The man at the desk was absorbed with the documents he scanned, making notations here and there before turning the page. He appeared quite oblivious to the decapitated head of a girl which rested on the surface of polished oak just beyond the phone. It was a head entirely lovely even though no body was visible of the rest of the girl. The lips were sulky, the eyes flashed in indignation, and from time to time it shook the mop of dark hair cascading around the lovely face to rest upon the polished surface of the desk. It was as though she hoped that by this motion, the only motion possible to a severed head, to break the man's preoccupation with his work and compel his attention. Failing in this endeavor the sulky lips broke into speech.
"Greg, I suppose you know you're being an absolute bastard leaving me here like this. I though you loved me."
"I indeed love you, dear girl. But you really must allow me to finish what I'm doing before giving you further attention. Or would you like to be gagged?"
"No, I don't want to be gagged. I think it's a horrible thing to do to a girl. What I want is to be released from this beastly situation you've fixed me in. And I don't see why you had to tie my hands behind my back and make me kneel the way I have to. My knees are hurting something awful. For goodness sake, get me out of this."
The male deliberately failed to meet the angry eyes. But did wave a negligent hand as if dismissing the feminine complaint as of no consequence. "Daphene, my sweet, you've said that several times already. You must learn to be a good girl and be patient."
"Patient, my ass!" One sensed rather than saw the angry struggles of a girl who's head was visible while the rest of her loveliness was secured fastened within the darkness of the desk, a desk cleverly designed for the purpose it now served. It was easy to imagine the twistings of her bound wrists, and the futile efforts of her legs to find comfort from their pain. Above the wooden surface, her face reflected preoccupation with the effort. There was a circular hole, obviously measured to a precise fit, buffed and polished so the captive neck need suffer no more discomfort then its owner inflicted by the motions going on below. Those motions suddenly stopped as Daphene's voice took over.
"And why do I have be naked? And why have you tied my elbow together as well as my wrists? Greg, you're being an absolute brute!"
"Girls love it. Stop beefing." The lush red lips returned to the fray. "Stop pretending to be busy, you're doing it just to aggravate me and to give you an excuse to keep me here like this so you can take a lustful look any time you feel like it. I suppose you feel it's more polite than just looking outright at a helpless girl. Greg, please, please!"
"Sorry, sweetheart, I wouldn't dream of spoiling anything so beautiful. You probably don't know it but you really are a sight for sore eyes. And the pulse. Go ahead and struggle, you look so damned cute when you do."
Daphene sniffed disgustedly. "Compliment me all you want but just let me go."
"You're my prisoner and you'll stay that way. Even after we're married I'll keep you prettily handcuffed. You'll probably never get to wear clothes again. Stop being a shrew and enjoy. You know you love the whole thing."
"I don't. I hate it. I'm hurting."
"The gag is in the draw, darling. Would you like me to use it?"
"You're deliberately frustrating me to bits." Daphene's voice was not cheerful. "Every way I turn, that is if I could turn, you've got me foxed! I'll never marry you, not after what you're doing to me today. I don't think you love me the least bit."
"I love you very much. I'm obsessed with the beautiful face that you're making flushed and angry. And I am equally obsessed by all those lovely treasures down inside the desk. Darling, you've got the most beautiful breasts of any girl I've ever seen. I'll never part with them."
Daphene sniffed. "You can't, they're not detachable. I suppose you're talking about the complete package. I don't see how you can love my breasts and then do this to me. If you keep me fastened like this much longer, I'll get frightened and have hysterics. You wouldn't enjoy that at all, hysterical girls are not the least bit erotic." Daphene paused as if considering a fresh approach. "Didn't you invite me out this evening? Weren't we going to dinner at that place we like so much?"
"We still are, my precious. I'm proud of you in public, you're so gorgeous."
"You mean you'd risk escorting me out in public when you know damned well I'll run away." Daphene's tone was pure disbelief.
"You won't run away, you know damned well you won't." Greg had put down the papers on his desk and was giving his lovely prisoner his full attention. "You know you wouldn't abandon me to a lonely dinner, and you know you can't escape so long as I can place a hand on you. Or would you like me to put the restrainer on you? The one we used about a month ago?"
"You mean that horrible steel belt that compels me to have a wasp waist? And has that serrated edges to make sure it hurts?" Daphene sniffed again. "You know what you can do with that."
"It's effective, darling. It keeps you nicely aware of a situation you have a tendency to forget."
"Never mind, don't bother. Rather than wear that awful thing again, I'll do what you call 'behave myself.' That's what I mean about you always having me foxed. You've got an answer to everything. It would serve you right if I did marry you and made your life miserable. Look here, Greg, if you're willing to let me out of here, I'll let bygones be bygones. Come on, have a heart. For Pete's sake get me out of this."
"Bygones are always bygones," he said as he grinned, enjoying to the full his girlfriend's dissatisfaction with her lot. He chuckled, "Speaking of reminders and restraints, sweetheart, I've always wondered why you haven't questioned me about that delightful object hanging on the wall. I would have thought you would be curious."
"You mean that beastly riding crop? I suppose that's what it is. Well, I don't want to know about that and I wish you'd put it away out of sight."
"I think it's time I explained it's function, dear. You're a big girl now and can face the faces of life. That riding crop is for the purpose of whipping your bottom. Your pretty, beautifully rounded bottom. Hurts a lot and when I use it on you, you'll have some cause for complaint. It's very different than a couple of tender knees."
The lovely head on the desk was suddenly motionless. Daphene had expected his declaration but it was nonetheless a shock. It was probably just an idle threat but she could not be sure. With Greg she could never be sure about things like that. Staring at his eyes, she declared, "You wouldn't dare! That would hurt me and you know it!"
"Yes I will, daring, and on your bare skin. I've been entirely too tolerant of your moods and lack of discipline. You've often needed a touch of the whip."
"A touch!?" Daphene's voice was heavily loaded with concern. "What do you mean by a touch?"
"I've made a little list for your guidance, darling. The minimum inflictions on your delightful contours would be, let us say, ten strokes. From there it rises in multiples of ten so we have twenty, thirty, forty, or even fifty. But do remember, darling, such severity would be only when you give good cause."
"You mean when I sting your ego? And tell you a few unpleasant truths?" Daphene was evidently more concerned than previously. "You've frightened me, Greg, tell me, please tell me, you're not going to use that horrible thing on me."
"The die is cast, dear girl. From now on that beautiful object hanging on the wall will be very much a part of your life. Seeing it hanging there will be a constant reminder. And if I have an occasion to inflict upon you a sore and tender seat you may even remember it several days. Would you like me to read you the list?"
"Please don't. And I'd like to tell you where to shove that beastly list. Look here, Greg, if whipping my bottom or any other part of me is to be a part of my treatment in the future, you call it training, don't you, then I'm going to leave you for sure. We'll have dinner tonight the way you promised but then I'll say goodbye. Damn it, you don't give a girl a break at all."
They stared at each other, the man in total command and the girl terribly aware of possessing only her voice as a weapon. And that was a weapon which was not always an effective defense. She was kneeling as she was now in the tight clasp of the wooden desk and the ropes he had placed upon her arms because of some imprudent words uttered the day before. Greg's pride was easily wounded and his ego inflated or inflamed by shrewd feminine words. Daphene had always known herself vulnerable but now was doubly so and wiggled unhappily once more at bound wrists. The posture in which she was held was bad enough but she knew from experience things could always get worse. Timidly she ventured, "Well, since I don't have anything to say about anything, I'm not going to argue about your damned riding crop. But you did make me curious when you said that if I married you, you'd keep me handcuffed always. I don't see how that's possible. You didn't really mean that, did you?"
"Of course. A girl with her hands cuffed in front can do most things she needs to do. And I'm always around to help. Or if you want a pretty French maid who will act as your personal attendant, as well as being a stern mistress when you need it, I know such a girl. She would make a wonderful lady's maid. Would you like to meet her?"
"No, I wouldn't. That sounds awful. But I've always been puzzled why you didn't buy me a pair of handcuffs instead of always tying my hands together so damned tight. I know it sounds silly but if I could have a choice, I think I would prefer to wear handcuffs. You surely wouldn't use them on me as a permanent fixture, would you?"
"More or less, darling, whatever was convenient. For ine, that is. When we go out to dinner this evening, you can put them on your wrists if you'd like to try them on. Just say the word."
The imprisoned girl winced at the mere thought of entering a crowded restaurant while her hands were joined in steel bracelets and a single link of chain. As she wondered if anyone would raise an eyebrow or if dinners would look and laugh at her. Thinking about it she was almost tempted to say yes. It would please Greg enormously. And the worst that might befall would be some angry woman talking about calling the police and forcing Greg to use the tiny key. Or they might get kicked out of the restaurant. Perhaps nothing would happen at all. Quite often in tense situations nothing ever did. She remembered an occasion when Greg had compelled her to kneel and whisper a daily affirmation of loyalty and obedience and love. She had done so with flaming cheeks and a conviction about being tossed into the street. But nothing had happened. No one appeared to have noticed. Quite probably if you paid enough for dinner you could get away with anything. As though it was someone else she said briefly and forcibly, "All right. Take me out tonight with my wrists handcuffs. I want the sensation. And I'm sick to death of these cords that cut my wrists." She met his gaze and taunted, "I dare you to."
"It's a simple thing to do, sweetheart. I've always had a pair but never used them on you. They will enhance your beauty ten-fold. But that's for this evening. For now I want you to shut up while I finish checking these sheets. If you manage to keep quiet, I may let you loose when I'm through here. If you keep nagging, you can expect to stay there a long time."
Daphene keep very quiet indeed. Grey was as good as his word. He touched a number of buttons so a portion of his desk swung open to disclose a lovely nakedness thankful for release. Daphene was so securely bound that he was obliged to almost lift her from where she had knelt for so long, and then to support her when he stood her up erect. Together they looked down at the amazingly contrived wooden masterpiece as it slid once more together and the circular orifice in which Daphene's neck had been imprisoned for so long was rendered almost invisible by the snug fitting polished wood Greg now slid into place. Laughingly the man said, "You see, darling, everything is once more respectable. Until I want you in there again, that is. It's a really wonderful correction for a girl."
Daphene was too thankful for release to venture even a single sniff, but turned her arms to the man to whom it seemingly belonged. She thrilled in joy as his fingers worked at the loops and knots which had held her elbows in a painful clasp. Daphene knew her skin would bare red marks for hours afterwards from the pressure of the cords. But as usual, things were never as a girl might wish. Having freed the wickedly tied elbows, Greg turned his prize around and kissed her lips with a hunger which told her every time of his love and adoration of her nudity. But she could never be certain if that love and adoration extended to her mind, as well. Did he love the real Daphene who was longing for love as he did Daphene's nearly perfect body? She wondered if every girl had the same doubts about her man.
Breathless from the kiss, she asked, "You've forgotten my wrists, Greg." He turned again to present him with a pair of bound hands. "They're hurting. Please untie them."
Greg turned her once more about as if it was a game, once more possessing her in strong arms and kissing her with eager lips, a kiss she ardently returned. But at the end of the kiss she once more asked, "Aren't you going to untie my hands? I wish you would."
"That can wait, poppet. I positively adore you the way you are. No matter how beautiful a girl may be, and goodness knows you're as beautiful as they come, she is never so appealing to a man as when her hands are tied behind her back. Don't ask me to untie you, I won't."
Daphene sighed. They had gone through this before, many times. Greg might untie her hands in a few minutes or a few hours. In the meantime she could put up with the discomfort and the inconvenience joined hands behind her. She was to continue at the mercy of male caprice. Right at that moment male fingers were mischievously teasing the nipples of her breasts and she wished she had the courage to jerk herself away. But Greg was taking her into a paradise often shared, and her will was not equal to the task of stopping that journey. Besides, she didn't really want to.
Daphene knew herself Greg's prisoner and was happy with her lot.
The naked Daphene stood in ecstasy as the male fingers played with her body, teasing, stroking, and exciting her body. When one hand clasp her venus mound and the slender slit it hid, her concern was only momentary for the hand was gentle. After a minute of gentle massage, the hand was replaced by his mouth, she moaned in pleasure and spread her legs as wide as she could. As he kneeled before her and skillfully worked his tongue around her clit and into her vagina, she soared to dangerous heights which only her owner had the power to invoke. When Daphene knew for sure she was on the path to orgasm, these intimate attentions suddenly ceased to leave her gasping and wide-eyed, and once frustrated beyond bearing.
"DonT be a beast, Greg!" she pleaded. "Don't stop now. Take me all the way. You've got me in a dither and I can't even use my own fingers. Please! Please! Please!"
It was an old story between them. He would make her prisoner with ropes that held her helpless then bring her body right up to the edge of ecstasy. Then he would withdraw and watch her wiggle and moan and tremble with lust. It was a terrible, frustrating experience for her but one that excited her no end.
Greg kissed her forehead lightly and then each of the nipples, still rigid from his attentions. Abruptly he left the room to leave a frustrated and angry girl once more tugging at tied wrists. Daphene knew she could never defeat his cords but somehow it always helped to fight against them. And when she had satisfied herself yet again that she could not free her hands, nor could she reach around and touch that part of her which wanted to be touched so very badly, she went upstairs to her bedroom to fling herself upon her bed and weep wet tears. When the flood was over, she used the skill of a girl who's hands were often bound to run a bath and then wallow in the soft, scented water until she felt able to face the world and Greg once more. Woefully she saw this as her life. It was exciting and frustrating, wonderful and horrible. She smiled back at the girl in the mirror, the girl with arms bound behind her and a full, ripe woman's body.
It was a wonderful dress, Greg had a gift for selecting the clothing which would show his captive to the best possible advantage. He never allowed Daphene to chose her own, and should she find fault with his choice, she could feel certain a punishment was in her future. But it was a rare thing for her to be anything but happy over his choice over what she was forced to wear. The clothes must have cost a fortune, but with Greg that didn't matter. And this, of course,'was one of the nice things about the man who held her captive. There was always money for anything and everything. Without regret she recalled the days of her stenographic struggle to pay the bills, and was secretly grateful that money no longer mattered in her life. Ruefully she remembered the often used term "keep women." Well if that was what she was, then so be it. It was one hell of a lot better than struggling to make ends meet.
To dress she was obliged to use hands but was wise enough not to ask for them but to allow Greg to release her in his own good time. When he untied the final knot, he stood aside to watch with genuine pleasure the massaging of her wrists. It would have been easy to scold this man who had kept her within a compartment of his desk, but Daphene behaved as though everything was normal and provided her captor with a strip-tease in reverse. She wore very little save that gorgeous dress so Greg would know her naked beneath the sleek garment. Her nakedness was something he greatly treasured and ceaselessly enjoyed. And that made her proud to flaunt her nudity for his attention. Sometimes it gained her benefits but not often. Greg possessed her nakedness in the same way he possessed her, and that was one of the frustrations of her life that she had nothing to give which he did not already possess.
It was all cleverly designed to frustrate her at every turn and make her totally his property. Daphene shivered as she slithered into the costly sheath she would wear to dinner. She knew from past experience she would not have the courage to run away. She would willingly return to Greg's captivity and his magnificent male organ by which she was forever subdued.
They slept together every night. And since the male selfishly desired her hands to pleasure him, those hands were given freedom. Daphene was controlled simply by a collar locked upon her neck and a length of chain secured to a ring bolted into the wall, a chain she never fought for it was useless. It was a chain big enough to hold an elephant let alone a naked girl who's desire for freedom was not as great as it might have been.
Greg had finished dressing early and now stood to frankly admire the nakedness he adored. The silk material was of the lightest weight and clung to her figure to reveal far more than it hid. And it was of an electric blue to match her sparkling blue eyes. Two nipples showed clearly under the material, but whether in an aftermath of her earlier sexual excitement or from friction with the smooth cloth neither of them really knew. Or cared. The shoes were simple and the heels high to show her legs off to their best.
When the naked Daphene had provided the dress with the appropriate contours by which its glory might be manifest, there came a pause. Daphene was hoping beyond hope that Greg would by now have forgotten the promised handcuffs. But his was a foolish hope, she might have know would never come to pass. He produced them then from a draw and dangled them almost lovingly for her inspection. "When I locked these on your wrists, darling, you will be the most beautiful woman in the whole country. Everyone will envy me. And I'm willing to bet there are none to dispute my possession. Or the restraints I put upon your wrists. Hold our your hands."
Daphene obeyed, knowing herself mesmerized and under the male spell against which she seemed powerless. In a daze but with a secret thrill she watched the silver metal encircle her left wrist to be clicked tight enough to never slide over her hand but not tight enough to hurt. It was snug. Her right hand was drawn close to receive a bracelet of its own, a bracelet clicked snug to tell her it was there to stay. She remembered the cord which had bound her wrists all afternoon and compared it. These were special, something she could never hope to fight off. But the rope had been something more personal and thrilling in its own right. She separated her wrists and listened to the metallic clink as they stopped suddenly. "Thank you, Greg," she said. "They're really beautiful. I'll wear them with pride."
The cabby pretended not to notice. Perhaps he actually believed she was under arrest but Daphene doubted that. Cabby in this big city had probably seen about everything to see and knew that some people played kinky games. Daphene flushed as the cabby's gaze slowly panned down her gorgeous figure but she met him eye to eye when his returned to her face. She settled herself beside the man who held the key to her handcuffs and heart.
It was the same at the restaurant where they were both known as old and valued customers. The maitre de gave only a single flicker of awareness before escorting them to their favorite table, a table by no means hidden from view. Now Daphene's ordeal was very real indeed, and was slightly chagrined when no one appeared to notice the hands she held tightly clenched in her lap. When the waiter came to take their order, she took the frightful plunge and reached for her menu with both joined hands. Greatly daring, she met the waiter's eyes and smiled as though she was a girl without a trouble in the world. The waiter was a gentleman and played along.
So far so good. But Daphene knew her greatest test was still to come. She would be required to use a knife and fork with a confidence she did not feel. She could, of course, ask Greg to cut the food into bite-sized pieces but she was certain that would be more conspicuous than the bracelets on her wrists. So when the food was actually placed before her, she smiled at her owner's regard and proceeded to use her hands as if they were not joined. So with deliberate unconcern she raised chained wrists to deal with what was on her plate as best she could. Surprisingly it was easy beyond her hopes. Dinners at the table around them too occasionally startled glances before returning to their own affairs. Perhaps they shared Greg's secrets or perhaps they were too busy with the woman with them to care about this girl. Since that girl made no outcry or plea for help, quite obviously she accepted the confinement of her wrists. Within a few minutes it was as through the handcuffs did not exist.
Daphene enjoyed herself, smiling mischievously at her escort who was most obviously taking pride in the possession of her person. Her breasts were positively arrogant in their thrusting against the thin material of her dress, and quite unconcerned by the absence of a bra. The usual fire was burning in Daphene's loins, a fire her escort knew was there, promising his full attention on their return home.
For a part of the dinner, Greg introduced a theme his prisoner would have preferred to not discuss. "By now Daphene, my pet, you've had time to consider the punishment of being whipped," Greg said as if speaking of the weather. "I know it's something you have never experienced but it's one more step alone the way. He caught Daphene's eyes and held them. "It's not long ago, sweetheart, that you would have considered the idea of dinning here with your wrists handcuffed as an absolute impossibility, a total no-no. Yet here you are, getting away with it remarkably well. Even exceeding my fondest hopes. No one gives a damn whether your hands are chained or free. It's going to be just the same when I mark your lovely skin with a riding crop."
"I don't see any connection. Couldn't you have found something else to punish me?"
"No, we can't."
"I don't want to speak or talk about marking my skin."
"I want you to respond. I know damned well you'll have some sort of notions of your own about the idea. Let's have them." Greg grinned sardonically across the table.
"That's easy," Daphene returned flippantly. "I don't wish to be whipped and that's an end to it. What do you think about the next election?"
"You can't evade the questions, my pretty little puss. I want you to consider that on the first occasion when I administer ten simply strokes across your pretty bottom, you'll get out of it an intensification of the fire burning inside your pussy right now. You won't enjoy getting them but after it's over you're going to say thank you for sensations beyond your wildest dreams. Give it a bit of thought."
"I already have, and I'll tell you straight, Greg, I'm not the least bit thrilled. And I think our relationship would go along a lot better if you forgot about riding corps and whips. I've heard of elderly gentlemen who want their bottoms whipped by pretty girls but the whole thing is simply not for me. Forget it. If you don't, I'll simply walk out of here and never see you again."
"Wearing handcuffs?" Daphene was aware of being once again foxed. She could never do anything she knew she should. He was always one step ahead. There was nothing to stop her walking out in indignation at this moment. But where could she go to get her hands released? She thought of a policeman who might have a key but on the other hand might probably take her to the station house and lock her in a cell while they made a psychiatric examination. She could very easily imagine herself as the culprit instead of Greg. And she shrank from the thought of spending the night in a cage full of prostitutes and goodness knows what else before the magic of Greg's money set her free. Disgustedly she asked, "I take it this means a lot to you? So, supposing I said yes to those first swats with that riding crop? Just ten and no more. Would it make you happy?"
The omnipotent male considered, his eyes riveted on the silver bracelets around her wrists. "No man is ever satisfied with ten," he said. "The first ten will take me to a heaven of my own. While I place the marks upon your skin I will be as close to the ultimate as any man may get. But when that is done I will long to inflict ten more and ten more on top of that. Could you bear with me?"
The champagne was having its effect on Daphene's caution. Almost flippantly she said, "You're asking me to accept punishment pretty much in line with what they used to do to girls in the seventh century. Wasn't there a prison named Bridewell?"
"That's right. Any female in Bridewell would consider herself luck to get away with a mere thirty. They were subject to much more. Fifty was commonplace."
"I'm not an inmate of Bridewell. Can't we drop this conversation?"
"But you have to understand, Daphene, my pet, that the whips they used then were truly terrible instruments. The whip I intend to use on you is a mere fly swatter by comparison."
"That riding crop hanging on the wall of your office isn't any fly swatter."
"Well, no ... But I was thinking of using that on your bottom only, and whipping your back with a kinder infliction. Or maybe a leather strap. The ancient Romans had what they used to call a Ferrula, which hurt a lot but left no injury. Good gosh, girl, try and see the thing from my point of view."
Daphene tried hard and the champagne worked. After a while a mere thirty strokes with a whip seemed only a passing pleasantry. And so far as the crop across her bottom, she had to suppose, as Greg pointed out, that a girl's bottom was not really meant by nature to sit on but was intended to receive whatever corrections she might earn. The wine was bubbling in her veins so that she beheld only a handsome male whose property she wanted to be and was. And who was, without doubt, the best looking man in the whole room. Daphene glowed with the satisfaction of a girl who has met an obstacle and dealt with it. Gaily, she returned to their usual conversation. "If it means that much to you, Greg," she offered, "go ahead and do what you damn well please. Maybe it won't hurt half as much as I think it will. There, does that make you happy?"
He reached across the table and took her hand, fingering the handcuffs lovingly but squeezing her fingers tight enough to tell her the happiness she had bestowed. By this time Daphene simply did not care, and when they were about to leave, she clinked the sliver on her wrists laughingly for all to see, and most particularly in the face of the head waiter. She did the same for the driver of the taxi, but he was not shocked and simply asked impassively where they wished to go. On their arrival home she felt she was scoring heavily when asking, "I know you want me naked, Greg, but I can't remove my clothes while my hands are chained." She laughed into his face, and exclaimed, "I'm enjoying this whole thing tremendously. I do hope you've got the loveliest erection! May I feel?"
Bed was wonderful. Daphene giggled constantly as the key worked its miracle upon her wrists. And she was able to slither out of the lovely silk and the shoes.. It had become the greatest night in the world and she longed for nothing more than to belong to his incredible male who was fastening a sliver collar around her neck, a collar with a chain...!
Daphene flung herself upon the bed and opened her arms. Nothing was going to be easy. And it wasn't the way Daphene wanted it. Greg's stern command shot her into instant compliance. 'Turn over on your belly, sweetheart, and push a pillow underneath your hips. After that don't move."
The girl did as she was told. It was still exciting and she just assumed that she would get tied down to the bed, something that often happened when they made love. Although usually she was face up on the bed.
It was true that she was possessed by alcohol-generated expectation of things to come, but she simply did not care. And, in any case, the silver collar around her neck gave her no choice. A loop of rope captured her left wrist and pulled it towards the corner of the bed. Another caught the right wrist to be followed by one around each ankle. Quickly she was tautly spread-eagle on the bed, a position not new to her. She giggled and wondered what had prompted Greg to want to ravish her with her face down instead of up and with her bottom sticking up. She sighed deliciously. Whatever happened now was something preordained. Daphene held her breath and awaited the first touch of his hands to be followed by the impalement of her sex by his magnificent tool. She was rewarded by the most terrible pain she had ever known in her life. Fire exploded in her bottom from hip to hip to leave her gasping in an understanding why the pillow was beneath her hips.
Daphene Tremont's bare skin was being ravished by the riding crop which had hung in innocent upon the wall of her master's office. Daphene had no thought of seeking to evade punishment, and, in any case, what was the use? Her neck was firmly chained to the wall, her arms and legs tightly spread and bound. All she could do was make a disgusting scene by screaming and flinging useless demands at her man. Grimly she clenched her fists and gritted her teeth in readiness for blow number two. After all, she had given her permission for this whipping of her bottom, hadn't she?
It might not have been so easily possible with the champagne to loosen her logic and pave the way to silly promises. She told herself she shouldn't drink so much. It was easy to blame the champagne and hope her master would only inflict two or three such strokes before clasping her in his arms and ravishing her sexually as she do desperately wanted. But this was not to be. The second cut across her skin was as terrible as the first. And when the third stroke bounced her cringing rounds, she cried out in protest against punishment such as she had never known or even dreamed about. From somewhere to one side a sardonic male voice chided, "Don't tell me you're going to scream, sweetheart. There's always the gag but I'd sooner not use it. Can't you just get by with gasps and moans? You've only got seven more to go."
It was scant comfort. Daphene bore the succession of wicked cuts, envisioning her bottom as scarlet and cut to ribbons and bleeding. She knew full well that as the crop bit at her again and again, rendering her defenseless flesh subject to its will, she should have become more than ever convinced of a determination to leave the man who held the whip. And she felt ashamed that this should not be the way she really felt. Instead she felt only a glowing admiration of the man, and a determination to please him in ever way she could. With the pert rounds of her bottom scorching and on fire, she lay still for number ten and then looked back over her shoulder in a wide-eyed appeal for mercy.
It was only then the vicious blows ceased to flay her flesh. And she felt herself lovingly embraced in strong, male arms. All was well. It was very well, indeed!
For Daphene it was as though everything she had every hoped for had come to pass. The riding crop had given birth to a fresh beginning. And a wondrous glow of well-being. When she, after one very satisfying ravishment of her sex from the back side, she was untied and gently upon her back, her wounded flesh rubbed harshly against the covered on the bed, bringing pain but also rekindling the fire within her sex. Again those strong male arms embraced her body and that male tool drove deep inside her, hard enough to bring a gasp of pleasure to her lips. The second screwing was as good as the first and she hardly noticed the silver collar on her neck.
When the orgasms faded into sleep, Daphene knew herself the happiest girl in the world.
In the morning, returning from the bathroom, she demurely and without a word, knelt at her owner's feet to kiss and kiss again the instrument by which she had been ravished the night before. She then, according to long practice, rose to her feet and turned her back to offer a pair of dainty slender wrists for the conquering cord. But this time she was turned around once more with Greg's whisper in her ear, "You wanted handcuffs, sweetheart? You're going to get them. Locked in front for mealtimes and behind your back for all other times."
The captive girl was fascinated by what she though of in her own mind as "The Lovely Steel." She watched breathlessly as her owner fitted a cuff firmly around one of her wrists to click it snug and then repeat the process with her other hands to leave them closely linked as in the restaurant of the night before. Laughing at Greg's absorption with his new toy, she turned and leaned forward with joined hands on knees to blithely ask, "Have I got any bottom left or is it still there?"
Her answer was a slap on each of her pert buns to assure her of a punished seat very much alive and hurting. She was then led to the big mirror wherein they both exclaimed over the scarlet marks left by her first acquaintance with the crop. Gasping almost in disbelief at what she say, Daphene said the first thing that came to her mind, "Oh, darling, it's wonderful. It's beautiful. How long will it take to heal?"
Daphene acquitted herself well with the knife and fork at breakfast, giggling over whatever handicaps her steel-clad wrists imposed. Towards the end of the meal she found herself wondering what Greg had in store for her today. It was only rarely she was left to roam the house alone, and mostly was in some way confined, even though it me no more than a chain around her ankle or the collar fastened to a different wall. She never got free of these handicaps and did not expect to. She had always spent a great deal of this dull and boring time struggling to free her wrists from Greg's rope or cord or twine Always without success, but it was something to do. And she would not be sue what she would do if she ever met success. But today it was useless to struggle against handcuffs. They were a lot more comfortable and provided delicious sensations as the polished steel held her wrists firmly. But it was too much to hope that she would be left in the comparative freedom, and, sure enough, as Greg prepared himself for the office he told her, "I had been thinking about just putting your hands behind your back. But that might be a little simple for you. Get over there with your back against the wall." A few moments later she found herself standing nakedly with joined hands locked to a ring above her head. There was no stretch or strain other than to feel herself vulnerably exposed, and flaunting a pair of firm, pointed breasts.
Greg stood before her and Daphene's heart beat a little faster. His hand cupped her pussy and gently kneaded it, a massage which sent tingles racing down her spine. His tongue teased one nipple into rigidity as his hand warmed up her pussy. Daphene moaned low with pleasure as her body responded to this attention. Coupled with the excitement of being handcuffed to the wall, Greg's attentions were rapidly building this poor naked girl towards a state of sexual excitement. Then suddenly his hands left her body an she was left leaning forward and moaning. As he kissed good-bye, he told her gently that her performance the night before in bed assured her a job for life.
The warmth and pleasure generated by her owner's hand and lips made her cry out his name as he walk away. She wanted more and didn't mind who knew it. Damn, she said under her breath, knowing that this was just another of his little tortures. It was not uncommon for him to place her in a position of helplessness and tease her until she was very hot and ready. Then to walk away, leaving her frustrated and horny and feeling very helpless. It was a game she both loved and hated.
She stayed horny well into the morning. He had tied her like this often with rope and sometimes a strap. She was an old hand at leaning this way and that, then standing on one foot then the other. Sometimes she even allowed her weight to sag against the ropes, just for variety. But when she tied that with the handcuffs, she found that the steel cut into the flesh and made it painful. Quickly she got her feet back under her.
So long as she did not fight the handcuffs, she was not uncomfortable. She longed very much to reach her pussy with those hands held above her head, longed to tease her clit and stroke that fire burning there into an explosion. But longing it was all she could do.
The riding crop was back upon his office wall but Daphene thought of it often and knew it was something she must add to her collection of fantasy. She had been forbidden to ever play with herself, it was a strict no-no which she respected. Well, most of the time. It got very lonely when left alone in the house for hours while Greg went and did whatever it was he did to make money. And when she could reach herself, she sometimes did it. But most of the time she could not perform the act. And sometimes she held off just so she would be at a maximum sexual excitement when Greg did return. Such couplings were wonderful. Daphene thought about what he would do to her when he came home and smiled.
Her mind drifted back and forth between being bound in a dozen inventive ways, being locked in a closet, and now, today, handcuffed. Whenever she thought about the riding crop, she found herself breathing a little faster in a strange, compulsive agony of the flesh, combined with what was undeniably a pure longing. It was while thus immersed in dreams that Daphene became aware of no longer being alone.
The girl was, in many ways, a replica of herself. She must have been given a key or perhaps Greg had failed to latch the door. Maybe on purpose! She stood now in obvious amusement as she took note of ever curve and crease of a naked girl securely chained. Indignantly, Daphene demanded, "Who are you? Who let you in here? You'd best leave before I call the police."
"I was given a key, Ma'am'sel." The visitor held it for inspection. "And as for the police, I think you call them not." French eyes glinted humor. "It seems you are very much at my disposal."
"Did Gregory Marmot send you?"
"That is his name. Such a nice gentleman. You are very fortunate, Ma'am'sel, to be whipped by so handsome a man."
"How did you know I'd been whipped?" There came a Gaelic shrug. "Perhaps it is the little bird who tells me. But, Ma'am'sel, you are quite loosely fastened, so please to turn around so I may observe your bottom."
"Drop dead. I'm not turning around to show you or anyone else my bottom."
The visitor provided another shrug of unconcern. "Never mind, Ma'am'sel, I will see it soon enough. But you should know my Name. It is Denise Allaire. You saw me last evening as the girl who brought your wine. But it is easy to forget. I think you will not forget me now."
"I have already forgotten you. Go away." The visitor laughed delightedly and moved to stand before the naked girl. She reached to clasp a rosebud nipple, at which point the nipple's owner discovered she had the freedom to turn and face the wall. Pressing her breasts against the wall, she commanded back over her shoulder, "Don't do such things. I want you to leave instantly."
This time a searching hand caressed the wounded skin of a girlish bottom with cooing sounds of pleasure. Daphene shook her body in revolt.
"You cannot free yourself, Ma'am'sel. This I know for sure." The visitor's tone had become one of sweet reason. "You are a silly girl to fight when you cannot win. I have beheld your pretty bottom so now you should turn again so we may talk."
Grudgingly, and feeling foolish, Daphene followed the advise. Then she stood glaring at her unwanted visitor. "I suppose Greg sent you here," she uttered disdainfully. "But I don't want you. I don't need a lady's maid, and if you've got ideas about being jailer, I don't want that either. Please leave me alone."
"You enjoy standing thus against the wall?"
"I do if that's the way my master wants it. I've got a delightful master, I certainly don't need a mistress."
A pretty French finger pressed hard against a girlish nipple as though to emphasis her status. But there was nothing more. The finger withdraw as its owner chuckled and informed, "Your Greg told me where things in this house are to be found. I go now to make us coffee. It will be very good coffee, I promise. I will also bring back the riding crop in case you persist in being rude."
Panting in defeat and helpless to do a thing, Daphene watched her visitor depart. Alone, she gazed up at chained hands and knew herself their prisoner for sure. This saucy and impertinent French female could do whatever she pleased. And yet she was civilized in her wish to go and make the coffee. No doubt Denise's reference to the crop had been said in mischief. Knowing the uselessness of struggling against cold steel, Daphene waited breathlessly.
The coffee was held to sulky lips as though feeding coffee to a chained girl who was also naked was the most natural act in the world. Daphene gulped and when the cup was empty managed a polite thank you. She pretended not to notice the sleek belt emphasizing the French waist, and from that belt the riding crop suspended like a sword. She recognized it as Greg's own crop, the one that should have still been hanging on his office wall. Prudently the captive girl said nothing.
"I have been given a small key, Daphene, and also permission for to use it." The voice of Denise was almost arch. "Please now to hold quite still."
Instead of gratitude Daphene felt only chagrin. It was mean of Greg to place her in the power of this girl, or in fact to hand over the key to her handcuffs to anyone for any reason. It turned her into merchandise. True, she could kick but a bare foot was a feeble weapon, so huffily she stood as the French girl reached up and used the key. Immediately one hand was free she was jerked around with speed and strength, and before she had even thought to struggle found herself with both wrists neatly handcuffed behind her back, the metal circlets being as thigh as though to show authority. She made only a single tug to test the clutch of metal and she knew she was trapped. She stood once more with her back to the wall to look inquiringly at the girl who held the key. Daphene was painfully conscious of the lack of any weapon by which to defend herself against the smiling young woman.
Denise sat down and motioned Daphene to the couch. "This is not the first time I have been employed to help a gentleman in the control of difficult young ladies," Denise said. "I do assure you, Ma'am'sel, you are not alone in the delicious situation in which you find yourself."
"What a horrible way to make a living! I would think you would be ashamed."
"Mais non, my so pretty Daphene," Denise said with a smile. "A girl makes her living how she must. If your so handsome boyfriend asks me to share his bed, I will not refuse."
"A beastly thing to even think about, it makes you a whore!"
Denise shrugged. "It is all in the point of view, dear. I see no harm in it. You would be perhaps jealous, no?" The dark eyes twinkled at Daphene's flushed cheeks.
"You've still got me helpless," Daphene said soberly, longing only to be left alone. "I think this whole thing is despicable. And I'm asking you in all sincerity to go away. It won't matter about leaving me handcuffed, I'm used to that. Please go."
With equal seriousness Denise studied the pink cheeks and angry eyes and spared a quiet smile for Daphene's struggles against handcuffed wrists. "Oui, Ma'am'sel, you are helpless. And I could be very cruel to you if I wanted to. But what you most forget is that being as helpless as you are leaves you nothing to say about anything. You make no decisions and give no commands. For the moment you are mine."
"Like hell I am!" Daphene was furious. "Get out of here and stop teasing me. There's no way I want a combination lady's maid and jailer. Greg's being mean sending you here like this."
"I think perhaps Mr. Greg had good intentions of the best." Denise was trying hard to make a point. "He is a kind man and very fond of you. He feels it would be nice for you to have me around during the days while he is absent. Or do you perhaps prefer loneliness in chains?"
"I might think about it if Greg had asked me first," Daphene conceded grudgingly. "But there's no way I'm going to talk to you about anything so long as you're wearing that beastly riding crop on your belt. That tells me more than words."
For answer Denise slipped the loop and tossed the riding crop into a far corner of the room. "There, does that make you feel better? May we now talk?"
"What do you want to talk about?"
"Things we might do together. Perhaps some shopping?"
"You'd lead me around on a leash, I suppose?"
"It is a pretty idea, I like it very much. Now I go to get your collar and the chain."
Once more the captive girl watched her visitor depart. Never before had the handcuffs been so demanding of her. Denise could do with her as she pleased. Greg had evidently given her the keys by which his captive was controlled. And for the moment Daphene toyed with the idea of running out into the street and finding freedom for her hands in whatever way she could. But nakedness was defeating. She had thought about the act many times but always shrank from the terrible exposure and the element of risk. She would be such an easy prey for the wrong kind of people to possess. Listlessly she sat to await the return of a girl she saw as a rival for the passions of Greg.
The collar was a surprise, it was not the one that held her safe beside her lover every night. That had been flat, but this new one she had not seen before was round. A beautiful silver circlet she knew would be most becoming. The joint by which it opened was almost invisible. Like all of Greg's notions, it must have been expensive. As though deliberately seeking incongruity, it had a pendent link to which was snapped a long, leather leash by which her movements could be controlled. Daphene's reaction was instant. "You don't think you're going to put that thing on me. It's pretty and I like it, but not with that damned strip of leather and that snap. Put it away and go home."
"You know I will not do that, Cheri. You will wear the collar and you will refrain from insults while I put it around your neck. Come now, stand still."
"Don't put that thing on me. Forget it. Go away."
"I will put it on you very easily, dear. Because if you choice not to behave, I will go and pick up that riding crop. Is that your wish?"
Daphene sniffed and knew she was foxed. "Oh, very well," she said wearily. "I expect you're right, you can make me do anything you want. I'll certainly give Greg a piece of my mind as soon as he comes home."
The sleek metal slithered around Daphene's neck and clicked shut with a happy sound. The leather leash keep contact with Daphene body by hanging between her ample breasts. It was long enough to reach the floor. Miserably she felt more a prisoner than she had every felt before. "You can't possibly take me out in public like this."
"You are a silly girl to be pleased by something so beautiful around your neck. If it did not have the ring for the leash, I would wear it myself with much pride. If you truly belonged to me, I would whip you hard with that riding crop until you learned appreciation for what is done for you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Daphene spit in anger. "If it gives you so much pleasure, I don't see why you don't go ahead and whip me all you like? I'm helpless, I couldn't stop you."
"Alas, cheri, I cannot do that. Your so handsome Mr. Greg has cautioned me in moderation in what I do. But perhaps it is best that since you are so ungrateful, I should perhaps leave you alone and go away. I had hoped we would give each other much pleasure. But the chemistry, it is not right. If you wish me to go away, I will do so."
Daphene said as forcefully as she could, "Yes, I want you to go away, you know I do. I don't see why you ever came. Greg owes you an apology."
Without another word, Denise knotted the leash to the ring in the wall. Then she placed a chair beneath the ring for the comfort of her captive. Denise said sorrowfully as if she expected a friend but had found an enemy, "Good bye, Ma'am'sel, give my regards to the master who should whip you very hard." Denise gathered her possessions and walked without a backward glance from the room and from the house. The front door slammed in reproach.
CHAPTER TWO - Scorched Skin
In shocked disbelief that Denise had actually departed, Daphene stood beneath the ring and by the chair thoughtfully provided. She felt guilty and stupid and unkind. In her mind she was well aware of jealousy that any girl might share her man. And anger and resentment that the man, himself, should chose to place her beneath the authority of an extremely pretty young woman. Everything was wrong and Daphene was very much out of sorts with herself and with the world.
She was about to sit down when the realization came in a flash that what she should do was stand upon the chair and use her teeth to untie the knot which held her to the ring. It seemed an entirely possible course of action.
To a captive girl nothing is ever easy. The padded chair was unstable beneath her bare feet and the knotted leash was a couple of inches higher than she would have liked. She managed, however, to get the strip of leather between her teeth, seeking to work on the knot. However she soon realized that Denise was competent with knots. The leather strap had been tugged quite skillfully. After a few minutes the strained posture took its toll and she had to step down and sink into the chair to catch her breath. She had undoubtedly lost round one.
Round two was no more productive other than to tell her the knot that really mattered was beneath the ring, so the whole thing had to be lifted to become assessable. Without hands that was almost impossible. Daphene retreated in defeat. Within half an hour she knew for sure she was captive to the ring and would stay thus until Greg's return. Sulkily she sank to the chair to spend the time in thinking up caustic things to say. But when, after a long afternoon, her master took her in his arms, all she could do was lay her head on his shoulder to shed the tears of frustration and defeat.
"I gather nothing worked," Greg suggested. "I got a phone call from Denise. She was well and truly miffed." He chuckled. "It goes to show how far away from his own girl a man can sometimes be. I thought I was livening up your life. I've always felt bad about having to leave you tied up all day. It probably bothered me more than it did you." He paused a moment before asking, "Where do we go from here?"
"We stay just the way we are." Daphene sniffed and added, "I'd be very grateful if you'd take this collar off me. And get rid of that damned leash."
The leash was unsnapped and immediately put aside. "You can wear that silver collar until I decide to take it off. On you it looks like a million dollars. And I don't want you beefing about it. Here, I'll put your hands from back to front. Then you can amuse yourself by seeing if you can't get it off. You can't, but I'm sure you'll try."
As usual Greg was right. Greg was always right. Daphene could not free her neck from the silver collar. It was lovely to the touch as her fingers explored its smooth surface, and the ring at the back told her plainly that when it was put to use she could forget escape. Under Greg's cheerful flow of small talk, the two of them were soon back to where they had been the day before. But at dinner Greg opened one more door.
"The handcuffs yesterday and what's taken place today, sweetheart, has made a sort of dividing line. Do you feel that way?"
Daphene clinked her handcuffs cheerfully. Continuing her eating as though the question was not really important, she agreed that, yes, she had felt that division too. Then she added hurried, "You don't have to send girls around to keep me amused. I've never complained of being bored, have I?"
"No, you haven't. You're a good girl. But men are never really satisfied with anything. I used to sustain an erotic feeling all through my working day simply by thinking about you naked and in whatever bondage I'd left you. But this pleasant diversion is now wearing a bit thin. I want something more. Or something else."
"You mean you're tired of me?"
"No, that's not so. I'll never tire of you. It's simply I want to be with you more. Or perhaps in a different context."
"For goodness sake, Greg, don't tell me you want to become respectable and have us get married and raise babies?"
"No, I don't want that." Greg chuckled as if at some mental vision of his own. "I've got some quaint visions. The one that springs to mind is to give you your freedom. I'll eject you from the front door, fully clothed and with money in your pocket. I'll give you thirty minutes to get lost. And then I'll go looking for you. We can see how long you can evade recapture."
"Greg, that's silly! If I had wanted to run away from you, there's been lots of chances. I will admit that with that damned girl in the house I did think about running out in the street, even naked and handcuffed, so see if I could find help rather than be under her thumb. I didn't do it because I was too scared to run naked into the street. And I expect with this idea of yours you'd be roaming the city while I'd simply be back here waiting for you to show up with the handcuffs. I need you as bad as you need me."
Greg was unaffected by her comments. "Supposing I give you some real incentive to run away. And to do your best not to be caught," he suggested easily. "For instance, I could give you a hundred with that riding crop, and that way you'd be so mad at me you'd put your heart into the escape. How's that sound?"
"It doesn't sound good." Daphene clinked her handcuffs angrily. "I won't enter into any game in which you use that thing on me. It hurts something awful. I don't think you realize how bad it hurts. I know I'm your captive and you can do as you please with me but that riding crop is no way to get my cooperation for a game."
"Possibly you'd change your mind after, well let's say, after the first fifty?"
"Fifty!" Daphene stared in disbelief. "You wouldn't be that cruel ... Would you?"
"Sweetheart, it's something to think about." Greg was annoyingly cheerful. "Even speaking about it gets your attention. And from fifty it would be quite easy to raise the number to a hundred."
"That would kill me."
"You know it wouldn't. You'd simply have a very sore tail for a while."
"Couldn't we talk about something else?" Greg studied his captive girl with a shrewd smile.
"Got to you, didn't it, sweetheart?" he said with satisfaction. "So let's play another incentive game. Every morning I'll leave you with your hands tied behind your back with just ordinary cord. No wire or stuff like that. And you'll have all day to get loose. If you fail and remain tied when I get home, I'll give you a choice. You can spend the rest of the day suspended by your wrists. Or you can take a simply ten with the crop. Is that any better?"
"Greg, you're being silly. I never have managed to get loose any time you've tied me, and goodness knows you've tied me up enough. It simply wouldn't work. I'd be defeated before we even start."
"The way it used to be I expect that's true. But now I won't tie you so tight and there won't be any wire or grimaces to make certain you can't escape. In other words, give you a sporting chance. I'll use just plain old knots. And with the incentive of a punishment at the end of it, you'll really work to get your hands free." He grinned at her. "You've never had that incentive before. And I've always supposed you've just given a little try and then accepted that you couldn't get yourself free. And then you amused yourself some other way, knowing there's be only love and kisses on my return. How about that one?"
Daphene knew her lover was not going to give up with a fresh thrill. Quickly thinking, she realized that Greg was right. After the initial struggles of a bound girl, she had always given up what seemed a hopeless battle. She had never really had incentive before. And being bound had been something to keep her horny so that when Greg did come home she would more than welcome his lovemaking. And it had worked for them both for a long time. Often that lovemaking took place immediately upon his waking in the door. Perhaps, she told herself, she could have defeated some of those ropes had she tried seriously all day.
"I'm willing to give that one a try," Daphene said demurely. "That is, if I'm allowed a choice. And providing you don't tie my wrists too tightly."
That night, chained as always in their bed, Daphene wondered with amusement if Greg's lovemaking was double fierce and her own responses more intense. She drifted into sleep trying hard not to think about the crop.
The captive girl knew that one of the good things about her relationship with Greg was than neither of them ever tried to evade or excuse whatever course on which they had agreed. Thus it was that when Greg was ready to leave on the following morning, a naked girl obediently turned her back and crossed her wrists that they be bound as they had been bound so many times before. Standing straight and erect, she delivered herself to her master's cords. "I just bet I'm going to be sorry," she said without rancor. She wiggled her arms and added, "It seems just the same to me, no different from what it was."
"But you'll try, won't you, honey?"
"Oh, sure, I'll be a busy girl all day long. When you come back this evening I'll have a pair of nicely chaffed wrists for the waiter to wonder about when you take me to dine. Run along before I change my mind."
"It's too late for that, honeybunch."
"Well, run along anyway and let me get to work. Does a good little girl get her kiss?"
The good-bye kiss was always a most satisfactory beginning to her day. Not because it was good-bye but because Greg kissed so well. And he usually palmed her sex or squeezed a breast while their lips were together. When she heard the front door slam she was suddenly aware of a riding crop in her future. So she went to work with a determination beyond anything she had ever devoted to the task previously. Somehow getting loose just had to be possible.
At the end of an hour Daphene was both panting and perspiring with her wrists seeming to be more tightly tied than when she started. It had always been the same and at this point she usually sat down to rest and sometimes fall asleep. Or sometimes turn on the TV to pass the time. But today was different, and in a sudden memory of possibilities she went to the kitchen in search of a good, sharp knife. She was not the least bit surprised to find the door solidly locked. Pinned on one panel was a sardonic note from her master, "Sorry, darling, no knives. What about lighting a candle and burning the ropes off?"
It was so typically Greg. She left it there as a sign of defeat. Then she began roving the house in search of anything that might cut a piece of rope. Finding nothing to aid escape, the naked girl, now feeling doubly captive, disgustedly returned to the lounge to sink down on the sofa and go to sleep.
In the afternoon Daphene returned to the fray with renewed vigor, going first to back up against the big mirror to study the convoluted cord around her wrists. Finding no easy way to reach the final knots, she sought a straight backed chair and, sitting on it sideways, worked hard and steadily to achieve her purpose, ignoring hurt wrists and trying not to think of the riding crop hanging on the office wall. She could chose suspension but that didn't sound too good to her. When she heard Greg's key in the big front door, much earlier than usual, she knew defeat and fell back upon feminine speculation as to whether she could talk her lover out of the promised punishment. She went to meet him with hands still behind her back, her voice as cheerful as she could make it. "Darling, I'm so glad you're early. My hands are just as tightly tied as when you left, and they hurt too bad to struggle any more. Please untie me and let hug you."
She was well and truly kissed but that was all. Greg went to the bar and mixed a couple of drinks. He told her to kneel before him on the rug as he sipped and held the second glass to sulky lips.
Daphene gulped her favorite drink, a whiskey sour, and asked eagerly, "Please, can I have another?"
"Do you think you should, sweetheart? On an empty tummy?"
"I had a bad day and I expect I'll have a bad evening. I think being a little high would be a good idea."
Daphene gulped her second drink straight down. It was as though bracing herself for the shock of what was to come. That was something she had never done before.
"Go and stand in that corner," came Greg's firm command. "Get close into it and stare at the wall. And stay there without turning around until I give the word."
"But, Greg!"
"It's something I should have trained you to do long ago," Greg stated, ignoring her outcry. "Obey!" cracked his voice like a whip.
In docile acceptance of an authority she had learned to respect, Daphene did as she was told, and accepted the school girl punishment without further demure. She was surprised, both as his command and her meek obedience. To insure approval she pressed her forehead against the corner of two walls and flapped bound hands at her master as though to say a fond farewell. This penalty was painless and the naked girl felt the stirrings of erotic feelings within her loins. Or was it two quick drinks? She could be sure.
But it took only five minutes to tell her this was punishment indeed. She'd longed to turn but felt certain Greg was watching as he sipped. No doubt she made a pretty picture, standing there in nubile obedience, hands no longer fighting the cords. It would have been nice to have those hands to touch the wall and to keep her balance. True she could thrust her nudity into the walls, but this would spoil the effect of a pretty pose. Daphene stood still cautiously and simply endured.
When Greg's command once more rang out and she flitted eagerly to the sofa to kneel once more at his knees, Daphene was astonished to discover her punishment had lasted only fifteen minutes. She had been certain it was an hour. When her hands were finally untied, she threw her arms around her master in a great welling of gratitude to be once more free. Then she was told to go up stairs and dress for dinner. No long sleeves, her wealed wrists had to be in full view for everyone to see. Daphene swallowed her protest and was half way up the stairs when she remembered neither she nor Greg had said a single word of the terrible punishments between which she must soon make her choice. But Daphene was hungry and was secretly cherishing a hope that perhaps she had been already punished, or at the worst might have to return to face the wall for a while longer.
The girl and her master made a handsome pair. It was truly wonderful to be proud of the man you were with and to know he was proud of you. Daphene glowed and made no complain when told to place her hands upon the table for everyone to admire her wounds. Daphene choose to call them wounds although they were simply a pair of wrists with chaffed skin. The waiter noticed them but said no word. Mischievously Daphene wondered if he tied his wife's hands and knew all about the delicious game. Perhaps somewhere, in a city apartment, a naked girl with tied hands and feet waited in erotic anticipation for the return of her lord and master. It was a amusing thought.
Daphene glowed under the admiration of the Male to whom she belonged. The whiskey sour was still a potent force within her veins, and with great temerity she asked, "You're not going to make me chose between those two punishments, are you, darling? Please tell me it's just a joke."
"No joke. You know damned well you're going to have to chose. I'm looking forward to hearing which one you'll pick."
Daphene pouted prettily. Then said with all the sweetness she could muster, "It wouldn't hurt you to forgive me just this once, Greg. I really don't want to be hung up my by wrists. Not with them hurting like they do."
"Oh, so you've decided on the riding crop?"
"That's all that's left, isn't there? I had hoped you'd forgive me."
"That wouldn't be a kindness, Daphene, my pet." Greg prodded at a chunk of cucumber to emphasis his point. "If I let you off the penalty, you'd have no incentive to try again tomorrow. You're going to get the same thing again tomorrow, sweetheart. And every day thereafter until you meet me in the hall with open arms. It's wonderful training."
The girl to be punished kept silent. She had no wish to spoil the nice dinner. And, as usual, she was not a bit certainly that perhaps Greg was not pulling her leg. They might end up on the couch, sipping their brandy and laughing about everyone they knew. Tenderly they exchanged glances across the table and Daphene was irritated to hear her own voice saying, "Punish me anyway you wish, darling. I'll still be loving you when it's all over."
Captive girls come to learn their owners may be as capricious as the female is reputed to be. Presenting herself naked and resigned to her master in the lounge, Daphene received one more shock. Instead of the riding crop, Greg was playing with several pieces of rope and told her, "I decided right at the start not to inflict upon you the punishment you chose, but the one you rejected instead. Lay on your tummy on the rug."
Daphene obeyed. Perhaps Greg had unwittingly made up her mind for her. Perhaps suspension would be the best of the two, after all. She did not even protest nor ask a question as her leg was bent backward at the knee and rope bit at skin not usually so used. Breathlessly she rested on her elbows as the rope was wrapped around each leg separately so that her legs were both doubled up and tightly bound that way. She rolled over at his command to discover, in gladness, the soft leather bindings for her punished wrists. The strip was wide and made several circles beneath her hands, circles pulled very tight to insure against slipping. Bound hands had never felt more comfortably secure.
It was a humiliating punishment but no worse than if she still possessed legs. When the unseen motor and pulley raised her nude body, she found her knees were just above the rug and she was swinging gently. She was just in front of the couch where Greg sat down. Her eyes were just at the level of his and she was so close that she could probably have reached out with her knee to touch his.
Greg poured two brandies, placed one on the end table at his elbow, and sipped at the other. And admiring his handiwork, a girl robbed of feet and legs, and swinging slowly back and forth at the end of the punishment rope. Daphene's firm breasts were slightly flattened by the pull on her arms but still stuck out nicely. But her tummy was doubly flat and the effect when she swung her bound thighs as she might have swung free legs was rather weird.
"Much better than hanging you up in the air, sweetheart," Greg said consolingly. "If I'd have suspended you with your legs hanging down, I'd be looking face to face with your pretty puss whereas we're more or less face to face this way. We can carry on a nice conversation." His grin was one of complete approval. "You look entirely gorgeous. Does it hurt much?"
"You know it does."
"Do you like the way I fixed your feet?"
"I hate it. It's horrible. Greg, you think of the damnedest things. How long have I got to hang like this?"
"Haven't made up my mind, love. It's a nice atmosphere of suspense, don't you think? And I'm loving the way that those pretty knees fail to touch the floor. I suppose that's damned irritating, isn't it?"
"Greg, you don't have to mock me. It's bad enough to have to hang this way without you making fun. I suppose it's useless to ask you to let me loose...?"
"Quite useless, darling. You are all together too beautiful to spoil the picture. Here, have your first sip of brandy."
The suspended girl gulped gratefully and would have gulped a lot more had not the glass been returned to the end table where she looked at it longingly. "Just one more sip, Greg? It helps."
Daphene got her sip. Greg was never stingy in such matters. But now he proceeded to illustrate the convenience of the way in which she was hung so close. Reaching forward, he cupped her wet pussy and drew her close until her knees rested on his own and he could play with her in total comfort.
"Don't be a bastard, Greg," she pleaded. "What you're doing to me is horrible. Please let me go."
"You know you love this."
"I'll bet you're thinking of some neat way of explaining this is all for my benefit." Daphene sniffed. "It's a terrible way to punish a girl. Do you really have to keep playing with my pussy?"
"You want me to stop?" There was no answer. Daphene felt rather awkward being suspended and bound like that, but what he was doing to her sex did feel good. Real good. And, although she felt she should protest, somehow the words died in her throat. The talented fingers teased and stroked and made her body get very heated with plain, everyday lust. Just as he could tell she was nearing a climax, he get go of her and allowed her naked body to swing away from him. Then he sat back on the sofa and watched as she arched her body, struggled, and tried to touch her pussy to his knee or hand. She moaned and tried to capture his knee between hers. But he simply gave her a little shove and she was again swaying away from the man she wanted very badly to have touch her again. She let out a little cry of distress and ceased her attempts to swing over to him. Biting back angry words, she also had to fight to keep from crying. It was very frustrating to be so deliriously helpless and worked up to nearly an orgasm, only to be denied that pleasure.
Yet the suspended girl did not scold her master for his mistreatment of her. She knew full well that things could get worse. Besides she really liked this kind of torment. True, it was real frustration -very real. But it was a delicious torture and she secretly loved it very much. Beside, she kept telling herself, Greg is horny too, and it won't be too long before he will do something to satisfy himself. And that usually meant satisfying her, too.
Greg prepared a frontal view of his punished sweetheart. Suspended as she was, Daphene's nudity had a tendency to turn as well as swing. And as she slowed down, he reached out and once more took a handful of his loved one's sex to steady the motions she could not control. "I want a good view of that pretty body of yours," he told her in a friendly manner. "If you find it difficult to keep your thighs apart, I'll find something to prop between your knees. That little place you have beneath your beautifully flat belly is something to admire. It's neat and tidy and has a sort of character of its own. It's the same with your breasts. And I'm so pleased they haven't lost their contours under the stress of you hanging the way you are. I've purchased a special small whip designed for them. I'd love to use it on them as you swing around, but I'm going to give up that pleasure for the moment because a couple of reddened tits wouldn't add a thing to the quality of this situation. Are you wishing you'd gotten your hands free this afternoon?"
"Yes."
"Well, there's always tomorrow, darling. Although you may not have the same two choices to pick from. I'm thinking in terms of tying out that pretty little whip on your breasts and tie you in a special position to receive its caress. The other choice would be to hang by your ankles upside down for thirty minutes, a half hour which I believe will seem a lot longer that it is."
"Stop torturing me, they're both horrible and I don't want either of them."
"Then you simply have to wiggle your little hands free of my wicked cord and have the cocktails ready for when I get home. In fact, I'm inc-lined to demand that you make those cocktails anywhere, whether your hands are free or not. I think it might just be possible if you do enough contortions. What do you think?"
"I think you're being terribly unkind." Daphene was close to tears as her shoulders screamed in agony and protest against the strain. "It's bad enough to be punished like this but to have an idiot of a man keep telling me about the punishment I'm going to get tomorrow is just too damned much." She snorted. "Why don't you stuff a gag in your mouth and shut up."
Greg's voice held nothing but admiration. "I think that's a wonderful idea, darling, except that you do understand it's your mouth and not mine that deserves gagging. Which one of the stock of gags would you prefer?"
"I don't want any. I think it's a beastly idea. Look, Greg, if you gag me we won't be able to talk. At least I won't be able to talk. So you might just as well have a sack of potatoes hanging on this rope. Don't gag me, please."
"Maybe you have a point, Daphene. But I think I'd like to try it out for effect. I'm inc-lined towards the one with the rubber pad and the soft leather band across your mouth. Here I'll give you a push so you've got some momentum while I'm gone."
Daphene hated her situation with a passion. Swinging back and forth the way Greg and set her to motion was the same as being a dummy on a string. She could do nothing to slow the motion or bring it to a halt. Her doubled over legs were no help at all. So miserably she hung there, going back and forth. Suddenly Greg's hand brought her swinging to a halt. The hated gag was in his hand and inches from her face.
"Open up, sweetheart, this pretty gag is just aching to get inside your mouth. Don't quibble."
As the rubber pad filled her mouth and the tight straps compressed her lips, Daphene longed to scream. But when she tried, no sound emerged. Savagely she tried to punch her lover with her bent knee but all her efforts resulted in nothing more than a broad grin and an affectionate pat on her bare bottom. "It's a lovely effect, sweetheart, you won't mind if I sit down and simply enjoy?"
The nude and helpless girl could only glare as her lover did as he had suggested. Quite obviously she was an erotically amusing sight to him. With wrists and ankles on fire, and her mouth fill of the rubber gag, Daphene simply hung suspended for her master's inspection. She could only convey her feelings by the play of anguished eyes.
"You're really mad at me, aren't you, sweetheart? I can tell." Greg laughed cheerfully. "I'll bet if you had a free hand, you'd punch me in the nose."
Daphene made gurgling sounds of agreement and knew that had she the gift of speech, she would be urgently pleading release. She had had enough and used the only feminine weapon she had left. She closed her eyes and bowed her head forward as though in the lost of consciousness, hanging inert and pathetic in her bonds. It worked better than she had dared hope. Become bored with the silent and motionless nudity, Greg made a threat he felt certain would bring results, "Snap out of that slump, sweetheart, I know you're just simulating unconscious. If you refuse to come back to life, I'll use the riding crop on you. Open those pretty eyes and get your head straight."
Daphene made no move, but continued to hang in seeming lifelessness. She trembled inwardly at the threat of. the crop cutting her bare skin. But she held her pose until Greg said, disgustedly, "Oh, all right. I'll take the gag out of your mouth but you'd better damned well come to life again."
As the straps confining her cheeks were tugged free and peeled away and the hateful wad tugged out from between her teeth, the punished girl did her best to show no sign of life. With the discarding of the gag, her head continued to droop, her eyes remained closed. Daphene shrewdly guessed that should she open them so that Greg could see them focus and behold her admission of faking, he would probably use the crop on her as a lesson not to be too clever. And to never, never deceive her master. It was with a gratefulness that Daphene felt her knees touch the rug as she was lowered to the rug. She was laid gently on the rug. She pretended to return to consciousness only after Greg had removed the ropes from one bent double leg and almost finished removing the ropes from the other.
Daphene did not care whether he untied her wrists or not, she so rarely had the freedom of her hands that it really didn't matter. Allowing herself to return to this world, she muttered, "Thank you, Greg, oh, thank you. Please hold me tight."
Greg fondled his beloved as though she was a child, making no apology for the punishment but speaking eloquently of concern with ardent lips which kissed his punished beauty back to life. "You'll be a good girl now" he asked as if it really mattered.
"Yes, I'll be a good girl. Greg, that was awful. Please don't do that one to me again."
"Okay, honey bunch, I won't. If I ever did, I'd change it so your hands were wide apart instead of tied together. I think the effect would be far more beautiful."
"I expect it would," she agreed without interest. "Are you going to make love to me now or do I have to wait until we go to bed?"
"You're going to get both. Aren't you the lucky girl? You also get brandy before we start. Get to the bar and make one for each of us. Here, I'll take the leather from your wrists. I'm really letting you off easy."
by the time the fiery fluid had slithered down Daphene's throat, she was inc-lined to agree that, indeed, he had been kind. Her original sentence had been to hang suspended for the rest of the evening until her lord and master was to take her up to bed. Now, setting aside her empty glass, she giggled into a receptive male ear, "I'm going to fight you all the way. You'll have to rape me."
It was a game they often played. Often Greg would prolong the contest by using only half his male strength and skill until his beloved, worn out by the unequal struggle, became limp with legs wide apart for his triumphant entry in male victory. Daphene considered that victory left her the true winner.
Daphene was tired and slept late so that Greg was ready for the office when grabbed a cup of coffee, unlocked the collar from her neck, and the, when the coffee was gone, flipped the unprotesting nudity on to her face, crossed her wrists behind her back, and tied them in the same manner as the day before. He then kissed her, patted the soft, round bottom, and said good-bye. Laying on the bed after he had gone, Daphene speculated as to her punishment when evening came around, but shrugged such thoughts away and went to the bathroom.
The tied girl would never know if Greg had left the kitchen door open on purpose or simply forgotten. The fact that only table cutlery was to be found was, of course, suspicious. The knives with really keen blades were not there. And after fumbling with the best she could find for a good thirty minutes, she knew for sure the kitchen was no easy path to freedom. As though it was a simple duty, she performed the usual twists and tugs, without loosening a single strand of the cord which made her prisoner. Then, just for something to do, she decided to make coffee and discovered how well a girl could perform that simple task with her hands tied behind her back. Working carefully and slowly she soon had the coffee making humming to itself and knew that if she could do that, she could quite probably make the cocktails as Greg had laughingly suggested. With the same lack of interest she contrived a sandwich which could be eaten by using tied hands to push the two slices of bread and what they contained to overlap the plate and then to stoop down or kneel to enable her tongue to coax it into her mouth. It was fun and she was pleased with her success. But at the end of it she was as securely tied as ever, and felt pretty sure punishment would await her once again.
It was difficult to open doors or to tune the television, difficult to open a drawer for she could tug only at one handle at one end. Most of the drawers would bind so that she was forced to go back and forth and make hard work of something that should have been extremely easy. All this was territory already known, but laboriously she made a fresh tour of inspection and exploration in the hope of finding some implement to conquer the binding cords. There was also the hope that all of this work might bring about a loosening of the strictures on her wrists. But these things were not what happened. She discovered no sharp blades and by three in the afternoon she simply gave up the effort and watched television until it was time to make the cocktails with which to greet her master.
Making a cocktail with bound hands was not easy but she move things around one step at a time and managed what she thought was a pretty good cocktail. She poured some in a glass and knelt to sip it. Then she put the glass into the small sink at the wet bar and rinsed it. Drying it was not easy behind her back but she soon had the glass dry and waiting for her to pour a fresh cocktail for her master. She set out a second glass for herself. She even managed to find ice cubes by standing on a chair in front of the open door of the refrigerator. She hoped Greg would not demand this service everyday. The air coming out of the freezer section was very cold on her skin.
The familiar key turning in the lock set Daphene's pulse to racing. But she told herself she would not be whipped until after they had returned from the restaurant, and what she wanted now was a hug and a word of praise for performing the miracle of the martini. The two glasses were waiting on the bar and between them the cocktail shaker, well loaded with welcome. Greg's greeting was pretty much as expected.
"Sweetheart, you're a disappointment. You've failed again."
"I'm sorry, I really did try. When you tie me, Greg, it's impossible for me to get free. Surely you know that by now. But, darling, I've got cocktails...."
Greg was actually touched and his handmaiden got most ardently kissed. "Maybe I'd better carry our drinks," he offered. "I mustn't ask too much of you." He gave her a frown. "Or maybe I should."
So far, so good. It was a very satisfactory cocktail time, and when her wrists were freed so she could dress for dinner, Daphene's heart sank madrigals of joy as she dashed up the stairs in total freedom. In the bed room she waved her arms around just for the joy of motion. They had been bound behind her back for about ten hours and were glad to get free.
"You're a total failure as an escape artist," Greg told her at dinner time. "I've not going to give you that test again. You've flunked it twice, and I don't want to have to give you those severe punishments every evening. You'll get it right, of course, but let's hope I think of something better for you tomorrow.
"Oh, by the way, have you made your choice between the crop and the little whip I got for your breasts?"
"Thanks, I'll take the little whip."
"On your bare breasts? Are you sure, darling?"
"I'm scared of the riding crop, Greg, you don't know how it hurts." She didn't say that she was even more scared of having her breasts whipped. They were very sensitive and so very perfect in their shape and size. She was sure she would die if he actually whipped them. But she remembered how, the previous evening, he had reversed her decision. If he did the same tonight, he would change her decision from the small breast whip to the riding crop. At least she had been whipped with the crop before and knew of it's power to hurt. Being whipped on the breasts scared her deeply.
Greg nodded as though they were choosing the dessert. "We can refine this a little further, if you wish, sweetheart. There's two places the little whip is well adapted to. I've told you about your breasts, of course. The other one, of course, is to tie you in a suitable position and use it on your puss. I'm told the sensations are both painful and erotic. This gives you a wider choice and I think I'm being most considerate."
"I'm sure you are," Daphene said, swallowing hard. "Sorry I'm not more grateful. Greg, dear, anything you've offered me today seems bloody awful and scares me half to death. I'll behave myself, of course, but I'll be terribly scared."
She didn't tell him how disappointed she was that he hadn't reversed her the punishment. But perhaps he had figured she would reverse her choice tonight, so he decided not to reverse it. Or perhaps he read in her eyes what she really feared. Either way, she was trapped into receiving a punishment she feared very much. But should she say she wanted it on her breasts or her pussy? And was that another game Greg was playing with her? Perhaps he would pick which ever he wanted regardless of what she said. That sounded about right. He would win and there was nothing she could do about it.
Greg let it drop without forcing her to have to pick the target area for that little whip now. "I'm wondering if you've considered my idea about Denise? She's still sort of hovering in the wings and phoned me today to ask if you still hated her just as much."
"I hope you told her I did."
"Oh, come off it, Daphene. You don't hate her at all.
She never did anything to make you hate her. You're simply jealous because you figured I'd certainly get into her pants. Forget that and give me an honest statement."
"Well, all right, I simply don't want another woman in this house. I'm sure she's a nice girl and she tried to be polite. I expect it's all my fault, but I still don't want her with us when you give her carte blanche to do with as she pleases with me. Can we consider the matter closed?"
"We can put it on hold, sweetheart. And I won't spring her on you as a surprise. What would you like to do tomorrow? Want you hands tied again?"
"No, I don't! I don't ever want my hands tied again. You've got me educated to handcuffs so please use them. Even if they are behind my back, they're more comfortable."
"And a set of pretty leg irons, too?" There was more in Daphene's mind than simply avoiding the discomfort of bound wrists. There was an attraction to the beautiful bracelets and leg irons, an attraction that Daphene wanted to deny but it wouldn't go away.
"If it pleases you," she replied. "I expect I can hobble as well as the next girl. Do they really use those things on female prisoners?"
"Sure they do. Except a female prisoner would have a little more length of chain than you're going to have. I've had a pair of nice leg irons made for you. I think you'll fall in love with them." Greg laughed. "I can almost hear the clinking as you walk around."
"Well, that's settled then. Tomorrow I get handcuffed and leg-ironed, and you can't possibly punish me for failing to free myself from them. I've won. You're mostly a very kind master."
"This game we play, it's crazy, isn't it?" Greg said thoughtfully between soup and fish. "I'm damned lucky to have found you. Do you still love it as much as ever?"
"More, I'm afraid."
"Will you still say that when I'm punishing you this evening?"
Daphene laughed. "Probably not. So don't ask me that. A girl is never at her best when she's being punished, you know."
"One of the things I like about you, sweetheart, is that you don't plead too much. You don't try to talk yourself out of things, I mean the things that hurt. Like the punishments you earn by being naughty. Or simply because it pleases me to bestow them. There's a lot of guys would give a lot of money to have you."
"I expect there are but I don't want to meet them. I'm ashamed of being so submissive and being such a doormat. But I can't help it, that's the way I am. I agree, you are a very lucky man." Daphene paused to giggle. "And I suppose that also makes me a very lucky girl."
"I've thought up another quite delicious charade, dear," Greg said earnestly. "I could throw a stag party and in the middle of it auction you off. It won't be real but just for fun. I'll dress one of the boys as an Arab and he can lead you in and up onto the platform at the end of a chain around your neck. He can give the usual sales pitch and at the proper moment reveal your charms. I think perhaps it would be as well to have your hands cuffed behind your back, just in case you feel a bit skittish under all those male eyes.-Does it hold any appeal for you?"
"No, it doesn't. I've told you before, Greg, I belong to you and to no one else. I don't want to be shared. And this idea seems to me to have a flaw. I mean, when the bidding is all over and some guy has offered the highest price, what happens then? I hope you're not thinking of delivering me to him to be slept with. That's a polite way of saying being fucked."
"I had thought of it. You've put your finger on the real problem, the thing that would give the whole idea a tremendous realism. And every guy in the crowd an erection. Would you hate me very much if I used force to make delivery? Remember you'd be pretty damned helpless."
Daphene felt the heat in her loins growing, and could visualize the scene in her mind. There was a certain thrill to the idea of standing on a platform before a crowd of men and listen to how much they were willing to part with to get her. Any woman wants to be wanted but to be sold...!
"If it was fixed in some way so that you were the ultimate purchaser ... I might say yes. I remember all those stories about girls who are put in a spot like that in those cheap novels. And I'll admit there's a thrill to it. But only if the man you want is the man who buys. I couldn't bare it being left to chance."
"I don't see how I could run a swindle, dear, and take you for myself. I'd loose every friend I had."
"Not if you and the auctioneer were in on it. Besides, what is going to be paid for me? Real money or make-believe?"
"Real money, sweetheart, but the boys will understand from the beginning that they were just renting you for an evening of pleasant fun and games. There won't be as much money bid as if they thought they were actually buying you. But the bidding will be real."
"You aren't thinking of really selling me, are you, Greg? I mean for real!"
"No, not ever. But, as you say, this is a scene which has a tremendous appeal. I'll be every girl sometimes envisions herself on that block, and the sensations as the sheet is pulled away to reveal her naked body to all those men. It would be a very intense scene for a girl, wouldn't it?"
"I might be willing to try it," said Daphene slowly. "But only if it's you that buys me. I just can't see myself being turned over some stranger to be fucked like a prostitute. How you work it so that you're the buyer, I don't care." She paused for a while before adding, "Have you got any more quaint notions tucked away?"
"You know about the cell in the basement. You've spent a little time in it already. But what I'm thinking now is to totally simulate a convict girl sent to prison and locked in there behind the bars." Greg paused and thought in silence for a while. "I'd want to go a bit beyond what the prisons usually do. I'd want you handcuffed and leg-ironed. It would have a delightful scenic effect. I can just imagine the conversations we could have through the bars.
"There's also the fact we'd need a jailer, someone to look after you and discipline you as needed."
"Of course," said Daphene sweetly, "that would be your Denise?"
"You're like the elephant that never forgets, darling. Actually I'm sure I could talk one of the boys into playing the part. We could get him a uniform and you'd be quite certain that he'd never take his eyes from you. Being naked, and all, you know. And I'd have to keep you safe by holding the key to the cage. I don't think there's any man who could resist unlocking the door if he could. And doing with you what comes naturally. What do you think of that one?"
Daphene considered. Both of these propositions did not set well with her. She didn't want another woman in their house. But she also didn't want a male jailer watching her every minute. But these things might well happen. Even without her consent, Greg could easily give her no option. She was always more or less helpless, so if he locked her in a cage with a leering male to play the jailer, there was nothing she could do about it. But she had to admit to herself at a jailer, male or female, would be better than staying in that tiny cell, wearing handcuffs and leg irons, for those long, long hours all day.
And Greg just might make her sleep in that cage. She had spent a night in it twice because he thought it would be nice for her to experience it. She didn't like it.
"I think I would get tired of it very fast, Greg," she said. "Could you put this one on hold, along with the rest?"
Greg sighed. "You really are a capricious female," he said without heat. "What I ought to do is subject you to every one of these games. Having you handcuffed in the first place, you really wouldn't have much to say anyway. You'd be forced to go along. And I do mean forced."
They surveyed each other for while in silence. Daphene was ashamed of her wet panties and a strong desire to play the part of the heroine in each of his little vignettes. But she pushed away concern because whatever was going to happen would happen. She could never really sway the issue. Except perhaps sometimes with tears. Greg sometimes was affected by tears although she scorned them as being unfair under the rules of their little game. Of course, pain sometimes generated them without her being able to stem the flood.
"Greg, you're a marvelous Master. Do whatever you want with me, I won't complain. At least not very much." The words sounded unconcerned but that was not the way Daphene felt inside. She didn't want either of those two scenes to really happen. At least being sold before a group of men wouldn't end up too badly when it was Greg who bought her.
The pleasant and erotic conversations brought them to coffee and a serious contemplation of the thing which lay ahead. "If you don't mind, I think I'll chose to be whipped between my legs," Daphene said demurely. "I don't know a thing about this little whip you've just purchased, so I'm taking a shot in the dark and hoping won't hurt too much. I'll just have to hope my pussy still works when you're finished."
Greg laughed. Going home in the taxi he put the handcuffs on her. "Just in case you change your mind," he said gently.
"Is it going to be that awful?"
"Not really. But you won't like it while it's happening." Daphene had consumed enough brandy that she could have cared less about the handcuffs. In fact she grinned a happy smile at the cabby as Greg paid the fare, and raised both hands for the man to have a good look at what the girl about town was wearing this year. They went indoors and her heart was in her mouth in contemplating what was going to happen.
It was a cleverly constructed frame, mostly of bent and twisted metal. Greg's firm hands pushed his lovely one back upon it and bound her tight to compel her legs and thighs to be spread wide open at the bottom of the frame. Daphene actually felt thankful at the bite of all the cords in all the places Greg chose to bind. She found a deliciousness about the binding which made her terribly and wonderfully open for the little whip, the little whip she had never seen.
When her master was done with her, she could not move in any directions. She was fixed for sure in a terrible vulnerability. She knew her both her breasts and pussy exposed and inviting the thrust of the whip. Either target would be new for her. It was all very wonderful and very frightening.
Daphene was allowed to examine the little whip. It's little cords were only a foot long, while its handle was prettily embellished by whatever craftsman had been employed. She was forced to kiss the limp thongs so soon to bite her skin. And that was a tribute she made with unexpected feeling as if by kissing the slender leather strips she might make its pain less.
Due to the nature of the frame on which she was so firmly fastened, she could not be sure if it was her breasts or her pussy to be punished. Both were vulnerable, terribly vulnerable. She had asked that the punishment be between her legs but in truth she didn't know which she would rather have. Both would hurt and both would surely damage very tender parts of her body. But she was so very proud of her breasts and did not want them marked up or harmed in any way. So she had asked for the whip to be used on her pussy. Which would Greg use for target practice?
She watched him play with the little whip, drawing its thongs through his hand as if testing its softness.
It was swift and sudden. The upward cut between the thighs she could not close. Daphene could almost believe she heard a splat as the tiny leathers bit hard into her most secret place. Involuntarily she screamed.
"Would you like to be gagged, sweetheart?"
"No, please don't. That scream slipped out because it hurt more than I thought it would. I'll try and tone it down so as not to offend your august ears."
Her reward for flippant remarks was a second stroke directly across the right breast, including searing pain across her nipple. It took all of her determination to avoid a scream. It was such an intimate place, a part of herself to be treasured and to be loved. But the little whip had laughed at such notions and bit into the soft round with a viciously more personal. While Daphene was gathering her resources another shrewd and wicked stroke rose upward between her thighs to bite her cunt. And this time she screamed more ardendy.
The gag was inevitable. The bound girl had supposed so from the start. She didn't mind the fresh humiliation for she hated her own screams even through she could not control them. Screams were shameful. And when she beheld her master with the gag in his hands, she said quite simply, "I don't mind being gagged, Greg, maybe it's best." After the straps had been tightened behind her neck, Daphene screamed no more.
CHAPTER THREE - Whipped Cunt and Breasts
The little whip was indeed a potent force. It hurt twice as bad as any girl could possibly imagine. And it fitted so well the contours of a maiden's breasts and a maiden's pussy that it was obviously perfect for its task, a task with which Daphene was to become well acquainted. But now she strained against the ropes and the cruelty of the metal frame. She had only to suffer in silence of the rubber wad upon her tongue, and the limber leather which sealed her lips. She assured herself constantly throughout her ordeal that she would surely survive. No little whip was going to get the better of Daphene. She listed to Greg's amused comments as he lashed her skin and longed most ardently to answer back. Or to offend his ears with screams. Daphene remembered their conversation at dinner in which he has asked in amusement if the question of her love for him and for his punishments continued even while those punishments were taking place. She had to wonder what her answer would be now as a particularly savage upward cut brought fiery pain to her slit. She loved Greg dearly but tonight he would tax her to the limit of endurance. Daphene fought hard against the ropes and the frame but moved nothing so as to leave her yet open to invite the lash.
At what might be the half way point, the man relieved the punished girl of the gag which had filled her mouth. Daphene knew not why but was thankful for the reprieve. And when her master inquired, "Is this little whip effective? Or should I throw it away?" she answered instantly, "This is terrible. Can't I be forgiven?"
"You know you're never forgiven," Greg said easily. "To forgive is to spoil the whole thing. Now you know you're going to be punished more. I want your reactions, let's have them."
"I hurt and I can't move. Isn't that enough?"
"Nothing more subtle or erotic? "You told me I can't ever bargain because you already own the things I could bargain with. But I'll do whatever you want to give you all the pleasure any man could ask for if only you'll stop this whipping. It hurts so much." Her voice trailed away into despair.
The gag, still wet from her mouth, slid easily between her teeth to compress her tongue again. The straps were buckled even tighter than before. Looking up at her lover she saw him smiling tenderly and she tried to smile but was defeated by the silencer. Now each time it cut into her crotch, she screamed against the gag but only pitiful whines came out.
Daphene supposed, sardonically, that it was an excellent arrangement with which any master would be most pleased. As the little whip bit hard into the flesh she could not protect, her screams of pain would not offend her master's ears. After the fourth wicked slash of this new session, she wondered how long it would go on.
It lasted far too long, and it was a sad and sorry girl who's wrists and ankles were finally freed. Her master lifted her gently from the frame of suffering. "You did well, sweetheart," he told her in sober conviction. "You really are a treasure."
Daphene was still gagged and could not answer his compliment. His hand cupped her sex and she knew fresh agony as the strong male hand kneaded the sore flesh. It was wonderful to know the punishment was over and that, unless she behaved as stupidly as she had before, there would be no repetition on the following night. The cuffs and anklets which at first had seemed so terrible to her were now her best friends as they robbed her of decision and hope of freedom. Dimly the punished girl wondered why she still spoke of freedom. Freedom had been offered and rejected so why think about it. She supposed it was simply a guilty conscious prompting her to the conventional desirability of escape. Daphene shut it from her mind and tried to say against the gag, "I love you very much, Greg. I love you."
One of the nice things about their relationship was that they knew each other's thoughts. Then, as the gag was removed and tossed aside, Daphene was kissed in a fervor of affection and desire. She was carried to their bed where the collar was locked around her neck and her lover chuckled as he suggested they find out if her sex was still functional. And if a well-whipped puss felt better or worse for the man entering it with his tool. He spread her legs wide and inserted himself within the inverted "V". It would have been easy for Daphene to tell him it hurt terribly but she said no words. And after the first agonizing thrust, she did not care. Theirs was a wonderful life!
Breakfast was with hands chained in front, nothing more. The captive girl deliberately made play with the silver bond to extract from it as many clinks and clicks as the single link might provide. She became adept with knife and fork and dealt with the bacon and eggs which she, herself, had cooked with practice expertise. She was proud of her ability and was grateful Greg was as proud as she.
"Are you going to show me the irons for my ankles?" she asked almost hopefully. "The way you've described them has got me all excited."
The irons, when produced, were as wickedly beautiful as promised. They were heavier than handcuffs and a wider metal band around each ankle, bands delightfully etched by skillful hands to adorn a lady's feet. The chain between was far from heavy but still heavier than anything Daphene had yet worn. It was made of sliver links which produced an ominous clanking sound and clink whenever she moved a foot. The bands fit snugly in a way which told of being made to measure. And when the delighted girl essayed to walk with this restriction of her ankles, she did so cautiously for fear of falling. The number of links by which her steps were now controlled were only five.
When they said their final good-bye before the big front door, Greg's willing prisoner held up joined hands to ask in seeming innocence, "Do I get fresh irons instead of these? Handcuffs seem so plain compared with what you've got on my ankles. Pretty please?"
Greg patted his slavegirl on her bottom and told her not to be a greedy wench in case he showed up one day with an iron maiden.
Alone and stoutly chained, Daphene looked down at ironed ankles as practiced her walking around the house. She was delighted by the music her chains made, knowing that if she admired the silver bands and their links, she would undoubtedly come to orgasm before the day was past. She shuffled to the kitchen to wash the dishes.
Daphene's next task, self-imposed, was to go to the big mirror and display her nudity as best she could to behold the venom of the little whip. She had well believed the night before that being whipped in that place had added enormously to the joy she found in Greg's experienced thrusts. She beheld now the reddened skin and the vivid stripes across her breasts, both of which caused her to shiver deliciously. She wondered quite seriously if she wanted it to happen again. Crossly she told herself she was a stupid girl and ought to know better. But that belief died when she cupped her crotch and the fire in her loins flamed immediately up. It left her breathless and amazed that tortured flesh should find such delight in it's pain.
She spent the day cleaning and polishing as handcuffed girls find surprisingly easy to do. After, that is, she had laid down on her bed and teased her clit and pussy into a very satisfying orgasm. Playing with herself was forbidden by Master's decree but there were times when her feeling was that the cat's away and the mice will play. After that pleasant reaction to her new chains, Daphene walked around the house a bit, then found that cleaning also allowed her to test the limits of her chains.
As she cleaned, she considered that she had been Greg's prisoner for a couple of months and during that time she had gone from a girl who laughed in delight when he first tied her hands behind her back, to a model prisoner who spent all day, every day in chains. Quite a way to come in just a few months!
For a while Daphene though about Dennis. She was attracted to the beautiful, dark -haired French girl in a way she found slightly disturbing. But she also wanted to have that woman stay far away from her house. Well, Master Greg's house, she corrected herself. But she shared it with him and had no plans for also sharing a woman. She decided that she wasn't ready to give in to Greg's obvious desire to have the lovely girl become Daphene's jailer and companion. Although a companion would be nice to have during long days....
The days passed and Daphene was a happy and contented prisoner who was very close to being a true slavegirl to this man she loved. He varied the bondage placed upon her each morning and by which he held her safe. Sometimes the bondage was so severe that she could hardly move, other times only the lightweight handcuffs and beautiful silver leg irons. And some of her evenings were spent in fancy restaurants, wearing clothing that concealed not her beautiful body. Usually her hands were free during those evenings out, but sometimes she wore a pair of handcuffs upon her slender wrists to tell the whole world that she belonged to this man.
There were whippings but only a few. And usually when she misbehaved. And usually with the riding crop upon her bottom. That hurt enough but she always remembered how much more the small whip had hurt while it was punishing her breasts and pussy. She accepted those times of punishment and the wonderful lovemaking that followed with a strange mixture of loathing and passion she could not understand, only enjoy.
It was a wonderful time for both of them. The worst whipping of this carefree period came when she had refused to cooperate with one of Greg's games, spoiling his fun. But she had considered it preferable to be whipped in the privacy of his basement dungeon than to jog down the street wearing only a pair of handcuffs. Perhaps he had known she would refuse to job around the block and it was merely a way to make her feel that the punishment was her fault. Or perhaps he had truly expected her to job down the street with hands cuffed before her and not a stitch of clothing on. It wasn't a crowded neighborhood, after all.
She was taken down to the dungeon, a room of many uses around the walls of which were many instruments of punishment. For the ritual whipping, Greg had chosen a single post, standing starkly on center stage and at a height well above a girl's head. It held a ring to either side. Automatically Daphene lifted guilty hands to allow her lover to snap the wristlets to either side to leave her standing with back and bottom beautifully exposed.
Daphene found herself strangely calm. In the context of the game they played she had undoubtedly sinned, and this fact, coupled with her love for the man who would wield the whip, made a strange comfort in a sort of logic by which her predicament became one which she could accept without demure. In spite of the riding crop and the little whip, she was still very much a novice in receiving corporal punishment. She and Greg had talked of it often but rarely did it happen. And when it did it was usually only a dozen strokes, just enough to ignite the fires within both their loins and assure a joyous coupling of their naked bodies.
Then, as she stood facing the brutal post, with hands fastened above her head, she watched this fresh penalty in avid female curiosity as to how her master would behave and she react.
Greg always extracted the ultimate cringe. He explained carefully and with much concern that the riding crop was not the only whip he would use that day, the little whip reserved for her breasts and pussy would be used. But he did not state which target it would seek that day, and Daphene was left wondering if she could keep her legs close enough together to keep the wicked little thing from finding her most private place. With her hands held up she could not protect her breasts, but perhaps she could shield her pussy. After all, Greg had not bound her in such a way as to expose that area. And, she added to herself, he had bound her facing the post. That partly shielded her breasts although they tended to rest on either side of the wood when she was close to the post.
With much show, he set both the riding crop and the little whip on a chair in plain sight of the naked and bound girl, then stripped off his shirt. Daphene beheld the instruments that would soon be inflicting pain on her soft skin and cringed.
It hurt terribly when he slashed across her bottom with the riding crop and she gasped in agony. Quickly two more cuts followed the first, forming an X across her bottom. Then he settled down to a slower pace, one that allowed her to feel each fiery stroke and savor the burning aftermath across her skin. Perhaps the first three quick strokes had simply been his way of saying that she was to get a serious whipping this time, not the usual painful but hardly serious punishment.
With a logical part of her mind she noted that he was covering the total area of her bottom globes, spacing each stroke and angle for maximum coverage. She bit back cries of anguish but could not hold in the whines and moans such pain evoked in any girl. She guessed it was a dozen strokes when he paused but she had lost count and could not be sure. The pain and burn mixed with erotic excitement of her body in strange yet wonderful ways, and put her into a mild trance in which she was gloriously aware of what was happening to her but didn't really care. With each stroke across her tender skin, she loved the man who held the whip more.
He did not speak but she sensed without looking around that he had put down the riding crop and was picking up the small whip with the short tongs. She braced herself mentally but the first stroke was long, agonizing seconds in coming. When she was about to turn her head over her shoulder to look, fire suddenly burst out in her left breast. Looking down she saw a thin line of red across the top of her breast, and she gasped at the sudden pain. There was still no way she could lower her hands to protect those lovely, firm breasts, and pushing herself into the post only made them squash oddly in the middle and balloon out on the sides. A second stroke across her right breast generated a yelp of alarm which she bit off as quickly as she could. Why she didn't want to scream when the pain so demanded it, she didn't know, but it was somehow important.
Looking up, she saw her hands twisting and tugging at the leather cuffs which held them. Fire again exploded in her left breast, this time on the underside as a wicked upward stroke made the flesh giggled with impact. The very tip of the whip had caught the nipple and Daphene did scream out her anguish with a short, very loud cry. Tears began forming in her eyes as she tried not to cry.
Twice more each breast was slashed with the small whip so that each was crossed with vivid red marks and hurt terribly. Then he returned to the riding crop and again covered the territory of her bottom, from hips to thighs, leaving very little flesh unmarked. After a dozen more strokes, each lovingly placed and spaced out, the came another pause. Daphene sucked in her breather and held it. Would his hands now explore her marked body, signaling an end to the whipping? Or would he pick up the small whip again to mark her breasts further.
"Step back from the post and spread your legs wide," came the order she dreaded. But disobedience never entered her mind as she shuffled her bare feet back and apart until she was leaning against the post with her forehead resting against it. She felt the tip of the small whip tapping lightly at her vagina and tensed her body. Yet no thought of protest or pleading crossed her mind. Such as not part of the game, and she was sure that Greg would ignore outcries from her. Or produce the gag to silence them. She closed her eyes and braced herself for the blow.
But the pain was something she could not brace herself for. It shot up into her body like a lightning bolt, setting her pussy on fire and making her scream with full voice. She quickly jerked her legs together as if squeezing her pussy between her legs would help diminish the pain.
"Oh, my god, Greg! It's terrible! The pain, the pain...."
Greg smiled as he patted her vividly red, black and blue bottom, then told her to spread them again.
"Oh, Greg, no! Please don't make me do that. The pain was terrible."
"It will be worse if I don't count that stroke towards your total. And I will start the count over if you don't spread your legs."
Daphene complied although it took every ounce of courage she had. Greg took measure with the small whip again. The swish as it came up between her legs was followed by a splatting sound and then a scream from the injured woman. Again she clamped her legs together and nearly fell to one side of the post.
Without being told to, she again spread her legs as soon as she could control her body enough to do so. The third stroke was a minute in coming. It came as Daphene was opening her eyes and about to look around to see if he had put the whip down. She actually saw the black leather thong come up between her legs and watched its tip curve around the front of her pussy to impact right on her clit. She screamed and hugged her legs together in violent protest to the terrible pain.
"Only two more to go, dear," came the calm assurance from her master. "Only five total between your legs. Surely that's not too many."
Sucking in her breath, Daphene forced her legs apart and back from the post to position herself yet again for the worst pain she had ever felt in her life. She told herself that five was easy for him to give to her. If he were the one taking five up between his legs ... She dropped the thought as number four impacted. It was perhaps not as painful. But she wasn't sure if that were because he didn't hit as hard or because her pussy was getting numb from the shock and pain. Number five was definitely as bad as number three had been, mostly because the tip of the thong against curled up to strike at her most sensitive part.
When Greg put down the whip, it was a crying and very sore Daphene who stood there hugging the post and clenching her legs together. Unable to restrain his own excitement at the beautiful sight of her multi-colored bottom and trembling muscles, he jerked down his pants, and roughly pulled Daphene's legs apart and back, almost as they had been for the whipping. But instead of a whip crashing into her flesh, his rod, rock hard and rigidly ready, was thrust up between her legs, and deeply into her sheath. She cried out in pain as the abused flesh was invaded by this male organ, but that cry of pain soon turned to moans of pleasure as he expertly and vigorously pumped his rod in her sheath. Quickly she built up to an explosive climax to be followed in a few seconds by Greg's. Tightly he hugged her hips and bottom against his hips as he spent his load inside her and she trembled with pure ecstasy. Long, long minutes later he let go of her and she almost fell against the post.
The pain and pleasure were inseparable in her dazed mind. She came slowly back to the real world to find that she was alone in the dungeon, still bound to the post, and with a very sore pussy and bottom. Her breasts hurt, too, but that was nothing compared to the burning in her sex.
For a long time she pressed herself against the post as the warm afterglow of intercourse faded. Finally she was able to stand but still had two hours to wait before the return of her master.
"Did it hurt much?" came the voice from behind her. "Wonderfully," was her reply. "Burn?"
"All my pussy is on Fire. And sore as hell. But I feel good." She smiled a weak smile at her master. "I wouldn't want to do this every day...."
"Of course not. You don't think I'm a cruel Master, do you?"
"Certainly not." He could not tell if there was any sarcasm in her voice. Finally he went on to the next subject. "If I tell you to go jogging around the block, will you do it?"
"Yes." The reply was weak. "Hmmm ... Well, perhaps one day we'll see about that."
"Yes, Master." Even in the aftermath of pain and sexual ecstasy, Daphene could contrive a sarcastic reply. Or was it? She had a very dreaming look about her face, even this long after the whipping. Maybe she was sincerely telling him that she would be happy to go jogging around the whole town, naked and with wrists joined before her, if he only gave the word.
Later, in the bathroom, Daphene examined her pussy with one leg propped up on the sink. She had expected to see bleeding slashes covering it and was almost disappointed when there was only redness and swelling.
They made love again that night, with Daphene wearing the collar around her neck and resting on her bruised bottom. Her pussy protested with pain as he entered her but that pain merged into the pleasure and soon she could not tell them apart. It was wonderful coupling and she clutched her arms around his back and hugged his hips with her legs as hard as she could.
The next day she managed a soothing bath after Greg left for his office. The handcuffs and leg irons didn't hamper her much, only forcing her to sit on the edge of the tub when getting in and out. She spent a long time in the warm water until it cooled down.
She surprised herself by washing her hair and blow-drying it with cuffed wrists. Hand in front, she told herself, really don't hamper a girl much. After her hair was done nicely in rich waves that framed her lovely face, she turned to examine her bottom in the mirror. It was not cut to pieces, either, but was a wonderful mixture of colors and welts that almost made her gasp. How very strangely she admired those marks that had cost so much pain to gain. And yet she remembered the pain too. It was a never ending source of bewilderment to her that she should so love and hate the same thing.
Their lovemaking that night was intense and wonderful. She felt the pain from bruised bottom as he pounded his hips into hers but it was all a part of the incredible pleasure. She fell asleep in his arms with the chain from her collar training off to the solid metal ring where the heavy padlock assured that she would be in bed when morning came.
Part of her really didn't ever want to repeat that whipping. The pain had been terrible, no matter how much pleasure came with it. But she also knew that she would not protest if her master again sentenced her to such punishment. She would do her best to avoid it but not protest if it happened. Perhaps, she told herself, that's what it really means to be a slavegirl.
It was also some kind of turning point in Daphene's life, in her road to totally slavery. She didn't think of her life with Greg as that, but had she been honest with herself, that would have been a good way to express what was happening to her. She was being trained to be a slavegirl for this master. And she loved it. How very strange that she should love this man more intensely the more he punished her. Daphene shook her head in disbelief. But she was smiling as she did it.
In the days that followed, Greg left his darling bound or chained according to the mood of the moment. Quite often her hands were tied behind her back as though once more to provoke her to free the knots and greet him in the evening with open arms. Daphene never managed this, and since no punishment was forthcoming, had little incentive to chaff her wrists by struggling. She laughed at his vague threats at unnamed punishment that awaited if she didn't manage to free herself some day soon. She found herself-loving those days when her wrists were corded behind her back and became quite happy when he would go off leaving her with bound wrists and shackled ankles.
Any day she wished she could have walked out the front door and sought her freedom on the streets. But the idea never crossed her mind.
Greg sprang the next surprise without much warning. He made his words as casual as he could and watched his lovebird for signs of shock. "Daphene, my sweet, this afternoon I'm throwing a stag party with you as the hostess. So when I leave you will not be bound or chained, and I want you to dress in anything you like and go out to shop for the refreshments, wine and the hard stuff. You know the kind of stuff that people will wish they hadn't eaten the next day. I don't have to tell you where to go and what to do. You've done that with me before. What do you say to that?"
Daphene was not too sure what she thought of it. But the idea of once again wearing one of the lovely dresses in the closet and leaving the house to wander pretty much as she pleased was just too much. She kissed her owner avidly and whispered in his ear that, of course, she would love to do the things he asked.
"I'll bring home a couple of things I want you to wear," Greg told her in a tone she recognized. "You'll be the only girl and you'll entertain the guests. You won't be wearing much but that's something you're used to. Can you handle it?"
"I can handle what you've told me, darling, but are you sure there isn't something else?"
"If there is, you'll find out soon enough," he replied with a smile. "In the meantime don't worry your lovely head about anything else. Guests will start arriving about five o'clock, but I'll be home early to give you a hand."
"You mean we'll be having a party instead of dinner?"
"There'll be substantial food here, you'll make sure of that. And get a few roasted birds for the boys to pick on while they watch you walk."
"Oh, Greg, you're not going to have me chained, are you? Not before all those men!"
"The boys would love you like that but you need your freedom to play the hostess role. Do your duty now, my sweet, and I'll see you later."
Despite some faint misgivings, Daphene was tingling with excitement as she chose the things she was going to wear. By the time she walked out into the fresh air of the street, she was excited enough for anything. And she did her shopping in an air of joyous abandon, realizing that she had failed to heed her own need of change, a holiday, exactly the thing Greg was providing for her. She stopped at a beauty salon to have her hair done over and her nails fixed. She even considered shopping for a new dress, but Greg had said that he would bring something for her to wear. Any new dress would probably stay in the closet for the evening. Still, it was tempting. And his credit card was almost endless.
Everything went as planned and the excitement which kept Daphene quivering did not diminished. It was, in fact, enhanced when Greg showed her his choice for her clothing. There was a bra and a pair of briefs, both entirely wicked and causing the captive girl to exclaim, "But, Greg, that's underwear! I'll look worse than naked. Must I really wear them?"
"You must!" Her clothes already discarded, Daphene first tired on the briefs which were like no briefs she had ever seen before. They were an artful cross between a Gee string and a pair of panties, and fitted her so tightly they revealed far more than they hid. She giggled at her sight in the mirror. "But, Greg, they'll be able to see my pussy! It's even worse than when I'm naked. It's as if the panties highlight my pussy."
"You look lovely in them." Next there was the bra, which was laughable as protection for her breasts. It most definitely a see-through with the added bonus of lifting the large breasts just a little to make them stand out even more than they normally did. And she could feel her nipples rub against the silky material in a way that she would normally have found delightful but now protested against. "Greg, my nipples will stay rigid all night. It will look like I'm sexually excited all the time."
Greg said nothing but grinned that silly, little-boy grin of his.
Looking at herself in the mirror, Daphene sighed, "They're beautiful and gorgeous, but, darling, I'd rather be naked. That would not look so indecent."
"Who said anything about being descent? Dressed like that, you'll be the center of attention. Be sure to stick out your chest at all times for the full effect. Come on, sweetheart, that was the first ring at the door. Answer it."
For Daphene the first guest were a shock like icy water. Their eyes instantly riveted on the small trifles Greg had her wearing. Daphene laughed inwardly at the obvious effort the male required to make his eyes behave and show some faint interest in Greg. Daphene knew full well that Greg was enjoying his friend's discomfort. It seemed a good start to the evening.
The shock effect soon wore off as Daphene moved among the guest, offering drinks and conversation as needed. She could feel the constant stares roving over her body and was secretly proud that men should find her so attractive. As with most any woman, she enjoyed showing off her fine figure to appreciative males. There were contacts between her scantily clad body and the males, some unintentional, some very carefully planned. But she didn't mind the occasionally hand brushing her bottom, or the arm pressed against her breast. It was delightful and harmless play that made her feel proud that she could do it.
She even began to brush her nipples against a male arm here and there, accidentally, of course. It was delightful play.
The assembled males, filled with food and drink, speculated on the status of the nearly naked woman who enlivened their evening. Was she Greg's girlfriend or was she simply a lady of the evening who would make herself available as required. Wilh growing erections, the gentlemen sought answers, answers which Greg refused to give, and which the girl evaded with a humorous quip or, if they were too persistent, simply moving her presence elsewhere.
by the time the levels in the bottles were half way down, Greg further complicated the speculations by drawing his beloved to one side where he quietly handcuffed unresisting wrists. He then returned her to the crowd, more lovely than before. A fresh loveliness most of the boys appreciated immensely. However, the lovely silver bracelets were soon the subject of a dozen conversations and the speculation as to their true meaning ran high. Some thought it was a sure sign that she was, indeed, only a hired prostitute. Others thought that perhaps she was his girlfriend, and this was his way of showing it to all present. A couple smiled knowingly and suspected the truth. Those were the ones who recognized the almost faded marks from her last whipping.
Daphene was well aware of her being the center of attention, even that some of those present looked knowingly at her whip marks. She pushed her breasts out a little further and walked with a little more wiggle in her rear.
Greg was not the man to allow a mood to fade. The excitement engendered by Daphene's handcuffs were increased after Greg had taken his beloved to his bedroom and showed her the new leg irons he had promised. They were so beautiful they evoked gasps of astonishment and pleasure from the nearly naked girl. They were true leg irons, true shackles, a broad silver band for each ankle and a short but stout chain linking them. She would not walk normally but she didn't care. When worn with handcuffs, they made that girl extremely helpless. Even those who had not noticed the handcuffs, or pretended not to, must certainly now take attention of the new restrictions on this beautiful young woman. The swirl of silver chain between her ankles made a sweet music. "Once more into the breech, dear girl," Greg said as he locked diem snugly upon her ankles. "Go and entertain my guests." He carried her down the stairs to save time.
Daphene was now grateful for having spent plenty of time thus hobbled before this day. It made her able to move gracefully among the guests. And since she had a couple of drinks herself, she was very much in the mood for the thrust and parry of male comments, jibs, and outright suggestive talk. When asked why her steps were thus restricted, she gaily replied that it was to insure die safety of her sex since now her feet could not be spread apart.
The guests were in a happy mood, and insisted upon examining Daphene's anklets. That also gave them the chance to be close to her lovely near-nakedness, to brush against her leg or breasts and enjoy the nearness of a restricted and beautiful woman. She was the life of the party. To one guest's question if was she really safe, she spread her legs as wide apart as the links would allow and dared him to fit his body between them. She laughed along with the men as they envisioned themselves trying to accomplish a rape while she was so restrained. Her laughter paused only a second as one man suggested that perhaps she could be bent over and taken from the back side, a maneuver that did not require much separation of her legs, he pointed out. But giggled at the thought and told him he was certainly right but not to try it in front of all the guests.
After all who wished to had examined her shackled, Greg called her aside and quickly changed her handcuffs from front to behind her back. Now she could no longer serve drinks but the men didn't seem to mind. Their male instinct told them that this girl was now much more helpless and that attracted them to her. Daphene was delighted at the additional attention.
Daphene was sipping a drink offered by a gentlemen when she noticed that Greg was whispering in the ear of a man in the corner. A minute later she observed him doing the same with a different man, a man who smiled at whatever was being told him in confidence. Daphene could not be sure but she thought that Greg had whispered in about half the ears present.
Since the hour was growing late, Greg announced that the little party was coming to an end. One by one the guests exited, each saying a sad good-bye to the nearly naked and chained girl who stood by the door to wish them a safe journey home. Within fifteen minutes the leaving guests ceased coming by her and she turned to tell Greg how much she had enjoyed the party. It was then that she realized there was still a group in the front room, a group of perhaps ten men, most of whom she had seen Greg whispering in the ear of.
Greg was coming towards her, smiling sweetly all the time. "Dear," he began, "I'm going to put on a little show for some of the boys. Nothing fancy, just a little rope bondage to go along with the leg irons and handcuffs."
"But most of your guests have gone," she protested. "These boys are those who most enjoyed your little show. I asked them to stay because I thought they would appreciate seeing a little strict rope bondage."
With that he swept Daphene into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the bedroom. Once there he unlocked the handcuffs and bound her arms behind her back with cotton clothesline, first the wrists with palm to palm, then the elbows, both tightly together and cinched extremely tightly down. "Oh, Greg, that's hurting me! Not so tight."
"It looks better, dear," he said. "We wouldn't want our guests to think we practiced loose bondage, would we?" He sat her down on the edge of the bed and bound her legs together, at the ankles, then above and below the knees. All those ropes were wrapped tight and cinched down even tighter. Then he picked her effortlessly up and carried her back downstairs.
Setting her down in the middle of the room and men, he told her, "Put on a nice show, dear. You're on display."
Daphene was not too happy with the tightness of the ropes but she smiled to all those present and tried to turn around in a circle by taking tiny steps with her bound feet. Several times she almost fell down but was rescued by willing hands which lingered longer than necessary on those choice parts of her body she could not protect.
After her full turn to give everyone in the audience a good view, Daphene, fully in the spirit of the evening, asked if they would like to see her hogtied. Greg, she assured them, would be happy to do it, and it really was a most restrictive bondage position for a girl. She became most helpless and unable to move when her ankles were tied up to her hands, folding her legs back against her bottom.
"Good idea," Greg said, coming up behind her. "But first a little addition we'll all like." Suddenly the rubber wad of the gag was filling her mouth, shoved quickly and deeply in place. And it was buckled tightly before she could even protest. Daphene sighed to herself and figured that if Greg was going to put on a bondage show with her, he would be making it a good one and she had no choice but to go alone with the proceedings.
In the center of her circle, Daphene stood, uncertain as to what was expected of her. She could perhaps turn around again, but she wasn't certain if Greg didn't want to add something more first. She looked to him.
"I'm sure you'll all agree that this lovely woman is now completely helpless, totally bound up, gagged, and unable to do anything." There were numerous comments of agreement and delight. Daphene glowed even more at being the center of attention. This was very uncomfortable, but fun, she decided. Perhaps she could tell Greg that he ought to do it more often.
"Therefore," Greg continued, "it's time now for the auction."
CHAPTER FOUR - Sold Slavegirl
Daphene's heart skipped a beat. Auction? Had she heard right? She looked to Greg and saw from that glint in his eyes and the boyish grin on his face that he was serious. She whined a tiny whine of protest.
"This lovely young slavegirl will be auctioned off to the highest bidder," he continued in a fine, loud voice. "She will be taken home by the winner and kept for the entire weekend. This if Friday, she will be brought back on Sunday evening." He looked around at his silent, very attentive audience. "She will be your slavegirl," he continued grandly. "You may use her as you wish ... Anyway you wish...."
His words brought a collective intake of breath from the assembled group. And a gasp of shock from the bound girl. She almost fell forward in surprise.
"That's right, anything you want you can do to this lovely young thing. Keep her bound up all weekend. Screw her until your phallus falls off. Even," his voice lowered to show the importance of the next words, "even whip her ... She will be yours to do with as you please. Now, who will start the bidding?"
Daphene whined through the gag and tried to catch Greg's eyes to tell him that he had gone too far. But then she remembered their conversation weeks before and her promising to go alone with the idea if he promised that he would be the one who bought her. She sighed deeply and relaxed her nervous body. This was just a show for these special guests. She would be bought by Greg and they would spent that promised weekend with her being his private slavegirl.
Hesitant at first, possibly because some were unsure if Greg was serious, possibly because some were trying to calculate how much they should pay for this lovely thing, bidding started. Quickly the men present were licking their lips and offering more thousands of dollars than Daphene believed possible. Surely these men wouldn't really pay that much money for a couple days ownership of a slavegirl. But they seemed serious. Greg seemed serious. The only one not going along with die scene was Daphene who was not sure she liked the turn Greg's little show had taken. True, it was thrilling to be standing nearly naked before so many men, helpless bound up and gagged, and being sold to the highest bidder. And she felt that old heat beginning in her loins, the old heat that came to her whenever she was helpless and being controlled by another person. She was an observer only, she could do nothing to effect the outcome of this little scene. So she watched and wondered who would come second highest to Greg. it was dies that she noticed that Greg was not bidding. He was die auctioneer, taking bids, trying to drive the price up, and glowingly describing the delights of this captive slavegirl. But he was not bidding! Suddenly Daphene felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Greg was really going to sell her!
Just as she was about to cry out as loudly as she could to get his attention and call the whole thing off, Greg reached over and with one savage jerk ripped her bra from her body. The flimsy material tore easily and her lovely, very large breasts were suddenly free and pointing proudly forward. It as the way her elbows were bound behind her back, of course, that made they point straight out so, but the effect was still wonderful.
She could almost feel the male lust filling the room.
Then Greg's hand was upon the waist of her scanty panties. One second it just rested here, the next it was gone and with it the panties. The force of her panties being ripped off almost made her fall but a male hand steadies her from the side until she could again stand by herself.
She tried to call his name but the gag muffled her words into pitiful whines that were more laughable than serious. She shook her head so violently from side to side that she almost fell again. But all male eyes were upon her lovely body and she could almost feel the erections filling the room.
The bidding resumed and reached new heights. She wondered if some of those men were bidding on a house rather than a girl for a weekend, the amounts were so unbelievable. But finally the bidding slowed and soon only two men were still in the running. All others had sad looks on their faces.
When Greg accepted a final bid, Daphene was surprised at how high it was. But by then she had come to accept that Greg was not going to buy her himself. The man who had offered the winning bid was a tall, slightly gray -haired man who she remembered as being named Bill. He was grinning like a little boy on Christmas morning.
With pleading eyes, Daphene tried to get Greg's attention, but he was too busy making arrangements with Bill, no doubt arrangements for payment of that money. And, perhaps, for delivery of one bound up slavegirl.
Finally the party was really over. Greg said good-bye to his guests, all except Bill. Daphene was not standing by the door to bid them a safe journey. Instead she was standing in the middle of the room, still naked, still bound, still gagged, and still very disappointed at Greg. And more than a little afraid. After all, what girl wouldn't be scared by the prospect of being taken off as a naked and bound up package by a stranger for a weekend of who knew what?
Then there was Greg and Bill and Daphene, all standing around looking at each other without saying a word.
"You want to bring your car into the garage?" Greg asked of Bill. "I'll help you load her in your car. Bill nodded and was escorted to the front door by Greg.
A few seconds later Greg was back, but only to pick Daphene up like a sack of potatoes and carry her to the door that led to the garage. He pressed the button that would open the huge garage door, and waited until he heard Bill's car pull in and stop. Then he pushed the button again to close the door. He carried her into the garage and sat her down beside a long, dark blue Lincoln Town Car.
"Back seat or trunk?" he asked in a cheerful tone. Bill frowned for a moment and then unlocked his trunk. "Less likely to be seen," he explained.
As the two of them lifted the naked girl to place her in the trunk, she began wiggling and shaking her body. "Doesn't want to go along," commented Bill.
"Just part of the show. She is suppose to act like all this is against her will. But you remember how much fun she was having back inside when she was walking around wearing not much and all chained up. She loves this. Believe me."
Bill smiled. Male strength prevailed and Daphene found herself laying on her side in the trunk with the rough carpeting scratching her skin. Greg produced a short length of rope from his pocket. "Little something extra to keep her under control," he said as he tied one end to the ropes around her ankles. Then he passed the other end up to those ropes linking her elbows and around them. When he pulled Daphene's legs doubled up until her feet were somewhere around the level of her bottom and her body was arched in a tight hogtie. He tied the ropes back at her ankles and jerked the knots tight.
"Nice little package," he said with pride. "And she won't be giving you any trouble. Remember, keep her in constant bondage, at least handcuffs and leg irons. You do have handcuffs, don't you?"
Bill nodded. "Good. You can use a pair of handcuffs as leg irons, her ankles are slender enough. But keep her under control at all times. Never give her a single chance to escape. Right?"
"Of course," agreed Bill with a smile. Daphene's heart sank as she realized the this Bill was undoubted expert at keeping a girl tied or chained up. Why else would he admit to having handcuffs? And why would he promise to keep her constantly restricted unless he thought he could do it? She wondered darkly how much else this man was an expert at. She would have spit at Greg for doing this to her had not her mouth been filled with horrible tasting gag.
"I guess that's it. See you Sunday evening." Greg turned to the trussed up girl in the trunk. "Have fun, Daphene, sweet." He patted her on the flank and closed the lid with a slam. After a minute Daphene felt the car backing out of the garage. In the darkness she was crying, both from the pain of the tight ropes, and from anger and frustration. She cursed Greg for being ... Well, for begin Greg. She loved him but sometimes he went a ltttle too far.
On the long trip, Daphene had time to let the tears flow until they stopped of their own accord. Then she had time to consider this escalation of their little games. It was one thing to be shown off before all those men. A harmless little game and exciting, both for her and Greg, and certainly for those men. And she didn't mind when the display of her lovely body turned to tight ropes. She liked being tightly bound up. And she liked the way men reacted to her nudity all bound up and helpless. It gave her a strange sense of power to know that she could evoke such strong emotions from men.
But this was something different. He had actually given her to another man. And that man was given carte blanche to use her body as he wished, even to whip her. Daphene did not want to have a strange man performing sexual intercourse on her. It was nothing short of rape, and she hated the thought of it. And she began to wonder if Greg loved her as much as she loved him. If he did, he would never have allowed this terrible thing to happen to her.
Bill's house began, for the naked and tightly bound Daphene, with a huge garage housing several expensive automobiles.
Blinking at the overhead light as she was lifted out of the trunk, Daphene could two expensive looking Italian sports cars next to the town car she was being extracted from, a black Rolls Royce on the other side, a large Mercedes in the corner. Unsteadily she tried to hold her balance after he had set her upon her feet but nearly fell before he came back. Behind him she could see an open door he had apparently just unlocked. He picked her up over his shoulder like a sack and carried her through that door, down a short corridor, and through second door into another world.
Daphene realized where she was as soon as the lights came on. It was a dungeon. There was no mistaking a room so functional and devoted to maiden suffering. There was a pillory to the left, a padded table with metal ring set in the sides in the center, a rack on the right, and a tiny iron barred cage suspended from the ceiling. There were also numerous ropes, chains, handcuffs, and assorted shackles hanging from hooks in the walls, as well as a large selection of hooks and rings all over the room. It was a bondage lovers delight
"You like it," asked Bill after setting Daphene on her feet but where she could lean against the padded table for support. "I had this room made especially for those occasions when I feel like mistreating a girl. All the devices are functional." He paused to gage Daphene's reactions but was defeated by the leather covering her lower face. It was hard to tell what the naked girl was thinking from just her eyes. Beyond being in pain, that was.
"The house is set on a hillside and this room was dug out of the earth under the main house. Right over our heads is the dinning room. Well, about six feet of good insulation and concrete above our heads. Believe me, nothing going on down here will ever be heard above." He closed the door. Daphene looked around and noted that there wasn't any windows. A slight sound told her that there were fans working to provide fresh air to this underground room.
"Let me take that gag from your mouth, it looks very uncomfortable. And you're now in a room where you may scream all you want to no avail."
Daphene was most happy to be rid of the rubber wad and that tight leather bindings that held it in. For a minute she moved her aching jaw around to get it working again before launching into her pleadings.
"Oh, please, Bill, let me go! That whole auction was just a farce, a game Greg dreamed up to impress his friends."
"I'm impressed."
"I was not suppose to be sold." she continued as if she hadn't heard him. "Greg was suppose to buy me"
"I bought you," Bill said calmly. "But that's not right. It was only a little game."
"Life is only a game, my dear. And we must play our parts like actors on a stage. Your part is that of a slavegirl who has just been sold to a new master."
Daphene gritted her teeth and held in a cry of frustration. "Don't you men know that you're not suppose to own women? Not in this day and age. It isn't legal."
"Greg seemed to own you," he quietly retorted. "He kept you chained up and bound you with ropes just to show you off to friends. He even sold you. I'd say that sounds like he owned you."
"He ... Well, I sort of ... Well, it isn't like that. He didn't own me. Well, he did, sort of ... Oh, shit!" She bit her lip in frustration. This was starting out like one of her arguments with Greg. One of those she couldn't win and never did. "Well, we had an agreement. But he shouldn't have sold me. If you'll just untie me and let me go back home, we'll forget about the whole thing."
"I have just paid a great deal of money for you, Miss Daphene."
"Greg will refund it. Or not cash the check, or whatever. You'll get your money back."
"I don't want my money back. I want you." He said it so calmly and assured that Daphene was stopped in her tracks. Instinct told her that this man would have to have something from this whole affair. Daphene just hoped that it would to sexual intercourse performed on her unwilling body. Ordering him would get her nowhere. If he were like Greg, it would only get her punished. Perhaps she could try another tack.
"Okay, you've got me. It's obvious I'm helpless." She accented her words with a shake of her torso with all those ropes cutting deeply into her flesh. "You've seen me all naked and tied up and even handled me. Is that enough? I mean, would you be satisfied with just keeping me a prisoner, all nicely bound up, for a day, and then returning me to Greg?"
Bill smiled in an understanding way. "I will keep you bound up, that is for sure. I enjoy having beautiful young women totally bound up and helpless." He paused expectantly.
"And, if you really wanted to maybe you could give my bottom a little ... A little spanking?" She was hoping she was hitting the right note.
"A whipping, perhaps?" he replied. "A small whipping," Daphene came back with. "A mild whipping with a leather belt. That would hurt me a lot and you could enjoy watching me dance around each time you hit me."
"And...?" Daphene bit her lip again. What could she offer him to get his mind off raping her? "I'll be suffering a lot," she continued. "From your ropes and being confined in this ... This dungeon. I'll be one sorry little slavegirl."
"And...?" You could put a leash on me and make me crawl around on all fours and bark like a dog?"
"Not interested. What else?"
"I'll kneel before you and call you 'Master.'" Daphene was trying to think of those things that Greg liked. The trouble was Greg liked making her suffer and screwing her, usually in that order. "I'll be ever so humble and obedient."
"I know you will. But you don't have to call me 'Master', I've never been into that type of games."
"Well, I could ... That is, I would be ... Well, what do you want of me?"
"You are a very beautiful woman, Daphene. Your body is the best that I've ever seen in over forty years of looking. And with my money to help, I've seen many, many naked women. Quite a few have graced my little dungeon here. You have a perfect body."
Daphene did not answer. Where this conversation was going was obvious but she was not going to be the first to say it out loud. And she certainly did not want it. Sex with Greg was one thing. Sex with Greg while bound tightly was one thing. Sex with Greg while extremely sore from a whipping, and tightly bound up was one thing. But being raped by a stranger was quite another. Daphene felt a little thrill at the thought of being so helpless that she could not prevent that act, but she really didn't want it to happen.
After a minute of silence, Bill went on. "I bought you with the understanding that I could do anything to you and your body. And male lusts being what they are ... You surely won't mind if I were to satisfy my desire for that perfect body by the natural, normal and very enjoyable act of sex?"
"I do mind. I don't want it."
"You'll be quite tightly tied down when it happens," he offered, as if that were a compromise she would be glad to accept.
"I don't want it." Bill sighed, then took a different approach. "What slavegirls want is of little importance. What their owners want is everything."
Daphene swallowed hard. That was that, she guessed. There seemed no way she could talk this man out of raping her helpless body.
Bill was removing his tie. "It's getting late, my dear. Perhaps we should be getting on with the main attraction."
"What will your wife think of this?" A shot in the dark.
"First off she won't know, she's in the south of France spending my money as if it were endless. Second, she is probably right now laying ked beside some French gigolo who is twenty years her junior after having made him pour honey all over her body and lick every bit off, her favorite perversion. Tomorrow morning she'll probably make him lick orange marmalade off. She likes that almost as much as honey. You see, dear, we all have our little perversions. My wife and I have an agreement to let each other play those games we like. Works out well for us. See?"
Daphene saw. No help from his spouse. "Well, can't you simply be a gentleman and not rape me?" It was last ditch time.
"I intend to be a gentleman. I'll thank you politely afterwards. But until then I intend to be all man and, as they say in all those old Victorian novels, 'have my way with you'. And now we've talked enough."
"But...." Daphene started to protest, to stall, anything but face her fate.
"Silence." The command was not given harshly but Daphene knew this man was serious. For a second Bill looked at her lovely face, still red marked where the gag straps had pressed into it. Then he reached for the discarded gag. "Probably be better if you have nothing to say about this."
Daphene tried to pull away from the gag even if it meant she would fall but his hand caught the back of her head and held her firm. The hated rubber wad again invaded her mouth, forcing her tongue down and stifling her cries. The naked girl shook all over with anger and frustration. She was so powerless in the hands of this man, so completely under his control that she could do nothing.
He sat her on the edge of the padded table and untied her legs, slowly pulling the indented cords from her flesh as if enjoying the way her skin seemed reluctant to give up the cords. Daphene considered, for a brief moment, kicking him someplace where it would hurt and making a dash for freedom. But with her arms still bound tightly behind her back she would have trouble even opening the door. And what could she do, naked and bound and gagged, even if she did get past that first door? He would catch her, that was for sure. And then she might face a punishment worse than what was coming. Although she was not sure what would be worse than this.
So Daphene did not kick. She meekly spread her legs as he pushed her back to the table top and held still as he bound her on her back to the leather padded table. Those rings around the edge of the table were very handy for tying a girl down. In a minute he had ropes from the sides going up and over her body, pushing it down and preventing her from even turning over. One ankle was grabbed and pulled far to the side where it was tied to a ring on the side. The other was quickly secured to the other side of the table. Daphene was tied down, there could be no doubt of that. She was laying on her bound arms, unable to roll over, unable to close her spread legs. Bill was standing directly between those legs, enjoying the clear view of her most private place in all its details.
"Very nice," he commented but seemed more interested on removing his clothing than talking. Soon he was naked and climbing up onto the table, erect penis pointing straight at Daphene's love tunnel like a homing missile. She closed her eyes and wished she were someplace else.
From the first thrust Daphene's body betrayed her. The love tunnel was already wet with secretions, telling both of them that she had been turned on by the tight bound and prospect of rape. And, though she tried to suppress the growing lust in her loins, she could not and was soon panting through her nose and thrusting back at his hips with her own. The ropes and his weight on her combined to make movement by the bound girl nearly impossible but try her muscles and body did. In less than two minutes both people hit very intense orgasms. In five minutes Bill had climbed down and his part was over. He had a very satisfied look on his face, Daphene did not feel satisfied. The orgasm had been intense, not the best she had ever felt but not the worse either. But this was pleasure from a man she did not love. There was something distasteful and dirty about it.
After cleaning himself and dressing, Bill untied his latest conquest from the table, freeing her arms from their deeply indented cords, and removing the gag. Unprotesting, she allowed her wrists to be crossed and bound behind her back, a position she was very used to from the many long days she had spent in Greg's house alone. Again he sat her on the edge of the table, this time to cross her ankles and bind her legs so that she couldn't bring her legs together. She did not care. When he opened the door to the tiny cage, she didn't say a word. He placed the bound girl inside a cage that was only about three feet by three feet and perhaps two feet high. The door was locked shut with a large padlock and Daphene knew herself doubly a prisoner. The cage was hoisted up near the ceiling and left to gently sway there.
Bill left without a word. On the way out he turned off the lights, leaving Daphene in total darkness. For a little while she listened to the sighing of the fans that brought fresh air into her prison. Then she cried herself to sleep as she lay on her side with legs drawn up in that tiny cage.
The electric light dawn was sudden and brought Daphene back to an awareness that she was not in Greg's soft bed. Her body was stiff and ached from the awkward position enforced by the small cage. When Bill opened the door, she could hardly move and had to be picked up and taken out. He untied her legs, inspected her wrists, and, apparently satisfied, offered her breakfast. He placed the plate with the good smelling bacon and eggs on the table, along with a saucer of hot coffee. Then he made her kneel beside them and eat and drink by bending over to bring her mouth to the food. It was humiliating and degrading to be forced to eat like a dog, but Daphene was hungry. Better to be humiliated than go hungry, she told herself.
"Did you sleep well?" Daphene glared at smiling man. "You know I didn't.
That cage is terrible. A girl can't get comfortable in it. And with my wrists and ankles tied, I couldn't find a way that didn't hurt something."
"That's what it is suppose to do. It's a punishment cage."
"Go to hell with your punishment cage," she retorted without heat.
"My, my, got up on the wrong side of the bed, did we?" Bill chuckled at his little joke. "Could have been worse. I could have left you bound to the table. Dare say your arms would be in pretty bad shape if you laid on them all night. Don't you agree?"
Daphene said nothing. She agreed, things could have been worse than the cage but she wasn't going to sat that out loud.
When breakfast was finished, she tried again for her freedom. "Now that you've raped me," she said without trying to sound angry, "are you going to take me back to Greg?"
"I bought you for the entire weekend. This is only Saturday morning. Wouldn't get my money's worth if I took you back now, would I?"
"I guess not." Daphene had not really expected freedom this quick. Any man who would have sex with a woman against her will would certainly not release her just because she asked for it. "So, what's the plan for today. Greg leaves me naked and tied up around the house while he goes to his office. Usually with my hands crossed and tied like you have me," she said hopefully. "But sometimes I'm just handcuffed and leg-ironed. You have handcuffs and leg irons?" She hoped to channel his interests into something more comfortable.
"I do. But I'm not going to use them on you right now. I think a visit to the little slavegirl's room first, and then I think I'll do as you say. Leave you tied up for the rest of the morning."
Daphene's spirit rose a little. It might not be so hard after all, if his man simply left her tied up as Greg had done almost every day.
But she was not to be tied the way Greg usually left her. After a wonderful few minutes in a bath and cleaning herself up, Daphene was again taken to the bondage table. Wrists bound behind the back and nothing else was too simple for Bill. He left her wrists crossed behind her but put her on her back on the table. Then he bound her ankles together with the ankles crossed, the same as had been done the night before. Having her wrists crossed behind her back was a lot more comfortable than laying on arms with elbows tied together. Her elbows spread wide to allow her to rest mostly on back, not arms. Bill looped a rope around her upper arm just above the elbow and tied that to the side of the table. The same thing on the other side meant that Daphene would not be rolling over or getting up. But that was still too simple a bondage for this man. He took her legs and bend them up and over Daphene's body until her feet were only a few inches from her face. He tied rope from her ankles to the sides of the table and to rings at the end so that her legs were held in that position. Then he tied ropes from the sides up and over her legs, pulling them tight so that her legs were squashed against her chest. Then he went back and tightened down those ropes on her ankles. Daphene found herself in a bondage position she had never before experienced -flat on her back, arms under her, legs together and tightly pressed down against her chest. She could not move, and escape was impossible.
Bill stepped back and examined his creation with pride. "That will keep you in one place for a while," he understated. "You'll be okay for half an hour or so but then it will get more and more uncomfortable. By the time I come back at noon, you'll be begging me to free you. Do you doubt that?"
"I don't doubt that. It's uncomfortable now. Why do you have to leave me like this?"
"Because I like it. While you're laying there, enjoying the tight ropes and discomfort, think about this: your bottom is raised and sticking out nicely. Even your little slit is available for anything I might want to do to it." He illustrated his remarks by teasing her pussy with a finger. "Or put in it."
"Oh, please, not that again. I don't want to be raped."
"Now we've been over that already. You would be delighted if it were Greg who tied you down like I did last night and then screwed you. You know you would have loved it. And you did get satisfaction last night, I know you did."
Daphene was silent. She had reached orgasm but she hadn't gotten the satisfaction out of the sexual act that she should have.
"Well, got to go. I'll be back at noon. Probably shouldn't tell you when I'm coming back but you've no way to tell time down here and the hours will stretch out horribly even if you know when I'm coming back."
Bill patted her fanny none too gently and departed. Again he turned of the lights as he closed the door, leaving Daphene in total darkness. She called out but he was gone and she was again alone in tight restrictions that hurt her body.
At first Daphene fought the ropes, trying with all her strength to work some loops off her, to find a knot she could loosen, or to even break one of those strands holding her body down. But all her efforts were useless, just as she knew they would be. Daphene had been tied up too many times to not know good bondage when she was in it. All the ropes were tight, cinched down, and knotted firmly far from her fingers or teeth. This man knew what he was doing.
After her futile escape efforts, Daphene settled down for a long wait in the darkness and for a long time she thought about the things Greg had done to her. Those terrible, yet wonderful lovemaking sessions after his whip had kissed her bottom. And the long days spent with wrists bound behind her back or handcuffed, each day spent in anxious anticipation of his return and the lovemaking that was sure to follow. Somehow her being naked and bound up all day long keep both of them in a high state of sexual arousal. And she loved it.
But her thoughts keep returning to the prior night and the way Greg had deliberately sold her to the highest bidder, like she was nothing more than a plaything. She was no better than his sports car, which he might casually hand the keys of to a friend and tell him to take her for a spin. That's what had happened. Greg didn't really need the money, the auction was just a way to make sure she would be taken by a man who understood diese things and really wanted her. And who could keep her totally restrained and helpless all weekend until it was time to returned the body to Greg. She wondered how Greg had felt last night, alone in his bed, knowing that she was in another man's house being screwed by him. Being fucked, to use the crude word most men used. Did that give Greg a sense of excitement? She hoped he had felt remorse and was sorry that he had every brought up the idea of selling her. But she didn't think Greg would be sorry. He enjoyed tiiese games too much, even if Daphene didn't.
But her thoughts also keep returning to the way she was bound. The tight ropes and uncomfortable position saw to it that she could not forget that she was naked and tied. What a strange way to be tied, she told herself. Greg had never done anything like this. It was uncomfortable and yet ... There was something deliciously different about the helpless feeling it created in her. Her body constantly wanted to unfold, to get her legs back under her where they belonged. And she had to admit to herself that being tied this way made her feel wonderfully helpless. If Greg had tied her and she knew he was going to screw her when he came back, she could really give in to the helpless feeling and get all horny and excited. The way she usually did when he left her tightly bound for any length of time. But this time it was not Greg who was coming back to her, it was a stranger who had already once impaled her sex with his unwanted weapon. And having done it once, there would be nothing to stop him from doing it again.
Daphene sighed and felt just how exposed her bottom and sex were. With her legs bent back over her, her rear was indeed pushed up and sticking right out. For a while Daphene was torn between a strange desire to feel what it would be like to be screwed while tied like this and distaste at the idea of the male doing the screwing not being Greg. Even more than the fact that it was not Greg, was the fact that Greg had wanted this to happen. Daphene grimaced in the dark. That was what hurt her the most. It had been her love Greg who had wanted just this to happen, for her to be raped by a man totally against her will. And who had set the wheels in motion to assure that this would happen. She wondered if Greg was enjoying himself.
After what she was sure had to be six or seven hours, Daphene began moaning. The bend over position was taking its toll on the nude girl and muscles were aching in many parts of her body. A muscle in the back of her leg was trembling from the strain, and hips hurt.
After what seemed to be at least eight hours, Daphene was crying softly in the dark, with many muscles aching. Her fingers clawed at the leather padding under her but it was a useless gesture.
Daphene was sure that it must be sometime late at night and that she had been bound there for over ten hours. Something happened to Bill, she told herself, and he's never coming back. Perhaps a car accident, or a heart attack. Either way, he's dead or laying unconscious in a hospital somewhere and she's going to remain in this horrible bondage forever. She was sure that he hadn't told anyone else about this naked prisoner in his underground dungeon. For a few seconds hope flared as she remembered that Greg knew where she was. But then it died as she realized that he probably didn't know where this dungeon was. Even if he visited Bill's house, he would find only an empty house or a few servants, but no one and nothing to tell him where his lover lay enduring a terrible ordeal. And where she was going to eventually die, still a prisoner to the tight ropes and padded table. Daphene tried to remember how long a person could stay alive without food or water. The water was the problem, she remembered. A person could last many, many days without food. But only three days without water. She would get thirstier and thirstier, and weaker and weaker, until one day she would escape her bonds for that great unknown beyond this world. Perhaps some day a new buyer of this house would tear down the door to find out what was behind it, only to discover this hidden torture chamber with its dried up body that had once been a beautiful woman.
Suddenly the light came on and Bill was standing there.
"Water," croaked Daphene. Bill laughed. "Girls sometimes let their imaginations run away with them," he commented in an amused tone. "I've had girls who were left down here and thought that they had been alone for days. It's only been four hours. How long did you think it was?"
"About three hours," lied Daphene. "Right. Hurting?"
"All over."
"Good. A punished girl should be hurting."
"Why am I being punished?" she asked reasonably. "Because you're a girl." Daphene had no answer for that one.
She was a girl.
And it seemed like she was being punished all the time during the last six months. Perhaps he was right.
"Please untie me."
"Not until I'm finished with you."
"Are you going to rape me again?"
"Such a harsh word. I prefer to think of it as making love to you."
"It's rape."
"Lovemaking."
"Rape."
"Didn't you like it last night?"
"Rape and ravishment."
"I liked it."
"And torture." Bill sighed as a man faced with massive illogic. "Okay, I'm going to rape you."
Daphene wasn't sure she had won anything even though he had given in to her definition.
"But only after I whip you." Daphene's heart skipped a beat. "Oh, please, isn't rape enough? You don't have to whip me. Believe me, I'm in enough pain, I don't need any more. Look, I'll moan for you. I really hurt."
"I know you do. But that upturned bottom just cries out for the crop."
"Oh, no! Please, not the crop. That thing will hit my.. My pussy. It will hurt terribly."
"Well, I'll admit your pussy is certainly in the target area. And it might get hit. Sort of like an innocent bystander getting caught in the cross fire, eh?"
"Please don't." Her plea carried no conviction. She knew what was going to happen and that she couldn't prevent it.
Bill selected a riding crop from the wall collection and showed it to Daphene. "Too black. You can't possibly use that on me."
"Too black? Well, let's see...." He selected a very wicked looking cat-o-nine-tails in a dark brown shade and showed it to her.
"Maybe basic black isn't so bad. Could I see the riding crop again?" A perverse part of her mind made her joke at a time when fear was making her tense. Or perhaps it was simply her way of coping with that fear.
"No. This is a very good instrument for covering a large area such as we have presented here." He swished it through the air a couple of times. "Very nice. This will wake up your ass."
"It's awake!" Her jest was cut short by a swish and fire exploding in her bottom. "Ouch!"
"Effective, isn't it?" He walked around the table and slashed her bottom from the other side. Daphene gasped and gritted her teeth.
For the next few minutes Bill alternated sides to give Daphene's bottom full coverage. She swore she could feel each of the nine little thongs striking her taunt flesh. This position was very good for the whipping of a girl's bottom. Not only was the target well presented, it was stretched taunt to make each impact feel twice as bad. Sometimes one of the tongs did find its way to her pussy, and those hurt worst of all. It was much like the small whip Greg had used on her pussy and breasts.
The naked girl was crying when Bill finally laid down the whip and discarded his clothing to enable him to invade this girl's private flesh. He did it as soon as he climbed on the table, driving his shaft very deep with the first thrust. With each new thrust he drove his hips against her tortured flesh so that it screamed pain to Daphene's brain. But the invaded cunt screamed its own message and that message was one of built up passion that had been smoldering all morning within the loins of a girl cruelly bound to a table.
Again it was only a couple of minutes before both man and woman exploded into orgasm, the woman beating the man by maybe five seconds this time. They both shuddered as he clung to her body, using the ropes over her legs as handles to drive himself as deeply into her as he possible could when the fitting climax finally came.
Daphene came down from cloud nine to find that she was still bound with legs bent over her. The muscles still ached although she hardly noticed them in the warm afterglow of sex. Bill was just finishing getting dressed.
"Untie me now?" she asked meekly. "Later. Have a nice afternoon." He was leaving as she hurled curses at him. It was all the naked woman could do. She wished she could have racked her fingernails across his face. He had promised to untie her at noon. Now he's had his noon fuck and she's left with a long afternoon in darkness and pain. She cried.
It was a very stiff and sore girl who was untied from the table. The time was just before dinner but to Daphene it was an eternity since she had first been bound to that table. She hobbled on unsteady legs to the bathroom and tried to repeat the damage to aching muscles with a warm bath. Bill allowed her that, perhaps to make up a little for the harsh treatment of the day.
When she was clean and feeling better, he bound her wrists behind her back again, but this time using a pair of black colored handcuffs. They were light in weight and certainly different from the silvery ones she was used to Greg putting on her wrists. But she was glad to get the ropes off her and did not protest, even when he locked a second pair on her ankles to function as leg irons. And they did. When she tried to stand, she found that the tight handcuffs cut into the tendons at the back of her foot, almost making it too painful to stand. And the handcuffs single link was so short that she had to shuffle instead of taking real steps.
But it was better than being tied with your legs bent back over your body.
Dinner was served in the dungeon and Daphene ale eagerly, having had only a screwing for lunch. The food was excellent and for the meal her captor had switched her hands from back to front so she could feed herself. After the meal, Bill seemed content to just sit there. Not wanting to rush him into yet another uncomfortable position, Daphene tried to keep a conversation going.
"Have you had many girls down in this dungeon?"
"A few. I have three girls I often invite over. Well, actually they're prostitutes who specialize in this type of treatment. They get paid well for a night in my little dungeon. Very well. Of course they earn it."
"Of course."
"And there's been a couple of girls who weren't paid.
They were young things looking for a rich man they could marry and eventually take away all his money. But they found, after considerable time spent in my dungeon, that my wife and I are very happy with our arrangement and I have no wish to divorce her and marry some sexy young thing. Eventually they flee to safer and gentler waters where the fishing for a rich man is easier."
"Did any of those girl actually like being treated like this?" Daphene was thinking of how she actually like being treated this way. All except being raped, of course.
"One or two did like it. But some just put up with it. I was well aware of that. Isn't hard to read the mind of a gold-digger. When I sensed a girl was getting near the point where she would run to seek other men, I would give her a full week in the dungeon. An intensified course in bondage and pain, as it were. Then I'd give them a considerable sum of money and send them on their way.
"Actually," he confided, "it's easier with prostitutes. Much easier for everyone to know what their job is."
"Haven't you ever found a girl who likes this?" Daphene persisted.
"No. Oh, I know there are some. I suspect you are one. And I've seen girls who enjoy the ropes and even the whips. But never ran across one for me. But I'm content to pay for the services of a professional."
Daphene thought that perhaps Greg was a very lucky man after all. "Are there many people who like treating a girl like this?" she asked.
"I suspect all men would like to if they had the balls to. And there is a group of woman who would treat you the same or rougher. But very few men ever get the chance to let go their desires and really do what they want. I mean what they really want, deep inside. Any man who tells you he wouldn't like to tie a girl up and whip her bottom is lying."
Daphene was getting interested. She had vaguely suspected that other men enjoyed doing to girls what Greg did to her but had never really thought much about it. She had been too busy having fun with Greg. "Have you actually seen other girls who like this? Couples who play like this?"
For a few second Bill just looked at her and she was certain he wouldn't reply. But he did. "There are couples. There are single girls. And there are lots of men who wish they had a girl to play with." He paused for a moment before adding, "And there's the Club.
"The club?"
"People with a lot of money can buy and sell playthings that are different from what the average people do."
Daphene had trouble getting out the next words. "Like slavegirls?"
"Yes. For a price a man can buy anything. Even a young girls that he can keep as a slave. I thought about doing it but I like variety too much. And this dungeon is hardly the place to keep a slavegirl full time. No sunlight, too small. She would go crazy."
"A place where slavegirls are sold?"
"You find that hard to believe? I did at first but I've seen it done. I've seen auctions much like the one Greg set up to sell you. Only there was a big stage and more than one girl. And the men were all hidden in shadows or by agents. And," he emphasized, "the girls were being sold into a lifetime of slavery, not for a weekend."
"But girls actually being sold?"
"Little hard for you to grasp, isn't it? Believe me, it happens. Right here in the good old USA. Of course, in other countries slavery, at least for females, has been a way of life and always will be."
Daphene shook her head. "But aren't there people who do this because they like it? I mean, Greg and I were ... Well, we were playing games where I got tied up or chained all day for months. It was almost like being a slavegirl and I liked it. Until he gave me to another man to be ... Fucked is the word you men like, isn't it?"
"Some men. I don't. And he didn't give you away. I paid good money." .
"The money doesn't change things. He could have given me away and it is still something I can't stand."
"Rape, I believe you called it? Well, dear, into each life a little shit must fall. And talking about some shit happening, are you ready?"
"Ready for what? As if I didn't know."
"Your evening torture and rape." He smiled. "You had a rough day, I'll go easy on you tonight."
"You could go easy on me by taking me home."
"Hush now. Mustn't get your new master all upset. He might do something you'll regret."
"Going easy on her" meant that Daphene was simply tied spread eagle on the very useful bondage table, arms and legs spread wide apart, and then tickled with a feather for a very, very long half hour. By the end of that time, Daphene was in tears from so much laughing and Bill wasn't in much better shape. But he managed to shed his clothes and crawl on top of her to ride her to her third orgasm in twenty-four hours. Not that three in a day was much for her. She and Greg were young and healthy, and more than a little oversexed, and had often reached four couplings in a day.
Before leaving her for the night, Bill changed her bondage. This time her hands were crossed and bound behind her back but her legs were left alone. The tiny cage was lowered to the floor and the naked woman was helped through the door. As he was locking the door, Daphene asked innocently, "How do people who want to play these games get together? I mean, besides those who simply buy a slavegirl?"
Bill smiled. "Try Dragon's Lair," he said. "If you can find it." Then the cage door was solidly locked and she was hoisted up to her position near the ceiling. Finding a comfortable position was a little easier than the night before, but not much.
And the hard floor and bars of the cage were not the things Daphene would have liked to have to sleep on.
But she quickly fell asleep after the lights went out and her cage slowed down to stay still. It had been a hard day and she was quickly in a soundless sleep.
CHAPTER FIVE - Girl Bound in a Chair
The light woke her suddenly. Daphene tried to sit up but banged her head against a metal ceiling only a foot above her. Then she remembered where she was. She was in a tiny cage suspended near the ceiling of a dungeon belonging to a man who had bought her. And she was still naked and her hands were still crossed behind her back and tied tightly. Nothing much had changed.
"Hello, pretty," came Bill's cheery voice. The cage lowered at the touch of his finger on a button. "Got breakfast for you. Did you sleep soundly?"
"Surprisingly, yes," Daphene replied, wondering why she didn't snap at him. Or repeat her plea for release. Her body was sore and stiff from sleeping all night in a cage too small to stretch out in. And sleeping with your hands tied behind your back takes talent. But the coffee smelled so very good, as did the flapjacks and bacon. She allowed herself to be assisted from the cage, standing on unsteady legs. "What's on the agenda today," she asked sarcastically as soon as she could stand by herself. "More torture followed by another rape?"
"You just can't get this rape business out of your mind, can you?"
"Isn't that what it is? Rape?"
"Technically, yes. But you were sold to me. Don't I get something for all that money I paid?"
Daphene was silent. There was a kind of logic to Bill's statement. He had paid a great deal of money to rent her for the weekend. And Greg had promised that her body was his to use as he wished. That included doing the most natural thing between a man and a woman.
"I still don't like it," she said grumpily. "Well, have some breakfast and you'll feel better.
And remember, you're going home today."
Daphene brightened up. Bill untied her hands and let her flew to the adjoining bathroom with only her hands cuffed before her. She quickly fixed herself up and washed for breakfast. When she returned, she set to the food without another word. Bill watched amused as she easily handled the knife and fork with handcuffed wrists. "You have had a lot of practice, I can tell," he commented. "One would hardly notice that you are restrained."
Daphene grunted acknowledgment and continued on to the cinnamon roll. When she finished, she wiped her face, sat back gratefully, and looked her captor squarely in the eye. "What now?" she asked as if daring him to come up with something that would shock her.
"Nothing much. I'll just leave you for the morning in a little bondage, then we'll see about a little noon intercourse." Daphene sniffed but didn't interject the word "rape" to correct his word for that act. "And perhaps a little more bondage during the afternoon. Or maybe I'll whip you a bit. Your bottom wasn't really harmed from that cat-o-nine-tails yesterday."
Daphene, who was sitting on that "unharmed" bottom disagreed. It was still sore and more than a little tender to sit on.
"Well, go ahead. Do your worst and let's get it over with."
Without a word Bill motioned for her to rise her feet up to where he could reach them. A pair of handcuffs were produced to lock on both ankles, firmly linking her feet and preventing escape. Then he took the cuffs from off her wrists and put them away. He was taking his time and carefully choice the ropes he would use.
"How do you want me?" asked Daphene, having decided that it would be useless to fight this man, not with her ankles shackled and his superior strength. Besides, she wondered if he would come up with another bondage position to match that terrible one from yesterday. Had that position with her on her back and legs doubled over on top of her been tied by Greg, and had it been his hand holding the whip that scolded her bottom and pussy, and mostly had it been his rod that impaled her sex afterwards, Daphene would have found it an interesting and exciting experience. Maybe, she thought, she could tell Greg about it so that he could try it some day. Then she added that she was really crazy to be thinking that way.
"Put your arms behind that chair's back," said Bill while holding some nylon rope in his hands. It was about the thickness of clothesline and looked very strong.
Daphene looked down and realized that she was sitting in a chair that hadn't been in the dungeon before. With a sigh she settled back against the chair and put her arms over the back. The top of the back came to just under her arms so that wasn't too hard. It was a simple tubular metal kitchen chair, stout enough to hold a naked and bound girl. Bill placed her wrists together, palm to palm, and wrapped rope around them.
"Please don't tie me too tight. Yesterday was horrible," Daphene said evenly. "Painfully horrible."
Bill said nothing and Daphene wondered if her request had been noted or ignored. The rope around her wrists was cinched down with some windings going the other way then knotted. She could feel the end of the rope hanging down to the floor and knew something else would be happening to it sooner or later. Then he came around to the front and began tying her legs together. Again the thought flashed through her head that perhaps she should kick him as hard as possible when he removed the handcuffs, then run. But the handcuffs came off and rope was going around her ankles and Daphene had done nothing. She sighed inwardly and cursed herself for being a coward. But it was just that she didn't think she could get away with it. Even if she incapacitated him for a few minutes, where would she go? Her hands were tied behind her and she was naked. And she didn't know which was safety was. She had been in the trunk when brought to his house and didn't even know what the place looked like. Besides, she wasn't sure she could do much harm with a bare foot. If she only hurt him a little, there would be punishment for the injury. Punishment a lot worse than what was going to happen to her, she was sure. So she sat there and watched as his expert hands wound rope around her ankles, around her legs above the knees, and cinched both tightly down. He did neat work. And secure.
He went to the back of the chair and she felt her elbows being pulled together and rope going around them. "Please don't," she asked. "That is a painful way to be tied."
"Isn't it?"
"You're terrible!" But her insult had little sting behind it and was ignored. The ropes forced her elbows tight together and were cinched down. Daphene noticed what that did to her breasts and sighed. They were really sticking out and she feared that they constituted an invitation to pain for them.
The rope hanging from her wrists was brought under the chair and went around the rope on her ankles, then back up to her wrists. He pulled and her feet went under the chair. Under and then back up towards her hands. Soon he had pulled as tightly as her body could take and then he passed the rope up to that around her elbows and tied several quite tight knots. Daphene winced at how tightly her legs were pulled under the chair, but that rope also pulled down on her arms, keeping her whole body under constant strain.
"This isn't comfortable," she informed. "I know that. It is a punishment," came the reply.
"And it's not done yet."
The chair back had an opening between the seat and the padded part of the back. Through that opening Bill passed rope to loop it around her tummy and arms. When that was pulled tight, it cut deeply into her stomach at its narrowest part.
Several times he looped the rope around both tummy and arms. Finally he cinched the ropes down and tied two very tight knots, but only after taking the end of the rope up to her elbow bondage. Daphene was experienced enough to know that she would not be freeing herself from this bondage. There was no way she could reach the knots at her elbows, even if her hands had not been bound to her feet or her arms lashed to her tummy.
"Wiggle," came an order. Daphene complied, twisting her body as much as she could, tugging at her arms, and, in general, showing him how little she could move. The main movement allowed was to shift her knees from side to side a tiny bit, and move her head. She tried not to shake her breasts so as to not draw attention to them. She cursed her body as a traitor when she saw how rigid her nipples were, and hoped that Bill did not notice. So used to Greg's binding of her was she that any binding of her body started the juices flowing and a smoldering fire in her loins. She hoped her erect nipples wouldn't give him any ideas about attaching something to them. Clamping clothespins or metal clips on a defenseless girl's nipples was a favorite trick of tortures, she knew. And her nipples were so large and ready for anything that it scared her.
"I think that you'll still be sitting here when I return," he, commented. "The ropes look tight enough and secure."
"They are," she agreed. "You tie good." Wouldn't hurt to flatter him. And she just realized that tied in the chair the way she was, she couldn't be raped. That made her feel much better about the ordeal she would be going through this morning.
"You won't like what comes next." Daphene guessed and came up with two answered but she did not say either. About the only thing that could be added to her bondage was something clamped on her nipples or something in her mouth.
"A gag," Bill informed as he brought something into her vision. Daphene gulped when she saw the rubber monster. "You wouldn't use that ... Not that!"
"Yes, that! Now open your mouth. Just pretend it's a lover."
The gag was made from a large rubber dildo, a replica of the human phallus, very detailed and looking larger than Daphene thought her mouth could possibly be. He placed the head of the fake penis to her lips but she clamped them dght. It would be shameful to have that thing inside her mouth. Shameful and degrading.
"I can pinch your nipple until you open your mouth," she was calmly told. With a whine of frustration, Daphene opened her lips and felt the rounded head touch her tongue. She had to keep telling herself that there were far worse things that could be happening to her as the rubber penis slide slowly into her mouth, pushing her tongue down and filling her completely. When it stopped she could feel it pressing against the back of her mouth. Another quarter inch and she would be gagging.
Bill buckled the strap around her head, making sure it was very tight and there was no way she could push it out. Then he took her head in both hands and looked directly into her eyes. "That will be a constant reminder of what will be happening to your pussy when I come back at noon," he told her. Then he kissed her gently on the forehead and walked around behind her back. Daphene whined in protest at the shame and discomfort of the rubber monster in her mouth. But she was not yet totally prepared for the morning's ordeal. There was a ring in the buckle at the back of her head. Bill tied a short length of rope to that ring and down to her elbows. Then he put one hand under her chin and forced her head backward until she was staring almost straight up at the ceiling. Then he tied the ropes and stood back. Daphene cried out and tried to tell him how it would be impossible for her to endure this horrible position all morning but no words came out, only pathetic whines that were ignored.
Bill lightly ran his fingertips over the mounds of her breasts, forced to stand straight out by the strain of her bondage. "Yes," he told her. "I'm considering whether to attach something to these lovely nipples." Daphene whined loudly through her nose. "Something painful." He let the last words hang in the air, a threat that made Daphene's stomach tie itself into knots with fear.
"But you're being punished enough," he concluded suddenly and walked out.
This time he left the light on and Daphene, when she later thought about it, was grateful. Spending all yesterday and all of two nights in complete darkness was hard on a girl.
For a minute she whined in frustration then fought to keep from crying. She didn't want to have to spend the entire morning with her head pulled way back by that hateful gag. She could fell the horrible thing pressing against the back of her mouth and wanted to scream. Then she began methodically testing all parts of her bondage, trying to loosen ropes, reach knots, and shake anything that might come loose. Nothing loosened. Nothing could be reached. Daphene was helpless. And very uncomfortable. Her shoulders and arms hurt, and the ropes cutting into her stomach weren't too pleasant, either. She found that the only movement allowed her was to shake her head from side to side and slide her knees a little bit to the left or right. The rest of her was completely held by the tight ropes.
It was a long morning. Many thoughts flitted through her mind as she sat there, staring at a featureless ceiling, and hurting. She was glad that at the end of that day she would be returned to Greg. She was frightened of the promised coming rape. It had happened to her twice already but she still didn't want it. Sex was wonderful with the man you love but something else when forced upon you by a stranger. It didn't help that her body reacted to the sexual stimulation and came to orgasm even with her telling it not to.
And she wondered what she would say to Greg when she again saw him. Ideas of scolding him were entertained, only to be dropped. She considered telling him that it was terrible and she would leave him if he ever did that again. But through it all, she kept telling herself that he had only been playing a fantasy game, that he didn't really think ahead enough to know how unpleasant it would be for her to actually have sexual intercourse performed on her by a stranger. He was a man, and a man couldn't know how terrible that was for a girl. She would tell him and he would feel bad for having forced her into it. Then they would go to bed and she would have sex with the man she wanted to have it with.
While dreaming about Greg entering her as she lay on his bed with her neck collared and chained to the wall, a symbol of his ownership of her, she realized that she was squeezing her thighs together and clenching her buttocks. Without realizing it, she had begun working up towards a climax. The bondage had turned her on, as it always did. Even bondage this extreme was exciting to her. It was her weakness. Then there was her thoughts and visions of Greg, his powerful body naked against hers, his shaft deeply thrust into her pussy to bring pleasure to both of them. That would turn any girl on. And, a little nagging part of her mind told her, there was that fake male penis filling her mouth. She had never performed oral sex on a man and it was strange to have her mouth filled with a replica of the male member. Strange and sort of exciting. And distasteful. She told herself that she hated it and would gladly pushed the damned thing out if she only could.
But whether it was the thoughts of Greg, the bondage, or even the penis gag that did it, Daphene was well on her way to a climax. Or maybe it was all three. She didn't know or care at that point. Instead she released conscious thought and let her body take over. Her thighs clenched and her hips thrust against the chair and the ropes the little they could, and she fought the ropes. This time it was not an organized, systematic, logical escape attempt, it was the wild jerking and straining of an emotional rebellion against the restraints. It got her no closer to freedom than the logical efforts, but it did its job in another way. With a muffled cry she arched her body the few inches allowed it and crashed headfirst into a very intense and satisfying orgasm. Repeatedly she moaned into the penis-like gag that filled her mouth, and tremors shook her naked and bound body. Wave after wave of pure pleasure raced through her body, setting nerves on fire. But the biggest fire was in her pussy.
A long time later she came down from that sexual high and had to admit to herself that it was one of the best she had every felt. Some of those times with Greg had been at least as good, especially those intense one's that came right after he had whipped her bottom and breasts and pussy. Those had been pretty good. But this one was good too. Just different in some ways that she could not put her finger on.
It was a long morning. When Bill returned, it was to find a moaning, very uncomfortable woman who wept tears of gratitude when the gag was taken from her mouth and the ropes removed from her legs and tummy. Her arms were left bound behind her with the elbows tight together but she didn't mind. She didn't even mind when he put her on her back on the padded table and mounted her for this third screwing of this slavegirl. He was surprised to find that her cunt was juicy and more than ready for his tool. It was a good performance on both of their parts, mutually satisfying and intense. Both gasp as their bodies exploded into bliss and went rigid against each other.
Afterwards, Bill got off and Daphene rolled over on her side to get off her bound arms. Her body was still shivering with delight in the afterglow, but a tiny part of her mind was telling her that she had been raped for the third time and she never would like it.
Eventually Bill dressed himself. With a sigh of joy he told her that she was a very good "lay," the best he had ever had. Daphene didn't now whether she liked the compliment or not. He stood her up but all she wanted to do was lay down and rest. Sitting bound the way she had in a chair all morning had been strenuous for her. Not to mention two orgasms taking a bit out of her. But rest was not to be her lot in life. Bill walked her over to the pillory in the corner of the room and lifted the yoke. There were holes for both neck and wrists but he pushed only her neck into the center hole. Arranging her hair carefully so as not to be caught in it, he closed the yoke and clicked shut the padlock that held it firmly closed at one end.
He examined her hands and announced that there was no circulation problem so she could remain bound that way for the rest of the afternoon. As her fate sank into her tired mind, Daphene protested weakly, "Oh, please don't. My arms hurt. And it's uncomfortable with my head bend over like this. Oh, please at least put my wrists in the holes for them. Don't leave them tied."
Her protests fell upon empty air where the man had been standing. Daphene heard the door close and knew she was now secured for what she thought of as the "afternoon torture session." Her legs were free but that did little good when her head was held rigidly in place. She found that the little bit she had to bend to accommodate the height of the pillory was enough to prevent her from standing comfortably. It wasn't too long before she wished she were again sitting down, even if it meant still being bound so tightly to the chair.
Her arms and shoulders ached, mostly from the elbows-touching bondage, but soon muscles in her back were sounding alarm bells that they were not happy with the bent position. After an hour they were protesting painfully. After two hours the muscles in the backs of her thighs were trembling from the unusual strain. By the time Bill came to release her for dinner, Daphene was crying in anguish and pain. She practically collapsed in Bill's arms. He freed the ropes from her arms, having to pull the cords out of the flesh above her arms, so deeply indented were they. Then he allowed her to retreat to the bathroom and a reviving soak in warm, scented water.
Later, when most of the pain was but a fading memory, Daphene came out, with beautifully done hair and a pink skinned, healthy glow to her nudity. There were only some red marks where the ropes had most severely dug into her skin. And red marks across her bottom where the cat-o-nine-tails had kissed her the night before.
Dinner was served in served in the dungeon and Daphene was allowed to eat with only her ankles shackled by a pair of handcuffs. The food was good and Bill had brought a second tray for himself.
"You really ought to get a pair of leg irons," Daphene offered between bites. "They work better than these handcuffs on a girl's ankles."
"Perhaps. I did run into one girl who's ankles were too large for the handcuffs to fit around. She was six foot tall, but had a lovely, if muscular figure. Had to be careful with that one," he mused, "she could have probably bounced me off the walls if I hadn't keep her under some restraint at all times. But you're right, I'll see about getting some leg irons."
Daphene chewed in silence for a few minutes before coming out with, "Are you going to do anything to me before you take me home? It is Sunday night, isn't it?"
"About seven o'clock. I've been thinking about that. I could tie you down and give you another whipping." He paused to evaluate her reaction to that statement. "Or I could tie you down and make love to you again." He paused to see if Daphene would substitute her own word for the act. She did not. "Or I could simply tie you up and take you back."
"Please," was all Daphene said. And in a quiet voice. "Or I could tie you so your head was rigid and force you to accept my penis in your mouth. That is a very nice feeling for a man, you know."
Daphene said nothing but stopped eating. "You didn't like that penis gag, did you?" She shook her head. "Well, then that means you've never had a man's penis inside your mouth, either?" Another shake.
"Oh, please, Bill. Master Bill. It's so degrading to have to take a man's penis in my mouth. It's terrible."
"You," he said firmly, "haven't been properly trained. Oral sex can be very exciting and pleasurable for both the man and the woman. But you haven't done that either, have you?"
"No one has ever performed oral sex on me," Daphene admitted quietly. "I've heard of such things but never tired it. I didn't know too many men before I met Greg. And he seems to like his sex straight. If you don't count having the girl tied or chained down. And having sex after whipping her bottom to pieces."
"Girls?"
"You mean lesbians? No. Never. Just isn't right."
"You mean it isn't right for two girls to make love to each other, to make each other feel incredible pleasure. But it's okay for a man to make love to his girl after having whipped her bottom and breasts? And while she's chained down?"
"Well ... That feels right. Well, I mean, sort of ... It's hard to put into words. But making love with another woman would be wrong. That's all."
Bill silently stared at her for a few moments then raised one eyebrow and sighed. "Well someday you'll meet a woman who will introduce you to another whole world of sensations. Done with your meal?"
"Yes. It was very good. Thank you."
"You're welcome." Daphene looked at him in silence for a minute then got up and turned her back and crossed her hands. Bill uncrossed them and placed them palm to palm. Suddenly there was rope being wrapped around them and she knew he must have had some in his pocket. The wrists were knotted and be moved up to her elbows. He pulled her arms tight together and wrapped rope around them just as he had done that morning. Soon her elbows were locked together with cords and beginning to hurt already.
He sat her on the padded table and unlocked the handcuffs on her ankles. For a moment he seemed to pause as if in doubt as what to do next. Daphene sighed and spread her legs apart. "Is that what you want?" she asked but without sarcasm.
Bill pushed her legs back together and begin binding them with rope he fetched from the wall supply. "Maybe I'm not as young as I used to be. Ten years ago I would have fucked you morning, noon, AND night."
"Thank you," she said, and meant it. She doubted that he was incapable of performing sexual intercourse on her again. Perhaps he was taking into account how much she hated it. She wasn't one of his prostitutes, she told herself. Nor was she a real slavegirl. She was a weekend rental and perhaps he cared a bit for her feelings. Daphene didn't know and didn't want to go into the subject any farther. It was enough that the torture and screwing had come to an end and she was being packaged for return home.
Her legs were bound at the ankles and again above the knees. Then he rolled her onto her stomach and doubled her legs over. The ropes between her wrists and ankles would hold her in a hogtie and prevent any hope of escape. And she would stay in just enough pain from those tight ropes to keep her docile during the trip. But not enough to drive her into a screaming mental case.
Without comment she accepted the rubber wad of Greg's gag back in her mouth. It was only proper, she supposed, that his gag be returned her him in the same place it had been taken from him.
Once she was ready, Bill carried her out of the dungeon that had been her home for two days and deposited her gently in the trunk of his town car. The ride home was a little bumpy and the naked and bound girl in the darkness and heat of the trunk was shifted back and forth with each bounce. She composed several speeches in her mind, each designed to give Greg a piece of her mind for having done this to her. In the privacy of her trunk prison, Daphene did admit to herself that the weekend might have been exciting had it not been for the violation of her sex. Bill was a master with the ropes and she did find some of the way he had bound her exciting. It was much like the ways that Greg bound her but more restrictive. There was a great deal of difference between running around the house with your hands crossed and bound behind your back, and having to sit rigidly in a chair with your head pulled back so you stared at the ceiling. Yet ... There was something exciting about the stricter bondage too....
The motor finally died and a minute later the trunk lid was opened. The sight of Greg leaning over the trunk almost brought tears of happiness to the bound up girl. The lifted her out of the car and carried her into the house where she was set down on a sofa in the front room. Then Greg and Bill went off to talk among themselves. Daphene had little doubt that she was the subject of the conversation. When Greg returned, he was alone.
"I hear that you had dinner," he began, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And that you spent almost every minute tightly bound up." Daphene nodded. "And that you got one whipping." Again she nodded so he would know that her bottom had been marked up a little and was still a bit sore. "Well, I guess you know what it's like to be a slavegirl now."
Daphene nodded slowly, reluctant to agree with Greg. She whined a little to tell him that she wanted to speak. But instead of removing the gag, he untied the rope connecting her ankles and wrists. Gratefully she unfolded to full length on the sofa. His fingers worked at the knots on her legs and soon she was able to stand up. But the ropes on her arms remained, as did the gag filling her mouth.
Greg picked her up over his shoulder and carried her up to the bedroom where he tossed her on the bed. In a manner that strangely reminded her of Bill, he rolled her over onto her bound arms and spread her legs wide. Daphene held her legs wide open in invitation as Greg shed his clothes and mounted the bed. Their coupling was good but Daphene had wanted to have a talk with Greg before this bedroom performance, to get some things clear between them.
Still, he was as virile as ever and her body responded as it always did, and they were both satisfied when done. But Greg apparently more than Daphene.
Finally the gag came off, pulled from her mouth with a sucking sound. She worked her jaw to get the stiffness out before speaking. "That was terrible!" she began. "Oh, not the lovemaking just now, but what you did to me. You sold me to a strange man!"
"That was my intent," he replied reasonably. "But he raped me! He actually used his ... His thing to ... To screw my pussy. He raped me!"
"I told him to." Daphene's momentum skidded to a halt. "You told him to?"
"Of course. One does not buy a slavegirl without knowing that he can use her for sex. I told him to go ahead and enjoy you. I gather he did."
"He did. Oh, Greg, I don't like that. I don't want to be sold to men who will screw me like I'm some toy. I didn't mind being tied up so much...."
"Glad you liked that," Greg interrupted. "Bill, I understand, is very good at it."
"Yes, he is. But ... Well, you just didn't have the right to give me to another man like that."
"I own you." The statement was all the more shocking for having been delivered quite matter-of-factly, not as a new announcement of importance.
"You own me," repeated Daphene weakly. It was a new thought although she had thought it before that night. It was just that Greg meant it in a different way than Daphene thought of it To her the daily binding of her wrists, the play with the handcuffs out in restaurants, even showing her off nearly naked and chained to a room full of men, had been a game that they both were a part of. With suddenly clarity Daphene realized that she had always assumed that her captivity, her "ownership" by Greg, had been a game she had willing taken part in. And that she could willing discontinue if she so wanted. Greg was saying something different.
"And you don't feel any remorse at having sold me for a weekend?"
"Of course not! You had a good time. Bill had a good time. And I loved showing you off to all my friends. And when you realized your sale was for real -wow, you should have seen your face! It was beautiful. Remorse? Hell, no, it was fun!"
Greg's boyish enthusiasm was not, for the first time, entrapping Daphene within its folds. "Would you sell me again?"
"Of course. You're a slavegirl. And you make a damned nice one, if I do say so. Several of the boys called me to ask when I was going to auction you off again. They liked it."
"Will they be allowed to screw me?" Daphene wished she could find a better word for the act. But "lovemaking" didn't fit what she was talking about, and "intercourse" sounded so academic. And she was not about to use "fuck," even if that was the word that described what happened to her best.
"Of course. It wouldn't be real if that wasn't part of the game."
"I see," she said and fell silent. "Come on girl, you loved it and you know you did."
"Yes, I did," Daphene exclaimed, brightening up. "That Bill certainly knows how to tie a girl up."
"Good. I knew you'd like it." He locked her usual collar around her neck then untied the ropes from her arms. The ropes coming out of her flesh hurt, but not as much as knowing that her lover would cheerfully give her to other men to be fucked.
"I've been thinking," Greg began as Daphene massaged her wrists and elbows, "that we could try that escape bit again. You know, I tie you up in the morning and you have to escape by evening or get a punishment. I was thinking that tomorrow we could offer you a choice between hanging by your wrists with your legs doubled up, you remember that, or hanging upside down by your ankles. Of course, you would not have to hang upside down as long, that's a little harder on the body, but half an hour should be no problem. Maybe an hour. What do you think of that?"
"Sounds fine with me," Daphene replied. She rolled on her side. A second later Greg cuddled up next to her and put on arm over her to cup a breast in his hand. He fell asleep like that. Daphene stayed awake for a long time, thinking.
The next day she made her escape.
CHAPTER SIX - Escape!
The scene as the usual at the door. Daphene was naked, standing there for Greg's good-bye kiss. Her wrists had been crossed and bound behind her back with dghtly wound cords and cleverly placed knots. Her ankles were free of the leg irons, something she had hoped very much for. As he gave her his usual loving kiss, Greg's free hand wandered down to her pussy where it massaged a bit, just enough to get her juices flowing. Then, with one hand on the door, he reminded her that she was to free herself from the ropes on her wrists by the time he arrived home, and be waiting with cocktails, or suffer a punishment of her choosing. Provided, of course, that her choosing ran to either hanging by her wrists with doubled up legs, or hanging upside down by her ankles. She smiled and said that she understood. Then he was gone.
Daphene waited a while, just sitting on the sofa, waiting to make sure that Greg didn't return unexpectedly for something he had forgotten. After half an hour, she got u and made her way towards the kitchen.
The only knives present there were butter knives, good for spreading butter but not much good for cutting tightly bound cords. She wasn't sure where he hid the steak knives but didn't bother looking for them. She moved with purpose towards her second target.
For once Daphene was thankful that Greg was a little old-fashioned and still shaved with a razor rather than an electric shaver. His razor was laying on the sink in plain sight. With a heart beating fast, Daphene backed up to the sink and reached her fingers across the cold tiles towards the silvery handle. Once it was in her grip, she walked back into the bedroom to where she could see herself in the big mirror. Then she backup up to get the best view of her hands and carefully turned the end of the handle. The flat end opened up like space shuttle doors to reveal a shinning razor blade nestled within. With caution she turned the instrument over until the razor blade fell into her hand. She dropped the holder. Then, with extreme care, she took the blade between thumb and forefinger. It was not easy and she proceeded very slowly, pausing often to look closely at the position of her hands, the ropes and the sharp edge of the razor. It is never easy to reach back with bound hands to touch the ropes that bind them, not with a razor between your fingers. But Daphene did and carefully sawed at one of the windings with one corner of the razor.
Her reward came a minute later when the cord parted. There, were now two strands of that rope hanging free. Daphene tugged a little but the ropes remained firm upon he wrists. She had expected that. The cord that she had cut was held down by the cinch windings. More would have to be cut before she could work all the ropes off.
It was fifteen minutes of very slow work but finally her goal was reached. The cords suddenly loosened with the last cut and she was able to drop the razor blade to the dresser top and wiggle her hands apart.
It was incredible! For long minutes she stood there looking at her freed wrists before her face. She massaged the marks where the cords had been pressing her flesh in. She spread her arms gloriously far apart and did all kinds of exercises to move her arms and legs and demonstrate their freedom. It was intoxicating, such freedom. She realized that it had been a very long time since she had last been free and alone. Well, she corrected herself, it had only been last Friday, four days before, when Greg had freed her and sent her to buy the fixings for his little party. The same party at which she had been shown off nearly naked and later tightly bound up before many men. And the same party at which she had been sold to the highest bidder to be carried away for a weekend of torture and rape. That thought sobered her and she remembered the real purpose of her escape.
Extremely grateful that Greg had chosen not to fix her leg irons upon her feet, and that he wanted to see her wrists bound with ropes, supremely confident in his ability to make her helpless. And she would have been helpless had it not been for her remembering that he shaved with a razor blade. The thought had come late at night as she lay there thinking. When she knew that she had a way to freedom, she sank thankfully into a deep sleep.
And had he chained her ankles together today, she would have had to wait for another day to try her escape. Or had he handcuffed her wrists together, she would have to wait again. But he didn't. The funny part was that she really didn't plan her escape to avoid the punishments planned for her that evening. In times past she had seriously struggled against the ropes and had wanted to free herself. But it wasn't only to avoid punishment. She would have loved to see the expression on Greg's face when he came through the door to find her casually ready to pour his favorite cocktail, unencumbered by fetters of any kind. That would have made all the effort to struggle free of the ropes worth it.
But today she wanted freedom for a different reason. She would have accepted hanging by her wrists, or even by her ankles upside down. It might have been interesting. And she loved the way Greg's eyes were bright with excitement when he punished her that way. No, today her struggle had not been to avoid a little punishment. Today she wanted freedom so she could walk away from Greg.
It had taken much thinking but her mind was made up. She loved Greg. She loved most of his little punishments and games. Some were so exciting it sent shivers down her spine to think of them. She even loved him after he had whipped both her breasts and pussy until they hurt so much she had been screaming. But she couldn't love him when he gave her over to be sexually used by a stranger.
As she gathered clothing from the dresser and closet and carefully packed them into a small suitcase, she told herself that she just needed a little time to be by herself and think things out. There was so much about Greg that she loved, but there was also a part of him that she didn't love. And she wasn't sure which was worse, actually being raped by that stranger, or the fact that Greg thought he owned her so completely that he could just give her to other men. She hadn't minded being "owned" by Greg when it meant that she was kept in almost constant bondage, taken to restaurants with handcuffs upon her wrists, or even shown off to other men while she was naked and tightly bound up. In fact, all of those had been exciting. But she wasn't sure she was ready to be owned so completely that she could be given to other men. That was different.
So Daphene packed her bag, put in those piece of jewelry that Greg had given her in her purse, and added a few cosmetics that no woman would ever go anywhere without. Then she stood there looking down at the zipped up suitcase for a long time, questioning in her mind if she was doing the right thing. Finally she decisively grabbed the handle and walked firmly towards the front door. She was almost there when she realized that she was still naked. With an embarrassed giggle, she dropped the suitcase and retreated to the bedroom to find suitable clothing. Society took a dim view of naked girls walking around their streets.
There were plenty of dresses still left in the closet and she selected a light summer dress in soft shades of blue. It matched her eyes nicely. Then a pair of white shoes and a small gold necklace. She had started with a pair of panties but couldn't find a bra. She had lovely breasts with a firmness and shape few women enjoy, so she had taken to not often wearing a bra. Then came her life with Greg and she never wore a bra. Except during that party four days ago, she reminded herself again. But she couldn't find that sexy little number she had worn at the party so she dressed without. It felt better. Besides, she liked the feel of the silky material against her nipples.
The cut pieces of rope laying on the floor caught her eye and a smile came to her face. With care she picked up every piece of rope and the razor blade and went to the bathroom. There she cut the longer strips into tiny pieces and flushed them all down the drain. Then she replaced Greg's razor in his razor holder and replace that as exactly as it had been when he finished shaving. She giggled to herself at the thought of Greg wondering where she was and how she had freed herself. He would probably wonder is she had just walked out still bound and naked. Of course, he would eventually find her clothes gone and know that she hadn't walked out naked but it might give him a few moments wondering.
Then she was back at the front door. With a deep breath, she picked up the suitcase and walked out of Greg's house and his life. Perhaps forever.
She had found a few crumpled dollar bills in the bottom of her purse, and a twenty she keep carefully folded for emergencies in a compartment of her wallet. She walked half a mile to the nearest bus stop, then used some of that money to ride the bus downtown. One transfer and she was standing in front of her bank.
It was fortunately for her that she still had her checkbook in her purse. If Greg had thought to really make her a prisoner, he would have taken away every access she had to money. That might not have stopped her but it wouid have slowed her down. As it was, it took only a minute to withdraw a couple thousand dollars in cash and tuck it in her purse. With that, her credit cards, and check book, Daphene was ready to disappear. She was very glad that she was a wealthy woman in her own right. Not nearly as wealthy as Greg, but she didn't have to work since she could live of the income from an inheritance from her parents. But she knew that Greg was one of those truly wealthy men, and he could afford to get a private detective on her trail. So she planned to disappear. If she ever came back to Greg, it would be on her own, not because his hired private investigator found her and dragged her back.
The airport had a variety of destinations available and Daphene looked them over carefully as she ate lunch. Three hours later she was sitting in a window seat of first class, traveling at over five hundred miles per hour towards the setting sun at forty thousand feet.
CHAPTER SEVEN - Bondage Under Harbor Lights
California. Los Angeles. Hollywood. Land of Lotus Eaters and dreamers. And dream makers. A sprawling, hot, smoggy citadel perched on the west coast, waiting for the big earthquake that would send its teaming multitudes sliding into the Pacific Ocean. A land far different from where Daphene had grown up and lived all her life. But it was thousands of miles from Greg and had the advantage that the natives spoke English. Well, sort of. She was not used to English tinged with a California slur and colorful but strange slang.
The airport was huge, crowded and busy beyond anything she had ever expected. But she found a bus service that took her to John Wayne Airport in Orange County. From there she took a taxi to one of the branches of a major hotel chain where she obtained a room on the eighth floor with a view of a line of hazy blue on the horizon they assured her was the Pacific Ocean.
Finally alone and able to catch her breath, Daphene unpacked what little clothing she had brought with her and inspected every part of the room. Then she stood on the balcony overlooking the pool, office buildings, parking lots, and, a mile away, the ocean. There she asked herself, what next? She didn't have an answer.
She dinned in the hotel restaurant and enjoyed steak fajitas, bite-sized pieces of beef fried in a hot pan with Mexican spices and onions, which they assured her was typical California food. Back in her room she watched a little television but couldn't get interested. Being tired from racing across the country, she tried to go to bed early but had trouble sleeping. Finally she rose, dressed and took the elevator downstairs. The gift shop in the lobby didn't have what she wanted so she asked a cabby to take her to the nearest shopping center. The mall turned out to be only a few blocks from the hotel and was open late. There were many shops but finally, in a camping store, she found what she wanted. She fled back to the hotel room, clutching her package.
In the room, she shed her clothing and kicked off her shoes. Then she carefully laid opened and laid out her purchases. The rope was nylon and a little stiff for newness. She bound her ankles together, taking care to cinch down the main loops and tie the knots as tight as she could. Then she made some loops of another rope and slid her hands into them. She twisted her wrists around so that the ropes tightened down. Her hands were in front of her and she knew she could easily untwist them but it was comforting to feel herself again naked and restrained. She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. For a long time she lay there, remembering many things. Then the crossed and bound wrists lowered towards her pubic patch. Soon her fingers were intertwined in the curls, stroking gently her private place. She never opened her eyes, not even when her body worked itself up to a pretty good but not really intense orgasm.
It was nothing like she remembered having felt at Bill's or when her Greg made love to her. She fell asleep and awoke the next morning to find that she hadn't removed the ropes from her wrists and ankles. As she untied herself she knew what she had to do.
It didn't take long to find out where the rich and beautiful people hung out. Newport Beach probably has more expensive yachts per square mile than any place on earth. The harbor channels were -lined with shoulder to shoulder boats of every size from twenty-five feet on up to monsters. And the cocktail lounges around the harbor was the happy hunting grounds for pretty young woman looking for a rich man to show her a good time. Daphene fit right in with the scene in her very expensive and very revealing silk dress, accented by a simple diamond necklace and dipped down into the ample cleavage displayed by her electric blue dress. Every male eye in the place scanned her figure as she walked slowly in and up to the bar. She was well aware of the male attention and felt a little thrill at it.
After that it was only a matter of Daphene's sorting through all the males who tried to pick her up. She allowed them to buy her a drink, which she left barely tasted on the table, and to engage her in conversation. Then, if they didn't pick up on her hints, she suggested that they might leave before her husband came. A few minutes later another expensively dressed potential Romeo would slide up to her and begin his line.
"Do you know how to treat a lady?" Daphene asked each as man as she sat there with her wrists crossed demurely in her lap but plainly visible.
Those who told her they would shower her with gifts got the old heave-ho. Those who leered and told her that they had a magnificent tool with which to please any young lady also got the heave-ho. And those who blinked and weren't sure what was expected of them also lost out.
Daphene changed cocktail lounges twice, which was not hard as there was row of them. After a couple of hours she found what she was looking for.
He was late thirties with a touch of. The expensive suit and easy grace with which he moved hinted at an athletic life style.
"Mind if I sit down? I'd like to meet you," he said simply and honesdy. Daphene nodded and allowed a little more dress to slide up revealing even more thigh. She had been practicing the maneuver all night and had it down to where it looked perfectly natural. "My name's Brian. Would you like a drink?"
"I have one. But thank you." Daphene didn't want to get drunk and appreciated that this man didn't insist on her having a fresh drink.
"Do you like California?" he asked with a faint smile.
"How do you know I'm not from here?"
"Accent. And clothes. That dress would fit more into New York than Newport Beach. We tend to tennis outfits and casual clothing out here. I think I could almost tell you which little and very exclusive shop made that dress for you."
"Like it?"
"Very much. And what's in it. You are beautiful."
"Thank you." He seemed sincere about his praise, not just buttering up a girl.
For a minute he gazed at her, but at least his eyes were mostly on hers, not roving all over her body like most men. "I have a boat not far from here. If you don't think it's being too forward, would you like to see what the harbor lights look like from the ocean side?"
"Depends. Do you know how to treat a lady?" Her hands smoothly slid to their crossed position on the table before her.
That faint smile tugged again at the corner of his mouth. Easily his hand crossed the table and covered both of her wrists, the fingers firmly curling around so that both wrists were held together. "Gently but firmly," he told her. For several long seconds he held her wrists together and Daphene felt as if they were locked as securely as Greg's ropes had ever done. She could sense the strength in this man's hands, but also that he was holding with only the forced needed, none more. She also noted the large flashing diamond in his ring. She needed a man who had, among other things, money and this man seemed to fit the bill. She did not try to pull her hands free, instead she smiled at him.
"I would love to see the harbor lights. And if a storm comes up, perhaps you'll have to lash me to the mast to keep me from being swept overboard." She was teasing him, her eyes said so' and he knew it.
"I would hate to have you swept overboard. I'll do what is necessary to keep you safe." As he released her wrists his smile matched hers. She appreciated that it was not a leer like most men had. And she fully understood that they were communicating. This man had understood her hint and replied in a way that made her feel little tingles down her spine.
She pushed her drink aside and rose. He quickly followed her example and they walked out of the lounge with all male eyes in the place following.
His little boat was in the eighty to one hundred foot range and had a crew of five. Only two of them were aboard but that was enough to fire up the engines and guide the big cabin cruiser along the black water that reflected a thousand lights. They watched from the desk and Daphene was fascinated by the hundreds of boats and expensive homes. When they cleared the breakwater, they turned and paralleled the coast half a mile out to give a very beautiful view of the lights. The two left the captain to steer the boat and went below to the main cabin which was furnished like a very plush lounge.
"Thank you, Brian," Daphene said. "The harbor lights are beautiful."
"Glad you like them. Unfortunately there are no gales expected. I had rather thought that you lashed to the mast would be a very interesting sight...." He let the hint trail off.
"I expect I would be." Daphene looked into his eyes and found a healthy interest in her youthful and very ripe body but not an overpowering lust. This was ... Well, she told herself, this man was a gentleman. And he might well know what I want to find out. With the tip of her tongue peeking between her lips, Daphene jump off the deep end, telling herself that there was only one way to find out if he was the man she needed.
"Too bad about the weather reports. But perhaps we could practice...? Just in case the weather turns bad."
"Indeed?"
"You wouldn't happen to have some rope? That is what you would need to lash me to the mast, isn't it?"
He smiled and left the room. A few seconds later he was back with four coils of ropes in his hands, all of cotton clothesline, all neatly coiled up but not new. He tossed them on the coffee table and smiled. But it was a friendly smile, not a fiendish leer. Taking a step closer he faced her and gently placed his hands on each side of her head. Then he slowly brought her face to his and kissed her with feeling.
Daphene felt her knees go a little weak. She liked this Brian. "Don't hurt me," she whispered when his lips released hers.
"Never. But you'll be one well-bound up girl," he told her, dropping their chatter about masts and storms.
"I hope so," she managed to get out. Inside Daphene was a mixture of emotions. It was so strange to want this man to tie her up. Greg had been the only other man she had every felt that way about. Bill was good with the ropes and had created some positions that made her feel really helpless. But she hadn't wanted Bill to tie her because he was also the one raping her. And a tiny part of her mind was screaming for attention, trying to point out that she taking a big risk by letting a stranger who picked her up in a bar tie her up. She told her that tiny part of her mind to go to hell, and turned her back and crossed her wrists behind her.
But first his hands were upon the straps of her gown. "Would be a pity if this were to get ripped," he told her as he slipped them off her lovely shoulders. Daphene stood there as he slipped the clinging material down her body until it was a circular pool of electric blue around her feet. Daphene swallowed hard, her heart running a little fast as she stood before him completely naked.
"You're beautiful," he told her quite sincerely. "And you'll look even more beautiful when you're all tied up."
The crossed wrists were first to feel the bit of cord. He expertly looped them and cinched them down, a bit on the tight side but not painfully so. Daphene knew that any less and there might be a possibility of escape should she put out the effort. The next loop went around her elbows, pulling them toward each other but not trying to make them join. With her wrists crossed, pulling the elbows together tightened the ropes around her wrists considerable. Again Brian selected a degree of tightness that made Daphene's arms firmly bound but not so tight that she would be hurting. More rope passed from the elbow bondage around her shoulders and back, securing the ropes tightly against her. And some rope was added from the elbows and shoulder ropes to her wrists, pulling them upward and tightening up the whole arrangement. When he stepped back to get the next coil of rope, Daphene gave an experimental shake of her torso and arms. They were quite firmly bound and she knew she could never work herself free from this man's ropes.
He helped her step out of her dress and as she stood before him, naked and robbed of arms, he kissed her again. It was a long, slow kiss filled with unhurried passion. His arms went around her body and pressed her to him. She could feel his shirt against her breasts and felt that old, familiar fire begin smoldering in her loins. When both hands slid down to grab her bottom cheeks, she jerked a little as if an electric shock had raced along all her sexual nerves. She began returning his kiss with a passion that surprised even her.
For a while they stood there, his hands playing with her lovely and helpless body while Daphene, with an easy acceptance that surprised her, responded and loved it. She felt so helpless with her arms firmly bound behind her, and it was a delicious helplessness. His hands knew all her sensitive spots and when he bent down to capture a rigid nipple in his mouth, she sighed with pleasure. As his tongue toyed with it, she closed her eyes and surrendered to the pleasurable feeling. He sucked and ran his tongue around it, which sent shivers up and down her spine. When he came back up, her eager mouth sought his and she kissed him deeply, her tongue playing with his, telling him in an ancient wordless language that she wanted this man to take her. His hand found her pussy and his fingers spread its lips apart. Then two fingers on either side of her clit, squeezing her most tender place between them and evoking a gasp of pleasure from her. Soon she was thrusting her hips against him in an urgent need.
Disengaging from her armless embrace, Brian pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and knelt down to lock them on her ankles. He turned her towards the door at the end of the lounge and swatted her bottom with a strong hand. "The bedroom is through there," he said. "Get going." Then he entered the door he had pointed out, leaving Daphene standing ' nakedly in the middle of the lounge.
She looked down with a familiar thrill to see the shinning metal locked around each ankle. Suddenly it was like old times and she felt good about it. She hobbled slowly, clinking the single link between the cuffs as she went. The bedroom was not big but lavishly laid out in multiple shades of blue. On the bed lay Brain, naked and obviously ready for what Daphene wanted. She shuffled over to the side of the bed and twisted so she could sit down. Then she swung her legs upon the bed so she was sitting next to him. "Will be easier if you unlock my feet," she said.
"I know." He produced the key from a night stand and unlocked both ankles. Then he pulled her over to the center of the bed and spread her legs wide. A rope looped about each ankle secured her feet to the corners of the bed and forced her legs into a wide "V". With her legs secured and her private parts held incitingly open, he mounted the bed between her legs. In a second Daphene found herself laying on bound arms and a man's rigid rod sliding up into her. She gasped as it entered her sheath and was quickly thrusting her hips back against his. Without realizing she was doing it, Daphene was fighting the ropes that held her arms, tugging and twisting in an emotional effort to free her arms. Or to convince herself that she was indeed helpless. Daphene did not think about it. All her mind could focus upon was the incredible feeling that this man was creating inside her cunt. She matched his thrusts with her own and cried aloud when she exploded and all she could see were brilliant flashing lights behind her closed eyes.
When she drifted back to earth, Daphene found herself still bound to the bed, her legs still spread wide, and her pussy glowing warmly in the sexual aftermath. Brian was returning to the room with two drinks in his hands.
"Welcome back to this world," he commented with a smile.
"You really get spaced out, don't you?"
"If you mean, do I enjoy it: yes. It's very intense. I get sort of carried away. But that's the way it is for all girls. Isn't it?"
He shook his head. "Some women just lay there like they were asleep. Some get a little worked up. And some explode, like you do. Did you know that you were struggling against the ropes almost all the time, even after you climaxed?"
Daphene said nothing. Sex with Brian was something wonderful. But she wasn't used to a man talking to her about it afterwards. Greg usually put his arm over her and went to sleep.
"You're quite a woman. Beautiful. Gorgeous body. Smart, too. And you climax with more intensity and obvious delight than any girl I've ever seen."
"Thank you." Daphene wasn't sure that was the right thing to say but she felt she had to say something.
Brian helped her up to a sitting position and then held up one glass to her lips that she might sip. She was grateful for the potent liquid. "Are you going to untie me now?" she asked.
"No." Daphene felt a thrill. "Not even if I asked you to?"
"You don't want to be untied," he said matter-of-factly.
Daphene felt she should protest but she knew that he was right. She did feel comfortable with her arms taken away from her. It was a good and proper feeling. She told herself that it came from all those days she had been left bound up in Greg's house awaiting his return, but also admitted to herself that perhaps it was simply more a part of her nature.
"Are you planning to whip me?" As soon as it was out, Daphene wondered why she had said that.
Brian did not answer immediately. When he did his voice as a little more serious. "Do you deserve it? I could punish you if you did something to deserve it." His words were slow and very deliberately chosen. Daphene realized that they were communicating on a second level again. Like that lashing her to the mast thing. He was really asking if she wanted the pain of a whipping. And telling her that he would do it if she said she wanted it. But did Daphene want to be whipped? Why had she brought up the subject?
"I've been whipped before," she said quietly.
"I know. I can see the faded marks. Were you a naughty girl?"
For answer Daphene leaned over as far as she could and tipped his glass with her nose from the night stand to the floor. Then she looked into Brian's eyes but said nothing. Inside, she was wondering what the hell she was doing.
"That was a very naughty thing to do," he told her as he wiped up the spilled drink with a towel. "Very naughty."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" She was taunting him, provoking an action that she should not sensibly want.
His reply as to untie her legs from the comers of the bed and tossing the ropes in the comer. He pulled her off the bed and walked her to the center of the cabin. He positioned her legs together and told her to stand still. Then he took a leather belt from his pants. Daphene gulped and cursed herself for ten kinds of a fool.
Brian positioned himself behind the naked and bound girl. "Bend forward," he told her firmly. Daphene obeyed, bending at the waist so that her bottom was sticking back and an easier target. "More." She bent more, careful about her balance. With arms bound behind her back, it wasn't easy to bend too far forward.
Suddenly her bottom exploded into fire, accompanied by a cracking sound as the leather stuck her bare flesh. "Ohhhh!" she cried and had to step forward to keep her balance. Quickly she returned to the spot she had been placed in.
"That's one, Master," she calmly said. Crack! "That's two, Master." Crack! "That's three, Master." The count ran to ten by which time Daphene was in tears and her bottom a fiery agony. A doubled over belt makes a good whip as Daphene's bruised and discolored bottom could testify to. Suddenly his hand was on her bottom, not a gentle feeling but a rough kneading that sent pain shooting into her. "Oh, Master, that hurts!" i
"Get on the bed. On your back." Daphene sniffed back the tears and hurried to obey.
Her bottom against the covers was a strange mixture of pain and tingling pleasure. But she had little time to consider that as Brian was upon her, his rigid rod showing how much a man enjoys whipping a girl. Instantly she was impaled upon the rod with a huge gasp of pleasure from her lips. Their second coupling of the evening was every bit as intense as the first, and just as satisfying.
After their mutual pleasure, Brian pulled back the covers and helped Daphene crawl under them. Then he turned off the light, opened a couple of portholes, and crawled into bed beside a girl with a sore ass. As she was drifting off into a very warm and pleasant sleep, Daphene wondered at how easy it had been to replace Greg with a new master. But she didn't worry. She just cuddled next to him, her breasts pressed against his chest and her still bound arms away from him. One of his arms went over her and the hand gasp the ropes linking her elbows. He didn't pull the ropes, he just held on to them. Daphene felt the hold and it made her very comfortable. It was just her master holding her leash.
The sounds and smells upon awakening were different. Daphene's eyes opened to see a small, round window with sunlight streaming through it. She went to stretch and quickly discovered that her arms were still bound behind her back. Then she remembered the evening before, Brian, his yacht and her impulsiveness in practically begging this stranger to tie her up and then, more disbelief, to whip her bottom. She arched her body in a lazy stretch, dislodging the silken sheet to reveal her lovely nakedness in the golden sunshine. Then she swung her feet over the bed's edge only to find that her ankles were shackled by a pair of handcuffs. She didn't remember those being on her when she fell asleep the previous night so she assumed Brian added them. The empty bed confirmed that he was already up and about.
Daphene stood and shuffled her way across the small bedroom. The door was open and she made it into the lounge without difficulty. She was, after all, experienced at walking with chained ankles. Brian was nowhere in sight but a man was there, picking up the cocktail glasses from the night before and placing them on a silver tray. He looked up and didn't seem at all surprised to find a naked woman standing there, naked and with her arms and ankles bound.
"Good morning, miss." His voice was definitely English, educated and deep. "I trust you slept well?"
For a second Daphene was stunned. She hadn't expected to see a strange man, especially one who so easily accepted her nudity and bondage. "I slept fine."
"Good. Mr. Billings had to attend a business meeting at his corporation this morning. He said to convey his regrets at not being here to greet you, and that he will join you in time for lunch."
"Will you untie me, please?" Daphene turned her back and wiggled her fingers.
"My instructions, miss, were to not untie you unless your hands were distressed." He gave a quick examination, feeling her fingers with a gentle touch. "You hands and arms appear in satisfactory shape, miss. Are either causing you undue pain?"
Daphene paused. "Well ... I guess not. They feel fine. But they are tied behind my back, you see. I would like them untied."
"Mr. Billings would prefer that you remain so bound until he can join you for lunch."
Daphene started to protest but cut it short with a sigh. She wasn't hurting. And she want to talk to Brian again. "Do you often find naked and tied up girls in your master's lounge?" She turned around to give him a good view, as if he wasn't already well aware that she was both naked and restrained.
"It's happen before, miss."
"Oh."
"I will bring breakfast for you, miss."
Daphene watched the servant, and that is what she assumed he was, depart. Then she sat down on a sofa. It was certainly not unusual for Daphene to be bound up with ropes or handcuffs, so that didn't bother her. And she was strangely unconcerned that she as, in effect, the prisoner of this man she had met only the night before. He certainly knew about tying a girl with ropes, her well-bound arms attested to that. And he understood how to make a girl's bottom burn just the right amount to get her juices flowing. And in bed he had been pretty good at pleasing a girl's sexual needs. But it was his knowledge of ropes and whips that interested her most. It implied that he understood the need in some girls to be keep prisoner, at least some of the time. He had read her well enough to know that she would accept the news that she was to be keep bound without hysterics. He probably even knew that she would like the feeling and find it natural. The fact that his servant had seen other girls in similar states before certainly argued in that direction.
Breakfast came on a tray and smelled delicious. Daphene found herself ravenously hungry and eager to get at the food. "But how can I eat with my arms bound behind me?" she asked in total innocence.
"I will feed you, miss." And he did, forkful by forkful, even holding the coffee cup to her lips. The food was good.
"What's your name," Daphene asked between bites. "Mine's Daphene."
"I know, miss. Mr. Billings told me this morning. My name is Charles Nelson Hawkins. You may call me Charles."
"Does Brian often have naked girls tied up on this yacht?"
"Most girls who come aboard do wind up in some state similar to yours, miss." He paused while Daphene chewed, then added casually, "The last time I found Tabitha hogtied on this very table. She was also naked, and gagged. And, if I remember correctly, the ropes were considerably tighter than those exhibited by you at this time."
"She spent the night in a tight hogtie! Didn't that hurt her?"
"I cannot say, miss. She did seem to exhibit considerable relief when she was released from that bondage. I did, however, get the impression that she had not been placed into that exact hogtie until around two o'clock in the morning. She did not, therefore, spend the entire night so bound. I must also say that I got the distinct impression that she had enjoyed her experience, however painful it might have been."
Daphene was silent on that one. She remembered the wonderfully tight bondage that Bill had put her in just a few days before and knew how a girl could enjoy four or five hours in a tight hogtie.
"Where are we?" she asked.
"Docked in the harbor, miss."
"Good breakfast, Charles. I enjoyed it."
"Thank you, miss."
"What can I do while I'm waiting for Brian?"
"You have the full run of the boat, miss. However, since we are docked in a regretfully crowded harbor, it would be ill advised for you to put an appearance in above deck. Shock the locals somewhat, it would."
"Then I'm stuck down here?"
"I can put a movie on the video, miss."
"No, thank you. A movie doesn't sound good." Daphene looked around. A movie didn't really sound very interesting. And she couldn't hold a book to read it with her arms bound behind her back.
"Charles, how long will it be before Brian returns?"
"Probably three hours, miss. Unless the meeting runs long."
"Well, could you ... I mean, would you tie me in a hogtie on the coffee table? It doesn't have to be as tight as you described for that other girl. But you already have my arms bound. I'll cooperate."
"Very well, miss." Charles left, taking the breakfast tray with him.
When he returned he held two coils of rope in his hands. "If you would allow me to assist you into a laying position on the coffee table...?"
Daphene stood and allowed herself to be lowered to the table top. She bent her legs up, expecting him to tie the rope to the handcuffs around her ankles. Instead he unlocked the handcuffs and bound her ankles together with one of the lengths of rope. Then he tied her ankles to her wrists, pulling the ropes just tight enough to make her legs fold up but not nearly as tight as he could. The other coil of rope was used to wrap around her waist and the table, holding her firmly down.
"I wouldn't wish you to roll off the table and hurt yourself, miss."
"Of course not, Charles. This is very comfortable."
"Will there be anything else, miss?"
"You mean like a gag?"
"Whatever you desire."
"No! I'm just kidding. But there is one thing you could do. You could open the drapes and let more sunlight in. I'm down low enough so that people can't see me even if they look in. And I would like the fresh air and light."
"Very good, miss." The drapes were pulled back and windows opened. Daphene could smell the sea air, mixed with many other odors strange to her. Charles paused next to the door. "Will there be any thing else, miss?"
"No, Charles. Thank you."
"My pleasure, miss."
And he was gone, leaving Daphene wondering if she was crazy. But when she thought about it, wanting, actually wanting, to be hogtied on the table wasn't so crazy. She had expressed a wish to be keep bound up all day many times before by simply accepting the act when Greg did it to her. Not saying no is the same as saying yes, she figured. Besides, there was not much she could do if she couldn't go up on the deck, so she might as well be tied to that table.
She wiggled a bit and tugged here and there but quickly confirmed that she was well bound and wouldn't be going anywhere. The table was a little hard but not too bad. She was comfortable and actually felt secure. The fact that she was a prisoner and couldn't move simply seemed natural.
It was after having lain there for at least an hour that Daphene realized the real reason she had asked Charles to hogtie her. She wanted to impress Brian when he returned. Instead of finding her tied and shackled as he had left her, he would find that she had gone him one better and arranged for herself to be in more restrictive bondage.
Brian was impressed. He walked around the coffee table with its cargo of lush woman in secure bondage and smiled with real appreciation and joy.
"Charles says that you asked him to hogtie you. Have you enjoyed the morning?"
"It was okay. Do I look nice?"
"Beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world." Daphene blushed. Brian sat on the sofa before her and gazed at her with an amused but half serious smile. "Well, now what do we do? I sort of insisted on having you as a 'house guest' for the morning. Oh, by the way, Charles would have untied you if your hands hurt. Or if you insisted on being freed." He let the last few words hang for a minute to make sure she would understand what he was saying. "I though you would like it. And your asking for the hogtie confirmed that. But now we see where we go from here. Any suggestions?"
"I'm hardly in position to dictate my fate," Daphene responded with a wiggle of her body to show off the ropes.
"You are, and you know it. I am not in the habit of making pretty girls prisoner against their will. At least not for long," he added with a smile. Sitting back on the sofa and pursed his lips. "You are certainly welcome to remain my 'house guest', with or without the ropes, for as long as you like. I would like that. You are a beautiful and fascinating woman. And I suspect there is an interesting story behind those faded whip marks on your bottom."
"Perhaps I'll tell you one day. Do you know of The Club?" Daphene finally got to the real reason she had wanted to meet a man like Brian.
For a second he just stared at her, his features unreadable. Finally he inhaled deeply. "How do you know of The Club?"
"Is it a place where girls are sold? I mean really sold, like slaves, against their will?"
"The Club is simply the continuation of a practice that goes back to when our ancestors were living in caves. Men have always felt that they should own women. From that there is only a small step to selling and buying them. Hell, what is marriage? A woman sells her body for security and a man who will go out and earn the money to shelter and feed them. She may love him, but the principle is the same. He owns her. He provides for her. And, in exchange, she provides him with the pleasure of ownership of a woman. Or at least she should." The last remark held a trace of bitterness. "So The Club is real?"
"The Club exists. But why are you so interested in a place that sells girls?"
Daphene paused for a while to shape her words, which was not easy as she was somewhat unsure herself. "I was owned by a man up until a few days ago," she began. "At first it was just a few playful games, my wrists getting tied behind me while we made love. But then I was left tied up longer and longer until finally he would leave me tied all day while he was at his office." She took a deep breath. 'Then it got to be more. I was kept almost constantly in ropes or chains. He bought a pair of handcuff and even a pair of leg irons. I didn't mind. Well, you can probably see right through me -I like it. I guess I'm just a naturally submissive girl. But then things changed. He whipped my bottom with a riding crop. And then one day he whipped my breasts and pussy with a small whip." She paused but Brian made no comment so she continued. "It hurt terrible but when we made love afterwards, I was so in love with him that I could have died. But things changed again. He gave a party and had me prancing around in some skimpy bra and panties to show off to his friends. Later he bound me up tightly with ropes and showed me off to a smaller group of men. And then ... Well, he simply sold me to the highest bidder. For a weekend only but it was for real. I was carried away in the trunk of his car like a piece of baggage or a sack of merchandise. I was tortured ... Well, not too terribly. But not too pleasantly, either. But the worst part was that I was raped."
Daphene looked defiantly at Brian, hoping that he would understand what she was saying.
"The daily bondage was okay. Even fun?" he asked. She nodded. "And even the whippings, while they hurt, were acceptable? Even exciting? Stimulating?"
"Yes." Brian paused and looked at the ceiling. "A man would have to feel that he owned a girl, really owned her body and soul, before he would sell her to another man. Even for only a few days. I get the feeling that the worst part was being raped?"
Daphene did not say a thing. She wasn't sure why she was opening up to this man but she felt comfortable with him.
"So you ran away?"
"I cut the ropes with his shaving razor and left."
"I can understand that. But why did you seek out another man who you knew would tie you up. And maybe whip you? You weren't too subtle in that cocktail lounge. I watched as you talked to a couple of other men and then rejected them. To someone who understands, your crossed wrists was a complete give away. And last night you practically begged me to tie you and later to whip your bottom. Why?"
Daphene frowned. "Because I like it. Well, yes, but something else. I'm not sure what I like. Or want? I guess I wanted to try some other men. I love him and the way he treats me most of the time. But I was hurt by what Greg did. I guess I want to find out just how much I really want to be a man's slavegirl. Do you understand?"
"I think I do. You love parts of it but don't know where your limits are. Did you tell Greg how you felt?"
"I told him before the 'auction' that I would do it only if he was the one who bought me. I made it clear that I wanted to play the part of the slavegirl on auction but not to be really sold to a stranger. He know how I felt."
"But he felt he owned you and could do with you as he wished."
"Yes."
"Are you looking for another master? Do you want be keep in constant bondage or restraints without freedom? To be used as the man wishes? Even to be whipped?"
"I don't know. I like most of it. I loved what you did to me. But to be a full time slave? I'm not sure any more. Does a man always have to feel he owns a woman completely?"
"Most men do. It's natural. A man wants to possess his woman. He wants to be the dominant partner. Yes, most men, if they were totally honest with themselves, would like to own a woman body and soul."
Daphene frowned. For a minute neither of them spoke. Finally Brian brought the conversation back to the bombshell Daphene had dropped at the beginning. "Why did you ask about The Club. Surely you're not thinking that you would like to be sold as a slavegirl? You do understand that those people aren't playing games? Once they get their hands on a woman, she's a slave -plain and simple. She's keep in some for of restraint constantly. She's used for any sexual purpose her owner wishes. And that includes giving her away for a night's pleasure to a friend. Or a business associate. And a slavegirl is punished quite severely when she is rebellious or protests. Sometime she is punished for no reason, simply because her master wants to. And it's a lifetime proposition. You would never be free. Is that what you want?"
"I don't think so. I just want to understand what it is that I want. What will make me happy? I get such mixed up feelings inside. I heard of The Club. I guess I'm wondering if being a fully owned slavegirl is what I really want."
"Well, I guess wanting to find out more about this ... This profession is logical. But perhaps that's not the right profession for you."
"Would it be possible for me to see what it's like? I don't mean by being a slavegirl, but just to see how they're treated and what happens to them. Do those girls come to love their slavery? Or do they hate it forever?"
Brian smiled. "Okay, I'll help you learn more about slavery. Let me make some arrangements and talk to some people. There may be some other alternatives I could show you, too.
We'll see."
With that he leaned forward and began untying the ropes that held Daphene prison to the coffee table. "But first I think that perhaps you would like to have bath. And then a nice lunch."
As she sat on the coffee table, the ropes piled around her feet and massaging her hands, she smiled at Brian. "Thank you. For being a nice 'Master'."
"You may not thank me tonight when I again tightly tie you up and use a belt to warm up your bottom. That's before I make love to you, of course."
Daphene frowned a little then realized that he was asking her if she would stay with him, not telling her. "I will be a good little slavegirl," she meekly bowed her head and averted her eyes in the most submissive pose she could manage. But they both knew they were not talking about an ownership, only a little fun and games. "And if you have to punish your slavegirl...."
Brian laughed aloud with real pleasure. "I love you, you beautiful creature! And I'll love having you as a guest as long as you wish to stay."
The bath was warm and deliciously sensual, scented with the smell of roses. Lunch was at a restaurant made from an old style river boat. They had fresh halibut at a table overlooking the harbor and enjoyed it. When they returned to his yacht, she demurely asked that he handcuff her wrists together before her. While he was getting the handcuffs, she tossed off all clothing. He didn't seem too surprised when he came back. The cuffs clicked on firmly and Daphene was once again a prisoner. But this time a willing prisoner. That night her bottom was indeed "warmed" up with Brian's belt and they make glorious love while she lay on arms bound with her elbows together. Her elbows and shoulders hurt from the tight ropes but that was glorious, too.
CHAPTER EIGHT - Slavegirl Auction
On Wednesday afternoon Brian took Daphene to an unassuming house in the Hollywood hills where a small, older, bearded German took a complete set of measurements of her body. He said little beyond a suggestion that she strip naked so that he could get accurate measurements without having clothing in the way. Since she was wearing only a very light summer dress, it hardly seemed necessary but Daphene stripped without protest, making a mini-strip tease out of the process. She held her arms or legs as ordered while the small man busily move are her with a cloth measuring tape in his hands. It was much like getting measured for a custom dress except that such measurements seldom included ankle diameter, nipple size, and position of her vagina slit with reference to her waist and height above the floor.
Daphene looked questionably at Brian but he offered no help and she held her questions in. Soon enough she would find out what was going on. Besides there was something she trusted about Brian.
The measurement taken, Brian and the German conferred for a few minutes then excused themselves while she got dressed. They were soon back projecting the air of men having concluded a business deal satisfactorily.
Then drove back to Newport Beach, stopping to pick up her bags at the hotel. Lunch was in a delightful French restaurant overlooking a small cliff and the Pacific Ocean. Catalina Island was visible as a brown hazy lump along part of the horizon. The food was excellent and Daphene enjoyed it. But her thoughts were in other places.
"Would you take me to a fancy restaurant like this wearing handcuffs on my wrists," she asked between a bite of food and a sip of wine.
Brian did not reply at once. When he did it was with an amused smile on his face. "Have you done that? Did that Greg take you to a restaurant with your wrists shackled?"
"He did," she replied with some pride. Brian shook his head.
"I doubt Henri would say anything but he would be shocked, This is a very proper restaurant, you know."
"You didn't answer my question." Daphene held her wrists only an inch apart and took a bite of duck.
Brian laughed. "Boy, are you something. Yes, I would take you to a restaurant wearing handcuffs. I'd tell everyone that you were a dangerous criminal and I'm taking you to prison. I'd tell them that you strangled your husband with your nylons while making love."
Daphene had to laugh. But she also took his answer at face, he would take her out in public wearing restraints. For some reason that was important to Daphene.
"What were all those measurements for? He didn't look like a dress maker."
"He makes special bondage devices." Daphene's eyebrow went up in question but Brian didn't elaborate.
"Well then, when am I going to get a look at this mysterious The Club where girls are bought and sold?"
"Don't mock the place; it is real. And girls are sold into lifetime slavery there."
"Well, when am I going to see this place?"
"Tomorrow. Things had to be arranged carefully.
Normally the only women who see the inside of The Club are girls being sold and an occasional rich woman who is coming to buy herself a slavegirl."
"A woman?"
"It happens. There are lesbians, you know."
"But I never thought about one girl owning another. Just doesn't fit in with those adventure and romance novels, you know."
"And you don't fit into either category. So I invented another category. You're going to be a slavegirl who is being shown the auction as an object lesson. Sort of a be careful or this will happen to you lesson."
"And why the maker of special bondage devices?"
"You're going to be the slavegirl of a rich man.
You'll be wearing something fancier than just a pair of handcuffs."
Daphene was amused. She trusted this man and thought the idea of going into a slave auction as an already owned slavegirl was exciting. She tried to get Brian to tell her what kind of special devise she would be wearing but he refused. "You'll see," was all she could get out of him.
That night, after a visit to another of Newport Beach's finer restaurants, Daphene found herself back on the yacht. Brian told her that he had a little paperwork to do in his study and she should make herself comfortable.
"If I'm a slavegirl, don't I get restraints?"
"You're impossible. But come here." He clicked handcuffs on her wrists, making sure they were really snug, and left her to her own devices. For a while she lounged around the lounge, but then she went up on deck. The yacht was moored in the busy harbor and surrounded by many other boats and considerable water traffic, even though the sun had gone down. Well aware that she was wearing handcuffs behind her back, Daphene took care to lean against the a wall so her handcuffed wrists were hidden behind her. She liked the smell of the salt water, the many colored lights, and the busy channel. As she watched all sorts of boats from dinghies to yachts easily bigger than Brian's cruised by. She did note a trend -the bigger the boat, the older the captain. The little sailboats and filtered here and there in the dying evening breezes were usually driven by teenagers or young people. The truly impressive large boats were piloted by older men with hair. Boats half way between were owned by people half way between.
"Does Miss Daphene like the harbor?" came a voice from her shoulder. She turned her head to find Charles standing there. She hadn't heard him come up.
"Yes, it's beautiful. And the sunset is very nice." For a minute Charles gazed at the sunset. "Yes, miss.
It is nice. I've seen better from the Mr. Williams' ranch in Arizona. But they have more dust in the air there to make sunsets."
"He has a ranch?"
"Not a working ranch, miss. There are four horses but it really isn't a ranch. We just call it that. Actually, it's simply his home when he wishes to be in the desert. As ranches go, it's not very large, only five hundred acres."
Daphene smiled and searched Charles' face for signs that he was putting her on. There were none, he was serious. "And I suppose he has a ski chalet in Switzerland?"
"The ski chalet is at Big Bear Lake, miss. And," he added with just the slightest trace of a smile, "the hunting lodge is Alaska."
"Really?"
"Of course, miss. But I'm afraid Mr. Billings doesn't use the hunting lodge much. He's really to busy these days."
Daphene thought for a while before asking, "Does he often have girls on board? I mean girl who are chained up?" She turned so he could see the handcuffs.
"It would be inappropriate for me to comment on my employer's appetites. Or his sexual preferences."
"But you weren't shocked to find me naked and tied up?"
"No, miss. It has happened before." Charles raised one eyebrow just the slightest.
"Many times?"
"I really couldn't say, miss."
"Charles, you're terrible."
"I might ask you, miss, why should you care about Mr. Billings' prior female acquaintances."
Daphene dropped the subject. She had to admit to herself that she really should have no reason for caring what Brian did. They had no commitment to each other, that was for sure."
"I'm going below now, Charles," she said as she glided as gracefully as she could towards the stairs. "Would you please come and do me a favor?"
"Of course, miss."
Charles finished tying the last knot. "Will that be all, miss?" he said very properly.
Daphene tested the ropes holding her prisoner and gave her approval. "I'm not going to escape, Charles. You did a good job. Thank you. If you'll lean over, I'll give you a kiss."
"That would not be proper, miss. You are a guest of my employer," he said with more than a trace of stuffiness. Daphene giggled at his departing back to let him know that she didn't believe for one minute he was really a stuffed shirt.
Then she turned her attention to the way he had fixed her. It had been her idea, of course, sort of a surprise for Brian when he finished his paperwork. Of course, she didn't know when he would finish and she might well be laying here for hours. Would serve her right if that happened. She sighed but it there was a good deal of pleasure mixed in with the exasperation.
She was naked. That was the natural condition for a slavegirl and Daphene knew just how appealing to men her body was. She had ordered Charles to bind her arms together behind her back, at the wrists and again at the elbows, bringing tight together and making her breasts stick out very nicely. She knew the servant hadn't missed the erect nipples. Then she had settled herself on the bed, spread her legs wide, and instructed him to bind each ankle to the corners of the bed. She didn't have to tell me to make the ropes tight and her legs very taunt. When he was finished, Daphene was one well-bound girl and not going to be getting up from the bed under her own power.
She hoped Brian would appreciate the surprise awaiting for him. And a wonderful token of his appreciation would be a good, long screwing with that very nice tool of his. She hoped his paperwork wouldn't take too much longer.
It was a while before the master of the yacht came into to the bedroom. Daphene had taken turns sitting up and laying down on her bound arms. When Brian came in, she was sitting up, trying to bend forward to relieve some of the strain in her legs. Quickly she allowed herself to fall back to the bed. She knew that her arms being bound under her made her breasts stick up and her hips higher off the bed than they would be had she just been laying down.
"Your little slavegirl is ready for her Master," Daphene said in what she hoped was a sincere tone. It was hard to keep a little giggle out of her voice. This was an exciting game and she was enjoying it.
"And does this slavegirl know the penalty for being impertinent?"
"Why, what do you mean, Master?"
"A true slavegirl knows that she does not select what will be done. She simply awaits her master's wish and then hurries to obey. You obviously expect that this display of your feminine charms in such bondage will excite me. In mm that will assure your being screwed, which is what you are planning for and fully expecting. A real master would punish you for such impertinence. I think a whipping would be in order. And certainly no screwing for that night. Wouldn't that be a proper punishment for a slavegirl who tried to push her master into doing what she wanted?"
Daphene swallowed. She hadn't thought of that. "I only wanted to please you, Master. I wanted to show you that my body was yours to enjoy."
"A master doesn't have to be shown that. Or told that by his slave. He knows. She knows. Should you be punished for this transgression?"
Daphene hesitated, then said in a low voice, "Yes, Master."
"Good, we understand each other. But," he paused for dramatic effect, "I am not a true master. I will swat you twice between the legs and then give you want you want."
Daphene smiled until she saw him taking the belt out of his pants. She remembered how much a belt can hurt her bottom, and this time the target was not her ass. This was different from the small whip that Greg had used on her pussy. A lot different, but she didn't know if it would hurt more or less. "Yes, Master," she managed to get out, unable to take her eyes from the black leather strap in his hands.
Without fanfare, Brian stepped forward and brought the belt directly across Daphene's pussy from the left side. She gasped loudly and sucked in her breathe at the burning pain. He quickly stepped over to the right side and followed up with another stroke. Both impacted the doubled over end solidly upon her sex, the second evoking a scream from the naked and distressed girl. She cut it off but was left gasping and panting.
"Oh, Master, that was terrible. That hurt."
"It was suppose to, slave." He was divesting himself of his clothing in an orderly progression. When all his clothes were laying on the chair, he mounted the bed and spread her pussy lips wide apart. Daphene gasped again as he rammed his shaft into her love tunnel. "Oh, MASTER!" she cried out.
Brian wrapped his arms around her, one had hand pressing against her bound elbows, the other behind her head. His lips were upon hers and she eagerly returned his kiss, her tongue almost in a frenzy in its desire to tell him how good he made her feel. Then he was pumping and she was thrusting back with her hips, and it wasn't long before both were gasping with ecstasy as they crashed into mutual orgasm.
For a long time Brian lay on top of her, his reduced tool still inside her hot pussy, his weight holding her a prisoner against the bed. Eventually he rose up on his arms but lowered his head until he had captured one nipple in his mouth. There began a sucking and tonguing of both nipples that quickly had Daphene moaning with pleasure and her hips beginning to thrust again him again. It was no surprise to her that his tool responded and begin filling her tunnel. Before long they were again thrusting against each other, grunts and moans of desire intermixed as they took their pleasure in each other's bodies.
After the second coupling, Brian crawled off. He untied her legs from the corners of the bed, allowing Daphene to roll over onto her stomach. Her eyes were closed and her breathing heavy. She pushed her pussy into the bed covers because it felt so good.
Daphene felt asleep shortly after that. Brian, before he drifted off, untied her arms and replaced the rope with handcuffs on her wrists. It was with wrists handcuffed behind her back that Daphene awoke in the morning. She was very satisfied and a happy woman. Then she remembered that this was the day she was suppose to visit the slave auction.
Daphene was bathed and shampooed and looking beautiful when she walked into the bedroom. She was naked, a state that Brian seemed to like and that certainly felt natural to her after all those months with Greg. Brian was there. "I am ready," she said, looking at the unusual contraption laying on the dresser.
It was made of metal, shinning silvery in the sunlight. There was a solid bar of metal, about two inches wide, and with bands attached to it at both ends and another about half way. A forth band was attached to the other side. Daphene fingered it with interest. It was both beautiful and a bit scary. "How does it go on?" she inquired with real interest.
"Like this." Brian turned her around and fitted the device against her back. The band on the side by itself went around her waist at its narrowest point. The band at one end went around her neck and was padlocked behind her head. The band at the other end went around her wrists and was similarly padlocked. Brian forced her elbows together and the band in the middle went over them. It was padlocked and Daphene was allowed to view herself in the mirror.
It was a beautiful piece of engineering. Her arms were locked together behind her just as if they had been bound with ropes. But they were also rigidly locked to that bar and could not be bent at all. The band around her neck was three inches wide and forced her to hold her head straight upright. She experimented and found that she could do nothing with her arms. They were securely locked to each other and to her back.
"It's very impressive," she said with sincere awe. "I can't move my arms at all. I can see why you had exact measurements taken. This fits like it was made for me." She laughed. "Of course, it should! Oh, Brian, this is beautiful!"
She turned this way and that, both so she could see all sides in the mirror and so Brian could see his device and what it did to her figure. As with anytime that her elbows were pulled together behind her, the strain made her breasts stand straight out. And the tummy band improved her waistline until it was beautiful. Not quite natural but a big improvement on nature.
"Oh, Brian, it's beautiful. Is this what I'll wear to the slave auction?"
"Yes. You'll look like a well cared for slavegirl. Which is what you're suppose to be."
"Do I go naked? "That would be expected of a slavegirl, wouldn't it?"
"Yes, Master." There was laughter in Daphene's eyes but her reply had been sincere. She turned around a couple more times, modeling this incredible bondage device. "There's a little ring on the bottom about where my fingers are. What's that for? And there's a small ring at the front of my neck collar."
"Slavegirls are sometimes naughty," Brian announced. "It is convenient to be able to punish them without having to take off their bondage." He picked up a short length of silvery chain with small, smooth links. One end was attached to the ring at the bottom of the bar, then the chain was passed between her legs. He carefully spread the lips protecting her vagina and inserted the chain between them. Then he it up to the ring at her collar. It was necessary to pull a bit to get the snap at the end of the chain to click into the ring in her collar but he did it.
"Oh, that's tight! That chain is cutting right into me! Brian, you're right, that is a punishment. Wow, that's tight. And if I move at arms at all it hurts more." She stood before the mirror to examine the sliver chain emerging from her pubic patch and attached to her neck collar. The chain was obviously tight. She was fascinated by it and the feelings it created in her body. "It hurts but it also feels nice. Well, sort of. Actually it hurts much more than it feels nice." She walked around a bit. "It's not too bad," she offered. "But I expect it gets worse?"
"Right. Imagine what it would be like to have that chain and arm shackle on for, say, four hours? Six hours?"
"Oh, Brian, I mean, Master. That would be torture."
"It would hurt," he admitted. "And it would grow worse the longer it was on." He cupped her chin gentiy in his hand and kissed her full lips. She started to respond but he stepped back. "I was thinking that perhaps you would like to wear it all night some time."
Daphene shivered deliciously. "Yes, Master," she breathed heavily. "I'd hate it, wouldn't I?"
"Probably. But you really don't like to be whipped, do you?"
"Well, no. It hurts terribly."
"This is the same. It will hurt terribly to send an entire night in it. You probably won't sleep. And you'll know you've been a punished girl."
"Yes, Master." Brian smiled and patted Daphene on the bottom. "Get your shoes on, we leave for The Club in half an hour."
"But, Master, with that chain down there, you can't ... Well, I mean, you can't take pleasure in your slavegirl."
"No, I couldn't. But a master can take pleasure in other ways. There is always your mouth." Daphene was silent. "And there is the fact that I enjoy simply watching you struggle in bondage. I enjoy watching you simply suffer your bondage, knowing that you are helpless to escape and are in pain."
"Yes, Master. I know." Brian kissed her lightly on the cheek and left.
Daphene gave her nude body another turn in the mirror and then sought out her shoes. They were black patent leather high heels, easily five inches of heel. She managed to slip them on with difficulty. Then she paraded around the room, enjoying the image she saw in the mirror. That was one restricted woman, she thought. And she looks so beautiful! Those breasts couldn't be nicer. And her legs look so lovely with those high heels on! She looked magnificent to herself and she wondered what the effect would be on a man.
She did kind of wish he hadn't left that chain between her legs. But a slavegirl can't have everything. And she did want to understand what it meant to be a real slavegirl. Perhaps then she would understand herself better and know if she really wanted to be owned by Greg. Or any other man.
Charles came to escort her to the car. He draped a coat over her shoulders and buttoned it up. She would pass for a girl with her hands in her pockets. Perhaps a girl standing a rather straight upright, but most people wouldn't suspect that she was bound in a metal arm binder. Or that her pussy was being cut in two by a small silver chain.
Charles helped her with the stairs. It was a bit of a walk to the car and she felt very self-conscious that she was the only girl wearing a coat in the hot California sun. If those people could only see what was going on under that coat...!
Charles helped her into the back seat of the car, this time a limo with a huge back seat. The coat had to be unbuttoned about half way up for her to be able to sit down. Charles closed the door and Daphene was alone. She smelled leather and scotch and guessed that there was a bar behind the panel before her. The windows were tinted very darkly and she was sure no one could see in. She tried to make herself comfortable but it wasn't easy with that metal shaft holding her arms rigid. And the chain between her legs didn't help, either.
When Brian got in he noted that most of Daphene's legs were uncovered and he could easily see her pubic patch with it's silver chain. As soon as he had settled down next to her, the car moved away and she was on her big journey to see a slave auction.
"The Club is actually several different places," Brian explained as the huge car moved smoothly up the San Diego freeway. There is one place in Hollywood, and another just outside of New York. And another a little outside Paris at a delightful chateau where they actually still make wine. And, as you would expect, one in the heart of Arabia. I believe there is one in Africa somewhere but I'm not sure about that."
The talk then turned to other, safer and more bland topics. As they approached the Hollywood hills and Daphene could see the famous sign of huge white letters proclaiming the name of this town to the world, Brian got back to the subject. "You'll have to be blindfolded," he informed. "You're not suppose to see where this place is. Wouldn't be healthy."
Daphene was a little surprised but that did make sense. Selling girls, especially in the heart of one of the biggest cities of the Land of the Free, was an illegal activity and those who ran it would insist on caution. Brian fitted a large blindfold over her eyes and Daphene made the rest of the journey in total darkness.
The limo drove on for half an hour more over a twisty course that Daphene could make no sense of. She was in a strange city where she didn't know the streets at all. She thought that they were climbing into some mountains. Finally the car stopped, and she expected the blindfold would be taken immediately off. She was wrong.
"I can't count on you to remember that you are a slavegirl," Brian told her. "You might ask some question or make some comment that would tell these people you're not really owned by me. So I'm going to gag you."
As the rubber wad was going into her mouth, filling it and pushing her tongue down, Daphene told herself that it was only reasonable. Brian had to protect himself, after all. But why was she feeling so very helpless?
The blindfold came off before she was helped out of the car but all Daphene could see was the inside of a garage, dimly lit. There were other cars parked around but she couldn't even make out the license plates. It dawned on her that the dim light was deliberate. The coat was taken from her and left in the car.
She shook her head but the gag was firmly strapped into place and could not be dislodged. She was led down some stairs and along a corridor. There were doors but they were all closed and their contents hidden from her sight. Finally they came to a door at the end of the corridor. Brian opened it and led Daphene into a strange place.
The room was like a small auditorium. There was a low stage at one end, three dozen seats and plenty of room for men to stand around those. The room was lavishly done in shades of red, modern but with an oriental rug on the floor with a Chinese pattern. A bar at the back provided whatever libations the customers might desire. All eyes immediately fell upon the naked, bound and gagged Daphene. None were shocked to see a girl in that condition, she told herself. But they all seem very interested in my body. A little thrill ran through her at the thought that she could immediately draw the attention of a room full of world-wise men.
There were about a dozen men, mostly standing around, sipping drinks and chatting. A few sat by themselves and seemed to not want to socialize. She could see almost as many nationalities as there were men. One was dressed in the traditional tribal garb of an African prince while another wore the flowing garments of an Arab. It was the Arab who came over to greet Brian.
"Brian," he began with no introduction, "it has been a long time since last we met. That oil deal in Cairo, I believe? It is good to see you."
"And good to see you, Hasad, you old camel humper." The two men shook hands as old friends would, with Hasad not showing any signs of being insulted by the suggestion that he performed sexual intercourse with dromedaries.
"And what is this lovely creature?" Hasad said as he performed a slow walk around Daphene, eyes roving up and down her nakedness.
"A piece of property I own," Brain said levelly. "She is not for sale," he added. "I've brought her here so that she might see what happens to a girl who displeases her master and does get sold. She has spirit and needs ;o be shown that, for a slavegirl, she has it easy."
"A girl who displeases her master is whipped," Hasad said matter-of-factly. "It is to be expected."
"True. And she has been whipped. I know you noticed the marks."
"But not recently. Many of my slaves bear almost constant fresh marks."
"I thought that perhaps if she saw how bad it can be for a slavegirl...." Brian let his voice trail off.
"I see you have been to that old Nazis, Himel. That arm holder bears his mark."
"True."
"But I did not think you went in for owning a slavegirl, Brian, old friend?"
"A new acquisition," Brian replied casually. "I was quite taken in by her beauty. And she looks so beautiful in tight ropes. You know how I like tight ropes upon a girl."
"And does she give you much pleasure in bed?" the Arab said with a leer.
"Would I keep her if she did not?" They both laughed and Daphene sensed that the Arab would have asked more details about how this slave pleasured her master had not a hush suddenly fell over the room. All attention went to the stage where a small man with Arabian features but dressed in totally modem Western clothes was standing.
"Please be seated. We will begin. You all know the usual rules. All bids are in cash, payable upon delivery unless other arrangements have been made in advance. Today we have three fine slaves for sale, all, as usual, of good quality. Today all girls are fresh acquisitions, no resales."
Daphene wondered what the difference between a fresh acquisition and a resale but figured perhaps a slavegirl can be sold from one master to another. Sort of like a used car, an idea which didn't please Daphene at all. Then she wondered just how these girls became "fresh acquisitions."
A girl was led up to the stage, every male, and one pair of female, eye in the place upon her. She was tall, with long blonde hair done up in a pony tail. She was wearing a white sheet draped over one shoulder. It fell to just above her knees. Daphene noted how pretty the girl, then realized, with a little start, that the girl was definitely American. A perfectly normal example of American teenage cheerleader type. The girl looked nervously around the room. She was placed next to the auctioneer in a place where several lights shown upon her.
Daphene couldn't see the girl's figure too well with the sheet draped over her, but it seemed rather nice.
"Bids?" said the auctioneer. The first bid was half-hearted but larger than Daphene would have expected. It was followed by a few more but the bidding wasn't spirited.
"They're waiting until he uncovers the girl," whispered Brian. "Gotta see the merchandise, you know."
The auctioneer obviously sensed that the serious bidding wouldn't start until, so he put his hand upon the sheet where it was fastened at her shoulder. The girl, realizing that he was about to disrobe her before a group of strange men, flashed a sudden look of fear across her pretty face and jerked away. The sheet, still in the hand of the man, came off as she stepped back to reveal her youthful nudity. Some appreciative oh's came from the audience. Daphene doubted that the girl was more than seventeen although her body was very, very nice, a flat tummy with slender hips and breasts big enough to go nicely with the shape. And wonderfully perky breasts they were, the nipples turning up slightly.
The man who had brought her to the stage was suddenly beside her, both strong hands upon her arms. He led her back to the center of the stage and held her there for all to see. In the brief struggle Daphene realized that the girl's hands were handcuffed behind her back.
Suddenly the girl broke her silence. "Please help me! I was kidnapped! Please call my parents. Call the police!"
As the auctioneer held her, the guard forced her mouth open and inserted a curved metal bar. It was quickly strapped behind her head. Daphene winced. That gag looked very uncomfortable, like a horse's bit. It obviously held her jaw open because she couldn't close her teeth with a metal bar between them. And the curved part went farther back into the mouth, at least pushing the tongue down and perhaps pressing against the back of the mouth. It wouldn't be a comfortable gag to wear, thought Daphene as she contrasted it to her own. He's wasn't comfortable but at least it didn't have bare metal crammed between her teeth.
The girl struggled a bit but was easily controlled by the strong guard. The auctioneer continued as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. With her body now in full view, the bidding grew more spirited and the amounts surprised Daphene. They were far larger than she had gone for in Greg's little auction. But then, she reminded herself, these men were buying the girl forever, not just a weekend.
The teenager was weeping by the time the final bid had been made and her ownership changed hands. Daphene wanted very badly to ask questions of Brian, especially about how this girl had come to be at the slave auction. She hadn't given that much thought before, she just thought there were slavegirls.
The second girl to be sold on the auction block was a black girl, also a teenager, also with very fine figure. That girl didn't make a fuss when the sheet was pulled from her. Daphene got the impression that if it hadn't been for the fact that she was being sold into slavery, this girl would have enjoyed showing off her fine body to these men. She went for almost the same amount of money as the first girl, and to the African. Daphene wondered at that, a black African buying a black American girl. For his harem? Did African's have harems like Arabians?
The third girl was something else. She was young but a teenager as the first two. This girl was around twenty-four or twenty-five, very beautiful with long blonde hair hanging half way down her back. She didn't have the look of fear in her eyes as the other girls had. Instead she was defiant, a quiet defiance, not an angry, open one. When the sheet was taken from her to reveal a very good body, every line of her face and body said that she may be a prisoner but they couldn't break her spirit.
Daphene wondered about that. She hadn't thought about it much but supposed that every girl had some point, some combination of treatment that would break her down. She made a note to talk to Brian about this. She hated the thought that this beautiful, proud woman might be reduced to a humble, obedient slavegirl. Yet it was an exciting thought somehow.
Daphene stood next to Brian's seat at the back of the group. She sat on the edge of her chair next to Brian, and was very conscious of her nudity, and of the way her arms were totally secured behind her back. Along with the gag, it meant that she was under complete control of the man who had brought her. She had to sit and watch as three women who had been yanked from their lives were sold into a lifetime of slavery. She was filled with mixed feelings. She had enjoyed most of the slavery Greg had created for her. But there had been that night she was sold to a stranger for him to use. That had not been pleasant. But these girls obviously did not enjoy any of this. Even the whippings she had gotten from Greg had been a wonderful combination of pain and pleasure. But would the whippings these girls got be pure pain? Would they hate every minute of their enslavement? Daphene didn't know.
After the last girl was led away, the lights came back up and most of the men retired to the bar for a last drink. A few left immediately, including those who's bids had been accepted for the girls. Daphene assumed they were going to make arrangements for payment.
It had been interesting to watch those girls standing on the stage, it reminded her of the time she had been before a group of men, naked and tightly bound and gagged, with bidding going on for her body. She remembered both the thrill and the fear, and she wondered if these girls felt any thrill or burning in their loins.
Once again Hasad was by their side, his eyes unable to leave Daphene's tightly secured body. "Brian, old friend, would you consider selling this one? If you're having trouble with her...."
Daphene didn't like the leer in the Arab's eyes. Nor the suggestion he had made.
"I don't think so, Hasad."
"I would offer you a great deal of money. And I will promise you she will soon be well trained in the arts of pleasing a master."
"Go on back to your harem and whip a couple of asses. You'll feel better."
Hasad ignored the comment. He looked at Daphene's pointing breasts and rigid nipples and made a dollar offer that shocked Daphene at the size of it.
For a long few moments Brian said nothing. Daphene squealed behind her gag. She was very, very much aware how helpless she was. With just a nod of his head, Brian could condemn her to a lifetime of slavery under this Arab who admitted he often whipped his slavegirls. She wanted to scream at Brian, to tell him that he dare not do that to her. But then she realized that he could easily do it. No one knew she was with him. If she disappeared, no one would call the police. She was totally helpless!
An amused smile tugged at the corners of Brian's mouth and she feared that the same thoughts were running through his mind. And that was a great deal of money offered for her.
"No, my friend. I think it unlikely I will ever find another girl to match this one. I will keep her."
Daphene and Hasad both sighed, one in relief, the other in sadness. "Such it will be," Hasad said, shaking his head. "Well, I wish you much happiness with her. Do not forget to use the whip when she needs it. And sometimes when she does not. It is good for a slavegirl to be whipped."
They shook hands once again and the Arab turned to go. At the door he turned back. "Don't forget, if you should ever change your mind...."
Brian just smiled. Then he took a deep breath and placed a hand upon Daphene's arm. "Come on, there is something I want to show you."
They left by the same door they had entered and returned to the underground garage. Over in the corner was an open door and they headed towards it. Inside the door was a large room where two of the girls just sold were being prepared for shipment to their new masters. The teenage girl who had made the outcry when she was stripped naked was being lowered into a box. Daphene shuttered as she saw how the girl had been bound up. First the girl was still naked. But the handcuffs on her wrists had been removed. The girl's legs had been bound together at the ankles and above the knees. Then her body had been bent so that her arms came together under her legs. The forearms had been tightly tied together so that her hands were next to the opposite elbows. She was being lowered into a square box only a tiny bit bigger than her body. They had to push her feet towards her bottom to make her fit. The bare wood box was such a snug fit that when the lowered the lid, the girl's head had to be pushed down against her knees to make it close. Two large padlocks were fitted into the hasps on the lid and she was ready for shipment. Daphene had noted the horse bit gag had been replaced by one quite similar to the one she wore. And that there were air holes in the box.
"She'll be in that box about eight hours," Brian said casually. "Won't be comfortable."
Daphene had to agree. The girl would be very uncomfortable, probably ready to scream by the end of eight hours.
The other girl was the third girl, the defiant blonde. She was also being bound up for shipment and a box awaited her. But her bondage was different, as was the box. First off she was standing. Her legs had been bound together at the ankles and again above the knees. Her arms had been pulled up behind her back so that the wrists were together and up near her neck with the elbows touching but down in the middle of her back. Daphene didn't know that a girl's arms could be forced into that position. Rope secured the arms at the wrists and at the elbows. In addition, there was a leather collar around her neck and her wrists were tied to a ring in the back of that. She was being gagged with a gag similar to the one Daphene wore. For a second her eyes meet and held Daphene's. But Daphene was not sure what communication they were exchanging. Obviously this newly sold slavegirl was aware that Daphene was naked and bound up as a slavegirl herself. Was it sympathy in those blue eyes? Or defiance even for another slavegirl?
The blonde was then picked up by two men and lowered into the rectangular box awaiting her. The size and shape was almost identical to her body and it was -lined with some kind of padding that formed a mold just fitting the girl's body. Daphene wondered how they happen to have such a mold ready. Or did had they just made it before she came?
There were straps attached to the box that went over the girl's body, holding it tight down in six places. When the lid was placed on and locked solidly, Daphene knew that this girl would not be able to move an inch. There were air holes at either side of her head, but Daphene wondered how terribly helpless that girl must feel. A delicious shiver raced down her spine.
"This one will only be in there for about four hours," Brian informed. "But she's going to a man who will break her spirit. That's why he bought her. After he's broken a girl, he tires of her and the trained girl winds up back here to be sold again."
Daphene wished the gag were not filling her mouth. There were questions she wanted to ask.
Brain led her out of the room and towards their waiting limo. Charles was standing beside the car. Just as he opened the door, some sound made Daphene turn around. The African prince and his newly purchased slave were proceeding towards another of the cars. The girl was dressed, which surprised Daphene. She wore an almost skintight dress of scarlet that made it obvious she wore no bra or panties. Her wrists were still handcuffed behind her back but she wore no gag and no other form of restraint. She was assisted into the back seat of another limo and the car immediately departed.
Inside their car, Daphene made sound through nose that she wanted to have the gag removed. Brain shook his head and placed the blindfold over her eyes. They drove for half an hour with Daphene silent and sightless before he removed the blindfold and gag. Daphene blinked at the afternoon sunlight even though it was filtered through the darkened windows. She worked her jaw round to get it back to feeling half way normal.
"Well," she said when her mouth would work, "that was certainly interesting." Brian remained silent but was looking at her. Daphene got the feeling he was waiting for her reactions.
"Those girls ... They were kidnapped?"
"What did you expect? Girls don't walk in and ask to become slaves for the rest of their lives."
Daphene didn't comment about that being pretty much was she had been considering doing The slavery would be with Greg but she had the feeling that had she not escaped the slavery would have been total very quickly.
"So that whole thing was illegal?"
"Of course it was. Why do you think I blindfolded you? There's no way you could find your way back there. Is there?"
"No."
"Those girls are really going to be shipped to other countries where they will be kept prisoner for the rest of their lives."
"What will be done to them?"
"That first girl is going to a small country in Central America. The man who bought her was just an agent for that country's dictator. She will be kept in a cell in the basement of the Presidential Palace. He will screw her whenever he feels like it, and whip her when the feeling strikes him. After about a year he will tire of her and give her to one of his generals. Or perhaps sell her. He hates Americans and enjoys taking out his anger on pretty American teenagers."
Daphene shuttered. "Why was that black girl being taken to the car? Shouldn't she have been packed up for shipment to Africa?"
Brian laughed. "Malcom Xavier Washington is no African prince or anything else authentic. He's a famous rock star. Or rap star, I should say to be accurate. He just likes to dress the part of his African ancestors. In twenty minutes that girl will be in the bedroom of his lavish Beverly Hills estate naked and on her hands and knees on the floor. He'll be leading her around like a dog, even making her bark. He'll be carrying a riding crop to give her encouragement. And he'll be calling her his "little bitch." It's his thing."
Daphene frowned. "And the third girl? That beautiful blonde?"
Brian sighed. "She will be shipped to Canada and eventually on to France. She has been bought by an agent of Henri de Ville. He owns a magnificent chateau. Also a magnificent dungeon where her screams will never be heard outside the walls. He enjoys whipping a girl until there is very little skin on her whole body that is unmarked. He also enjoys inviting business associates over to have them whip his slaves and enjoy their bodies any way they want."
Daphene was silent, partly out of shock, partly as she tried to digest this information. "My shoulders and pussy hurt a lot," she finally said. "Could I be untied from this thing?"
Brian smiled. "I like it on you. You can wear it a while longer."
Daphene didn't object. She also liked the metal device that held her arms so tightly. If only that chain through her pussy didn't cut into her soft flesh so.
"Well, I guess I should say thanks. I mean for showing me the auction. It was different than what I expected. Well, sort of what I expected. I was sold by Greg at a little auction, I told you about that."
"You wanted to know about real slavegirls."
"And ... And thank you for not selling me to that Arab. He was serious, wasn't he?"
"Very serious."
"Well, thank you. You didn't really consider it, did you?"
Brian smiled. "I considered it for a second. Then I decided that if I were to condemn you to a lifetime of slavery, I would rather keep you myself."
Daphene swallowed hard. It was flattering and she felt a warmth for this man.
"We'll be back in an hour. How do you feel about being a slavegirl?"
"I...." Daphene had to stop. What did she really feel? She had wanted to figure out in her own mind whether she wanted to be a slave to Greg. Or if what he was forcing her into was not for her. "I don't think I would like to be shipped off to what you described for those girls. Well, maybe crawling around on all fours in a Beverly Hills estate wouldn't be too bad. But the rest do not sound very nice."
"Hasad was not kidding when he told you he whips his slavegirls. He believes it makes them more obedient and improves their sexual responses. There is a Arabian belief that a whipped woman is much sexier and more fun in bed than one not marked up."
Daphene didn't tell him that she felt the same way. There was something about the intensity of feeling that comes with the whip that adds to the intensity of feeling from sex.
"Crawling around on all fours wouldn't be the worst part. He also uses his 'bitches' to satisfy his sexual lust."
"What's wrong with that?"
"He uses their rear entrance, not the front." It took Daphene a few seconds to realize what Brian was telling her. "Doesn't that hurt?"
"Depends on the girl and how relaxed she is. It can hurt. But that's not all. Inside of two months, three at the outside, she will be back at The Club, being sold again. He really only rents the girls."
"Oh." Daphene paused to shift her weight, trying without success to find a way to ease the pressure of the chain between her legs. "But wouldn't slavery be different with a man you love? I mean, if you really loved the man to begin with?"
Brian said nothing for a long time. When he replied, it was with a frown. "Don't forget you ran away from that man. Ask yourself why you did that."
Daphene was silent for the rest of the trip back to the yacht, lost in her own thoughts and trying to examine her inner feelings.
That night she slept next to Brian with only her wrists crossed and tied behind her back. Their lovemaking had been slow and unhurried. And very nice although not in the intense way that comes when her bottom is burning from a fresh whipping.
CHAPTER NINE - A Lifetime of Slavery
Daphene awoke with the sun streaming through the port hold window and warming her thigh. She turned lazily over and noted that her wrists were still crossed and bound behind her back. That did not bother her. In fact, it felt good. She stretched her legs out and noted that Brian was not in the bed.
For a while she did not leave the bed, did not go in search of Charles for breakfast, or to seek Brian. She was content to lay there and consider those things she had seen the day before.
There really were slavegirls, bought and sold through an underground catering to men of wealth and such tastes. Those girls were held against their wills, keep in bondage and chains, made to do what their masters willed regardless whether it was their will or not. And she remembered something else Brian had told her after they returned to the yacht. When a slavegirl no longer interests her master, she is sold, often to a brothel where she will work daily for her new masters. And when a girl in a brothel no longer interests the customers, she is either disposed of or sold yet again, but this time as a low cost kitchen servant or some such thing. Daphene had asked what "disposed of meant and was frightened to find out that it meant just what it sounded like -a midnight swim in the ocean with heavy chains around her ankles. Or an unmarked grave in a lonely place. She had argued with Brian that no one would just kill a girl because she wasn't so attractive any more. But he calmly told her that a slavegirl who could talk to the police or other authorities in those countries where slavery was illegal had to be keep silent. Those who bought and sold these girls, and their owners, couldn't afford to have them escape. They made sure the girl would never talk to anyone. But then he went on to describe how most slavegirls in those countries were it was legal or at least tolerated could expect to be taken care of, even as they grew old. They simply no longer went to their master's beds, the worked in the kitchen or around the house.
It was a lot to think about. But she keep telling herself that slavery with Greg would be different. He might occasionally give her to other men but he would never sell her totally to a brothel. And he would certainly never dispose of her in a violent way. She thought of slavery to Greg as a sort of unusual marriage -very strange by most people's standards but logical and acceptable to them. She would be keep bound or chained up all the time. She would be whipped by Greg when she was bad, and perhaps sometimes when she wasn't. And, if he really wanted it, she would be given to other men. If they only bound her up and whipped her, fine. If they raped her ... Well, it would be one way of pleasing her master. Besides, maybe if he really understand how she felt about it, he wouldn't let it happen again.
With her mind in less confusion than it had been since she cut her bonds and ran away from Greg, Daphene slithered out of bed and went in search of Charles.
Breakfast was good and Charles fed it to Daphene. He had not offered to untie her hands and she hadn't asked him to. Afterwards she wandered into the bath and drew herself a large tub full of scented bubbles and warm water. She hardly gave it a thought that her hands were bound behind her back, she was used to doing things that way. Turning on the water and pouring bath oil beads and bubble bath into the rub was no problem. She even managed to dry herself off afterwards pretty well by rubbing her body against the towel on its rack.
And the little wetness she missed wouldn't matter, she was not planning to get dressed.
That afternoon Brian came home early. He greeted Daphene with a kiss and she responded by rubbing her bare breasts against his suit. Later, he told her with a playful swat on her behind. A little later he called her into the bedroom and told her of the plans for that night.
"I'm going to take you to visit a friend of mine," he informed. "This will be another part of your learning about our strange lifestyle. Another side of it, you might say."
"Who is this? What will be happening? Come on, you can tell me," she teased him. Then she pouted, "If you think I won't go, then you can just keep my hands tied. I'll have to go!"
It was like a game to her and she actually enjoyed the idea of being introduced to something new, something that she might like. And if she didn't, she won't be able to do anything about it. That's one of the wonderful things about being a slavegirl, she told herself, there is so little decision making to do. Except that a part of her mind reminded her that she still had to make her final decision about Greg. But she had an excuse to put that off. She would see what Brian had planned for this evening. There would be enough time tomorrow for decisions.
Dinner was served by Charles in the main lounge. Daphene remained naked and with her wrists still bound behind her back. She enjoyed being waited upon by Charles, fed each bite and having her glass held up to her lips. After dinner Brian took her to the bedroom and dressed her for the evening.
They drove down the coast from Newport Beach and then turned inland into some low mountains with winding roads and many homes on the ocean side. On the other side there were only a few homes and the one they drove up to was almost hidden in a canyon. The sun had already set and a beautiful array of stars greeted them as she exited the vehicle. The house was quite large and fashioned after a French chateau. They were met at the front door by a woman wearing only a pair of panties and high heels. The panties were very brief and -lined with lace. They accented the woman's hips nicely. Her wrists were locked in handcuffs before her and her ankles joined by leg irons.
"You are expected, Master Brian. Please come this way," she said.
They followed her shuffling steps to a lounge at the back side of the house. All of one wall gave view to a magnificent swimming pool with rock waterfall. The falling water was lit from behind by reddish lights and more lights had turned the pool water into a green shape like clear sea water.
A man rose to greet them. "Ah, Brian, good to see you. And this must be Daphene. Oh, Brian, she as beautiful as you said."
The man unashamedly gave Daphene a good looking over. She straighten up a bit and was proud that this man found her attractive. Most any man would been panting over Daphene that evening. She wore her electric blue silky dress that clung to her body in ways that looked impossible. Matching high heels and no underwear finished the clothing part of her dress for that night. Her wrists were still crossed and bound behind her back. As he inspected her, Brian introduced him as Gary. Then he introduced the chained girl as Gary's slavegirl, Marsha. Marsha bowed to Brian and Daphene.
"Actually," interjected Gary, "Marsha is my wife. We were married a couple of years ago. Simply a formality so she will get the property when I die. She was my slave for ten years before that and she continues to be my slavegirl."
"Full time?" asked Daphene, taking another look at the chained girl. "You must have ... Enslaved her right out of high school. Is 'enslaved' the right word for your making her your slave?"
"Good as any, dear. And, yes, she was only eighteen when I got her."
"At the slave auction?" Gary gave Brian a hard look. "What does she know about The Club?"
"I took her there. Just to show her it was for real."
"But why, man? You know The Club is open for tourists.
I'm surprised they let you in with her."
"Mark owed me a favor. I wanted her to see that slavery was very real."
Gray huffed. "Well, it is. But, no, I did not buy Marsha. Actually she was delivering pizza to my door when I first saw her." He grinned. "I asked her out for dinner and she accepted. A couple months later she moved in with me. A few months after that she was being keep in chains full time, and has been every since."
Daphene watched Marsha's face as this story was told. She could see no reaction to indicate that the girl disagreed with what the man said.
"She's keep chained all the time? Even when she sleeps?"
"Yes. Of course. She's a slavegirl."
"And she obeys your every command?"
"Of course." Daphene paused before she asked the next question. She wasn't sure it was proper. "And do you whip her?"
"Sometimes. Used to do it more but we found a way to punish her that is more effective. For her, at least it is. But whipping a slavegirl is simply a part of her life. If she needs it, she's whipped."
"Would Marsha run away if she had the chance?"
"I doubt it. But she's never given a chance so the question hasn't come up." Gary seemed very proud of his slavegirl. And Marsha smiled back as if she were proud of being a good slavegirl.
"Perhaps...." interjected Brian at that point, "a little demonstration...?"
"Quite right! Come alone. To the dungeon." Gary led them all out of the lounge and down some stairs. Daphene wondered to herself why all dungeons were downstairs. But a dungeon upstairs wouldn't seem right, she decided.
The basement was huge and contained a few torture instruments but nowhere near all the space was taken up by them. There was a pillory and set of stocks in one corner and what looked like an X shaped cross against one wall. Several types of whips hung from another and there was a chest of drawers beside them.
"Slave!" commanded Gary and Marsh shuffled up to stand before him. She knelt down until she was sitting on her legs with them folded under her. She keep her back straight and her hands in her lap. Her head was bowed. "I call this the slave position. She's been taught to assume it at the command word, 'slave'. Now watch. Marsha, riding crop."
Without a word the woman stood up and went to the wall to fetch the riding crop. When she returned it to her master, he held it out in both hands tike an offering. Her face was turned humbly down, her eyes avoiding those of her master.
"Turn around and bend over." Marsha did as told, bending way over so that her bottom stuck up and presented a perfect target. The crop slashed four time in rapid succession across the bare skin, two from each direction. The girl whined a bit but did not more from her position nor utter any other sounds. Daphene could see the red welts forming on the bare skin and knew that they must hurt something terribly.
"Brian, perhaps you'd like to get Daphene ready for the next part of the demonstration?"
Suddenly one of Brain's hands was on her arm and the other unhooking her dress. So tightly did the garment cling that he had to use both hands to pull it down. Then she was walked over to the X shaped cross in the wall. Daphene could see that the cross was away from the wall by a couple inches, apparently joined to it only at the center of the X. Her hands were untied and she was backed against the cross. A leather strap went around her stomach and was buckled tightly down. Her arms were lifted above her head one by one and strapped to the upper arms of the cross at the wrists and above the elbows. The her legs were strapped to the lower arms so that her weight was completely off the floor. The straps cut in but weren't too bad. She hoped that she looked pretty for her audience. .
Suddenly there was a hum behind her and the whole room begin tilting to the left. A second later she realized that the cross was rotating, not the room. Slowly she was tilted to the side then downwards. The cross stopped with her head hanging straight down.
"Wow, this is strange," she told them. "You're all standing on the ceiling!"
"Marsha," Gary commanded, "service Daphene." Daphene frowned. Service her? Did that mean...? Daphene heard the clink of Marsha's leg irons as she shuffled up to her. Then the slavegirl's legs were before Daphene's eyes. Suddenly a tongue invaded her sex and she knew that service meant what she thought it did.
"Hey, I'm not a lesbian!" she protested. "I've never done this."
"Don't worry, Marsha has," assured Gary. "But I don't want another woman to ... Whoa! Oh! Please don't do that. Oh...."
With an expert tongue, Marsha began slowly licking and sucking at Daphene's private place. It was easy. The inverted girl was at the perfect height for it and her legs were spread wide apart by the cross. And she could do nothing to stop it.
"Oh! That's nice! I mean, that's terrible. Please stop. I don't want to climax like this."
"You lie," said Brian gently. "It will feel good and you'll enjoy it. And we'll enjoy watching you."
"Oh, Brian, you're a rat! Oh, that's nice. Stop it." Both men watched in interest as one bound slavegirl lavished oral attention upon another. Daphene tried at first to keep her body from responding, to not give into the delightful sensations racing through her sex. But this girl was too good, she knew what she was doing. And Daphene had already been "warmed up" by being naked and bound to that cross. It wasn't long before Daphene was gasping and trying to bang her hips against the wooden cross. Her eyes were closed and the delightful little sounds coming from her told all too well a story of one woman rapidly rising to a climax. Just as Daphene was about to explode, Gary barked an order and Marsha's tongue disappeared.
"Who? What? Oh, damn it!" cried Daphene. "Please finish me. Oh, I want to touch myself so much. Please...?"
"Just a demonstration, my dear. Marsha will do anything I order her to do."
"Well, order her to finish what she started. Oh, damn!"
"All in good time, my dear. You look lovely hanging upside down like that. Did I tell you that?"
"Oh, no. No, you didn't tell me. Thank you." Gary was grinning. So was Brian. The only one not grinning was Daphene who was frowning with the frustration. And Marsha who looked hungry to finish the job. For a few seconds the men watched Daphene's upturned pussy quivering in desire. "Shall we?" asked Gary. "Might as well," replied Brian casually. "Finish," ordered Gary.
Marsha's mouth was immediately on Daphene's sex. In less than half a minute the inverted nudity was gasping in ecstasy and her whole body had gone rigid. A minute later she eased off but was still trembling when they rotated her back to an upright position. They left her strapped to the cross.
Daphene slowly came back to reality. She hadn't known that another girl could create such wonderful feelings in her sex. It was ... Well, it was very nice.
When she finally opened her eyes, Marsha had been bound across the room and both men were standing to one side, talking. Daphene looked at Gary's slavegirl and sucked in a little breath. That little pair of panties were gone and she had been bound suspended completely off the floor. Her hands were together above her head. But her legs were wide spread, impossibly wide it seemed to Daphene, and bound to rings in the opposite walls. From the way she hung her head, Daphene wondered how long she had been recovering from her orgasm.
"Ah, you're back with us," said Gary. "Could have thrown a bucket of ice water over you. That brings a girl back real fast, I can tell you. But we let you enjoy your little pleasure."
"Thank you," Daphene managed. "Isn't Marsha hurting, tied like that?"
"Of course, she is. Suppose to, you know." Both men began the task of unstrapping Daphene and soon she was standing on her feet. Gary locked handcuffs on her wrists in front of her and they led her over to where Marsha hung in midair. Daphene could see how the ropes were cutting into the flesh of her wrists and ankles and felt sorry for the girl.
"You will notice how wide spread her legs are," Gary said. "Perfect for whipping her cunt. Wouldn't you say?"
Daphene sucked in air. "That would hurt her terribly."
"Of course. Slavegirl are punished whenever and however their Master's wishes. Right?"
"Yes, sir," Daphene managed to get out. She remembered the feeling of the small whip coming up between her legs and setting her cunt on fire.
"Observe." Gary selected a leather strap, not too wide, from the wall. He stood before Marsha's bound form. "I wish to cause you pain, slave. Do you wish me to whip your pussy?"
"Yes, Master. Please whip my pussy." Gary brought the whip up squarely between her legs and was rewarded by a scream that echoed off the walls and startled Daphene. The hanging girl's body jerked wildly within it's bonds. The scream was followed by gasps of pain.
"Slave."
"Yes, Master?"
"We are not finished."
"Please, Master, whip my pussy."
Again the leather strap impacted with her wide open sex and again the girl screamed. When she was panting only, her master again told her that they were not finished, and again the tortured girl asked her master to whip her pussy.
Daphene shuttered, and was sure that this was causing Marsha far more pain than the little whip Greg had used.
"This could go on all night," Gary pointed out directly to Daphene. "So long as Marsha has a breath left in her body, she will ask me to whip her pussy. She's a slavegirl."
The statement made Daphene realize that all this torture of Marsha and even the forcing her to perform oral sex on Daphene had all been a demonstration to teach Daphene the true meaning of what a slavegirl is.
"I believe you," she told Gary. "She must love you."
"Of course she does. All slavegirls love their masters. If not, he whips it into them!" The last sentence led to a laugh. But Daphene was not so sure it was a joke. She remembered how much she had loved Greg after he had caused incredible pain in her breasts and pussy.
"Take the whip," Gary said, offering it to her. Daphene took it with a handcuffed wrists but didn't want what she was sure was coming next.
"Whip Marsha with it. Squarely up between the legs and as hard as you can."
"I don't think I can do that," Daphene muttered. "Marsha?" prompted Gary. Marsha opened her eyes and looked directly at Daphene.
"Please, Daphene, whip my pussy. My Master wants me to be in pain. Please whip me as hard as you can."
The plea was heart-tugging. Daphene swallowed and brought the strap up between the bound legs. The sound that followed wasn't nearly as loud as Gary's strokes had been. And it was not followed by more than a gasp.
"Daphene," said Marsha, "please whip me harder. As hard as you can. Make me scream."
Daphene stood there staring at this tortured girl begging her for more pain. With all her might she brought the strap up again and was rewarded with a scream. Both girls were panting after that.
Brian gently took the whip from Daphene's hand after the fifth upward slash had brought a cry of pain from Marsha. "Bend over," he told her. "Feet together and hold your ankles."
For a second Daphene didn't see to register what Brian was saying. Then she slowly bent over to assume the position told her. The leather cracked across her bottom and she screamed. Suddenly she was laying on the floor, trying to grab her burning bottom with chained hands. How could Marsha stand such pain right across her pussy, she wondered as she returned to this world. It's terrible!
Daphene crawled up to her feet and over to kneel between Marsha's wide spread legs. Using her chained hands as best she could, she spread Marsha's vagina lips and began licking. She repeated what Marsha had done to her as best she could. Soon the hanging girl was moaning and thrusting her hips forward to meet Daphene's mouth. A minute after that she screamed again but this time a scream of pleasure as a massive orgasm racked her nudity.
"Very impressive," commented Gary in a hushed voice. "That's quite a girl you've got there."
"So Marsha lives in total restraints and total obedience to Gary," Daphene said over breakfast the next morning. Her wrists were handcuffed before her which presented no problem in eating or drinking.
"For many years."
"And she's happy?"
"You saw her. Some women find happiness in complete submission to a man. Marsha is one of those."
Daphene thought about it. It made sense to her. "And if he had told her to lay down and spread her legs for you to screw her?"
"She would have done it. No questions about that."
"I see." Daphene did see. If you really love a man you should be willing to do anything for him. Anything. Looking back at her relationship with Greg, she realized that the only unhappiness came from her objection to his giving her to another man for sex. Well, there were a lot of men who were in on the secret of binding and whipping women. Undoubtedly Greg knew many of them. And some were very nice people. Brian certainly was. And Bill had been nice. Well, he did torture her but that was no worse than Greg had done, just different. She actually remembered the tiny cage and being bound to that chair for half a day with fondness. It had been an experience.
"Brian," she began seriously, "would you be upset if I were to leave you?"
"Yes, I would be unhappy. But I wouldn't try to stop you.
Beyond asking you if you wouldn't rather stay, of course. I like you a lot."
"I like you, too, Brian. You've been kind to me. Even when whipping my bottom, you're ... Well, kind."
Brian smiled at her. "Whatever will make you happy. Some girls are happy as complete slavegirls. Some enjoy being slavegirls only part of the time. And some could never take it. Have you decided which you are?"
Daphene nodded. "Yes, I have. But you're not looking for a full time slavegirl, are you?"
"No." He sighed. "Although you have tempted me. It would have been easy to keep you in restrictions all the time and simply not let you go. Even those handcuffs you have on right now would be enough to stop you from running away. But I'm not like that. I could easily, and enjoyable, keep you a prisoner for, say, three weeks of the month. But on the forth week, I'd unlock the chains and let you roam free. Go shopping, take a trip, just walk around the harbor. But you'd be free for one week in three. I just wouldn't feel right keeping you, or any girl, a complete slave. I understand how some men feel but I'm not like that. Sorry."
"Don't apologize. You're a very nice man. And you do know how to make a girl feel like a slavegirl. And thank you for your help."
Brian sighed. He reached across the table and took her linked wrists in his hands. The tiny key did it's thing and her lovely shinning wristlets were laying on the table. Daphene looked at them, realizing that with that gesture Brian was letting her go, giving her complete freedom. She leaned over the table and give him a gentle kiss. Then they both laughed because she had gotten jelly on her breast from leaning too close to her breakfast.
The day was lovely. Just a few wispy high clouds and plenty of California sunshine. Daphene, now dressed in respectable if somewhat uncomfortable clothing, boarded her flight in midmorning and was in a taxi heading towards Greg's house that night. The city she was used to was covered by a thick layer of clouds and the air was extremely humid. But she was looking forward to getting home and throwing off these clothes to accepting Greg's ropes again. It would make her life feel normal again.
The cab dropped her off at the driveway and she hurried up the walk. Greg answered the door and stood there with mouth hanging open at the sight of the smiling and radiant Daphene. "Well, aren't you going to ask me in?"
Greg stood aside to allow her in. "Well," was all he could say. Daphene dropped her suitcase inside the door and headed towards the lounge. Once there she tossed off the dress and let it land on a chair. As usual for her, there was no underwear to worry about. She kicked off her shoes to stand there gloriously naked and smiling at Greg.
"I had to do some thinking, darling. And I'm ready to be your slavegirl again. But first, would you please tie my hands or handcuff me or something?"
Greg grinned and fetched some rope. "Sure, sweetheart, sure." He bound her hands behind her back, tightening down the ropes with unnecessary force.
Daphene sighed. "I had to work it out in my mind," she continued once the final knot was tied. "I'm ready to be your total slavegirl. Full time. Completely."
"Completely?" he inquired. "You ran away because of my letting Bill screw you, right?"
"Yes. That was the reason."
"And what if I were to give you to him again? Or some other man? And what if I were to tell that person that he should screw you day and night until you beg him to stop?"
"I would obey, Master." Daphene dropped to her knees and said it with a bowed head. "I am your slavegirl. You own me."
"Good. We'll see about your punishment for escaping," he uttered happily, warming to his subject. "A whipping, of course." Daphene felt a tingle of excitement at that word. "And some other punishments. Escaping is a very serious offense for a slavegirl."
"Yes, Master."
"And how did you manage to escape?
You've never been able to free yourself from my ropes before."
"I used your shaving razor to cut the ropes, Master."
"Ahhh! I was wondering how you did it. Well, you won't do that again. And you'll pay for having done it the first time. Remember that little whip I used to whip your pussy and breasts?"
"Yes, Master."
"You will be very sore. And there will be other things...." Greg's sentence trailed off at the sound of chains clinking.
Through the doorway that led to the bedrooms came a sight that made Daphene's heart leap to her throat. A girl who Daphene recognized as the French Mistress Denise Allaire was leading in another woman who was chained up completely. Denise was dressed in a form-filling jumpsuit of midnight black with high heeled boots and metal studs on the belt. The other girl was completely naked save for the chains she wore, and the gag that covered her mouth. She was very beautiful and looked to be a couple years younger than Daphene. Her hands were linked by handcuffs behind her back, and her ankles bore a set of leg irons. But there was also a second pair of handcuffs linking her elbows behind her, and additional chain around her tummy, very tightly applied and cutting rather deeply into her curves. And another chain ran from the collar around her neck to the waist chain and then down to the middle link between her ankles. Daphene recognized with a start that the collar around this girl's neck was the same on she had worn most nights while in bed with Greg.
"Oh, what have we here?" purred Denise at the sight of a naked and bound Daphene kneeling on the floor. One French eyebrow rose in question.
"She came back. Ah, Daphene ... I'd like you to meet Cathy. She can't talk, of course. She's being trained." Greg was grinning like a cat with two canaries. "Just as you will. I've decided that we were just playing around before. Now you'll be properly trained to be a slavegirl. And you'll have company!" He seemed delighted that there would be two slavegirls around the place.
Daphene was not delighted. "But, Greg...." Her protest was cut off by Greg's curt order to Denise, "Gag her."
The French mistress quickly fetched one of those horrid devices of rubber and leather, and between her and Greg forced the rubber wad into a struggling Daphene's mouth. Daphene's ankles were also bound together to stop her kicking. As Greg stood over the naked and bound girl, he gloated, "Didn't expect that I would replace you so quickly, huh? Well, I did. And now you'll be slavegirl number two. You blew your change, sweetheart. I would have be content with just you. And Denise, of course. I was going to bring her back into the picture in a few days anyway. But you'd be constantly keep in restraints by then so you'd have nothing to say about Denise being your mistress during the days while I'm gone."
Denise slithered over to stand beside Greg. She put one arm around Greg and kissed him, a kiss he returned with far too much passion for Daphene. Laying on the floor, she wanted to cry. ., .
"Well, you'll get your wish. You'll be a full time slavegirl, alright. And you'll never escape again, I promise that."
Then he picked Daphene up and carried her to the bedroom where she was dumped on the bed. He slid her half off the edge of the bed so that she was on her knees with the top half of her laying on her breasts on the bed. Then he dropped his pants and took her from the back side, hard, fast and with little concern for her comfort or enjoyment. It hurt the bound girl as he forced his stiff penis into her vagina. With much banging of his hips against hers, he ravished Daphene until, with a massive sigh, he climaxed and shot his load into her. Quickly finished, he pulled out, leaving the shocked Daphene laying there for the first time in her life having gotten no satisfaction from the sex act. For a long time she lay half on and half off the bed, crying out her pain.
Denise was the first to return. She moved Daphene around to the end of the bed and tied ropes to her elbows and the corner posts so that she was held kneeling at the end of the bed and facing inward. A little while later Greg returned, leading the chained Cathy. The chains were taken off the young girl and her arms bound tightly behind her back with the elbows crushed together. Then she was pushed down to the bed and her legs tied wide apart in a position Daphene remembered well. She found herself staring directly into the still gagged girl's open pussy, a view she really didn't want to see.
Suddenly there was a cracking noise and her bottom exploded into fire. A second slash across the bare bottom came almost immediately. Daphene gasped and turned to see Denise standing there with whip in hand, grinning delightedly. "So fine, it is to see the red marks forming, no?"
Daphene groaned. But her torment was not at an end. Greg was crawling onto the bed, naked as a jaybird, and with penis at full attention and pointed right at the girl laying on her bound arms. Daphene watched in shocked fascination as he crawled up between her legs and savagely thrust his tool into waiting pussy. Daphene felt a terrible hurt inside her. But it was wiped out by the sudden pain in her bottom. Denise was again lashing that terrible whip across her defenseless bottom. Daphene screamed into the gag and screamed again as the whip again cut a line of red across her flesh.
All during the whipping which followed, Daphene kept her eyes opened and watching as her master screwed his number one slavegirl with a passion and vigor Daphene had always thought was reserved for her alone. As the fiery slashes cut and burned her bottom, she jerked and struggled uselessly against the ropes that held her. The final stroke came a little while after Greg reached his climax. "Oh, damn, but that's good!" he cried out loud. Daphene was glistening in pain sweat and sobbing.
Cathy was untied and chained to the bed by her collar. Daphene was let tied there until after she witnessed Greg settle into position next to his adoring slavegirl Cathy. They put their arms around each other and pressed their bodies close together. Daphene wanted to cry again but the tears would not come.
She was finally untied from the bed by Denise. A chain was locked around her neck and the other end padlocked to the bed. She was then left alone and the lights lowered. Daphene settled herself on the carpet as comfortably as she could considering the bound hands and feet, and the burning bottom. Outside she heard distant thunder crashing around the city.
Daphene was awaken from a troubled sleep by Denise unlocking he chain from her neck. The French mistress then removed the gag, leaving a Daphene who could still not speak for many minutes as her aching jaw tried to return to normal. But it mattered little as she found there was nothing she wanted to say to Denise. When she sat up, she saw that the bed was empty.
"The Master Greg, he is gone for the day. The slave Cathy, she is enjoying what you call the hogtie in the den. Soon I will go and place her on what you say is "The Horse.' She will not like riding the horse all day but it will make her understand what it is to be a slavegirl, no? I think perhaps tomorrow I will put you on the horse. It will be fun, no?"
Daphene did not answer. Denise didn't seem to notice as she untied her ankles. Then she suggest that Daphene go to the bathroom that she might get ready for breakfast. Daphene obeyed. When she was finished, Denise again bound her ankles together and told her it was just to keep her from running around while Denise went to fix Cathy up on the horse. But she didn't chain Daphene's neck to the bed again and, as soon as Denise was gone, Daphene rose to her feet and hopped into the bathroom.
She was disappointed to see that Greg's shaving razor was missing from the sink, replaced by an electric shaver. She considered trying it on the ropes but decided that it wouldn't work. And it would make noise. She opened the small drawer next to the sink and scanned the contents, searching for something that would cut ropes. Then she saw it -a small black leather case. Quickly she turned her back and with bound wrists used her hands to open the case. By feel she found what she wanted. It was a pair of toenail clippers, not much but a tool designed to cut through something harder than ropes. She shut the drawer and hurried back to the bed to sit down.
It wasn't easy to reach her fingers around to the ropes, but she did. A tiny bit at a time, the clippers bit into the ropes. Daphene hurried, wondering all the while how long it would take Denise to untie Cathy from a hogtie and retie her on the horse, which she remembered from someplace as a either a wooden board or the edge of a wooden plank on which the unfortunate girl had to sit, all her weight pushing the wood into her pussy. Her legs were usually tied out to the sides and her arms behind her and up where they couldn't reach down and take any of the weight off the wood. It would not be pleasant to have to sit on a wooden edge all day, she was sure.
After what seemed like an eternity, a rope parted and that one proved to be the key. The rest of the ropes were easy to pull off. Her wrists bore deep red marks as she pulled her hands around in front of her but she ignored them as she fumbled with the knot on her ankles. Expecting Denise to return any second, Daphene tore at the ropes binding her ankles. When her ankles were finally freed she leapt to her feet and hurriedly looked around for something to use as a weapon. She saw her suitcase sitting by the closet and wondered if she had time to take some clothes out of it and dress. Then she could make a run for freedom. She had just reached suitcase when she heard a sound behind her.
"What!" was the only word Denise could get out before Daphene swung around with the suitcase in both hands. The leather case caught the French girl full in the face. The startled girl was thrown back against the wall where her head hit the hard surface with a satisfying thud. She sank to the floor and did not move.
Daphene stood there panting. Her first thought was to get dressed and flee. But then another idea stuck her and she smiled. Quickly she race through the house to the den when did indeed find Cathy astride the horse. Greg had set up a wooden plank between two sawhorses. Cathy, naked as slavegirl usually were around this house, was sitting on the thin plank, her arms pulled up behind her back and tied so that she couldn't lower them. Each leg had been bound doubled so that she couldn't reach the floor with her feet even through it was only a short distance below her. An additional rope from her neck collar to an overhead ring assured that she wouldn't try to throw herself sideways off the horse. The girl looked very uncomfortable.
"Do you want to get out of here?" Daphene quickly asked her.
The girl obviously did not expect that question. And not from a naked girl she had last seen bound up in the bedroom. "Well ... Yes. This is not what I thought it would be." Daphene began working rapidly at untying the ropes holding the naked girl on the horse. "Greg was so nice at first. And being tied up by him was exciting. But suddenly he wouldn't untie me. Then he whipped me and told me that I was his slave and would be for the rest of my life. You know," she said innocently to Daphene, "I think he is serious."
"He's serious. And you'd be whipped and tortured until you're no longer young and pretty. There, that's the last rope on your legs. Can you stand up?"
"Sure. This is the first time I've been free of ropes or chains for days."
"You had it easy."
"Huh?"
"Don't worry," said Daphene. "Let's get out of here. Where are your clothes?"
"Last I saw them they were in the bedroom." The two naked girls hurried back to the bedroom.
Denise was still unconscious on the floor. Daphene was glad to see that.
"She's not dead, is she?" asked Cathy.
"No, but she's not going to be out for long. We'd best hurry. Find you clothes."
"Why don't we just tie up Denise," said Cathy brightly.
"Then we don't have to hurry looking for our clothes."
"Good idea," replied Daphene. "But let's not just tie her up."
"What's you mean?"
"She wanted to leave you riding the horse all day, didn't she?"
"That's what she said. That horse thing hurt. And all day on it would be terrible."
"Right. Want to help me carry Denise into the den?" It was hard work but they managed to get the French girl into the den, stripped and on the horse before she woke up. Daphene thought it was poetic justice that they were leaving her in the same position as she would have left Cathy. And Daphene the next day.
She was yelling French obscenities at them as they forced the gag into her mouth. Daphene noted that Cathy tightened down the straps with a savage viciousness. They checked all the ropes to assure themselves that she would not be able to free herself until that night when Greg returned home. Then they the whining and very unhappy French girl alone to her fate. Greg probably wouldn't be too happy to find that she'd let his two slaves get away. In fact, Daphene considered it likely that Denise would become his new slavegirl.
In the taxi driving away from Greg's house, the finally had a chance to settle down, catch their breath and consider what they would do now. Cathy wanted to be taken to her apartment. She assured Daphene that she would be alright, even if Greg came looking for her. They diverted the taxi to drop her off. Daphene wished her luck and told her to be careful. They waved goodbye after Cathy gave sincere thanks for being rescued.
Daphene knew what she wanted to do as she gave orders to the cabby.
The California sunshine was wonderful as Daphene climbed aboard Brian's yacht. She found Charles down in the lounge and threw her arms around him to hug him.
"Please, Miss Daphene. I am, after all, only a servant."
"And a servant who is going to serve me right now." With a smile she tossed off her clothes and kicked off her shoes. "Charles, this is what I want you to do."
"Will there be anything else, miss?" said Charles at the door.
Daphene shook her head. Charles left and she settled back against the wall. She sighed deeply and felt happy. Under her instructions, Charles had bound her into that arm holder that Brian had made for her, including the chain between her legs cutting deeply into her sex. That took care of her arms for they were then tightly clamped behind her back. Then she had him bind her legs together, ankles, above and below the knees. She begged him to make the ropes as tight as he could, an act she now considered a bit rash as she looked down to see how deeply the cords were indented into her flesh. Then she asked for a neck collar. Standing on very uncomfortably bound legs, she had him chain her neck collar to a ring in the wall near the ceiling. Finally she had ordered the gag, tightly strapped in place.
Daphene sighed and wondered what she looked like. For the rest of the day up she would be forced to stand there, unable to move at all. Brian would come in to find a very helpless, very uncomfortable, and very silent naked girl.
And attached to the nipple of her right breast by a clothespin was a small note that read:
