Chapter 4: "A Timetable for Domination"
I went back upstairs and made myself a coffee, thinking
of my slave, of the plans I had made and of "Phantom
Bob." As the scent of warm Java spread about the
kitchen I sat and reviewed the days events. Months ago,
when a real living and breathing Caroline was just a
wet dream, I had planned out the first few days with my
new slave. I had foreseen her fear, her anger and her
attempts to escape. I had planned for each in turn
molding her reactions and my responses into a mental
document I called (with a typical writer's flare) "A
Timetable for Domination." It started with the
preparation for the kidnapping ebbed and flowed through
the snatch and the training and the bondage and the sex
to a scene that was painted so vividly in my mind's eye
that it seemed almost real.
Slave and I would enter a fashionable New York night
club (dressed in tasteful fetish wear naturally). I
would spy Samantha at the bar and signaling Slave to
come close (she always walks two steps behind as a sign
of respect for her master) I instruct her to seduce Sam
by any means possible. Slave (she hasn't answered to
Caroline in so long she doesn't even recognize the
name) smiles and happily complies, this is far from the
worse thing I've ever asked her to do and the thought
of disobeying never crosses her carefully conditioned
mind.
Later I would reveal myself to Sam forcing her to do
unspeakable humiliating things less I publish the
photos of her lesbian fling. The circle would be
complete, capturing Caroline to enact my revenge on
Sam. Then using her to get that revenge. But of course
that was fantasy and reality wasn't proving to be that
simple.
In my mental timetable things were certain and secure
her reactions easy to envisage. First would be denial,
a refusal to face up to the kidnapping and her new
position as my sex slave. This sort of thing wasn't
supposed to happen to her! This happened to bad girls
who talked to strangers or accepted candy, or
hitchhiked. She had avoided everything that her mother
had warned her about and yet she was still bound and
gagged, chained up in a guy's basement and forced to
do... things.
I'd figured this attitude would probably persist for a
few days then I expected her to redouble her attempts
at escape. Then slowly would come acceptance and a
listless despair. Finally under the strict domination
and conditioning she would adapt and begin to accept
her new life as my slave. I firmly expecting to be able
to take her on our fated club date inside of two years.
Yet the "Phantom Bob incident had worried me. I wasn't
stupid I'd always realized that there would be a degree
of variation in my plans once there was a real woman in
the equation but I'd been surprised at how little
trouble she's given me overall. She'd been kidnapped
less than twenty four hours, I'd expected more of a
fight until she accepted the hopelessness of her
situation. That acceptance was the first step towards
truly breaking her. I'd wanted it to be long and slow
so that when it came the despair would be that much
greater. Yet whenever I pushed her she seemed to back
down and like a reed in the wind without resistance I
couldn't break her.
I'd expected her to try and signal "Bob" had thrilled
with the thoughts of despair that would grip her when
she failed and above all had looked forward to
punishing her disobedience. The dirty scheme that had
been festering in the back of my mind since I read her
mail that morning had started to pull together ideas
and plans that I'd reserved for later. The whole thing
was just so obvious, so perfectly simple and yet
inescapable that I just had to do it, but for it to
work I needed an excuse to punish her.
Over the past few months I'd read a lot of bondage
fiction. Every time I stopped off in New York for
dungeon supplies I'd included a magazine or two and a
few videos for "research" purposes. One of the real
dumb things that these stories tend to say is that
there is always a reason to punish the slave. "The
slave is always guilty," is a favorite line, written by
a guy whose closest link with slavery is the pittance
he pays his models. In truth you should never punish
the slave for nothing, you are trying to impress your
values on her, they must always be consistent.
Obedience means reward, even if the reward is something
she had as a right in her former life like spending
time ungagged. Disobedience means punishment, you can
always substitute a lesser punishment than the one you
threaten and you can offer the possibility of
redemption or reduction in exchange for some service
but in general if she's bad she's punished.
The secret (if there is one) is to treat the slave as
you would a dog. Tell her she's a clever slave when she
obeys and always do something in recognition. Punish or
withhold something when she's bad, but only when she's
bad. There are guys who beat their dogs constantly,
this results in nervous anxious dogs. Then there are
guy's who beat their women constantly and they have
nervous anxious women. Strangely it's rare for either
dog or woman to run away from such people, I still
haven't figured out why.
In my case I needed an excuse to punish Caroline, any
excuse would have done but for whatever reason I needed
her to know that *SHE* was responsible. This could be
no arbitrary action of mine she must have done
something to deserve it. It's a strangely human failing
that someone is more likely to do something they
wouldn't ordinarily do in order to make amends rather
than to do you a favor. Right now I needed her
apprehensive and willing to please if my new plan was
to work.
I flicked on the video camera and watched as she lay on
the bed. I was again immediately hard and as I sat and
drank the warm dark liquid I got more and more excited
until in the end I was forced to shut down the monitor
and think of other things, like photography.
One of the fringe benefits of living with an editor at
Vogue is your access to models, designers and
photographers. One of the few people I met through Sam
who I really liked was a talented fashion photographer
called Andy Pearson. Most people probably haven't even
heard of him but if you have ever glanced at the cover
of a fashion magazine while waiting in line at the
checkout chances are you've seen his work. Andy is a
guy's guy, a big brash New Zealander who came to New
York via the far east and a large chunk of Europe. He
is also one of that growing club of Sam's cast offs. In
fact it was he who helped me pick up the pieces after
the wedding was canceled.
I really don't know how I could have managed without
his help and in the process he became my best friend.
If Andy is a great guy he's a brilliant photographer.
With seeming ease he juggles the twenty or so variables
necessary to make a good photo, great. His pictures
make his models beautiful and show off the clothes to
maximum effect. A classic "Pearson" has a spontaneity
about it that makes a carefully posed piece look like
the kind of shot you would take of your girlfriend on
an outing (well it *would* be if you were a top
photographer, and she was a supermodel).
What he does he does so well that at least one magazine
calls the cover photo, which is of course the most
important in any issue, the "Pearson shot". I've seen
him coax fantastic poses out of young girls just
starting in the business then slap down a "difficult"
supermodel in successive breaths. He moves, molds and
commands women in a way that few BDSM doms could even
hope to match.
In the way friends do we started to take interest in
each others work. Through him my interest in
photography expanded. I have always prided myself that
I am a good photographer, and as my friends have
married I have had enough invites "suggesting" that I
might bring a camera to confirm this. Andy however
transformed that. He has a love for the technology of
photography and as time went on I taught him how to use
computers and he taught me the tricks of the pro's. The
fusion of our skills produced something that little bit
different and was exactly what I would need if my plan
was to succeed.
For my plan needed photos, some the cheery snapshots to
send to the Conway's, some more hardcore. Some would
have to look *very* professional, some like they were
taken by a talentless hack. With all the complexity for
a second I considered giving Andy a call and asking his
advice. Trouble was that he loved this kind of stuff
and if he could I just knew he would invite himself
over. So in the end I consulted the local yellow pages
and found a list of photo suppliers in the nearest
town. I would have to use what he taught me and just
wing the rest.
I ate a light lunch, one of those pizza bag things that
I'd bought with the idea of eating cold on the road.
Needless to say it was disappointing but I suppose it
hit the spot. I checked on Caroline, who was still
sobbing on the bed, then locked up and went to the
garage. Inside was a large Chevy van that I'd bought
because my main car, a 1958 Triumph TR2, doesn't have
much carrying space. The van was a sort of half
conversion, it was carpeted and had a couple of
captain's chairs but with the exception of a largish
bench seat on one side everything was removable for
maximum cargo capacity.
I backed out, careful to miss both the roadster and the
big old car I'd used for the kidnapping. I looked upon
it with some regret, it was a large powerful land boat
that had been a pleasure to drive but my safety came
first. I had already made arrangements to scrap the car
and intended to watch it being crushed so that I was
sure that the evidence was destroyed. For now I locked
up the garage and headed for town.
The first two photography stores I tried were closed,
New England not being as good for Sunday shoppers as
some places. The next had nothing that I needed and I
was starting to regret not calling around first.
However eventually, late in the afternoon, I found
somewhere that could supply at least my basic needs. I
spent about two hundred dollars mainly on film and
paper and got a referral to another shop which catered
to the local pro photographic circuit. The rest would
have to wait until tomorrow though I had a hunch that I
would have plenty of time. A quick detour to one of
those DIY warehouses got me all the other things I
needed.
I arrived home with some apprehension half expecting a
police car in the drive. Of course it wasn't there, the
house was undisturbed and a quick check on my guest
confirmed that she was ok and was even managing an
afternoon nap. I put on another pot of coffee and
started in earnest. I refrigerated the film and prepped
a camera then took off downstairs to ready the
"studio".
I worked most of the afternoon putting up shower
curtains and dustsheets to disguise the dungeon walls
and cover the furniture. I set up lights and placed a
camera on a tripod in preparation. Finally at about 7PM
I was ready for my model.
She awoke as I came into the room and said something
behind the gag. I freed her from the wire, and checked
her bonds, giving her time to get frustrated before
removing the muzzle. She wanted to know what was going
on, why I'd left her, what would happen next. I was
starting to wish I could keep her gagged but the plan
required that she should be able to speak so without
answering anything I took her back into the dungeon.
She blinked as we stepped through the doors, the lights
in her room automatically dim to a level that lets the
surveillance cameras work but allows her to sleep.
Stepping from that twilight into the glare of the
photofloods caught her off balance.
"Master, what's all this for?"
"For you slave," I answered innocently, "We're going to
take a few pictures."
I watched her swallow, her eyes panned around the room
to the small table I'd set up near the camera. I'd put
an array of vibrators, dildos and floggers out for her
inspection, it didn't take a genius to figure out what
kind of pictures these were to be. "No," She said, "I
can't."
"*I* slave? I thought we had this discussion last
night," I said starting to up the pressure.
She paused, her brain going through the mental
gymnastics necessary to convert the sentence into a
more acceptable form, when she finally spoke I had to
admit she'd done a pretty good job.
"Master, your slave, she really can't... Please."
"*MY* slave can and will do what I order her to," I
said deliberately pouring as much menace as I could
into my voice. "She's a slut whore, she likes doing
slut whore kinds of things. Right now all this whore
wants to do is jam this dildo up her crack while I take
pictures. Isn't that true slut?" Her eyes filled with
tears, "Please..." I pulled her close and stuck two
fingers in her cunt, with her hands still cuffed behind
her there was little she could do.
"Isn't that true!"
She nodded wordlessly, my other hand started to massage
one of her latex covered tits and was surprised to find
the nipple already hard.
"Why don't you say it slut."
"Your slave..."
"NO!" I shouted, "Say this whore."
"The..the..this whore..."
"...Wants to jam this rubber fuck toy up her crack
until she cums."
"Wha..."
"...Wants to do this 'cos she's a cheap painted slut.
Who needs to fuck. Anything will do as long as there's
a tool inside her."
She stood there, mouth working silently, tears once
again in full flow. I continued to massage cunt and
tit.
"Does that feel good slave," I asked watching the
confusion on her face, "You know why don't you? It's
because you're a whore, you like being used by men
don't you?"
Still silence.
"You wanted to know why I took you? It's because the
first time I saw you I thought, now there goes one hot
little slut I'll bet she fucks like a train." My hands
continued but this wasn't a gentle teasing, this was an
all out degrading grope. I pulled her close while
burying more of my gloved fingers in her wet pussy.
"I noticed the way you suck whore. You may be a
parson's daughter but you ain't no choir girl. Now tell
me, did you get that good playing nurse with the local
farm boys or did you have an evening job I didn't know
about?"
I watched her intently, there still wasn't the reaction
I'd expected, she cried, she whimpered but she didn't
fight back. I needed a method to push this further but
I couldn't think of a suitable way.
"Say it!" I hissed, "Tell me that you are a cheap
slut."
"I-I'm a chea..."
"This whore!!"
"This whore..."
"Sexy slave, say it sexy! I want you to pant in out
like a bitch in heat! I want you to sound like the
filthy little tart you really are." I grabbed a huge
black rubber dildo from the table and waved it in front
of her startled eyes.
"Beg me for it slave! Nice and sexy I want you to tell
me what a worthless whore you are, and how you'll do
anything to have this up your crack."
She started, stammering to fit all I'd wanted into the
sentence, tears in full flow. Disappointed I decided to
let her finish and snap a few photo's for the
collection in any case. Now her eye's were adjusted to
the light she had started to scan the dungeon. Most was
covered with dust cloths to hide it's true nature all
except for one corner which I'd been deliberately set
dressing so it looked more like dungeons in TV shows.
By that I mean that I'd fastened bits and pieces of
bondage paraphernalia to the grid work on the wall.
There were leather masks, gags, hoods, cuffs and
harnesses all strapped to the wall in a hap hazard
fashion. Caroline's eyes flickered from one to the
other deducing each time what they were used for and
realizing with certainty that they had been bought to
use on her. Finally her eyes had rested on one harness
arrangement that I'd bought on the spur of the moment
just before I'd gone to pick her up.
I must confess to always liking the idea of girl on
girl action. One of the contingency's that had worked
it's way into the "timetable" prior to the kidnapping
had been the idea of the capture being discovered by
another girl, perhaps a coworker, and my having to
overpower and take her too so that she couldn't
identify me. It was in truth a fantasy, a wet dream, I
cared too much for life and liberty to have risked a
casual discovery. Yet the fantasy had been so strong
that I'd even taken along an extra cuff and gag set
just in case. It had also caused me to buy this item on
impulse.
The owner of the sex shop had called it a "Lezbo
Harness", simply this is a very long dildo fastened to
a pair of strap on leather panties. One half of the
dildo goes in one girl and she uses the second half to
fuck a friend and all the rocking back and forth brings
them both off. Lot's of people wouldn't recognize one
if they saw it, but the strange look on Caroline's face
told me she knew exactly what it was. I didn't know
what the story was but I could tell she didn't like it.
Her concentration was broken and she stammered to a
halt.
And in that second I had an inspiration.
"Pathetic slave," I said forcing my face close to hers,
" I hope your sister is better."
"M-my sister?"
"Yes, Anna isn't it?" I asked coolly, "Quite a well
developed girl for sixteen. She's obviously a little
whore as well. When I found out about her I got to
thinking what a wonderful matched set you two would
make. Anna looks like a goer, I bought that harness
today so that I could see just how you two would do
together. You know sisterly love and all that"
She looked stunned, shaken, I pressed my advantage.
"I know where she lives, know where she goes to school.
Being a farm girl you must know just how quiet the
country is, how many lonely places she must walk
through every day. Compared to you she'll be easy. Were
you comfortable in my trunk? She's got further to
travel than you have so if you have any suggestions on
how we can make her more comfortable do speak up."
Caroline went white, I continued to fondle her. "Just
imagine how ironic it will be that the first your
parents will know about your disappearance is when they
try to tell you that I've kidnapped your sister." I
smiled and made a dismissive gesture, "You know I think
you're right, we'll hold off on these photos until Anna
gets here." I snapped my fingers (not easy when you're
wearing gloves), "I know, we'll send a couple of prints
to your mother, a memento to console her in this time
of loss!"
By now I was in a really evil frame of mind. "How about
the two of you bound and gagged to the wall... Better
yet she's bound and gagged and you are eating out her
pussy... NO! of course, she's bound and gagged wearing
the harness, you're kneeling bound and gagged in front
of her and she's reaming your ass out!"
I leered at her, "Has to be one for the album. Eh
slave?" By now her tears where in full flow and through
the hand I had buried in her pussy I felt her body
tremble. "NO!" She screamed and kicked me knocking
herself off balance and teetering on the tall stiletto
heels. She would have fallen but for the hand I had
inside her. Sure it was painful, but the hobble was
still in place and so the kick was no real power. She
caught her breath almost immediately, a look of horror
spreading across her face as she realized the enormity
of what she'd just done. She now knew that I could be
brutal if pushed and that look told me that she'd
remembered the incident with the gag that morning.
"Please... I'... this whore... is sorry." She must have
seen the anger in my eyes. "Please master... this
whor..re will obey. Please don't hurt me!"
I dragged her towards the cell, she hesitated, her
position was helpless, she couldn't resist and if she
tried she risked further punishment. Yet part of her
mind told her hat if she was lead back to that cell she
would have no way to defuse the situation. She sort of
half fought as I returned her to the cell and
reattached the wire to her collar. She begged, pleaded
and wept as I filled a plastic beaker with water and
brought it over. She was in full panic offering
herself, any photo I wanted, anything at all, because
she said she'd remembered that the penalty for
attacking me was disfigurement and the incident with
the gag this morning had convinced her that I would
carry through.
Now it was my turn to be shocked. My mind flashed back
through everything I had told her about Rule 1 and the
cost of disobedience. I could remember telling her
something about threatening my safety but by that I'd
meant trying to escape or seriously hurt me. Knocks and
kicks I'd expected in the early days which was one of
the reasons for the hobble.
Somehow in her terror she'd misunderstood. She was
heading towards hysteria and I almost considered
correcting her but then she was rapidly approaching the
frame of mind I would need for the plan. In the end I
got her to drink then offered the ball to her. She
wanted to talk, to plicate while there was still time
but she also knew the penalty for refusing the gag.
Terrified she opened her mouth and I gagged her
fastening the strap a little tighter than was strictly
necessary to reinforce my "anger". The moment I let go
she rubbed her gagged mouth against my arm, making
little noises, begging wordlessly for it's removal. I
rechecked her bonds and made to leave she continued to
whine, eyes huge, imploring.
I looked down on her, "Sleep slave," I said, "Don't
worry about the punishment, it will come soon enough."
Then without looking back, I left securing the door
behind me; and breathing a huge sigh of relief. It had
taken a lot of effort but finally I had her where I
needed her. Alone in her cell her mind was already
magnifying her crime and it's imagined punishments. By
tomorrow she would be ready.
I worked on until about ten, mainly doing preparatory
desktop publishing work upstairs. Like all writers I've
built up a hoard of unused material against the day
when tight schedules or the dreaded writers block would
leave me without copy. The kidnapping had been in the
planning stages for several months and during that time
I'd been collecting idea's and information in a similar
way. I had a collection of things I'd intended to send
to the Conways to make them believe Caroline was
elsewhere.
One of these, a holdout I'd only intended to use if
they seemed to be going to the police, now had a more
cunning use that would hopefully ensure that they would
never know their daughter was missing. Finishing up I
visited the cell before going to bed. The cameras were
well hidden and there was some benefit in making her
believe that I needed to check on her personally . The
tight gag was giving her trouble so after giving her
another drink (during which she was warned not to
speak), I refastened it in a loose hap hazard kind of
way. Again she rubbed her mouth against me and again I
refused to ungag her and talk. I left and went to bed.
**
Next morning I was up bright and early. A quick camera
check showed her asleep in her cell. During the night
she'd managed to work the gag off, not a difficult task
as the ball can be rolled over the lower jaw even when
the strap is quite tight. Tutting to myself I collected
the post and answered my Email.
I headed down to the dungeon. I'd done a lot of
preparation work already, it's transformation into an
impromptu photographic studio was almost completed and
with the exception of some more equipment my primary
need was for a little attitude adjustment for my
principle model.
I paused to collect some things from the cabinet and to
lower one of the pulleys attached to the ceiling. I'd
intended this rig to be used for a really big
punishment and had everything necessary to suspend my
slave several feet above the ground. For now however
all I needed to do was keep her uncomfortable.
She woke with a start as I entered the room.
"What's the meaning of this slave?"
"Meaning?"
She was obviously a little slow in the mornings. I
waved the ball under her nose.
"I left you gagged slave, I expect to find you gagged
when I return is that clear?"
She nodded silently.
"I left it loose last night so that you could sleep
easier and you repay my kindness like this!"
"It hurt..."
"I know lots of other things that hurt slave," I said
menacingly, "As you'll discover later."
"Master please, I didn't mean to kick you!"
"I'd thought it over last night and I *WAS* thinking of
giving you a break..."
"Oh yes, please master."
"Then I find you've disobeyed me again."
She looked downhearted. I was generally pleased, she
was starting to call me master with none of the self-
conscious hesitation that had troubled her the day
before. For the time being I was letting up on her use
of *I* but when *MASTER* became totally natural to her
I would insist that she call herself *SLAVE* to
emphasize our relative positions and the name Caroline
would begin to be wiped from her mind. For the time
being I gave her a drink then freed her hands.
"Loose the top," I said.
For a second or two she seemed confused. Then
realizing, she slipped her way out of the tight latex
bustier, letting her breasts swing free. She was about
to remove the latex stockings but I stopped her.
Instead I had her tighten the little draw strings in
the tops that held them up without the garters. I think
she was in a dilemma, happy to be out of the sweaty
rubber she had worn for nearly two days but
apprehensive that her torso was now naked. I had her
use the toilet then fastened her hands, gagged her and
lead her into the dungeon.
I'd left a pile of straps and rods on the table and the
look on her face told me that she didn't know what they
were. The look of fear told me that she didn't want to
find out. Amongst the pile the only obvious things were
the snap on leather panties, butt plug and vibrator.
Remembering the day before she gave me no trouble,
spreading her legs when asked, in return I paid more
attention to her pussy than was strictly necessary to
lubricate the vibrator. A couple of snaps later and the
tight leather panties held both intruders firmly in
place. The vibration levels where set high enough to
keep her occupied but not quite enough for her to get
off.
Still she had started an involuntary squirming by the
time I got to the next item. For this I laid her on the
floor then started by tying one of her ankles to one of
the rods that formed the strange apparatus. I think at
first she thought it was a standard spreader bar
despite its length. She only started to see the truth
when I tied the other end along her opposing thigh
rather than the ankle. I roped the end to her leg just
below the knee then used another line to tie the ankles
together. It's complicated to explain but in essence I
had tied her in the standard "kneeling to propose"
stance.
One high heeled boot was planted flat on the ground,
leg rising vertically to the knee which was bent. Along
the thigh of this leg a rod was tied and its far end
attached to the other ankle. The other leg rested on
its knee unbound until the ankle was tied to the rod. A
cord between vertical ankle and horizontal ankle held
her legs in a rigid triangle.
She realized immediately that this was very
uncomfortable and tried to struggle into a better
position but of course there wasn't one. I removed
collar and gag, she knew better than complain guessing
that this was one of the punishments I'd promised. I
gathered her hair back into a ponytail to keep it out
of the way then started fitting her with a head
harness. First up was the gag, a large dense sponge
ball attached to a strap. She gave me no trouble,
opening up as it approached.
I stuffed the rubber into her open mouth then tightened
the chin strap, this ball wasn't slipping out. It took
a while to fit everything but when finished a nest of
straps covered her head in such a way as to hold the
ball in her mouth and then clamp her jaw closed around
it. As an experiment I seized one of her nipples and
squeezed hard, almost no sound emerged from behind the
straps though her tear filled eyes where full of pain.
The harness was obviously too complicated to fit
quickly but if I ever needed to transport her any
distance this would keep her quiet enough to hide
almost anywhere. In addition to the gag the harness had
several mountings for other things like additional
blindfolds, but two large buckles at the back were
designed for attaching to a special posture collar. The
collar was fitted to a rod which in turn snapped into
the rod used to secure the legs. Fastening harness to
collar, and collar to rod held the head firmly in place
and meant that any tension in the head harness was
transmitted directly to the rods and not the wearer.
This was needed because the harness had a suspension
loop on the top of the head. I attached this to the
pulley in the ceiling then pulled everything tight. As
an afterthought I used some spare cord to tie her
wrists and elbows to the vertical rod then stood back
and viewed my handiwork.
She rested fitfully, all her weight on one high heeled
foot and one knee, tied into a rigid triangle. Her
gloved arms were pulled back along the supporting rod,
dragging shoulders back and thrusting naked breasts
outwards. It was a tight uncomfortable position but
very little complaint could emerge from her well packed
mouth. In fact as she stood there and the little beads
of sweat broke out across her exposed skin the most
prominent sound came from the vibrator, pressed hard
against the taught leather panties and using them as a
sounding board.
The bondage seemed to have robbed her even of control
of her internal muscles, for despite the dribble of
juices that had started down her leg and the tiny
almost negligible thrusting of her pelvis, the vibrator
did none of the ins and outs of the day before.
I left her like that for a few minutes then added the
blindfold and a pair of earplugs. Alone in her sensory
deprivation with only the pain for company I left her
to contemplate the cost of disobedience.
I busied myself cleaning the cell and changing the
toilet, once I paused briefly and ran my gloved palm
over the hard nub of one of her erect nipples. I
thought I heard a sigh, though her gag was so tight
that seems unlikely, in any case her fingers flexed
briefly in response, that being the only movement she
could make. For a while I just sat and watched her as
the droplets of sweat rolled over the uncovered portion
of her torso.
I became aware of the tiny gasps and moans that escaped
her mouth, sound that would have been screams and
groans but for the gag. For I was in no doubt that she
was in agony, the human body is designed to move and we
twist and turn even in sleep, to be held so rigidly in
one position starts out uncomfortable and rapidly
becomes torture. Almost all of her weight was on one
heel and one knee, her shoulders pulled painfully back.
Deaf and dumb, blind and bound her only active senses
where filled by pain.
I paused a moment, then went upstairs and called the
photography shop I'd been referred to the day before,
placing an order for immediate pickup. Then I started
into breakfast. Usually I'm a cereal man, the day is
too short to waste cooking breakfast, but on this
occasion I started into a full spread including
pancakes and syrup. As I poured a fresh coffee I was
for some reason reminded of the "Phantom Bob" episode
of the day before.
Puzzled I walked over to the large couch and pulled it
away from the wall. Here was the spot where Caroline
had laid during the recording, her position marked by
the tiny depressions made by her stiletto heels in the
new carpet. Out of curiosity I put down the cup, picked
up the remote and lay as she had. I punched in the code
and closed my eyes using only the sound and feel as a
guide. The recording was perfect, I lay there until the
toast started to burn but could find not one thing
wrong. I got up even more confused yet the truth was
the truth, she had been given a chance to escape but
had decided to obey me, her kidnapper, her rapist
instead.
I made breakfast, eggs, sausage, bacon, toast with
pancakes and syrup and a new mug of coffee. Putting
everything on a tray I headed down to the dungeon. I
knew that she could smell the food, though of course
she could give no physical indication in her current
condition. I busied myself preparing table and chair
then went over to her. It had been about an hour since
I'd left her but it was clear that it had been long
enough.
I released the pulley then freed her legs but left her
hands bound to the vertical rod and the head harness in
place. I helped her up, it took a couple of minutes
before she could stand unaided, then I led her to the
table. Still staggering a little and of course still
blindfolded she needed my help for support and guidance
her naked torso pressed against mine, and suddenly I
was hard again.
When we reached the table I sat down first dragging her
on to my lap careful to avoid the trailing bar. I
looked at her. The harness framed her pretty face with
black leather with only the gag and blindfold intruding
on her features. Her mouth was clamped firmly around
the ball, lips wide, frozen in silent exclamation, her
stifled tears flowed behind the mask of the blindfold
and ran down the contours of her cheek. Gently I
reached up and unsnapped the blindfold from it's
fastenings, she blinked as sight was restored and her
red eyes fought to focus.
"Glad you could join me slave," I said courteously. The
collar prevented head movement so she bent over
slightly to see the contents of the tray. She said
something too faint and muffled to make out but then
her stomach growled so loud it shocked us both. I
reached up and massaged an exposed breast, she tried to
pull back but was too restricted. In the end she just
sat stiffly to attention as I ran my gloved hand over
her breasts across her tight stomach and down between
her legs. The vibrator was still hard at it and I could
feel her ass wiggle in unison with the butt plug so I
left them in place and instead massaged the inside of
her thigh. Only the subtle change in her breathing
betrayed what was going on inside her bound body.
Satisfied I started into breakfast. I think I'd managed
my third mouthful by the time she realized the gag was
staying in and that none of the meal was for her. Still
tightly bound and gagged there was little she could do
but sit and watch as I wolfed it down. I deliberately
ignored her small movements, her only other option was
to kick me and that is what had got her into this mess
in the first place. Frustrated she watched me eat until
only the pancakes were left. I waved a fork full across
her face just to get her reaction. I deliberately
didn't finish but instead turned to her.
"Didn't think I'd forgotten did you slave?" She of
course had no way to answer. I picked up the little jug
of syrup and very slowly dribbled some on to her
exposed breasts. It was cold, she jumped a little, but
in the end she had two little streams of brown running
down her chest and over the hard brown buds of her
nipples. I started to lick it off.
At first I think she was outraged to be denied food
then used as a plate. Yet as I pressed on she became
visibly aroused, closing her eyes and arching her back
even more than it was already. She was panting and just
a little flushed when I got the last drop. She was so
distracted I don't think she saw the blindfold in my
hand until it was snapped in place. I lead her back to
the rest of the apparatus and started to reapply it, I
think she was tempted to struggle but realized it was
useless. In five minutes she was back on one leg and
the torture began afresh.
I went back upstairs then headed to town for my
supplies. I made a significant purchase, enough to get
the attention of the manager. We chatted and I fed him
a line about being a keen amateur wanting to branch out
into the pro circuit. As I suspected he had connections
with several local modeling agencies and he kept small
portfolios so that photographers could choose their
models. I went through the books picking models that
could pass for Caroline at varying distances and noting
their details.
One girl in particular caught my eye, her name was
Vicky and with the exception of her hair color she
matched Caroline in build and looks. I took careful
notes then collected my supplies and returned home.