Chapter 7: "Sleepwalking on Bourbon Street"
"Putting Caroline away" proved to be the hardest thing
I'd done so far. She was hot and had been denied an
orgasm for too long already. I could smell the musky
aroma of her damp cunt even through the confines of the
chastity briefs. She continued to look at me pleadingly
as I lead her towards the cell and when I stopped to
pull back the bolts, she rubbed her leather covered
crotch up and down my leg invitingly. As the briefs
transmitted no sensation to her covered cunt I can only
assume that it was for my benefit.
In any case it was working! It took every ounce of
willpower in me not to take her then and there. Instead
I somehow forced her inside and fastened her to the
wire. She made a little moaning sound behind the gag as
I turned to leave.
"Soon enough sweetheart," I managed to say though my
head was pounding, "We'll see to that real soon."
I spent about an hour checking the papers she'd signed.
Most were trivial, notes to institutions informing them
of address changes, postcards to friends. Some were
more important, a note to the police about her stolen
car, the transfer of her bank account to Seattle.
Although many and varied the one thing that they had in
common was that they formed what an investigator would
call an "audit trail." It wasn't perfect but it was the
best I could do.
The big problem was that I couldn't do anything that
involved her turning up in person. Things like applying
for a Washington state drivers license would need a
woman to stand in line for a couple of hours. Of course
in fiction it is easy, the evil organization of white
slavers have entire departments dedicated to erasing
"volunteers" past lives. Female accomplices are ten a
penny, all officials can be blackmailed or bribed.
Reality though was less perfect, still I was happy with
what I had achieved. There was now a large body of
evidence which pointed to her having moved to a run
down suburb of Seattle. The area was well known as a
red light district. The sort of place a pretty young
thing could disappear without trace.
Once I was finished I placed a call to one of my
editors. Just how badly did he need the latest news on
the new Windows release? Obviously enough to pay for a
flight to Seattle, an extra couple of calls to sign up
for a Microsoft seminar and it was done. A legitimate
reason to go to the north west and spread my little
seeds.
Still it left me with a couple of days to get ready, so
I busied myself with a couple of minor articles whilst
watching Caroline get steadily more frustrated.
After a while I found myself just watching the screen
and daydreaming. One image that had always appealed to
me was of the slave girl as lapdog. Something like a
harem slave sitting patiently at her master's feet
ready to serve his every whim. I'd had a little leather
outfit made for just that purpose; a small pushup bra
that left the nipples free for clamps matched with a
tight pair of side laced bikini briefs that barely
covered anything. A leather bondage belt was connected
to a number of strong thin chains which in turn were
fastened to wrists and ankles by small gilded metal
cuffs. A matching metal collar and leash completed the
bondage elements though a metal and leather gag could
be added if necessary. I looked at my watch, it was
about an hour before the late screening of the X Files.
How nice it would be, I mused, to watch the show with a
slave at my feet ready to serve me if the need arose.
If she was good I may allow her to sleep chained to the
foot of my bed. The image was so appealing I found
myself hard again. With some regrets I turned off the
monitor and reasserted my self control. Then I started
to make preparations.
First up was a shower. I'd only washed Caroline the
night before but the kind of things we did involved a
lot of sweat and other excretions. I remembered her
musky odor, by now she'd need to shower again. To save
time I laid out the slave girl outfit in one of the
upstairs bedrooms. Next came suitable music.
I'm basically a Rock man, the Stones, Kiss, and Rush
are my music of choice, but while we were together I'd
done the "New Man" thing and pretended to like Sam's
music. Sam was into classical, or at least so she
claimed, but I've always had the suspicion that this
was more for show than anything. I've noticed that
models like to appear cultured, I suspect that it's an
attempt to dump the bimbo image they get in the
tabloids. She had bought a "Three Tenors" style disk of
great operatic love songs that she used to play during
sex. I smiled, if Caroline was as hot as I believed
then the shower could prove interesting. I put the CD
into the machine then went to collect the slave.
When I entered she seemed awfully keen, probably
because she thought I'd come to fuck her and end the
frustration.. I let her keep thinking this while I
removed the cuffs and strapped her arms behind her.
Then I unlocked the chastity outfit. By now she was all
aglow and opened her legs expectantly. For a girl three
days into a kidnapping to be so keen to be fucked by
her captor is perhaps a little odd. Yet Caroline seemed
to have had very little sexual pleasure before I took
her, and had been in a constant state of sexual
frustration since. I looked into her eyes, saw the
hunger and knew then that she was starting to become
addicted. A few more frustrating weeks in the chastity
outfit, unable to relieve herself and with her only
pleasure coming when I decided and she would be broken.
For now I just smiled as she thrust her pussy towards
me and mewed behind the gag.
"Not yet slave," I said gently stroking her breast and
finding the nipple hard and erect, "I don't fuck smelly
bitches. You need a bath first." I could tell that
wasn't what she needed NOW, but she bowed her head in
acknowledgment. Naked but for gloves, boots and gag she
waited patiently while I attached the leash and
strapped on the blindfold.
I didn't bother with a hobble so it proved a quick and
easy journey to the upstairs bathroom. Once again I
removed the boots and blindfold but kept her gloved and
gagged. Then I padlocked the leash to the ring before
stripping off myself.
I punched a button on my remote control and the hidden
speakers started the buildup to a classic operatic
aria. Then the tenor joined in his voice full of
passion and heartbreaking emotion. I started small,
deftly shampooing her hair as I had the night before,
listening as she moaned with pleasure. All through this
she was happy, no one in her situation would turn down
a bath. After suitable warnings I unstrapped the gag so
that I could remove all the old makeup from her face.
She looked at me as I gently stroked her cheek.
"Please..." She whispered the edge of desperation in
her voice. An idea came to me and I drew her naked body
close feeling her hard nipples dig into my chest.
"Soon," I said.
She didn't fuss when I put the gag back. She seemed
strangely subdued, both horny and melancholy. Time had
come to warm her up. My roving hand moved on, gently
stroking and caressing her helpless body. I cleaned
parts in a random order, teasing her with my touch,
listening as she moaned and caught her breath. Finally
my hand drifted down, finding her pussy warm and very
damp as I gently cleaned it. There was the suggestion
of a fine stubble on her pubis and I wondered about the
possibility of home electrolysis.
I was careful that as I cleaned her pussy of the days
accumulated juices I didn't up the sensation to a level
she could find useful. She moaned in frustration as the
heat in her crotch increased. I unfastened her elbows
and started washing her back. She made a little mewing
sound and as my hands slid forwards to caress her
breasts and their erect nipples, hers drifted down to
gently brush against my balls and the insides of my
thighs. The message seemed clear, I wasn't the only one
who could tease.
I let my hand hover round her abdomen then slide back
to the silken folds between her legs. I was rewarded by
the slick touch of her latex covered fingers on the
head of my cock. Then we traded, finger on nub for
thumb on head. It seemed like masturbation by proxy but
it was also a big turn on. I soaped her down using
handfuls of shower gel to make her body wet and
slippery. She started to slide her body against mine
making sure that the outside of her thigh slid up and
down my steadily mounting erection. I gasped and
started to caress her, one hand cupped her breast while
the other slid down to finger her hot cunt. I started
to nibble her neck between the gag strap and her
shoulder. She moaned then arched her back, fingers
straining against the single imprisoning strap. I
gasped as she started to work on my balls and thighs,
carefully avoiding the shaft, denying me an orgasm as
long as I denied hers. Above it all the tenor sang of
loves lost and hearts broken in a mounting crescendo of
emotion.
Through it all I dimly wondered how long we could stay
like that, how far we could push it while still keeping
the other from release. Part of my mind had decided to
take her right then and there against the shower wall,
I even upped the pace a little, listening to her
excited yelps as she came closer and closer to the
edge. Then dimly I became aware of something else in
the environment, something noisy, insistent, something
cutting through even the vibrant music.
It was the phone, I suppose it was to be expected after
all we were in the shower. Part of my brain said leave
it, let the machines pick it up, but they didn't and
the ringing continued as insistent as ever. It says a
lot about the power a ringing phone has over us that I
got out of the shower. Caroline gave a little scream
and when I looked at her she tried to say something.
Too well gagged to be intelligible she shook her head,
thrust her shaved cunt towards me and wiggled her hips.
It was an invitation good in any language but the
little dictator kept ringing. In the end I threw on a
robe and squelched off to the handset in the upstairs
hall. I mean, there I was about to have sex with a
beautiful, naked and helpless girl, I could have let it
ring until the guy at the other end got the message and
rang off. Yet I didn't; I didn't because I am an idiot.
The idiot picked up the phone. "Hello?"
There was a pause on the other end of the line then a
hesitant female voice asked, "Mr. Thomas?"
I was about to yell no, tell the stupid bitch she had
the wrong number and slam down the phone, then I
suddenly remembered that I'd used the name Thomas when
I'd left the message for Vicky the photographic model.
"Yes that's right, is that Vicky?" I asked as calmly as
any guy could with a raging hard-on.
She stammered out a yes, though it was hard to hear
over the operatic background music. I realized that I'd
left the remote behind.
"Thought I remembered your voice from the answering
machine, " I lied. "Look I'm sorry for the noise, can't
reach the stereo from here.."
"I was w-wondering if you still needed a model. I
realize it's been a couple of days since you called but
I've been away..."
She seemed apologetic, weak and unsure.
"No I still need a model," I said wanting this over as
soon as possible.
She seemed relieved but even in my ardor alarm bells
were already starting to ring.
"Vicky, sorry to ask this luv," I said switching into
classic Pearson, "But you do seem a little nervous. Do
you have much experience?"
At first she tried to bluff it out. Then her confidence
failed and she twittered on for a while. I really
didn't have time for this but the explanation she
blurted out I gathered that the camera shop where I had
found her name did portrait and ID pictures. The
photographer had persuaded her to try modeling and had
suggested that she leave her number. I was her first
call. To be honest I was tempted to turn her down, but
she looked so much like Caroline and there was so much
I could do with her unwitting help.
So patiently I spun her a line. I was an amateur trying
to make a break into the pro circuit. I would need a
model at various times and various places to take shots
for my portfolio. She must be willing to appear in a
variety of shots, in various outfits and perhaps nude.
The nature of the work would be experimental as I would
be trying out different films and effects. Some of it
wouldn't make sense. I would pay her by the hour,
irrespective of the number of shots or what they
entailed but I promised that I would give her copies of
some shots for her private use.
She seemed pleased and a little surprised, to be honest
she wasn't a great looker, though like Caroline she was
probably better after a makeover, and I think it did
her ego good to know she could be paid for her looks.
Her gratitude bubbled out, I was waiting to politely
end the call and get back to my hot slave when suddenly
I got a weird creepy feeling, a kind of sixth sense
warning of danger.
To this day I don't know what it was, though I suppose
I could have heard something subconsciously. I managed
to tell Vicky that I had another call and I had just
hit the hold button when the screaming started. The
closed bathroom door was at one end of the corridor,
the phone at the other I have no doubt that some land
speed records were broken in the next few seconds as I
raced towards the noise. Caroline was cutting loose but
good.
I bounced open the door to find her half out of the
shower one hand holding the still attached leash to
stop it pulling tight as she lent forward, the other
hand questing for the door latch. The situation had
come close to a complete disaster. The strap that bound
her wrists was lying in the shower, the ballgag was
pulled down around her neck, only the presence of the
padlocked collar and leash had stopped her from getting
completely free. How had it happened so fast? I'd kept
her bound for the last few days without her budging a
single bond. One thing was clear I needed to reassert
control fast!
Surprisingly she stopped screaming the moment I entered
the room.
"Please," she said.
I said nothing just grabbed wrists and turned her to
face the wall. She struggled and it proved hard to hold
her, the gloves seemed, if anything, slicker than
usual. Turning her to face me again I raised my hand to
slap her face. She whimpered and cringed and the fight
left her. Leaving her for the moment I reached down for
the discarded strap. It was then I noticed the large
blob of blue gel in the bottom of the shower.
Retrieving the strap I examined the gloves as she held
them up to protect her face and body. Then I realized
what a complacent fool I'd been.
I had become so used to her being so cooperative that
I'd started to cut corners. Locked in the cell she had
worn tight leather cuffs, but these were expensive and
the finish easily damaged by water so before the shower
I had swapped them for two basic leather straps, one at
the wrists one at the elbows. When I had started to
wash her back I'd removed the elbow strap to allow for
access. Then things had become more heated so I hadn't
put it back. When the phone rang I'd just left, closing
the door behind me so that her little gagged noises
wouldn't be heard.
In short I had left her alone, unobserved and with only
one strap holding her. She had managed to squeeze
shower gel on to her latex gloves near the wrist and
use the lubrication to work her hands free. The collar,
gag and leash were all padlocked but she had managed to
roll the gag out of her mouth and scream to alert the
caller at the other end of the line. The hairs on the
back of my neck prickled, I had come within seconds of
being caught.
Silently I gathered her wrists turned her towards the
wall and restrapped her arms at wrist and elbow. She
didn't resist seeming more than happy that I hadn't hit
her. After the arms were done I used the shower to
clean the gel off of her body and gloves thought to be
honest I doubted she could slip her hands free with her
elbows clinched. Next I released the leash and forced
her down onto the shower-mat. Using the belts from the
bathrobes I bound her legs together and hog-tied her
wrists to her ankles. Then I went to the medicine
cabinet and got some sticky plaster, a bandage and few
pads of cotton.
First I replaced the ballgag fastening it tighter than
I ever had before pulling the ball further into her
mouth. She complained, it probably hurt like hell, but
I didn't care. Next I forced the pads between her lips
in front of the ball until her mouth was fully packed
and used the sticky plaster to hold it in place. A nice
tight Ace bandage wrapped tightly over the top and she
was gagged as well as I could manage at the moment. It
was important that Vicky heard from me as soon as
possible so with Caroline rolling on the bathroom floor
in plain sight I went back to the phone.
"Sorry Vicky love, you have no idea how some people
carry on." I said looking at Caroline. My slave quaked
and tried to say something. Vicky seemed pleased that I
hadn't hung up on her and we made plans for the next
day. All the time I was aware of Caroline struggling a
few yards away. The gag proved very effective and her
desperate screams became muffled moans easily drowned
out by Domingo in full voice.
Vicky never once commented on any sounds (though I had
a good explanation ready if she did.) I signed off and
walked back towards my slave.
"She didn't hear a thing, I put her on hold just before
you started screaming." Caroline looked up in despair.
By then she already realized that she'd failed. After
all I'd made her listen helplessly as I completed the
call but now was the worse prospect. Now came the
punishment.
I released her feet and helped her up using a towel to
dry her. I was perhaps a little rougher than I strictly
needed to be. She stood to attention doing nothing that
would anger me further.
Then the music seemed to seize her. I don't think she
knew Italian and there was nothing in her tape
collection that suggested that she was a big opera fan.
Perhaps something in the man's mournful song to his
lost love reminded her of a freedom denied. In any case
she started to sob, though I missed it at first, the
gag muffled all sound and the water dripping from her
hair washed away her tears. In the end it was the
gentile quaking of her shoulders that gave it away.
I turned her around and looked into her eyes. I'd
expected to see anger, sorrow, something I could
understand but whatever demons she had were playing
games behind those pretty blue eyes, and all I could
see was pain, deeper and older than I expected. She
didn't struggle when I replaced the boots and hobbled
her, she must have realized that she'd blown it and
there seemed no point in compounding things.
I got dressed with her chained to the top of the stairs
the phone just out of reach. Strangely her escape
attempt had made the erection worse. I don't know if it
was the danger of discovery or just the excitement of
the chase. I really wished I could set that talented
mouth to work but I wanted her to wear the
uncomfortable gag a little longer. I checked the
building security logs while I dressed. During the 30
Seconds or so of her screaming there were no intruders,
there wasn't even a car passing the end of the drive.
Satisfied I blindfolded her and led her back to the
dungeon. Once there I chained her to one of the
overhead rings and prepared her for punishment.
Modern bondage photography is good, but the scenes seem
far too posed, the women either too perfect of too
ordinary. Over the past few months while "researching"
the kidnapping I'd come across a number of photo's from
the 1950's taken by artists like Irvin Klaw and John
Willie. I suppose part of the attraction had been the
concentration on fetish wear especially the high heels,
though the fact that the models tended to be "resting"
1950's B movie actresses probably brought back memories
of my beloved Republic serials.
In any case two things from these photo's had
influenced my plans for Caroline. The first was the
pony girl rig that was sitting in the room behind my
garage along with Caroline's few belongings. I'd
finally found a place in Arizona that made the things
and had one shipped to New England in a crate marked
"Cycle spares." This would have to wait until Caroline
had been "broken" of course but the other idea, that of
posture training would get an unexpected early trial.
The corset came first. All the previous fetish
"corsets" she had worn had really been tight leather
tops capable of pulling in and pushing up a little but
without the facility for tight lacing. Of course
Caroline didn't understand the difference, the corset I
now brought to her seemed perhaps only a little more
old fashioned than previous ones.
Certainly she didn't resist, stepping into it when
ordered and holding still while it was pulled up her
body. I left it loose for now and instead replaced her
usual collar for a high leather posture collar. This
involved releasing her from the leash but she gave no
trouble, probably deciding to get it over with rather
that risk greater punishment. New collar in place and
leash again secured I removed the damp latex gloves and
replaced them with an elegant leather pair that came to
just above her elbows. Next came the return of the
leather cuffs which I used to fasten her wrists to the
ring at the back of her collar effectively fastening
her hands behind her neck. She tugged on the gagstrap
giving me a big eyed helpless look. In the end I
relented and removed the gag.
She paused for a while wiggling her jaw and waiting for
the numbness to wear off.
"I'm sorry Master, I didn't mean it."
"Liar!" I said. Whatever she had been expecting this
wasn't it, she floundered for a while so I decided to
help her.
"What did you do and why are you being punished?" I
asked.
She looked down, the collar stopped her from bowing her
head.
"I screamed and tried to let someone know that I was
here," She said.
"Which means you did what. Why are you being punished?"
She swallowed, "For trying to escape."
I made a deliberate effort to look amazed, "Is THAT
what you think. That you're to be punished for trying
to escape?"
She looked up eyes wide. "Isn't it?" She asked weakly.
"Oh no!" I said, "The escape is a perfectly normal
reaction, I was stupid enough to give you the
opportunity, you were resourceful enough to take it. I
have no problem with the escape attempt in fact I think
it was very well done. I can't blame you for giving it
a try it was my fault leaving you like that."
I wandered off towards the cupboard and returned with
some balls, a pad gag, some tape and length of kitchen
roll.
She looked confused, "Then why?"
"You removed your gag without permission."
She glanced down at the kitchen roll in my hand, her
face suddenly filled with horror and at that moment she
went hysterical. "No Master, oh please no! I'll do
anything, oh please, oh God NO!" I tore a piece of the
paper off and brought it up to her nose. I could tell
she wanted to move her head but the collar made that
impossible. She cringed and whimpered as I placed it to
her nose.
"Blow," I said, "Really hard I want it good and clear."
We spent about a minute blowing her nose, by the end of
which she had almost stopped shaking. The thing about a
good lesson is that you never need to repeat it.
For emphasis I loosely fastened the leather pad gag
around her neck, though I had no intention of gagging
her right now it paid to remind her that speech was a
privilege *I* controlled.
I held one of the balls up so that she could see it.
"Know what this is slave?"
She looked intensely at the small metal sphere for a
few moments. A few inches wide it had a little string
attached to it. At the end of the string was a tag not
too different from the ones found on teabags.
For a second she hesitated then said, "Is it a Ben Wa
ball?"
Now it was my turn to look surprised. "Very good
slave," I said,
"We are full of surprises today! Now can you explain
exactly HOW you know that?"
She blushed, "Brenda, a friend showed me one once."
"Ever use one?"
She went to shake her head but couldn't. "No."
"But you know what they are for."
Again I think she would have liked to just indicate in
the end she answered very quietly, "Yes."
"Good," I said, "That will save us some time. Now
spread your legs." She complied being in no position to
do otherwise. Her cunt wasn't quite as juicy as usual
and it took a few minutes of gentle play before she was
damp enough to allow the first ball in.
I pushed in the second and left her standing there with
the two little tags dangling from between her pussy
lips. I tore off a strip of tape and stuck it firmly
over her cunt repeating the process until a little
white PVC triangle covered her crotch completely. I
unhitched her and walked her over to the table. I could
tell that the devilish little balls were already at
work by her expression as I helped her on to the table.
I locked the leash in place then had her move forward
so that she was perched on the edge. I discarded her
old boots and reached down.
A pair of real silk stockings came first. The classic
pattern with the seam at the back and the dark band at
the top, they were pulled up to her thigh and left
there. I spent some time straightening the seams while
she watched in silence.
Boots came next. Since I had brought her here Caroline
had usually worn a set of high heeled boots. These were
ladies fashion boots in leather, PVC or patent leather.
Though styles varied they were all fairly tight
fitting, came to just below the knee and had a 2 1/2 to
3 inch heel. In fact these boots had been bought from
regular shoe stores and differed from those seen on any
high street only in having been modified so they could
be locked in place. These and a $15 a pair set of latex
gloves formed the core of a slave outfit and was cheap
and expendable.
The boots I now prepared to put on her feet were very
different. Made from the finest leather they were stiff
enough not to crease or wrinkle but soft enough to mold
themselves to the leg like a second skin. Finely
patterned and hand made they carried a five inch
stiletto heel. Like their high street cousins they came
up to the knee but these needed no modification being
held in place by the intricate lacing up their front.
These boots were definitely not expendable and cost
almost four hundred dollars a pair.
Once the lacing was finished I got her to stand all be
it rather unsteadily. With heels in place she was now
almost as tall as I was; still it made it easier to
attach the stockings to the garters of the corset. Next
I lead her over to a post in the center of the room and
attached her cuffs to it. Seizing the laces of the
corset I rammed my knee into her back and pulled. Up
'till this point I think she'd had trouble figuring out
what the punishment was. Now she knew. She gave an huff
sound and gasped as the cords had their way with her
figure. There was a limit to what both of us could
stand and when I tied her off her waist was down to a
respectable 19 inches.
The effect on her figure was startling. Caroline would
never have the "hourglass" figure of those '50's
starlets, she simply wasn't built enough up top but the
corset maximized her assets to a really quite rewarding
extent. Of course she couldn't breath but that seemed
minor for the moment. I helped her up and on to her
feet, and she nearly fainted. In the end I found I had
to let the corset out an inch if I wanted her to stand.
With the wind literally out of her sails it proved easy
to pull her arms behind her and cuff them in place. I
ran a small length of chain through her collar and
fastened a wrist at each end effectively chaining her
hands in a kind of hammer lock behind her back with her
arms crossed. This had the additional effect that it
forced her shoulder back and improved her posture.
I retrieved a flogger and unchained her collar.
"Tell me slave, what is the minimum punishment for
attempting to escape."
She looked at the flogger, "But you said you wouldn..."
"I didn't say that you would be punished I was just
checking that you had read the book."
She swallowed. "A pussy whipping," she said nervously.
"How many lashes?"
"Twenty, with ten extra each repeat offense."
"Tell me slave have you ever been pussy whipped?"
The answer was predictable, "N-no."
I lashed out with the flogger catching her firmly
between the legs. She was surprised, and had no time to
dodge. She let out a little scream then doubled over in
pain as far as the bondage would allow.
"That was one," I said, "Given purely as an example of
what you can expect if you attempt anything that stupid
again."
"Understand?" She was breathing heavily and still
doubled over.
"UNDERSTAND?"
"Y-yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes master."
"What is the punishment for removing your gag without
permission."
"The tape..."
"Louder"
"The Tape," She sobbed.
"Tell me slave have I whipped your pussy twenty times?"
"N-no"
"And the tape, have I used that?"
"NO."
"Then shouldn't you thank me for not punishing you?"
She paused, "Thank you Master."
"Good girl. Now thank me for whipping your pussy."
"Th-thank you for whipping my pussy Master." By now she
had straightened up.
"What won't this cunt do."
"Th-this cunt won't try to escape, this cunt won't
remove her gag without permission."
"Very good slave," I said, "Now walk to the wall and
back."
What I'd had in mind was the sexy slink of a high
heeled seductress, what I got was more of a waddle.
Small steps are necessary with heels that high, but the
way she walked looked as if she was picking her way
through a field of shit. I stopped her.
"Slave you may find it better if you wiggle your ass
more."
The idea of the Ben Wa balls had been to encourage her
to swing her hips. She tried increasing the pelvic
movement and the sudden flush on her face told me that
she was getting the point. The problem now was that her
whole body moved from side to side in an exaggerated
movement that looked like someone wading. I tried to
get her to stop but the movement always returned. In
the end I decided to enforce what I needed. Going to
the cabinet I retrieved some nipple clamps. As I
approached she took a step backwards.
"Please Master, they hurt."
"I know."
I started to fold down the soft leather cups of the
corset to expose her small brown nips. The Ben Wa balls
had done their job well and the nipples were hard and
erect and just ready for clamping. She knew she was
helpless, there was no way she could avoid the
inevitable pain. Resigned she closed her eyes and held
her breath as I fastened the first clamp on her right
nipple. She gave a little yelp and took an involuntary
step backwards I just held tight on the chain using it
as a short nipple leash. She squealed then stepped
forward again.
"Good slave," I said encouragingly as I clamped her
left nipple. Each clamp was separate, and made up of
three parts. The clamp itself was of a devilish design
which bit harder as it was pulled and fastened to that
was a short length of chain with a small weight at the
end. Any large movement would set the weight swinging
increasing the bite of the clamp and torturing the soft
nipple flesh. Realizing this she refused to move and it
took a couple of quick slaps of her butt with the
flogger to get her moving.
Still the improvement was dramatic. The constant bite
of the clamps actively discouraged upper body movement
while the throbbing balls buried deep in her cunt
rewarded hip movement. Within a few minutes these
competing influences found balance and she started to
walk as I'd intended, hips slinking, body almost still,
the characteristic strut of the high heeled slut!
By the time she had done her third lap she was starting
to get the hang of things. She still wobbled a little
and I'd had to catch her a few times when she'd
mistimed a step but as her confidence grew she accepted
my direction more readily. As a reward I removed the
clamps and was pleased to see that she didn't return to
her old ways. Still some problems persisted. She seemed
self conscious about strutting in front of me and it
was this rather than any lack of ability that seemed to
be holding her back.
We took a rest, I helped her sit on the table to take
the pressure off her feet and gave her a drink. During
those few minutes an idea started to form. She was hot
having been denied most of the day, if I could harness
that I could banish some of her self consciousness.
What I needed was something sexy, something dangerous,
the breaking of a taboo or two. The Reverend Conway
didn't look like a liberal, one taboo struck me
straight away.
I helped her back up.
"Close your eyes."
She looked at me doubtfully.
"Look," I said, "this is your choice we can do this
with a blindfold if you want."
"But what if I fall."
"Then I'll catch you," I said, "Now close them."
She did and I moved in close so that I could speak
softly into her ear. Using the remote I selected a disk
on the CD machine upstairs. The opera was gone replaced
by smooth sound of classic Jazz.
"Imagine," I said, "A hot summers evening in New
Orleans. You stand outside a seedy Jazz club in the
French Quarter, sweat in your hair, your heart in your
throat." I rubbed my hands slowly over the soft leather
cups feeling the suggestion of the hard nipples
underneath. "A drunk stands by the door, his face old
and leathery but his eyes sparkle as he looks at you, a
pretty white girl in a tight leather dress. Your heart
beats harder, what if you are seen by someone who knows
you? Seen, painted like a whore dressed like a slut in
a borrowed dress. What would happen to you if the word
got back to your father?"
I heard her ragged panting and knew that it was
working, her eyelids flickered like someone almost
asleep.
"Better to be inside," I hissed, "Better that than be
caught out on the street." She took a few hesitant
steps forward, I matched the movement. "Your heels
click on the sidewalk, slut heels, painful heels but
your friend Brenda who lent you the outfit says they
make you look sexy, desirable. Your heart is pounding,
you feel your pussy warm as it starts to juice up in
your excitement.
You push open the door.
You stand in the doorway of the bar, the music pauses
but only for an instant. This bar has seen white sluts
before, will do again. Your eyes scan the room looking
for him, the one for whom you've taken this risk. Your
eyes fall on black face after black face as they look
at you, your heart pounds harder. Your mother told you
what can happen to a white girl in a place like this
and here you are, dressed as a cheap slut, begging for
it."
She moaned and twisted her body to one side as if she
were looking for someone. I could hardly believe how
suggestible she was. This would make her conditioning
so much easier. For now I continued with the fantasy.
"Suddenly you see him, his colorful shirt so different
from the overalls he wore this morning when he was
clearing your garden. He stands by the bar, holding a
trumpet in his strong brown fingers waiting to go on.
He looks up and sees you, his warm brown eyes drinking
you in. The heat in your pussy increases, your breath
becomes ragged. Then you see her, the half-caste girl
handing him a drink. Her legs are strong and oh so
long, her tight white dress clings to her body like a
second skin. Brown ringlets frame such a beautiful
face, but her eyes look at you with contempt.
"Just another white whore, and you know it's true, that
you came here like a painted slut for a night of
forbidden passion with him. Now she has him by the arm,
sliding her thigh up his leg, looking at you daring you
to compete with her. You have to cross that floor,
cross it in a way that will make him want you, make him
fuck you, end the torment."
Then she started walking, the slow sleek, seductive
walk of a sexy woman on the prowl. Her hips quaked and
I could imagine what that was doing to the Ben Wa balls
in that hot pussy. Yet though it all her upper body
stayed erect and regal as she slinked forward.
I'd got what I wanted I had intended to end it there,
but she looked so intense striding purposefully forward
with her eyes closed that I felt the need to go on. I
slipped in front of her and caught her in my arms.
"Hey baby, what are you doin' here?"
"I had to come, please don't send me away."
I slid my hand over her leather flank, she responded by
moving her leg up stroking my thigh with hers.
"You are one sexy bitch." I ran my fingers along her
thigh ending by tracing the outline of her pussy lips
through the tape on her snatch. She gasped and trembled
a little.
"Man you're hot," I kissed her, "Hey babe I keep a room
here, maybe me an' you?"
She moaned which I took to mean yes so I lead her back
towards the cell. Once there I caressed her, using the
opportunity to loosen the corset. Opening my pants I
pulled her to me, seized the tape that gagged her hot
snatch and tore it free. She gave a little gasp, I
think I was right about the stubble, then the
drawstrings came tight and the Ben Wa balls popped out.
By now she was quaking and I was very hard. I lay down
positioning her on top and she trust down, her hot damp
hole enveloping my shaft in one velvet swallow.
Then she clamped down hot and tight on my throbbing
cock. With her hands still hammer-locked behind her I
was forced to steady her hips as she moved slowly up
and down.
She moved faster and faster and as her passion built so
did her volume. Up until now she had always been gagged
when I fucked her and as her sharp animal cries
increased I was tempted to reach up and shove the pad
gag into her mouth. Of course to do so would need much
more willpower than I could have mustered right then.
Pleasure flooded my brain and from the wild look on her
face I'd say most of her higher brain functions were
paralyzed too. So we rutted and screamed like two wild
animals until finally I exploded and she came, the two
event's separated by less than a heartbeat. Without her
hands to hold her up she collapsed on top of me
exhausted. We panted together for a second or so my
cock still deep inside her.
Then she looked up at me a tear in her eye and said,
"Oh Josh, I'm so sorry." For a second I was confused,
thinking she was talking to me. Then I realized.
"Who's Josh?" I asked softly.
"He was my boyfriend."
"Was?"
"He's dead."
"I'm sorry," And I genuinely was. She seemed a little
uncomfortable and managed to move over to one side, I
slipped out.
"What happened?"
"Hunting accident," She said and I felt her shiver.
"If you want to talk about it..."
She went to shake her head but of course that was
impossible so in the end she whispered "No, thank you
Master."
I felt overjoyed, she had used the word "Master"
totally naturally as if she had accepted the situation.
I decided to test this further.
"Who are you?" I asked brushing my hands over her
leather flanks and down over her ass.
"I am your slave," She whispered.
"Louder."
"I am... your slave."
"Who am I?" I asked, my voice warm and kind like a
parent helping a child prepare for a pop quiz.
"You are my master," She replied, no hesitation or hint
of self consciousness.
"What are you?"
"I am a s-sex slave. I use my body to give pleasure to
my master or any others he commands."
I felt my throat tighten, I knew the next question held
part of the answers I sought. It was a question I had
never answered.
"Why did I choose you?"
She looked down, "Because I am a victim," she said.