Captured Caroline - Chapter 11

Chapter 11: "French Lessons"

I wandered into the kitchen thinking again of Maggie's 
predicament. She'd always been impulsive, liable to go 
off and do strange things for no good reason. This 
wouldn't be the first time I'd been forced to bail her 
out when things got out of hand.

An image of her bound and gagged flittered through my 
mind and I was suddenly and unexpectedly hard. Wow! On 
one level I realized it was wrong; here was a long time 
friend in an embarrassing and potentially dangerous 
situation. I shouldn't be getting off on it but it was 
such a turn on I simply couldn't help myself. I could 
imagine her lying there, wrists raw from her frantic 
struggles, body coated in sweat. At first she would 
have been too embarrassed to call for help - - after 
all she wouldn't want the neighbors to find her like 
this. But as she tired and that knot of fear grew in 
her gut, she would have abandoned any thought for her 
dignity.

After all, survival is of primary importance. I suppose 
she would have tried screaming first, but the gag was 
so tight I'd had problems hearing her close to a phone. 
Then as her neighbors started to leave for work and she 
could hear them passing her door, I could imagine her 
desperate attempts to attract their attention -- the 
thrashing about, the gagged screams too quiet to be 
heard, then finally that desperate, frantic phone call.

The drama of it appealed to me. The reality, the 
danger, it was like our little adventure of last night. 
There had been something, perhaps her look of 
humiliation in the slut outfit, or the risk of 
discovery in the elevator, that had given the 
experience more of a kick. Whatever it was, it seemed 
to be missing from my relationship with Caroline.

Don't get me wrong; nothing in my life compared with 
the immense thrill of the kidnapping. The first time 
I'd raped Caroline as she lay there bound and helpless 
--- when I'd felt her struggles, heard her gagged moans 
I'd been in ecstasy, but after that it had started to 
become a little tame. I still got a huge kick out of 
just having her. She was young, sexy, beautiful and 
completely in my power. I was in control freak heaven. 
I could degrade her anyway I liked; I was the one with 
the Power.

It was the ultimate geek's fantasy. I had a pretty 
blonde cheerleader tied up in my basement. Yet 
strangely enough, bondage sex with my real prisoner did 
not seem as real as my little act with Maggie. I think 
it's lack of spontaneity. Although I keep Caroline 
bound and gagged most of the time, it's mainly for 
show. She spends her days locked behind an armored door 
in a sound-proof room; escape is impossible and the 
bonds are overkill. I thought again of Maggie lying 
helplessly in her room. In her case the bonds were 
real, the cuffs constrained her, the gag stole her 
voice and any chance of rescue. And that rescue is so 
tantalizingly close.

I looked at my watch. Two hours I'd told Maggie. Two 
hours if I'd been ready in my car. Two hours if I did 
eighty all the way and dodged the state troopers. Two 
hours if I didn't have a slave to feed. She would 
understand my lateness, I was sure. Then a strange 
thought struck me. Suppose I was killed in a car 
accident on my way to save Maggie?

I realized immediately that both girls would be doomed. 
Maggie would eventually be found when the police 
searched her apartment, but Caroline? Caroline would 
die of starvation alone and helpless and the chances 
were her body would never be found. Strangely, I found 
the thought thrilling; to think that two other human 
beings were so dependent on me that they would die if I 
did. What a feeling of Power!

Caroline...

To be honest, I couldn't think about Caroline without 
feeling a little numb. I can't really say that I was 
emotionally drained; I am by nature and training an 
analytical person, and emotion doesn't come easily to 
me. But the horrors of that attic room continued to 
haunt me as I started the coffee and began to prepare 
breakfast.

I forced myself to analyze the situation in depth, 
going backwards and forwards over a tale that seemed 
more and more incredible. Last night when she had first 
told me the story, I had believed her completely. But 
now in the cold light of day I started to doubt. I 
suppose I didn't want to believe that a father could do 
this to his own daughter, and instead I started to 
wonder if this was some elaborate hoax.

At first I couldn't see a motive for such a flagrant 
lie. Then the cynical part of my brain found a reason -
- to somehow shame me into freeing her. Of course, that 
must be it! I could almost imagine her lying there 
alone in the dark, concocting a story loaded with all 
the abhorrent images her psych training had taught her. 
She was just trying to manipulate me, trying to escape. 
Happy to find an explanation, I started to pick holes 
in her story.

One thing hit me immediately; surely such torture as 
she had described would leave scars, huge horrible 
scars like in the movies. No scars meant no torture, 
which meant she was playing me for a sucker! Suddenly I 
felt very angry. I wanted to go down there and 
introduce her to the lash, help put that added bit of 
realism into her story...

Then I wondered just why the lying bitch should have a 
breakfast when poor Maggie was all alone and helpless.

Alone and helpless...Then, an evil thought struck me. 
My old accomplice Fate had once again delivered me a 
wonderful opportunity, if I chose to take it. Of course 
it would be expensive, but as I'd pointed out to 
Caroline taking a slave was far from cheap. As the plan 
started to form, a gut-level thrill went through me, 
and I started putting together a list of things I'd 
need.

I was tempted to forget about Caroline and let the 
bitch fend for herself, but in the end I relented and 
decided to make her a health drink for breakfast. After 
all, I did want to put her on a diet and I'd already 
decided to give her low residue foods while I was away 
in Seattle. The image of a helpless Maggie flashed 
through the window of my mind. Yes, it would be worth 
it.

My hand shook as I took some Gatorade and a box of 
protein powder and loaded up the blender. For my plan 
to work I needed to get to Boston *fast*. Fortunately, 
I knew a way. All I needed to do was make a few phone 
calls and find something for Caroline to do this 
morning.

The calls were the easy part. Traveling as much as I do 
has a few advantages, one of which is that lots of 
hotel chains and car rental agencies see you as a 
valued customer. They're more than willing to provide 
an extra service for you, rather than lose you to a 
more compliant competitor. Fifteen minutes later and 
everything was ready. Now all that was left was 
Caroline.

I went downstairs with the protein shake and a flask of 
coffee. I paused at the table and retrieved some new 
clothes and restraints. Then I crumbled a contraceptive 
pill into her coffee cup and topped it up. So far she 
hadn't noticed anything wrong, and soon I'd start 
ordering her to take it, adding her reproductive 
ability (or inability, as it were) to the things under 
my obvious control.

She was still asleep when I went inside. I was tempted 
to shake her awake and have it out with her right then, 
but common sense finally fought through. Instead of 
waking her, I put the cup on the dresser and bent down 
to examine her naked crotch. I had been right about the 
stubble -- she would need a shave soon -- but of more 
interest to me were her pussy lips. Very gently, so as 
not to disturb her, I examined the folds. Even in the 
dim light, I could see a series of irregular pockmarked 
scars about a sixteenth of an inch from the edge. As I 
looked closely at the tiny pits, I felt my stomach 
turn.

Any doubts I still had evaporated as those scars, so 
exactly like the ones from a hypodermic, told me that 
the "butterfly board" was real. Gently I examined the 
other side, noticing the corresponding marks that 
showed how the needle had gone right through the 
delicate membranes. Above me, she moaned, her tongue 
darting quickly across her other lips. There was 
already the suggestion of moisture in her cunt from my 
handling of her pussy lips, and her nipples had started 
to harden again.

Then I realized what agony it must have been for her; 
to be this sensitive and for him to do *that.* I wasn't 
surprised that she'd told him about Josh -- in a 
similar situation, I'd have done anything to stop the 
pain. I felt a momentary flash of guilt for having 
doubted her, so I reached over and gently stroked her 
cheek. She woke slowly, smiling as she attempted to 
stretch then found that she couldn't. For an instant 
she seemed puzzled, then she remembered. Her eyes 
flickered open.

I smiled at her. "Time to wake up, lazy bones."

Surprisingly, she smiled back. "Hi Master."

"Not yet, but the day is still young," I said 
flippantly, and slapped her bottom.

I helped her up and we went through the coffee and 
toilet ritual. She seemed happy; our first therapy 
session together appeared to have relaxed her. I knew 
that she hadn't told me everything, though. Her story 
had stopped soon after Josh's death, with three whole 
years of horror left. One thing I did find out last 
night was that the Reverend Conway could pack a lot of 
suffering into a year. The thing I most wanted to know 
was how she'd escaped. Had she run away? Did that 
explain her destitute condition and lack of letters 
home? I needed to know before I posted something out of 
character to her family and gave the game away.

Still, that could wait. She seemed much better than 
last night and I started to feel happier with the idea 
of leaving her alone for a while. I led her into the 
dungeon and removed the posture collar from her neck, 
replacing her old collar. After I chained her to the 
table I removed the rest of the single sleeve and 
smiled again. "Ok, get naked!"

She didn't hesitate, stripping off the remaining latex 
in moments. I circled her body, admiring her slim 
athletic build and small but perfect breasts. I had 
come to appreciate just what a find she was and I could 
understand why any man would kill to keep her. I tossed 
her some leather cuffs which she put on without 
comment. To put on the ankle cuffs, she put one foot at 
a time on the bondage chair and bent over, and I took 
the opportunity to look at her back carefully. The 
lines were faint, so faint that I wasn't surprised I 
had missed them. These were not the vivid scars so 
beloved of Hollywood, and I suspected that Conway had 
been very careful to ensure that all tell-tale wounds 
healed properly. Yet faint as they, were the scars were 
there. It was more support for her story.

By now she was waiting expectantly, so I handed her the 
shake.

"What's this?" she asked, looking at the concoction 
with some distaste.

"Breakfast," I said. "Michael Jordan's secret recipe. 
Denis would *kill* to know what's in it."

She looked blank. "Not a big basketball fan then?" I 
asked. Again getting no reply I went for the less 
subtle approach. "Just drink it, slave. It's all the 
meal you're getting this morning."

"Why? Have I upset you in some way?" she asked, almost 
fearfully.

"Because if I did I'm sorry..."

"No, it's just healthier than the cooked breakfast. Now 
drink the fucking shake!"

She chugged it down. I got the feeling that she was 
trying to avoid any confrontation, which suited me 
fine. Most of the last few days had revolved around 
her, a situation that couldn't continue if I wanted to 
keep working. Now was the obvious time to acquaint her 
with the lowliness of her new position; that as a 
slave, she was just a possession like any other and had 
only a limited influence on my life. Once the shake was 
finished I clipped her wrists to her collar and began 
to dress her.

First up came a black leather bondage belt. This was 
about three or four inches wide with rings equally 
spaced around it. It had buckles on the front and a 
small catch, and after tightening it firmly about her 
narrow waist I locked it in place with a padlock. She 
didn't struggle or even comment -- cuffs, gags and 
chains were a part of her life now, and I think she'd 
started to accept that. Once the belt was locked in 
place I helped her on to the table and used cord and 
straps to tie her down. As before, I strapped her with 
her legs parted and her pussy exposed. I wished I had 
the time to shave her twat again but I had a lot to do 
and the clock was ticking.

Once Caroline was secure I reached over and took a 
packet from the table. The packet took some opening as 
it was designed to keep its contents sterile. After a 
struggle I finally got it open and was able to remove 
the catheter. This was a small hollow tube surrounded 
by an inflatable surgical balloon. I looked for a 
reaction but it was obvious she didn't recognize it. 
She was still wearing the training harness, so after a 
little thought I reached over and pushed the ball 
against those cherry lips.

She opened immediately and I pushed the gag in, loosely 
fastening it just enough to hold it in place. Then, 
using a small jar of lube, I greased the end of the 
catheter and parted her pussy lips. Her clit had 
already started to swell and as I gently pushed it out 
of the way her whole body trembled. Very carefully, I 
placed the catheter against her urethra and pushed. A 
muffled squeal erupted from the far end of the table, 
and her hips quaked as her body fought against the 
imprisoning bonds. The thin tube slid home into her 
bladder, and I slowly inflated the balloon the small 
amount needed to seal it in place. Then I removed the 
pump and waited for her to calm down. Needless to say 
this took a while, but eventually she was ready for the 
next stage.

I call the device a McGuffin. It's a small oval piece 
of latex a little bigger than a woman's labia. One side 
is plain, and the other is studded with electrodes and 
small piezo-electric buzzers. This particular one had 
been designed for use with the catheter and had a small 
hole between the cluster of electrodes for the clit and 
those for the rest of the pussy. Sliding it down the 
tube, I gently moved it into best contact.

At the other end of the table the moans started again. 
Once it was in position, I sealed it in place using 
surgical tape, then released Caroline. She stood a 
little uncertainly; it must be odd for a woman to 
suddenly find a pipe between her legs, and she 
struggled a bit more than usual as I covered the 
arrangement with a special pair of spandex pants. I 
used a locking belt to fasten the pants in place then 
started to apply electrodes to her breasts. She 
struggled and moaned into the gag as I stuck a couple 
of other McGuffins on top if each nipple. I finished up 
with an spandex athletic bra just like those in the 
shops except modified to lock in place. Then I removed 
the gag.

"What are you doing...Master?"

"Careful, slave. You almost bought yourself a 
punishment!" Her eyes were wide.

"Isn't this a punishment?" I laughed and kissed her 
forehead.

"Why, have you done anything wrong?"

She thought for a while. "Not as far as I know."

"Then why should I punish you?" It seemed 
straightforward to me, but then Conway had never needed 
a reason to punish her. I smiled. "I have to go 
somewhere and I need to keep you busy while I'm gone. 
Trust me, all will be revealed!"

She squirmed. "That thing...it's uncomfortable."

"Yep, it is." I pushed her back onto the table and 
locked a pair of shoes with sensible heels on her 
dainty little feet.

Realizing she wasn't going to get any sympathy, she 
pouted for a while, then seemed to realize that she was 
ungagged and could talk.

She looked up. "Master?" she asked softly.

I stopped for a moment. "Yes slave?"

"Can we talk about your mother?"

I was puzzled but willing to play along. "I suppose 
so."

"Do...do you love your mother?"

That caught me by surprise. To be honest, my mother was 
a bit of a bitch. While my father was tending the 
store, she'd ruled our household like a petty tyrant. 
When it had become clear that I was... different... she 
had pushed me towards greater and greater academic 
achievement. If for some reason I didn't jump a grade 
or score better than anyone else on a test, she wanted 
to know why. Thinking back on it, if it hadn't been for 
my grandfather's gentle but firm insistence on letting 
me have some free time to myself, I don't believe I 
would have had a childhood at all. It was my belief 
that most of my problems with women had come from her; 
my desire for sexual dominance, my status as a power 
freak, was a subconscious backlash against her total 
domination of my childhood.

"Of course I love her," I said, and it was true. After 
all, you'd have to be really screwed up not to love 
your mother.

She gulped a bit. "If something...bad was going to 
happen to her, something you could prevent, you'd do 
it, right?"

I attached the leash to her collar and led her over to 
part of the dungeon near the cell. "Yes," I said. 
Caroline seemed to prefer straight answers.

The floodgates opened. "Please, you have to let me go 
or he'll kill her," she begged.

"He'll kill my mother?" Needless to say, I was shocked.

"NO! He'll kill my mother!" she wailed.

I stopped. "When did we start talking about your 
mother?" I said, sounding confused. In the back of my 
mind I could imagine the laugh track, like this was 
some weird sitcom. In my head I could almost hear the 
intro -- 'New this fall, the hilarious new show "Master 
and Slave," coming soon on NBC! Richard Cody, 
successful author, kidnaps a girl and keeps her in his 
basement -- you'll be rolling with laughter as he tries 
to keep this fact secret from friends and family, often 
with hilarious results!'

"Perhaps if you start again," I said smoothly. "Who's 
going to kill who and why?"

She took a deep, halting breath. "Momma wanted me to go 
to college, but at first my father wouldn't let me," 
she said. "Then she talked him around, but he said he 
was going to call me every week. If I ran away or if he 
found out I'd told anyone, he'd kill her and then 
himself--"

"How could he find out?" I asked, annoyed. "That's 
stupid, he can't be keeping track of you all the time."

She shook her head. "He has friends in the police, 
lodge buddies, he says they'd warn him if the police 
started getting interested in him. He'll do it, I know 
he will!"

So she hadn't escaped him. She was still as much his 
prisoner now as she had been in that attic. Conway 
still had her on a tight leash; only the nature of the 
chain and its length were different. While I could 
believe that he had contacts in local law enforcement 
and even see how they might tip him off, there was no 
way he could have everything covered. Then I looked at 
Caroline and saw the fear in those blue eyes, and I 
realized it didn't have to make sense as long as *SHE* 
believed it. Still, I was intrigued enough to want to 
know more.

"So he let you leave town on the understanding that he 
was to know where you are and that you were to keep 
quiet about the things he did," I said.

She nodded and looked down.

I reached over and forced her to look at me. "What if 
he were to order you back?"

She sniffed. "I had to come at once."

"He specifically told you that?"

She nodded again. "He said that if I disobeyed, it 
would be Momma who was punished because it was her 
idea."

Somehow I didn't think he would limit the punishment to 
just the mother. So he'd let Caroline go. Suddenly, the 
alarm bells in the back of my mind were on overload. 
One thing I'd learned was that he did nothing without a 
reason, and I knew for sure was that whatever that 
reason was, it hadn't been to please his slave wife. 
No, if Charles Conway had allowed Caroline out of town 
then he had something in mind and from experience it 
wasn't going to be pleasant. Conway's plans tended to 
be pretty straight-forward.

He didn't mislead or bluff; instead, he relied on using 
his position in the local community to best effect. I 
was sure that had the Conways not been the family of 
the local minister, someone would have spotted the 
abuse long before now. But then, as Caroline had said, 
who would suspect the nicest man in town? Hell, even 
I'd thought she was lying. I guess people just don't 
want to believe something like that.

I analyzed the problem. I could see no obvious benefit 
for getting her out of town, but then I didn't have all 
the data he did. However I knew there was a reason and 
it would be obvious from Conway's point of view. Then 
something else popped into my head.

"Hey, wait a minute! If he's told you that he intends 
to call you back, then what was that 'offer' of yours?"

"My offer was good."

"Bullshit! If he called you back to Iowa, how could you 
have been my slave here? You lied, you little bitch."

She flushed. "I don't think he'll call. I've been away 
almost eight months and I've been able to avoid going 
home even during vacations. He hasn't said anything. 
I'm almost free."

I shook my head. "No you're not. He's just played out 
the line a little, that's all. He has every intention 
of reeling you back."

A look of fear crossed her face. "Oh no. I mean, he 
wouldn't..."

"He would," I said harshly. "My guess is he was going 
to do it soon, otherwise he'd have given you some more 
money."

"I don't see..."

"You're on a scholarship, right?"

She nodded.

"What is it, a hundred percent of tuition costs?"

She nodded again, a worried look spreading across her 
face.

"And he pays for your rent, food and things. I mean, he 
gives you money for that."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Let me tell you what's happened and you correct me if 
I'm wrong. He's never really given you enough to live 
on, so it's always been a struggle. He's said something 
about working your way through college builds 
character. He hasn't worried when your grades have 
suffered as a result. Recently, he's sent you even less 
money, and he's been making noises about coming for a 
visit."

By now the look of alarm had turned almost to panic. 
"Next month. But how..."

"I'm afraid it's obvious. He's coming to get you to 
take you back," I said.

Her face filled with horror. "Back..."

"Probably straight back to the attic, so that he can 
purge you of any independent thoughts."

"NO!" she shrieked. "Please God, NO! I've left, I'm 
independent. Never again! Oh, God, never again!"

"You never left," I said sadly. "He wanted you out of 
the way for some reason. He never had any intention of 
letting you finish that course." I continued to lead 
her gently towards the far corner of the dungeon. "You 
see, if you fail or he brings you back, the tuition fee 
will be wasted but he doesn't care because he's not 
paying it.

The maintenance fee is something he *does* pay, which 
is why he's keeping it as cheap as possible. That's why 
he never gave you enough money, and he hasn't sent you 
any more because he knows you won't be needing it. 
Besides, he figures you may fear the attic more than 
what he'll do to Momma, so the less money you have, the 
less chance there is that you'll run."

The tears streamed down her face. "No!" she screamed, 
"you're just saying that so you don't have to let me 
go! He couldn't...*I can't!*"

I looked her in the eye. "Slave, I don't have to let 
you go. Even if he was intending to flay your mother 
alive, it's no skin off my nose." I winced at the 
subconscious pun. "What I mean is, I'm the only one who 
has no problem being honest with you because I *know* 
what you're going to do."

"And that is?"

"Exactly what *I* tell you," I said.

She looked down deep in misery.

By now we had come to the far corner and a couple of 
items which were covered by dust sheets. Still 
sniffing, she looked at them with some trepidation, 
probably thinking they were some arcane torture device. 
And in fact she was right, as she saw when I pulled the 
sheet aside. I'd seen this thing on a late night 
infomercial about a year ago. It was an exercise 
machine that looked like a cross between a bicycle and 
a rowing machine. You sit on it and while your legs 
turn some pedals your arms pull the handles towards 
you.

I used it successfully until I moved into the house and 
had access to a dedicated multigym, at which point I 
moved the machine down here. Of course, I had to modify 
it for its use as a slave trainer. First, I welded 
extra cross members to the frame, to strengthen it and 
make sure it couldn't collapse. Then I added some 
mounting points for restraints. Finally I attached some 
accelerometers and tension gauges so that the computer 
could monitor its use.

She looked stunned. "I said you needed exercise," I 
said cheerfully.

"Please no! We need to talk about Momma...I need to 
talk."

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time. Now do what you're 
told or I'll find something even more uncomfortable to 
keep you occupied."

She lowered her head and sobbed once, then nodded.

I removed the gag trainer and helped her on to the 
machine. I fastened her right wrist to a small length 
of chain attached to the handles. I needed to leave one 
hand free for drinking, so I made sure it wasn't her 
'good' one.

Finally she spoke. "Why did he let me go if he was 
going to bring me back?"

"He has a reason," I said. "The fact that we can't 
figure it out doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"But my Momma said--"

"She said what she wanted to believe, or what *he* 
wanted her to believe. Ask yourself this: how could she 
persuade him to do anything not in his own interest? 
Can she withdraw sex? Can she go away? Can she even 
have a fight with him?"

"I never thought...I mean, I was just so happy to be 
leaving."

By now I'd fastened the bondage belt to chains coming 
from the seat so that she couldn't stand up. Then as 
she sat thinking, I used small chains to secure her 
feet and ankle cuffs to the pedals. Once she was 
strapped down I started with the rest. I attached a 
small box to the back of the bondage belt. This had a 
number of wires which I connected to the electrodes on 
her body and to the McGuffins.     She sobbed a little. 
"I'll never get away, ever."

"You are away," I said lightly, "and you're never going 
back."

She looked at me, her eyes full of a curious mixture of 
hope and fear. "But my Momma?"

"I have an idea," I said. "But it will require your 
complete co-operation."

"Anything," she said.

"You said that before and didn't mean it."

"To save my Momma, anything!" she said firmly.

"Good girl," I said, smiling. Always praise the slave 
when she does well.

I put a sweat band on her left wrist and showed her the 
small table with the water containers on it, then made 
the final connections. I fastened a small hose to the 
end of the catheter that poked through the pants. This 
ended in a bucket behind the machine. I got her to pee 
and confirmed that there were no leaks and that the 
amber liquid flowed easily into the container. Finally, 
it was time for the final piece. I showed her the light 
weight VR helmet before I put it on her so that she 
wasn't too frightened.

I'd modified the basic unit quite a bit to ensure that 
it couldn't be removed or tampered with, but in essence 
it is similar in design to the ones Sega sells. The 
only real technical difference was that it uses a flat 
CRT rather that an LCD module. After I told her what it 
was for, she seemed happy for me to strap it on her.

The helmet would display a crude VR environment for her 
to cycle through. The virtual course was divided into 
sections. If she made the sections on time, the 
McGuffins would reward her with a little sexual 
stimulation. Failure meant a shock. At random intervals 
she would hear my voice giving her some new 
instructions. Obedience meant reward, and she figured 
out what happened if she disobeyed. Happy that she was 
set, I kissed her cheek for luck and started the 
program.

Once she was started, I looked at my watch and cursed. 
My schedule was slipping. Locking the dungeon door 
behind me I ran upstairs. First up was the utility room 
and the pile of dirty clothes from the last week. 
Rooting around, I finally found the sweats I'd worn 
during the kidnapping. As I hoped they smelt of old 
sweat and dirt, with perhaps a hint of Caroline's 
perfume. There was still a ski mask in the pocket which 
I'd intended to wear.

I thought again of how I rushed out and took her. I 
must have been insane. I opened one of the closets and 
got out a huge duffel bag. When I'd been working 
through the kidnapping I'd toyed with the idea of 
carrying Caroline out of her apartment block in this. 
I'd come to the conclusion that it could work but would 
look so unusual that it was bound to be remembered. So 
the idea was discarded, but I'd kept the bag.

In went the sweats, some sneakers and a couple of rolls 
of duct tape. Charging through into the kitchen I added 
some Saran wrap and a small pile of Ace bandages. Last 
stop was my office. I found the DAT recorder straight 
away but couldn't find a blank tape. Searching my desk 
drawers, I finally found one and as an unexpected bonus 
a bottle of a cheap and very nasty aftershave someone 
had bought me one Christmas. Everything went into the 
bag.

As a final thought I threw in my Powerbook and portable 
printer. As I didn't have time to change out of my 
master's outfit of shirt and leather pants, I pulled on 
my favorite leather flying jacket so that at least my 
clothes matched. Still cursing the clock, I charged to 
the back of the house and waited by the back door.

By now Caroline would be part through the first 
section. Soon she would be getting her first taste of 
the obedience test. Not being a cruel man I'd decided 
to help her out. Every time my voice gave her an order 
the helmet would briefly flash the word "OBEY," driving 
the command subliminally into her subconscious mind. 
She was so suggestible, I was certain she would make a 
good subject. By the time I came home her mind would be 
a little closer to being mine.

I was still thrilling at the thought of it when the 
helicopter landed on the back lawn. I grabbed the 
duffel bag, locked the door and ran out.

I climbed in. "Mr. Cody?" the pilot asked. The guy 
looked like the chopper pilots you see on TV -- short 
haircut, aviator shades, baseball cap and a huge pair 
of headphones.

"Yes," I bawled, trying desperately to be heard.

He offered his hand. "Bob Wilson -- I'll be your pilot 
today." He showed me how to fasten the harness. I put 
on the headset he gave me and was relieved when the 
wall of sound subsided. "I was told you want to go to 
Boston?"

"Yes, a panic business meeting. I need to get there 
ASAP."

"Understood, Mr. Cody. ASAP is the only way we work 
around here."

Bob seemed a pleasant enough fellow. I got the feeling 
that perhaps some of his customers weren't that 
comfortable flying, as he had this patter worked out 
where he gave a running commentary on everything he was 
doing. He kept cracking jokes and making light of the 
fact that we were shooting cross country at better than 
100 miles an hour. For the most part I let him talk 
while mentally building up checklists of things to do. 
I was so distracted that it seemed like no time before 
we were setting down at a small private airfield just 
outside Boston.

Thanking Bob and giving him a generous tip for his 
speed, I started across the grass towards the control 
tower. Nearby a pretty brown haired girl stood near the 
driver's side door of a Chevy mini van. Her blue blazer 
and sensible gray skirt identified her as a 
representative of a well known rental agency. I was 
looking at the grass for most of the time in order to 
shield my head from the wash of the departing 
helicopter, and when I looked up I got a shock. For an 
instant I thought the girl was gagged; it seemed that a 
large red ball had been pulled between her teeth. As I 
got closer I realized it was just imagination.

She smiled and stepped forward, offering her hand. "Mr. 
Cody. I must say you know how to make a spectacular 
entrance."

I looked her over. She was perhaps three or four years 
older than Caroline, with large, almost luminous gray 
eyes. She wore her hair in a business-like shoulder-
length bob. Her makeup was conservative, except perhaps 
for her lipstick which was a shocking red.

Suddenly I realized what had just happened -- the color 
was the same as the one Caroline used, one I'd 
deliberately picked to match the red of her ballgag. 
Mental association, or something more? In that split 
second I checked out her ring hand, the state of her 
shoes and her name badge. Her name was Penny Jackson, 
she was single and quite junior in the company, which 
was probably why she was delivering cars to the middle 
of nowhere.

"I'm afraid I'm in a bit of a hurry, Penny," I said 
warmly. "Do you have the agreement?"

"Oh yes, sorry." She smiled again and I watched as her 
pupils dilated slightly. Penny was young and easily 
impressed. I was probably the closest thing to a 
celebrity she'd ever met, and if I was interested I was 
sure I could score quite easily. We went though the 
formalities with little difficulty, since membership 
has its privileges and a platinum card speaks very 
loudly. I offered her a lift back to Boston but with 
some regret she pointed to another car parked nearby 
with a bored looking young man behind the wheel. Still, 
I took her business card so that I could arrange pickup 
later, then I threw the duffel bag in the back and 
headed for town.

On the way in I daydreamed; pretty little Penny bound, 
gagged and struggling. Penny and Caroline, girl to 
girl. Of course any thoughts I had of adding her to my 
little harem were just a fantasy, although the thought 
of a brunette to round out my collection was quite 
tempting. With some difficulty I refocused on Maggie.

It was now over an hour since I received the call, but 
my two hour estimate had been very optimistic, 
something Maggie would have realized. Bottom line was 
that I could now reach her apartment long before she 
was expecting me. Now was time to finalize the plan. 
The core idea of the plan was fairly simple: Maggie is 
bound and helpless in her apartment waiting the two or 
more hours it will take for Richard Cody, her trusted 
friend, to speed to her rescue from the backwoods of 
darkest New England. However, before he gets there she 
has an unexpected visitor in the form of a sneak thief 
who happens upon her as he's turning over her 
apartment. There she is, helpless and in a sexually 
provocative position with a complete stranger. Well, 
not exactly a complete stranger.

The reason I'd rushed to Boston was so that I could 
play the intruder. Maggie was fairly smart and being a 
practical joker herself she was likely to smell a 
setup. I was hoping that the 'stranger' arriving so 
early -- long before I could be expected to show up -- 
would sell it to her.

Unfortunately I was likely to blow the plan the moment 
I opened my mouth. I'm fairly good at accents but the 
basic tone of my voice remains the same. I experimented 
with different voices as I fought the traffic but it 
was still no good. Then I had a revelation. If I were a 
foreigner, then I might stand a better chance of 
pulling it off. Broken English with a scattering of 
foreign words and expressions might just disguise my 
voice enough. In addition, it gave me a good excuse not 
to say that much in English.

I speak six languages, four fairly fluently. The 
obvious choice was Spanish but I knew that Maggie spoke 
it too and could probably spot my accent. Russian would 
be good, especially with all the news coverage the 
Russian Mafia have been getting lately. The problem 
was, Maggie knew I spoke Russian. In the end I settled 
on French; internally it made more sense anyway, what 
with Quebec only a few miles to the north.

I would be a French Canadian burglar, down in Boston to 
pull a few jobs before heading north again. I practiced 
the accent, trying hard to lower my voice a little. In 
my mind he started to form, taking on more and more 
substance as I worked out a back story. I stopped and 
wondered if she deserved it, but the twenty-first 
birthday thing had only been one of the awful practical 
jokes she'd pulled on me and payback was long overdue.

I checked into a mid-priced motel about three blocks 
from Maggie's apartment building. I had a reservation 
so things went relatively smoothly. I shot the guy on 
the desk a line about needing a quiet place to work in 
and a large tip got me a room in the next block with no 
neighbors. With time now a factor, I went inside and 
got set up.

For the most part this involved getting changed into 
the sweats I'd brought, slapping on some of the 
aftershave and recording a couple of things on the DAT 
machine. I placed a call to Maggie's department at the 
university and told them that she had a bad headache 
and wouldn't be in today. They accepted it easily, 
since her job was pure research with few teaching 
commitments. I unloaded the things I wouldn't need from 
the duffel bag and set off.

I had a copy of Maggie's key, an arrangement that dated 
from the time I lived in Boston. I don't know if she 
even remembered giving it to me but it would make 
things a lot easier. Like the night before, I entered 
the basement car park and found Maggie's space. Then I 
hoisted the duffel bag over my shoulder and headed to 
the lift. The trip up was uneventful and this time 
there were no interruptions apart from the hideous 
muzac they seemed to play during the day. I reached 
Maggie's floor without disturbance and was relieved to 
find that the corridor outside her apartment was empty.

Pausing outside, I deliberately fumbled with the lock 
for a few minutes. I can actually pick locks, a skill I 
learned at MIT, but it took some time and though I 
wanted to give the impression I was breaking in, I 
didn't want to chance her neighbors calling the cops.

Finally, I inserted the key in the lock and waited. I 
had the ski mask in my pocket and I could have put it 
on, but again knowing my luck someone would come past 
right then. I took a deep breath. If Maggie had decided 
to tie herself in the living room then all this trouble 
and expense would be for nothing. Gently, I opened the 
door and went inside.

The room was dark as the drapes were still drawn, and 
it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. By the dim 
light of the one working lamp, I could see that the 
room was pretty much as I'd left it last night. Maggie 
wasn't there. Taking the DAT machine from my pocket I 
quickly rewound the tape, deliberately making noise as 
I circled the room. When the tape was rewound and I was 
sure that any occupant of the apartment had heard me, I 
pushed play and set the machine on the coffee table.

A shaft of light shone from beneath the bedroom door. 
As I drew closer, I could hear faint movement inside. I 
took another deep breath, pulled on the ski mask and 
quietly opened the door.     Maggie lay on the bed. 
When she heard the door open, she made a supreme effort 
to sit up. She was dressed in the hooker outfit I'd 
bought her, all shiny leather and PVC. As she managed 
to face the door , I realized that the ski mask was 
unnecessary.

Her eyes were covered with the light padded blindfold 
I'd bought. Her mouth chewed on the ballgag, and she 
groaned and thrust her crotch up into the air, making 
suggestive little mewing noises. Then I realized that 
she had no way to measure time. To her it must have 
seemed like several hours since the call. She obviously 
thought it was me and her waving hips were a clear 
invitation.

As I got closer I admired her handiwork. She had used a 
good part of the cord I'd bought to tie her ankles to a 
broom handle as an improvised spreader bar. Her wrists 
were pinioned behind her back, I assumed with the 
handcuffs. A small length of yellow cable came through 
a gap at her zipped crotch and ended in a small battery 
box.

"Hummmph," she moaned.

"Merde!" I knew immediately that I'd hit the right tone 
perfectly.

Maggie stiffened. As I'd intended, she was surprised by 
the response. The first part of convincing her I was a 
stranger had begun. I muttered a few things in French 
about who had done this and what was going on. Getting 
no indication of comprehension, I felt it was safe to 
come closer. Hearing me, she started struggling in 
earnest but it was obvious she wasn't going anywhere. 
For my imaginary stranger, the French Canadian burglar, 
there was only one question:

"Etes-vous seule?" I demanded.

"Hummphh...UM Iee Eeee."

"Pardon?"

"Hummm."

"Oui...le baillon! Errr, Mademoiselle...you must 
promise. No noise, oui?"

She paused, then nodded so I reached behind her head 
and released the strap. As with Caroline, I left it 
dangling around her neck.

"Water," she croaked, so I poured a glass from the jug 
by her bedside and held it to her lips. She drank 
greedily for a few seconds, then started sniffing near 
my sleeve. The smell of sweat and cheap cologne hung in 
the air. This was not a Cody smell, and yet another 
part of my deception was established.

I put the glass down and we waited a while, the room 
quiet but for the insistent sound of the off hook 
telephone. Reaching down, I picked it up from the floor 
and replaced the handset, then noisily placed the phone 
back on the bedside table. She jumped and 'looked' 
around nervously. I felt she was starting to buy my 
act.

"Please can you untie me?" she asked, twisting her 
shoulders around so as to get her bound hands as close 
to me as possible. I could see I'd been right about the 
handcuffs. I could also see what a struggle she'd had. 
The once glossy surface of the PVC gloves near her 
wrist had been worn away. In fact, the cheap gloves had 
been what had kept her prisoner; they had slipped 
during her struggles but only enough to stop any chance 
of her working her wrists free of the cuffs.

"C'est...it is impossible, handcuffs. No key, eh?"

"The key is on the bed somewhere." I looked and after a 
while I found it under a pillow. She seemed to sense 
this because she thrust her arms towards me. I reached 
down to the cuffs -- and closed them an extra click.

"What are you doing?" Her voice had that edge of panic 
that I liked.

"My job," I said off handedly and reached for the gag.

"No please...who are you?"

At last, the question I'd been waiting for. "How you 
say -- le cambrioleur?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Le burglar...? My gloved hand covered her mouth just 
as she was about to scream. A faint shriek came out and 
she struggled wildly but her position was hopeless.

I grabbed the ball and started to bring it up to her 
mouth; a gagged Maggie could ask no questions and so 
reduce the amount of talking *I* needed to do. Sensing 
I was about to silence her again she started struggling 
and shaking her head. For my own reasons I would need 
to work on the gag soon anyway so I decided that "le 
cambrioleur" should have a change of heart.

"Mademoiselle, please." She stopped struggling. "I will 
leave...le baillon?" I tugged at the strap until she 
realized what I was trying to say.

"The gag?"

"Oui. No baillon if you quiet until I am gone."

She understood and nodded. I removed the gag from 
around her neck and pocketed it. Then I started to 
noisily search the rooms. Maggie didn't have much, 
almost all her unspectacular pay went towards the 
future purchase of her dream house. In addition she was 
a bit of an intellectual elitist and shunned such items 
as a TV. Consequently, her apartment had little a 
burglar would find interesting. But I stayed in 
character and searched the place methodically while she 
struggled on the bed. Two things I did check was the 
availability of Saran Wrap in the kitchen and that she 
had bandages in the bathroom cabinet. I had brought my 
own, but I didn't want to give the game away by using 
something unusual that she knew wasn't in the house.

"Please," she called. "I need the toilet?" That was 
good because I needed her to go anyway, so with much 
gallic swearing I undid the spreader. I found the rope 
looser than I expected -- she was probably only minutes 
away from freeing her legs. I gathered up the loose 
cord and tied it to the leather collar she wore and 
using it as a leash guided her to the bathroom.

I reached between her legs and opened the zipper and 
was rewarded by the smell of hot pussy. Removing the 
vibrator, I noted the dampness of her crotch. She 
turned a bright beet root color from the embarrassment 
but the sight of her erect nipples as they pushed 
through the peepholes in the leather cups gave the game 
away. The little slut was getting turned on! Like 
Caroline, she seemed to get quite uncomfortable having 
me watch while she peed, but in the end she had to put 
up with it. Then I dried her and led her back to the 
bedroom.

"Please, you should leave now, my boyfriend will be 
back soon."

I grunted. "This boyfriend, he tie you?"

She turned red again. "Yes, it's a sex game, you know? 
He only stepped out for some cigarettes. He'll be back 
soon."

I let the sentence hang in the air a while as if I was 
considering it.

"Non, you lie. If boyfriend tie, *he* would have key."

"But--"

I placed a gloved finger to her lips. "Shussh!" I took 
her head and forced her to nod and then shake. "Just 
this, eh?"

She nodded.

"Magnetoscope, stereo?" She shook her head. "You have 
jewels? A safe?" She shook her head again. I went 
through her purse checking credit and cash cards. "The 
cards, tell me the numbers!" She stiffened. I knew one 
of these was the dream house account and contained 
almost all the money she had made in her life. I had 
the feeling that she wouldn't give me that without a 
fight. Pursing her lip, she shook her head.

"C'est la vie!" I said and stuffed the gag back into 
her mouth. She complained, but there was little she 
could do. She fought a little when I removed the thigh 
high boots and tied her ankles to the bed, but the 
blindfold kept her from seeing just what I had planned. 
I went to the linen closet and removed what I needed.

At the first touch of the feather duster against the 
bare soles of her feet she gave a strange little 
gurgling sound. Soon the room was full of muffled 
laughter. She thrashed around as much as the bonds 
allowed and the first tears started to creep from 
behind the blindfold. I was glad she'd used the toilet 
because by now I was sure she'd lost all body control. 
I'd left the zipper open and gradually started moving 
the duster up her legs, against her thigh, her pussy 
lips.

She went crazy in a strange flux between being tickled 
and turned on. Her gagged voice begged for mercy but I 
was relentless, working her over until all the fight 
had been laughed out of her. The duster danced over her 
body, driving her more and more wild, pushing her way 
beyond any reasonable limit. Then when she was almost 
completely out of her mind I stopped.

"Enough?" I asked. She nodded weakly.

I removed the gag and asked for the PIN numbers and the 
amounts in the accounts. She seemed drained and 
strangely submissive. I noted the information for 
later. The figures for her main account were not that 
impressive; she always transferring any excess to the 
house account. However the dream house account was 
different. I couldn't tell if she was lying but the 
amount seemed about right.

I made a point of whistling when she gave the balance. 
While she was weak I asked other questions like where 
she worked and how much she could take out of the 
accounts in a week. I think she was too far gone to see 
where this was heading and gave fairly truthful 
answers. While this was going on I was wrapping an Ace 
bandage around the ball of the gag making it larger. In 
the back of my mind a counter that had started when I 
entered her apartment was counting down.

Then the knock came. We both jumped, but in my case it 
was to clamp a hand over her mouth. Then from outside 
the room my voice said, "Maggie? Are you all right?" 
She stiffened, then started to struggle in earnest, 
trying to throw me off. I clamped my hand harder over 
her mouth as she continued to scream. Then the voice 
continued.

"Maggie, listen, I need to find the super and get him 
to open the door. I'll try and keep him out of there 
but there may be nothing I can do -- is that all 
right?"

She screamed into my hand.

"Look, I can't hear you. I'll be fifteen, twenty 
minutes tops, okay?"

That had sold it to her. I think half of her suspected 
it was a joke and that I was the Frenchman. To some 
extent she had played along. Now, thanks to the 
recording on the DAT player, she had heard me outside 
and suddenly in her mind she was alone and helpless 
with a stranger.

She struggled as I forced the enlarged gag into her 
mouth and pulled the strap tight. The bandage covered 
ball was a real mouth filler and her screams were 
reduced to almost nothing. She must have realized this 
because she stopped screaming at once and just lay 
there trembling. I went to the duffel bag and got out 
more bandages, the duct tape and the plastic wrap.

Looking at the small pile of discarded cord I suddenly 
had an idea. Quickly I fashioned a device I'd learned 
about in books. When I tied the cord around her waist 
she didn't seem to notice, being more concerned with 
chewing the ball. Even when I pulled one end between 
her legs she didn't understand. Still, she would find 
out more in a second. Taking the roll of Saran Wrap I 
went to work.

She struggled as I wound the Saran Wrap around her 
legs. As I wanted to be able to bend her knees I 
carefully left them unwrapped but continued with her 
thighs. Then I rolled her over and did the same with 
her arms pulling her shoulders back and thrusting her 
breasts out in the process. Her struggles became weaker 
as she had less and less to work with.

When I went over the Saran Wrap with the duct tape she 
became even more helpless. As I used the tape to secure 
the tops of her arms to her torso, the fight left her. 
She just lay there as I hog-tied her, though she showed 
some interest when I took the rope between her legs and 
secured part of it to her wrists. As a crotch rope this 
was a masterpiece. Two parallel cords held apart by a 
massive knot ran either side of the pussy holding the 
lips open and exposing the clit.

A third rope passed between them, deliberately passing 
tightly through the pussy and bringing several rough 
knots in contact with her nub. It was this rope that 
was bound to her wrists and it took her no time to 
realize that she could vary the pressure and move the 
knots over her sensitive bud with the little hand 
movement she had left.

However, she also found out how frustrating it was; 
while almost any movement brought some stimulation, 
getting enough to make a real difference would take a 
lot of effort. Still, her 'struggles' again became 
quite animated and the smell of hot pussy started to 
fill the room.

We both knew that a line had been crossed. This was the 
first overtly sexual thing the "Burglar" had done. 
Before now he had been content to keep her quiet while 
her searched for valuables, now he was making it clear 
that he had found something of value between her legs. 
Maggie shivered and moaned, though it was hard to tell 
if this were fear or anticipation.

I stroked her cheek. "You like, Mademoiselle?"

She shook her head defiantly. I looked down and saw her 
hard little nipples where they poked through the 
peepholes. They told another story.

I brushed a hand over her exposed clit, felt the 
moisture and heard a muffled gasp. "You little flower 
says different, eh?"

She turned away. As she wasn't saying much I didn't 
feel too bad strengthening the gag a little. As I'd 
done with Caroline I covered the lower part of Maggie's 
face entirely with duct tape, criss crossing her mouth 
and sealing the ball in place. Then I wound a tight 
bandage over the top, squeezing her cheeks in and 
reducing her moans to whispers.

The tweaked nipple test showed that she was effectively 
muzzled and the partial mummification had robbed her of 
her ability to move. Opening the duffel bag up on the 
bed next to her, I rolled her inside. Then she suddenly 
realized what I had in mind. She screamed but I could 
barely hear it even this close and her struggles only 
succeeded in rubbing that frustrating crotch strap 
against her exposed pussy. Even as I was pulling the 
bag closed around her I could tell that she was more 
intent with getting off than getting free.

I put the slut boots into the bag, together with some 
of her more slutty street clothes and a little makeup. 
After all, Maggie would need something to wear later . 
Besides, it helped make the bag appear less body 
shaped.

"Mademoiselle, ecoute! We will leave now before your 
friend returns. You will be my guest for a few days 
only." I took the knife I'd used to cut the saran wrap 
and teased her neck with the point. She stiffened and 
the cold steel touched her skin. I moved the knife 
away.

"Trouble me and I have a knife, comprendre?"

She nodded and I zipped the bag closed. She was quite 
heavy and I was glad I didn't have to carry her any 
distance. Throwing her over my shoulder I went out into 
the living room. Quickly pocketing the DAT I went over 
to the door and opened it a crack. The corridor outside 
her apartment seemed quiet enough. I was so caught up 
with the thrill of it all that for a moment I forgot I 
was wearing the ski mask. I snatched it off and stuck 
it in my pocket then, trying to move a loosely as 
possible so as to disguise the weight of the bag, I 
ambled towards the elevator.

It seemed to take forever to arrive and even before the 
doors opened I could hear the voices inside. Maggie had 
heard them too because I could hear the gagged moans 
close to my ear. It was a 50/50 chance which way they 
would turn on leaving the elevator but there were fewer 
apartments to the left so I quickly darted to that side 
and waited, my heart in my throat as Maggie continued 
to squirm behind me. The door opened, and they turned 
right, two guys dressed like they were back from 
jogging. Before the doors closed I'd dashed inside. I 
doubt they even knew I was there.

I held my breath as we neared the lobby. Some elevators 
automatically stop and open at the lobby even if they 
haven't been called. The last thing I wanted was for 
the doors to open and there be a dozen people waiting, 
especially as right now I had the biggest hard-on in my 
life. Fortunately, that didn't happen and the elevator 
continued to the basement car park.

Maggie was struggling as much as she could and trying 
desperately to scream, but her cries were ineffective. 
I doubt they could have been heard more that a few feet 
away. Still, her weak struggles did shift some of her 
weight and made her difficult to hold. I staggered over 
to the mini van and used the famous self-opening side 
door to get the struggling bundle into the back seat. I 
strapped her down with a couple of lap belts, then 
pushed the seat as far forward as I could. Climbing 
inside I moved the driver's seat hard back, trapping 
Maggie in a small padded box formed from the seats.

The van had tinted windows so no one could see in 
through the sides, and arrangement of the seats hid her 
from oncoming traffic. I was careful in positioning the 
bag; when opened, it would be easy to see her face, and 
tits and cunt were strategically close to the gap 
between the front seats for easy access. In fact, when 
we were out of the garage I felt comfortable enough to 
open the bag and look at my captive. I was relieved to 
see she was breathing normally, and though most of her 
face was covered the little moans she made told me of 
her appreciation of the crotch strap.

Though I had a room a few blocks away I decided to give 
Maggie an adventure and plotted a route that would take 
me out of the city via the Tobin Bridge. After the 
bridge, Highway 1 heads north and I suppose it could be 
an eccentric way of heading for the Canadian border. 
The important thing was that it had toll booths and 
Maggie would hear the sound and know we were leaving 
town. I think there was construction because there were 
jams on the approach to the bridge and I had to keep 
stopping. Still, I had Maggie's compliant if not 
necessarily willing body to play with as I waited.

I stroked and teased listening to the little sounds 
that she was making and smelling the perfume of her hot 
pussy. For a few blocks I played tag with a little red 
open top with an out of state license plate reading 
MISS T. I don't know if this was a pun on Misty or if 
she was some beauty pageant winner but the car's owner 
was a real looker and knew it. She was in her early 
twenties, with fluffy blonde hair, dark glasses and an 
attitude that needed serious adjustment. I accidentally 
blocked her way at an intersection and at the next 
block she deliberately cut me up. Five minutes later we 
were parked side by side and she looked over at me like 
I was dirt.

I smiled and she tossed her head back again making it 
clear she didn't want my company. I had my hand down 
between the front seats playing with Maggie's nipples 
and listening to her muffled protests. My hand drifted 
down and played with the crotch strap, Maggie moaned 
some more, but despite the window being open Miss T 
heard nothing.

She continued to pretend to ignore me while I thrilled 
with the knowledge that she would never know I had a 
helpless girl bound and gagged on my back seat. At the 
lights she squealed away, gaining perhaps a car length 
on me for her trouble. I smiled, thinking just how 
easily it could be Maggie in the little sports car and 
Miss T on my back seat.

Finally we reached the bridge. The tolls are automated 
so there was little chance of detection, and soon I was 
the other side of the river. I did a large circle using 
Highway 28, imagining Maggie's despair and desperation 
mounting with every mile. I zipped up the duffel bag 
and stopped at a gas station to get some chocolate. The 
place was quiet but there were enough people around for 
Maggie to hear and try to contact.

Needless to say, no one noticed anything wrong. I 
headed back towards Boston with the biggest hard-on in 
history, and a helpless captive ready to satisfy it. 
The traffic was better on the way back in and in no 
time I was at the motel. I zipped up Maggie's bag in 
case a passerby looked through the driver's window, and 
opened the door to the room. I spent a moment drawing 
the drapes against inquisitive eyes then brought Maggie 
inside.

She was in quite a state. Her body was covered in 
sweat, hair plastered down to her skull. Her erect 
nipples were poking through the peepholes in the 
corselet and seemed a little red. I could only assume 
that she had been using the rough fabric of the bag to 
maximum effect. Needless to say her clit was engorged. 
I had almost expected friction burns but apparently 
there was more than enough lubrication.

As I eased her out of the bag, she started floundering 
about like a fish out of water. For a moment I thought 
that she was struggling to escape but then I realized 
the truth, she was trying for an orgasm. I sat and 
watched the valiant struggle. She came close on a 
number of occasions but finally she fell back, 
exhausted and frustrated. I smiled, thinking how 
strange it was that reality so closely followed art. I 
had got the design of the crotch strap from a trashy 
bondage novel about a white slaver.

After capture he fits one to all of his 'recruits' in 
order to prevent escape. The idea was that any attempt 
to struggle causes sexual stimulation which distracts 
the victim, causing them to fail to get free. Though 
Maggie could not possibly get free the strap was having 
a similar effect. She would struggle and build up her 
level of excitement, but only being able to nose 
breathe she was unable to get off before oxygen debt 
forced her to stop. She panted and shivered. Ready if 
not exactly willing, she waited for her kidnapper to 
take her.

I smiled. She would have to wait a little longer. Using 
the knife I cut her legs free. Instead of the kicking 
I'd expected, she pushed down, thrusting her shaved 
crotch upwards. The little slut was begging for it, but 
I would not oblige just yet. I improvised a modified 
hogtie using tape and cord. First I taped both ankles 
together with each foot against the opposite calf. This 
forced her legs open into a rigid triangle with knees 
horizontal and out of the way.

It left her pussy exposed and gave her no way to 
protect it. Then I bound the ankles to the wrists, 
making her body rigid and reducing her movement to 
virtually nothing. She moaned and struggled but could 
do nothing more. Satisfied that she was under control, 
I removed the gag. As expected she wanted water first 
so I placed the glass to her lips and let her drink 
just enough to take the edge off her thirst. Then I 
turned her so that her head was over the side of the 
bed and undid my fly.

She knew what was coming and lay quietly while I 
explained the penalty for biting. As it turned out I 
needn't have worried. The gag had strained her jaw 
muscles to the point where I doubt she could bite 
anyway. Needless to say, it wasn't the worlds greatest 
blow job. I did consider punishing her for bad 
technique but there seemed little point since she was 
physically unable to do better. Finally I came, though 
it was more through my efforts than hers. I forced her 
to swallow, then moved her into the center of the bed.

I spent a few minutes stripping the sodden bandage off 
the ball gag while she worked on putting her jaw in 
order. We both finished about the same time, and I 
pushed the ball against her lips.     "Please no," she 
begged.

"Oui," I said. "I must go to le Banque."

"Bank? Please no! That's all I have!" Her voice was 
panicked.

"That is all right, mademoiselle, it is all I need!"

"Please," she said thrusting her chest outwards. "I 
have other things I could offer..."

I laughed, a gravelly, hearty sound that surprised even 
me. "Do not worry, mademoiselle, I will taste those 
fruits on my return."

She struggled but the result was a foregone conclusion. 
I tightened the gag strap and left her alone in the dim 
motel room.

I didn't go far, just out to the car to use my mobile 
phone. First, I called my accountant who I hoped could 
help with the problem of Caroline's mother. We talked 
hypothetically about a couple of ideas I'd had and he 
confirmed what I needed to know. Now I knew that my 
plan stood a chance, I called around and talked to a 
number of other friends to arrange meetings. Finally I 
called a fine Deli I knew and ordered the makings for 
dinner. It was then I made the mistake.

I'd been eating a bar of the chocolate while I made the 
calls and finished up quite thirsty. As it was too 
early to arrive back at the room, I decided to go in 
search of the Coke machine that motels always have. The 
first machine I found was broken so I went further 
afield...

As I walked back towards my block with my 3 cans of 
coke and some ice, a movement caught my eye. She was 
young, very young -- sixteen, maybe seventeen at most, 
dressed in the brown uniform of a maid. In her arms she 
carried a huge pile of towels almost as tall as she 
was, in her hand was a key and she was heading for my 
room. She ignored my shouts and as she got closer to my 
door I realized I had no option. Bursting into a sprint 
I closed on her. I was lucky -- fumbling with the 
towels, she dropped the key. But for that, she would 
have been in the room long before I reached her. As it 
was, I made it just as she opened the door.

Perhaps I should have been an actor -- despite the 
danger, I stayed in character. "Mademoiselle, what are 
you doing?" I demanded, pointing to the 'do not 
disturb' sign I'd hung on the door. I was acutely aware 
that Maggie was just feet away and could probably be 
heard easily with the door open.

The girl looked at the sign, and for the first time I 
noticed her olive skin and those dark brown eyes. 
"Perdon," she said. "No hablo ingles!"

A moan emerged through the open doorway and the little 
Spanish girl moved forward curiously. Quickly and as 
gently as I could, I reached forward and closed the 
door. I could still hear faint sounds from inside, but 
the gag was good enough to prevent Maggie from drawing 
too much attention. I knew she could probably hear us 
clearly and I knew she could speak Spanish so in the 
worse accent I could manage I asked, "Habla usted 
frances?"

"Oui," she said with a smile. Immediately there was a 
bond between us. We were both foreigners now.

"Tres bien!" I smiled. "Mademoiselle. Je suis fatigue. 
Je ne voudrais pas ma chambre a ete faite." I tapped 
the 'do not disturb' sign for good measure.

She blushed. "Excusez-moi Monsieur." Then she hurried 
away.

Relieved, I opened the door. A Spanish girl who spoke 
French but no English? I wished I'd had the time to 
know more. Of course, a real desperado would probably 
have pushed her inside and tied her up as well. Still, 
I'd dealt with it in a way consistent with my 
character, and I was sure Maggie was none the wiser.

Putting down the supplies I removed the gag. "You lie!" 
I accused. "The number was no good!"

"Please no. I told you the truth."

"The card, it has gone."

"The machine ate my card?" Her voice was a strange 
mixture of panic and relief.

"Oui! I have lost one day. I have nothing! Comprendez- 
vous?"

"Yes, but what can I do?"

I waited a while as if he was weighing up his options. 
Then I reached over and pushed the gag firmly into her 
mouth. Fumbling for the phone, I made a number of calls 
to my house and talked to the answering machine. For 
Maggie's benefit, I made out that I was talking to 
someone at the other end. The first ten calls were 
entirely in French and after the first Maggie gave up 
trying to alert the person at the other end of the 
phone and waited patiently. Then I sprang the eleventh 
on her.

"Bonjour, John. Comment ca va? Bien. Listen I have 
something special. Non, a woman. Oui la prostitute... 
how you say, a hooker?"

Maggie raised an muffled objection but I ignored her.

"The bitch ripped me off... stole my money... oui... 
non I caught her. She is my guest...oui. I need to get 
my money back before I go 'ome to Quebec...exactement! 
I think the same... oui... anything you like for two 
hundred dollars. Oui? Tres bien! A tout a l'heure... 
oui! Au revoire."

Maggie moaned and struggled as I made the next four 
calls in English. Each was approximately the same. I 
claimed she was a hooker that had stolen money from me 
and offered to sell her ass for two hundred bucks in 
order to make my money back. Each call varied a little 
and I gradually filled in the details, assuring one 
party that she would be blindfolded or telling another 
she was an accomplished liar.

The setup was obvious -- sometime later tonight Maggie 
was going to be gang-banged by fifteen guys at two 
hundred dollars a head. She would be bound and 
blindfolded, gagged for much of the time but even when 
she could speak she would be unable to persuade them to 
stop.

I noisily flicked through the pages of a book. "Fifteen 
men a night? That is three thousand. In a week..." 
Maggie moaned, in a week she would have fucked over a 
hundred guys.

"Do not worry Mademoiselle, we will 'ave the money 
soon, non?"

Her nipples were hard, her pussy damp. Maggie could 
only orgasm with a man when forced and soon fifteen 
guys were going to have their way with her. She'd be 
fucked, sucked, groped and I'd made it clear that she 
could be used in anyway those men wanted. I watched the 
crotch rope as it rubbed against her clit. This gag 
allowed a little mouth breathing so she got a little 
closer before she exhausted herself. I made an excuse 
about needing to go to buy condoms so that my friends 
wouldn't catch something from her slut cunt. I offered 
to get her a drink before I left and she nodded.

I expected her to beg to be released when I ungagged 
her. I thought she'd threaten and whine. But instead 
she surprised me.

"For God's sake," she moaned. "Fuck me, Cody!"

"Mademoiselle, I am..."

"Cut the French crap, Cody, and just fuck me, okay? Do 
what you like, whip me, degrade me but for God sake let 
me cum!"

I paused while I thought what to do next. My original 
plan still had about ten more minutes left to run.

"Cody, please... fuck my pussy, you bastard. If you 
want to, then use me like a whore, just be quick..."

In the end I gagged her just to end the obscenities. 
Then, still in character, I mounted her. I told her she 
would be my whore, that the fifteen guys would use all 
of her holes, would fuck her beyond exhaustion, would 
cum all over her body. I told her she would be 
powerless, bound and gagged, unable to stop them as 
they took what they wanted, unable to stop them from 
degrading her and making her lower than the cheapest 
whore. Then I told her that she'd like it, or at least 
she'd pretend to because that way they would stop 
beating her and that would mean she could get some 
sleep.

Before the next fifteen guys arrived...

All through this she struggled and screamed and fought 
and when I finally cut the crotch rope and entered her 
she was more than ready. The hogtie was a masterpiece, 
giving her no way to stop my penetration, making her 
more powerless, less guilty.

I still believe she orgasmed fifteen times, once for 
each imaginary rapist, for each imaginary violation. 
Even gagged she made more noise than I would have liked 
and I only hoped the little Spanish girl wasn't in the 
next room. Finally spent, I collapsed on her and there 
we stayed 'till I we recovered our strength. Then I 
removed her gag and blindfold.

She blinked and smiled. "Hi, Cody."

"Okay. When did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That it was me?"

"I've always known," she said, a little bemused.

"But I wore sweats and--"

She smiled. "It was very good, Cody. Wonderful, in 
fact. You were so convincing I almost thought it was 
real on a couple of occasions. In fact, if you hadn't 
worn the cologne I gave you last Christmas, I could 
have panicked and really thought it was real. Very 
subtle clue by the way -- a masterstroke!"

I was suddenly very glad that I hadn't said the 
aftershave was cheap and nasty.

She continued, "Coming early was good, too. In fact you 
almost caught me out. If you hadn't done that key 
fumbling thing outside the door, you'd have caught me 
in the living room. As it was, I didn't really get 
chance to tie my ankles properly."

"Whoa, wait a minute. You mean you only tied yourself 
up when I arrived?"

"Of course. What kind of idiot do you take me for? You 
don't really think I'd be stupid enough to tie myself 
up and not be able to get loose."

"But the gloves?"

"Nice touch, I thought. Well, you kept saying they were 
cheap and nasty and I agree. I was planning to get 
better ones so I could afford to sacrifice these."

"So this whole thing was a setup?" I demanded. "You 
weren't really tied up at all?"

The silly cunt grinned at me. "Nope. I just woke up 
with an itch this morning and I knew you were too busy 
to come if I asked, so- -"

"You incredible bitch!"

"The one and only."

I stared at her. Then it was my turn to grin. "Okay. So 
I'm a sucker and I bought it. Now you'll have to do 
something for me."

"No, I don't," she pouted. "You got off on it, too, big 
time. I never realized what a power freak you are. If I 
didn't lean in the other direction I might even fight 
this Elizabeth chick for you!"

"Flattery will get you nowhere," I said. "And you do 
owe me - *big time.*"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. So what do you want?"

"You, to be my slave for one evening of my choosing. No 
limits, no veto, nothing. You do what I say, fuck what 
I say and the only acceptable answer is "yes, master." 
Understand?"

She pouted again. "Why should I agree to this?"

"Two reasons," I said. "One, you'll get off on it big 
time. And two, you say no and I push this gag back into 
your lying little mouth and leave you here for the maid 
to find."

She thought for a while. "Okay. But only for *one* 
evening."

"Agreed," I said and started to free her. Already my 
mind was working on the plans to fulfill my deepest 
fantasy; to have both my slaves helpless and available 
at the same time.

END