wi.74@wizvax.methuen.ma.us'
  Snidley

A Small Bonus 
 
   *****************
 
     I had been retained through a consulting firm to advise a
small, but very lucrative, corporation through a complicated
problem.  The complications could have cost this business well
into the multi-million dollar range had I not succeeded in the
endeavor.  After some long hours of hard work I was ultimately
able to accomplish our goal.  The owner of this little company,
(I'll use fictitious names in this narrative for modesty's sake
as well as clarity) Joan Sumpter, was certainly a unique individ-
ual.  She and I spent a great deal of time together over the
months of my employment.  Working virtually hand in hand, we had
gotten to know each other rather well.  For all intents and
purposes she appeared to be a brash, impetus woman to most peo-
ple.  However, as she and I got to know each other over time,
most of this turned out to be a facade.  In her business persona,
she may have seemed like a bit like a shark to some, but outside
that arena I found her to be a charming, intelligent woman.
     Due to the pressure that was on both of us, there were many
times our work sessions would digress into a montage of repartee
that often could become downright obscene.  Kinky talk, innuendo,
double-entendre and scurrilous jokes all seemed to help break the
tension of our labor.  At first, I figured that she was just
coming on to me a bit, merely some innocent flirtation, because
at other times she spoke in glowing terms about her artist hus-
band of 10 years.  A little confusing for me, but I finally
decided that, although there were times she could be overbearing
to the point of being obnoxious, she was a pretty special woman
who was already involved in a loving relationship and really had
a lot going for her.  I really came to like her.
     Shortly after our deadline was met, she invited me to come
to her home for dinner to celebrate.  I took this as a tremendous
compliment because in my dealing with a great many of her associ-
ates, I had never met any who had been invited to her home.  It
was a bit of a mystery to all her colleagues, many wondered just
what her lifestyle was like outside work.  Or indeed if she even
HAD a lifestyle outside of her business.  At the time, I had as-
sumed that her crack about "Leave your inhibitions at home..."
was simply one of her frivolous remarks.  When I responded that I
didn't have any inhibitions, she merely smirked over her shoulder
at me.  "We'll see..." she said.  It turned out to be quite a
test...
 
     I used the big brass door knockers on the impressive oak
front doors.  After a short pause there was a rustling sound from
the other side, someone fumbling with the knob no doubt.  As the
door mysteriously pulled back away from me, a grand foyer was
slowly revealed.  Surprised that there was no one to greet me, I
was a little unsure of what etiquette dictated under these cir-
cumstances.  Deciding that the door had indeed opened for a rea-
son, I hesitantly stepped inside the stately home.
     I detected a light "clinking" sound as the door began to
close behind me as soon as I had cleared it's path.  I hopped
back, out of the way.  I couldn't help but think that something
was not right here!  It took just a moment before I discovered
the cause for my uneasiness.  A burning wave of adrenalin rolled
down my spine as it became apparent what was powering the myste-
rious door.  I tried to take it all in, to be as observant as my
vocation demanded, but my cognition was disjointed and slow in
coming.
     A girl.  She was small, about 5'4", not much more then 100
pounds.  In her early twenties I surmised.  She pushed at the
door awkwardly with her back and bottom, walking backwards.  Her
hands seemingly held the door latch which appeared to be pressing
into the small of her back.  She didn't even look up at me as she
concentrated on carefully shutting the door.  My mind continued
to reel as more observations became apparent.  She was blonde,
her hair pulled back into a concealed French braid.  I decided
she was dressed somewhat distinctively.  She wore a slim beige
skirt that just brushed the top of her knees.  A dark green wool
sweater with a V-neck snugly hugged her distinctly feminine
features.  The outfit seemed to have a uniform-ish quality to it
because a white shirt and a bright red, man's style necktie
peeked out from under the sweater.  Some of the smaller details
emerged in the seconds that it took for her to close the door.
Her white shirt had the those little tabs on the collar, buttoned
tightly under her tie knot.  These tabs caused her tie to stand
out a bit more prominently and made the collar form fit snugly
around her supple neck.  A small brass name plate was pinned to
her sweater, on her left breast.  I couldn't read it at that
moment.  The door thumped closed.
     My mind had tried to deny the obvious, I was sure that it
was playing tricks on me, as it surely had from the second the
door had opened.  It couldn't be, but as this strange girl looked
up into my face and our eyes met for the first time, there could
be no question, no mistake.  Her big blue eyes gleamed up at me,
over the tape.  White tape, lots of white tape covered her mouth.
She was gagged.  Her hands remained behind her back as she
stepped towards me.  A thin chain rustled between her dainty
ankles as she approached with an unmistakable high heeled grace.
Suddenly fear took over my senses.  Who could have done this to
this poor girl?  Were there criminals in the house who had cruel-
ly bound and gagged this poor waif?  Were they, even now, plan-
ning unspeakable things to do to her?  I looked back into her
eyes.  Why didn't she appear frightened?  She seemed a bit sur-
prised to see me, but her eyes sparkled with such
expression...there was such a unmistakable aura of friendliness,
of welcome, that I was inexplicably at ease once again.
     My eyes were drawn back downward to her mouth.  Or rather,
the tape covering her mouth.  It was made up of four or five
pieces of white adhesive tape that crisscrossed and covered her
entire lower face, from just under her nose to the tip of her
chin.  Her chin seemed unnaturally long before I realized that
under the tape her mouth was stretched wide open.  Two wide,
black leather straps passed around to the back of her head giving
a clue as to the reason for her open mouth.  They exited from
underneath the tape where it ended just to the front of her ears.
Feeling stupid for not noticing it before, I realized that there
was writing on the tape.  Upon examining it more closely, I
discerned it was written in flowing, feminine script.  It said
simply:  "Welcome to the Sumpter home.  May I take your coat?"
The writing on the tape reminded me of the of the nameplate on
this mysterious girl's chest, perhaps that could give me a clue.
I glanced down at it.  Etched cleanly in the brass in large block
letters was:  "Yvette" and under the name, in smaller scroll
print:  "Slave".
     I suppose that it was natural, but my eyes wandered from the
name plate to the sweet line of the breast that it was pined to.
These beautiful breasts stirred ever so slightly on each breath
she took, rising and falling, stretching and pulling the supple
wool embrace of her sweater.  I felt my face flush when I real-
ized that my eyes had lingered a moment too long on one of her
more personal attributes.  When I glanced up into those mysteri-
ous eyes once again, I was amazed because her expression indicat-
ed a coy pleasure in my admiration, rather then the almost uni-
versal look of disdain that I was accustom to.  She looked at me
steadily for a long moment and then leaned forward, pushing her
chin slightly out to me.  My first thought was that she wanted to
kiss me, (Silly me...:^) but her eyes turned casually up and
away, she was attempting to make the writing on her lips more
evident.  It seemed almost as if she was speaking the words on
the tape.  As I looked on dumbly she turned her back to me and
bent forward, raising her pinioned wrists to me.  She wore hand-
cuffs.
     Now, although I would never have claimed to be an expert at
such things, I had seen handcuffs before.  I'd even worn them
once or twice in my rowdier days.  The cuffs I had seen were
different then the ones that adorned her dainty wrists.  I was
accustomed to a chain between the cuffs.  Short, stout, unyield-
ing, but a chain.  These cuffs had no chain.  The two cuffs were
linked directly at their base by a hinge type of contrivance.
Her wrists were held parallel to each other with only a slight
"V"ish in-out movement possible.  Escape seemed impossible.
Indeed, it was impossible.
     An amused voice broke the silence.  I had no idea Joan
Sumpter had been watching.  "She wants to take your coat, you
know?" Joan said as she approached, smiling.  "I did say that you
should leave your inhibitions at home.  Now didn't I?"
     I was on auto-pilot as I shrugged off my coat and dropped it
over the outstretched arms along with my scarf.  The girl turned
back around to face me, keeping her arms raised as high as she
could so my coat would not drag on the floor.  Her shoulders were
back and her chest out straining the limitations of her sweater.
Joan sauntered up behind the girl and casually put her arm around
her shoulders.  As Joan nonchalantly played with the girl's
clothing, picking imaginary lint from her sweater and casually
adjusting the dimple in her necktie, she began to explain their
unique relationship.
 
     Joan explained that she and her husband enjoyed keeping
several such "domestics".  Each from a various background, the
servants came to their employment with various objectives.
Yvette, for example was a student.  She was studying dramatic
arts at a nearby collage.  The Sumpters provided her with her
tuition, room and board and enough time off every weekday to
attend class.  All those benefits in exchange for absolute,
unquestioning, frequently bound'n'gagged servitude the remainder
of the time.  Yvette listened patiently to this exposition and
when Joan was done, looked up at me and shrugged her shoulders as
if to say "Would you pass up a deal like that?" Joan chuckled and
then continued on telling me how Yvette ultimately did enjoy all
these trappings.  Yvette tossed her head back haughtily and then
humphed airily.  "Who me?" Joan said, clarifying Yvette's little
pantomime.  Joan leaned forward and gave Yvette a kiss on the
cheek then shooed her off with a swat on the bum and an order to
have herself "fixed up" so she could help serve the hors
d'oeuvres.  As Yvette tried to squeeze between us she brushed
against me, her breasts lightly touching my arm.  After Yvette
departed, Joan went on to explain that all of her "Helpers" were
with her for different reasons, but, that they all shared their
one common interest.  "If you catch my meaning..." she said.  It
was difficult not to.
     I followed Joan down a hallway as she graciously elaborated
on what I was about to observe.  She had kept "Pets" as she put
it, for many years.  She had always loved being a boss, in total
control.  Domineering as it were.  Before she had met and fell in
love with her husband, she had assumed that she would go through
life like that.  Once they were married she had tried to forget
what she had become accustom to, to deny it.  She tried to put it
behind her, and concentrate on their 50-50 relationship, but it
just didn't seem to work out.  "Besides," she said with a smile,
"I'm not a very good housekeeper."  So after several unhappy
months she confessed her desires to her husband.  At first, she
said, he was reluctant, but grudgingly accepted a trial run.
"After a while, the idea did seem to grow on him," she said that
as she got to know me she began to get the impression that I
might enjoy her little diversions.  As she was trying to think of
a way to thank me for all I had done, it became more and more
apparent to her that this would be a perfect show of thanks.
Certainly better then a case of scotch.  I just wasn't sure I was
up to all this...
  We entered a large living room.  I glanced around at the formal
room and the guests who chatted pleasantly.  Two men and a woman
were seated on two couches.  Another girl, statuesque and strong
stood nearby.  As Joan and I entered the room the tall girl
hurried over to us as fast as her hobbled stride would carry her.
This girl wore a maid's uniform, stylized to say the least.  The
frilly trim on the edges of black satin uniform was a joy to
behold.  Lace circled the hem of the ballooning skirt and
starched petticoats peeked out from underneath.  A gigantic white
apron edged in ruffles ran from her hem to her shoulders but left
exposed the plunging neckline of her dress.  The apron was tied
in back with a big stiff bow.  The girl's ample bosom threatened
to spill out of the front of her uniform at any moment.  Around
her neck was a tight, stiff, starched white collar and a floppy
red bow tie.  The back of her collar seemed to go down under the
back of her dress.  There was a brass name-tag pinned on her
apron and I read it as she approached.  It said:
     "BABETTE   Slave"
     It was then that Joan explained how Babette had been one of
her biggest challenges.  Joan turned to reach down onto a nearby
coffee table and picked up a small, aged, photograph in a frame
and showed it to me.  The picture was of a biker woman, leather
jacket, torn jeans, boots, the works.  Joan explained that Ba-
bette had come to her with a dilemma:  she just wasn't happy with
the way her life was going and she wanted to make a little
change.  Joan said she had been eager to help this lost girl, al-
though perhaps the change was a little more drastic then Babette
originally bargained on.  "Babette here, hadn't even worn a skirt
in over 14 years," Joan said as she carefully placed the photo
back on to the coffee table.  "She came in jeans and work boots
one day and was wearing petticoats and five inch heels the next."
I glanced down at the black patent ankle strap pumps that were
locked on her feet and they seemed to be even higher then that!
A red rubber ball was wedged tightly in her mouth secured with a
black leather strap.  Even that strap was trimmed with pretty
white lace.
     Babette offered me an hors d'oeuvre from the odd tray she
was carrying.  The tray was attached to two curved bars that were
in turn attached to pivots, one on either hip.  These pivots were
anchored to a hard looking belt, buckled around her waist.  The
two bars continued up behind her where they came together into a
handle of sorts.  The handle just hung in the air at the moment.
I took one of the hors d'oeuvres to be polite and then Joan
motioned her away.  As Babette turned I was surprised to see that
she had no arms, or rather, her dress had no armholes or sleeves.
After my little meeting with Yvette, I had assumed that her arms
had been tied somehow behind her, but I had been slightly mistak-
en.  There was a bulge in the back of her dress and it appeared
that her arms were somehow folded behind her and her dress was
then pulled up over her arms to her shoulders.  There were lace
patches where there could have been arm holes, but they were only
decorative.
     Joan graciously offered me a drink, and by this point I
really needed one.  So we went up to the bar.  My final surprise
was there.  Clarette.  A buxom little brunette, she was dressed
almost identically with Yvette, the only difference was that she
had a blue pullover sweater vest in place of the long sleeve
sweater Yvette wore.  Clarette stood at attention behind the bar
as we approached.  A light chain was visible running from an
unseen spot behind her up to the ceiling where it was securely
anchored to a metal ring directly above her head.  As she turned
to face us, the inscription on her tape covered lips became
apparent:  "Your Pleasure?"
     "Scotch on the rocks," I replied because I really wanted it
by then.
     Clarette pivoted on her high heels and reached awkwardly for
a glass.  The chain in the ceiling ran to a leather strap that
pinned her elbows together behind her back.  A thin chain ran
from one wrist cuff to the other across the front of her belly
with effort, she was able to reach the glass with her fettered
hand and set it in front of me.  She carefully filled the glass
with ice as I marveled at her bound dexterity.  Finally with a
twist of her wrist the glass filled with scotch.  It may have
taken a few moments, but it was well-worth the wait.  I quaffed
the scotch and put the glass down, sending Clarette into her
gyrations again.  I couldn't help but be amazed at her grace.
     A side door opened and Yvette entered.  Someone had attached
the same type of tray that Babette wore to her hips as well as a
small white apron to protect her skirt.  A woman walked behind
her with her hands on Yvette's shoulders "steering" her into the
room.
     Joan motioned Yvette over to the bar, while the woman joined
the others by the couch.  "Another round for our guests," she
informed Yvette.  With that, Clarette began setting out several
glasses and started mixing the beverages.  While Joan was busy
straightening Yvette's tie again, ("I just can't abide sloppy
knots..." she informed me with a little wink.) I watched Clarette
as she went about her business.  As she finished each drink she
hung the glass in a wire rack next to the bar.  After Joan was
satisfied with Yvette's presentablity, Yvette went to the wire
rack and guided the tray under the glasses.  Although her hands
were still securely cuffed behind her back, she used the handle
on the bar behind her back to act as a counterweight and it
helped position her tray to lift the glasses out of rack.  Amaz-
ing.  Talent, skill, practice?...Yvette then headed over to the
party with a tray load of drinks carefully avoiding any spills by
manipulating the tray handle.  She curtsied to the guests and it
was difficult to tell whether or not the guests were happy to see
her because they were thirsty, or whether they just needed a new
bum to pinch.
  Joan took a few moments to introduce me around.  Lawrence, her
husband was a painter and photographer, A tall man with lanky
features and graying hair.  "Call me Larry" he said.  George was
the dumpy little man who sat on the couch.  He was slightly
balding, and to me, didn't seem to have very much going for him.
When we shook hands he seemed a bit like a wet fish.  The other
two women were "Companions" of Joan's.  Rose was an older woman,
one who was probably very attractive one day, but now she just
looked kind of "hard".  She seemed nice enough, however.  Elaine
was the other woman.  She could have been your next door neigh-
bor.  The one you borrow a cup of sugar from.  Nice, but not
really very interesting.
     After some small talk, more hors d'oeuvres from Babette's
tray and another round of drink's from Yvette's I was really
getting into the spirit of things.  All three "slaves" seemed to
be honestly enjoying their chores, with only Babette getting a
bit cantankerous whenever someone had the audacity to lift her
skirt.  You almost couldn't resist the temptation.  Joan excused
herself after a while and went behind the bar and I saw her
unclip the chain hanging from the ceiling to Clarette's elbow
strap.  The two girls then disappeared into the kitchen.  I began
to become aware that when Yvette was not waiting on anyone, she
would always return to a place at my side.  She would stand at
attention there, waiting to be of service.  Babette was more
retiring, showing the same discipline, but back away from the
group.  Although I tried to be nonchalant, I couldn't help but
glance up at Yvette a couple of times.  She was simply lovely.  I
thought I caught her eyes snap away from me each time I looked
up, but I could have been mistaken.  After a while, Clarette
entered the room.  Her hands were switched behind her back and
now, she too, wore a tray and a new tape message:  "Dinner is
served."
 
     The guests all retired to the dining room and the three
servant girls made a beeline to the kitchen.  After we were
seated, Joan joined us and took her place at one end of the
table.  Her husband was seated at the other end and the four
guests filled in between.  Joan rang a small bell and the parade
began.  Clarette, Yvette then Babette entered in turn each carry-
ing a tray load of food.  The tape had been removed from both
Yvette's and Clarette's mouths betraying the bright red rubber
balls that were strapped in their mouths.  I could see Yvette
bite down on the unyielding rubber as she concentrated on her
gait to avoid stumbling on her hobble.  The servants hurried back
and forth between the kitchen and the dining room bringing out
plates of food.  The meal progressed with the three servants
standing at attention against the wall waiting to be summoned.  I
learned that it was considered bad form around this dinner table
for any of the guests to pass anything between themselves.  If
one guest wished to use the salt for instance, they would request
the use of the condiment whereupon one of the maids would rush
forward to accept it onto her tray.  She would then move to the
requester and offer the salt to them.  Many times this only
required that she turn her body as the giver was often seated
directly beside the receiver.
     The meal was delicious, and as it wound down the three girls
hustled back and forth clearing the table.  While Babette busied
herself in the kitchen, Clarette appeared with a tray full of
brandy glasses to be distributed among the guests.
     George took his glass and casually lit a huge cigar.  He
leaned back and summoned Yvette.  She came and stood beside him
and gazed across the table meeting my eyes.  George shook out his
match and asked Joan:  "Is it time for desert now?"
     Yvette jumped as if she had been struck!  Her eyes flew open
and she gaped at me beseechingly.  I couldn't really gather the
significance of George's comment beyond the innuendo.  Except for
Yvette's consternation, I would have surly thought it was an idle
comment.  George dropped the spent match on Yvette's tray and
waved her away.  A look of supreme relief swept Yvette's beauti-
ful face as she went to dispose of the match.  Clarette took the
last tray of plates and followed Yvette into the kitchen.  Joan
sighed and looked at her husband.  He shrugged and nodded to her.
"Oh, sometimes I think that is the only reason you come here..."
she said.  "...But I suppose it's O.K."  With that, Rose and
Elaine looked at each other and giggled.  Then they got up and
went to stand on either side of the swinging doors to the kitch-
en.  Rose smiled at my obvious look of confusion and held a
finger to her lips.  The kitchen doors slowly opened and Clarette
stepped into the room.  As the doors closed behind her, Rose and
Elaine stepped up behind the unsuspecting barmaid and hooked
their arms through her handcuffed arms, catching her elbows and
pulling them outward, totally taking the pretty young brunette
under control.  Clarette's shout was no more then a muffled grunt
due to the tight strap and ball in her mouth and she glanced
anxiously back and forth between her grinning attendants.  The
two women hustled the squealing, struggling, but somehow unre-
sisting, girl out of the room through the other door and no one
(Not even me) raised a finger to intercede.
     George stood slowly and stretched, rubbing his pot belly.
"Same place?" he asked Joan.
     She nodded and he casually walked out of the room.  Joan
rose and asked me to chat with Larry for a few moments while she
was gone.  Larry was the typical self-searching, reserved artist.
In the course of our conversation he confided in me that he had
fallen in love with Joan the moment he had lain eyes on her,
those many years before.  What he didn't understand at the time,
was her sexual appetite.  He smiled as he explained with a twinge
of pride, It seemed that she is something of a nymphomaniac.  "At
first it was great, but I just could never seem to get any work
done..." was his explanation.  When she had come to him and
explained about the urges she had hidden for so long, Larry said
he was not very happy with the idea of sharing her with anyone.
But he could not deny his beloved anything.  Once he got used to
the arrangements, he admitted, it was rather pleasant having all
these pretty girls underfoot.  The slave girls generally keep
Joan content and he could finally get some work done.  It was
working out quite nicely.
     Joan appeared at the doorway and cleared her throat to get
our attention.  She asked if I was ready to go, and I figured
that I was.  I noticed that she was twirling a short, thin brown
leather strap around her finger.  I followed her out to the foyer
where I expected my coat would be waiting for me.  Instead I was
astonished to see a pretty girl kneeling on the floor with her
back to us.  A girl with blonde hair, tightly French braided.  A
tight black leather strap was clearly visible biting at the nape
of her neck.  Her green sweater hugged her features as before,
and I could see the back of her stiff white collar pinching her
neck.  For some unknown reason, I was confident that she recently
had her necktie adjusted.  Her hands fidgeted in the unyielding
steel cuffs.  I began to shake.  Joan helped her stand, then
looped the strap around Yvette's elbows and pulled it tight,
pinning Yvette's elbows together.  She snapped a tiny padlock
into the buckle.  "I like to make things a bit more complicated
whenever I have the opportunity!" she said as she turned Yvette
around to face me.  The tape on her lips had been replaced with
some with a new message on it.  It was short and crudely to the
point, "Please, Fuck me!"
     My mouth hung agape and Yvette looked up at me innocently.
I was simply speechless, I didn't know what to say!
     There was a sudden clatter approaching us as the sound of
high heels on hardwood rang down the hall.  Babette rounded the
corner in a terrible hurry and almost slammed into us.  Joan let
go of Yvette and jumped into Babette's path with her arms out-
stretched.  Babette stopped as short as her patent leathers'
would allow.  Someone had removed her maid's uniform, petticoats
and apron.  She stood before us now wearing a bizarre white
corset.  It was, to use understatement, tight.  It laced up the
front, running from Babette's belly up to a pair of cups that
supported her exposed mammarys.  At the bottom, it ended with six
garter straps that held her stockings in place and little else.
Her flower was on display for all to see, framed by the garter
straps.  The corset ran from under her breasts, up over the tips
of her shoulders and around her body.  Her arms were folded back
behind her and under the corset.  In the upper section of the
back, the corset extended up to her neck where it turned into the
normal looking, blouse collar she had buttoned around her neck.
This was more then decorative, it also kept the corset from
sliding down so she was unable to work her arms out of their
predicament.  Although the knot of her bow tie remained tied, the
bow portion had come loose so she trailed two streamers of red
silk behind her as she tried to evade recapture.  Joan deftly cut
off her avenue of escape and herded her into a corner.  Babette's
face, flushed with exertion from her romp showed nothing more
then disappointment as Joan scolded her.  "You know the rules!
No escaping without permission!"  (What a ridiculous statement!)
Babette looked suitably chastised, but just as feisty as before.
Joan retied Babette's bow, then reached into her hair and grabbed
Babette's ear with a vice-like grip.  She turned back to me and
suggested that I take Yvette upstairs and see if I could find
some way to entertain her.  She twisted Babette's ear, forcing
her to bend over at the waist.  The gag in her mouth was more
then efficient, diluting her protests down to a stifled mumbling.
Yvette and I watched as Babette stumbled away under Joan's coax-
ing.  The last thing we saw was Babette's bare bum rounding the
corner.  We were alone.
     Yvette contemplated me with her innocent blue eyes.  It may
sound silly now, but I was not sure what to do.  I could not be
sure if she even knew what was going on.  The writing on her lips
could have been a cruel joke on either (or both) of us.  Yvette's
seemed amused by my indecision.  I didn't know whether she under-
stood my conflict, or whether she just needed it for herself, but
when she snuggled in under my arm and put her head on my shoul-
der, my indecision disappeared very quickly.  I helped her climb
the stairway.  The cuffs on her ankles didn't really hinder her
stride as she stepped up the stairs, but she began to lean heavi-
ly on me.  I had never felt as strong as when I assisted this
almost totally helpless girl to do something as simple as walking
up the stairs.  She seemed to tire a bit about halfway up the
long curved stairway.  My action was completely natural, I didn't
really give it any thought, It just seemed like the right thing
to do so I did it.  I scooped her up into my arms.  She gasped as
I lifted her and regarded me with her soulful blue eyes.  She
shut her eyes, sighed and snuggled into my arms like a child, to
be comforted and protected.  I was happy to oblige.
     I turned right at the top of the stairs.  There were closed
doors, one on each side of the hall.  I picked the door on the
left.  It wasn't easy manipulating the door knob while holding a
hundred pound girl in my arms but the door opened and I gave it a
little tap with my foot.  The door opened into a bedroom and an
wild scene.  There was a bed against the far wall.  It was placed
sideways with one side butting up to the wall.  Rose and Elaine
were here, having their way with poor Clarette.  Clarette lay on
her back on the bed.  They had tied her calf's together with each
ankle pointing at the other leg's knee.  Then they tied her lower
legs to a long thin pole.  This was to keep her legs spread as
far as possible at the knees and the pole prevented any chance of
her trying to roll over.  A thin cord ran from her bound legs up
under her toward her upper body.  It seemed that they had also
bound her elbows together again by the angle that her arms took
as they went under her.  Another pole was tied under her upper
body extending out away from her body at her shoulders.  Rose and
Elaine were both naked, hovering over the bound figure of Cla-
rette on the bed.  They hadn't bothered to undress her, they had
simply pushed her skirt up around her hips.  Elaine knelt at the
foot of the bed, assailing Clarette in a most intimate way while
Rose was in the process of settling in by kneeling over the bound
girl with one knee on each side of her head and then sitting back
onto Clarette's chest.
     Clarette's head poked out from under Rose and turned in our
direction as we inadvertently entered.  Her hair was matted with
perspiration and her face was crimson from exertion.  They had
replaced the rubber ball and strap with a metal ring and strap
that held her mouth wide open.  Rose glanced in our direction
then slid her weight forward and pinched her thighs around the
helpless girl's head.  Clarette's body squirmed under the on-
slaught but her groans did seem to have a content ring to me.
 
     We excused ourselves and backed out into the hallway.  We
went to the next door and I cautiously opened it, not sure of
what we would find.  To my relief it was a vacant bedroom with a
big canopied bed with a matching settee, desk and a dresser and
mirror.  I gently lowered Yvette to her feet and she squirmed in
her bonds for a moment.  Not terribly hard, she appeared to be
testing their security but she didn't seem to really want to
escape.  I sat down at the desk and watched her.  She was glaring
cross-eyed at a stray wisp of hair that had pulled out of it's
braiding and was hanging in front of her eyes.  She flicked her
head to the side to try to blow the offending hair out of the
way.  She rubbed her nose on her shoulder attempting to move the
hair without any luck.  She glanced up at me for a second, and
scowled at me in mock indignation at my unwillingness to help
her.  She stood in front of me looking deliciously rumpled, with
one hip extended and her right ankle flopped over off her high
heel shoe.  I melted and moved the offending hair.
     I was still not sure what my next move should be.  Oh, I
know what I *WANTED* it to be!  But I would never have been able
to live with myself if I took unfair advantage of this dream.  I
tried to ask her what she wanted to do.  "Is this what you want?"
I asked, hoping for some kind of response.  She looked at me with
a befuddled look and shrugged her shoulders questioningly.  "Do
you know what's on the tape?" I asked motioning to the proposi-
tion written on the gag.
     She gazed at me uncertainly and then crossed her eyes again
in an attempt to see the writing.  She went to the mirror and
looked at herself for a moment.  The writing may have been back-
wards, but it was more then plain.  She blushed intensely for a
moment and then turned to me and shrugged her shoulders again,
this time there was a distinct twinkle in her eye.
     I smiled, "That really isn't an answer.  Is this really what
*You* want to do?"
     She nodded.
     My heart leapt.  "Your positive?  I mean, If you don't..." I
asked again, just a little more reassurance...
     She slowly meandered over and stood before me, strong,
proud, defiant, sincere, ultimately helpless, unquestionably
gorgeous.  She leaned down just a bit and looked me straight in
the eye.  The answer was emphatic.  YES!
     It isn't the easiest thing in the world, making love to a
bound and gagged girl.  My first instinct was to untie her.  HA!
Joan was much too clever for that, everything locked.  The crass
message written on the tape didn't do justice to this lovely lady
so I pealed the tape back off her mouth.  I wanted to kiss her, I
had to kiss her!  The strap that held the ball between her lovely
lips was locked too.  DAMN!  I had to settle for her slender neck
and ear lobes.  I hugged her to me and wanted to feel the press
of her body as she embraced me back.  No way, they had neglected
to give me the keys to her cuffs.  The frustration seemed mutual
as she pressed against me with all her strength.  My hands sought
her body, caressing, squeezing, fondling.  I found her nipples
easily, even through the wool of her sweater.  They stood at
attention to my touch, beckoning me to continue.  I pushed the
sweater up in an attempt to pull it over her head but with her
arms strapped behind her back as they were, I couldn't comfort-
ably work it over her head.  So her sweater remained where it
was, rolled up under her arms to expose the buttons of her
blouse.  I made short work of those.  She moaned as my tongue
danced over her engorged nipples.  We drifted over to the bed.
She sat back and awkwardly slid into a more comfortable position
by pushing down into the bedding with her pinioned arms.  She
made room for me and indicated it by straining her arms around to
her side and tapping on the open space with her fingers.  I
almost dove on to the bed to join her.
     I still desperately wanted to kiss her, when I did try all I
could do was lick and nibble on her lips tasting the invisible
residue of adhesive left from the tape.  She panted and groaned
as she strained to push her tongue out from under the ball in an
attempt to meet mine.  My hand ran slowly up her nylon sheathed
thigh and brushed the hem of her skirt.  From her gyrations on
the bed, it had crept high up her leg and when my fingers lightly
brushed under the hem I felt the cool smooth skin of her thigh
and then the lacy trim of her garter.  She shuddered softly,
rubbing her knees together, trapping my fingers between her
thighs for a moment.  Then, slightly spreading her quivering
thighs, she almost beckoned me to run my fingers higher still.  I
was delighted to comply.  Imagine my shock as my probing, dancing
digits found only fluffy hair and smooth moist skin at the end of
their journey.  Nirvana.
     Yvette trembled.  Her eyes were full of excitement as she
strained to press nearer to me.  She rolled up on her hip and
pressed her arms around in front of her as far as they would go
with the elbow strap still pinning them together.  Demonstrating
amazing dexterity and flexibility she began undressing me!  The
buttons fell open slowly.  When I tried to help her, she grunted
angrily and pressed on with increasing determination.  If she
didn't want me to help, I figured, I might as well find something
to amuse myself.  So my fingers began their quest again.  Strok-
ing, pinching, caressing, I explored her lovely body.
     My next inspiration was her hair, I wanted to see her hair.
It took me a few moments, but I finally found the strategic pins
and bands that held her hair in the tight French braid.  When it
finally fell loose I was astonished by it's length.  Yvette's
hair fell almost to the center of her back in it's wavy blonde
fullness.  My fingers ran slowly through it and brushed it back
as she concentrated on what she was doing.  When she leaned
forward, her hair fell down in front of her and hampered her
vision.  With a flick of her head, and an annoyed scowl at me for
complicating her job, she threw her hair back out of her eyes.
But it was only for as long as it took her to go back to her
work, before the blonde wave cascaded into her face once again.
     I was naked and Yvette knelt over me with a look of triumph
on her face.  I reached to loosen her clothes, to try to make her
more comfortable, but she was not interested as she brushed past
my hands and began running her trammeled tongue over me.  Our
loveplay continued, back and forth, coaxing and teasing, squeez-
ing and stroking for some time.  Suddenly Yvette straightened and
looked at me with her blue bedroom eyes, "Pwneess," she mumbled
past the gag.  "Mmmmooww!!" she groaned.  "Lefff mnoo Ifff mow!"
It was unmistakable to me what she was saying.  It was a request
I have never denied.  I took hold of her shoulders and coaxed her
to lie back on the bed.  She shook her head and resisted so I let
go.  Yvette struggled up onto her knees and faced me attempting
to push her knees apart.  The tightness of her skirt prevented
this, but only until I could come to her aid.  She motioned with
her eyes and I complied, chuckling to myself as I realized that I
was no longer in command.  I was being directed, controlled if
you will, by a thoroughly tied and gagged girl.  I pushed her
skirt up around her hips and carefully slid my legs between her
knees.  The chain on her ankles was just barely long enough so
that her ankles could comfortably rest on either side of my
knees.  Yvette's breathing was reduced to rapid panting as she
gazed down, wide-eyed at me.
     I coaxed her to rise up and I gently guided her back down.
Each sweet millimeter caused the passion to well up within us
both.  Yvette's eyes grew even larger and her face began to
flush.  She arched her back until I could no longer see her face.
But I could still see her neck.  Her neck went from pink to red
to almost purple.  The contrast between the stiff white of her
collar only exaggerated the color.  Veins bulged out on her neck,
Every muscle in her body seemed to quiver and her knees squeezed
the breath out of me as she hugged me as tightly as she could,
the only way she could.  I began to doubt that I had ever really
seen a woman orgasm before.  She climaxed twice more before we
were done.
     We lay together on the bed for a long time, cuddling.  She
dozed off for a while and I watched her.  The red ball tucked in
her stretched mouth didn't seem to disturb her at all, to my
amazement.  She slept peacefully enough, but she still looked
uncomfortable to me.  She had resisted any of my attempts to
help.  Her sweater was still bunched up under her arms.  The
starched white collar poking out, buttoned tightly, holding her
necktie in place.  Her left breast was covered by the green wool
of her sweater, but the right one was exposed.  Her shirt was
pushed back behind her and the bottom of her red tie lay down her
bare belly almost to her navel.  I cradled her in my arms as she
dozed, oblivious to her condition.  She was adorable.  I tweaked
her nose gently.  Her eyes opened slowly and her eyes smiled up
at me.  We made love again.
     As we rested, Yvette squirmed around, trying to get a little
more comfortable.  A sharp pain scraped my chest and I lurched to
prevent it.  Yvette's name tag had scratched me.  I pulled her
sweater down and unpinned the offending object.  I held the tag
in front of me and complimented Yvette on what I thought was a
very beautiful name.  Yvette started laughing, although at first,
for a horrifying moment, I thought she was choking.  She looked
at me and shook her head.  "It's not your name?" I asked, kind of
confused.
     "Naathhne...Mfff nnamm niss Naathhnne..."
     I was still confused, I asked:  "Your name is Janie?"
     This suddenly mysterious woman shook her head with exaspera-
tion again.  She pushed her hands out where I could see and moved
her finger in an upward movement, then a downward diagonal move-
ment then a upward movement.  She was forming a letter.
     "M?...Martha?" I said without thinking.  Wrong.  She rolled
her eyes skyward and groaned.
     "N?" I questioned.  "Nathne?...Natalie?"  She smiled and
nodded.
     "Oh, Yvette's an alias eh?" I said.  "Natalie, That's a
pretty name as well, Natalie."  She chuckled at my naivete.
     My mind was spinning as I reluctantly dressed.  I had just
redressed Yvette.  It was really a pleasure for me to help, but
we didn't have much luck getting all her wrinkles out.  It seemed
that our athletics had caused her to end up with an awfully
rumpled uniform.  I could not take my eyes off this wonderful,
delightful, mysterious, sexy, creature as she sat patiently
waiting for me.  It was with a great reluctance that we left our
little world and went back down stairs.
 
     George and Larry were no longer in the living room but
everyone else was.  As we entered, Rose and Elaine got up from
the couch and came up to us.  They looked Natalie up and down and
shook their heads in a scolding fashion.  Natalie looked up at me
again and shrugged, then Rose crooked her finger in the direction
of the back corner of the room and then Yvette submissively
followed the women's orders.  I glanced at the opposite corner
where the other two girls were being entertained.  Babette stood
at attention in the corner.  She still had the same corset re-
straint she had worn earlier, but they somehow had been unable to
locate her uniform.  For modesty, they had added a pair of tiny
red panties.  They needn't really have bothered.  A big piece of
white tape covered her lips and a thin chain ran from the back of
her corset to a bracket that hung out from the wall.  The chain
was taught and prevented her from even hoping to sit down.  Her
ankles were tightly bound with rope.  Just to her right was
Clarette, seated on a straight back chair.  Thin white cord wound
across her chest, one series of turns went above her breasts and
the second went underneath.  The cord was also run around her
knees and in her mouth seemed to be the same ring thing I had
seen earlier.  Added to this contraption now was a plug that fit
through the ring and had two industrial snaps, one on each cheek.
Either way, she wasn't going to be talking much.  Joan had just
finished tying Clarette's ankles to the left chair leg, then she
tightened and adjusted Clarette's necktie.  There was a second
chair with several coils of rope on the seat to Babette's left.
A 35mm camera mounted on a tripod waited, centered on the two
girls, waiting to be put to use in this family portrait.
     I glanced over to where Rose and Elaine had taken Natalie.
Yvette knelt before the two women while Rose brushed the submis-
sive girl's hair and Elaine primped her clothes.  When Rose had
finished she pulled back the tufts of hair that framed Natalie's
face and pined them back onto the top of her head with a big red
hair bow.  Finished, they marched her over to the chair and began
substituting the rope for her steel and leather restraints.
After they tightly bound Yvette's arms behind her again and
removed the cuffs, they coaxed her into the chair and used the
rest of the rope to secure her identically with Clarette, a
couple of bookends.  Joan approached Yvette and went behind her
and began fishing through her hair.  When I saw the key, I hur-
ried over.  Natalie winced as the familiar red ball popped from
her mouth.  She worked her jaw for a moment then looked up at me
and smiled, a deep, warm, beautiful smile.  The kind of smile
that simply beamed.  "Hi?" she said in a raspy little voice.  I
leaned forward and kissed her, deeply, longingly.  It was better
then I had even imagined.  Joan cleared her throat once and I
ignored her.  I didn't want this moment to end.  She did it
again.  Natalie's kiss became more intense, more frantic.  Joan
cleared her throat a third time, this time with more authority.
I reluctantly backed off.  Natalie remained in place, straining
forward against the rope that held her in the chair.  Her eyes
were closed and her lips remained pursed.  Rose snapped her
fingers and Natalie opened her eyes.  Elaine held a big wad of
cotton in her hand and Rose motioned to the bound girl to open
her mouth.  Natalie looked at me and then sighed, "I guess this
is good-bye too..." she said solemnly, tears welling in her eyes.
Then Yvette obediently opened her mouth and allowed it to be
packed full of cotton.  A wide rubber strap made sure that Yvette
had nothing else to say.
     Joan led me to the door and provided my coat and scarf.  She
wished me well and opened the door.  I tried to argue, I wanted
only to stay.  I could not leave without Natalie.  That was not
the deal I was told.  There would be no reprieve.  The door shut
behind me.  It was raining, a light cold mist stung at my eyes,
mingling with my own emotions.  As I got to my car there was a
flash from a flashbulb in the living room, then another and
another.  I drove away.
     A week went by, my thoughts were constantly clouded by the
vision of a mysterious blonde girl, one who could capture my
imagination and hold it forever.  My calls had gone unreturned.
I sat in my apartment alone.  Longing for just a glimpse of the
girl who had won my heart in the briefest of encounters.  I
remembered her scent, her voice, "Good-bye" was all it said.  I
buried my face in my hands.  There was a soft knock on my door, I
was angry.  I didn't need any salesmen right then.  There was
another knock.  I went to the door and pulled it open.  Joan
Sumpter stood on the other side of my door.  Behind her was a
pair of wide blue eyes peeking over her shoulder.  I could feel
my mouth drop open in disbelief.  Joan smiled, then stepped
aside.  The girl who stood behind her wore a hooded cape.  There
was a big piece of white tape on her mouth.  There was no mes-
sage.  "We gave it some thought..." Joan began, indicating Nata-
lie, "...we decided that you might enjoy having a maid of your
own for a while," she said as she placed a small suitcase at my
feet.  It rattled with the sound of metal.  I heard what Joan
said, but I could not respond.  Joan guided Natalie gently to-
wards me and turned and started down the hall.  "If you get tired
of her, just let me know, and I'll be happy to take her back..."
she said.  I heard her whistling a show tune as she disappeared
around the corner.  Her voice waifted down the hall.  "Matchmaker
Matchmaker, Make me a match..."  Tire of Natalie?  That was
impossible.  What began as passion grew into love, true love.
Natalie and I were married six months later...
 
 
     Now I'm aware that this story seems a bit far fetched.  In
fact, even *I* have a hard time believing that anyone could be
this lucky and in all honesty, I never question anyone who would
doubt it's authenticity.  All I  can say in closing is:
 
  If this Tale I have just conveyed is *NOT* the truth, the whole
truth,  and nothing, but the truth...Ahhh,
well...Then...*Sigh*...
   It ought to be...
 
 
     :^)
 
 
 
       You don't have to say it, I will....What an Jerk...:^P
 
     Did I fool ya?  Did you think it was real??  Even for a
minute???
 
                 Nahhhh, I didn't think so.  :^)
 
     I really didn't set out intending it to be a little bit
hoaxy, it just came out that way.  If that bothers you, Sorry.
If you enjoyed it, it was my pleasure...
     Anyway, I had fun writing it, and I have a couple more
written containing lots of "Tied" up women that I'll post, assum-
ing that some of you liked this one.  They were all written long
before I found ASB and are not as pretentious as this.  But maybe
even more far fetched.  (If that's possible!  :^)
 
  Til Later,
 
      SNIDLEY