tiny ball? That 
hurt!" 

"Not hurt. I've done that many times. No harm." 

"Maybe no harm but it could have been. How did you know that I could take 
such tight ropes all night? I could have had some problem and been powerless 
to do anything about it." 

"Helpless good." She underlined that. "I know you can take it. You're like 
me." 

"Yes, I'm like you. And I thank you for teaching me that I do like being 
tied up. And that there is so much to life, sexual life, that I never knew." 
I paused, trying to figure out how to put the next part. "But I'm worried 
that some day you'll get me into something that will harm me. Then what 
would you do? What will you do if I get killed?" 

"Get new girl," came the reply immediately. 

I felt a cold knot form in my stomach and my legs get a little weak. It 
really wouldn't bother her if I got killed because of her games. She'd just 
go out and get a new host to play with. 

"That's not good," I said. "Not good at all. Look, Cindy, you've got a good 
thing going with me. We both love that car, so you know that I'll take care 
of it. Someone else might run it into the ground." 

"I will make next girl take care of car." 

I swallowed hard, and tried again. "And you've got a girl here who really 
does love being tied up just like you do. Why can't you restrict yourself to 
rope games and leave this heavy stuff alone?" 

For a few seconds nothing happened, then I saw new words appearing on the 
pad. "I like more than being tied up. I like being hurt." 

How are you going to argue with a masochist? "But I don't," I said. 

"Don't you?" came the reply. 

I swallowed again. She was too close to being right. I was attracted to some 
of the things we had done. Things more than just being tied up. 

I tried again, "I don't think you'll find another girl who is as good a 
match as I am. I think you should try to protect me so you can have your fun 
for a long time." 

What came onto the paper next scared me: "Many girls." It was followed a few 
seconds later by, "Wait until you see next game." 

I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the trash can. Then I got dressed 
and went out to dinner. 

I heard no more from Cindy during the week, nor did I make any attempt to 
talk to her. The thought of what might be coming up on Saturday scared me. 
There was a tiny bit of excitement, too. Some of the games Cindy had gotten 
me into were pretty incredible. But I got the impression that she was out to 
teach me a lesson, to show me that she would get us into any kind of heavy 
pain scene she wanted to. 

So I made preparations. Trusting that Cindy couldn't do much during the 
week, I bought some more restraints. I hoped that she wasn't watching, and 
perhaps she couldn't watch during the week. I just didn't know, but she did 
nothing to foil my plans. 

The next Saturday afternoon I set everything out and got ready. I had to 
visit three electronic stores before I found what I was looking for. A clerk 
told me that he could whip something up for me if I came back the next day. 
What he had was a small box made out of metal. An electrical wire came out 
of the back but there was nothing else save for the lid. He showed me how 
the lid was fitted with a spring so that it would pop open when a electrical 
thing was activated. I think he called it a solenoid or something. Anyway, 
it worked just as I wanted. There was an electrical timer inside, connected 
to that solenoid. All I had to do was put the keys in it and set the timer. 
When the lid was closed, it locked in place and couldn't be opened until the 
timer reached the set time. I tested it at home and it worked perfectly. 

There was no way I could get the keys out until the time set on the inside 
timer. If I tried to get it to open by pulling out the plug, the timer would 
just stop. Then the only way I could get the thing to open would be to plug 
it back in and let the timer continue. If I left it unplugged, it would 
never open. The box was made of pretty solid metal. There was no way I would 
be able to get into it with my bare hands. I could spend hours bashing it 
with handcuffs or chains and still not get the box open. He had done a good 
job. 

As I was paying for it, he asked me what I wanted it for. I was tempted to 
tell him the truth but instead gave him some story about wanting to make 
sure that my sister couldn't drive her car when she started drinking. Didn't 
make much sense to me, either, but he didn't press the issue. 

I tested it a dozen times and it worked perfectly every time. With the keys 
locked inside that box, I figured I would be safe from Cindy's attempts to 
get me in trouble. The worst that could happen would be a power failure, and 
that would only extent the period I would have to spend all chained up. 

I started half way through the afternoon on that Saturday. I could probably 
have waited until evening, but didn't want to take a chance. If she found me 
planning to thwart her, heaven only knows what she might have done to me. 

I began by taking a shower. Then I laid out all the restraints I planned on 
using. Carefully I placed all the keys inside the box and set the timer for 
ten o'clock the next morning. I made sure that the box was plugged into the 
wall and then set it on the night stand. The phone was on the floor in the 
bathroom, well out of reach. 

Step one was to gag myself. For that I had chosen a small rubber ball, not 
my used panties. At least I had better taste in gags that Tom. I had punched 
a hole through the ball and fitted a small chain through it. I placed the 
ball in my mouth. I could just close my teeth around it but it pressed my 
tongue down and prevented any speech. I locked the chain behind my head with 
a small padlock. Having practiced with that gag, I knew that I couldn't get 
it out of my mouth, even with my hands to help. The ball was locked in place 
and would stay there until the key unlocked the lock. 

Step two was to chain my ankles together. Sitting on the bed with my legs 
straight out in front of me, I did that the same as I had done the previous 
Saturday, bent in half to reach my ankles with a small link chain but one 
thick enough so there was no way I could break it. I locked it snugly around 
both ankles. Also included in the lock was the end of a chain that passed 
over the end of the bed and down to the frame under the bed where it was 
locked. That would keep me from pulling my legs up. 

Step three found me wiggling up until I was stretched out on the bed with 
the chain tugging on my ankles. Another chain came over the top of the bed 
from where it was locked to the frame below. I took that chain and wrapped a 
single loop around my neck. I locked that with another padlock. The loop 
wasn't as snug as that around my ankles, but there was no way it could be 
pulled off over my head. 

With just those two steps, I was helpless. I could roll around and move my 
hands all I wanted, but could not get off the bed. I couldn't even sit up, I 
was held flat on my back. But that wasn't the end of my preparations. 

I had placed another chain on the bed, locked underneath to the frame and 
simply passing across the middle of the bed from side to side. It passed 
under my back as I lay there. I took another small chain that I had measured 
carefully and placed it over my stomach. Each end hung down on my side to 
just almost touch the chain under my back. I had two padlocks and used them 
to secure each end to the chain under me. That would keep my middle secured 
in the middle of the bed. There would be no rolling over on my side, no 
sitting up, nothing. 

The last step was to fit the pair of handcuffs on my wrists and click them 
down until they were snug against my flesh. 

I know perhaps you're thinking that this was a clear case of overkill. Just 
a single chain on my ankle would be enough to keep me from leaving the 
apartment. But I wanted to take no chances. Cindy was clever. Very clever. 

Besides, I like being tied up, remember? This was more fun. A part of me 
rationalized that perhaps Cindy would be content with the very restricted 
way I had secured myself and not get mad at me. It was, after all, a pretty 
good job of self-bondage with chains. 

I reached up just to make sure that I could reach the box on the night 
stand. It was a bit of a strain but my fingers could touch it and, when the 
time came, pull it towards me. I had checked the positioning of my body many 
times to make sure that I wasn't out of reach of the box. Every was fine. 

I had left a small light on the nightstand. It would act as a night light 
and a reading lamp. Piled next to my pillow were four or five books. I would 
have something to read and not get too bored as the long hours passed as 
slowly as I knew they would. 

I could see the clock where I had moved it to the top of the dresser. It was 
several hours before the time Cindy usually put in her appearance. I sighed 
contentedly and began reading a book. 

At seven o'clock I sensed Cindy's presence. I put down the book and held up 
the handcuffs before my eyes. Then I felt the chain around my middle. My 
hands went up to the chain around my neck and felt that nice, big padlock 
there. Very solid and secure. I wiggled my feet a bit to gauge how solidly 
they were chained. 

Cindy contented herself with looking around. I was coming to figure that she 
could not only see with my eyes, but could tell what I was thinking to some 
extent. She looked at the box for a long time, and I just knew that she knew 
the keys were in it. And how it would defeat her attempts to break out the 
keys. 

Cindy then expressed her anger. I was suddenly struggling against the chain 
as hard as I could. I tugged at the chain around my stomach and jerked my 
legs. I twisted my head until the chain was hurting my neck. I even tugged 
at the handcuffs and tried to slip my wrists out of the steel bracelets. But 
I had clicked them down pretty tight and they held my wrists imprisoned. 

Finally she calmed down. In a final fit of anger, she took the books I had 
next to my head and threw them across the room. I sighed inwardly. It was to 
be a little more boring that I had hoped, but that was a minor battle. I 
figured I had still won the war. 

For a while I simply lay there, waiting to see if she would try anything. 
Suddenly my hands reached up and picked up the box. For a long two seconds I 
held it off the night stand with both hands, as if I were about to throw it 
as far as I could. But then I put the box back down. 

Cindy went away. I was getting more used to her being around and could sense 
better when she was around, and when she wasn't. Apparently she decided that 
trapping me on the bed wouldn't get her what she wanted. Actually, I had 
been afraid that she might do that just out of anger. Chained down the way I 
was and gagged, I would be spending a long time before anyone came into the 
apartment. 

Before long I found myself wishing I had left a radio on or moved the TV 
into the bedroom so I could watch it. But the only sounds in my bedroom were 
the clinking of chains and a creak now and then from the bed. 

I don't know when it was that I fell asleep, but the clock said one o'clock 
in the morning when I woke up. I was having some strange dreams and feeling 
very erotic. Then I realized that my hands were laying on my stomach and my 
fingers were stretched out to disappear into my pubic patch where they were 
teasing my clit. It felt good, to be honest, and I wasn't opposed to what 
Cindy was doing. At least I think it was her doing that. Wasn't really 
important. 

The helpless condition of my body was, as it was becoming increasingly in my 
life, a stimulant to my sexual responses. I was very aware of the chains on 
me, of the way they held me in their steel grip, and that I was powerless. 
For nine more hours I would be a prisoner by my own hand and that was 
exciting. 

Well, you can guess the next part. I masturbated myself into a pretty nice 
orgasm, arching my body up against the chains as it overwhelmed me. Then I 
floated a while on that high. 

I awoke again to the feeling of fingers upon my sex and a growing heat in my 
loins. I glanced at the clock. Two o'clock. What was that old saying, when 
rape in inevitable, relax and enjoy it? Well, I'm sure that whoever said 
that never figured it would apply one day to a girl who was raping herself 
-- sort of. The orgasm was nice and I was grateful for it. But I was pretty 
tired and wanted to get some sleep. 

The next time was at three o'clock, just like the three ghosts of A 
Christmas Carol. It took longer for my fingers to work me up to a climax, 
but they managed. When I woke up at four o'clock to find the same routine, I 
wanted to shout, "Enough already!" but could say nothing. So I mentally 
shouted it and hoped that Cindy heard. The fourth orgasm in an many hours 
was a bit strained but still very real. 

Cindy tried again at five o'clock but the flesh can take only so much. She 
went away but not before waking me up again. 

I was awake long before ten o'clock, worrying about some unpredicted failure 
of the timer but also congratulating myself on having won that battle. At 
two minutes after ten the lid popped open and I eagerly grabbed the keys. 
Ten minutes later I was standing by the bed, taking the gag out of my mouth. 
The gag had been the worst part because my jaw ached quite a bit. I couldn't 
close my mouth all the way because of the chain between my teeth, but that 
had been a small price to pay. If I hadn't included the gag, Cindy might 
have taken control, yelled until someone came and then tell them I was a 
victim of some really kinky burglar and they should hacksaw the chains off. 
I wouldn't have put that passed her. 

I took a shower, then cooked myself a good breakfast. I was feeling fine. My 
sex was a little tired, but that was fine with me. At least I had enjoyed 
most of what made it so tired that morning. 

It wasn't until early evening that Cindy returned. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN - SENTENCED TO A LIFETIME ENSLAVEMENT 

I guess I made a mistake in thinking that Cindy could take control on her 
own only on Saturday nights. Maybe it was simply easier for her to do it 
then. But whatever, it was a painful mistake. She must have been pissed off 
with me for keeping her from going out on the town. And I should have 
figured that a ghost would have the patience to wait until I wasn't so 
protected. Ghosts have all the time in the world, right? 

I knew that I was in trouble when I suddenly found myself pulling off my 
shorts and blouse so fast that I tore one of my favorite blouses. Completely 
naked, I marched into the bedroom, kicked aside a pile of chains that got in 
my way, and headed to the closet. I grabbed that thin, emerald dress and 
pulled it on, almost tearing the seams in the process. I got the impression 
that Cindy was angry at me. 

A pair of high heels and a small purse later I was heading towards the door. 
Suddenly I turned around and headed back to the bedroom. There I grabbed the 
pair of handcuffs and that chain and ball gag that I had made. Both went 
into my purse. 

It was a pleasant night and I would have enjoyed the drive had I not been 
under Cindy's compulsion and afraid of what she was going to do. My 380SL 
purred along I-5, heading north towards Los Angeles. 

Two hours later I was turning down a small street in Beverly Hills, an area 
that I had never been to before. The homes were all large and most were 
recessed from the street and hidden behind large fences or shrubs. I pulled 
into a driveway that headed towards a house mostly hidden behind trees. As I 
sat in the car in front of the house, I weighed my purse. Then I took the 
ball gag out of it but left the handcuffs. My high heels clicked and clacked 
on the flagstone pavement all the way up to the door. 

I had to wait a minute before my pressing the button brought someone to the 
door. It was opened to reveal a short man dressed in casual slacks and a 
polo shirt. He was dark of features and a little on the fat side, like a man 
who had once been fit but gone to pot. He smiled at me, more of a leer, 
actually, showing perfect white teeth. I could see that his features were 
Arabic but had no way of telling which country he might have come from. 

"May I help you," he said in English barely accented. 

"I would like to talk to you, Mr. Jahid. May I come in?" 

I... Well, Cindy, was using that husky voice that just oozes sex and makes 
men's penises stand up, even over the phone. He stepped aside and waved his 
hand graciously. I entered then followed him to a lounge only slightly 
smaller than a football field. 

"A drink, Miss? No? Then please sit down." He paused while I sat, mostly so 
he could enjoy the show of thigh as my dress rode up. I did nothing to push 
it back down. "So, what shall we talk about?" 

"I am a friend of Cindy's." He didn't seem to recognize the name, so I 
added, "Cindy Sterling. You met her through Dean Mattson. He brought her to 
one of your parties." 

"Dean. Ah, yes, a pretty young blonde. Loved being tied up, if I recall." 

"You recall correctly. Well, she told me that you could get me a job in your 
home country. A very good paying job doing some things I like to do anyway." 
I was shifting my legs around to give him a better view, and even leaning 
forward slightly so he could see most of my breasts. 

"Perhaps I can," he said, noncommittally. "What kind of things do you like 
to do?" He was smiling like a cat that just cornered a mouse. 

I stood up and took the handcuffs out of my purse. Without a word, I locked 
them on my wrists behind my back. Then I took a pose with legs spread as 
wide as my dress would allow. "I love, just love to be tied up," I purred. 
"And all that goes with it." I shifted my stance so that I was in a fashion 
model's pose. "I love a spanking. I dig it when men get rough with me. Teeth 
marks and bruises on my breasts turn me on," I lied. I turned slightly so he 
could see the handcuffs as well as a good profile. "I can even be whipped." 
I could see this was having an effect on this man. "If the price is right," 
I added. 

What the hell was Cindy getting me into? It sounded like she was selling 
my/herself like the prostitute she used to be except for that job in a 
foreign land bit. 

"If you want to check my equipment, just take this dress off. I'm good, 
damned good." 

"I'm sure you are, Miss...." 

"My name is Nancy. There is a zipper in back...." I turned my back to him. 

His hand was at the zipper a second later. When the sleeveless dress was 
laying on the carpet around my feet, I turned back to him. His eyes were 
devouring my body. "Your equipment is of the finest quality," he agreed. 
"I'm sure that I can find employment for you." I didn't like the way he 
paused a split second before the word, "employment." 

"Good. I would like some adventure. And could use the money." 

"I'm sure I can satisfy you," he said. "As to the money, I mean. There are 
men in my country who would very much appreciate a woman of your obvious 
talents." He studied my body a while longer before adding, with a sigh, "I 
assume you have the key for those handcuffs?" 

"No. But I assume that you have one around here. Maybe down in the special 
room you have in the basement? Cindy said that you had a pretty well 
equipped special room." 

"Ah, yes. I'm sure that I do have a key someplace. But first, you do 
understand that the men I'm talking about are connoisseurs. They would 
expect the highest quality in both appearance and performance. I could not 
present them with an amateur...." 

"You wish a demonstration?" I stepped out of the dress and up to him. The 
tips of my nipples were almost touching his shirt front. "I can take the 
tightest, most severe bondage you can do to me," I whispered into his face. 
"And love it... You wish to test me? Go ahead. You wish to test that I am 
serious about the rough handling? About the pain? Test me. 

What man can refuse such an offer? He was practically drooling on my 
breasts. 

"But of course, Miss Nancy. The special room is this way...." He took my arm 
with one hand to guide me alone towards this private torture chamber. 

"One other thing," I said as we walked along a hallway. "My car is parked 
out in front. If I accept employment and have to leave the country 
immediately, would you please sell it for me? The pink slip is in the glove 
box, already signed off. Sell it to some pretty young girl. I'd like that." 

"Of course, Miss Nancy. I shall be happy to dispose of your automobile." 

I suddenly saw what Cindy was getting me into, and wanted to scream. This 
guy wasn't an employment agency, it was some kind of white slaver and I was 
going to be shipped off to some distant land where I would disappear 
forever. Probably into a harem or worse. The worse could well be a brothel 
where the house prostitutes were virtual prisoners, and often rented out to 
sadist men who wish to whip them before having sex. And again afterwards. 

Everything was falling into place. Cindy knew about his man and his 
connections for getting rid of pretty young girls. She intended to punish me 
for denying her a little fun on Saturday night by selling me into a lifetime 
of slavery. She, on the other hand, planned to have her car sold to some 
other young girl with whom she would continue her haunting just as she had 
done with me. It would work out fine for her. I get punished. She gets a new 
host. Even Jahid came out ahead, having been made a present of a fine, sexy 
girl, for which he will get a good price. 

Like I said, I wanted to scream. But Cindy was still driving. 

The special room was nothing short of a dungeon. Perhaps it had originally 
been a basement playroom with nothing more serious than a pool table, but 
now it held a collection of torture devices that would please the Spanish 
Inquisition. There were stocks, pillories, whipping posts, and a few other 
things I didn't know the purpose of. And there were no windows, only solid 
walls. 

There was also already an occupant in that dungeon. Bound to a stout wooden 
post in one comer was a teenage girl, fully naked and looking like she was 
in some degree of pain. She had a nice figure and red hair. Her head had 
been hung down when we first came in, but she lifted it when she heard us. 
There were tear stains down her cheeks and I could see the reason for them 
in the fresh whip marks crisscrossing her firm young breasts. She had been 
tied to the post with her arms behind the wood and her legs tied together. 
That left her bottom protected against the wood but her breasts very 
available as a target for the whip. 

"Sorry if I'm disturbing something," I said. 

"No need to apologize. I was simply... Ah, testing this young girl. She also 
wishes to seek employment in my country." 

The girl's eyes widened. "He's lying!" she cried. "I'm being held a prison 
against my will. He's torturing me!" 

As she gave voice to her protests, Jahid was moving across the room. Quickly 
he grabbed what looked like a pair of panties off the floor and shoved them 
into her mouth. From a small nearby table he picked up a roll of wide black 
tape, which he then used to seal the girl's mouth, including wrapping three 
full turns of the tape around her head and the post. Not only did he manager 
to gag her, he also now had her head rigidly held in place against the post. 

"I am very sorry about that one," he said smoothly as he came back to me. 
"She is very into her... ah, acting lessons. Some of the men I know like a 
girl to pretend that she is being held captive against her will. You know 
how it is." 

"I know." 

I did? It seemed to me much more likely that the teenager was really a 
captive. She was cute with freckles on her upturned nose and pert breasts 
that almost pointed upward like her nose. He might have been saying it was 
acting, but her eyes were telling me a different story. 

But Cindy ignored the other girl. Instead she made me walk over to a table 
on which were dozens of pieces of rope. "I see you have some equipment of 
your own," I heard myself saying. "If you'll take off these handcuffs, you 
can test me." 

Jahid was just returning from locking the dungeon door, probably a 
precaution he always did when a slavegirl was going to be untied, or 
unlocked, in this case. It was hard to think of that redhead teenager or 
what I was to become as anything else but slavegirls. It fitted so well with 
Mr. Jahid's background. 

He produced a key and unlocked the metal from around my wrists. If it had 
been me in control, I would have made a dash for the door, locked or not. 
But Cindy was still driving and I stood there, displaying my nudity proudly. 

It took ten minutes, or maybe fifteen, before he had me tied just as he 
wanted. He tied slowly and carefully. My arms were behind me with the elbows 
together, as tightly as I had ever felt them. My legs were tied together at 
the ankles, then again above and below my knees. Those ropes were also put 
on as tightly as he could and I could see them really indenting the flesh 
just above my knees. 

He had also tied a rope to that around my wrists and passed that between my 
legs before he tied my legs. That rope went up in front and then around my 
waist several times. Then it went back down between my legs and was tied to 
my wrists. The effect was to hold my arms down because when I tired to lift 
my arms, that rope between my legs would cut into my pussy. 

He then picked me up from where I was sitting on a table and carried me, 
with some effort, over to a wall only a few feet from the post with the 
teenager attached. He set me down on my feet and helped me get my balance. 
Then he fetched another length of rope and tied the end to my elbows. 
Getting a chair, he stood on it to pass the rope through a ring secured to 
the ceiling. Then the rope came back down to my elbows. He pulled the rope 
until I could feel my elbows being lifted up a bit, then tied some knots. 

The last rope was used as he tied one end to the ropes around my ankles. The 
chair helped him to pass the rope through a second ring about three feet 
from the first one. He took the chair away and stood there holding the end 
of the rope connected through the ring to my ankles. He was smiling in a way 
that I didn't like. 

"If you accept employment in my country, you will find some men who enjoy 
tying a girl in ways that are not pleasant. This will show you what I mean. 
Are you ready?" 

"Do your worst," I told him with a smile. 

He pulled on the rope in his hands. I felt it tighten and the pressure on my 
ankles. That pressure increased as he pulled more until I felt my feet 
moving backwards. Suddenly I was on my toes and could see my bleak future. 
When he pulled my feet totally out from under me, I would be hanging mainly 
by the rope tied around my elbows. 

He pulled and my feet slid out. He then quickly pulled until my legs were 
bent doubled behind me, my feet being about the level of my bottom. Then he 
tied the rope to my ankles to hold them like that. 

But the main problem was not my ankles, it was that most of my weight being 
held up by the ropes around my elbows. My elbows tried to go up but there 
was the rope between my legs holding my hands down. And that was what hurt. 
Two strands of clothesline were digging into my poor pussy with most of my 
weight to force it deeply into my flesh. I groaned. It wasn't very 
comfortable to say the least. 

For a while he simply let me hang, probably to get used to the position. And 
it took some getting used to. Hanging by my elbows and ankles was something 
different. I could bend my waist but that changed little. The stress on my 
shoulders was going to become a real pain, and the ropes digging into my 
pussy already were. 

The funny part was that, if I had not been in immediate fear of being sold 
into slavery forever, I might have enjoyed that position. It did make a girl 
feel very helpless, and, since you know the truth, I'll admit I was turned 
on by that feeling. If it had been under different circumstances... Like if 
Brian were the one who had tied me that way... But I did not see any playful 
enjoyment in this man's eyes, only the desire to hurt all girls, and this 
one right now. 

"Are you enjoying this?" he asked. "You did say that you love such 
treatment." 

"I'm... enjoying... this," I said through clenched teeth. "But you could 
have tied me a little tighter." 

What the hell was Cindy trying to do to me? She had already gotten me into a 
pretty damned painful position. Was she trying to get him to tighten the 
ropes? 

"Perhaps. But this will do." He grinned. "Perhaps you think you can escape?" 

I struggled a bit, mostly for show because I knew full well that I couldn't 
get those ropes off. I wiggled quite a bit, which didn't do much towards 
escaping but displayed my body in a way that was sure to excite any 
red-blooded male. 

Finally I stopped. Cindy may not have minded, but the struggling was adding 
pain to my poor pussy as I fought the ropes. I was glad when she ceased the 
effort. 

"Many of the men in my country enjoy whipping a girl's body," I heard him 
say. I turned my head to see him standing there with a whip in his hand. "It 
helps remind a girl of her proper status in life." 

Yeah, as a slavegirl, I thought. Aloud I said, "You are so masterful... 
Master." Damn that Cindy. 

He grinned. "I see fresh and faded whip marks on your so round bottom. You 
are not unused to the kiss of leather." 

"I told you I liked this stuff." 

"So we shall see." 

He whipped my ass. 

It sound so simple put that way. Just an act performed, a task completed. 
But I could tell you of each agonizing stroke from that whip, of each impact 
of leather thong against defenseless girl flesh, and of a fresh burst of 
pain that each brought. I could tell you of how I counted each stroke, 
hoping that he would stop at one of the magic numbers so loved by humans. 
But he did not stop at five. Nor at ten. Ten would have been a good number 
to stop at. Or twelve. Twelve would have been good, an even dozen. But he 
didn't stop there. At fifteen I feared it would go on to twenty. At twenty I 
feared it would never end. 

The whipping of my bottom ceased at the count of twenty-three painful 
strokes. I don't now why twenty- three. It wasn't even a full two dozen. 
Perhaps he miscounted and meant to give me two dozen. I didn't ask. 

Around the fourth one I lost all resolve and screamed. Cindy couldn't keep 
us from giving vocal release to the agony inside. Each fresh stroke brought 
froth a fresh scream of pain. 

I had been whipped a few times by then. And each whipping had seemed to be 
the worst. Perhaps this one was, indeed, the worst. If you could find a way 
to measure the pain so you could compare. It's hard to compare whippings by 
memory. The one currently happening to you always seems the worst. 

I hung there, bottom scolded and, I feared, ripped to pieces. My head hung 
down, and tears stained the floor of his dungeon, I'm sure not for the first 
time. 

"You know, Miss Nancy," he began like a college profession lecturing to 
students, "that many man like to whip a girl's breasts. There is something 
so wonderful about seeing the look in a girl's eyes when she knows that her 
breasts are about to be whipped." 

I'm sure that look was in my eyes. 

He came around to stand beside me. In his hands was a different whip, 
smaller but still wicked looking. The thong at the end was very slender. 

"This whip is made for a woman's breasts. It will sting very much but not 
cut the flesh. That is good. The whipping can go on for a long time. And you 
can be whipped again very soon. Not like with a bigger whip." He paused for 
a second. "One time," he continued, "I saw a girl whipped across the breasts 
with a whip made for cutting a man's back. She had done something to 
displease her master and was being punished. The whip had a tiny piece of 
metal woven into the tip. It cut the flesh with every stroke. She had no 
breasts when the whipping was finished." 

I gulped and felt myself go weak at the thought. 

"But I shall not whip you in that manner," he said cheerfully. "You will 
scream and hurt but your so lovely breasts will be intact when I am 
finished." 

He was quite right. That small whip did sting, and it was a terrible thing 
to have your breasts whipped. If you're not a girl, perhaps you have trouble 
understanding the psychological aspect of it. Try thinking about your penis 
being whipped... 

I got only four or five strokes on each breasts but it was enough to 
reducing me to crying again. And with each stroke I screamed. My breasts 
seemed on fire, and, no matter what he said, the flesh of my breasts felt 
like it was being cut to ribbons. 

I could look down and see red lines across my breasts but the skin was 
uncut. I wondered how Cindy could take this and not be begging for mercy. I 
would have been. Long before that point. 

Silence, save for my sobbing, followed the whipping of my breasts and I 
hoped that the ordeal was over. Suddenly there was a burst of pain in the 
bottom of my feet and I was screaming again. 

I had never been whipped on the bottom of my feet and it hurt something 
terrible, more than I can describe. It is amazing how many nerves there are 
in the bottom of your feet, how sensitive that place is to pain. A dozen 
strokes across the soft middle of my soles had me screaming and jerking 
around at the end of my tethers. It must have been quite a show. 

After a while I realized that the pain had stopped coming and only the 
burning aftermath remained. I lifted my head and opened teary eyes. Mr. 
Jahid was there. He had untied the legs of the teenager girl but left her 
arms bound behind the post, along with her head taped to it. His pants were 
gathered around his ankles where he had dropped them. Her legs were spread 
wide and wrapped around his hips. I could not see directly, but it was 
pretty obvious that his penis was buried deeply into her young vagina. He 
began pumping his hips against her body, jarring her with each pump, making 
her breasts bounce. 

I watched with a terrible fascination as that man raped his captive. That 
was the only word for it: rape. I was sure she was a captive, probably 
kidnapped. And I was sure that she wasn't a willing party to this act of 
what should have been lovemaking. Her eyes were closed and she was frowning 
very hard. 

Eventually he grunted and I knew that his time had come. A minute later he 
unwrapped her legs from around his hips. "Ah, Miss Nancy, I see you were 
watching." He pulled up his pants. "You were so beautiful as you withered 
and screamed that I... Well, I had to do something. And your legs... You 
were not really available...." I lowered my head again. It was easier to let 
myself hang, a package of aches and pains that was once a girl. 

Much later I looked up and the girl was gone. I doubted that she was set 
free, more likely she was someplace else, like a cell or cage where she 
could be safely locked up for the night. Or maybe she was hanging in painful 
suspension as I was. 

And I was still hanging, which was not very comfortable, and apparently 
alone. I hung that way all night. In the morning my pussy and arms were 
totally numb. I feared that they were damaged permanently for I could not 
move my hands. But ten minutes after I was let down, the feeling began to 
slowly come to my arms and hands. And then I was moaning loudly with the 
pain of returning circulation. Eventually I could move my fingers again with 
no apparently harm done. I was lucky. 

I don't recommend hanging by your elbows all night. 

Mr. Jahid watched the agony on my face as my hands came back to life, an 
amused little smile on his face. That pain can be worse than the pain of 
hanging there. As I suffered, he outlined my future. 

"I have made some phone calls," he began. "I have a buyer for you. He would 
like immediate delivery." 

"What happened to the fiction of my being employed?" I asked. I'm not sure 
if it was Cindy or me asking. 

"Ah, Miss Nancy, it is time to drop that fiction. I will admit that I do not 
understand why you have come to me, asking, as it were, to be enslaved. 
Surely Cindy told you that I am in the business of procuring young American 
girls for my customers in the Middle East. To put it quite simply, I kidnap 
them then sell them. Sometimes it's to a private harem, sometimes to a 
brothel. It matters little to me. An American girl is highly prized over 
there. They all disappear and are never seen again." 

He paused to roughly turn me around and lock handcuffs on my wrists behind 
me. I think there were the same handcuffs I brought with me. 

"You will be cleaned and given a meal. Then I will package you for shipment. 
Within forty-eight hours you will be at your new home." He grinned. "I hope 
you enjoy your new life." 

I wanted to protest, tell him that the police knew I was there and would be 
coming any second, anything to make him stop his plans. But Cindy must have 
been in control. I could feel her snickering in the background someplace. 

By cleaning, he meant that I would be stood up in a shower stall and hosed 
down with cold water. The meal was good food but had to be eaten doggie 
style while kneeling down. Hands locked behind your back make it hard to eat 
normally. 

Packaging was an experience. Apparently he had some kind of cargo jet that 
he regularly flew between LA and the Middle East with legitimate cargo. Now 
and then an extra crate was included, one that the custom officials were not 
to see. Inside that crate was a living, breathing, and quite helpless young 
girl destined for a life of sexual abuse and slavery. 

The handcuffs were taken off and replaced with rope. My elbows were lashed 
together with viciously tight, thin ropes. "All the better to control you," 
explained Jahid. "A girl who is in pain from roped elbows is more docile. 
And after twenty-four hours of such restraints, she is very docile. Takes 
the fight out of her." He laughed. Then he tied my wrists together. 

The crate was padded, mostly for soundproofing, but also to prevent the girl 
inside from knocking on the wooden sides. Not that she would be allowed 
enough freedom to knock on anything. My legs were tied together. I was 
gagged with a rubber wad and leather strap and steel thing that filled my 
mouth and strapped very tightly around my head. When it was in place, the 
only noise I could make was what came through my nose. 

I was then put into the crate, kneeling first then bent over until my chin 
was down near my knees. It reminded me of the way Tom had bound me on the 
chair in my own bedroom. The major difference was that this time I was not 
tied in a ball, but held in it by the padding pressing tightly around me. 
With the lid closed and nailed shut, I was squashed into that a ball and 
could do nothing about it. Between the ropes and the crate, I couldn't move 
at all. 

Just before I was pushed down into the crate, I noticed the writing on the 
side of the lid. "Play Ground Equipment," it read. 

There was air holes near my head but no light came in. For a long time I 
knelt there. Then there were sounds that came faintly through the padding 
and movement of my wooden prison. Sometimes I sat still, sometimes my crate 
was moved. I assumed that I was being put into some kind of car or truck for 
shipment to the airport. And then it would onto a plane and a long trip far 
away from everything I called home. 

This could have been the end of my story -- unless you would like to read 
'The Adventures of a Slavegirl." But that was not what happened. A long time 
passed. Then there was almost constant small movements and I figured I was 
being driven to the airport. 

Suddenly there was a sharp jar, and my crate was tossed around like a 
child's block in a toy chest. When things settled down, I was laying on my 
side and wondering what was happening. 

For a long time nothing happened. Faint sounds came to me but I couldn't 
tell what was happening. After an hour or more, I suddenly felt my crate 
being tilted up on one edge. Some more movement, sort of like when I was 
being put in the truck. Then suddenly I heard a distant voice say, "Damn!" 
and I was falling. It was a short trip and ended with a hard jar. 

But amazing part was that the impact of my crate hitting pavement split the 
wooden box apart at the seams. Daylight came into my prison. I began making 
as much noise as I could. 

A minute later hands tore apart the crate and ripped the lid off. Suddenly I 
was blinking up at the bright sunlight and several men standing around over 
me. "Hot damn!" said one of them. 

I could see a truck turned on its side with the back doors open. A smashed 
car in front of it told the story of a traffic accident. One of the men 
standing over my naked and very helpless form was a police man. I began 
weeping with joy. Then I passed out. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE - SOMETHING HAS TO BE DONE 

I'll make a long story short. The truck carrying me to the airport had 
crashed. The driver was hurt. When they were cleaning up the accident, my 
crate was accidentally dropped and split open. Heaven only know how long it 
would have been before I would be discovered had the crate not broken open. 
I might had rested in a warehouse somewhere for days, maybe weeks. 

The police were interested in why a naked girl was being transported in such 
a manner. I told them that I was the victim of a sorority initiation. My 
sorority sisters had stripped me naked bound me in that crate. Then they 
called a delivery company and had me taken across town. At the other end, 
another delivery company would have picked my up and brought me back to the 
sorority. It was all a harmless prank. I don't think they believed me. 
Apparently LA police aren't as easily fooled as rustic teenagers. 

The whip marks were the hardest to explain away. I had to include an 
initiation whipping with a belt. Then I told them that it really looked 
worse that it felt (lying through my teeth), and they it wasn't really 
important. 

I don't thing they believed that, either. But they couldn't figure out a 
charge to hold me on. True I was naked on a public street. But that had 
happened only after they broke open my crate, so I hadn't done it willing. 
And I wouldn't tell them which sorority had done these terrible things to 
me. Since I told them that I had allowed myself to be whipped and bound up 
and had agreed to being shipped across town, there was no law broken anyway. 
They didn't like it, but they had to let me go. 

I was given clothes and driven back to where I told them my car had been 
left. It was right in front of Jahid's estate but I didn't say anything 
about that. I thanked them for the clothes and drove off as quickly as I 
could. 

If one of them wished to pursue it, he could have proven that I wasn't in 
any sorority, or any college, for that matter. But since it appeared that no 
law had been broken, no one pursued it. 

And you might wonder why I didn't tell them the truth and have the pleasure 
of seeing Jahid hauled off to jail in handcuffs? For one thing, I thought of 
him as a businessman, providing merchandise for those who could pay the 
undoubtedly large amounts required. It hadn't been his fault, but Cindy's. 

I also didn't want to get involved in a big police investigation. But as I 
drove I began thinking about that redheaded teenager I had seen getting the 
shaft in Jahid's dungeon. I pulled off the freeway and used a public phone 
to call the Beverly Hills Police. I told them that I had seen a girl 
kidnapped and taken to Jahid's house. I told them to check out the place 
carefully as there was a hidden room in the basement. I also told them to 
hurry because the girl might be harmed. I figured that with me not making my 
plane trip to Arabia, he might just pack up and send the teenage girl. To 
their questions about who I was, I made up a name and address. 

I felt better as I got back on the freeway, hoping that they would rescue 
the teenage girl. I wouldn't have done it had there not been another 
prisoner and potential slavegirl. It just wasn't fair to leave her to a 
terrible fate. 

It was nearly Monday evening when I got back to my apartment. I had a meal, 
a shower, and went to bed. I was tired, having not gotten much sleep the 
night before while hanging in rope in Jahid's dungeon. But before I fell 
asleep, I did some serious thinking. 

The next day I set out to implement a plan. My bottom was pretty sore and 
there were some marks across my breasts that made me wince when I looked at 
myself in the mirror. I hope that Cindy was satisfied and wouldn't come 
around again until Saturday. I called in to my company and told them I was 
sick and would be out for a few days. My boss didn't like that, but I didn't 
care. This was more important. 

The next stop was half a mile from my house at a church. The Father didn't 
believe my story at first but eventually I convinced him that I was sincere. 
I simply told him the truth. My car was haunted and could he please exorcise 
it. I did fail to mention the nature of the haunting, I didn't want to shock 
him out of his black suit and white collar. I simply told him that some 
things had been flying around my apartment, I felt dread and cold whenever I 
use the car, and that the prior owner had admitted it was haunted. Actually, 
priests are quick to believe in ghosts, I found out. They are believers to 
begin with. 

The exorcism consisted of a ritual prayer and sprinkling my shinny red car 
with holy water. I had expected something a little more dramatic, like the 
car levitating off the pavement and shaking all over, or talking in tongues. 
It just sat there. I couldn't sense Cindy and could only hope that it had 
worked. 

I thanked the priest, made a contribution to the collection box, and went 
back home. 

I didn't go to work that day, nor the next. I spent a lot of my time at the 
library, reading about ghosts. Most of the books on that subject were 
guessing or sensationalism. A few seemed to be reporting what was happening 
to me. But most could suggest only a formal exorcism as a solution to my 
problem. But there was one book that did suggest another way... 

Come Saturday night I was sitting in my bedroom, dressed in my usual jeans 
and blouse and sensible flat shoes. The chains and locks and sexy clothing 
were all put away in the closet. I had every belief that Cindy would put in 
an appearance. That exorcism had gone a little too smoothly for me to 
believe that it had gotten rid of Cindy. I knew that she would put up more 
of a fight, if not for control of me, than for the car she loved even more 
than I did. 

Suddenly I was getting up and going to the closet. The clothes came off and 
my hands were taking my black velvet dress out of the closet. As I slipped 
into it, I tried to keep my mind blank, to give every appearance of a girl 
who knew when she was beaten and had given up. With the dress and high heels 
on, I left the apartment. 

Then came the hard part. I had trouble keeping my little secret out of mind. 
It proved impossible, but when I came up to the empty carport, Cindy was 
surprised. Then I said, "I've put the car into a garage to protect it from 
the elements," and hoped she could not read my mind enough to know that was 
only half the truth. 

Suddenly I turned and was marching towards the row of garages that came with 
the more expensive apartments. I had begged the use of one of the garages 
from a man I knew, promising to go out with him if I could borrow his garage 
for one day. He probably wondered what the hell I wanted with a garage but 
let me have it. 

The door opened and there was the little beauty, all shinny and sleek. I 
went to the door and got in, feeling a twinge of pain at the soreness still 
remaining in my bottom even after half a week from Jahid's whip. 

When the key turned, the engine whirled and nothing happened, I could sense 
Cindy' frowning. If ghosts can frown. She tried to start the engine for a 
minute then I could sense her probing my mind. I let her find out the truth, 
because it didn't matter then. "Yes, I took out all the spark plugs. This 
car isn't going anywhere right now." 

My hand banged on the steering wheel in anger. Just as I was about to get 
out and go for a phone or something, the garage door closed. Just inside the 
door was a man standing there. He was tall, well over six feet, and broad of 
shoulder. He wore dark purple robes with blood red inserts running from 
collar to hem. He wore a van Dyke beard and had long black hair. But what 
was most striking about him was his eyes. They were black, black as the 
darkest night, yet they glowed with power. 

"Yes, Cindy, more of my doing," I said. "This is Master Sean Stryker. He's a 
priest in the American Witchcraft Church." 

I trembled with anger then that husky voice came from my own lips. "You will 
pay for this. I laughed at your pitiful exorcism from that priest. He had no 
power. I will laugh at this man, too. And then I will see you punished for 
this. You think being sold into a lifetime of slavery was terrible, wait 
until you see what I have for you next!" 

I was scared. If I had guessed wrong, I was going to suffer. 

Suddenly my right hand shot up and turned towards Sean with the palm flat 
and pointed towards him. A strange red beam shot out of my palm, straight at 
his face! 

It did not seem that he move but suddenly his hand was before his face, palm 
turned outward, blocking that red light. A blue beam began to pour out of 
his hand, pushing that red beam back until the intersection was half way 
between the two of us. The place where they met was sparkling with purple 
flashes and a silent but violent glow of some unknown power clashing with 
power. 

I was amazed. This was something I knew nothing about. The book had simply 
said that this man's church knew more about the other side than the more 
conventional churches did. So I had gone to them and asked for help. 

For long seconds the struggle continued with neither of them seeming to gain 
the advantage. Suddenly it broke off, both of us lowering our hands at the 
same time. Immediately Sean lifted both hands to the level of his head and 
began chanting in some ancient language. 

I found myself withering in agony. I could feel something trying to force me 
out of the car. Or Cindy. Or both of us. It was hard to separate us 
sometimes. But Cindy fought back. Instead of getting out of the car, I found 
myself banging my head against the steering wheel. 

Sean broke off, sensing that she could do serious harm to me. Instead he 
placed both hands on the hood of the car and began a different chant. The 
whole car began to glow with a bluish light. 

I don't know what would have happened if his had been able to finish his 
chant. My body went rigid and my head tilted back against the headrest. 
Incredible as it may sound, the whole car began to shake, then lift off the 
ground. At three feet off the concrete, the car moved forward suddenly and 
crashed into the door. The wooden door gave way and I saw Sean thrown aside 
as the 380SL moved out of the garage. It came to a halt and settled down to 
the pavement a dozen feet beyond the door. The glow faded away. I got out of 
the car, suddenly able to command my own body. I ran to Sean. He was stunned 
but unhurt. I could sense Cindy was gone but somehow I doubted that it was 
permanent. 

Sean helped me put the spark plugs back in, and I drove the car back to my 
usual parking slot. Sean came into my apartment to rest a bit, he was pretty 
shaken up. And drained. 

Later, after Sean had left and I had time to think about what had happened, 
I realized that it had been a draw. Both Sean and Cindy had shot their best 
shots and the results was only an exhausted AWC priest, an exhausted ghost, 
and one ruined garage door for which I was going to have to pay. 

It wasn't until Sunday afternoon that Cindy came back. I found myself 
getting up from the couch where I had been watching TV and going into the 
bedroom. As I was reaching for that tiny string bikini, I said to myself, 
"Cindy, we have to talk." 

My hand paused a second before picking up the bikini. I walked over to the 
bed and began taking off my clothes. 

"Cindy, I'll just find another priest. Or another church. Maybe Sean will 
try again. I'll keep trying until I exorcise you from that car. And from my 
life." 

I paused as I was slipping down my panties. "I will make you very sorry if 
you do that," I said in a husky voice. 

"And I will keep trying. You didn't like that, did you?" 

"It drained me," Cindy admitted. "It was painful." 

"And getting my bottom whipped isn't?" I asked. 

"Different pain." 

"Cindy," I tried again, "what will it take for you to leave me alone?" 

I put on the bikini in silence. I knew that she could make me go out and do 
anything, even get me killed. But I was gambling that she didn't want that 
any more than I did. Not really. I stood before the mirror, looking at my 
fine figure. 

"If I promise not to hurt you, will you let me take over every Saturday 
night?" she asked. 

"No, Cindy. I want to live my own life, including every Saturday night. 
Besides, I could never be sure that you wouldn't try something really 
serious again. Like with Carlos? Or Jahid? He was going to ship me off to a 
harem but for that traffic accident." 

"I'm sorry." Somehow I believed her. 

"Then we should sit down and talk," I said. 

"May I tie us up?" she asked. "It would feel good." 

I laughed. "We do have a lot in common. Yes, you have my permission to tie 
us up." 

A little later I was laying on the bed, quite helpless and certain to stay 
that way for the rest of the day and all night. My legs were tied together 
and then down to the bottom of the bed. My neck was encircled by a collar 
and chained to the top of the bed. My hands were locked in handcuffs, and a 
chain around my middle held me down to the bed. Cindy must have liked the 
way I did myself up, because this was virtually the same. Except for the 
gag, of course. And the replacement of ropes for chains on my legs. 

The box with the timer sat on the night stand. There were no books on the 
bed. Cindy preferred that I not be distracted by reading during the long 
hours ahead. 

"This is better," said my husky voice. "Now we can talk." 

"The first thing," I began, "is that I do not want to be haunted any more. I 
want to be in control of my life." 

"But I want to play the games... I want to be tied, to be punished...." 

"Cindy, I like being tied, too. And I thank you for showing me how exciting 
that can be. But as to being punished, I think you and I are into that in 
vastly different degrees." 

My hand went up and pinched my left nipple. 

"Cindy!" I said sharply. "You want to see that priest again?" 

"Sorry." The hand went away from my breast. 

It took the better part of the evening but we came to a compromise. 

* * * 

"I'm sure you'll be happy with this car," I said as I handed over the pink 
slip. "It's a beautiful sports car." 

"I'm sure I will be happy," said the young woman sitting across from me. 

She was very beautiful in an exotic way. Dark eyes with shinny jet black 
hair hanging almost down to her waist. A strong nose and firm lips that I 
longed to kiss. Some of Cindy's lesbian tastes must have been rubbing off on 
me. 

And most important of all, Cindy approved of her. This was the twentieth 
person to come to look at the 380SL advertised cheaply in the newspaper. All 
the others had found a car that ran rough, wouldn't start or that they 
simply were afraid to get into. Cindy's way of rejecting them. This girl 
found the car a dream to drive and purring perfectly for her. 

"I really don't know why you're selling it so cheaply," she said as she 
handed over the check. 

"I'm doing it as a favor for a friend," I said with a smile. 

All the paper work completed and the keys turned over, I accompanied her to 
the car. I could tell that she really loved it by the look in her eyes. I 
had the same look when I first saw that red 380SL. Before she could start it 
up, I asked her a question that had been on my mind, "Have you ever been 
tied up?" 

She gave me a funny look then a small laugh. "Yes, actually, my boyfriend 
loves to tie me up when we make love. But how did you know that?" 

"Just a guess," I said, looking down at her centerfold model's body. "Just a 
guess." 

I waved as she left and felt truly free for the first time in weeks. 

EPILOGUE 

Brian answered the knock on his door the next Saturday night to find me 
standing here. The pause before he could speak might have been because I was 
completely naked and my hands were joined behind my back with a pair of 
handcuffs. 

"Won't you come in," he managed. 

"You'll have to carry me," I told him with a smile. "My ankles are shackled, 
as you can see." 

He looked down at the pair of handcuffs on my ankles and laughed. "Yes, so I 
see." 

Brian carried me into the front room and placed me on the couch. He sat 
beside me. "So... What brings you here?" he asked, innocently. 

"Oh, Brian, do you think you could love me?" I blurted right out. Then 
cursed myself for being a stupid girl. You don't just come out and ask a man 
to love you. 

He paused and looked serious. For a second I feared that he was going to 
kick me out. And I had left the handcuff keys at home! My clothes were 
outside under a bush. 

"I have been doing a lot of thinking about you since we were together. Can't 
seem to get you out of my mind," she said. You do know that the phone number 
you gave me is a dry cleaners?" 

"I had to lie about that. I'll explain, but it's a long story and I don't 
want to go into it right now. Oh, Brian, I loved that time I spent with you. 
You treated me just right, firm but not cruel. I've been doing a lot of 
thinking about you, too." I paused to project my breasts a bit more towards 
him. "Brian, I want to be with you. If it's just for an occasional day and 
night, then that's fine. But please don't send me away." I paused there to 
try and read the expression in his eyes. 

"You'll get arrested if you leave here like that," he said. 

"Brian, please take me. Tie me up anyway you wish. Keep me tied up all 
weekend, I'll love it. Punish me if you think I deserve it. I will take any 
kind of punishment you want to give me. Oh, Brian, please! Tie me up! Spank 
me! Screw me! Make me serve you. Whip me! Fuck me until my brains explode!" 

He silenced my demands with a gentle kiss. I was filled with desire and 
between my legs raged a fire only he could quench, but I held back the 
passion and kissed back very gently. 

"You may stay here. I would like to have a live-in slavegirl. Who knows, 
perhaps we'll even become friends!" He was trying to be serious but his eyes 
were smiling at me. 

"Oh, Brian!" I cried. "Please promise that I'll be tied as tightly as you 
can all weekend. Please?" 

"Consider it done." 

I kissed him then with all the passion in my body, my lips locking on his 
and my tongue pushing into his mouth. I groaned as his hand cupped my breast 
and squeezed hard enough to tell me that I was being a silly slavegirl. 

"And consider it a promise that you'll be punished," he said when we broke. 

"Yes, Master," I purred. "But what for?" 

"Giving the wrong phone number, for one thing. Locking yourself in handcuffs 
without my permission, for another. I'll think of others." 

"Yes, Master," said. And meant it with all my being. Brian picked me easily 
up and carried me towards the bedroom. On the way, I brought up the only 
loose end in my life. 

"Master? Would you grant me one little favor," I asked humbly. 

"And what is that, lowly slave?" 

"Would you buy me a new 560SL? A bright red one? I had to get rid of my 
other one." 

He paused for a second, then laughed loudly. "Okay, okay! That's what you 
want, that's what you'll get." He threw me on the bed where I bounced a 
couple times. "Satisfied?" he asked. 

"Not yet," I purred, "but I'm sure you'll take care of that in a few 
minutes." 

He laughed again, and I joined him. 


THE END
