Captured Caroline - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Meeting Maggie

And strangely enough it was my geekyness that saved 
her.

I'm a geek, a fact I freely admit that to anyone who 
would want to listen. I'm the guy who actually buys 
things from the gadget catalogues you find on 
airplanes. Lot's of things that I own have computers in 
them even ones that don't really need them. It's hardly 
surprising then that when I came to build a dream house 
it was a "smart building". I could talk at length about 
optical packet busses and redundant control but is 
enough to say that one machine is dedicated to the 
security aspects of keeping a slave.

Suicide was one unpleasantness that I'd been forced to 
consider. Some people don't react well to being locked 
up. Taking their own life is sometimes preferable and 
any prison warder can tell of ingenious suicides even 
when the inmate was being closely watched. When 
Caroline collapsed she had enough slack chain to fall 
perhaps 3 feet before it became taught. At the very 
least that could hurt as the collar pulled tight, at 
worst she could break her neck.

The moment the mounting point came under load a strain 
gauge registered the sudden impulse and this was sent 
to the computer. Now the computer understands the 
difference between static and impulse loading, it will 
let much more than Caroline's weight be applied to the 
chain but not suddenly. In the instant she fell at a 
speed far faster that any human could react the machine 
determined she was in danger and fired an explosive 
bolt severing the mounting at the ceiling.

She lay on the floor winded and too surprised to do 
anything as the chain landed on her. When my heart 
started beating again I reached down and helped her up. 
With a strength I didn't know I had I lifted her as if 
she was a rag doll.

"What the fuck is the matter with you!" I almost 
screamed, "Are you trying to kill yourself."

"You...you said..."

"What the fuck does that mater!!" I shook her. For the 
first time I came within a heartbeat of hitting her. 
She started to cry.

"About the baby being a GIRL." She said as if the 
answer was somehow self evident. I put her on the 
table, my anger started to subside. In the background 
part of my mind continued to analyze what I'd 
discovered. The conclusion was that I'd kidnapped a mad 
woman. It wasn't good but it did calm me down.

"A joke," I said, "That's all. If I'd realized there 
was lemming blood in your family I'd have been more 
careful."

"So it's a joke?"

"We need to discuss this, " I said, "But not now."

I pushed her back against the table and locked the 
chain to one of the tables mountings. I wanted her 
secure before I proceeded any further.

"Now take the gloves off."

As she started to comply I went over to the cupboard 
and started to root around inside. She was finished by 
the time I returned. She eyed the new contraptions with 
some dread, she couldn't tell how upset I was and she 
didn't know if this was some new torture device. It 
took the treat of the crop to get her to place her 
hands behind her back and hold steady while I pulled 
the single sleeve up her arms. When it reached the top 
I buckled the top strap and replaced her collar with 
the posture collar already attached to the sleeve. Next 
came five minutes of tightening numerous straps. When I 
finished I stepped back to admire my handiwork.

Houdini once said that straight jackets were easy to 
overcome once you realized that they were designed to 
hold crazy people. This creation from a fetish supplier 
in England made no such mistakes, made from black 
leather with buckles everywhere it left no room for 
escape. She was still struggling with it when I went to 
phase 2. First, I again placed her hair in a ponytail. 
Then I reached for a nest of straps on the table. She 
didn't know what most of it was for but she could guess 
were the rubber ball was going.

"Please?"

"Open!" I commanded in no mood to be messed around.

She hesitated but not for long and I pushed the large 
rubber ball firmly into her mouth. For some reason they 
call this a ball gag trainer, despite the fact that it 
is considerably better designed than a ball gag. As 
well as the usual ball and strap there is a harness 
that attaches to the strap then runs either side of the 
victims nose to buckle at the back of the head. A 
second strap passes under the chin to force the jaw 
tightly closed around the ball. It is very effective 
and has the added advantage that once locked in place 
it can't be worked free even if the victim has the use 
of her hands. Yesterdays fiasco would not happen again. 
Once everything was strapped and locked I decided to 
keep her entertained and distracted.

I showed her what I had in mind, a vibrator and harness 
just as inescapable as the rest of the bondage. It had 
an added twist, a block of tiny rubber fingers that 
fastened over the clit and which the designers claimed 
increased the stimulation without improving the chances 
of achieving orgasm. This seemed like a good time to 
test it out.

There was a bit of a struggle getting it locked in 
place but when it was finished the harness looked just 
like a tight pair of latex panties. The only exception 
was the speed control knob which jutted out between her 
legs. Reaching down I set her to simmer, and listened 
to the small moans that escaped from behind the gag.

The head harness had a number of additional components 
which I'd put in my pocket I quickly retrieved the 
blindfold section and fastened it over her eyes using 
the snap fasteners provided. She just stood and 
shivered as I completed my preparations. She didn't 
resist as I fastened a pair of leg irons to her booted 
ankles.

I looked down and started to breath again, she'd been 
made safe. I didn't know what all that was about but I 
was sure that there was no way she could hurt herself 
now. I took her back to the cell, she started to 
whimper and tried to say something. The trainer had 
been modified so that I didn't need to remove it to get 
at the ball. I gently unlocked a small padlock, undid a 
couple of buckles and popped the ball free.

"Please," She said, "I'm sorry I didn't mean..."

"You have one minute to furnish an explanation, or you 
are on punishment Slave."

"Please, I can't."

"Who are you?" I demanded.

"A s-slave Master."

"What do slaves do?"

"Give pleasure to my Master and all others he 
designates."

Which was true but not what I wanted her to say.

"What is rule number one."

"Obey first time, every time."

"And if a slave doesn't."

Her lip trembled, "She is punished."

"So I'm giving you a direct order, I want you to tell 
me what this is about right now!"

She paused, even with her eyes and most of her face 
covered I could see a conflict underway.

At last she said, "It was what you said about a baby 
girl."

I smiled, though of course she couldn't see it. "What 
of it Slave," I said, "As Master that is my right!"

It was the wrong thing to say. She started crying 
again. I tried to get though but is was no good. In the 
end I attached the wire and left her sobbing on the 
bed.

I now knew absolutely that there was something wrong. 
Her reactions hadn't been right from the beginning. Her 
sudden mood swings, her lack of backbone and now this. 
I had a number of theories most of which revolved 
around major mental illness. One thing was certain I 
was going to need expert help.

I made two calls. First I called Vicky at work. I 
explained that a last minute personal problem had come 
up and that I'd have to postpone things for a week. She 
seemed disappointed until I offered to pay her for the 
cancelled session and take her to lunch to discuss 
future plans.

Next I called an old college friend, much to my relief 
she had most of the afternoon off so I arranged to meet 
her at a bar we both knew. I made my preparations, gave 
Caroline a drink and helped her to the toilet. She was 
silent though out and I said as little as possible. 
Then satisfied that she would be all right for the next 
few hours I left.

Vicky worked as a Dental Hygienist in a section of town 
that didn't have many good restaurants. I'd arranged to 
meet her outside the front of her building then go to a 
little bistro I knew. As she walked towards the car I 
knew I'd made a good choice. She was almost exactly 
Caroline's height and build. Instead of Caroline's mane 
of golden blond hair she had a short mousy bob and they 
didn't look much alike in the face, but all in all I 
was satisfied. Any of the outfits I had bought should 
fit with little difficulty and most importantly in a 
blond wig and wearing Caroline's clothes they would be 
indistinguishable in long shot.

Once we were at the restaurant I showed her my 
portfolio, shot's I'd taken with Andy Pearson using 
some of his models. I had a few photo's taken in Paris 
last year; Sam, Jean Paul and me, the two of us 
chatting with Claudia. I'm not usually a name dropper 
but this was the girl's first modeling job and I felt 
the need to convince her that I wasn't some random 
freak. I paid her and apologized again then we ordered.

She had a pleasing if somewhat dull personality and 
tended to limit conversations to subjects she felt 
comfortable with. For the first part of the meal the 
subject of teeth made up a large part of the 
discussion. Then I lucked out and discovered she had a 
liking for motorcycles. This was more up my alley and 
the second half of the meal was more entertaining. I 
said my goodbyes, promised to call and headed for 
Boston.

Mike's is one of the hidden gems of Boston night life. 
Those who know it call it the real "Cheers" a quiet 
unassuming Irish American bar with a loyal clientele 
which doesn't feel the need to advertize or cash in on 
the tourist trade. The regulars keep it their little 
secret and to be accepted there feels as much a 
privilege as being a member of some exclusive 
gentlemen's club.

Mike's draws most of it's regulars from the academic 
staff of the local universities. No one knows how that 
came about but I suspect that it is far enough away 
from any of the colleges to be outside undergraduate 
stagger range. This allows the professors chance to 
meet, talk and drink without the risk of student 
interruption. I arrived early and bought the first 
round planting myself in my usual booth and waited. A 
number of regulars passed and a few stopped to chat and 
the business of Mike's flowed around me. I was part way 
through the Globe crossword when a damp figure noisily 
shook her umbrella next to me.

I glanced up, "Hello Maggie, is it raining?"

"No," She said, "I just like carrying wet umbrellas 
about. For a supposedly intelligent man Richard Cody 
you do say some of the most stupid things." She pointed 
at the pint of Guinness on the table, "Is that mine?" 
When I nodded she drank it at a surprising speed. The 
waitress had already seen that coming and was heading 
in for the next round.

"Same again?" I asked.

"Hell no. If you asked me to drop everything and head 
on over it means you've got yourself a problem and that 
being the case I'm on a professional rate." She smiled 
at the waitress. Tell George I'll have a brandy and 
ginger ale, and I want VSOP non of that cheap rubbish. 
Mr. Cody here tells me he's a paper millionaire lets 
see if we can't make him spend some of it shall we."

I'd met Margaret O'Hanks during my postgraduate 
research. She was a short slim redhead with wonderful 
green eyes and a pushy personality. I can't remember 
exactly how we met but I think our attraction was based 
on common need; I needed a friend and she needed a TV 
set. I could virtually guarantee that three minutes 
before the start of "Saturday Night Live" there would 
be a knock at the door and she would just walk in sit 
down and watch it as if she owned the place. She had 
also been my first gay friend and we spent many happy 
hours cruising the bars for chicks. It hadn't done my 
ego any good that she seemed better at picking up women 
than I was.

For a time we had shared a house forming an unlikely 
threesome with a tall, willowy, bisexual blonde called 
Kathy. Three in a bed sessions had been quite common 
though Maggie and I only ever did it together once 
which had been enough to persuade her that penile sex 
was over rated. She was a keen if sometimes viscous 
practical joker, and being her friend was no 
protection. Some of her exploits had become legends yet 
surprisingly she had been asked to stay on after 
graduation and had been there ever since. She was now a 
well respected researcher in experimental clinical 
psychology. As always she had guessed right, I needed 
advice.

She hung up her coat and deposited the umbrella in the 
stand making it back to the booth about the same time 
the drink did.

"Keep an eye this way dear and keep them coming," She 
said to the waitress who sensing a large tip in the air 
started to orbit a discrete distance from our table. 
Maggie took a sip and then looked up and smiled.

"So Cody how's the love life, finally got over the Ice 
Queen."

"Her name is Samantha."

"I know what her name is," She said sharply. "And I 
also know that you're well rid of her. Jumped up little 
bitch. Some women are made too beautiful for their own 
or anyone else's good."

"You're only saying that because she turned you down!"

"She was tempted boy! Little miss smarty pants likes 
the boys all right but she's got an itch in her pants 
only another woman can scratch."

I smiled, this was an old argument one, we'd started 
almost twenty years ago and it was still going strong. 
It was Maggie's contention that everyone was bisexual, 
that screaming hetros and gays were just extremes being 
90% plus in one direction or the other. She believed 
that it was only social taboo that stopped people 
experimenting and realizing the truth. Of course she 
was willing to help any girl who wanted to see if this 
was true, but that she claimed did not invalidate the 
point.

I felt it was time to change the subject.

"Talking about itches how's things with you?"

A strange mixture of emotions played across her face, 
"I'm thinking of becoming a nun."

"Why?"

"Hey, I've been celibate for almost nine months. If I'm 
going to do without then I may as well get the 
recognition for it." She spat it out with a bitterness 
I'd never seen before.

"Cheers," She downed the drink and as if by magic the 
waitress appeared. "Same again."

"Look," I said feeling uncomfortable, "If this is a bad 
time..."

"No, look I'm just a little pissed off right now." She 
gave a deep sigh. "Last Christmas there was a bit of a 
scandal, girl claimed a professor offered to fix her 
grades for sex. Now just about everyone knew she was 
lying, the guy she accused was more interested in this 
years star quarterback for one thing but the Provost's 
office sent around a memo about fraternization. Well 
you know."

"And you're taking it seriously?"

She scowled again, "It hasn't really stopped anyone. I 
don't think anyone really trades grades but there are a 
lot of smart young women attending college these days. 
If you're getting close to a girl, especially if she's 
gifted and you want to give her extra help. Well you 
know." She took another sip, "Current Provost doesn't 
like me. Oh he'll turn a blind eye while some of this 
male friends play around but you can bet that if I so 
much as look at a girl."

I nodded.

"And it's so unfair," She continued, "I'm interested, 
she's interested and I know that if I see her some 
stoolie will blow the whistle so fast I won't even have 
time to take my pantyhose off." She sat and moped for a 
while I could tell she was twisted up inside. I started 
to wish that I'd kept in contact more, but after Sam 
dumped me I was too preoccupied and the past few months 
had been full of preparations for the kidnapping.

Eventually she looked up and smiled "Anyway what about 
you."

I was tempted to forget about it, but that would leave 
me with a dysfunctional and potentially suicidal slave. 
So I let another round come by before I started into my 
story. I couldn't tell her the complete truth of 
course, Maggie was ok but I couldn't really start with 
"There is this girl I kidnapped..." So instead I told 
her the story I had concocted in the car on the way up. 
I said that I'd met a girl called Elizabeth at a 
college party.

That we'd been attracted and started dating, I said 
that she liked bondage sex and rough trade that we had 
been going steady except that she had these little 
incidents. I recounted the stories as close to how they 
happened as possible omitting only the non consensual 
nature of her imprisonment and the existence of the 
dungeon. Maggie listened without saying anything but I 
noticed the occasional flicker of interest most of 
which coincided with details of the bondage.

"You think she's crazy." It was a statement and her 
green eyes watched intensely.

"I think it's a possibility," I said, "If I hadn't made 
such a bad job of tying off that rope she could have 
hung herself."

"I'd really need to see her, do a full interview." She 
paused, " Look I have a little practice outside the 
university she could go there."

I shook my head, "If she even suspects that I've spoken 
to a psychiatrist she'd walk, I'm sure. She's a very 
private person if she won't tell me, then god knows how 
she'd react to you."

She sipped her drink and in a quiet voice said, "Was 
she abused as a child."

I frowned. "I don't think so. Her father was a 
minister," I said hoping I hadn't given enough way that 
could link Caroline with "Elizabeth".

"That doesn't mean anything. Nine times out of ten 
families involved in incest look perfectly respectable 
from outside. It doesn't even have to be a family 
member just someone with perceived authority over the 
child. One thing to me seems telling, the girl has 
difficulty attaining orgasm except when forced."

I scratched my head, I didn't see that but then I 
wasn't the professional.

She glanced out of the window. It had stopped raining 
and was already quite dark. A young woman was crossing 
the street dragging her seven or eight year old 
daughter with her. For a moment I thought of Caroline's 
imaginary dusty faced daughter. "Look at that child," 
Maggie said, "Assume that you wanted to have sex with 
her." I pulled a face. "Look just concentrate on the 
practicalities. She is smaller and weaker than you, 
something a lot of pedophiles find particularly 
attractive. She has no chance of stopping you but when 
you're done there is a problem; what if she tells.

"You could bribe her, but that may not work, you could 
kill her but that's even worse. Threats are much better 
and the best yet is to suggest to the child that they 
have done something wrong. You see if you threaten to 
kill her or her parents that may work, but even a child 
knows that you can't watch her all the time. Sooner or 
later they'll feel safe enough to talk. Now what if you 
tell her that she was responsible, that she was the one 
that caused it and that if she is found out she will be 
the one punished? Then she is never safe. The trusted 
adult that she may otherwise talk to becomes a 
potential enemy. The rapist and the child share a 
secret, one which the child believes is her fault. She 
believes that any adult discovering the truth will 
punish her."

"I still don't see." I said, "Sorry if I seem a little 
slow but what does this have to do with orgasms."

"Ever have performance anxiety Dick?" She smiled when 
she saw my face. "Men's sexual wiring is fairly 
straight forward, stimulus, erection ejaculation. Yet 
despite that a bit of emotional stress and the whole 
thing shuts down. Women are far more connected 
emotionally far more susceptible to emotional shutdown. 
Suppose that little girl grows up, she thinks sex is 
dirty, evil and her fault. All the stress and trauma 
get transferred to the act whenever she has sex she 
associates it with that trauma and she shuts down.

"Now you perform a highly symbolic mock rape one were 
she is told that she is nothing, a slave with no 
choice, no responsibility. Do you see if she is forced 
she has no responsibility. If you then demand orgasm as 
part of the ritual not only is part of the opposing 
stimulus removed you are adding extra incentive through 
threat of punishment."

"Seems somewhat unlikely," I said, "And it doesn't 
explain the recent incident."

"Has she had an abortion?"

"Hell I don't know, it's not something that comes up in 
conversation. She's a bible belter, I doubt she could 
find a clinic that hadn't been burnt down."

"Exactly! To me that clinches it. Suppose he got her 
pregnant, he knows the baby means discovery so he wants 
her to get rid of it. She's been told all her life that 
abortion is evil so she resists. So he threatens her, 
there is still a lot of stigma associated with being an 
unmarried mother in some places, she's probably seen 
what happened to other girls. So he tells her that her 
life is over if she keeps the baby, tells her about the 
pointed fingers, the accusing looks."

The waitress swung in with yet another round.

"I need to see her Richard. If I'm even a little right 
about what's going on here she needs at least 
counseling, possibly therapy."

"I don't think she's ready for that. What could I do 
for her, perhaps if I could start the process then she 
may realize she has a problem."

She shook her head, "You know my feelings about amateur 
psychotherapy. You're likely to do more harm than good. 
What you need to do is get her to acknowledge the 
problem then find someone willing to take her case. My 
offer still stands and you get the added benefit that I 
can't hit on her if she's a patient."

I felt the need to extricate myself from the 
conversation.

"What else are you doing these days, at college."

She took the hint, "The physiology of social 
responsibility. We have the use of an MRI. I'm trying 
to find what makes Mother Teressa different from Ted 
Bundy."

"Oh," I said starting to wish that I hadn't changed the 
subject.

"What we discovered is quite interesting. Sociopaths 
tend to be very intelligent, fastidious beyond belief 
and have real difficulty dealing with people. Bit like 
you in fact."

"Thanks," I said, "Now you must excuse me I haven't 
killed someone for over an hour."

She rolled her eyes, "We also discovered that under an 
MRI they have certain abnormal characteristics, a 
general change in brain morphology. The surprising 
thing is that this abnormality is shared by 10 to 20% 
of our sample usually the more intelligent ones, yet 
serial killers represent less than one percent of the 
general population."

"Great," I said, "And I didn't feel secure before."

"What it means is that the structure of your brain has 
less impact on what you do than the conditioning it 
receives through life. The Manson family for instance. 
When we ran tests on Charlie we found that he was far 
gone, but other members even those who committed murder 
would be considered normal according to the scan. It's 
almost as if they somehow became an extension of 
Manson, playing out his madness."

I started to get interested. "How is that?"

"It's not that uncommon actually, over time people can 
become totally dependant on one another even to the 
point where a person is basically just an extension of 
someone else. They continue to function as individuals 
but act in concert with another to the point were that 
persons wants and desires become more important than 
their own. The so called Stockholm Syndrome is a minor 
manifestation. I wrote a paper on it last year 
something you would know if you bothered to look me up 
now and then." The hint of bitterness had returned and 
I was confused. We had only ever really been close 
friends, given her sexual preference that was all that 
we could have been. Yet she sounded like a neglected 
lover.

"Well I have to go," I said, "Got a trip to Seattle day 
after tomorrow and I still need to pack."

"Wait," She said and I recognized the look of need in 
her eyes.

"Maggie? I didn't think?"

"Desperate times," She smiled weakly, "I have an itch. 
Don't worry I won't hold it against you if the answers 
no."

"But why now?"

"What I said, about the child and the guilt. It wasn't 
entirely from clinical experience."

She must have seen my shocked face.

"It was my uncle, both my parents worked and he was a 
postman. After work he used to collect me from school 
and I'd stay with him until my father came home. I 
always felt that was why I preferred to do it with 
women, no bad associations. I can't even masturbate 
properly."

"Oh god!" I said and I was genuinely sorry.

She smiled weakly, "Nine months..."

"What do you want?"

"Do what you do with her," She begged, "I think it can 
work. It removes the responsibility, the feeling of 
guilt."

"I can't," I said as the dark side of my brain screamed 
YES.

"Please, just this once. I won't blame you either way."

I looked into her eyes. "Have you done this before?"

She shook her head and my mind went into turmoil. She 
was almost begging and it would answer some of the 
fantasies I'd had since college. On the other hand I 
stood every chance of blowing things with my oldest 
friend.

"If I agree there are a few ground rules. First you 
must call me Master and yourself This Slut. Second for 
the next three hours you are mine, you have no right to 
question any of my decisions. You will obey first time 
every time. If you don't think you can do that walk 
away.

She looked up. I could tell it was a struggle, if there 
was anyone I knew with a dominant personality it was 
her. To go to being a sub was the most dramatic change 
I could think of.

She looked up, "Master, this slut is ready."

"Go into the bathroom and remove your panties and hose. 
Put them in your bag." She blushed but stood and headed 
for the ladies. I whistled the waitress over and 
settled the bill.

She came out of the toilet so red that several people 
enquired if she was all right. To look you couldn't 
tell that she wore no panties but she knew and she 
walked very carefully again causing comments from the 
others.

I pulled her over, "What are you doing?"

"Please I..."

"This slut!" I hissed

"Please, the... this slut doesn't want them to see..."

"They won't if you move normally. You just bought your 
first punishment, if you don't put your head up and 
strut out of here like a slave slut should we'll make 
that two." Then we left, as ordered she took long 
strides with her head back and when she found that her 
long skirt still hid everything she started to relax 
and enjoy things. She'd taken a taxi to get here so we 
wandered up the rapidly drying streets towards my car.

I think she thought we were off to her apartment but I 
had other plans. The sex shop was not one of my usual 
haunts, the ones in New York carried a better stock, 
but I'd made a point of finding it in case I had any 
special needs. This one had a female cashier which was 
not as unusual as you might think, sex shops obey the 
same economic laws as your local deli. The cashier 
looked up from her paper as we entered but was smart 
enough not to comment. My principle interest was 
restraints, I didn't carry any with me in case the car 
was stopped.

However that night I was feeling especially generous so 
I browsed the female apparel section. The choice wasn't 
that good mostly cheaply put together PVC and rubber 
items at over inflated prices. Fortunately Maggie was 
relatively small and I found a nice leather corselet 
that had obviously been overlooked. I couldn't find 
matching gloves and boots but cheap PVC pairs would do 
for now. I handed her my choice and nodded towards the 
changing rooms. She blushed and started to open her 
mouth to say something but catching my eye she stopped 
and did as she was told.

While she was gone I took a pair of handcuffs, a ball 
gag, a blindfold, a collar, some cuffs and a pair of 
nipple clamps. I had them put rapidly into a plain bag 
so that she couldn't see what I'd bought. I glanced 
back towards the changing room and saw a gloved hand 
reach out through the curtain and beckon. Smiling I 
asked the cashier for another bag which I stuffed in my 
pocket.

Pulling aside the curtain I glanced inside. The change 
was astonishing, it seemed that the leather loved her 
body, flowing over her torso like fine black paint. Her 
nipples were already very hard and pushed uncomfortably 
through the peepholes cut into the cups. Down by her 
crotch traces of pubic hair showed around the point 
were the corselet passed between her legs. I also 
noticed the zipper that passed between her legs 
allowing easy access without the need to remove the 
whole thing. All in all I was quite taken with the 
design and decided to have something similar made for 
Caroline. The boots and gloves were a bit of a 
disappointment, but if Maggie took to this look I could 
always get her a decent set for next Christmas.

"Well Master what do you think?" The thrill was 
starting to get to her and she was more like the fun 
loving kid I first knew. I scratched my head as if 
undecided. In truth I'd already paid for everything but 
I had something in mind.

"Don't know," I said, "Why don't you show the cashier?"

She looked shocked. "No I couldn't!"

"Why not?" I asked, "She doesn't know you and you'll 
never meet again. Besides if she likes it you may have 
found someone who will scratch that itch a bit more 
regularly."

Her nipples had hardened some more and I knew it was 
only a few minutes before her brain did what her body 
already wanted. "Strut slave, remember you are your 
Masters slut. Do it with pride."     She started to walk 
towards the cashier slinking along with no difficulty. 
Maggie had always loved high heels and had quite a few 
years practice on poor Caroline. There were no 
accidents, no tottering, she just oozed towards the 
desk while behind her I pulled out the bag and got 
busy.

She was a big hit with the cashier as I walked towards 
the counter they were already exchanging numbers.

"She likes it," Maggie said with some glee, "Are you 
going to buy it?"

"Already have, " I said and passed over her jacket. 
Then she realized what was in the other bag. I followed 
her gaze, "Yep we're wearing it out." Her face was 
filled with horror. I had given her a short leather 
jacket, her overcoat, and purse were with the rest of 
her clothes in the bag. Before she had time to think I 
picked up the bag of restraints and headed for the 
door. It took a while for her to catch up I was walking 
deliberately fast and running in high heeled thigh 
boots isn't easy even for an expert.

"You...You.."

I smiled, "I knew you couldn't take it," I said, "So 
you want to give up." Maggie never gave up. It was her 
creed, she would never admit that she couldn't cut it. 
I knew that she was fuming but in the end all she said 
was, "You are walking too fast Master!" I smiled and 
slowed down. We'd parked a fair distance away and the 
walk was quite interesting. She managed to fasten the 
jacket over her erect nipples but is was obvious from 
her breathing that they were rubbing on the lining. A 
faint odor told me that she was now truly damp.

At the street corner two working girls stood and touted 
for custom. Hearing the click of heels on concrete they 
turned. Maggie was quite a sight, The jacket hid most 
of the outfit down to the waist but her shiny gloved 
hands gave some hint of what was underneath. The 
leather covered crotch was a bit of a give away too as 
were the vinyl thigh boots. They made the obvious 
conclusion that Maggie was intruding on their 
territory. If she had been alone they would probably 
have taken it from her hide but I was either a customer 
or her pimp and whore etiquette meant that nothing 
would happen now. Maggie could sense the hostility and 
started to fall back.

"Hey mister, she with you?"

"Yep," I said stopping at the corner to allow her to 
catch up."

"How much she charge you?" The shorter one asked.

Maggie was close enough now to hear the conversation. I 
turned towards her.

"A C note wasn't it love?"

She was lost for words, the short whore wasn't.

"Hang on I know her." Maggie winced, the thought of 
anyone she knew seeing her like this was unbearable.

"Hey Red didn't the doctor tell you not to go out again 
until the infection cleared up!" The taller one got the 
idea and ran with it.

"That's right Red you have to finish all the tablets." 
Maggie was too horrified to speak. "I'd leave her alone 
if I was you, she's got the clap. Now both me and Trudy 
are clean and we'll even take you at the same rate."

I turned to her looking shocked, "Is this true?" I 
could see she wanted to die.

"N-no please."

It was time to put her out of her misery.

"Sorry ladies but the police doctor assures me that my 
partner here is free from all diseases."

Now it was their turn to wince. The small one swore.

"You lucked out girls, we're not Vice and we're too 
tired to work out jurisdiction. I turned to Maggie. "If 
we let them off we can get back sooner. What do you 
think?"

Maggie had pulled herself up to her full height and was 
smiling, she gave the girls a reasonable imitation of a 
thousand yard stare.

"I should run you in buy rights," She said sounding 
unsure, "But then there's the paperwork."

Feeling uncomfortable and afraid Maggie would change 
her mind they moved on taking the occasional glance 
back at us until we were out of sight.

She felt better when we got in the car.

"Can I ask for a time-out here."

"What's the matter Slave can't cut it."

"I can cut it. All I want is a 2 minute time-out.

"Ok," I said. "But we add the two minutes on at the 
end."

"Is this how you treat this Elizabeth girl?"

"Nope, it's the way I treat you?"

"Why?"

"Well for a start there's my twenty first birthday 
party when you left me naked and handcuffed to that 
tree. What was it you said, something like if you can't 
torture your friends who can you torture? "

She turned white, "God I forgot all about that."

I turned and smiled, "I didn't."

"That was different, it was a joke!"

"It was snowing."

"Not when we started. Do you mean that you've been 
saving that for all these years"

"Revenge is a dish best served cold," I said with the 
biggest smile I could manage. Then some of the tension 
broke and she started laughing.

"God I feel like I'm eighteen again. Were we nuts or 
what?"

"Still are!" I said, "You only grow old if you want to. 
End of time-out!"

We stopped of at a seven eleven on the way back to buy 
some general supplies. I felt sure that the cashier 
should have figured out what I was doing, buying duct 
tape, clothes line and the like. He didn't seem to 
think it odd or pass comment, probably relieved I 
wasn't trying to rob him.

I got back to find her rubbing her crotch.

"Naughty slave," I said and reached for the restraints 
bag. I'd already tried the key in the handcuffs and 
added them to my key ring so all I needed to do was 
feel for the metal object. I made her lean forward and 
before she knew what was happening I'd cuffed her hands 
behind her.

The smell of hot cunt still filled the car and she 
squirmed occasionally looking to get a bit more 
sensation. We drove to her apartment complex, she 
didn't have a car but she did have a space in the 
basement car park. I used her key and headed down. Once 
there I relented a little and fastened the overcoat 
about her shoulders. Of course it couldn't do anything 
about the fuck me heels but it hid most of the outfit 
and the handcuffs. Her apartment was near to the 
elevator so I decided to take one last risk. While we 
waited in the empty car park I went through the bags 
and collected a few items.

"Open wide."

"What?"

"I'm going to gag you," I said sweetly.

A look of horror suddenly spread over her face. "Oh god 
not here. These are my neighbors!" She saw the look in 
my eye and opened her mouth. I shoved her panties 
firmly inside, of course she was no stranger to pussy 
juice so they probably tasted familiar. I few strips of 
duct tape later and she was effectively gagged. I was 
pleased with the result but it was a little obvious. As 
Maggie was a consensual partner it was not quite as 
critical as if I was transporting Caroline, if we were 
caught we would be embarrassed but non of us would go 
to jail. Still I wanted to give her the thrill with 
minimal actual risk. So I took a head scarf I'd bought 
at the convenience store and tied it around her head.

I deliberately tied it a little forward so that it 
concealed the gag from the side. If someone looked her 
square in the face they could see it easily but I had 
no intention of giving them that opportunity. The 
elevator arrived, mercifully empty and we went to the 
back. There I had her turn towards the side wall 
allowing the scarf to hide the gag more completely. The 
elevator went up slowly. I gradually became aware of 
the smell of hot pussy; for all her protests this was 
obviously a turn on for her. Maggie lived on the fourth 
floor and we had both hoped that the lift would stay 
empty but at the first floor the door opened and a 
middle aged couple got on.

I thought I heard a little gagged squeal and I thought 
they must have heard it too. Worse the hot pussy smell 
was very obvious in such a small space. Any second I 
expected a comment so trying to head it off I went into 
my planned routine. Of course unlike a real captive 
Maggie had no intention of drawing attention to herself 
so she was already facing the wall and looking down at 
the floor. I stepped between her and the couple and 
started to continue an imaginary conversation, a long 
involved discussion on the Boston Tea Party that I'd 
had to memories for school. As planned the couple 
phased us out and we could have been painted pink for 
all they cared.

They got off at the next floor. The one risk now was 
that there was someone waiting for the elevator on 
four. Not only was there little chance of us getting 
off unnoticed but the chances of someone recognizing 
her were greater. She realized this and rubbed her 
taped mouth against my arm in a very Caroline gesture. 
I pulled her forward so that she was near the controls 
and positioned myself in front of her. Her eye's were 
wild she made a few gagged noises obviously wishing to 
be ungagged.

"Trust me?"

She closed her eyes for a second then nodded.

"Good girl."

The events were having a great effect on my erection 
and secret bondage in public had always been one of my 
fantasies. I imagined the other couple going back to 
their apartment and continuing there lives never 
realizing that the girl in the elevator was a prisoner. 
"Now when the lift stops go between me and the right 
wall. I will move with you. If there is someone in the 
corridor turn to face the wall and act upset."

It turned out to be unnecessary as four was empty. I 
played around finding the right key for a while feeling 
her panic mount. Finally I got her inside. The smell of 
hot cunt was now overpowering. I took off scarf, 
overcoat and handcuffs. She reached for the gag but a 
quick slap on her hand stopped her.

"Not yet!" I handed her the shaving supplies I'd bought 
and pointed at her crotch. "I'm sure you know the 
routine now loose it. Leave a little for decoration but 
the rest goes."

While she headed for the bathroom I started to prepare 
the bedroom. I tied a couple of lengths of cord to the 
legs at the bottom of her bed and waited. She came out 
with the crotch zip open to show her nude cunt I passed 
her the cuffs.

"Wrists and ankles, now!"

She complied and I rewarded her by removing the gag.

"Ok Slave, dildos and vibrators, where?"

She pointed at the bedside cabinet. There was an 
impressive collection and I had no trouble finding a 
nice powerful little friend to keep her company. I made 
her turn and fastened her cuffed wrists together with a 
short length of cord. Then I introduced her cunt to the 
vibrator and pulled the zipper up to lock it in place. 
Her hips started to quake and while she was distracted 
I pushed the ball gag into her mouth and fastened it 
tightly.

She complained but there was little she could do. 
"Dance slave," I said, "Do a good job and I'll release 
you." She danced, not as well as Caroline but then I 
doubt she had the same imagination. Towards the end she 
moved her body against mine her eyes sparkling when she 
saw the size of my erection.

I took her to the bed and used the cords to spread her 
legs. I chose now to show her the nipple clamps. This 
she didn't like as much but with her erect nipples 
still poking through the peepholes she had little 
protection. I applied the blindfold and felt her body 
tremble as her helplessness increased. I knew that she 
wasn't very good at the old skin flute so I didn't 
bother to ungag her.

Instead I removed the vibrator from her damp box. Sam 
had demanded oral sex and had taken the time to school 
her various beau's on the correct technique. I know 
that I probably wasn't going to be as good as some of 
Maggie's partners, ownership promotes a certain 
understanding, but the little noises from behind the 
gag told me that she appreciated it.

I teased, deliberately denying her completion, she 
groaned. A gentle tug on the nipple clamps every now 
and then kept her interested and when I knew she was 
ready I stopped.

I reached up and removed the nipple clamps. Then 
momentarily freeing her legs I tied her ankle cuffs to 
her thighs using large hanks of cord. When I'd finished 
she was helpless and unable to protect her naked cunt.

I smiled "Well Slave time has come to fuck your 
worthless cunt. It's no good resisting because you're 
helpless. Struggle slave and see! "

She did, it was futile. I'd practiced on Caroline were 
escape meant prison, Maggie had patiently let me tie 
her up.

"Scream slave. Perhaps the neighbors might hear."

This had worried me. Not knowing how thin the walls 
were I had the roll of tape nearby in case the gag 
needed supplementing. It didn't, even when I encouraged 
her to really let rip there was nothing that could 
attract attention.

"Guess not," I said and slowly removed my clothes 
letting the bound girl shiver in anticipation.

I pulled her over and as with Caroline positioned her 
on top. Her bound legs would mean that I'd have to do 
most of the trusting and that would make it slow but 
the feeling of complete helplessness was what we were 
after and she was.

"I'm going to rape you now," I said "I'm going to force 
you to cum you little whore if you like it or not. And 
if you don't cum this time perhaps a pussy whipping 
will persuade you."

I felt her tremble. Then I started and as the 
excitement built I taunted her. Telling her to scream, 
that it made no difference because the gag kept her 
silent, that the bonds stopped her struggles. That I 
had made her helpless and I was in charge and that I 
decided her pussy should be fucked and that I wanted 
her to cum for me or she would be punished. Each time I 
emphasized the *I* hammering the message home that she 
was helpless that it was my will and my responsibility. 
I felt the heat rising as those nine long months came 
bubbling to the surface and heard the gagged screams as 
she came again and again.

Afterwards she made me a light snack and a drink. She 
seemed quiet, subdued and quite happy. She told me that 
it had been all that she'd wanted, and the first time 
she had ever orgasmed with a man. The cashier from the 
sex shop was apparently a sub in search of a mistress, 
and Maggie thought that she might give it a try now 
that she knew the ropes so to speak. She was happy and 
I felt relieved, the entire event practical jokes and 
all seemed to have strengthened our friendship.

Maggie hinted that she might want to try this again and 
an evil thought came into my head, after all I'd always 
liked the idea of two girls in bondage. So with that 
happy thought I departed back to the house and 
Caroline.

It was nearly midnight when I returned to the house. A 
quick video check found that she was well and still as 
tightly bound as I left her. I made two coffees and 
headed down. She moaned and attempted to move when I 
entered. Helping her up I removed the blindfold then 
waited as she greedily downed the coffee. Then she 
looked at me with those large expression filled blue 
eyes.

I smiled, "Slave, we have got to talk."