Day 15--Geoffrey
I was really starting to enjoy our morning romps in the ring;
Sabrina's long hair flapping rhythmically against her back as she
diligently practiced canters, stops, turns and gallops, her hoofed
feet kicking up thunderclouds of dust, clips jumping with every clop.
While she showered, I assembled the morning's arsenal and brought it
to my study.
"Time for some more bookkeeping," I announced as she cautiously
entered the room, all naked and freshly scrubbed, the stripes and
discolorations from various attacks on her flesh faintly glowing
based on their age and relative force, her eyes downcast in the
shameful gratitude of an errant puppy.
"Come. Here."
Her eyes followed my hands as I pinched each nipple in turn between
a pair of jet-black chopsticks held together at each end with tightly-
twisted rubber bands.
"Turn around and stick out your arms."
I slid the sleeves of the straightjacket over her wrists and up to
her shoulders, then buckled the heavy black leather around her torso.
"You're going to need a little more practice," I said to the back of
her head as I pushed a short, wide plug into her ass before securing
the crotch belt with a padlock.
"Sit down at the desk."
When Sabrina had comported herself in the heavy wooden chair, I
kneeled to cuff her ankles, then pulled them back with rope to the
leg bracing beneath the seat. The leather sheaths for her hands
dangled down from her wrists, followed by the straps, which I tied to
either end of the desk, giving her just enough slack for her fingers
to reach the computer's keyboard.
Day gag. I liked the sound of that. I yanked and knotted the
lacing under her chin, then tightened the thin belts that webbed the
top part of her head, the bottom obscured in a creamy blackness that
was solely punctuated by the silver teeth of the still-open zipper
across where her mouth should be.
I left her to watch the computer's start-up sequence while I fetched
one of a dozen CDs in a drawer to her left and inserted it into the
burner I had installed myself in my Frankenstein-approved PC.
"Ambra," it proudly proclaimed on its dingy casing. I loved how IBM
had named its ill-fated fling with the consumer market after a porno
starlet.
"These files are a mess. Sort them into categories, and rename them
something useful. I'll be back in a...well, soon."
--Sabrina--
Pretending to forget the pinching on my nipples and the plug forcing
open my still-sensitive anus, I concentrated on the task at hand.
First, I had to reach the mouse on my right. My fingers could move
freely, but there was barely enough slack in the sleeves around my
arms to touch the mouse, not grab it. Pulling hard on the leather
restraints, I finally managed to pinch the sides between two
fingertips and slowly pull it across its pad to my hand.
Once the screen filled with dozens of tiny icons, I opened the first
one and gasped at the picture that appeared. Lying on a wooden
floor, a red-haired woman was bound in a severe hog-tie, her face
encased in a trainer gag. One of the many black straps held her hair
in a ponytail, which was tied to the intersection of her four limbs,
forcing her head up. Her only clothing was a black corset laced
tightly around her hips, pushing her ample breasts away from her
torso as if they were taunting gravity.
Strangely enough, this was the first bondage picture I had ever
seen, and despite my recent experience in the field, I found it
extremely unsettling, not to mention arousing. My heart beating a
little faster, I opened the second picture and observed a close-up on
the same woman's gagged face.
So this is how I look like when Geoffrey gags me? I didn't find it
particularly pretty, but I couldn't deny it was sexually attractive.
All that leather on the woman's face put an emphasis on her wide-open
eyes where curiosity was mixed with fear.
I knew that feeling well, and squirmed on the chair at the
recollection of so many similar moments.
I opened the next set of pictures, which were shots of the same
scene taken from various angles. After that, I discovered a new
series with the same woman wrapped up in chains and suspended from an
intricate iron frame.
I recognized the structure; the picture had been taken in Geoffrey's
studio, right on the stage where I had already spent so much time and
spilled so much sweat. How many women had he tied up in his life?
How many had been willing? How many had fought back? How many had
he fucked?
I returned to the files and counted them. Fifty pictures in the
first file folder. And there were about fifty folders on the CD.
And the drawer was full of disks. Perhaps not all these pictures
were Geoffrey's, but he sure had a nice collection.
A collection I was supposed to sort and rename, I suddenly remembered.
What exactly did he want me to do? Just renaming each picture
wouldn't really help him find what he was looking for. First, I had
to create directories and subdirectories for each session and scene,
but most importantly, what he needed was a small database where each
picture would be categorized according to a series of criteria.
Leather vs. rubber. Ropes vs. chains. Outdoors vs. indoors. Ambra
vs. Bettie.
I created a spreadsheet and classified the fifty pictures in the
first folder. I was hoping he would check on me so I could ask if he
liked the idea, but decided to proceed anyway. If he wanted
something else, he would tell me, and I would try again. This could
take forever, but linear time wasn't always important in this house.
I continued my work unperturbed, except for my sex, which was
increasingly aroused by this feast of new bondage ideas. I wanted to
try them all. But I didn't need to worry about that. He most
probably would. And add some more, too.
--Geoffrey--
An hour should be plenty of time for Sabrina, I decided after I
finished setting up the morning's first photo shoot. I glanced at
the computer monitor that was mirroring her screen activities
upstairs via the house's internal network. Still messing with
database structures. She's quite good at this. A nice surprise.
Speaking of which...I put down my camera and jogged up the stairs to
my study.
As I entered the room, I wondered when she would start accessing the
Internet during these sessions on the PC. I had set up my account so
she didn't have to enter a password to log on. I doubted she would
be clever enough to delete the cookies and cached files that would
accumulate from her surfing, but even if she knew all the tricks, I
could still watch her online activities on a remote monitor I had set
up in the studio.
"Hands off," I barked, making her jump a little in her chair. I
untied the straps holding her wrists to the sides of the desk, then
stuffed her hands into the leather casings, pulled her arms across
her chest, and tied them tight behind her back.
"Hmmmm...not bad," I pretended to scowl. "The database categories
look good, but you need to be much more detailed in your descriptions
of the photos. Think keyword search; for example, if there's a gag,
rope and chains, that needs to be in the file name. Ditto the
location, the position, and any items of clothing. Like this one
should read something like
'Ambra_black_corset_hogtie_leather_straps_trainer_gag_hair.jpg.' You
have 254 characters for your file names. Use them all."
I skipped through the rest of Sabrina's work with an occasional nod.
"You can continue this later," I said as I stooped down to untie her
feet. "There's something else I want you to concentrate on for a
while."
When I was finished, I had retied her legs so they were plastered
together with rope around her ankles, above and below her knees, and
many, many coils encasing her thighs, a multi-speed vibrator pressed
firmly between them whose tip didn't quite touch the leather strap
protecting her sex.
I unzipped her gag, gave her a sip of water, then filled her mouth
with a rubber ball before pulling the metal tab across her mouth.
"Something to inspire you," I said as he slipped a shiny disk into
the second CD drive. "I've been dying to give this new DVD player a
whirl."
I reached over to the control box next to her legs and turned the
knob to its lowest setting.
"Two thumbs up, I'm sure," I remarked as the opening credits filled
the screen. "See you at intermission."
--Sabrina--
When I heard the muffled sounds of Geoffrey's steps climbing up the
stairs, I was so restless I was afraid the chair would tumble over
from my squirming. There would be no surprise this time; I was so
alert, I could hear spiders spinning cobwebs in the corners. The
porn was predictably stupid, but all those bondage and whipping
scenes, coupled with my own situation, awakened my horny desires, as
evidenced by the sticky dampness between my tightly-bound thighs.
A dampness which Geoffrey was pleased to observe, if I could judge
from his grin when, after untying my legs, he removed the vibrator,
soaked in sweat and my more intimate emissions, produced in such
abundance that they had leaked out of their leather confinement.
His grin turned wicked when he took aim at the chopsticks that had
squeezed all the blood from my nipples a long time ago. Fascinated
and horrified at the same time, I watched him unknot the rubber bands
around their ends, then closed my eyes to absorb the terrible pain
that followed. I let out a cry, barely contained by the gag, while
my fingers madly dug in my chest bones through the layer of leather.
The pain subsided, but my sexual hunger increased. I thought, I
hoped, I prayed Geoffrey would do something about it, but he only
asked me to stand up and follow him downstairs to the kitchen, where
he tied me to yet another chair, using less rope, but losing nothing
in terms of efficiency.
When lunch was ready, he removed the gag to feed me, but let me
enjoy the leather gloves until he decided he needed my hands again,
which would only be much later, when we were back in his study.
During the meal, he told me he wanted to finish his printer photo
shoot and then develop the film so that he could send contact sheets
to his client first thing tomorrow morning. When the implication of
his words hit my brain, I realized I didn't want to be left alone
again. Not now. Not in this state. Besides, how could I possibly
do intellectual work when I was so distracted by the constant
clenching of my vagina and obsessed with the idea of filling it?
Let me stay with you, I pleaded silently. Tie me up to the ceiling,
gag me, but please, let me watch you work. Let me be there.
Unaware of my unspoken plea, he added that, all in all, his work
would take him three or four hours, and I could use that time to work
on his picture database.
Telepathy is a hoax, I decided while, twenty minutes later, he was
tying me up again to the chair behind his study desk. I felt playful
and mischievous, but the game was not mine to start. Or finish. The
decision was his, and his alone. This was more than a little
annoying. And highly arousing.
After removing the gloves, he tied my wrists to the desk again, but
left enough slack for me to manipulate the mouse on its pad. Good,
he was learning too, I grinned behind the zipper he had just closed
across my mouth.
He replaced the chopsticks with tweezer clamps, which he tightened
much further than necessary. After checking I had everything I
needed to work, he left.
When he closed the door behind him, I sighed at the thought of
spending the whole afternoon with no distraction but the thousands of
hot pictures I had to sort. On second thought, this was the way many
people escape from their real work. I certainly had no reason to
complain.
Yet, one hour later, I found I was hardly inspired to continue my
job. The last scene I had observed, a woman tied to a diving board,
had sent me to fantasyland again, and my fingers froze on the
keyboard.
I stared blindly at the screen, letting my imagination bring me to
the side of that pool, waiting for him to tie me up. A whole plot
formed in my mind. I would resist a little, just for fun. Maybe I
would even try to run away, enjoying his pursuit and how his arms
would finally catch me, hold me still, claim me as his possession.
I must have daydreamed for nearly half an hour until I put an end to
my own teasing, since it definitely was not the best way to calm
down. My eyes went wearily back to the screen, as boring as before,
but when they moved down to the start bar and spotted the icon for
Internet Explorer, I sprung back to life. Now, this could be fun.
The browser opened on Yahoo! and I typed Geoffrey's name in the
search box.
--Geoffrey--
What was that quote again? "Idle hands are the devil's playground."
Though I was more than a little surprised that Sabrina had started
her Internet search with my name. Weren't the photographs enough?
Apparently not. But right now, I had to finish the photo shoot,
develop the pictures, and get them off to FedEx before 6:00 p.m. And
here it was almost 2:00, and I still had a ton of close-ups to
complete.
I began to realize why most stories about 24/7 slave relationships
are fiction.
While I was adjusting the bright spotlights for the umpteenth time,
I had a sudden inspiration. Wouldn't it be so much easier if the
goddamned flash simply moved itself whenever I needed to change its
angle?
I bounded up the stairs to my study, catching a glimpse of Sabrina
frantically trying to click the web browser closed. I wasn't going
to bust her for that one today; I'd let her think she was getting
away with something until I felt like punishing her in a serious
fashion.
Which was every single minute of the day, I admitted to myself.
Despite our less-than-auspicious first act, I could see the entrance
to the relationship rabbit hole dead ahead.
And right now, I wanted nothing more than to dive headfirst into the
tunnel of love with Sabrina's hand clasped tight in mine.
But deadlines loomed large. Besides, money came in very handy,
especially when placing $2,000 orders at my favorite custom
leatherworks.
I untied her from the chair, strapped her arms and hands behind her
back, and led her down to the studio, where I replaced her day gag
with a leather hood that had open eyeholes. With some wire and a
roll of duct tape, I soon had a spotlight attached to the top of her
head.
"Stand over there. No, move over a few inches to the left. That's
it, now bend your head down a few degrees. No, no, no, that's too
far, up a little. That's it, perfect, now hold it, don't move.
Okay, bend your knees a little, but hold the angle. Excellent.
Closer, closer to the control panel, turn a little to the right, I'm
getting too much glare off the LCD. That's it, nice, hold it."
And on and on for another hour as I snapped roll after roll of
portraits of the toner cartridge and other less-than-lively
components.
"Some day, they'll make these things in a different color so they
don't look like the underside of a battleship that hasn't seen
daylight since World War II. Okay, that should do it. Thank you."
I clicked off the light on top of her head and left her standing
while I unloaded the film from my various cameras and prepared to go
into the darkroom.
"I'm afraid there's not enough room for two of us in there. Do you
mind hanging around while I get these rolls developed?"
I didn't even bother to watch Sabrina's head nod in agreement as I
started pulling down a chain that was looped through a pulley nestled
high above in the scaffolding.
First, I had to insert and engage the electronic amusements into her
two lower orifices, then lock them in tight behind the crotch strap.
Next, I ordered her to lie on her stomach on the floor, and wrapped a
long leather binder around her legs with at least a dozen straps
running from thighs to feet. Finally, I secured the chain to the
buckle across her ankles and pulled until her head was hanging just a
few inches off the floor.
"Oh, I have to get some pictures of this," I said as I put a new
roll of film into one of my cameras.
"Especially your eyes," I continued as I knelt down to point the
lens into her face. After exactly twenty-four clicks, I removed the
can and rummaged through one of the nearby boxes.
"To each his, or her, own darkness," I remarked as I slipped the
blindfold around the top of her head.
"See you soon, or at least sooner than you'll see me."
--Sabrina--
Hanging upside down and already feeling my feet go numb while my
head was boiling with too much blood pressure, I should have been
angry at Geoffrey, or at least exasperated.
Days ago, he had overpowered me with his strength, both mental and
physical. Now, he intimidated me, which was quite unprecedented in
my interaction with men.
Who was he, really?
I had asked myself that same question over and over while I was
helping him in the studio. I couldn't help admiring his patience and
precision, knowing he took the same care when he was dealing with me,
and I greatly enjoyed being a part of his work, even if that meant I
had gone down to the level of an electrical appliance in the large
spectrum of beings and things.
And now I was a bag of wheat hanging from the ceiling. The
vibrators rapidly brought me to a pre-orgasmic state, but thanks to
the low speed he had turned them on to, they took an incredibly long
time to take me one step further, to find the relief I had been
waiting for since early this morning. By that time, I felt so dizzy
that I lost consciousness in the middle of the quake and woke up with
a terrible headache. The vibrators were still buzzing though, and I
prepared myself for another round.
But it wasn't to be. I hadn't heard Geoffrey return, but my heart
skipped a beat when his stern voice growled:
"Did you just come without permission?"
Oh, man. Sorry. Completely forgot.
"Well, good," he continued, "I've been busy in the darkroom for far
too long. I sure could use some exercise."
He lowered me slowly until my head and shoulders safely hit the
ground, then dropped the rest of me.
Ouch. That hurt. But not as much as the sudden surge of blood back
into my paralyzed limbs.
Knowing my legs would hardly respond, he pulled me up and carried me
over his shoulder to the living room where he dropped me face down on
the couch.
"Considering what happened last night," he said, "I'm reluctant to
use the whip. But a good spanking should teach you never to disobey
my orders".
A spanking? As much as I was relieved to escape the whip, I was
also disappointed. Wasn't I way beyond spanking? And wasn't he?
This was too easy. Child's play. Oh well, at least I was saving my
butt from serious pain.
However, when he took me by the hips and lay me across his knees,
pushing my head down and locking my leather-clad legs between his, my
stomach twisted with fear. Being so close to him made me feel even
more defenseless.
With increasing apprehension, I felt him unbuckle the crotch strap,
turn the vibrators off, then remove the one from my vagina, but
leaving the other in my ass.
When his hand impacted my bottom with a loud report that made me
lose my breath for a second, I once again regretted his not deploying
the whip. It might have been easier to deal with.
--Geoffrey--
Nineteen. And twenty. My hand stung from the repeated contact with
Sabrina's now-crimson backside, but it was a good kind of pain, one
she undoubtedly shared, judging by the moans leaking from underneath
the hood that still surrounded her head.
I lifted her off my knees and lay her face-up across the length of
the couch. She looks so good in leather, I half-whispered. Good
enough to eat. Or beat, as the case may be.
A few long pieces of rope and the jar of udder cream; it didn't take
long to assemble the tools for my next project.
"So you want to come, do you?" I asked her in what I presumed was an
imitation of de Sade, but probably came off more like Snidely
Whiplash.
Her leather-covered head nodded affirmatively.
"So be it," I said as I doubled one of the lengths of cord around
her waist, then ran the ends over the back of the couch and
triangulated them down to the legs, where I knotted them near the
floor.
I sat down next to her feet and unbuckled the thick strap holding
the bottom of the leg binder to her soles.
"What big toes you have, my dear," I growled, wondering if Red
Riding Hood was still required reading in the modern nursery.
Actually, hers were small and delicate, but I figured she got the
message when she clenched them tight.
"Oh, I almost forgot. I did promise, after all."
I took the vibrator that had been in her vagina, turned it onto its
highest setting, and thrust it under the leather between her thighs,
its tip nestled snugly against the general area of her clitoris.
"All that time in those nasty horse hooves; your feet deserve the
princess treatment."
I scooped out a handful of cream and began forcefully massaging her
heels and arches, working my way slowly up to her toes.
"Easy there, Sabrina," I warned as she began thrashing a bit on the
couch. "Remember, it can always get worse. In fact..."
I reached under her ass and twisted the base of the dildo still
stuck firmly in her ass.
"Now, where were we? Drat, I seem to have lost my place. Best to
start again."
Fifteen minutes later, I buckled the binder strap back around her
newly-softened feet and roped her ankles over the arm and down to the
feet of the couch.
"Having a good time?" I remarked to her still-squirming form as she
shuddered violently in the midst of what I presumed had become a
continuous orgasm. "But wait, there's more!"
I reached behind her back and unbuckled her hands still wrapped
around her torso, then pulled them over her head and tied them down
to the couch just like her ankles.
"Hmm, a little snug," I said as my hands slipped under the bottom
edge of the straightjacket. "Better loosen a few straps back here;
there, that's better."
My cream-slicked fingers crept up her waist until they found the
tweezers around her nipples.
"Nice and slow," I said as I began easing the tiny metal ring down
the arms of one of the clamps, slowly releasing her nipple from its
blood-deprived prison.
"And again."
I stood up, tossed the clamps onto the coffee table, and headed
toward the kitchen.
"Dinner will be ready in about half an hour. Do try to keep
yourself amused until then.
God, I liked doing that to her.
A second later, I shortened my prayer to "I like her."
--Sabrina--
The vibrator that had shaken, stirred and eventually tortured my oh-
so-sensitive bud finally stopped. Despite the perturbing presence in
my rear orifice, I was able to catch my breath and calm down. My
hallucination-drenched mind danced along a bright and colorful
horizon created by an excess of pleasure, and I welcomed the peaceful
darkness offered by the hood.
When the batteries in the second dildo died, I stretched out as much
as my bonds would allow--which wasn't much--and relaxed. I was
exhausted, and quite convinced that I would not need, much less ask
for, another orgasm until at least one year had passed. There was no
way to reach a middle ground with Geoffrey. Too much was never
enough.
I was about to fall asleep when I felt him untie me. When all ropes
were loose, he freed my legs from their leather casings, and helped
me up on my quivering feet.
The expression on his face when he removed the hood told me I didn't
look my best. Well, I felt awful. Flushed, bloated, covered in
sweat, and in urgent need of a bath.
Geoffrey must have followed the same train of thoughts, because he
brought me to the master bathroom as soon as dinner was finished.
While the large tub was filled with warm water, he stripped me of the
leather jacket and its accessories, and adorned my nakedness with
only a pair of wrist cuffs made of light, shiny metal, each
ornamented with a small ring.
Once in the tub, I quietly waited for him to tie me up while
enjoying the warm sensation of water on my bruised body, although it
was only up to my waist. When I heard an unexpected ruffling of
clothes, I couldn't help turning my head, and was astonished to see
Geoffrey naked and ready to join me.
Old Archimedes was right. As soon as he sat behind me, the water
crested over my breasts. Yet he let the faucet continue to run.
Worse, pressing his hand on my chest, he forced me to lie down on
him, locking my legs under his to prevent me from slipping. The
level of water came dangerously close to my mouth.
"Put your hands behind me," he finally said before connecting my
cuffs with what I assumed was a short chain. What I knew for sure
was that once the full weight of his body was pressed against my
hands, I could no longer move.
Nor talk. He turned the water off, but not until my mouth was fully
immersed. And the slightest move of my head would now prevent me
from breathing through my nose. The thought should have been scary,
but his presence was all the assurance I needed. I closed my eyes
and decided to enjoy the bath.
--Geoffrey--
I let Sabrina relax completely before I began softly soaping her
various body parts, my hand slowly whirling across her arms, chest,
torso, hips and thighs, then between her legs. She squirmed ever so
slightly, but only enough to cause small ripples in the water.
Very good, I thought to myself. Her body is learning patience, not
to mention prudence. I wondered if her mind was following suit. It
was hard to read Sabrina; when I felt like she was on the verge of
storming out in disgust, I wasn't sure if she was upset because I
didn't go far enough. I tried to be strict without trending
psychotic, but it was a fine line. Better to stay on the sane side;
as if sanity could even be mentioned in the same sentence as our
little hobby.
I decided I could get very used to cleansing her like this every
single night for the rest of my life.
I lifted her head out of the water, unclipped the chain connecting
her wrists beneath me, and pushed her into a sitting position.
"Can you stand?" I asked as I did likewise.
She could, and did. I helped towel her dry, then she followed me to
my bedroom.
"Lie down and spread out. I'll be right back."
I dashed downstairs to fetch the jar of udder cream. An hour later,
its entire contents had been firmly massaged into every pore from
neck to ankles.
"Can I trust you without cuffs tonight?" I asked as I pulled back
the covers and prepared to join her in bed.
But Sabrina was already sound asleep.
