Part 7 of an ongoing story. Thanks to everyone who wrote with
suggestions some of which are enacted in this chapter
Sorry for the delay in writing this section, I spent most of
this summer moving house and things are only just settling
down.
For those who have written encouragement, I thank you it has been
a great help as I've struggled to make each new section. I will
still be contactable via tmquin@ibm.net but there may be delays in
getting replies.
This section has associated images that will be quoted on
subsequent reposts. I'm looking into setting up a Web site
with story sections and images. Watch this space.
The Mighty Quin (tmquin@ibm.net)
*****************************************************************
Captured Caroline. by Quin
======================
Chapter 7: "Sleepwalking on Bourbon Street" (M/f, NC, B&D)
======================================
"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 slavegirl 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 gagstrap 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 hardon.
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 showermat. 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 fetishwear 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. I loosely fastened a leather pad gag around her neck,
though I had no intention of using it paid to remind her that
speech was a privilege I controlled. 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,
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.
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 hammerlocked 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.
