As I neared the state border I turned off the highway and towards the golden arches of an all night McDonalds. When I'd planned the route the month before this had seemed the best place to stop, food bought from here would still be warm when I parked up to change the plates.
I parked towards the back of the lot close to one of the lights. I figured no one would be likely to park close by, I'd taken a lot of trouble to ensure that she was tightly gagged and that she was tied in such a way that she couldn't attract any attention. Still it paid to go to a little extra trouble and it also reduced the chances of some passer by spotting my home made tags. I still felt nervous and unsure, copying a stranger's tags so that you don't have to be cruising a neighborhood with out of state plates is smart thinking and pays off when the jobs over and the cops are looking for clues. Yet I couldn't help feeling that this would be the night the idiot got his car stolen or his wife was rushed to hospital and that every cop in the state would be after that license. I was at most twenty minutes from the layover when I could switch mine back, I hoped to stay lucky that long.
I got out and pantomimed looking for my wallet so that I could hang around near the trunk. Nothing, not a peep. I have to say that I started to worry, maybe she'd choked or something. She was a smart girl, a college student, she must see her situation, bound and gagged in the trunk of a car being taken who knows where, her best chance is when we stop. Then, just when I was about to panic and open the trunk I heard it, a faint muffled cry, so soft at first I thought it was imagination. I listened and there it was again full of desperation and hope, saying just one thing "Help me."
Satisfied that she couldn't be heard more than a few feet away I "found" my wallet and headed towards the doors. She was smart all right, she'd waited until she thought I'd gone before making any noise. A good idea spoiled only by the tiny amount of noise she could make. In some ways I was pleased, she was living up nicely to my expectations.
The McDonalds was almost deserted, and was just about to switch to cooking to order. My fellow patrons consisted of a couple of truck drivers and a state trooper. I have to confess that threw me at first, but from conversations between him and the staff it appeared he stopped off here every night after his shift. I ignored him and carried on. I got them to refill my coffee flask for "later" and took a coke and the quarter pounders they had left as I didn't want to wait around for them to cook my order. The trooper said his good-byes and it was with some relief that I saw him drive away. Once my order was filled I too hit the road nerves on edge but keeping to a nice legal fifty as I headed towards the layover.
I ran through all the events of the past few days again to see if there was anything that could tie me, Richard Cody successful thirty-something computer journalist, with Caroline Conway the struggling eighteen year old psych major currently in my trunk.........
I can't exactly say when the idea of taking a sex slave first came to me. I suppose every man who has ever been lead on by a woman harbors certain fantasies, any guy with a female boss, any guy stood up or embarrassed or humiliated. What I suppose made me different from "any guy" was that I had been provided with the means, both financially and practically to carry out those fantasies and make them real. I could have a woman who couldn't say no, one over which I would have total control.
I suppose in reality this started six months ago. At the time I was dating Samantha Prescott, former model and an assistant editor at Vogue. I must confess that I had fallen, she was lovely of course, but she also had an elegance and charm which completely won me over. I suppose I read more into the relationship that she did, certainly I was ready to commit. I was at that time building a house in New England and contemplating the Great American Novel. Then out of the blue she called everything off, the next time I saw her was in a tabloid escorting some baseball star to the Grammies. When she finally answered my calls she as good as told me that I was just a fashion accessory, that literary men had been a feature of the Fall season and that now that Spring was here she and her friends preferred more "physical" escorts.
About a month later one of my editors called and suggested that I do a blab piece on computer porn. The newspapers and television were in a feeding frenzy about girlie pics on bulletin boards and S&M on the internet. Apparently a company in San Diego was marketing an S&M Multimedia CD-ROM, and had just won a court battle to allow it's distribution. With some reluctance I'd agreed, chiefly because the Samantha thing had caused me to fall behind with my column. A few days later the CD arrived. By then I'd done the few thousand words of condemnation required by my middle class publisher but I thought I'd try it anyway just to get some specific quotes.
In the game you play "Dak Forest," a porno film actor. When the costar of his next flick "Nympho Nurses From Hell" is kidnapped by a Colombian drug cartel, Dak has only three days to rescue her and save the movie. The script was poor, the video clips included painful acting and in the course of the game just about every female character ends up bound and gagged either naked or in some kinky outfit.
Part way through the game a character is introduced called Samantha Pressman, she is the editor of a fashion magazine who is kidnapped by the cartel and turned into the nymphomaniac sex slave Kitty, who acts as Dak's sidekick from then on. To anyone who knew her the similarities between this character and Sam Prescott where overwhelming, the actress even looked a lot like her. I found myself playing the same section again and again. Sam kneels before Dak and begs him to whip her, spank her, humiliate her. Dak of course refuses, but that and some of Sam's heavier scenes kept me hooked on the CD weeks after my article was printed.
I started to ask myself if it was really that difficult to take a woman and make her your sex slave. I had a secluded house with a large basement that I'd originally designed as a computer lab. I had few friends who lived nearby so impromptu visits were unlikely. In addition I had the money and the time to make it work. Suddenly it became clear what I should do. I couldn't take Sam of course, the history of our relationship was too well known. For a wild second I even considered taking "Kitty" and driving her back from California. In the end I realized that I needed a woman with whom I had no contact, a complete stranger preferably from some distance away so that the police investigation wouldn't get too close to home. I looked at a map and selected a college town about three hundred miles from my home. Colleges mean young female students a good starting point for the selection of a slave......
By now I'd reached the turnoff I'd been waiting for. This lead down a tree lined lane into a wooded hollow. I had come across the place by accident whilst scouting out the area a few months before and could hardly believe that I'd found somewhere so perfect. I'd spent a couple of nights here to assure myself that this wasn't the local lovers lane, or the favorite route of poachers. In the end however I had to accept that it was what it appeared to be, a rough dirt road leading to a small wood, and that the place was deserted at night.
I drove carefully into the hollow, this wasn't the night to slide into a ditch or have a flat. I assured myself that we were far enough from the road and that no one was watching. Finally I got out, went to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Two large, frightened blue eyes stared back at me over the mass of Ace bandage that covered her lower face. The bandage was tight and her cheeks bulged out over it, in places there was a flash of silver where the bandage failed to cover the duct tape underneath. She made a mewing sound and started to struggle, I carefully checked her bonds. In a sense we were both acting out our roles, she as victim, I as kidnapper, we both knew she couldn't get free. She was dressed in the same outfit she had worn that morning to her Saturday job, a fairly expensive blue blazer and skirt, a white blouse, heels and stockings. I had pulled her long blond hair back into a kind of ponytail and secured it with some rubber bands, it cascaded onto her back like a horses mane. I had considered removing the blazer before tying her but this power dressing had reminded me of Samantha, so instead I had added to the ensemble. Her ankles where cuffed, good solid black leather bondage cuffs bought from a sex shop in New York, in many ways they matched her pumps and proved I could "Accessorize." At the moment they were fastened together with a padlock and linked by a long leather strap to her wrists. Smaller straps clinched her legs together just above and just below the knees effectively immobilizing them. I had done the same at her elbows but had used duct tape to secure her wrists and hands. Even her fingers where covered in a mass so thick it appeared that she was clutching a bowling ball. As well as securing her hands the mass also stopped another leather strap from biting into her wrists and it was this strap that was also secured to her ankles.
After checking everything was secure I removed the strap that formed the hogtie. She groaned with relief and started to straighten her legs. I grabbed her by the arms and pulled her clear, then slung her over my shoulder and carried her round to the open passenger door and placed her inside. Closing the door I entered via the drivers door. For a second we sat looking at each other, then she started to struggle and I went back to the job in hand.
"Stop that!" She turned and looked at me, her eyes framing a silent question.
"No I'm not going to kill you if you don't force me to. If I'd wanted to kill or rape you I could have done it back in that alley and saved myself a lot of trouble. Now stop struggling, you've been alone in the trunk for the last three hours, if you couldn't get free then what chance do you have with me here?"
She stopped and sat watching me with a nervous expression on her face.
"Look, I have a proposal to make, we've got a long way to go and things are going to get quite unpleasant for you unless we can come to some arrangement." She continued to listen, her large accusing eyes watching me. "You probably need the john and you must be thirsty. I have a drink for you and some food. For you to eat it I have to remove the gag, you can scream all you want out here and no one will hear you, all you'll do is piss me off, clear?" She looked out of the car window at the quiet secluded woods.
"Is that clear!" I snapped.
She turned back to me and nodded, her ponytail bobbing behind her.
"Ok, I want you to promise that IF I remove the gag, you'll let me replace it again when it's time to go. You'll be quiet, you'll eat the food then we'll head off again." She looked at me incredulously and I began to realize just what expressive eyes she had.
"I suggest you think about this, you weren't able to stop me gagging you in the first place, and you won't be able to stop me now, all you'll do is force me to hurt you. Besides, cause me trouble now and we simply don't stop until we get were we're going, I know which of us will suffer most." I could see the calculations in her eyes, here was definitely a bad place for her with no chance of rescue. I could see her thinking that the next stop may offer more possibilities and that she shouldn't blow it now. At length she nodded.
"So let's check that we're clear on this. The gag comes out, no screaming or carrying on, you eat then you let me gag you again with no trouble?" Again she nodded so I told her to bend down whilst I undid the bandage. Pushing the ponytail away I worked on the knot then I unwound the bandage and dumped it on the floor. She started to protest when I started pulling the duct tape free but at last I removed it and the dense sponge rubber ball that packed her mouth.
She licked her dry lips, "Water?" she croaked. I put the straw to her lips and she started to drink greedily.
Finally she stopped and looked up at me, "Why are you doing this?" she asked, looking at me with those big expression filled eyes.
"Shut up," I said, "I didn't say you could talk."
"You didn't say I couldn't."
"You'll learn," I said and reached for the sponge ball.
"No!" She said quickly, "Look I'm sorry. I'll be quiet, promise!" Without a word I held the first burger to her lips and she started to eat. There continued a strange silence until she was finished. I reached back, plucked the toy bag from behind her seat and started to root around inside. At length I found what I wanted and pulled out her collar. Seeing it she started to protest but then she caught my eye and sat meekly as I locked it around her neck. Then I pulled out a leather gag, this time she couldn't stop herself.
"What..."
"It's your gag."
"But I thought...." She nodded towards the sponge ball.
"That design is very effective but the adhesive from the tape damages the skin. This is a better long term solution. Now open wide.."
"But..."
"Are you breaking your promise?"
"No but..."
"Then open up!"
She sighed resigned to her fate and opened her mouth to let me put the gag inside, then she bent forward as I secured the straps. The gag had a wide padded leather section that covered her lips and a strap that tightly fastened around her head. I could tell that she'd worked out that the ball in her mouth was a lot smaller that the last one. She made a number of muffled sounds that were much quieter that they should be. I think she thought that I'd overestimated the gag's effectiveness and she could exploit that later. I reached into the bag and got the pump. At first she didn't recognize what it was and it was only when the ball in her mouth started to inflate that she realized the truth. Eyes wide and bulging she started to protest, her whines becoming steadily more muffled as the ball inflated. When I was satisfied that she was gagged as effectively as before I replaced the pump in the bag and withdrew the padded leather blindfold that matched the gag. She spotted this and wanted nothing to do with it she shook her head, struggled and whined as I strapped it in place. I pulled back and she sat there shaking. Deprived of sight she felt even more vulnerable. Her almost covered face, gag and blindfold scanned the car as if waiting for something to happen. I left the car and walked around to the passenger side with the bag. Opening the door I swung her bound legs out and clipped a short length of chain between the D rings of her ankle cuffs. I removed the padlock joining the cuffs and then the two leather straps leaving her legs free but hobbled at the ankles. Then I secured another chain to her collar to act as a leash and pulled her upright. A little unsteadily she followed me to a tree where I secured the leash to a low branch.
"I'm going to leave you here while you pee is that clear?"
She tried to say something.
"The panties?" She nodded, "No problem." She squealed as my knife cut them off. I watched her squat against the tree then returned to the car. In the trunk next to the spare wheel were my license plates. With some relief I removed my clever fakes and replaced the legal ones. I watched while she shivered by the tree. I wasn't concerned, even if she somehow slipped the leash she couldn't get far in a wood blindfolded and hobbled. At length I collected her and returned her to the trunk. I re-secured her legs and hog-tied them back to her wrists. She moaned and struggled back to her role as victim.
"Hey sweetheart." Her leather covered face turned towards me. "I'm not a bad guy I know it can be boring in here. I have some entertainment for you." With one quick motion I slipped the vibrator into her pussy and turned it on low. A strangled moan came from behind the gag and she started to struggle as I secured her knees and trapped the buzzing intruder inside her. The moans and groans continued but the hogtie deprived her of the movement necessary to remove it, if of course that was her intention. Her hips moved as much as they could and muffled moans came from behind the gag. Once again I tucked the blankets around her for sound insulation and shut the trunk. In the eerie silence of the woods I could still hear her faint moans. Satisfied that the vibrator, with it's long life batteries, would keep her distracted until we returned home I returned to the drivers seat and drank my coffee....
It had been fate that delivered her to me. I discovered that a small software house was holding a product demo in the town I'd selected as my hunting ground. A small startup company made up of young graduates, they where based near the university. I was preparing another blab piece on innovation in the computer industry and so had an excuse to go, it seemed like a good opportunity to scout around. I think the company had been surprised when I accepted, I was the only recognized hack that had bothered to attend. In any case they were all over me, I got a private demo and enough disks and promotional material to supply the whole press corps. They were keen young men desperate to make a good impression. One even showed me the local night life and over some beers he told me of the best student hangouts, information which I stored away for later.
The next day was to have been the main demo and having seen the package already I had intended to send my apologies and use the time to check out prospective targets. In the end however I elected to turn up for at least the first half hour. They had hired a couple of girls from a local modeling agency to look pretty during the presentation. Neither was exactly what I was looking for, but on a whim I hung around until lunch to practice my stalking skills. The girls headed off downtown to a small restaurant where they met with friends. It was here that I first saw her, tall, shapely, blond, Caroline. With a decent makeup job and some reasonable clothes she could have made a good living on the modeling circuit. As it was she had a fairly poor dress sense, which reduced her from stunning to just good looking. I knew then that this was the one I wanted. Not only could I train her as my slave I could eventually mold her into the kind of escort to make the Sam Prescotts of this world seem ordinary.
After her meal she said her good-byes and left. Once outside I followed her back to a local department store, here she worked as a cosmetics saleswoman. She seemed to be fairly junior, supplying free makeovers to women brought to the counter by more senior staff. I went to a rival company's stand and made some excuse about needing a last minute birthday gift. The girl was helpful and I managed to keep her distracted enough that I could watch Caroline across the floor. She had a certain intrinsic elegance that shone out despite her dowdy looks. Trade was slow and from the banter I picked up between the other saleswomen it became clear that Caroline was a student working here part time. Realizing I couldn't continue to hang around without attracting attention I purchased enough perfume to keep the girl happy then left and headed off for the rest of the day.
I had bought a late model medium sized domestic sedan to use during the abduction. My researches had shown that this was a popular type and color and indeed I saw a number as I drove around. In the end I selected one and followed it to a small car park. Here a guy got out and went into an office building. I noted his plate then headed back to the store in time for closing. I followed from a distance as she left work and headed down a set of back alleys to a place where a small car was parked. I nearly lost her as she drove away but fortunately the traffic slowed her until I could catch up in my car. I followed her to a small apartment building near the university. I had caught her first name in the restaurant and from the bell box I saw that she was Caroline Conway and lived in 23C.
The morning she was working in the store as usual, during the night I'd formulated a plan. First I hired a cell phone from a local company that were happy for me to take it for a few days when I claimed mine was damaged. This gave me a local number. I had spent most of the previous evening filling a small notebook with cryptic notes and I put a woman's name on the cover. I had noticed that Caroline carried a small black leather purse with her at all times. I guessed that they may be available from the store where she worked. Another quick "birthday gift" shopping trip and I had it's twin together with a woman's billfold. In the stores toilets I assembled my decoy. I placed about $300 in the wallet and dropped it into the bag, then added some old keys, some change, the notebook, a pen and some of the perfume I'd purchased the day before. I figured it would weigh about right and that she may not immediately realize it wasn't her own purse. I assumed that she would eat lunch in the same place and again fate was with me. I sat on the next table just behind her as she sat and gossiped. I paid for the salad I bought and while the waitress took their order I quickly swapped purses, stuck hers under my coat and left. I explained to the cashier that I was waiting for a friend who hadn't shown and that I was off to find out where he was. Would she hold my table for fifteen minutes until I got back? A large tip ensured she would. I knew I had little time, there was a key and heel place down the block and a hardware store a little beyond that. Out of sight I removed her apartment and car keys and ensured they had no ID. I stopped at the heel bar first, dropped off the car keys and paid for a duplicate set. With the excuse that my lunch break was almost over and I had shopping to do I left them with the promise that the keys would be ready when I returned in five minutes. Then I went to the hardware store where I got the apartment keys done quickly. In their toilets I quickly went through the rest of the purse. I was relieved to see that she had no bottles of medication or cards indicating a serious medical complaint. What she did have was a large number of unpaid bills, and of course a motive to disappear. Collecting both sets of keys I headed back.
In all it had taken me ten minutes before I was back in the restaurant. The decoy had worked well, and it was still where I left it. If I couldn't get the purse back to her she would find the decoy and assume some mistake. If she dialed the number on the notebook she would reach the cell phone, and I had a plausible story prepared about my absent minded wife and her talent for mislaying her purse. I would then arrange a place for an exchange. I doubted she would be suspicious but I was still relieved that she and her friends ordered coffee and were too distracted to notice when I successfully switched her purse back.
I tailed her back to the store to ensure this wasn't a college day, then went to her apartment. I rang the bell first in case there was a roommate or a boyfriend, then went up and scouted things out. I discovered that she was a psych major struggling to meet the demands of the course and of her day job and that she apparently lived alone. She had awful dress sense, seeming to choose baggy clothes that hid her figure and colors that didn't suit her. Although this was puzzling, her wardrobe did provide me with details of her clothes sizes that would let me order some of the more exotic outfits before I collected her. The absence of a boyfriend and estranged letters from the family assured me she wouldn't be missed for some time. I was almost tempted to wait and take her then, but I didn't want anyone to place me near the scene so instead I decided to wait a month and returned home to prepare....
The dungeon was close to finished. I had managed to do most of the work myself and the little extras I'd had to get my contractor to do (like putting water into the small basement room) were easily explained by my love of photography. Before collecting my model I went to New York on a fetish buying spree. Gags, cuffs, whips, chains, harnesses, toys and a reasonable fetish wardrobe started to fill the dungeon. I managed to pick up some reasonable strong secondhand furniture to liven up the place, the only problem now was collecting Caroline.
And that wasn't going to be easy. I mapped out her movements as I knew them. Up at seven, out at eight thirty, work by nine, lunch twelve to one. The problem was not what she did but the fact that everyone else did them at the same time. At least a dozen people left her apartment building within fifteen minutes of her every day. As I looked into it in detail it began to seem that there was not a moment when I could reasonably expect to have her alone long enough to get her and make off unseen.
First her apartment was on the third floor of a small student tenement, there was frenetic activity all the time. Though I had keys to the apartment and could easily ambush her there day or night there was no method I could use to get her out of the place unnoticed. I had no doubt that I could take her, but someone was bound to mention the guy with the "drunken girlfriend" or the dude with "the big box" when the police started asking questions. I could wait until the early hours but then the back door leading to the car park would be locked so I'd have to take her through the front doors. I determined that it was never quiet enough for that to work.
The apartment's car garage was above surface and at the back of the building. Between 7AM and 8PM there was a back exit open to allow access. Unfortunately it was clearly visible from the road and worse it was a short cut to the nearest bar. Therefore an ambush in the garage wasn't on either.
On TV of course it's all terribly easy, the heroine leaves her apartment and gets into her car. Suddenly the menacing bulk of the bad guy looms behind her and a gloved hand closes over her mouth. In the next scene she's unconvincingly bound and gagged on her own back seat as the bad guy telephones the hero to arrange a meet. Of course the heroine always drives a big domestic car, if she were wise and had bought a small compact Japanese model like Caroline she would have only needed to worry about midget and contortionist kidnappers.
The only real opening was that she left the store slightly later than everyone else. I could in theory jump her in the back alleys leading to her car. Unfortunately MOST of them were well used short cuts, which was probably why she felt safe using them. The only exception was an alleyway close to the store, here at that time I could expect to have her alone for perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes. Unfortunately the alley was too narrow for a car, it did however lead into an wider alley linking two blocks. This wide alley was quiet enough that I could get perhaps five minutes parked there before I congested traffic; but simply put it was too busy for me to leave a car there during the kidnapping. For a while I played with the idea of stashing her in a dumpster while I went for the car, but even with the best gag in the world she'd make too much noise for me to leave her the twenty minutes I needed. I started to wish I knew more about drugs so that I could knock her out, but I knew that unless I was very careful I could kill her. What I needed was a way to overpower her and to make her invisible for perhaps twenty minutes.
Then fate again stepped in. During another shopping trip to NYC I made the mistake of taking a short cut through a particular alley. About half way through I became aware of someone by my side, before I could react someone pushed something into my side and it was all over. A cop told me later that it was a stun gun, an electrical device that delivers the victim a debilitating charge. I figure I was out of it for perhaps ten minutes, which had been enough time for the guy to make off with my wallet. The police had got there so fast because a bum sleeping in the alley had flagged them down. I had to confess that I hadn't noticed him, and neither it seemed had my attacker, as the cops caught him at the next block. I slipped the bum a C note for his help before heading off to my destination. I was more careful from then on, but it got me to thinking.
Over the next few weeks I practiced my capture technique using an inflatable doll part filled with sand. Counting in my head, I choreographed, handcuffing the wrists, gagging the mouth, securing the legs. When I could bind my unresisting vinyl victim in under three minutes I returned to the Big Apple and hired a woman who advertised as a "Professional Submissive." She made it clear that she wasn't into "rough stuff" but apparently rape fantasies were common to both her male and FEMALE customers.
We worked out what she called a "scene." She would enter her bedroom as a "tired business executive." I as a passed over rival would jump her, bind and gag her then "punish" her for getting "My promotion." The plot was lame but apparently a popular one with her other customers, she offered several others but all I wanted was to refine my technique on a real struggling body. After the first time I made some changes, she was to make as much noise as possible at all times, she would get a hundred dollar bonus if she kept me from tying her for two minutes and I was allowed to tie her as I wanted. The first couple of occasions she was up by two hundred bucks but after that it became easier to subdue her. I tried out several types of ties and gags looking as much for the type of movement and sounds the victim could make as for the degree of immobilization or silence. Finally I was happy I had found what I wanted so I packed my equipment and started the long drive that would end with Caroline.
That Friday I followed her around. I kept fairly clear of the store as it had security cameras and store cops but I attended her regular lunch break. Her two model friends were off to a trade fair in Chicago, bad news it seemed as she needed somewhere to stay for a few days. The landlord was apparently evicting her on Monday and she needed to move that weekend. With a put upon sigh one of the girls offered a spare key to her apartment but made it clear this couldn't be a permanent arrangement. For a second I considered rethinking my risky plan in favor of taking her there but I figured with my luck this apartment would be even worse than the current one. What was clear though was that I needed to move quickly, for some reason and despite the fact that I had intended to kidnap her the next day I felt compelled to move things forward. Trailing her back to the store I slipped off down back alleys to the place where she parked her car. Then I stole it, simple when you have the keys. I'd already been warned about the "bad" side of town so that was were I headed. I parked in a back street and left the car open with the keys inside before making it to a more busy street and flagging down a cab. I had been away from the car perhaps five minutes before the cab drove past the back street. By then the car had gone, destined for the chop shop or perhaps a new identity, like it's mistress.
I was dropped off in the town center and recovered my car from the car park. Next I drove out to her place. The block was as quiet as it got as I walked up the back stairs in my disguise. I was wearing jeans and a hooded track suit top and had a couple of books under one arm. As the "instant student" I went into her apartment unobserved. To my surprise the contents of the rooms had been packed into a number of largish boxes. Only a little food and the pillows and bedding were still out. Good fortune having smiled on me again I started to move the boxes down the back stairs to my car. Several people seemed to be moving at the same time and it became easy to loose myself coming in and out. I ensured that I was relatively unobserved loading the car and hung around in the stairwell to ensure no one saw me enter her apartment. It took perhaps twenty minutes to do the whole thing. I searched afterwards to ensure that nothing valuable was left behind but deliberately left the place untidy. As a final gesture I left the final notice on the table together with enough cash to cover the back rent. I reasoned the super would find it on Monday and assume she'd moved out. I'd put the boxes on the back seat of the car but I put the pillows and comforters in the trunk as added sound insulation.
Driving to a secluded spot I got ready for the final assault. Under the track suit top I put on a harness to which were clipped the items I would need quickly. Looking back I wonder why I did this, my "appointment" with Caroline wasn't for some time and the harness was bulky. I reasoned it was best to get used to it so I didn't appear odd when I approached her. I drove back to the town center with the intention of hiding behind the dumpsters in the alley until she left work. Taking a large cardboard box half full of equipment to the alley I quietly moved one of the dumpsters a little to allow a six foot gap between them.
I had just unpacked the box when a sob alerted me to someone's approach. Dumb as it was I peered around the dumpster rather than hide immediately. It was her! I couldn't believe it, she was walking down the alley sobbing quietly over an hour too soon! I panicked, there were just too many people around at this time for it to work, the store would be closing in a few minutes and the alley would fill with her fellow workers. The cold realization hit me that I'd overplayed my hand, that after all the planning and expense I'd been just a little too impatient. I couldn't take her now, but if I didn't she would discover her car missing and the things gone from her home. There would be police reports, questions, in essence Caroline Conway would become too noticeable to just disappear.
I had failed and beyond that I was mad. Mad with Samantha for starting this thing in the first place, mad at myself for my impatience but above all mad at her, at Caroline, for having the ill manners to be early the one time it really mattered. Then before I knew what I was doing I was standing next to her. "Caroline?" I asked and as she raised her tear-filled eyes to mine I pressed the stun gun into her side and pushed the button. She made an "Uhhug" sound as her contracting diaphragm forced the air from her lungs. A pained and surprised look spread over her face as she started to fall. I directed her on to the open sleeping bag I'd just spread between the dumpsters, I looked down the alley both ways and saw no one, then I proceeded on autopilot.
The handcuffs were first, unclipped from my harness and then fastened, one pair on the wrists the other on the ankles. Next came a dense sponge ball apparently designed for people to practice games near glass windows. It was quite unyielding and despite the lack of resistance it took some pushing in. I sealed it there with two quick strips of duct tape, each starting along the jawline, crossing over her lips and ending on the opposite cheek. Again I checked for people aware that this alley would be at it's busiest in a few minutes. Fortunately I was still safe so I continued to cover her mouth with strip after strip of tape. Then following the plan I strengthened the bonds before she could move again. Four leather straps, two above and bellow the elbows, the same at her knees. I quickly removed the handcuffs from her ankles and from the box pulled out a pair of bondage cuffs already locked together with a padlock. I strapped them on her ankles and she attempted to kick me and made the first sounds since the stun gun was fired. The sound was soft but still wasn't quiet enough, turning her on her side I gathered her hair into a single bunch, holding it with my right hand I used my left to move an elastic band from around the right wrist on to the hair. A couple of quick flips and the hair was bound into a pony tail and kept out of the way of the next stage.
I could hear people leaving the shops down the alley. I thought of leaving her like this but she was still too noisy. Quickly and brutally I wound an elastic bandage around her head and over her taped lips. I knew it was really tight but at that moment all that mattered was the effect it had on her cries. Not only were they more muted, they also became lower and more guttural as she had to do more with her throat. I could see shadows moving in the far end of the alley. By now it was too late to escape. I would have to hide and hope that my idea would work. Rolling her on to her stomach I used a spare strap to hog-tie her wrists to her ankles. Satisfied I threw the other end of the sleeping bag over her and zipped it up. After some fumbling it was zipped, because she was near the bottom of the bag it closed over her head. Quickly dumping the other rubbish from the box, I used the top of the sleeping bag to pull her head up and pushed the box down over her upper body. Dumping half a bottle of cheap whiskey and some rubbish on the bag I stood the half bottle strategically next to the wall and slid behind the dumpster.
She must have heard them because she tried to struggle and scream as the first people walked by. Of course she was too late, the passers by smelt the strong alcohol, saw the ripped sleeping bag and cardboard box and "saw" a bum not a kidnapped girl. Social conditioning being what it is the more sound she made the more she became invisible to the passers by. Just another street person best ignored lest they tap you for pocket change. I hid and watched, pleased that the plan had worked but still a little disturbed at how faceless society had become. As I crouched there I went through her purse, found a hastily written notice of dismissal from the store and understood the tears. Just before it was quiet enough for me to leave for the car, two of the women from the cosmetics counter where she worked stopped by the dumpsters. I froze convinced they had recognized something that I'd forgotten. In the end however they just lit cigarettes, and gossiped about how "that stupid bitch, Caroline" had pushed her luck too far.
Perhaps recognizing the voices she tried to struggle and scream again, one commented that the cops should lock such people away and they flounced off with a self congratulatory waddle. Looking down on her as she sobbed inside the sleeping bag I began to think that I could be doing her a favor and that of all the people she knew only I her kidnapper, her rapist, her MASTER really cared what happened to her. With this in mind I checked the coast was clear and opened the bag. The handcuffs on her wrists were already biting, cutting off her circulation. The extra strain from the hog-tie was making it worse, she must have been in agony.
I released the hog-tie and started wrapping duct tape around her wrists, when I had built up enough I removed the handcuffs and continued over her hands. I was able to force her to lace her fingers together with threats of a knife and taped her fingers into a solid mass. The result was that when I reapplied the hog-tie strap, it bit into the tape not her wrists. She seemed happy that the pain had stopped so I re-interred her in the sleeping bag and box. Then I piled other rubbish around her and went to get the car. That trip took me twenty minutes and it was with some trepidation that I approached the dumpsters again. I pulled off the box and was relieved to see her gagged face rather than the street cop I'd half expected. She was sobbing, huge tears ran down her face. Quickly I blew her nose and warned her to stop blubbing or risk suffocation. I don't know how many people walked past her as she lay bound and gagged in the alleyway, but the experience of being so helpless yet so close to rescue had filled her with despair. She gave me little trouble as I moved her from the alley into the trunk of my car. I quickly packed the blankets and pillows around her to further muffle her and to minimize the risk she could somehow pound on the metal of the car. Satisfied I quickly cleaned up, dumping most of the stage dressing for my "bum" in the dumpsters. I started to throw the whiskey in too but an impulse stopped me and instead I placed it where only an invisible man would look and left to take my prize to her new home.
Sitting there sipping the coffee and reviewing the past few weeks I felt the tension slowly drain from my body. I had her. Not only that but as far as I could see I had left no clues other than ones that pointed to her leaving of her own free will. Police don't handle missing persons cases promptly anyway because the majority of people turn up in the first few days. Seen from their point of view we have Caroline Conway, struggling student already being evicted who suddenly looses her job then disappears with all her possessions. Not a good candidate for being a criminal case. I packed everything away and started to put the pieces of her gag into the McDonalds bag along with the wrappers. At length I picked up a piece of tape with traces of her lipstick on it. The color seemed in some way wrong for her and it struck me as being a little odd that someone who made money applying makeup should botch her own so badly. Still this was a mystery I would have plenty of time to investigate at my leisure.
Starting the car I left the hollow and headed back to the highway. I was about four hours from home, a distance I intended to take in one go. I'd held out the hope of other layovers and chances of rescue to buy her cooperation, and I wondered how long it would be before she realized she'd been tricked, assuming that she noticed anything above the persistent throbbing in her crotch. Not that it really mattered of course as she didn't have a chance to complain. The rest of the drive was fairly uneventful, I stopped for gas once at a small self service station. If I had been unlucky I suppose someone could had driven up and heard her, but it was about 2am by now and the cashier and I were the only ones for miles.
It was about four when I pulled up outside my house. A stand of trees and a high brick wall shields it from the road so I could remove her without attracting any attention. Again I hobbled her legs, though this time she was more cooperative probably to speed removal of the vibrator that still buzzed inside her. Her thighs were slick with her cum, and the sweat told of her exertions. Taking the leash I lead her into the house and down into the basement. I'd left part of it unfinished so that the odd nail or hole wouldn't look out of place. Originally I had planned a large lab under my office but now that section of the basement was hidden behind a swinging bookcase in the corner. For now I locked the leash over an exposed beam and left her there. Racing upstairs I changed into my master's outfit, a cotton shirt, black leather pants, boots and matching gloves, after all my first act would be to dress my slave appropriately and the least I could do was reciprocate. I returned to the basement where she was trying the extent of the leash and screaming behind the gag. Without saying a word I moved the bookcase and stepped beyond. This space had been designed to be fairly large. Originally I had intended to surprise my friends with this room and so had kept it a secret.
That was useful now that it's purpose had changed, as it stopped embarrassing questions... At the far end I had built a small room with a heavy iron door. Inside it was quite spacious, enough room for a double bed, a chair, a table and a toilet. That was her cell -- the rest of the place could best be described as the dungeon. On one wall I had cemented in a steel latticework that stood out a couple of inches from the wall itself. This provided ample anchoring points for straps and restraints. The other wall had a number of large rings for the same purpose. Near the door was a locked steel cabinet and an old wooded wardrobe.
Going to the wardrobe first, I selected an outfit for her to wear from the clothes I kept there. The visit to her apartment had shown me that she was a conservative dresser. This outfit screamed slut and sex and was guaranteed to embarrass her. I had no doubt the kidnapping had rattled her, now I had to keep her hesitant, uncomfortable and unsure as I started to mold her as my slave. Most of the clothes here were off the shelf vinyl, leather and rubber stuff from the sex shops of New York. Being her first night, however, I went for something special. I'd ordered this ensemble from a specialist shop in LA, using the measurements I'd taken from her clothes. Their catalog had contained several more specialist creations, which I intended to order once I'd broken her in. Next I unlocked the cabinet a removed some restraints, a new gag, a pair of shears and a small riding crop then returned to the main basement.
By now she had given up struggling and just stood in the center of the room shifting her weight from foot to foot. I let her stew a little longer as I walked around and surveyed her fine body. Then I walked over and removed first her heels then the cuffs from her ankles. The sudden loss of height made the leash pull tighter at the collar and she whimpered slightly. I reached down, placed the shears against the hem of her skirt and with one movement cut it all the way to her hips. Of course I could have removed the skirt without cutting, but these clothes were her last personal possession, the last vestige of her personal identity. Destroying them was a symbolic act. The skirt was relatively simple, the jacket took more time, the blouse shredded in seconds. By now she was yelling and thrashing around, but the ever present bite of the collar kept her in check. I felt a little guilty cutting off her bra and garter belt, I loved lingerie, but accepted it had to be done. Finally I pulled off her stockings and she stood before me naked but for the bondage; her blindfolded face tracking backwards and forwards waiting for the next attack. Her breasts heaved as she sobbed silently. I looked at the matted triangle of her pubic hair, damp from the vibrator but still too thick for my taste, she had an appointment with a razor tomorrow.
Next I moved a small table close enough to her that she could reach it with some effort and placed the outfit on it. Then I cut the tape from her wrists and her hands before removing the blindfold.
She stood blinking as sight returned. Then immediately her hands flew first to the back of her head where the gag was secured, then to her neck and the collar. In both cases she found small padlocks making removal impossible. She murmured something then turned to face me. I flexed the crop and smiled.
"From now on I will call you slave or cunt, you will call me master or sir. You have no rights; I own you completely; even your body is mine; understand?" Her big blue eyes just stared at me incredulously.
"I want an answer slave, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" This time when there was no answer, I slapped her breast with the crop, she jerked to attention. I pulled the crop back as if I was going to strike her face, she held up her arms and cowered.
"Understand?"
She nodded.
"Good, lesson one, obey first time every time and you'll avoid punishment. If you don't you'll soon understand what pain really means. Clear?"
She nodded, this time the response was much quicker.
"You are here as a sex slave. As your master I will use your body as I see fit for my personal pleasure. You will obey me immediately and do the same for any others I designate. If you obey orders and don't try to escape, you will avoid punishment; if not, the severity of the punishment will increase. I won't kill you unless you threaten my life or my security, but push me too far and I can permanently disfigure you. Understand?"
Again the nod; this time however she was looking at the ground so I put the end of the crop under her chin and raised her head so that I could stare into her frightened eyes. I pointed to the clothes on the table with the crop.
"Put those on."
She looked at them. On top was a shiny black latex bustier; at various points the rubber had been ribbed to provide support, making it resemble a space age corset. She turned to me, and I could see that she was thinking about it.
"Put it on."
She continued to just stand. I had brought some handcuffs with me in case she was difficult. I was going to cuff her hands and punish her when suddenly I saw a better solution. I pulled the table back out of her reach and smiled. "We'll see how you feel in the morning." I said and turned towards the stairs. I was halfway up them when I heard her frantic mewing. She had realized that eventually her legs would tire and that she would be choked by the leash. I went back down stairs.
"Ready to cooperate?"
She looked at the floor, then nodded.
I offered her the bustier, but when she reached for it I snatched it back.
"First, dance for me."
She looked confused.
"Obey me first time, every time, remember? This is your punishment. I'm going to go easy on you this time. Now dance or I'm off to bed." Slowly she started to gyrate as much as the chain would let her. "Is that the best you can do? Sexy, slave, I want you to dance sexy." I didn't think she was really trying so I applied the crop to the sections that didn't move enough. She yelped a little but after about the first dozen she was doing the best she could. I could tell that the nakedness troubled her. Right now she would rather wear the kinky clothes than stay like this. Most of my blows had been to make her move her hands from breast or crotch. I figured if she wanted to touch them that much I should encourage her. I smiled, "I'm afraid that you've proved you don't deserve this fine outfit. If you want it then you are going to have to earn it piece by piece. Now cup your breasts and offer them to me. A muffled sound came from behind the gag. "First lesson!" I said as I settled back in a chair. She cupped her breasts in her hands and thrust her chest at me while all the time gyrating to some imaginary tune. "Now play with the nipples. When she hesitated I flicked the crop towards her. She sobbed but her hands slid up her breasts and her thumbs flicked the brown nubs which soon hardened before her. I tossed the bustier to her. "Slide it up and down your body." This time she complied quickly, making involuntary crooning sounds as the cold latex touched her hard, sensitive nipples. Finally I'd seen enough. "Ok now put it on." She struggled into it, all the time eyeing the crop fearfully. It fit her better than expected, forming a shiny second skin from just below her nipples to just above her crotch. It was so tight that her navel was clearly visible and her tits were trust up and out, making them appear even more prominent. The hard brown nubs of her nipples stood to attention just above the top of the cups and just cried out for attention. I began to regret not bringing some clamps with me. Still there was time for that later.
I held up a long black latex glove. "Play with yourself, you don't get it until you're wet." She glanced at the glove then at the stairs. Then, while one hand continued to stroke and fondle her latex covered breast and nipple, the other drifted to her clit where she started to finger herself. I looked at her, the eyes where now glazed and full of silent tears. I tossed her the glove. "Get off with it," I said. She looked up eyes full of both humiliation and confusion. Grabbing the other glove I passed it between my legs then, with one hand holding from the front and the other from the rear, I slid it backwards and forwards across my crotch. She looked on horrified and I was sure she would die rather than do it. Then slowly with hands shaking she copied my action dragging the slick glove backwards and forwards across her cunt until the surface was wet with her cum. I made her repeat the procedure for the second glove. Her hands were shaking when she slowly pulled the gloves up her arms. I made her continue to play with herself and the tactile stimulation of the smooth latex seemed to seize her. Suddenly she closed her eyes arched her back and started to play in earnest, oblivious to my presence. At first I was tempted to whip her, then I remembered the discomfort she had shown at my seeing her naked. Quietly I slipped back to the dungeon and took a loaded camera from the cabinet. By this time she was so far gone that she didn't realize what I was doing until I already had three shots. She stood there horrified at what she was doing and of the thought that it was captured on film. I seized on her confusion and quickly tossed her the latex stockings with instructions to put them on. I took more photos as she pulled them up her legs and fastened them to the garters of the bustier.
Next I passed her one of the five inch stiletto boots.
"Fuck yourself with the heel."
By now tears of humiliation and frustration were flowing down her face, she looked at the floor sniffed and brought the heel up to her cunt.
"You don't get the other one until I see you cum, understand?" She nodded and started to move the heel in and out. I snapped more photos, she stopped, sobbed and tried to say something.
"Keep it up," I said, "We don't have all night."
She tried to say something again. I brought the crop down on one of her exposed nipples. She let out a muffled scream.
"You'll get one every 30 seconds until I see you cum; now do it cunt or my god I'll make you suffer!"
She started in earnest ramming the heel in and out of her hole. True to my word I slapped her when the 30 seconds were up, after that though it was unnescessary. She bucked and moaned her upper thighs and the tops of her stockings now slick with her juices. Finally she shivered and groaned, I just tossed her the other boot.
"Put them on."
She stood before me a vision in leather and latex, no slut or whore could look more perfect. From the bondage elements of collar and gag, though the sheer kinkyness of the outfit to her juices streaming down her latex clad thighs, I surveyed my slave. Behind the shame and humiliation in her tear-filled eyes there still burned a trace of defiance, something I could break over the next few months as I molded her into my creature.
"If you had obeyed me first time an hour ago we could both have been in bed by now and you could have saved yourself all this trouble." She nodded, tears still rolling down her face. I tossed her some leather cuffs. "Wrists and ankles, NOW!" She put them on without hesitation all the while looking at me with those big eyes. I stepped behind her and fastened the wrist cuffs together before adding a hobble chain to the ones at her ankles. Then I removed the leash and lead her to the chair next to the small table. Using some of the straps I'd removed earlier I secured her to the chair. She was unresisting, all rebellion temporarily crushed by humiliation and shame.
I removed the gag and offered her a drink. She accepted then asked,
"Why me?"
"Because I wanted you," I said.
"But I ha..."
I slapped her mouth. She looked at me stunned. "Not I," I said, "Only a person can be an I. You are not a person, you're an object like any possession. YOU don't exist anymore and haven't done since the moment I took you. The only identity you'll have from now on is the one I choose to give you."
She looked up, terrified tears welling in her eyes again. "From now on you will refer to yourself as 'slave', understand. That's all you are for the moment, just a thing for my pleasure. I may give you another identity some day, but you'll have to earn it first. Say, 'I am a cock sucking slave slut.'" She shook her head, her self esteem denying this last humiliation. I brought the crop down hard on her right nipple, she yelped. "Say it!"
"NO!"
I spun the chair around. Now I had access to her uncovered cunt, and her legs were strapped to the chair where she couldn't close them. I whipped her exposed pussy.
"I am a cock sucking slave slut! Please, Master, stop..." she screamed, then started sobbing.
I pushed the ball gag I'd taken from the cabinet between her teeth and fastened the strap. Her brief show of resistance had crumbled, I unfastened her from the chair and lead her into the cell. There I fastened the collar to a steel wire attached to a pulley wheel on the ceiling. The wheel ran on a small track which lead from the bed to the toilet. I kept her hands cuffed behind her but removed the hobble. She lay on the bed sobbing. "Hey cunt." She looked up, "Just something to contemplate; I haven't punished you for your insolence back there. I have something in mind but it will have to wait until morning, you might want to ponder that." I closed the cell door on her muffled cries.
I don't think there has been a moment in my life that compares with the realization that I'd got her. My mind was full of possibilities, of the things I'd planed and of my slave. I fell to sleep that night with the image of my slave, bound, gagged and subdued in all her fetish finery burning itself into my brain.
I awoke full of life, reveling in my achievement. Although I'd read of many cases of sexual abduction (in fact studied many in preparation for this), no one had achieved what I had done. I had a pretty coed bound and gagged in my basement, kidnapped from a busy alleyway in plain sight of at least a dozen people.
I felt like a god, now at last I had a woman who couldn't say no, who wouldn't lead me on and then dump me as Samantha had. I chuckled to myself, for now she was my prisoner but soon I would start to train her as my slave. Slowly over the coming months, using torture, humiliation and sex I would slowly break her, destroying her identity, her self worth and gradually crushing her will until there would be nothing no mater how low or vile that she wouldn't do if I ordered it.
I gradually let the megalomania sweep over me, savoring every moment..... then I pulled myself back into line and started exercising the personal discipline expected of the master of such a beautiful slave. One feature of the house that had been in the design from the beginning was it's audiovisual distribution system. In happier times I'd intended it to allow Sam and I to access cable, satellite or video from any part of the house. It had proved extremely flexible and coupled with hidden cameras from an enhanced security system gave me access to any room in the house. Reaching for a remote I turned on the bedroom monitor and entered the security code that accessed the camera in Caroline's cell.
Caroline slept fitfully under the dimmed lights of the room. Her position had changed little since I'd left her. Her hair was tousled though still held in it's makeshift ponytail. A few blonde strands had escaped and lay on her pillow next to the damp patch where she had drooled past the gag. She looked so helpless that I was half tempted to go down and wake her, but I'd been planning this for months and could wait. With remarkable resolve given the circumstances I turned off the monitor, bathed, dressed and went downstairs.
In my haste to get Caroline inside last night I'd left the car next to the side door instead of in the garage. Whilst this wasn't a problem (the driveway has a gate) part of me wanted to get the car out of sight as soon as possible.
I backed the car into the garage then started to transfer it's contents into a small storage room at the back. Most of Caroline's sparse belongings were destined for the bonfire, I'd only taken them to support the idea that she had moved out. Some things however were more important, and as I stacked the boxes for later sorting I came across exactly what I'd been looking for, a small box full of her personal papers. Finishing up, I took the box inside and made myself breakfast.
The box contained the sorts of things you'd expect, High School diploma, family photo's, letters. The real find for me though were the diaries, about a dozen of them ranging from exercise books to pretty little things with brass colored clasp locks. The collected thoughts of a girl from her early teens to the present, invaluable stuff for her kidnapper. Ultimately these would be the skeleton keys that would allow me to unlock her mind and give me access to the deep personal places I'd have to violate if she was ever really to be my slave. For now however they had a more practical use.
The kidnapping itself had gone without a hitch. My "Bum" ruse had allowed me to take her in broad daylight surrounded by people. In addition the loss of her job and apartment had given her a good motive to disappear. For the moment her friends would think she was at home and her family would think she was still at the university. It was perfect. Unfortunately it was also temporary. Sooner or latter some friend would try calling her at home or family letters would be returned unanswered. Eventually the alarm would be raised. The police would investigate, and it could be that they would find something I'd overlooked.
Alternatively they could find a witness who remembered the strange student in Caroline's building on the day she disappeared or someone who could place a man in the alleyway that evening. I needed to buy time for memories to fade or better yet, direct people's attention away from that area all together. In short I needed letters, cheery postcards sent to favored relatives, excited jottings to friends all in saying the same thing. "I'm alive, free and happy living in another state." I had no doubt I could get her cooperation; apart from physical torture I controlled all aspects of her life from food and drink to when and if she went to the toilet. Eventually when she'd been conditioned to obey that would be unnecessary, but for now I needed information.
I needed a source from which I could verify birthdays and the existence of relatives. Whilst I intended for her letters to appear self absorbed and mention as little as possible that could be verified, missing a favorite aunts birthday could give the family a clue that something was wrong. Yet I had to be able to check her writings so that she could not pass a distress message in the letters. The diaries would be my verification. I started sorting through the books wondering how difficult it would be to break the spines and scan them into a database. Then suddenly I came across something odd. One of the pretty notebooks with the brass clasps had been forced. At first I assumed she'd lost the key though this didn't make much sense as the locks are principally decorative and a key from any of the earlier diaries would fit. Then I noticed that some of the pages had been torn out. The book covered summer of three years ago around the time of her fifteenth birthday. I decided to look into this later, for now however I divided my time between eating breakfast, reading her mail and watching "Caroline TV".
Her bound form was just as tempting as ever. She thrashed around on the bed in a feeble attempt to wiggle free. Then she spent about twenty minutes rubbing her mouth against the edge of the bed trying to work the gag free. Finally, realizing that escape was futile she lay back down and sobbed.
Looking down I found I was hard again. Summoning up my self control I managed to go to my study and knock off a quick thousand words on "Power PC vs. Pentium" for my New York publisher. In breaks for inspiration I continued through her mail and made a startling discovery. Caroline was the daughter of the REVEREND Charles Conway and his wife Judith. Quickly I paged through the photo albums until I found what I wanted. The family portrait was not inspiring, an older dour looking man, the picture of a bible pounding Baptist stood next to his younger dowdy, once pretty wife. He looked fierce and unbending, Judith looked down, the perfect picture of subservience. One of the reverend's eyes seemed fixed on the girls Caroline and her younger sister Anna, who stood with military stiffness before him.
Now Caroline's drab taste in clothes began to make sense. Suddenly I could also see a way to get her to write me those letters. It would require some planning, so I shelved it for now but the thought of it clawed at my mind and in the end I could resist no longer. I quickly finishing up the article, hurried to the kitchen and made her a light breakfast of cereal and coffee, then took it down to the dungeon. In one corner of the room was a large heavy wooden kitchen table I had bought at a garage sale. It had looked like the kind of thing grandma Walton used to bake pies on. For my needs numerous D rings were attached to the frame, legs, and top, giving it a more sinister purpose. For now however I needed it to be just a table. Pulling it into the center of the room I cleared the top of bondage paraphernalia then added an old wooden chair to which I had also added straps..
Pausing I realized that this would be a good time to test the most impressive addition I'd made to the chair. Putting breakfast on the table I went to the locked cabinet and removed some extra pieces, one of which I bolted to the chair, the other I pocketed. Then I went to awaken the slave. She was lying much as I'd last seen her still bound and gagged, still in the latex outfit. My erection returned as I unfastened the wire from the collar, hobbled her and lead her whining and struggling into the dungeon.
When we reached the chair she stopped struggling and stared in astonishment. From the center of the seat a long polished wooden phallus emerged, making the chair look like it had an erection. She turned to look at me, eyes wide, head starting to shake. She tried to say something, mouth chewing helplessly on the ball. I pushed her towards the chair, she attempted to resist. Needless to say I won, five inch stilettos being hard enough to walk in let alone anything else. Hobbled, she couldn't even brace herself and soon she was hovering over the wooden cock.
"It's lubricated," I said, "And it's not that thick. It's going to hurt less than the punishment you've just earned yourself." She continued to struggle, I really hadn't expected anything else, but when penetration by the wooden rapist was inevitable she relaxed and allowed me to settle her anus on it.
Reaching into my pocket I produced its twin and waved it in front of her eyes. "Guess where this one goes slave." She looked at me beseechingly, knowing that she was helpless and silently begging for mercy. I crouched down and started to strap her ankles to the chair legs. It was a tough fight as she struggled to keep her legs closed. But she was in an impossible position, and once her legs where strapped open I found it surprisingly easy to slide the dildo inside. The back of the phallus had a large bolt fastened to it and after burying the 7 inches of wood in the girl I pushed the bolt through a hole in the chair seat and fastened a nut to the other side. There was a small wrench velcroed to the bottom of the seat which I used to tighten the nut before pocketing it.
Caroline and the chair were now effectively bolted together. There was no way she could stand or walk, and without a wrench and a lot of time no way she could get free. Now, with her legs strapped open the wooden intruder was obvious but I could see that hidden beneath a full skirt it would be difficult to see anything amiss. I thought of the other chair I had upstairs, the one with the nice finish and just the mountings for the dildos. Dressed in regular clothes and bolted to the chair I could take photo's of Caroline with no obvious restraints. I smiled, the family could expect a few pictures with her letters. Returning to my slave I chained her collar to the table, freed her hands and pulled the gag from her mouth. Rather than remove it completely I let it hang around her neck like a strange fetish necklace, a constant reminder that I could enforce her silence at any time. She picked up the coffee and drank greedily, I topped up the cup.
She drained that also, then as I moved the cereal towards her she spoke.
"Sir....."
"I prefer Master," I said with a smile.
"Err, Master.... Erm please let me go...... I promise I won't tell anyone about this. I want to go home, please."
I suppose that my sadistic side had free reign at that moment because instead of telling her to shut up and eat her cereal, I decided to play with her.
"You must realize, Cunt, that taking you wasn't a whim. I've invested quite a lot of time and money in this affair. To return you now would put me at a lot of risk even if I could trust you not to run to the police. What could you offer me in return?"
She swallowed nervously, calling her "Cunt" like that had rattled her self confidence. "I...I could suck you...." The look on my face must have told her this wasn't enough for in a whisper she added, "Or we could do it..... If you want."
"I'm sorry," I said, "Where you offering sex?" She nodded, speechless. "In that case I want you to say, 'You can FUCK me Master, if you want'."
"You can.... fuck me Master. If you want."
"Louder!"
"YOU CAN FUCK ME MASTER, IF YOU WANT..."
"Much better. Tempting as your offer is, the reality of your situation is that I could tie you to this table in five minutes and fuck your brains out whether you liked it or not. I could do the same tomorrow and the next day and the next. You can't bargain with what you don't own, and your body, together with the rest of you is now mine." She looked dejected then she started jabbering. Telling me I would be caught and punished and she wished I was dead and... In the end only the threat of the gag got her to shut up and eat.
When she'd finished I hobbled her again and unbolted her from the chair. As I helped her up off the shit covered phallus I was reminded of something.
"Did you use the John?" She looked at me speechless.
"The toilet, did you use it?"
She nodded.
"Good 'cos that's the last chance you'll have for a while." I took her to the wall and chained her to the gridwork whilst I collected a few things from the cabinet.
First thing I did when I got back was try to gag her again. The gag was not strictly necessary as the room was soundproofed but it helped reinforce her helplessness and a knew she didn't like it. The ball gag was decorative but not very effective so leaving it where it was I held a padded gag against her mouth. This type of gag has a very large soft rubber mouthpiece fastened to a padded leather section that is strapped over the mouth. It was, I suppose a non inflatable version of the gag I'd fitted her with the night before. This time however she closed her mouth firmly and refused to open it.
I smiled. "You must really like to be punished," I said, "It's going to take me most of the day just to work off what you've earned so far."
Her eyes widened.
"Oh yes you're going to be punished for last night; you didn't think I'd forgotten did you?" I could tell by the look in her eyes that SHE had forgotten."
"Open up like a good girl and I'll forgive you this time. This is pointless anyway, the room is soundproofed so even without the gag you are just as helpless."
She shook her head defiantly. I could see that a lesson was in order. Going to the cabinet I retrieved a posture collar and a roll of duct tape. Removing the ball gag from her neck I fitted the posture collar firmly in place. Of course she resisted but the ponytail made an excellent handhold, and after five minutes her old collar was replaced by a high stiff one that stopped her turning her head. A couple of straps between the gridwork and the collar and she was fastened to the wall facing me. Slowly, deliberately, I stuck strip after strip of tape over her closed lips. I think she thought I was trying to gag her a different way because she just stood there smugly. She seemed a little amused when I went into her cell and returned moments later with a strip of toilet paper. One thing was certain, however, she wasn't laughing when I shoved a small ball of toilet paper up each nostril and sealed it there with tape. She started to cry out and thrash as much as she could. I just added tape if a leak appeared in her mouth covering and waited. All the activity burnt the air in her lungs quickly and before long she stopped thrashing, face red, eye's bulging as she strained against the bonds, lungs screaming for the oxygen I'd denied them.
"Perhaps I should gag you this way instead," I suggested, watching as wild panic and desperation consumed her. Then suddenly I reached out and in one move tore the tape mask from her lower face. She let out an explosive breath and with mouth wide open drew in her first lung full of life giving air. I gagged her, shoving the mouthpiece into her wide, open mouth just as she finished that first breath. It was large enough to stay put without the straps so next I removed the tape and paper from her nose. Then I tightened the gag. I think she was just happy to breath as I had no further trouble. I held one of the toilet paper balls in front of her wide eyes..
"This is a lesson. You are helpless, so helpless I can take your life with toilet paper if I wanted to. First time, EVERY time, slave; this is not optional. Next time you try to stop me gagging you, the tape stays on twice as long; keep it up and I may decide that you aren't worth the trouble and leave it on, understand?" She nodded.
That settled, I continued with the preparations. I replaced the hobble with a spreader bar forcing her legs open into a wide triangle. I could tell that she didn't like being this exposed, but experience was starting to teach her that resistance could offer worse things than just pain. I left her wrists cuffed together but added straps to her upper arms that also helped to pull her shoulders back and push her tits out. To help this along even further, I threaded a rope from her elbow straps to her wrists then from there through a D ring in the center of the spreader bar. Pulling on it pulled her arms down, arched her back and thrust the tits out further. Releasing her from the wall I dragged her under a ring to which I attached her collar. Next came the butt plug. She looked at me puzzled as I approached her with it then as I pushed its greased surface inside her ass she squirmed and made small noises behind the gag. I started to unwind the wires attached to it, before packing her cunt with a large metal studded rubber dildo with similar attachments. I fastened the wires to a small metal box which I clipped to the spreader bar, covered twat and ass with a pair of snap on leather panties and I was almost set.
I finally got to do something I'd looked forward to since I'd seen her nice tits. The nipple clamps had a small length of chain between them and must have looked like jewelry because she didn't start struggling until I clipped the first one on. Even then there was little she could do, her body being forced into a tight stiff pose by the strict bondage. I clipped the second one on the other nipple, then freed the rope fastened to her wrists and pulled until she was bent back as far as I thought she could stand. Then I tied the rope to the nip clamp's chain. Now any attempt to lean forward would drag on the chain, which in turn would pull on the clamps, these were the type that bit harder as pressure increased.
She moaned and tried to say something looking at me with large accusing eyes. Still, that I could fix. I fitted her with the padded blindfold I'd used on her the night before. The posture collar stopped any of the struggling nonsense this time and when I was finished only her nose was not covered by shiny black leather. Next I attached a couple of small arms from the box to the wrist rope where it went through the spreader bar. Then I attached two cables from the box to the wall, one AC power the other to the building ethernet.
Caroline started to twitch as the dildo and butt plus started their low frequency vibration. As she squirmed she pulled on the rope attached to her nipples and slowly tortured herself. I looked at her as she winced and writhed, vision in leather and latex. The butt of the dildo was pushed tight, straining against the leather panties looking for all the world like a small cylindrical dick. As I watched it began to move as her cunt muscles squeezed it out and the tight panties forced it back in. I knew that the vibration, though stimulating, was not enough to bring her off; instead she would have to stand there in a state of sexual frustration until I chose to release her. However being a considerate sort I'd arranged a small distraction.
"Slave." She ignored me trapped in her private world. "Slave," I slapped her right nipple with the crop which got her attention.
"Frustrating isn't it?" Of course she had no way of answering, the posture collar stopped all head movement and gag and blindfold dealt with everything else. "The good news is that the vibrator will go faster the further forward you lean. She lent forward a little, and sure enough the pitch of the vibrator increased, of course the clamps did painful things to her nipples. She leaned back suddenly then, crazy, struggling, and screaming in pain.
"Lean forward!" I commanded. She seemed in too much pain to notice me, so I grabbed her shoulders and pulled forward. Immediately the pressure on the nipples increased and she tried to struggle more. I held her there and the pain subsided.
"That was the good news. Now the bad news: periodically a small electrical shock will be administered to your cunt and anus. To switch it off you need to lean forward and hold the pose for five seconds. Every time the shock comes it will have a higher intensity and will take longer to shut off."
Again she tried to say something. I continued, "Just before the shock you will hear my voice giving you an instruction. Obey it and the shock will be avoided. Fail and you know what happens."
I looked behind me at the camera that would let me watch all this from the comfort of my office, then prepared to leave. Reaching up I released her hair from the pony tail and let the blond locks cascade around her shoulders. Finally I fitted her with a pair of light headphones which I attached to the AV grid. She twitched and leaned forward obviously too late to stop the shock. I stood silently for a few minutes watching her move the little she could in response to my computer generated instructions. The moans issuing from behind her gag showed me that she had discovered the other benifit of obedience, the sudden high speed burst from the vibrators that came when she reacted immediately.
The rewards were short so that she wouldn't be able to cum, but in her painful position these flashes of pleasure would be very welcome. She started to obey the commands with increasing enthusiasm, and I noticed that her cunt was already juicing up again. I watched for a few more minutes then left to watch "television".
The rest of the morning I worked, easily clearing the backlog that had built up during my preparation for the kidnapping. On the TV I watched as Caroline continued to thrash around. A window on my PC monitor showed the current score. Shocked twelve times she was currently on her 150th order and getting tired. I smiled, Caroline would have spotted immediately that I was using an aversive conditioning technique. As a method of brainwashing it was slow and primitive, but it was also effective. As a Psych major Caroline probably understood that her brain was being conditioned to obey my voice. She may even have noticed that the headphones, gag, gloves and blindfold had enforced a kind of sensory deprivation and that the insistent buzz of the vibrator was robbing her of the ability to focus. However just as you can shoot a ballistics expert, her skills could not protect her against this application of her science.
The persistent computer continued to pound orders into the primitive areas of her brain, offering pleasure for compliance and pain for disobedience.
I imagined the horror, to understand exactly what was being done to her mind, to realize that in a few weeks her will would be broken and she would obey me like a dog eager to get my approval. Perhaps some part of her mind realizing what was happening but was powerless to resist.... Another rush of megalomania and then I shut down the program and went downstairs.
She stood, legs trembling. I could tell that she wanted to slump down but the tether at her collar prevented it. Her latex stockings were again coated in her juices, her body covered in sweat. I freed her ankles first holding her steady as she moved her legs for the first time in several hours. Next I disconnected everything, though I left the vibrator and butt plugs in their respective holes. Finally I freed her neck and fastened a leash to the collar. Taking the spreader bar along, I lead her up from the dungeon and into the house. This is not as risky as it sounds, I have an excellent security system that warns me of any visitors and a gate ensures that they can only reach the house if I want them to. I sat her on a kitchen chair and gave her water. She said nothing but "Thank you Master" at the end all fight temporarily gone.
In fact she seemed so submissive that my hard on returned and this time would not be denied. I decided to do something about it.
With the gag still hanging from her neck I took her to the living room where I replaced the spreader and used the remaining ropes to secure her wrists to it. This resulted in a kind of hog-tie which left her kneeling before me as I sat in my chair. Unfastening my leather pants I pulled my hard dick free then pulled her head towards it.
"I'm giving you the honor of blowing me slave, do it well and you will be excused punishment for the rest of the afternoon." I did consider telling her what would happen to her if she bit me, but I thought that could give her ideas. I had a ring gag for just this occasion but it was downstairs in the cabinet so I watched with some trepidation as her mouth engulfed me.
I was intending to give her demerits based on lousy technique. Sam gave great head, and I had come to expect a lot from my partner. It soon became apparent though, as the tip of her tongue played lightly over the engorged head, that Caroline was a virtuoso on the skin flute. I gasped, struck dumb as she sucked on my balls, next she deep throated me quickly and easily with no hint of gagging. I looked down at her blindfolded face, mouth around my dick a dribble of my precum on her chin and the only thought on my mind was that I was glad she couldn't see the stupid grin on my face. Somehow through the haze of rapidly mounting pleasure I remembered what I'd planned to do during this occasion. Hands trembling I reached for the remote control unit on the table beside me. I still don't know how I found the right button (she was licking the length of my dick like a lollipop at the time), yet I managed to push it. Then I sat back enraptured whilst somewhere in the bowels of the house a computer executed it's program.
Ten seconds later the phone rang. We both stiffened, I through release of anticipation, she in shock. Her mouth was still around my dick so using one hand to hold her head in place I answered the phone.
The voice on the other end was that of the house management computer telling me the internal temperature, the selections on the VCR, the states of the lights, but for Caroline's benefit I pretended it was a friend a few miles down the road wanting to visit.
"Sure Bob come on over," I said, aware of the faint noises coming from my dick gagged slave, "But give me a few minutes OK, I was just playing with a new toy and need a few minutes to tidy up."
I hung up, pleased she hadn't decided to bite me. It had been a risk without the ring gag, but a small one. I figured the gag incident would stop her from trying anything too extreme for a while.
I grabbed the side of her head, actively fucking her face for the first time. She wasn't stupid, she took this as a signal I wanted to finish, stopped teasing and instead started sucking hard and bobbing backwards and forwards in a strong persistent rhythm. I could hear the tiny metal clanking noises that the nipple clamps chain made as it struck the tight leather of the bustier. I felt I would die in ecstasy and wondered if Caroline would be rescued with me gone. My hazy mind was full of the headlines "Noted writer dies in kinky sex session, girlfriend unable to free herself dies of exposure." Then suddenly I exploded in her mouth.
"Swallow every drop slave, every mark on the carpet is one on your hide." She needed no extra encouragement swallowing the cum with a terrified look on her face.
I took hold of the gag around her neck and pushed the rubber mouthpiece against her lips. "Open wide slave, we have guests coming and it's time to make sure that you stay good and quiet!" She hesitated, but only for a second until she remembered the repercussions. The gag lesson was one that had been well learned.
I strapped the gag tightly ensuring that she could make only the slightest of noises, then I dragged her across the room and behind a large couch. The spreader bar hog-tie arrangement was strict enough, but to avoid her rubbing her crotch against the floor I turned her on her back so that her heels and shoulders formed a tripod arrangement with her knees and pussy thrust high in the air. She moaned slightly at the uncomfortable position but hey, she's the slave. Still I did feel a little guilty after she gave such good head, so I ran quickly to my office and got a little battery box for the dildo and butt plug. A few second to connect everything and she was buzzing away again. I'd set the device to a level that I thought was close to her orgasm point; it was possible she could get lucky and cum but restricted as she was I doubted it.
"My friend is coming here slave," I said with maximum malice, "If he even suspects that you are here I'll make you suffer."
Retrieving the remote I sat in a chair where I could see her clearly, then I punched in some numbers and waited. The house has an excellent surround sound system, over fifty compact speakers in discrete places in all the main rooms. Sam had contacts in the music industry, and we had talked about hosting private concerts once we were married. With this in mind, I had extended the system, installing a number of mikes and a multitrack recorder so that I could record the events for later enjoyment.
When Sam had dumped me, the system had languished and the only use I'd made of it was during an impromptu game of "blindman's buff" I'd hosted during the house warming party. Still the success of that trick had inspired me to use it to test Caroline.
Across the room came the sound of the door opening.
"Ah Bob," my disembodied voice said, "What can I do for you?"
"Sorry to trouble you Dick, but the portable printer I have seems to be broken." Bob Cummings was perhaps my closest neighbor and one of those people who are destined to be victims of technology. When he had discovered that I was a computer columnist he had immediately assumed that I would provide free technical support for his every problem. I had recorded this incident a few weeks before when his inkjet had run out of ink ("Oh, you mean I need to refill it??"). Since then I'd spent a couple of weekends making sure that it would sound like a real live event to someone on the floor in Caroline's position. The test was clear; she had been ordered not to draw attention to herself, yet as far as she knew a total stranger had just walked into the room.
I watched her as the conversation turned to printers and refills. She moved occasionally, mainly thrusting her crotch in the air, but it was unclear if her intention was to get off or get free. In either case she made no obvious sounds. I began to wonder if she had discovered the deception, but I couldn't see how. The floors were concrete, ensuring no conduction of footfalls and the sound quality was excellent. I sat and watched her as she made small movements behind the couch. This was not the thrashing and screaming I'd expected at this point, but by now the voices could be heard only faintly from one of the other rooms. Several minutes passed, then the conversation reentered the room from my study with Bob asking about the list price of my desktop printer ("I guess you don't know huh? I mean you journo's get given this kind of thing...")
Phantom Bob was leaving. If she thought that there was any possibly of rescue, she would have to make the move soon. I held my breath, waiting for the faint muffled scream the sudden thrashing of limbs, but it didn't come. The posture collar made head movement impossible, but with the little leg movement she had left she had turned on her side to face the departing sound. Yet despite the fact that "Phantom Bob" and I held a conversation just in front of the couch behind which she was hidden, and she must have known that her gagged screams would carry at least that far, she made no attempt to alert him to her presence.
Phantom Bob left and the recording ended. I went over to her and removed the hog-tie and spreader. I didn't bother to hobble her as high heeled boots are difficult enough to walk in. Attaching the leash I lead her downstairs. I removed the posture collar and replaced it with her usual one, removed the blindfold, then I removed the dildo and butt plug along with the leather panties. She was as expected very wet, and the slight moans that accompanied removal of the dildo seemed to confirm that she had still been denied an orgasm. I removed the pad gag and replaced the ballgag around her neck.
"Very good slave. As a reward for your obedience I will leave you ungagged for the rest of the morning as long as you don't speak, understand?" She nodded her agreement.
Then I took her back to her cell fastened her hands in front of her, with a chain to a ring on her collar ensuring that her crotch was out of reach. Then I refastened her collar to the wire and told her to get some sleep. She settled down happily, glad that the gag was still around her neck and not in her mouth.
It was about twelve when I took her from the cell and back into the dungeon. She started to ask questions so I regagged her, she gave me a betrayed look but didn't kick up a fuss when I lead her to the table. I did have some trouble when I strapped her down, so I upped the pressure.
"Well, well, well, Cunt. So this is a demonstration of the of your obedience to your MASTER. All you are doing is making your punishment far worse." She stopped struggling and looked at me with big frightened eyes, I continued to tighten straps. I stood back and surveyed my handiwork. Her gloved hands where cuffed above her head, her collar fastened to the table. I had fastened her waist to the frame of the table with a wide leather belt and had cuffed her ankles to the two table legs. She was spread and vulnerable, her pussy on the very edge of the table and at the perfect height for sex. She must have realized this because she continued to struggle as best she could as I went over to the basement room. Here I collected a towel and a basin I had brought from upstairs. Coming back to the table I put the basin down next to her and reached inside. The gag barely muffled her scream when I opened the straight razor in front of her. It was a family heirloom left to me by some great uncle. He had apparently taken it with him in his journeys around the world, but I suspected that he had never taken it where I was about to.
Gently I used the warm water to dampen the bush of fine brown hair between her legs. She stiffened, beginning to see what I had in mind. I could see her pondering it. A minute ago she had been convinced she was about to be raped, now she faced this, which was in many ways worse. I started to soap her crotch, being careful not to touch the bustier or the latex stockings. By the time I had brought the blade near to her helpless body she had decided that she wanted no part of it and started to squirm as best she could.
Holding the razor up menacingly I smiled. "I'd stop that if I were you, this isn't the kind of place I'd like a nick." I played the light reflecting from the blade across her face. She froze, eyes firmly closed, breathing in short bursts, as still as a statue as I shaved her pussy. I didn't completely denude the area, I left a small oval patch just above her clit for decorative purposes. I had to confess that I'd done a good job as I ran my fingers over her smooth soft flesh. She groaned a little, and I was suddenly aware of my almost painful hard on. Reaching down I opened her cunt lips and lowered by face onto her exposed clit. It would appear that the shave had been stimulating to her also, for the little nub was already engorged.
Gently my tongue touched it, she heaved in a huge gasping breath, her hips straining against the imprisoning belt. I licked, and a muffled groan issued from her gagged lips. I started in earnest, each lick, nibble or suck accompanied by a gasp, groan, or murmur from the far side of the table. I thrust my tongue deep in to her, savoring her salty flavor mixed with the smell of the soap and listening to her muffled whinnies as she went wild. I paused and looked up, fingering her with my gloved hand as I watched her, tear-filled eyes closed, hard thrusting nipples, mouth straining against the ball.
I smiled, my slave on the brink of orgasm.
She noticed the drop in sensation and looked up. "Want me to fuck you Slave?" She shook her head defiantly; I just fingered a little faster. One set of her lips slid helplessly over the rubber ball, the others over my leather fingers. Her breathing and moans came in staccato bursts and I knew she was close, so I stopped. She squealed something and tried to trust her hips up against my hand. Helpless, so close to cumming but unable to stimulate herself that extra little bit, she thrashed against her bonds.
"I'll only ask once more, Slave. Do you want to be fucked?" Her eyes were full of the terrible internal conflict, she so desperately wanted to cum but the humiliation of her position, to have to beg her rapist to fuck her.... I helped her out, I turned away. She gave a muffled squeal and strained against the bonds, gloved hands and booted ankles tugging in futile desparation, the fire in her crotch burning away the last of her self respect.
I turned, "Well Slave?" She closed her eyes, and nodded. In seconds I was in her, my shaft buried in her warm tight hole. As I thrust her pussy started spasming, drawing me further inside, her passion expressed as little gagged screams her body straining all the time. Under any circumstances she would have been a good fuck, but combined with her complete helplessness she turned me on more than any woman in my life. All thoughts of Samantha were swept away as we came together, her muffled scream filled the air as I pumped my load into her.
I pulled out and cleaned us both up with the towel I'd brought to dry her. She seemed quiet so I leaned over and removed her gag. There was silence for a few minutes as I rehobbled her legs and prepared to unstrap her from the table.
At last she spoke, "You raped me!"
"WE had sex," I corrected, "Rape implies lack of consent, YOU asked me to fuck you twice and that nod wasn't my imagination either."
"I'm your prisoner, you would have done it to me anyway."
I smiled, "Be very careful what you say, Cunt, or you could make life hard for yourself. Truth is that you wanted it so bad you begged for it, and now that it's over you are horrified that you actually got off on it so suddenly you are the poor victim again."
She was silent deep in thought as I eased her off the table and fastened her hands behind her. I reached for the gag.
"Please don't," She smiled at me, a warm deep smile that convinced me that I had chosen the right girl. "Please Master, I thought we could talk for a while, if you explain what you want...."
"Humm, obviously you paid more attention to your psych lectures than your grades suggest." She went pale. She swallowed nervously. "Who are you?" she asked, "I never said I was a psych major."
I smiled, happy at her discomfort. "I am your master," I said. "I told you once before you are not a random choice. If you were, then the police would probably be looking for you now. As it is I moved you out of your apartment, and left your back rent so that Mr. Philips will be happy that you're gone and won't ask any questions."
I stepped back so she could see me counting things off on my fingers.
"Lets see, I disposed of your car, YOU successfully got yourself fired, Alice and Brenda are at that trade show in Chicago and your mother complains that you never write regularly. Nobody knows you are gone, no one will even notice that you are missing. Even assuming that anyone reports you missing, the police will think you left yourself. There will be no rescue because no one cares that you're gone." I saw her eyes fill with tears, "Lets face facts here, Caroline Conway was an easy victim, but she doesn't exist anymore, all that's left is a slave who doesn't know when to shut up."
"Please," She said her voice full of desperation, "You don't have to gag me again. I hate it, I can't swallow properly and it hurts. This place must be sound proof or you wouldn't have risked leaving me ungagged earlier. You don't have to do it I'll be quiet I promise."
I smiled. "You misunderstand, Cunt; you are gagged because I want you gagged. You're right about the room being soundproofed, but the real point here is that I own you. Whether you are awake or asleep, hot or cold, noisy or silent, I decide. If you want to talk to me, that is a privilege you earn through your obedience, not a right. Property doesn't have rights, slave; I suggest you remember that." I looked at the despair in her eyes as I pushed the bright red ball between her teeth. Reaching behind her head I tightened the strap. "Later today you'll get a chance to show your obedience slave. If you follow orders you'll have a few hours ungagged, we'll talk then."
My gloved thumb traced the line of her lips as they formed an O around the ball. "There, that's MUCH better. Trust me, slave, in a few years you'll feel uncomfortable when you're NOT wearing a gag." My finger caught the single silent tear that ran down her cheek; she sobbed as the full impact of her situation hit home. "Get use to the idea slave, it isn't as bad as it first appears." I lead her back to her cell, attached the wire to her collar and left her sobbing on the bed.
I went back upstairs and made myself a coffee, thinking of my slave, of the plans I had made and of "Phantom Bob." As the scent of warm Java spread about the kitchen, I sat and reviewed the days events. Months ago, when a real living and breathing Caroline was just a wet dream, I had planned out the first few days with my new slave. I had foreseen her fear, her anger and her attempts to escape. I had planned for each in turn, molding her reactions and my responses into a mental document I called (with a typical writer's flare) "A Timetable for Domination." It started with the preparation for the kidnapping, ebbed and flowed through the snatch and the training and the bondage and the sex to a scene that was painted so vividly in my mind's eye that it seemed almost real.
Slave and I would enter a fashionable New York night club (dressed in tasteful fetishwear naturally). I would spy Samantha at the bar and signaling Slave to come close (she always walks two steps behind as a sign of respect for her master). I instruct her to seduce Sam by any means possible. Slave (she hasn't answered to Caroline in so long she doesn't even recognize the name) smiles and happily complies; this is far from the worse thing I've ever asked her to do, and the thought of disobeying never crosses her carefully conditioned mind. Later I would reveal myself to Sam, forcing her to do unspeakable humiliating things, lest I publish the photos of her lesbian fling. The circle would be complete, capturing Caroline to enact my revenge on Sam. Then using her to get that revenge. But of course that was fantasy and reality wasn't proving to be that simple.
In my mental timetable things were certain and secure, her reactions easy to envisage. First would be denial, a refusal to face up to the kidnapping and her new position as my sex slave. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen to her! This happened to bad girls who talked to strangers or accepted candy, or hitchhiked. She had avoided everything that her mother had warned her about, and yet she was still bound and gagged, chained up in a guy's basement and forced to do....things. I'd figured this attitude would probably persist for a few days, then I expected her to redouble her attempts at escape. Then slowly would come acceptance and a listless despair. Finally under the strict domination and conditioning, she would adapt and begin to accept her new life as my slave. I firmly expecting to be able to take her on our fated club date inside of two years.
Yet the "Phantom Bob" incident had worried me. I wasn't stupid. I'd always realized that there would be a degree of variation in my plans once there was a real woman in the equation, but I'd been surprised at how little trouble she's given me overall. She'd been kidnapped less than twenty four hours; I'd expected more of a fight until she accepted the hopelessness of her situation. That acceptance was the first step towards truly breaking her. I'd wanted it to be long and slow, so that when it came the despair would be that much greater. Yet whenever I pushed her she seemed to back down and like a reed in the wind without resistance I couldn't break her.
I'd expected her to try and signal "Bob," had thrilled with the thoughts of despair that would grip her when she failed, and above all had looked forward to punishing her disobedience. The dirty scheme that had been festering in the back of my mind since I read her mail that morning had started to pull together ideas and plans that I'd reserved for later. The whole thing was just so obvious, so perfectly simple and yet inescapable that I just had to do it, but for it to work, I needed an excuse to punish her.
Over the past few months I'd read a lot of bondage fiction. Every time I stopped off in New York for dungeon supplies, I'd included a magazine or two and a few videos for "research" purposes. One of the real dumb things that these stories tend to say is that there is always a reason to punish the slave. "The slave is always guilty," is a favorite line, written by a guy whose closest link with slavery is the pittance he pays his models. In truth you should never punish the slave for nothing; you are trying to impress your values on her; they must always be consistent. Obedience means reward, even if the reward is something she had as a right in her former life like spending time ungagged. Disobedience means punishment, you can always substitute a lesser punishment than the one you threaten and you can offer the possibility of redemption or reduction in exchange for some service; but in general if she's bad, she's punished.
The secret (if there is one) is to treat the slave as you would a dog. Tell her she's a clever slave when she obeys and always do something in recognition. Punish or withhold something when she's bad, but only when she's bad. There are guys who beat their dogs constantly, this results in nervous anxious dogs. Then there are guy's who beat their women constantly and they have nervous anxious women. Strangely it's rare for either dog or woman to run away from such people, I still haven't figured out why.
In my case I needed an excuse to punish Caroline, any excuse would have done, but for whatever reason I needed her to know that SHE was responsible. This could be no arbitrary action of mine she must have done something to deserve it. It's a strangely human failing that someone is more likely to do something they wouldn't ordinarily do in order to make amends rather than to do you a favor. Right now I needed her apprehensive and willing to please if my new plan was to work.
I flicked on the video camera and watched as she lay on the bed. I was again immediately hard, and as I sat and drank the warm dark liquid I got more and more excited until in the end I was forced to shut down the monitor and think of other things, like photography.
One of the fringe benefits of living with an editor at Vogue is your access to models, designers and photographers. One of the few people I met through Sam who I really liked was a talented fashion photographer called Andy Pearson. Most people probably haven't even heard of him, but if you have ever glanced at the cover of a fashion magazine while waiting in line at the checkout chances are you've seen his work. Andy is a guy's guy, a big brash New Zealander who came to New York via the far east and a large chunk of Europe. He is also one of that growing club of Sam's cast offs. In fact it was he who helped me pick up the pieces after the wedding was canceled. I really don't know how I could have managed without his help and in the process he became my best friend. If Andy is a great guy he's a brilliant photographer. With seeming ease he juggles the twenty or so variables necessary to make a good photo, great. His pictures make his models beautiful and show off the clothes to maximum effect. A classic "Pearson" has a spontaneity about it that makes a carefully posed piece look like the kind of shot you would take of your girlfriend on an outing (well it would be if you were a top photographer, and she was a supermodel). What he does he does so well that at least one magazine calls the cover photo, which is of course the most important in any issue, the "Pearson shot." I've seen him coax fantastic poses out of young girls just starting in the business then slap down a "difficult" supermodel in successive breaths. He moves, molds, and commands women in a way that few BDSM doms could even hope to match.
In the way friends do we started to take interest in each others work. Through him my interest in photography expanded. I have always prided myself that I am a good photographer, and as my friends have married I have had enough invites "suggesting" that I might bring a camera to confirm this. Andy however transformed that. He has a love for the technology of photography, and as time went on I taught him how to use computers and he taught me the tricks of the pro's. The fusion of our skills produced something that little bit different and was exactly what I would need if my plan was to succeed.
For my plan needed photos, some the cheery snapshots to send to the Conway's, some more hardcore. Some would have to look very professional, some like they were taken by a talentless hack. With all the complexity for a second I considered giving Andy a call and asking his advice. Trouble was that he loved this kind of stuff, and if he could I just knew he would invite himself over. So in the end I consulted the local yellow pages and found a list of photo suppliers in the nearest town. I would have to use what he taught me and just wing the rest.
I ate a light lunch, one of those pizza bag things that I'd bought with the idea of eating cold on the road. Needless to say it was disappointing but I suppose it hit the spot. I checked on Caroline, who was still sobbing on the bed, then locked up and went to the garage. Inside was a large Chevy van that I'd bought because my main car, a 1958 Triumph TR2, doesn't have much carrying space. The van was a sort of half conversion; it was carpeted and had a couple of captain's chairs, but with the exception of a largish bench seat on one side everything was removable for maximum cargo capacity. I backed out, careful to miss both the roadster and the big old car I'd used for the kidnapping. I looked upon it with some regret, it was a large powerful landboat that had been a pleasure to drive but my safety came first. I had already made arrangements to scrap the car and intended to watch it being crushed so that I was sure that the evidence was destroyed. For now I locked up the garage and headed for town.
The first two photography stores I tried were closed, New England not being as good for Sunday shoppers as some places. The next had nothing that I needed and I was starting to regret not calling around first. However eventually, late in the afternoon, I found somewhere that could supply at least my basic needs. I spent about two hundred dollars mainly on film and paper and got a referral to another shop which catered to the local pro photographic circuit. The rest would have to wait until tomorrow though I had a hunch that I would have plenty of time. A quick detour to one of those DIY warehouses got me all the other things I needed.
I arrived home with some apprehension half expecting a police car in the drive. Of course it wasn't there, the house was undisturbed and a quick check on my guest confirmed that she was OK and was even managing an afternoon nap. I put on another pot of coffee and started in earnest. I refrigerated the film and prepped a camera then took off downstairs to ready the "studio".
I worked most of the afternoon putting up shower curtains and dustsheets to disguise the dungeon walls and cover the furniture. I set up lights and placed a camera on a tripod in preparation. Finally at about 7PM I was ready for my model.
She awoke as I came into the room and said something behind the gag. I freed her from the wire, and checked her bonds, giving her time to get frustrated before removing the muzzle. She wanted to know what was going on, why I'd left her, what would happen next. I was starting to wish I could keep her gagged but the plan required that she should be able to speak so without answering anything I took her back into the dungeon. She blinked as we stepped through the doors, the lights in her room automatically dim to a level that lets the surveillance cameras work but allows her to sleep. Stepping from that twilight into the glare of the photofloods caught her off balance.
"Master, what's all this for?"
"For you slave," I answered innocently, "We're going to take a few pictures."
I watched her swallow, her eyes panned around the room to the small table I'd set up near the camera. I'd put an array of vibrators, dildos, and floggers out for her inspection, it didn't take a genius to figure out what kind of pictures these were to be.
"No," She said, "I can't."
"I slave? I thought we had this discussion last night," I said, starting to up the pressure.
She paused, her brain going through the mental gymnastics necessary to convert the sentence into a more acceptable form, when she finally spoke I had to admit she'd done a pretty good job.
"Master, your slave, she really can't..... Please."
"MY slave can and will do what I order her to," I said deliberately pouring as much menace as I could into my voice. "She's a slut whore, she likes doing slut whore kinds of things. Right now all this whore wants to do is jam this dildo up her crack while I take pictures. Isn't that true slut?" Her eyes filled with tears, "Please......" I pulled her close and stuck two fingers in her cunt, with her hands still cuffed behind her there was little she could do.
"Isn't that true!"
She nodded wordlessly, my other hand started to massage one of her latex covered tits and was surprised to find the nipple already hard.
"Why don't you say it slut."
"Your slave..."
"NO!" I shouted, "Say this whore."
"The..the..this whore...."
".....Wants to jam this rubber fuck toy up her crack until she cums."
"Wha..."
"...Wants to do this 'cos she's a cheap painted slut. Who needs to fuck. Anything will do as long as there's a tool inside her." She stood there, mouth working silently, tears once again in full flow. I continued to massage cunt and tit. "Does that feel good slave," I asked watching the confusion on her face, "You know why don't you? It's because you're a whore, you like being used by men don't you?" Still silence.
"You wanted to know why I took you? It's because the first time I saw you I thought, now there goes one hot little slut I'll bet she fucks like a train." My hands continued but this wasn't a gentle teasing, this was an all out degrading grope. I pulled her close while burying more of my gloved fingers in her wet pussy.
"I noticed the way you suck whore. You may be a parson's daughter but you ain't no choir girl. Now tell me, did you get that good playing nurse with the local farm boys or did you have an evening job I didn't know about?"
I watched her intently, there still wasn't the reaction I'd expected, she cried, she whimpered but she didn't fight back. I needed a method to push this further but I couldn't think of a suitable way.
"Say it!" I hissed, "Tell me that you are a cheap slut."
"I..I'm a chea...."
"This whore!!"
"Th...is whore...."
"Sexy slave, say it sexy! I want you to pant in out like a bitch in heat! I want you to sound like the filthy little tart you really are." I grabbed a huge black rubber dildo from the table and waved it in front of her startled eyes.
"Beg me for it slave! Nice and sexy. I want you to tell me what a worthless whore you are, and how you'll do anything to have this up your crack."
She started, stammering to fit all I'd wanted into the sentence, tears in full flow. Disappointed I decided to let her finish and snap a few photo's for the collection in any case. Now her eye's were adjusted to the light she had started to scan the dungeon. Most was covered with dust cloths to hide it's true nature, all except for one corner which I'd been deliberately set dressing so it looked more like dungeons in TV shows. By that I mean that I'd fastened bits and pieces of bondage paraphernalia to the gridwork on the wall. There were leather masks, gags, hoods, cuffs and harnesses all strapped to the wall in a hap hazard fashion. Caroline's eyes flickered from one to the other deducing each time what they were used for and realizing with certainty that they had been bought to use on her. Finally her eyes had rested on one harness arrangement that I'd bought on the spur of the moment just before I'd gone to pick her up.
I must confess to always liking the idea of girl on girl action. One of the contingencies that had worked it's way into the "timetable" prior to the kidnapping had been the idea of the capture being discovered by another girl, perhaps a coworker, and my having to overpower and take her too so that she couldn't identify me. It was in truth a fantasy, a wet dream, I cared too much for life and liberty to have risked a casual discovery. Yet the fantasy had been so strong that I'd even taken along an extra cuff and gag set just in case. It had also caused me to buy this item on impulse. The owner of the sex shop had called it a "Lezbo Harness", simply this is a very long dildo fastened to a pair of strap on leather panties. One half of the dildo goes in one girl and she uses the second half to fuck a friend and all the rocking back and forth brings them both off. Lot's of people wouldn't recognize one if they saw it, but the strange look on Caroline's face told me she knew exactly what it was. I didn't know what the story was but I could tell she didn't like it. Her concentration was broken and she stammered to a halt.
And in that second I had an inspiration. "Pathetic slave," I said forcing my face close to hers," I hope your sister is better."
"M..my sister?"
"Yes, Anna isn't it?" I asked cooly, "Quite a well developed girl for sixteen. She's obviously a little whore as well. When I found out about her I got to thinking what a wonderful matched set you two would make. Anna looks like a goer, I bought that harness today so that I could see just how you two would do together. You know sisterly love and all that"
She looked stunned, shaken, I pressed my advantage.
"I know where she lives, know where she goes to school. Being a farm girl you must know just how quiet the country is, how many lonely places she must walk through every day. Compared to you she'll be easy. Where you comfortable in my trunk? She's got further to travel than you have so if you have any suggestions on how we can make her more comfortable, do speak up."
Caroline went white, I continued to fondle her. "Just imagine how ironic it will be that the first your parents will know about your disappearance is when they try to tell you that I've kidnapped your sister." I smiled and made a dismissive gesture, "You know I think you're right, we'll hold off on these photo's until Anna gets here." I snapped my fingers (not easy when you're wearing gloves), "I know, we'll send a couple of prints to your mother, a momento to console her in this time of loss!" By now I was in a really evil frame of mind. "How about the two of you bound and gagged to the wall... Better yet she's bound and gagged and you are eating out her pussy... NO! of course, she's bound and gagged wearing the harness, you're kneeling bound and gagged in front of her and she's reaming your ass out!"
I leered at her, "Has to be one for the album. Eh slave?" By now her tears where in full flow and through the hand I had buried in her pussy I felt her body tremble. "NO!" She screamed and kicked me knocking herself off balance and teetering on the tall stiletto heels. She would have fallen but for the hand I had inside her. Sure it was painful, but the hobble was still in place and so the kick was no real power. She caught her breath almost immediately, a look of horror spreading across her face as she realized the enormity of what she'd just done. She now knew that I could be brutal if pushed and that look told me that she'd remembered the incident with the gag that morning.
"Please... I'... this whore... is sorry." She must have seen the anger in my eyes. "Please master......this whor..re will obey. Please don't hurt me!" I dragged her towards the cell, she hesitated, her position was helpless, she couldn't resist, and if she tried she risked further punishment. Yet part of her mind told her that if she was lead back to that cell she would have no way to defuse the situation. She sort of half fought as I returned her to the cell and reattached the wire to her collar. She begged, pleaded and wept as I filled a plastic beaker with water and brought it over. She was in full panic offering herself, any photo I wanted, anything at all, because she said she'd remembered that the penalty for attacking me was disfigurement and the incident with the gag this morning had convinced her that I would carry through.
Now it was my turn to be shocked. My mind flashed back through everything I had told her about Rule 1 and the cost of disobedience. I could remember telling her something about threatening my safety but by that I'd meant trying to escape or seriously hurt me. Knocks and kicks I'd expected in the early days which was one of the reasons for the hobble. Somehow in her terror she'd misunderstood. She was heading towards hysteria and I almost considered correcting her, but then she was rapidly approaching the frame of mind I would need for the plan. In the end I got her to drink then offered the ball to her. She wanted to talk, to placate while there was still time, but she also knew the penalty for refusing the gag. Terrified she opened her mouth and I gagged her fastening the strap a little tighter than was strictly necessary to reinforce my "anger." The moment I let go she rubbed her gagged mouth against my arm, making little noises, begging wordlessly for it's removal. I rechecked her bonds and made to leave she continued to whine, eyes huge, imploring.
I looked down on her, "Sleep slave," I said, "Don't worry about the punishment, it will come soon enough."
Then without looking back, I left securing the door behind me; and breathing a huge sigh of relief. It had taken a lot of effort but finally I had her where I needed her. Alone in her cell her mind was already magnifying her crime and it's imagined punishments. By tomorrow she would be ready.
I worked on until about ten, mainly doing preparatory desktop publishing work upstairs. Like all writers I built up a hoard of unused material against the day when tight schedules or the dreaded writers block would leave me without copy. The kidnapping had been in the planning stages for several months, and during that time I'd been collecting ideas and information in a similar way. I had a collection of things I'd intended to send to the Conways to make them believe Caroline was elsewhere. One of these, a holdout I'd only intended to use if they seemed to be going to the police, now had a more cunning use that would hopefully ensure that they would never know their daughter was missing. Finishing up I visited the cell before going to bed. The cameras were well hidden and there was some benefit in making her believe that I needed to check on her personally. The tight gag was giving her trouble so after giving her another drink (during which she was warned not to speak), I refastened it in a loose haphazard kind of way. Again she rubbed her mouth against me and again I refused to ungag her and talk. I left and went to bed.
Next morning I was up bright and early. A quick camera check showed her asleep in her cell. During the night she'd managed to work the gag off, not a difficult task as the ball can be rolled over the lower jaw even when the strap is quite tight. Tutting to myself I collected the post and answered my Email.
I headed down to the dungeon. I'd done a lot of preparation work already; it's transformation into an impromptu photographic studio was almost completed and with the exception of some more equipment my primary need was for a little attitude adjustment for my principle model.
I paused to collect some things from the cabinet and to lower one of the pulleys attached to the ceiling. I'd intended this rig to be used for a really big punishment and had everything necessary to suspend my slave several feet above the ground. For now however all I needed to do was keep her uncomfortable.
She woke with a start as I entered the room.
"What's the meaning of this slave?"
"Meaning?"
She was obviously a little slow in the mornings. I waved the ball under her nose.
"I left you gagged slave, I expect to find you gagged when I return, is that clear?"
She nodded silently.
"I left it loose last night so that you could sleep easier, and you repay my kindness like this!"
"It hurt...."
"I know lots of other things that hurt slave," I said menacingly, "As you'll discover later."
"Master please, I didn't mean to kick you!"
"I'd thought it over last night and I WAS thinking of giving you a break...."
"Oh yes, please master."
"Then I find you've disobeyed me again."
She looked downhearted. I was generally pleased, she was starting to call me master with none of the self-conscious hesitation that had troubled her the day before. For the time being I was letting up on her use of I, but when MASTER became totally natural to her, I would insist that she call herself SLAVE to emphasize our relative positions, and the name Caroline would begin to be wiped from her mind. For the time being I gave her a drink then freed her hands.
"Loose the top," I said.
For a second or two she seemed confused. Then realizing, she slipped her way out of the tight latex bustier, letting her breasts swing free. She was about to remove the latex stockings but I stopped her. Instead I had her tighten the little draw strings in the tops that held them up without the garters. I think she was in a dilemma, happy to be out of the sweaty rubber she had worn for nearly two days but apprehensive that her torso was now naked. I had her use the toilet then fastened her hands, gagged her and lead her into the dungeon.
I'd left a pile of straps and rods on the table, and the look on her face told me that she didn't know what they were. The look of fear told me that she didn't want to find out. Amongst the pile the only obvious things were the snap on leather panties, butt plug, and vibrator. Remembering the day before, she gave me no trouble, spreading her legs when asked; in return I paid more attention to her pussy than was strictly necessary to lubricate the vibrator. A couple of snaps later and the tight leather panties held both intruders firmly in place. The vibration levels where set high enough to keep her occupied but not quite enough for her to get off.
Still she had started an involuntary squirming by the time I got to the next item. For this I laid her on the floor then started by tying one of her ankles to one of the rods that formed the strange apparatus. I think at first she thought it was a standard spreader bar despite it's length. She only started to see the truth when I tied the other end along her opposing thigh rather than the ankle. I roped the end to her leg just below the knee then used another line to tie the ankles together. It's complicated to explain but in essence I had tied her in the standard "kneeling to propose" stance. One high heeled boot was planted flat on the ground, leg rising vertically to the knee which was bent. Along the thigh of this leg a rod was tied and it's far end attached to the other ankle. The other leg rested on it's knee unbound until the ankle was tied to the rod. A cord between vertical ankle and horizontal ankle held her legs in a rigid triangle.
She realized immediately that this was very uncomfortable and tried to struggle into a better position but of course there wasn't one. I removed collar and gag, she knew better than complain guessing that this was one of the punishments I'd promised. I gathered her hair back into a ponytail to keep it out of the way then started fitting her with a head harness. First up was the gag, a large dense sponge ball attached to a strap. She gave me no trouble, opening up as it approached. I stuffed the rubber into her open mouth then tightened the chin strap, this ball wasn't slipping out. It took a while to fit everything but when finished a nest of straps covered her head in such a way as to hold the ball in her mouth and then clamp her jaw closed around it. As an experiment I seized one of her nipples and squeezed hard, almost no sound emerged from behind the straps though her tear filled eyes where full of pain. The harness was obviously too complicated to fit quickly, but if I ever needed to transport her any distance this would keep her quiet enough to hide almost anywhere.
In addition to the gag, the harness had several mountings for other things like additional blindfolds, but two large buckles at the back were designed for attaching to a special posture collar. The collar was fitted to a rod which in turn snapped into the rod used to secure the legs. Fastening harness to collar, and collar to rod held the head firmly in place and meant that any tension in the head harness was transmitted directly to the rods and not the wearer. This was needed because the harness had a suspension loop on the top of the head. I attached this to the pulley in the ceiling then pulled everything tight. As an afterthought I used some spare cord to tie her wrists and elbows to the vertical rod then stood back and viewed my handiwork.
She rested fitfully, all her weight on one high heeled foot and one knee, tied into a rigid triangle. Her gloved arms were pulled back along the supporting rod, dragging shoulders back and thrusting naked breasts outwards. It was a tight uncomfortable position but very little complaint could emerge from her well packed mouth. In fact as she stood there and the little beads of sweat broke out across her exposed skin the most prominent sound came from the vibrator, pressed hard against the taught leather panties and using them as a sounding board. The bondage seemed to have robbed her even of control of her internal muscles, for despite the dribble of juices that had started down her leg and the tiny almost negligible thrusting of her pelvis, the vibrator did none of the ins and outs of the day before.
I left her like that for a few minutes then added the blindfold and a pair of earplugs. Alone in her sensory deprivation with only the pain for company I left her to contemplate the cost of disobedience.
I busied myself cleaning the cell, once I paused briefly and ran my gloved palm over the hard nub of one of her erect nipples. I thought I heard a sigh, though her gag was so tight that seems unlikely, in any case her fingers flexed briefly in response, that being the only movement she could make. For a while I just sat and watched her as the droplets of sweat rolled over the uncovered portion of her torso. I became aware of the tiny gasps and moans that escaped her mouth, sound that would have been screams and groans but for the gag. For I was in no doubt that she was in agony, the human body is designed to move and we twist and turn even in sleep, to be held so rigidly in one position starts out uncomfortable and rapidly becomes torture. Almost all of her weight was on one heel and one knee, her shoulders pulled painfully back. Deaf and dumb, blind and bound her only active senses where filled by pain.
I paused a moment, then went upstairs and called the photography shop I'd been referred to the day before, placing an order for immediate pickup. Then I started into breakfast. Usually I'm a cereal man, the day is too short to waste cooking breakfast, but on this occasion I started into a full spread including pancakes and syrup. As I poured a fresh coffee I was for some reason reminded of the "Phantom Bob" episode of the day before. Puzzled I walked over to the large couch and pulled it away from the wall. Here was the spot where Caroline had laid during the recording, her position marked by the tiny depressions made by her stiletto heels in the new carpet. Out of curiosity I put down the cup, picked up the remote and lay as she had. I punched in the code and closed my eyes using only the sound and feel as a guide. The recording was perfect, I lay there until the toast started to burn but could find not one thing wrong. I got up even more confused yet the truth was the truth, she had been given a chance to escape but had decided to obey me, her kidnapper, her rapist, instead.
I made breakfast, eggs, sausage, bacon, toast with pancakes and syrup and a new mug of coffee. Putting everything on a tray I headed down to the dungeon. I knew that she could smell the food, though of course she could give no physical indication in her current condition. I busied myself preparing table and chair then went over to her. It had been about an hour since I'd left her, but it was clear that it had been long enough. I released the pulley then freed her legs but left her hands bound to the vertical rod and the head harness in place. I helped her up, it took a couple of minutes before she could stand unaided, then I led her to the table. Still staggering a little and of course still blindfolded she needed my help for support and guidance her naked torso pressed against mine, and suddenly I was hard again.
When we reached the table, I sat down first, dragging her onto my lap, careful to avoid the trailing bar. I looked at her. The harness framed her pretty face with black leather with only the gag and blindfold intruding on her features. Her mouth was clamped firmly around the ball, lips wide, frozen in silent exclamation, her stifled tears flowed behind the mask of the blindfold and ran down the contours of her cheek. Gently I reached up and unsnapped the blindfold from it's fastenings, she blinked as sight was restored and her red eyes fought to focus.
"Glad you could join me slave," I said courteously. The collar prevented head movement, so she bent over slightly to see the contents of the tray. She said something too faint and muffled to make out but then her stomach growled so loud it shocked us both. I reached up and massaged an exposed breast, she tried to pull back but was too restricted. In the end she just sat stiffly to attention as I ran my gloved hand over her breasts across her tight stomach and down between her legs. The vibrator was still hard at it and I could feel her ass wiggle in unison with the butt plug, so I left them in place and instead massaged the inside of her thigh. Only the subtle change in her breathing betrayed what was going on inside her bound body.
Satisfied I started into breakfast. I think I'd managed my third mouthful by the time she realized the gag was staying in and that none of the meal was for her. Still tightly bound and gagged there was little she could do but sit and watch as I wolfed it down. I deliberately ignored her small movements, her only other option was to kick me and that is what had got her into this mess in the first place. Frustrated she watched me eat until only the pancakes were left. I waved a fork full across her face just to get her reaction. I deliberately didn't finish but instead turned to her.
"Didn't think I'd forgotten did you slave?" She of course had no way to answer. I picked up the little jug of syrup and very slowly dribbled some on to her exposed breasts. It was cold, she jumped a little, but in the end she had two little streams of brown running down her chest and over the hard brown buds of her nipples. I started to lick it off. At first I think she was outraged to be denied food then used as a plate. Yet as I pressed on she became visibly aroused, closing her eyes and arching her back even more than it was already. She was panting and just a little flushed when I got the last drop. She was so distracted I don't think she saw the blindfold in my hand until it was snapped in place. I lead her back to the rest of the apparatus and started to reapply it, I think she was tempted to struggle but realized it was useless. In five minutes she was back on one leg and the torture began afresh.
I went back upstairs then headed to town for my supplies. I made a significant purchase, enough to get the attention of the manager. We chatted, and I fed him a line about being a keen amateur wanting to branch out into the pro circuit. As I suspected, he had connections with several local modeling agencies, and he kept small portfolios so that photographers could choose their models. I went through the books picking models that could pass for Caroline at varying distances and noting their details. One girl in particular caught my eye; her name was Vicky, and with the exception of her hair color, she matched Caroline in build and looks. I took careful notes then collected my supplies and returned home.
Caroline was unsurprisingly exactly where I'd left her. She had been in the same position for nearly ninety minutes and was obviously suffering. I released her legs and then carried her back to the cell. Once there I stripped off the boots and stockings and gently massaged her legs until I was sure she was OK. She was still gagged with the harness and her arms were still tied to the rod. I went and collected some cotton rope and a few other things from the cabinet. On returning I replaced the boots, locking them back in place with the simple fixings attached to the zippers. The stockings I left off because, to be honest, they badly needed cleaning.
I liked Caroline's naked body but gloves and high heels make a lot of sense as a slave uniform. For starters they stop the bonds chafing wrists and ankles and thus make the slave more comfortable. Both are additional bonds; high heels make an excellent hobble and the gloves reduce the fingers' tactile sense and dexterity, which is always useful. In addition the gloves also mean that you don't need to worry about your slave leaving fingerprints lying around. If for example I was burgled, and the police dusted for prints, I wouldn't have to explain why those of a missing coed were in my house.
And of course they look sexy.
I used the cord to tie Caroline's legs together, making tight cuffs of rope around her ankles and above and below her knees. In all cases I clinched the cord tightly to ensure she couldn't move. Next, after warnings about talking, I removed the harness and replaced her collar. She wiggled a bit as I removed the earplugs but then waited patiently as I released her wrists. She looked up with large doe eyes, the image of a disgraced sheepdog. I threw her a large sponge ball.
"Gag yourself."
She picked up the ball and looked at it doubtfully.
"You removed the last one without permission, from now on you're responsible for being gagged. You'll put it in and you'll ensure it stays there! You have thirty seconds or you have another punishment session."
Argument was useless and she'd been ordered to keep quiet. She paused for only a second then did something she had never done in her life before; with hands trembling she started to cram the hard sponge ball into her mouth. It proved to be quite a struggle as the ball was the largest I had. Finally however it was firmly in place, a large phosphorescent yellow mass completely filling her mouth. I wondered for a moment if the people at Nerf had ever thought of marketing their product for this use, then I casually tossed her a long length of white cotton cloth. "Tie it in place, good and tight." With my encouragement, she placed the cloth band between her teeth and pulled it tight. I got her to tighten it until her cheeks bulged over the white cotton band and the horrid yellow ball was completely covered then I had her knot it firmly behind her head. Finally I tied her gloved arms as I had her legs and stood back to admire the view.
Call me old fashioned but there is something about a girl tied with rope that always reminds me of Saturday morning serials. Modern restraints are good, I couldn't hope to keep Caroline as secure as I do without them, but they lack a certain spontaneity. In the old serials the young heroine would stumble on the villain's plan and end up tied with rope and gagged with a handkerchief, struggling on the floor. Rope and cloth are common, you could imagine the villain digging some up on the spur of the moment but ballgags, cuffs and the like aren't the sorts of things you find just lying about. So Caroline lay struggling like the Republic heroines of a bygone age, the difference being that "King of the Rocket Men" was not about to save her.
Rather than fasten the wire to her collar I decided to try another device. I stroked her exposed breasts listening to the renewed moans from behind her gag. When each nipple was good and hard I fastened a little clamp on it and tightened it with a small hex wrench. Once in place the clamp could only be removed with the tool. A chain was attached to the clamps and this I fastened to the bed frame. She watched silently, the message clear, to keep her nipples intact she would have to lie quietly on the bed.
"These are only temporary," I said reassuringly as I wiggled the chain.
"They'll do until I can have you pierced." Her eyes flashed open in shock and a startled sound erupted from her gagged mouth.
"Well, I told you the consequences of attacking me," I said, "I'm thinking of a little gold ring for each nipple and maybe one for your nose." She shook her head and made muffled sounds. For the first time since she got here she really struggled against her bonds, but the ropes held firm. I ignored her but reached down between her legs.
"Maybe a couple down here," I said slipping my hand inside the panties. She looked horrified at the prospect. I smiled sweetly and cranked the vibrator up a notch.
"Have fun!" I said and left bolting the door behind me.
By now I was sure she was almost ready; she was tired, hungry and very frightened. Further she knew that she needed to get back in my good books as soon as she could if she was to avoid mutilation. I let her stew a while longer and prepared a light meal. As I ate I went through the list of models I'd compiled. There was quite some variety ranging from obvious professionals to girls who only worked part time for the local agencies, spending their days serving behind shop counters or in restaurants. Vicky, the girl I'd initially selected, had been in what the manager had called his "Blue book" which was apparently for girls who didn't go through an agency. I had mixed feelings about this, on the one hand I wanted as little record of our relationship as possible but at the same time I needed her to be professional. Too much time can be wasted with an inexperienced model. In the end I risked it and gave her a call. I got her machine meaning she probably had a day job so I left the barest details and asked that she call me back. Then I pressed on with the plan. I found Caroline's makeup box amongst the things I'd taken from her apartment. For a girl who sold makeup she had a surprisingly limited range. Fortunately, Samantha had left a lot of things behind when she moved out. An assistant editor at Vogue must receive a lot of free makeup samples because even the small box she had forgotten was packed to the brim with lipsticks, blushers and eye makeup. Sam had also left behind one of the dresses I'd bought her, a black silky evening dress whose only crime was not coming from a major designer. I moved them downstairs to the dungeon and added some things from the wardrobe. Recovering the leather blindfold and the crop I returned to the cell and removed the nipple clamps and the bindings for her legs.
Her nipples were still red and engorged and obviously very sensitive. I pulled her body over mine and placed one hand on her breast as I removed the panties. I ran my hand over her nipple and made some comment about silver being perhaps a better match for her complexion. She lay helpless in my arms weakly shaking her head and attempted to speak, her eyes large and frightened.
I looked down at her. "Your choice," I said, "The nipples or the photo's." A look of relief spread across her face. "You must realize slave that in order to account for your actions yesterday there will be a penalty to pay. We will be taking a lot more photo's than we would have had you behaved, and they will be a lot more explicit." She looked at the floor for a second weighing up her alternatives then she looked up and nodded eagerly. "You must follow my orders exactly, quickly and the best you can understand?" Again the nod. "If I feel that you aren't giving me what I want then the deals off." She nodded again. "IF I tell you to smile while fucking a pig, you'll smile big and bright as if you really enjoy it or tomorrow we fit you for a little extra jewelry, understand?" Her eyes had bulged a little at the mention of a pig, but she still nodded with vigorous energy.
After removing vibrator and buttplug I replaced the cloth with her usual ballgag. I did it myself as I didn't want to untie her but I made it clear that I would still hold her responsible for presence of the gag, then I fastened a leash to her collar. Reaching down I fitted the hobble on her ankles and covered her large questioning eyes with the blindfold. Then I led her upstairs. Once in the house I took her up to a bathroom on the second floor where I removed the blindfold, boots and hobble and helped her into the bath. Near the shower head was a D ring set in the ceiling nominally used to hold up a shower rack. With the rack removed the true purpose was apparent and I locked her leash to it. She watched as I started to undress, getting her first real look at my naked body. I'm not a big man, certainly not by porn film standards, but I'd been ignoring this erection for the better part of two days. Now with the proximity of her helpless naked body it came back with a vengeance. Her eyes bulged as it slapped against my leg, I tried desperately to imaging people gutting fish (an old trick my father told me to rapidly get out of the mood). Then I stepped in behind her. For the first time in out relationship she was wearing more than I was, though I think the irony of this was lost on her. I turned on the water, letting it play over her head and down the flanks of her body. The light here was better than in the dungeon and I could clearly make out last summers bikini line. Almost as expected she wasn't radical in her choice of swimwear and there were large areas that had never seen sunlight. I left her for a moment, letting the water do it's work. Then I picked up a bottle of shampoo and started to massage it into her thick mane of blond hair. My fingers worked into her scalp in gentle smooth caresses....
Years ago when I was a student, there had been a barber shop just off campus called Al's. Al had started the place back in '46 when he'd finally been let out of the army. For thirty years Al's had 2 barber chairs and 4 seats in the waiting room, and in all that time he'd never been overcrowded. Then in the summer of '78 he'd taken on a girl called Maria to wash hair for him. Maria was some relative from a distant part of Al's huge Italian family wanting a little vacation money. She also knew the secret of washing hair. She did it slow in gentle sweeps punctuated by heavy washing, massaging the scalp with long strong sensitive fingers... For the first time in thirty years Al's had to take bookings; with his usual style Al bowed to the inevitable and bought another chair in the waiting room. Maria proved very popular with the male students and was invited to all the best campus parties for the rest of the year...
And Caroline, bound and gagged in my bathroom was now benefiting from Maria's legacy, eyes closed, she moaned softly, as I shampooed her hair. We rinsed, rewashed and conditioned, and I began to feel the tension leaching from my slave's body. Right now her captivity was forgotten, lost in a primal grooming ritual that was already hardening her nipples. Then I moved on to the rest of her, spreading fragrant shower gel on my hands and massaging it into her soft flesh. Her small noises and the pattern of her breathing told me of her enjoyment as I soaped her firm pert breasts. She had been encased in sweaty rubber for the last few days, and before that was the trip here in my trunk; now she was enjoying the sensation of being clean again. I pulled her closer letting my hands follow the trim contours of her athletic body. Suddenly I felt her gloved hand slide over my cock and balls. I stiffened, thinking this was an attack, but instead her strong latex covered fingers started to play up and down my shaft. I'd clinched her wrists so tightly that her hands were effectively one unit. If she was playing with the head, she was limited to the shaft for the other hand, but closer to the base she teased my balls with deft flicks of her gloved fingertips. In response my hands moved down into the silky smooth folds of her womanhood, feeling the heat building there. She looked up at me with those large doe-like, need filled eyes, making little noises behind her gag, rubbing her wet slippery body against mine. Begging for release, begging for...
But from the back of my mind came a little voice telling me that she was playing me for a sap, thinking she could buy me off with a body I already owned. Soon other voices chimed in reminding me that she'd had something throbbing away in her holes for the best part of a day. Sure she's horny, it said, and we can USE than.
So I pushed her away and continued to rub her down all the while trying to imagine people gutting fish.
As slowly and erotically as I could I dried her and powdered her naked body. Styling her hair was more difficult, but in the end I had her rich golden hair pinned up high on her head in the elegant slightly conservative look that I needed. All this time she gave me no trouble and even when I replaced the boots, hobble and blindfold she seemed content to let me manage her. It was clear she was taking our deal really seriously and didn't want to risk screwing it up.
I lead her back to the dungeon and locked the iron door behind me, before attaching the collar to a ceiling ring near the table and removing everything but the collar.
I slapped the crop on the table top next to a small pile of leather clothing.
"Put them on slut."
"Yes, Master." She was meek, enthusiastic and willing to please, in fact willing to do anything but face the alternative. The outfit consisted of a soft leather strapless corset and matching briefs, a pair of normal patent high heeled pumps, a pair of silk stockings and a pair of black leather opera gloves. She seemed almost happy as she put them on. She had intended to finish with the gloves but I stopped her, hobbled her ankles and chained the collar to the table. Next I brought out the makeup.
"Ok slave make yourself pretty."
She looked confused, "But Master these aren't my colors..."
"They are now. Do it slave or maybe a flogging will persuade you?"
She started, a little hesitantly at first, and I had to point out what colors to use, but in the end she looked radiant, confirming everything I had seen in her that first day. I had her put on the gloves; she frowned a little when she discovered that the top three inches seemed stiff, but when I tapped the crop she speedily put them on. I had to remove the collar before I helped her into the black evening gown.
She was obviously confused, wondering just why I would want to dress her in this way. Her ankles where still fastened to the chair but with the collar gone this was the closest she'd been to freedom since I took her. I started to change that. First up were the cuffs, thin silver bands about an inch and a half wide that looked just like the kind of bracelets some women wear over long gloves on social occasions. These however were the product of a fetish jeweler in San Francisco, once closed a special tool was needed to remove them. In addition each had a tiny D ring set into the underside; though small, they could support a person's full weight. For the time being, I fastened them with a cable tie. Next I squeezed the tops of the gloves and felt them ratchet down until they were tightly gripping her upper arms. Each had a small black D ring in it that I joined with a thin black wire effectively pinning her arms to her side. I added a thin black choker, again from a distance a fashion accessory but hiding a thin leather collar, the silver clasp really a small strong padlock. I freed her wrists then refastened them with more wire.
Finally she spoke, "You're tying me so that no one can tell from a distance." Her voice was flat and calm like someone discussing a science experiment.
I was unfastening her ankles from the chair, "Very good slave," I said.
"No gag?" She asked raising an eyebrow.
"I don't think it would go with the ensemble, do you?"
I handed her a small black leather clutch purse; it was difficult to hold with her hands bound like that, but somehow we managed. I positioned her in front of a black drape and took my first shots.
She looked poised and elegant, a young professional woman on her way to a show or to a fancy party. She could have been a lawyer, a doctor or a young executive. In fact she was a slave her bonds invisible to a casual observer. I felt the strange little thrill of knowing something others don't. The bonds though elaborate were never really intended to be used in this way. I've always liked the idea of secret bondage in public places. In a year or so, when Caroline was fully my slave, I intended to use them to have bondage sex in a box at the Metropolitan Opera. For now they were just to remind her of her status as my slave.
When I felt she had started to relax a little, I moved her in front of one of the covered walls and used a thin black wire to secure the back of her collar to a strategic ring. Then I freed her arms, took a couple more shots, then reached back and picked out a bottle of Champagne. This was part of a case Sam and I had picked up in Paris during the fall fashion shows last year. I had intended to use it for the toast at our wedding. Now I would use it to Christen my slave.
I uncorked the bottle (never pop it, that would be vulgar) then handed her a Champagne flute.
I started to fill her glass.
"Master, what is this for?"
"For you slave," I said, "To celebrate your capture."
I could tell that this wasn't a celebration she was keen on.
"I can't," she said.
"Nonsense, this is your Capture Day party. You get it only once a year like your birthday. Play your cards right and in future years you'll even get presents." She seemed surprised by the mention of presents, but the idea that it was an annual event rammed home the fact that her captivity was permanent.
"But Master, I don't drink."
"Yes you do," I said lightly.
"I don't....." she began.
"Slave you really don't get it do you?" I said, "You drink, smoke pot, molest little children, and fuck animals. You'll do what I say, when I say it. What Caroline Conway did or didn't do is of no interest to me or my slave. Now drink up."
She drank. I had her smile as seductively as possible as she brought the glass to her lips. Click! Had her tongue the glass suggestively her bright red lips framing the action. Click!
I had her down two glasses of the Champaign in rapid succession, knowing that it would hit her empty stomach and head straight into her bloodstream. I had her fling her skirt around a little, taking a couple of fast shots while I waited for the alcohol to take effect. Not drunk but with her inhibitions starting to be suppressed, she was ready to go further.
I took a couple more, of her holding the purse, of her presenting the back of a gloved hand to the camera. Then I gave her a second glass. Caroline holding a glass to her breast, eyes large, suggestive, she offers the other to the camera. Click! I took a couple more then offered her the bottle. Caroline refilling a glass. Click!.
From then on I made her go steady, as I didn't want her sick or unconscious. Her pupils were large, and she'd giggle and tell me how nice I was compared with some of the maniacs she'd heard of. She even asked if she got to choose what her Capture Day presents were. Realizing she had no real tolerance for alcohol and was rapidly getting very drunk, I said nothing and just kept taking photo's.
Caroline, highheeled foot up high on a table pulling back the skirt to reveal her stocking tops. Click. I told her to lose the dress, which she managed surprisingly quickly. I gave her back the glass and took another of her holding it to her leather covered breast as a companion piece to the earlier shot.
Adjusting the lights I pulled away and took a longshot. Caroline stood as I told her, with one leg slightly bent, patent heels shown to maximum effect, then the long majestic line of her silken legs. The stockings, a designer pair with a monogrammed patterned top, ended in garters about four inches below her crotch. From then on up it was all black leather. The briefs, a tiny black triangle which would have barely covered the thatch of her crotch hair (if she'd had any), were so tight that you could easily make out the outline of her pussy lips in their shiny surface. Yet these were nothing compared with the corset. Tight and black it hugged her body like a second skin, from the bottom where it's garters held up the stockings to the top where it's soft underwired cups shoved her breasts up but barely covered her nipples. The slick black gloves flowed up her arms, leather fingers caressing a wine glass with obvious suggestions. Black gloved hand raising the glass to those fabulous cherry lips. Click! A fetish goddess in all her finery, her orientation ill defined, which is how I wanted it. I took another couple of quick snaps then tossed her a crop. Suddenly she was a leather Dom. I had her flex the crop and look menacing, had her slap it against her hand, along her thigh.
Then I had her ditch it and threw her a ballgag, taking a whole series of her gagging her own sweet mouth. I was pleased to see that the lipstick I'd chosen matched the color of the ball exactly. More shots of her handcuffing herself, and she was suddenly a leatherclad slave girl. I had her kneel and look up beseechingly, feeling all the time the heat in my crotch. Keeping her hands cuffed I removed the gag, adjusted the tripod down to her level and undid my fly. My erection almost slapped her in the face. I had her give it a sexy, hungry look then use her talented mouth on it while the motorwind kept the shots coming. Suddenly I exploded into her mouth. Somehow in the ecstasy I'd managed to pull out, freezing my erect cock, her rapt face and the small trickle of cum down the side of her mouth forever on film.
I gave her the last of the Champagne to wash it down then freed her hands. I could tell she was very hot so I decided to do something about it. I pressed the top of the empty bottle against the tight leather panties and wiggled it back and forth a little. She looked at me doe eyed, the idea of what I wanted invading her drunken mind. She shook her head silently.
"Fair enough slave," I said, "But in ten minutes you'll be tied in that cell and in no position to do anything about this." I rubbed her damp pussy through the leather pants, she gasped. She looked at me, I nodded at a mat on the floor. In the end her needs overcame her, she lay, tore off the panties and started; first fingering and then at my insistence using the neck of the bottle. I wondered what Sam would think of our wedding wine being used like this, but it was only a passing thought. I kept taking photo's and suggesting combinations, all the time wishing I had a video camera.
At length I stopped her, she resisted a little and pouted.
"You promised!"
"Don't worry slave," I said rolling her onto her stomach so that I could strap her hands together, "I'll see to you personally!"
Did I detect a little shiver of anticipation? In any case she gave me no more trouble, as I bound her arms and replaced the ballgag and hobble. She seemed a little confused when, after snapping some shots of her standing, I came over and released her hair from the pins that held it up. It cascaded in rich golden blond curls around her shoulders, and it's wonderful aroma flew up to greet me. If the change of hairstyle confused her, it was nothing compared to what happened next. Over her face but under her hair I fastened a soft leather mask. It took some adjustment but once in place, the effect was outstanding. The mask covered her face from the hairline to her cheeks in a smooth expanse of black leather leaving only the area around her mouth and her large expressive eyes uncovered. Framed by the canopy of her blond hair and matching the rest of her leather ensemble, it transformed Caroline into a sexy bondage mystery model. She seemed a little surprised but gave me no trouble, as we reproduced some of the earlier shots with a small handheld camera. I finished off with one of Caroline on her back, the wine bottle cruelly inserted in her sopping pussy.
Then as I promised I took her, pounding away at her soft flesh, driving deeper into her hot pussy to the accompaniment of her husky moans and the squeak of leather. Unlike last time, she was desperate and almost willing. There was no suggestion of a struggle, and I knew this time she would not argue, in as much as a slave can consent to anything this was consentual. Sam had always liked to be on top claiming that it gave her more sensation. I didn't like it that much but it did seem to do something for her. Now I changed our relative positions lying on my back and positioning her on top. Her arms were bound, but she had strong legs and arching her back she came down on me again and again screaming into the gag with every thrust. I knew I was close, but she had been a good girl who, though she didn't know it yet, had just delivered her sweet ass into my hands. I felt I owed her something. So the images of fish gutting returned holding off my final explosion just a little longer, allowing her to cum in a climax so violent that her bonds struggled to contained it, and her gag barely muffled it. When we had finished she tried to say something behind the gag, then almost immediately fell fast asleep as if only the sexual frustration had kept her conscious. I gently removed the gag and replaced her own collar. Then I carried her sleeping form back to the cell and reattached the wire. She looked so content as she lay there, newly washed blond hair framing her masked face that something gripped me and I found myself kissing those soft lips in a moment of weakness that could only be the wine.
The warm after sex glow consumed me and suddenly I wanted to sleep. Yet somehow I managed to fight it because I had to know how the photo's had come out. Brewing up enough coffee to keep half of Colombia awake I started in the darkroom.
The pictures were good. Most had been posed to match the desktop publishing work I'd already done, and as a result to my critical eye lacked a certain spontaneity. These I left to dry as I worked on the other prints. Part way through I stopped and went upstairs for more coffee and to microwave a snack. Whilst I was waiting, I scanned one of the masked Caroline photo's. Part one of the plan went into effect.
Firing up the computer I used a free trial account from a well known commercial service to telnet a university computer in Scotland. I then used a bug in the old copy of VMS it ran to give me superuser privileges. The machine was one of the primary internet routers for northern Europe and it proved easy to fake a message that would appear to come from Caroline's university account. I posted the picture to an internet sex group via an anonymous server. Next I sent a covering message telling those interested that my name was Elizabeth (Caroline's middle name) and my interests included kinky clothes and bondage. I was new to the internet I said, and wasn't sure if this would work, but if it did, more would follow. I also hinted that Elizabeth would be willing to pose for money and had photosets for sale. It took a while to clean up the various security logs and shut down, but it was worth it. Anyone looking into Caroline's disappearance would have to conclude that she was really desperate for money and would do almost anything to get it.
It was early the next morning before I found what I wanted. The photo at first sight looked like any of the others I'd taken. Caroline looked out at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of despair and great need. A silent solitary tear streamed down her smooth cheek towards her stoppered mouth which almost blended perfectly with its color coordinated ballgag. Her full, shiny, red lips wrapped around the ball and the black leather strap cut into the corners of her mouth. She had been bent at such an angle that her nipples peeped slightly over the soft leather cups and the straps binding her arms helplessly behind her were just visible. I looked at the eyes again and saw the beginnings of an acceptance of her fate. This I knew was the one. It would never grace the cover of Vogue and would remain forever on the wall of the dungeon, but though unseen it's quality and life marked it apart. There could be no doubt, this was the Pearson Shot.
