A Lady in TrainingJeannie is the picture of a successful career woman of the 90's. On the surface she appears to have everything under control. The perfect job, perfect home and the perfect husband. Inside she struggles desperately with her fears of being unfulfilled, by her work, her marriage and her sexual life. Frustrated with her "Plane Jane" life, she frequently slips into a fantasy world where she finds excitement in playing the role of a sexual submissive, a bound and helpless slave. At first her fantasies fill a void in her boring existence. They both frighten and excite her. But as their intensity increase they begin to take control of her life. She begins a desperate search to regain control. But does she really want to? This is, after all, still a dream world, isn't it? Does she want to rid herself of them, or make them real? Unfortunately for her she lacks the courage to take action.
One day at work she accidentally stumbles upon a co-workers dark secret. Darla, a mysterious young woman lives a secret life-style of fetishism and bondage. Jeannie is at first repulsed by what she sees as the "Dark Side" of bondage. But Darla is patient and takes the naive young woman under her wing and begins to teach her about "Love Bondage" One thing is clear however, though she can see what she wants, she still lacks the courage to make the commitment.
On a dark, dreary Wednesday afternoon, Darla and Jeannie were standing at the exit to the office, looking out at the low slung clouds.
"It's going to rain," stated Jeannie. "Yes, and its going to be a miserable night at home with nothing to do," expounded Darla. "Why don't you come over to my house for dinner, I know Jack is out of town again and you don't have anything else to do, do you?"
Jeannie thought Darla was pressing a bit with her last remark, but she was right. Jack was out of town again, and not due home until Saturday. Jeannie felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into Darla's life and she knew she wanted to learn more.
"Fine," she said, "But let's buy pizza for dinner, my turn to treat."
After dinner, a couple glasses of wine, and another revelation about Darla, (she liked anchovies), Darla suggested they go downstairs to the recreation room. Jeannie was getting nervous now. 'This is it,' she thought. She felt her palms grow wet, her heart started to pound in her ears. 'Darla was going to take her down to her dungeon!'
Darla turned on the light at the foot of the basement steps. Jeanie had barely made it the last few steps. Her knees were weak and wobbly. She instinctually closed her eyes at the sudden bright light. When she slowly opened them, she could not believe her eyes. In the middle of the room, right in front of her, was a pale green sofa. To her right was a recliner, on her left a 19 inch TV and VCR.
"What did you expect?" asked Darla, with a chuckle in her voice. "Stone walls, bars on the windows, chains hanging from the ceiling? I admit that would be fun," said Darla, "but remember I have raised three kids in this house. They may be gone now, but as far as they know, Stephen and I live a very dull, sterile life."
She led Jeannie to a wall closet, the door was open but in the bottom of the closet was a footlocker. "Behold my treasure chest" beamed Darla.
She took out a set of keys and opened the trunk. Inside, there were many compartments that Darla revealed, as she continued to remove the many wonders from the trunk. Neatly folded lingerie, shiny leather garments, coils of bright white cotton rope, fine chains, heavy chains, locks, handcuffs, leather straps, chrome and leather apparatus of unimaginable function. Jeannie was both excited, scared, tingling and tearful at the sights she was taking in, and the visions they were conjuring up in her imagination.
"Here are the tools of my perversion" stated Darla with some exclaim.
Jeannie was startled by her use of the word "perversion." She didn't believe she was perverted and told Darla so. "Perversion" Jeannie asked. "You are not perverted." "That may be what your lips say, but you still look at me and my lifestyle with shaded eyes." "You are right," said Jeannie, "but it's because I don't know any better. All I hear or see about bondage and sadomasochistic behavior is what I get from the media. Then you come along and paint this beautiful picture of two consenting people passionately exploring each other's limits and emotions. Something I have dreamed about for years. You tell me about your life and it excites me. I catch a glimpse of you with your guard down and it shocks me, which is real?" "This is real." replied Darla, picking up a neatly wound coil of white cotton rope. "This can be as innocent as a clothesline, holding the morning's wash, or, this can be a crotch rope wound tightly around a young woman's waist and, pulled up snugly between her love mounds."
Next, Darla picked up a pair of bright, shiny chrome handcuffs. "This is real!" she shouted. "These can be the instrument of the law that cruelly and rightfully imprisons the man who forces himself on a woman without her consent. Or, they can be the instruments of sexual surrender that a lover uses to bind his helpless partner to the headboard of their bed while he uses his tongue to bring her to the peak of orgasm. These are the tools," added Darla "Just like foreplay is a tool to bring about an end - love making." "And who are you, Tim the Tool Time girl?" asked Jeannie. They both laughed. Now at ease, Jeannie looked into Darla's eyes and said,
"Tim the Tool Time girl, please teach me how to use these tools." "I thought you'd never ask," said Darla. "Let's start with something simple," said Darla.
She took one of the coils of rope and unwound it. The coil fell to the floor.
"Seems like a lot of rope for such a simple job." "All the better to tie you up with, my dear." replied Darla, sneering with her best Snidely Whiplash impression.
She moved behind Jeannie and took her arms.
"Place your hands palm to palm," she commanded.
Jeannie obeyed. She wound the rope around the wrists several times then went crossways between the hands at right angles to the wrap. This cinched off the tie. A tingling feeling started in her hands and was slowly moving up Jeannie's arms, to her shoulders. It was not painful, but a feeling like a prickling sensation. When it reached her chest and breasts, her nipples began to harden. She felt embarrassed at this. She was glad Darla was behind her, because the thin bra and pullover sundress she wore did little to hide the excitement her nipples were now announcing. "Done," declared Darla. "Test it out."
Jeannie began twisting and turning her wrists. She had a surprising amount of movement left in her arms. "It's not too tight." she said. "Actually, it's even comfortable, I like it!" Darla moved in front of her. "The thrill is in knowing what you can't do." she said as her hands swiftly moved to cup Jeannie's breasts.
She stopped short and did not touch them. That didn't matter, the message went immediately to Jeannie's brain and triggered her pleasure zone. Now she was starting to realize the helplessness she could only fantasize about before. 'The things she could do to me and I would be powerless to stop.' she thought.
"Can you do something else to make it more, you know, restrictive?" Jeanie asked form out of nowhere. "Honey, you can't imagine what I can do," replied Darla.
This further excited Jeannie. Her breathing began to quicken. Jeannie had no lesbian fantasies, she had never and did not want to be intimate with a woman and hoped that was not where this was leading. Jeannie did however have a journey she wanted desperately to take. If Darla was the price she had to pay for passage, she though she was prepared to pay it.
The next step was to tie her elbows. Darla wrapped several coils of rope around Jeannie's arms just above her elbows. Each coil pulled them closer and closer together. "Will your elbows touch?" "How should I know?" "Few people are that limber," replied Darla. "It took months for Stephen to train mine to come together." "How close are they now? My shoulders are starting to hurt," "Then I will stop, they are about 2 inches apart," replied Darla. Jeannie, drinking in every moment of this first-time experience did not want to miss anything.
"Go for it." she cried.
With one final tug, Darla squeezed her elbows into each other, then cinched off the knot and tucked in the loose ends.
"Good, bondage is always neat and aesthetic, no loose ends," she said, as if Jeannie could see behind her.
The effect on Jeannie was instantaneous. She could feel her arms, shoulders and hands merge together as if one. She tried to move them from side to side, but found this much more restrictive. 'Much better.' she thought, though the ache in her shoulders told her this was not a position she wanted to be in for a long period. Darla turned her around to face a full-length mirror. She was stunned to see her front view. It was hypnotizing. She looked as if she had no arms at all. But, the most exciting and embarrassing detail was her breasts. Jeannie was above average in size, but not large by her own standards. She had always envied her sister who had a 38D cup. She remembered when she was 16 and her sister, 2 years older was always complained about this burden of big boobs. "Give 'em to me," Jeannie had always told her. "I'll show you what they are good for." Jeannie loved it when men had fondled her breasts. Her nipples were large and very sensitive. When they were dating, Jack had joked he could make love to her nipples for hours, and Jeannie had loved every minute of it. Those sensitive nodes were buttons hot wired directly to her love canal and never failed to get her hot. Jeannie had never been into masturbation, but had learned even her own touch was stimulating. Now, in her current state, every movement rubbed her breasts inside her bra and dress, which were stretched to the limit. The buttons on her bodice looked like they were going to pop. 'Darla had better stand clear, she thought, if one of these things pop off, it could be deadly!'
The sight of her breasts in the mirror was a shock, with the elbows and shoulders drawn back. Her boobs looked twice their size and were standing straight up and thrust out beyond belief. No miracle of engineering Playtex could make would surpass this. "Wow," Jeannie said. "If Playtex could duplicate this, they would make a fortune."
"They tried, but this one's a little hard to wear for 18 hours, cross my heart," Darla replied. They both laughed. "This is all you, too," said Darla as she reached for the four buttons on the top of Jeannie's bodice.
Without a word, she undid them. One did pop off and bounce off the mirror. Jeannie was stunned.
"It's bullet proof," joked Darla.
Jeannie laughed also; it broke the tension, and the lump she was feeling in her throat at the boldness of Darla's moves. She finished with the buttons and then reached for her bra. It was a front closure type. Darla popped it open, using only one hand with the swiftness and skill of a high school varsity quarterback in the back seat of a Chevy on Friday night. Jeannie's breasts bound out over the material. They were still covered by the turned down bodice of her dress but stood out even more now. The feeling was actually a relief and Jeanie took a deep breath.
"There," said Darla. "That position can be hard to breathe with a tight bra on. Feel better now?" asked Darla.
"Yes." replied Jeannie with a sigh of relief, both physically and emotionally.
"This is getting more interesting by the minute, what's next?" Asked Jeannie.
"Boy, you are eager!"
Once again, Darla went to her treasure chest and returned with another coil of white cotton rope.
"Spread your legs," she commanded.
Jeannie now completely under her spell, obeyed instantly.
"Yes mistress."
Darla moved in front of Jeannie, placing both hands on her strained shoulders, and with her face only inches from Jeannie's paused for a minute. She gazed directly into her slave's eyes.
"You learn quickly Slave. It will be a pleasure training you." Jeannie did not blush this time. The word slave did not embarrass her as she had expected. Instead, she felt comforted and warmed by it. The cocoon surrounding her arms felt like a shield protecting her. She welcomed Darla's web.
Darla pulled up Jeannie's dress. She wore only lacy, blue silk panties underneath. It was a hot day and she chose not to wear pantyhose. Darla doubled the rope and wound it around Jeannie's waist, just above the top of her panties. She looped the rope at the small of her back and pulled the ends down between Jeannie's buttock cheeks, and between her legs. She then pulled the ropes up and through Jeannie's crotch.
"I must be careful to position this just right," Darla said. "Nothing is more frustrating than a poorly positioned crotch rope." Then, she ran the rope under the waist rope and pulled up. Jeannie raised up on her toes.
"God, that is tight." she said looking down to see that the rope had completely disappeared into the fold of her love mound.
There was no pain, just the feeling of pressure. Pressure where a woman wanted pressure. Jeannie felt a warm glow start to burn within her. It emulated from her loins. Her breathing began to increase and she should tell she was getting hot.
"This is what you wear all day?"
"All this and more," replied Darla. "Don't you ever wonder why I never complain about anything in the office?"
Jeannie could feel the heat building in her lower body like a soft flame. She took a step. Wow! Then another. With each step, the rope moved back and forth, up and down, in and out, massaging her most sensitive areas. Her hips began to gyrate involuntarily. The feelings became more and more intense. She was getting hotter and wetter. The slow burn was turning into a blue flame.
"Not too fast slave," commanded Darla. "You do not have my permission to come."
Jeannie stared into her eyes.
"What, what, what do you mean, permission?"
"Nor do you have my permission to speak." While Jeannie had been lost in the wave of erotic feelings she was encountering, she had failed to notice Darla once again retreating back to the chest. She had something in her hand and has moving behind Jeannie. Her hand reached up and grabbed Jeannie's chin, pulling her head far back. Instinctually, Jeannie opened her mouth to cry out. Before any sound could be released, Darla shoved a small, red rubber ball into her mouth. It tasted awful to Jeannie. She tried to push it out with her tongue, no luck. The ball spread her jaws wide and completely filled her mouth, pressing her tongue down. She tried to scream, but her lips were sealed by the gag. The ball gag had a leather strap through it, which Darla buckled behind her neck.
"Bite down," said Darla.
Jeannie obeyed and the ball compressed, giving her jaws relief. As soon as she had done that, Darla pulled the strap on the ball gag tighter by one more notch. This pulled the gag deeper into her mouth and behind Jeannie's lips, which could now close over the red ball. "Very good, you took this well," spoke Darla, who had now moved back in front of Jeannie. "Now you look and sound like a love slave should. But we are not yet done."Next, she produced a wide leather collar. This was all moving way too fast now.
"Mmamhmphmp-mahmp." was all the sound Jeannie could muster.
That was supposed to be a protest. But, Jeannie realized as she made the sounds that had she not been gagged, she would not have protested; well, not too seriously. She felt the wide band of leather encircle her slender neck. She felt the snugness on her throat; she felt the collar press every inch of skin like an expensive leather glove that conforms to every curve of your hand. Darla buckled the back of the collar, first one notch, then two, then three, then a pause and Jeannie heard a small {click}. A sound that did not register in her consciousness at that moment because her brain was too busy taking in the overwhelming flood of emotions coming from all sides now. But hours later, she would remember that tiny metallic sound.
Next, Darla produced a long chain. Long is a very relative term. Three feet to be exact. On a football field, three feet is very short; in a bathtub, three-feet is quite long. When Darla snapped the hook on one end to the D Ring on Jeannie's collar and attached the other end in a similar manner to the heavy oak arm of the overstuffed couch in the middle of the room. Three feet suddenly became the total measurement of the radius of Jeannie's world. Jeannie carefully walked around the couch, keeping the chain tight, but not testing it. She slowly measured her world. She still did not tug hard on the chain. She thought she might break it and her world would shatter. She did not want that. She was warm. Her body tingled with excitement. Every movement of her legs caused the crotch rope to slide slowly through her love passage. Sending shock waves through her hips and down her thighs. Every movement of her arms and chest caused her breasts to move under her blouse. Her rock hard nipples stressed out against the fabric gliding over them, teasing them and making them beg for more.
She closed her eyes and drew a dark black velvet curtain around her New World. Outside, she knew it was raining, but she could no longer hear it. Inside, she knew the bright ceiling light above her was warming her face as she raised her closed eyes up, but she could not feel it. Outside of this New World, she knew the room held a sweet heavy smell of lemons, probably the furniture polish Darla had used. The basement had been filled with many fine old pieces she would remember later. But now she could see nothing. Her body was here, all around her, but it seemed somehow detached. Jeannie could see a light in her mind's eye, a very dim light. It was at the end of a long tunnel, no - it WAS the end of a long tunnel. And she was moving quickly toward that end now. Suddenly, she reached the end and abruptly stopped. She looked out over the edge and saw herself from above standing in the middle of the room bound and gagged as she was. Tethered to the couch with her three-foot tether. She saw how her breasts rose and fell hard with her deep and quickening breathing. She saw the pulsating, involuntary movements of her hips. She saw the beads of sweat on her own forehead and looked into the closed eyelids of this girl on the chain. Under them, she could tell the eyes were racing back and forth, ever quickening their motion.The focus of her vision drew back as if the director of this movie called for a wide-angle shot. She saw Darla walk out of the room into another part of the basement and then, in only a few seconds, return. She placed some objects on the chair opposite where Jeannie was tethered and reached into her skirt pocket for something else. She pulled her hand out just stopping inches from the edge of Jeannie's world. She held out an object, about three inches long, made of light colored wood in each hand and then walked directly into the front door of Jeannie's world. The sound of crashing glass filled Jeannie's ears. The sweet floral scent of Darla's perfume rushed into Jeannie's flaring nostrils. Blinding light filled her wide-open eyes and much faster than her eyes could adjust to the light and the reality of seeing again, her minds eye grasped the image before it.
"Clothes pins!" she screamed into the gag. But the bright red ball, now blended with her lipstick, absorbed her every word.
Darla's eyes took hold of Jeannie's as she spoke slowly and confidently in a cold, menacing tone.
"You are learning a lot about pleasure, but you must also learn that the more aroused we become, the hard line between pain and pleasure shrinks to a thread and eventually fades to a whisper of smoke," spoke Darla.
Then, Darla's hands reached into the center of Jeannie's newly violated world. Her fingers parted the center of her unbuttoned blouse and turned back the lapels, exposing Jeannie's heaving breasts. Then, her fingers laid to rest on each shoulder and slowly, with each fingertip traced a thin winding path down her breastbone, onto her chest, and onto the soft upper flesh of her bosoms, moving in a slow, zigzag motion, moving ever closer to her diamond-hard nipples.
Inside, Jeannie's brain, her conscious mind was screaming to get out, to be heard over the clamoring overload of emotions filling most of Jeannie's brain cells. "Oh, my God, no, no!" her inner voices screamed. "I don't care what I said before, I am not a lesbian, I am not willing to do this in order for you to experience your dark fantasies! The thought of having a woman do sexual things to me is against everything I have ever believed in!" Her mind cried out. But, Darla had not heard. So, her subconscious launched a new wave of attacks to get Darla's attention. Jeannie suddenly began seeing visions of Darla and her lying on the carpet. Darla had her head between Jeannie's legs and 'Oh, oh, no!' Jeannie thought. 'This is not what I want, this is going too far!' Her stomach suddenly began to react to the episode her subconscious was playing out on the big screen for Jeannie's entire mind to see. All at once, Jeannie felt the urge to throw up. A lump was climbing up her throat. She lunged forward at the waist in an involuntary cramp and then, almost too late, realized - the gag. That big, red, rubber ball buckled tightly between her teeth and behind her lips. If she threw up now, she would certainly choke, and would Darla notice? Could she unbuckle the gag and free her in time, would she even try? Jeannie tried to push the ball out with her tongue and then her teeth. She bit down hard. She managed to compress the ball some, enough to get some cool air in around the sides. The combination of the air and the concentration she had devoted momentarily diminished the threat of the lump in her throat. Just when she was about to regain a sense of reality, a sensation of pain, joy, heat, cold and ecstasy set her right nipple on fire. She opened her eyes to see Darla's mouth encircling her nipple and sucking on it like a famished new baby. Jeannie tried not to look at what was happening to her, tried to blot it out of her mind. She had to; she could not deal with what was really happening to her. Was this what she had wanted? Was this what she had brought upon herself? Once again, her real mind began to close down, being overcome by the pleasure her body was feeling. The heat building in her lower body was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. If she did have an orgasm, she feared it would blow her head off!
Her subconscious began to take over again, trying to rationalize her involuntary passions. Those were not Darla's lips on her breasts, they were Terry's, or was it Jack? The hand now pulling on the crotch rope around her waist, it must be Brian, or maybe it was Richard, he had such strong hands. The thoughts of these lovers, both imaginary and real helped her mind survive the next few seconds until the lightning struck.
Two bolts of white, hot lightning emanating from the tips of her breasts shot through like a freight train and descended straight to her inner thighs. Her eyes flashed open and looked down to see the two tan wooden clothes pins. Now locked on each nipple. Darla now stepped back a few feet to let her slave enjoy her new torment. Jeannie shook from side to side, her boobs bouncing sharply. The clamps jerked and twisted her nipples but did not come off. After the initial shock, she no longer felt the pain, only great heat and pressure. More like someone sucking hard and using moderate force with their teeth. Jeannie had felt worse sometimes in their passionate moments when Jack had accidentally gotten a bit too rough. She had liked it then, but Jack had always spoiled it by stopping and apologizing instead of just backing off a bit and continuing on. Something told her these little teeth were not going to back off a bit! As if to read her mind, Darla spoke.
"You will get used to them quickly, but I warn you, they hurt twice as much when you remove them!"
Suddenly, Darla's face went blank and she looked at the ceiling as if she heard something. She backed away from Jeannie to the chair on the other side of the basement room. She looked straight into Jeannie's eyes and spoke a single phrase.
"You are on your own now, the choice is yours, remember, all yours."
Jeannie's glassy eyes watched in amazement as Darla walked to the chair at the opposite end of the room and picked up the small bundle she had laid there earlier. A black leather strap about 18 inches long with a blue rubber ball impaled in the middle of it. Darla spread her jaws wide and inserted the ball in her own mouth. She buckled it far tighter than her own, she guessed. Next, she unbuttoned her blouse to the waist. As the two halves of the shirt opened about two inches wide, it revealed a line of flesh from her neck to her navel. Transgressing across that line was a fine gold chain at the center of Darla's chest. The ends disappeared under the material, still covering her breasts. Jeannie knew where the chain went, or at least she thought she did, or she guessed she did. Oh hell! This all seemed too weird. Darla's life was like an open book to Jeannie. Why then was this such a secret?Next, Darla picked up the handcuffs she had also placed in the chair. The key was no where in sight. Then, as she turned she saw it dangling from the breast chain. 'Very cute,' thought Jeannie. 'Darla is still living out her own fantasy.' With the calmness of a mechanic assembling, a wheel bearing, Darla placed the first cuff on her left wrist and closed the shackle. She slowly tightened it, paying no attention to the click, click of the ratchet until there was no slack left in the cuff. Then, she placed both hands behind her back and Jeannie heard the click, click, click of the ratchet, 5, 10, 12 times. Then there was total silence. Just two bound and gagged women staring at each other in a small room somewhere in the suburbs of a conservative mid-western city where nothing strange, nothing kinky, and certainly nothing as sexually perverted is ever supposed to happen. After all, that was the law, Jeannie thought. Suddenly, she expected the county sheriff to walk down the steps and point his finger at both of them and say, "No, no, no!"
Unfortunately, Jeannie was not going to be that lucky. The doorknob on the basement door clicked open. Jeannie heard the creek of the hinge and footsteps on the carpeted stairway. She tried to distinguish if they were a man's or a woman's, tall or short, heavy or skinny. You know, all those things Indian trackers are supposed to be able to do. But, Jeannie had only 1/16 Indian blood and the carpet muffled any distinguishing sounds. One, five, ten, Jeannie counted the steps. 'How many steps are on a stairway anyhow?' she thought. A hand appeared around the corner of the stairwell wall. A man's hand!
"Darla, I'm home early, the softball game was . ."
Stephen's words stopped in his throat. He swallowed hard as his eyes met Jeannie's.
"r-r-rained out."
The rest of the sentence spilled out onto the floor. He stood frozen in his tracks by the two most beautiful creatures his eyes had ever beheld. Stephen, who had appeared to be as cold and hard as stone when Jeannie first met him, was now as shy and bewildered as a school boy at his first school dance. Jeannie was about to bear witness, though, to how the power of a bound woman can turn any schoolboy into a giant.
Darla walked over to Stephen and stood in front of him with her back to Jeannie. She pressed her body firmly against his. She ran her lips, or actually, the bright blue ball held between them up and down his neck as if she was kissing him. She drew a line on him with the ball, down his neck and chest. She knelt down on one knee and nestled her face into his stomach and then moved to his groin. Stephen placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and lifted her up. The expression was now that of the cold, hard Stephen. The schoolboy was transformed. His hand reached for and found the small chain traversing across Darla's partially exposed chest. He grasped it firmly but did not pull it taut. Darla sprang to attention. Now, on her tiptoes she stood perfectly still. It was she who was now transformed into the meek schoolgirl waiting at one end of the gymnasium, hoping the cute boy would pick her to dance. Stephen bent down to kiss her with his mouth open wide around the ball. Their kiss lasted for only a few seconds. Then, Stephen pulled back and stared down into her eyes. Neither blinked. Darla sunk to her knees before him and bowed her head. Darla then turned her head and looked at Jeannie. The gaze seemed to look right through her. She looked back up into Stephen's eyes and her head nodded. Stephen kissed her gently on the forehead and then on each eyelid. He relinquished his hold on her nipple chain and he stepped back.
Even before Stephen turned and began to walk toward Jeannie, her heart kicked into high gear. All her nerve endings began to transmit again as if turned on by a switch. As Stephen approached, she looked him over, up and down. He was a rugged and handsome man, very muscular. He wore a dirt stained baseball uniform. It fit very tightly, and the rain it had soaked up, made it cling to him "everywhere." Jeannie's eyes stopped at that "everywhere." Stephen had never been in a situation this erotic, this tempting, this exciting, and his excitement was making itself be shown where Jeannie's eyes were now locked.
Jeannie took a deep breath. She pressed firmly against all her bonds. Her arms were held tight. She wanted them, she needed them. But why? To push Stephen away? Or to grab him and pull him to her breast. She honestly did not know which. The heat in her loins generated by that damned rope rubbing all the right places, coupled with the fire in her nipples had brought her emotions to the point where they were in control of her body, not her mind.
But wait, her mind kicked in. 'He can't see the crotch rope or the clothes pins on my nipples because they were hidden by my dress.' For if Stephen had seen all of her charms, displayed the way Darla had imprisoned them, he certainly would have blown his cork.
Stephen moved behind her. His hand reached to touch her cheek. Her nipples cried out for his tongue, her love mound now pulsating under the crotch rope, wanted to be set free to engulf his tall, throbbing manhood. Her mouth desperately wanted to spit out the rubber ball that imprisoned her voice inside and press her burring lips into his.
A battle for control was going on in her mind. Steven took control of the battle by delivering the first blow. "Whack," Jeannie leaped as Steven's hand came crashing down onto her tight buttocks. "Whack," before she could recover, another blow. One minute, a slow passionate lover now Steven had turned into a Satanic Torturer! "Whack," another, and then another as the blows came crashing down. At first Jeannie tried to rationalize why he was doing this. She had never been spanked before. Had she done something wrong, had she violated some sacred rule of bondage? Stephen stopped for a moment. His hand now slowly but roughly spread over her tight ass cheeks and squeezed and kneaded each. He lifted her skirt higher to give him a better view of her bright red globes of fire. "Beautiful, just fucking beautiful," he said to himself. He barely noticed the crotch rope impaled so deeply in the fold of her cheeks. The touch of his hand on her ass was like a hot branding iron tearing into her tender flesh, yet she felt no pain from it. Instead it felt cool and smooth. She longed for more of his touch.
"Whack," he was back at it again. "Whack," now she hardly moved with each smack of his giant hand. "Whack," soon she lost count of the blows. Soon she no longer cared why she was being spanked. The heat in her ass had spread deep, deep into her pussy and that fire was rapidly taking control of her very being. The rush to put out that fire would consume her every nerve ending and Jeannie had no idea why.
Her body, now engulfed in heat from her burning flesh desperately needed relief. Her ass, her arms and breasts, now racked with the pain of her bonds, were actually amplifying her passion. The pain had turned to pleasure, and with each twinge, as she fought the ropes on her arms, the more excited she became. She was, as she had heard her dad say jokingly many times about the family's favorite pet, "A bitch in heat."
What the "bitch" inside her needed most was now standing before her. A tall, handsome, muscular man with a warmed soft hand caressing her cheek, a haughting twinkle in his eye, and a now clearly visible bulge rising and falling with each heartbeat, inside his tight, wet athletic shorts. Stephen now stood before her, his hand moved behind Jeannie's neck and with it he pulled her close. His leg moved between her thighs, his chest covered hers like a glove, her breasts were pressed into her ribs, and the clothespins on her nipples dug deep into her hot, sensitive flesh. The pain turned pleasure was excruciating. It alone would have pushed her over the edge had he not kissed her neck. At that moment when he bent his head to one side to take in the soft side of her neck, below the left ear, Jeannie looked over his shoulder to see Darla.
She was on her knees about five feet behind Stephen, staring longingly at his back. Her breathing was hard and fast. Saliva dripped from her ball gag. She was trying to reach her breast with her outstretched fingers from behind her back but the handcuffs yielded little slack. All this turned her on - big time.
Suddenly, her mind began to clear and Jeannie saw this scene as if she were remotely detached from it. Finally, at last, she had almost everything she wanted, the excitement, the fear, and the physical and emotional stimulation of the bonds on her body; the feelings of helplessness and surrender. The strong, dominant man with the soft touch and the hard tool ready to give her the relief that her trembling, heat ridden body cried out for. In her wildest fantasies, she could not have imagined a more exciting set of circumstances. Her minds eye could not have painted a more beautiful picture. But, the picture was flawed. Something was very wrong here. A great painting is priceless not because it looks nice, but because it conveys the soul, the feelings, the passion of its artist. Jeannie was not the painter of this picture, Darla was. Just whom did Darla paint this masterpiece for, Jeannie or herself?
As much as she wanted to continue, as much as her body pleaded with her to continue, as much as she wanted to wrap the warm trembling folds of her flesh around Steven's hardness, she could not. Jeannie, if nothing else, was a very strong willed woman. She might go to any extreme to satisfy her own pleasure, but she would not do it at the expense of another woman's lover. As she looked at Darla's face, a tear ran down her cheek and Jeannie realized what her friend was sacrificing for her.
With a swift jerk, she stepped back from Steven. She began shaking her head from side to side was fast as she could. She screamed the words "No, No," into her gag but all that came out was "mmmph, mmmph."
Realizing the futility of her screams, she tried to communicate with the only thing she had left, her eyes. She looked deeply and pleadingly into Steven's eyes. 'Please doesn't do this to me. Not here, not like this, not in front of her.' Then, her eyes shot over to Darla. If Jeannie's glance had been laser beams, Darla's eyes would have been burned out of her sockets. She continued to stare at Darla with first a deathblow, then her expression turned into a plea. 'Please don't do this to me. I know you think this is what I want, but I can't go through with this,' they said.
Steven turned and looked at Darla. In an instant, their eyes communicated. Darla nodded her head vertically only once. Jeannie saw the exchange of looks and the nod. "Yes," she took it to be.
Steven stepped to the shelf on the wall and picked up a short-bladed knife. He moved behind Jeannie and placed his hand over her gagged mouth, pulling her head back. 'Wait a minute!' she screamed inside her head. What the hell did this mean? 'Yes, release me, yes take me, yes put me out of my misery! If you are going to release me, there was a pair of scissors on the counter. Darla showed them to me. Why did he need the knife and why are you pulling my head?' Her mind screamed, 'My God girl what have you done to yourself?' Just when she was sure she was going to die, Stephen's intent became clear. Jeannie felt his hand at the small of her back. It encircled the rope that was knotted there. The crotch rope that was buried so deeply within her soft, trembling folds of flesh, imprisoning the tight center of all nerve endings leading directly to her brain. He was going to rape her! And, after all, it was rape now, wasn't it? She was no longer a willing participant of this. She had cried out, "No, No!" It didn't matter if he had heard it or not. She had said No! 'Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into now? Oh God, please help me, please save me from myself!' She cried within her tortured mind.
Jeannie felt the pull at the crotch rope grow excruciatingly tight, and at the same time her wrists, which she did not know had been tied to the crotch rope, were pulled down tightening the strain on her shoulders. Suddenly, she heard a "snap," and the crotch rope and wrists went slack. Another "snap," and her elbows slipped their bonds and moved apart for what seemed like miles. She twisted her wrists and felt the ropes slide off and fall limply to the floor. Steven released his hand from her head, which he had placed there to steady her because he did not want her cut by the knife because of some sudden and unexpected move. Her hands, now free, shook involuntarily like the head of a wild stallion, just freed from the noose. Her hand brushed the front of his shorts. She felt his hardness. Her hand stopped and her fingers groped. She felt his shaft, long and stiff. He was excited by her beauty, or was it the power he knew he held over her that turned him on? The fingers of her other hand found him and together they surrounded his shaft. She felt him tense and heard his breathing quicken.
Steven had only been in the basement a few moments, Jeannie thought. Already he was ready for sex. She suddenly remembered an old joke her grandmother had told her not long ago. "When it comes to sexual arousal, men are like microwave ovens and women are like crock pots." Well, Jeannie thought, 'my crock-pot is going to explode if I don't get this lid off it.' Her muscles clenched the crotch rope, buried deep within her thighs. Steven moved a step back, slipping out of Jeannie's grasp. She turned to face him. He stood there still holding the knife in his hand, the front of his shorts straining. 'Someone was building a tent inside of those shorts and this pole is gonna rip something.' Jeannie thought. 'Get the fuck out of here girl, you are still in danger!' cried the voice within her brain. Steven, seeing the terror in her eyes, tried to relieve her anxiety by tossing the knife to the side.
Jeannie was already in motion though and took no note of Steven's good will gesture. She flew past the startled man with a move that would make a Notre Dame running back envious. She bound up the stairs taking two steps at a time. With each leap, the rope between her thighs dug deeper into her innermost secrets and tormented the very heart of her sexual nerve center. She reached the top of the stairs, her heart pounding 90 miles an hour. Her breathing was hard and fast. Her legs trembled. Her nipples ached with their torment. She looked to the left - the back door. She looked to the right - a hallway with a bathroom. She did not know what she needed most, escape or relief. The brain lost this argument with the body.
She locked the bathroom door and stood over the toilet. She tore at her skirt, lifting it up to get at the crotch rope. There was no knot there, only a loop. She reached around the other side. She found the knot but her trembling hands could not loosen it. Her fingers clutched the rope and pulled, harder, harder, deeper, deeper. Her other hand probed under the rope and tried to slide under her panties. They were soaked now. She looked up and saw her face in the mirror. Tears rolled out of her eyes. Sweat covered her forehead. And that ball! That giant red rubber ball strapped between her teeth. She had never been so turned on by anything that looked so menacing. It owned her, it controlled her. It commanded her to come. She ripped open the top of her blouse, popping one of the lower buttons. Jeannie looked down at her imprisoned nipples. Her chest was heaving; the clothespins were jiggling wildly with every uncontrollable breath she took. Her knees were growing weak; she was pulling on the crotch rope as hard and as fast as she could. She was so, so, hot, so close. If only she could reach just a little further.
She looked again at her nipples. Suddenly, Darla's words came into her head. "They hurt the most when you take them off." Her free hand grabbed both clothespins at the same time. Squeezing one and half jerking the other, she pulled them both off at once.
The sensation was like jumping belly buster into a vat of hot wax. Shock waves rolled from her breasts to her belly and deep inside her pussy. The waves came, and came, and came. White lights flooded her sight. Her eyes, ears and all sense of feeling were overloaded. After what seemed like an eternity, the world went white.
Jeannie awoke sprawled out on the bathroom floor. She did not know how long she was out. She felt exhausted, drained. She had never in her life had an orgasm like that before. Or, was it a dream? No, the taste of the ball gag in her mouth awoke her to reality. She reached around behind her head and unbuckled it. She had to pull to get it to pop out of her mouth. Her jaws ached, but not as much as her nipples and her poor swollen pussy. With steady fingers, she untied the knot and pulled the ropes out of her body, slowly, only to find they had been cut and would have fallen out, had her body not held them so tight. A shiver hit her as the cool air reached her wet panties. She removed them and threw them into Darla's bathtub.
After a few minutes of catching her breath, she unlocked the bathroom door and ventured into the house. She reached the top of the stairs, still no sign of Darla or Stephen. She opened the basement door and could clearly hear from the muffled moans and groans downstairs that her hosts did not care to be disturbed. She looked quickly around the kitchen. She saw her purse and keys on the table. She started to toss the ball gag on the table, but paused and stared at it. It seemed a part of her now and for reasons she did not know, she stuffed it into her purse, grabbed her keys and rushed out the door towards her car.The ride home was long and dark. Jeannie did not pass many cars nor see many people on the street. This reassured her because she was beginning to feel ashamed of her behavior. At an intersection, a young couple leaned over to look with puzzlement into her car. Then they looked at each other. The lady blushed and they both laughed. At a stoplight, a handsome young man pulled up along side of her and smiled. She looked at him and he winked. The man spoke to her but she could not hear through the closed windows. 'What is wrong with these people? Haven't they ever seen a woman in a BMW before?' At the last stop before her house, she saw a friendly face. It was Mr. Wilson, a kindly old man whom she had known for years. He was out walking his little dog, Chi-Chi. He recognized her and smiled as he approached her car from across the street. Jeannie raised up to look at the rearview mirror. She wanted to make sure the street behind her was clear for the old man to cross. Then she saw it! A black line across her throat at the bottom of the mirror. Her hand went to it. 'My God!' She was still wearing Darla's thick black collar! How could she have not noticed it? She felt along the front for the buckle. Instead, she found the large chrome ring riveted to the leather. Her hand traced the 2" wide leather yoke to the buckle in the back, beneath her hair. Yes! She had it, and began to tug on the strap. But, it did not budge. The buckle held fast against fingers now desperately clawing away at it. Her eyes moved up to see Mr. Wilson now only 10 ft. away. His eyes began to squint, as she could tell he was puzzled by what he saw, or thought he was seeing. "No, no, he can't see me like this. How can I explain?" Jeannie spoke out loud with an irrational trembling in her voice.
In an instant, she stomped on the accelerator, flew past Mr. Wilson, startling him and throwing him to the pavement. As she disappeared into the night, one last look in the rearview mirror, she saw Mr. Wilson sitting up on the pavement. Chi-Chi was licking his face. She had escaped, for now.
Jeannie slammed the front door shut as she entered the big, empty house. She threw her purse across the foyer. It slid across the marble tile and crashed into the leg of the antique wash stand, spilling its contents. She ran to the wash stand and stood directly before the large mirror above it. She stared at the collar. It was wide, very wide with a large chrome ring anchored firmly in the center of her neck. It spoke loudly and boldly to Jeannie as if the words were branded on the front, it said - "SLAVE". A blush ran over Jeannie's face. It ran down her chest hardening her already sensitive nipples and ended up deep between her thighs in a tingling shiver.
Quickly, she took hold of herself; she turned and flipped her long, dark hair aside. She grabbed hold of the collar and twisted it. It was on so tightly that she could not budge it an inch. She wrenched her neck and arched her shoulders as far as they could strain to get a glimpse in the mirror of that buckle. It was only jammed, she told herself. She knew she could free it if she could only see it. Then, her horrified eyes saw clearly what her mind could not have guessed, but something deep inside of her knew all along was there. A padlock. A small, but sturdy gold padlock. Her fingers encircled and probed every inch of it and the buckle it went through, but Jeannie knew it was no use. She looked down to the floor at the spilled contents of her purse. She saw the red ball gag at her feet. She picked it up. She looked at herself in the mirror. Jeannie stared at the collar and the bold steel ring. The collar spoke to her. "You are my Slave and I am your Master." Jeannie brought the ball gag to her mouth and pushed it in behind her teeth. She buckled the strap behind her head, pulling the gag inside even deeper. Her eyes were now as red as the ball she now gripped with her teeth. Those eyes, now filled to the brim with tears, rose to look into the mirror. "You are my Slave and there is no escaping me!" Tears now poured from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. A shiver ran up her back, making her nipples harden and her breathing stagger. Her hand rose to brush aside the tears. She looked down at her finger now soaked. Not with tears of sorrow, but at long last, tears of joy!
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