Small Bondage Bonus

I had been retained through a consulting firm to advise a small, but
very lucrative, corporation through a complicated problem. The complications
could have cost this business well into the multi-million dollar range
had I not sucseeded in the endeavor. After some long hours of hard work
I was ultimately able to accomplish our goal. The owner of this little
company, (I’ll use fictitious names in this narrative for modesty’s sake
as well as clarity) Joan Sumpter, was certainly a unique individual. She
and I spent a great deal of time together over the months of my employment.
Working virtually hand in hand, we had gotten to know each other rather well.
For all intents and purposes She appeared to be a brash, impetus woman to
most people. However, as she and I got to know each other over time, most
of this turned out to be a facade. In her business persona, she may have
seemed like a bit like a shark to some, but outside that arena I found her
to be a charming, intelligent woman.
Due to the pressure that was on both of us, there were many times our
work sessions would digress into a montage of repartee that often could
become downright obscene. Kinky talk, innuendo, double-entendre and
scurrilous jokes all seemed to help break the tension of our labor. At
first, I figured that she was just coming on to me a bit, merely some
innocent flirtation, because at other times she spoke in glowing terms
about her artist husband of 10 years. A little confusing for me, but I
finally decided that, although there were times she could be overbearing
to the point of being obnoxious, she was a pretty special woman who was
already involved in a loving relationship and really had a lot going for
her. I really came to like her.
Shortly after our deadline was met, She invited me to come to her home
for dinner to celebrate. I took this as a tremendous compliment because
in my dealing with a great many of her associates, I had never met any
who had been invited to her home. It was a bit of a mystery to all her
colleagues, many wondered just what her lifestyle was like outside
work. Or indeed if she even HAD a lifestyle outside of her business. At
the time, I had assumed that her crack about “Leave your inhibitions at
home…” was simply one of her frivolous remarks. When I responded that
I didn’t have any inhibitions, she merely smirked over her shoulder at
me. “We’ll see…” she said. It turned out to be quite a test…

I used the big brass door knockers on the impressive oak front doors.
After a short pause there was a rustling sound from the other side,
someone fumbling with the knob no doubt. As the door mysteriously
pulled back away from me, a grand foyer was slowly revealed. Surprised
that there was no one to greet me, I was a little unsure of what
etiquette dictated under these circumstances. Deciding that the door
had indeed opened for a reason, I hesitantly stepped inside the stately
home.
I detected a light “clinking” sound as the door began to close behind
me as soon as I had cleared it’s path. I hopped back, out of the way. I
couldn’t help but think that something was not right here! It took just
a moment before I discovered the cause for my uneasiness. A burning wave
of adrenalin rolled down my spine as it became apparent what was
powering the mysterious door. I tried to take it all in, to be as
observant as my vocation demanded, but my cognition was disjointed and
slow in coming.
A girl. She was small, about 5’4″, not much more then 100 pounds. In
her early twenties I surmised. She pushed at the door awkwardly with
her back and bottom, walking backwards. Her hands seemingly held the
door latch which appeared to be pressing into the small of her back.
She didn’t even look up at me as she concentrated on carefully shutting
the door. My mind continued to reel as more observations became
apparent. She was blonde, her hair pulled back into a concealed French
braid. I decided she was dressed somewhat distinctively. She wore a
slim beige skirt that just brushed the top of her knees. A dark green
wool sweater with a V-neck snugly hugged her distinctly feminine
features. The outfit seemed to have a uniform-ish quality to it because
a white shirt and a bright red, man’s style necktie peeked out from
under the sweater. Some of the smaller details emerged in the seconds
that it took for her to close the door. Her white shirt had the those
little tabs on the collar, buttoned tightly under her tie knot. These
tabs caused her tie to stand out a bit more prominently and made the
collar form fit snugly around her supple neck. A small brass name plate
was pinned to her sweater, on her left breast. I couldn’t read it at that
moment. The door thumped closed.
My mind had tried to deny the obvious, I was sure that it was playing
tricks on me, as it surly had from the second the door had opened. It
couldn’t be, but as this strange girl looked up into my face and our
eyes met for the first time, there could be no question, no mistake.
Her big blue eyes gleamed up at me, over the tape. White tape, lots of
white tape covered her mouth. She was gagged. Her hands remained behind
her back as she stepped towards me. A thin chain rustled between her
dainty ankles as she approached with an unmistakable high heeled grace.
Suddenly fear took over my senses. Who could have done this to this
poor girl? Were there criminals in the house who had cruelly bound and
gagged this poor waif? Were they, even now, planning unspeakable things
to do to her? I looked back into her eyes. Why didn’t she appear
frightened? She seemed a bit surprised to see me, but her eyes sparkled
with such expression… There was such a unmistakable aura of
friendliness, of welcome, that I was inexplicably at ease once again.
My eyes were drawn back downward to her mouth. Or rather, the tape
covering her mouth. It was made up of four or five pieces of white
adhesive tape that crisscrossed and covered her entire lower face, from
just under her nose to the tip of her chin. Her chin seemed unnaturally
long before I realized that under the tape her mouth was stretched wide
open. Two wide, black leather straps passed around to the back of her
head giving a clue as to the reason for her open mouth. They exited
from underneath the tape where it ended just to the front of her ears.
Feeling stupid for not noticing it before, I realized that there was
writing on the tape. Upon examining it more closely, I discerned it was
written in flowing, feminine script. It said simply:
“Welcome to the Sumpter home. May I take your coat?”
The writing on the tape reminded me of the of the nameplate on this
mysterious girl’s chest, perhaps that could give me a clue. I glanced
down at it. Etched cleanly in the brass in large block letters was:
“Yvette” and under the name, in smaller scroll print: “Slave”
I suppose that it was natural, but my eyes wandered from the name plate
to the sweet line of the breast that it was pined to. These beautiful
breasts stirred ever so slightly on each breath she took, rising and
falling, stretching and pulling the supple wool embrace of her sweater.
I felt my face flush when I realized that my eyes had lingered a moment
too long on one of her more personal attributes. When I glanced up into
those mysterious eyes once again, I was amazed because her expression
indicated a coy pleasure in my admiration, rather then the almost
universal look of disdain that I was accustom to. She looked at me
steadily for a long moment and then leaned forward, pushing her chin
slightly out to me. My first thought was that she wanted to kiss me,
(Silly me… :^) but her eyes turned casually up and away, she was
attempting to make the writing on her lips more evident. It seemed almost
as if she was speaking the words on the tape. As I looked on dumbly she
turned her back to me and bent forward, raising her pinioned wrists to me.
She wore handcuffs.
Now, although I would never have claimed to be an expert at such
things, I had seen handcuffs before. I’d even worn them once or twice
in my rowdier days. The cuffs I had seen were different then the ones
that adorned her dainty wrists. I was accustomed to a chain between the
cuffs. Short, stout, unyielding, but a chain. These cuffs had no chain.
The two cuffs were linked directly at their base by a hinge type of
contrivance. Her wrists were held parallel to each other with only a
slight “V”ish in-out movement possible. Escape seemed impossible.
Indeed, it was impossible.
An amused voice broke the silence. I had no idea Joan Sumpter had
been watching. “She wants to take your coat, you know?” Joan said as she
approached, smiling. “I did say that you should leave your inhibitions
at home. Now didn’t I?” I was on auto-pilot as I shrugged off my coat and
dropped it over the outstretched arms along with my scarf. The girl
turned back around to face me, keeping her arms raised as high as she
could so my coat would not drag on the floor. Her shoulders were back
and her chest out straining the limitations of her sweater. Joan
sauntered up behind the girl and casually put her arm around her
shoulders. As Joan nonchalantly played with the girl’s clothing,
picking imaginary lint from her sweater and casually adjusting the
dimple in her necktie, she began to explain their unique relationship.

To be continued…

Joan explained that she and her husband enjoyed keeping several such
“domestics”. Each from a various backround, the servants came to their
employment with various objectives. Yvette, for example was a student.
She was studying dramatic arts at a nearby collage. The Sumpters
provided her with her tuition, room and board and enough time off every
weekday to attend class. All those benefits in exchange for absolute,
unquestioning, frequently bound’n’gagged servitude the remainder of the
time. Yvette listened patiently to this exposition and when Joan was
done, looked up at me and shrugged her shoulders as if to say “Would
you pass up a deal like that?” Joan chuckled and then continued on
telling me how Yvette ultimately did enjoy all these trappings. Yvette
tossed her head back haughtily and then humphed airily. “Who me?” Joan
said, clarifying Yvette’s little pantomime. Joan leaned forward and gave
Yvette a kiss on the cheek then shooed her off with a swat on the bum
and an order to have herself “fixed up” so she could help serve the
hors d’oeuvres. As Yvette tried to squeeze between us she brushed
against me, her breasts lightly touching my arm. After Yvette departed,
Joan went on to explain that all of her “Helpers” were with her for
different reasons, but, that they all shared their one common interest.
“If you catch my meaning…” she said. It was difficult not to.
I followed Joan down a hallway as she graciously elaborated on what I
was about to observe. She had kept “Pets” as she put it, for many years.
She had always loved being a boss, in total control. Domineering as it
were. Before she had met and fell in love with her husband, she had
assumed that she would go through life like that. Once they were
married she had tried to forget what she had become accustom to, to
deny it. She tried to put it behind her, and concentrate on their 50-50
relationship, but it just didn’t seem to work out. “Besides,” she said
with a smile, “I’m not a very good housekeeper.” So after several
unhappy months she confessed her desires to her husband. At first, she
said, he was reluctant, but grudgingly accepted a trial run. “After a
while, the idea did seem to grow on him.” She said that as she got to
know me she began to get the impression that I might enjoy her little
diversions. As she was trying to think of a way to thank me for all I
had done, it became more and more apparent to her that this would be a
perfect show of thanks. Certainly better then a case of scotch. I just
wasn’t sure I was up to all this…
We entered a large living room. I glanced around at the formal room
and the guests who chatted pleasantly. Two men and a woman were seated
on two couches. Another girl, statuesque and strong stood nearby. As
Joan and I entered the room the tall girl hurried over to us as fast as
her hobbled stride would carry her. This girl wore a maid’s uniform,
stylized to say the least. The frilly trim on the edges of black satin
uniform was a joy to behold. Lace circled the hem of the ballooning
skirt and starched petticoats peeked out from underneath. A gigantic
white apron edged in ruffles ran from her hem to her shoulders but left
exposed the plunging neckline of her dress. The apron was tied in back
with a big stiff bow. The girl’s ample bosom threatened to spill out of
the front of her uniform at any moment. Around her neck was a tight,
stiff, starched white collar and a floppy red bow tie. The back of her
collar seemed to go down under the back of her dress. There was a brass
name-tag pinned on her apron and I read it as she approached. It said:
“BABETTE Slave”
It was then that Joan explained how Babette had been one of her
biggest challenges. Joan turned to reach down onto a nearby coffee
table and picked up a small, aged, photograph in a frame and showed it
to me. The picture was of a biker woman, leather jacket, torn jeans,
boots, the works. Joan explained that Babette had come to her with a
dilemma: she just wasn’t happy with the way her life was going and she
wanted to make a little change. Joan said she had been eager to help
this lost girl, although perhaps the change was a little more drastic
then Babette originally bargained on. “Babette here, hadn’t even worn a
skirt in over 14 years.” Joan said as she carefully placed the photo
back on to the coffee table. “She came in jeans and work boots one day
and was wearing petticoats and 5 inch heels the next.” I glanced down
at the black patent ankle strap pumps that were locked on her feet and
they seemed to be even higher then that! A red rubber ball was wedged
tightly in her mouth secured with a black leather strap. Even that
strap was trimmed with pretty white lace.
Babette offered me an hors d’oeuvre from the odd tray she was
carrying. The tray was attached to two curved bars that were in turn
attached to pivots, one on either hip. These pivots were anchored to a
hard looking belt, buckled around her waist. The two bars continued up
behind her where they came together into a handle of sorts. The handle
just hung in the air at the moment. I took one of the hors d’oeuvres to
be polite and then Joan motioned her away. As Babette turned I was
surprised to see that she had no arms, or rather, her dress had no
armholes or sleeves. After my little meeting with Yvette, I had assumed
that her arms had been tied somehow behind her, but I had been slightly
mistaken. There was a bulge in the back of her dress and it appeared
that her arms were somehow folded behind her and her dress was then
pulled up over her arms to her shoulders. There were lace patches where
there could have been arm holes, but they were only decorative.
Joan graciously offered me a drink, and by this point I really needed
one. So we went up to the bar. My final surprise was there. Clarette. A
buxom little brunette, she was dressed almost identically with Yvette,
the only difference was that she had a blue pullover sweater vest in
place of the long sleeve sweater Yvette wore. Clarette stood at
attention behind the bar as we approached. A light chain was visible
running from an unseen spot behind her up to the ceiling where it was
securely anchored to a metal ring directly above her head. As she
turned to face us, the inscription on her tape covered lips became
apparent: “Your Pleasure?” “Scotch on the rocks.” I replied because I
really wanted it by then. Clarette pivoted on her high heels and
reached awkwardly for a glass. The chain in the ceiling ran to a
leather strap that pinned her elbows together behind her back. A thin
chain ran from one wrist cuff to the other across the front of her
belly With effort, she was able to reach the glass with her fettered
hand and set it in front of me. She carefully filled the glass with ice
as I marveled at her bound dexterity. Finally with a twist of her wrist
the glass filled with scotch. It may have taken a few moments, but it
was well-worth the wait. I quaffed the scotch and put the glass down,
sending Clarette into her gyrations again. I couldn’t help but be
amazed at her grace.
A side door opened and Yvette entered. Someone had attached the same
type of tray that Babette wore to her hips as well as a small white
apron to protect her skirt. A woman walked behind her with her hands on
Yvette’s shoulders “steering” her into the room. Joan motioned Yvette
over to the bar, while the woman joined the others by the couch.
“Another round for our guests.” She informed Yvette. With that,
Clarette began setting out several glasses and started mixing the
beverages. While Joan was busy straightening Yvette’s tie again, (“I
just can’t abide sloppy knots…” she informed me with a little wink.)
I watched Clarette as she went about her business. As she finished each
drink she hung the glass in a wire rack next to the bar. After Joan was
satisfied with Yvette’s presentablity, Yvette went to the wire rack and
guided the tray under the glasses. Although her hands were still
securely cuffed behind her back, she used the handle on the bar behind
her back to act as a counterweight and it helped position her tray to
lift the glasses out of rack. Amazing. Talent, skill, practice?…
Yvette then headed over to the party with a tray load of drinks
carefully avoiding any spills by manipulating the tray handle. She
curtsied to the guests and it was difficult to tell whether or not the
guests were happy to see her because they were thirsty, or whether they
just needed a new bum to pinch.
Joan took a few moments to introduce me around. Lawrence, her husband
was a painter and photographer, A tall man with lanky features and
graying hair. “Call me Larry” He said. George was the dumpy little man
who sat on the couch, He was slightly balding, and to me, didn’t seem
to have very much going for him. When we shook hands he seemed a bit
like a wet fish. The other two women were “Companions” of Joan’s. Rose
was an older woman, one who was probably very attractive one day, but
now she just looked kind of “hard”. She seemed nice enough, however.
Elaine was the other woman. She could have been your next door
neighbor. The one you borrow a cup of sugar from. Nice, but not really
very interesting.
After some small talk, more hors d’oeuvres from Babette’s tray and
another round of drink’s from Yvette’s I was really getting into the
spirit of things. All three “slaves” seemed to be honestly enjoying
their chores, with only Babette getting a bit cantankerous whenever
someone had the audacity to lift her skirt. You almost couldn’t resist
the temptation. Joan excused herself after a while and went behind the
bar and I saw her unclip the chain hanging from the ceiling to Clarette’s
elbow strap. The two girls then disappeared into the kitchen. I began to
become aware that when Yvette was not waiting on anyone, she would
always return to a place at my side. She would stand at attention
there, waiting to be of service. Babette was more retiring, showing the
same discipline, but back away from the group. Although I tried to be
nonchalant, I couldn’t help but glace up at Yvette a couple of times.
She was simply lovely. I thought I caught her eyes snap away from me
each time I looked up, but I could have been mistaken. After a while,
Clarette entered the room. Her hands were switched behind her back and
now, she too, wore a tray and a new tape message: “Dinner is served.”

To be continued…

The guests all retired to the dining room and the three servant girls
made a beeline to the kitchen. After we were seated, Joan joined us and
took her place at one end of the table. Her husband was seated at the
other end and the four guests filled in between. Joan rang a small bell
and the parade began. Clarette, Yvette then Babette entered in turn
each carrying a tray load of food. The tape had been removed from both
Yvette’s and Clarette’s mouths betraying the bright red rubber balls
that were strapped in their mouths. I could see Yvette bite down on the
unyielding rubber as she concentrated on her gait to avoid stumbling
on her hobble. The servants hurried back and forth between the kitchen
and the dining room bringing out plates of food. The meal progressed
with the three servants standing at attention against the wall waiting
to be summoned. I learned that it was considered bad form around this
dinner table for any of the guests to pass anything between themselves.
If one guest wished to use the salt for instance, they would request
the use of the condiment whereupon one of the maids would rush forward
to accept it onto her tray. She would then move to the requester and
offer the salt to them. Many times this only required that she turn her
body as the giver was often seated directly beside the receiver.
The meal was delicious, and as it wound down the three girls hustled
back and forth clearing the table. While Babette busied herself in the
kitchen, Clarette appeared with a tray full of brandy glasses to be
distributed among the guests. George took his glass and casually lit a
huge cigar. He leaned back and summoned Yvette. She came and stood
beside him and gazed across the table meeting my eyes. George shook out
his match and asked Joan: “Is it time for desert now?” Yvette jumped
as if she had been struck! Her eyes flew open and she gaped at me
beseechingly. I couldn’t really gather the significance of George’s
comment beyond the innuendo. Except for Yvette’s consternation, I would
have surly thought it was an idle comment. George dropped the spent
match on Yvette’s tray and waved her away. A look of supreme relief swept
Yvette’s beautiful face as she went to dispose of the match. Clarette
took the last tray of plates and followed Yvette into the kitchen. Joan
sighed and looked at her husband. He shrugged and nodded to her. “Oh,
Sometimes I think that is the only reason you come here…” She said.
“…But I suppose it’s O.K.” With that, Rose and Elaine looked at each
other and giggled. Then they got up and went to stand on either side of
the swinging doors to the kitchen. Rose smiled at my obvious look of
confusion and held a finger to her lips. The kitchen doors slowly
opened and Clarette stepped into the room. As the doors closed behind
her, Rose and Elaine stepped up behind the unsuspecting barmaid and
hooked their arms through her handcuffed arms, catching her elbows and
pulling them outward, totally taking the pretty young brunette under
control. Clarette’s shout was no more then a muffled grunt due to the
tight strap and ball in her mouth and she glanced anxiously back and
forth between her grinning attendants. The two women hustled the
squeeling, struggling, but somehow unresisting, girl out of the room
through the other door and no one (Not even me) raised a finger to intercede.
George stood slowly and stretched, rubbing his pot belly. “Same
place?” He asked Joan. She nodded and he casually walked out of the
room. Joan rose and asked me to chat with Larry for a few moments while
she was gone. Larry was the typical self-searching, reserved artist. In
the course of our conversation he confided in me that he had fallen in
love with Joan the moment he had lain eyes on her, those many years
before. What he didn’t understand at the time, was her sexual appetite.
He smiled as he explained with a twinge of pride, It seemed that she is
something of a nymphomaniac. “At first it was great, but I just could never
seem to get any work done…” was his explanation. When she had come to him
and explained about the urges she had hidden for so long, Larry said he was
not very happy with the idea of sharing her with anyone. But he could
not deny his beloved anything. Once he got used to the arrangements, he
admitted, it was rather pleasant having all these pretty girls underfoot.
The slave girls generally keep Joan content and he could finally get some
work done. It was working out quite nicely.
Joan appeared at the doorway and cleared her throat to get our
attention. She asked if I was ready to go, and I figured that I was. I
noticed that she was twirling a short, thin brown leather strap around
her finger. I followed her out to the foyer where I expected my coat
would be waiting for me. Instead I was astonished to see a pretty girl
kneeling on the floor with her back to us. A girl with blonde hair,
tightly French braided. A tight black leather strap was clearly visible
biting at the nape of her neck. Her green sweater hugged her features as
before, and I could see the back of her stiff white collar pinching her
neck. For some unknown reason, I was confident that she reciently had
her necktie adjusted. Her hands fidgeted in the unyielding steel cuffs.
I began to shake. Joan helped her stand, then looped the strap around
Yvette’s elbows and pulled it tight, pinning Yvette’s elbows together.
She snapped a tiny padlock into the buckle. “I like to make things a bit
more complicated whenever I have the opportunity!” She said as she
turned Yvette around to face me. The tape on her lips had been replaced
with some with a new message on it. It was short and crudely to the
point, “Please, Fuck me!” My mouth hung agape and Yvette looked up at
me innocently. I was simply speechless, I didn’t know what to say!
There was a sudden clatter approaching us as the sound of high heels
on hardwood rang down the hall. Babette rounded the corner in a
terrible hurry and almost slammed into us. Joan let go of Yvette and
jumped into Babette’s path with her arms outstretched. Babette stopped
as short as her patent leathers’ would allow. Someone had removed her
maid’s uniform, petticoats and apron. She stood before us now wearing a
bizarre white corset. It was, to use understatement, tight. It laced up
the front, running from Babette’s belly up to a pair of cups that
supported her exposed mammarys. At the bottom, it ended with six garter
straps that held her stockings in place and little else. Her flower was
on display for all to see, framed by the garter straps. The corset ran
from under her breasts, up over the tips of her shoulders and around
her body. Her arms were folded back behind her and under the corset. In
the upper section of the back, the corset extended up to her neck where
it turned into the normal looking, blouse collar she had buttoned
around her neck. This was more then decorative, it also kept the corset
from sliding down so she was unable to work her arms out of their
predicament. Although the knot of her bow tie remained tied, the bow
portion had come loose so she trailed two streamers of red silk behind
her as she tried to evade recapture. Joan deftly cut off her avenue of
escape and herded her into a corner. Babette’s face, flushed with
exertion from her romp showed nothing more then disappointment as Joan
scolded her. “You know the rules! No escaping without permission!”
(What a ridiculous statement!) Babette looked suitably chastised, but
just as feisty as before. Joan re-tied Babette’s bow, then reached into
her hair and grabbed Babette’s ear with a vice-like grip. She turned
back to me and suggested that I take Yvette upstairs and see if I could
find some way to entertain her. She twisted Babette’s ear, forcing her
to bend over at the waist. The gag in her mouth was more then efficient,
diluting her protests down to a stifled mumbling. Yvette and I watched
as Babette stumbled away under Joan’s coaxing. The last thing we saw
was Babette’s bare bum rounding the corner. We were alone.
Yvette contemplated me with her innocent blue eyes. It may sound
silly now, but I was not sure what to do. I could not be sure if she
even knew what was going on. The writing on her lips could have been a
cruel joke on either (or both) of us. Yvette’s seemed amused by my
indecision. I didn’t know whether she understood my conflict, or
whether she just needed it for herself, but when she snuggled in under
my arm and put her head on my shoulder, my indecision disappeared very
quickly. I helped her climb the stairway. The cuffs on her ankles
didn’t really hinder her stride as she stepped up the stairs, but she
began to lean heavily on me. I had never felt as strong as when I
assisted this almost totally helpless girl to do something as simple as
walking up the stairs. She seemed to tire a bit about halfway up the
long curved stairway. My action was completely natural, I didn’t really
give it any thought, It just seemed like the right thing to do so I did
it. I scooped her up into my arms. She gasped as I lifted her and
regarded me with her soulful blue eyes. She shut her eyes, sighed and
snuggled into my arms like a child, to be comforted and protected.
I was happy to oblige.
I turned right at the top of the stairs. There were closed doors, one
on each side of the hall. I picked the door on the left. It wasn’t easy
manipulating the door knob while holding a hundred pound girl in my
arms but the door opened and I gave it a little tap with my foot. The
door opened into a bedroom and an wild scene. There was a bed against
the far wall. It was placed sideways with one side butting up to the
wall. Rose and Elaine were here, having their way with poor Clarette.
Clarette lay on her back on the bed. They had tied her calf’s together
with each ankle pointing at the other leg’s knee. Then they tied her
lower legs to a long thin pole. This was to keep her legs spread as far
as possible at the knees and the pole prevented any chance of her
trying to roll over. A thin cord ran from her bound legs up under her
toward her upper body. It seemed that they had also bound her elbows
together again by the angle that her arms took as they went under her.
Another pole was tied under her upper body extending out away from her
body at her shoulders. Rose and Elaine were both naked, hovering over
the bound figure of Clarette on the bed. They hadn’t bothered to
undress her, they had simply pushed her skirt up around her hips.
Elaine knelt at the foot of the bed, assailing Clarette in a most
intimate way while Rose was in the process of settling in by kneeling
over the bound girl with one knee on each side of her head and then
sitting back onto Clarette’s chest.
Clarette’s head poked out from under Rose and turned in our direction
as we inadvertently entered. Her hair was matted with perspiration and
her face was crimson from exertion. They had replaced the rubber ball
and strap with a metal ring and strap that held her mouth wide open.
Rose glanced in our direction then slid her weight forward and pinched
her thighs around the helpless girl’s head. Clarette’s body squirmed
under the onslaught but her groans did seem to have a content ring to me.

To be continued…

We excused ourselves and backed out into the hallway. We went to the
next door and I cautiously opened it, not sure of what we would find.
To my relief it was a vacant bedroom with a big canopied bed with a
matching settee, desk and a dresser and mirror. I gently lowered Yvette
to her feet and she squirmed in her bonds for a moment. Not terribily
hard, she appeared to be testing their security but she didn’t seem to
really want to escape. I sat down at the desk and watched her. She was
glaring cross-eyed at a stray wisp of hair that had pulled out of it’s
braiding and was hanging in front of her eyes. She flicked her head to
the side to try to blow the offending hair out of the way. She rubbed
her nose on her shoulder attempting to move the hair without any luck.
She glanced up at me for a second, and scowled at me in mock
indignation at my unwillingness to help her. She stood in front of me
looking deliciously rumpled, with one hip extended and her right ankle
flopped over off her high heel shoe. I melted and moved the offending
hair.
I was still not sure what my next move should be. Oh, I know what I
*WANTED* it to be! But I would never have been able to live with myself
if I took unfair advantage of this dream. I tried to ask her what she
wanted to do. “Is this what you want?” I asked, hoping for some kind of
response. She looked at me with a befuddled look and shrugged her
shoulders questioningly. “Do you know what’s on the tape?” I asked
motioning to the proposition written on the gag. She gazed at me
uncertainly and then crossed her eyes again in an attempt to see the
writing. She went to the mirror and looked at herself for a moment. The
writing may have been backwards, but it was more then plain. She
blushed intensly for a moment and then turned to me and shrugged her
shoulders again, this time there was a distinct twinkle in her eye. I
smiled, “That really isn’t an answer. Is this really what *You* want to
do?” She nodded. My heart leapt. “Your positive? I mean, If you
don’t…” I asked again, just a little more reassurance… She slowly
meandered over and stood before me, strong, proud, defiant, sincere,
ultimately helpless, unquestionably gorgeous. She leaned down just a
bit and looked me straight in the eye. The answer was emphatic. YES!
It isn’t the easiest thing in the world, making love to a bound and
gagged girl. My first instinct was to untie her. HA! Joan was much too
clever for that, everything locked. The crass message written on the tape
didn’t do justice to this lovely lady so I pealed the tape back off her
mouth. I wanted to kiss her, I had to kiss her! The strap that held the
ball between her lovely lips was locked too. DAMN! I had to settle for
her slender neck and ear lobes. I hugged her to me and wanted to feel the
press of her body as she embraced me back. No way, they had neglected to
give me the keys to her cuffs. The frustration seemed mutual as she
pressed against me with all her strength. My hands sought her body,
caressing, squeezing, fondling. I found her nipples easily, even through
the wool of her sweater. They stood at attention to my touch, beckoning
me to continue. I pushed the sweater up in an attempt to pull it over her
head but with her arms strapped behind her back as they were, I couldn’t
comfortably work it over her head. So her sweater remained where it was,
rolled up under her arms to expose the buttons of her blouse. I made
short work of those. She moaned as my tongue danced over her engorged
nipples. We drifted over to the bed. She sat back and awkwardly slid into
a more comfortable position by pushing down into the bedding with her
pinioned arms. She made room for me and indicated it by straining her
arms around to her side and tapping on the open space with her fingers.
I almost dove on to the bed to join her.
I still desperately wanted to kiss her, when I did try all I could do
was lick and nibble on her lips tasting the invisible residue of
adhesive left from the tape. She panted and groaned as she strained to
push her tongue out from under the ball in an attempt to meet mine. My
hand ran slowly up her nylon sheathed thigh and brushed the hem of her
skirt. From her gyrations on the bed, it had crept high up her leg and
when my fingers lightly brushed under the hem I felt the cool smooth
skin of her thigh and then the lacy trim of her garter. She shuddered
softly, rubbing her knees together, trapping my fingers between her
thighs for a moment. Then, slightly spreading her quivering thighs, she
almost beckoned me to run my fingers higher still. I was delighted to
comply. Imagine my shock as my probing, dancing digits found only
fluffy hair and smooth moist skin at the end of their journey. Nirvana.
Yvette trembled. Her eyes were full of excitement as she strained to
press nearer to me. She rolled up on her hip and pressed her arms
around in front of her as far as they would go with the elbow strap
still pinning them together. Demonstrating amazing dexterity and
flexibility she began undressing me! The buttons fell open slowly. When
I tried to help her, she grunted angrily and pressed on with increasing
determination. If she didn’t want me to help, I figured, I might as
well find something to amuse myself. So my fingers began their quest
again. Stroking, pinching, caressing, I explored her lovely body.
My next inspiration was her hair, I wanted to see her hair. It took
me a few moments, but I finally found the strategic pins and bands that
held her hair in the tight French braid. When it finally fell loose I
was astonished by it’s length. Yvette’s hair fell almost to the center
of her back in it’s wavy blonde fullness. My fingers ran slowly through
it and brushed it back as she concentrated on what she was doing. When
she leaned forward, her hair fell down in front of her and hampered her
vision. With a flick of her head, and an annoyed scowl at me for
complicating her job, she threw her hair back out of her eyes. But it
was only for as long as it took her to go back to her work, before the
blonde wave cascaded into her face once again.
I was naked and Yvette knelt over me with a look of triumph on her
face. I reached to loosen her clothes, to try to make her more
comfortable, but she was not interested as she brushed past my hands
and began running her trammeled tongue over me. Our loveplay continued,
back and forth, coaxing and teasing, squeezing and stroking for some
time. Suddenly Yvette straightened and looked at me with her blue
bedroom eyes, “Pwneess,” she mumbled past the gag. “Mmmmooww!!” she
groaned. “Lefff mnoo Ifff mow!” It was unmistakable to me what she was
saying. It was a request I have never denied. I took hold of her
shoulders and coaxed her to lie back on the bed. She shook her head and
resisted so I let go. Yvette struggled up onto her knees and faced me
attempting to push her knees apart. The tightness of her skirt
prevented this, but only until I could come to her aid. She motioned
with her eyes and I complied, chuckling to myself as I realized that I
was no longer in command. I was being directed, controlled if you will,
by a thoroughly tied and gagged girl. I pushed her skirt up around her
hips and carefully slid my legs between her knees. The chain on her
ankles was just barely long enough so that her ankles could comfortably
rest on either side of my knees. Yvette’s breathing was reduced to
rapid panting as she gazed down, wide-eyed at me.
I coaxed her to rise up and I gently guided her back down. Each sweet
millimeter caused the passion to well up within us both. Yvette’s eyes
grew even larger and her face began to flush. She arched her back until
I could no longer see her face. But I could still see her neck. Her neck
went from pink to red to almost purple. The contrast between the stiff
white of her collar only exaggerated the color. Veins bulged out on her
neck, Every muscle in her body seemed to quiver and her knees squeezed
the breath out of me as she hugged me as tightly as she could, the only
way she could. I began to doubt that I had ever really seen a woman
orgasm before. She climaxed twice more before we were done.
We lay together on the bed for a long time, cuddling. She dozed off
for a while and I watched her. The red ball tucked in her stretched
mouth didn’t seem to disturb her at all, to my amazement. She slept
peacefully enough, but she still looked uncomfortable to me. She had
resisted any of my attempts to help. Her sweater was still bunched up
under her arms. The starched white collar poking out, buttoned tightly,
holding her necktie in place. Her left breast was covered by the green
wool of her sweater, but the right one was exposed. Her shirt was
pushed back behind her and the bottom of her red tie lay down her bare
belly almost to her navel. I cradled her in my arms as she dozed,
oblivious to her condition. She was adorable. I tweaked her nose
gently. Her eyes opened slowly and her eyes smiled up at me. We made
love again.
As we rested, Yvette squirmed around, trying to get a little more
comfortable. A sharp pain scraped my chest and I lurched to prevent it.
Yvette’s name tag had scratched me. I pulled her sweater down and
unpinned the offending object. I held the tag in front of me and
complimented Yvette on what I thought was a very beautiful name. Yvette
started laughing, although at first, for a horrifing moment, I thought
she was choking. She looked at me and shook her head. “It’s not your name?”
I asked, kind of confused. “Naathhne… Mfff nnamm niss Naathhnne…” I
was still confused, I asked: “Your name is Janie?” This suddenly mysterious
woman shook her head with exasperation again. She pushed her hands out where
I could see and moved her finger in an upward movement, then a downward
diagonal movement then a upward movement. She was forming a letter. “M?…
Martha?” I said without thinking. Wrong. She rolled her eyes skyward and
groaned. “N?” I questioned. “Nathne?… Natalie?” She smiled and nodded.
“Oh, Yvette’s an alias eh?” I said. “Natalie, That’s a pretty name as well,
Natalie… She chuckled at my naivete.
My mind was spinning as I reluctantly dressed. I had just redressed
Yvette. It was really a pleasure for me to help, but we didn’t have
much luck getting all her wrinkles out. It seemed that our athletics
had caused her to end up with an awfully rumpled uniform. I could not
take my eyes off this wonderful, delightful, mysterious, sexy, creature
as she sat patiently waiting for me. It was with a great reluctance
that we left our little world and went back down stairs.

To be completed…

George and Larry were no longer in the living room but everyone else
was. As we entered, Rose and Elaine got up from the couch and came up
to us. They looked Natalie up and down and shook their heads in a
scolding fashion. Natalie looked up at me again and shrugged, then Rose
crooked her finger in the direction of the back corner of the room and
then Yvette submissively followed the women’s orders. I glanced at the
opposite corner where the other two girls were being entertained.
Babette stood at attention in the corner. She still had the same corset
restraint she had worn earlier, but they somehow had been unable to
locate her uniform. For modesty, they had added a pair of tiny red
panties. They needn’t really have bothered. A big piece of white tape
covered her lips and a thin chain ran from the back of her corset to a
bracket that hung out from the wall. The chain was taught and prevented
her from even hoping to sit down. Her ankles were tightly bound with
rope. Just to her right was Clarette, seated on a straight back chair.
Thin white cord wound across her chest, one series of turns went above
her breasts and the second went underneath. The cord was also run around
her knees and in her mouth seemed to be the same ring thing I had seen
earlier. Added to this contraption now was a plug that fit through the
ring and had two industrial snaps, one on each cheek. Either way, she
wasn’t going to be talking much. Joan had just finished tying Clarette’s
ankles to the left chair leg, then she tightened and adjusted Clarette’s
necktie. There was a second chair with several coils of rope on the seat
to Babette’s left. A 35mm camera mounted on a tripod waited, centered on
the two girls, waiting to be put to use in this family portrait.
I glanced over to where Rose and Elaine had taken Natalie. Yvette
knelt before the two women while Rose brushed the submissive girl’s hair
and Elaine primped her clothes. When Rose had finished she pulled back
the tufts of hair that framed Natalie’s face and pined them back onto the
top of her head with a big red hair bow. Finished, they marched her over
to the chair and began substituting the rope for her steel and leather
restraints. After they tightly bound Yvette’s arms behind her again and
removed the cuffs, they coaxed her into the chair and used the rest of
the rope to secure her identically with Clarette, a couple of bookends.
Joan approached Yvette and went behind her and began fishing through
her hair. When I saw the key, I hurried over. Natalie winced as the
familiar red ball popped from her mouth. She worked her jaw for a
moment then looked up at me and smiled, a deep, warm, beautiful smile.
The kind of smile that simply beamed. “Hi?” she said in a raspy little
voice. I leaned forward and kissed her, deeply, longingly. It was
better then I had even imagined. Joan cleared her throat once and I
ignored her. I didn’t want this moment to end. She did it again.
Natalie’s kiss became more intense, more frantic. Joan cleared her throat
a third time, this time with more authority. I reluctantly backed off.
Natalie remained in place, straining forward against the rope that held
her in the chair. Her eyes were closed and her lips remained pursed. Rose
snapped her fingers and Natalie opened her eyes. Elaine held a big wad of
cotton in her hand and Rose motioned to the bound girl to open her mouth.
Natalie looked at me and then sighed, “I guess this is good-bye too…” she
said solemnly, tears welling in her eyes. Then Yvette obediently opened
her mouth and allowed it to be packed full of cotton. A wide rubber strap
made sure that Yvette had nothing else to say.
Joan led me to the door and provided my coat and scarf. She wished me
well and opened the door. I tried to argue, I wanted only to stay. I
could not leave without Natalie. That was not the deal I was told. There
would be no reprieve. The door shut behind me. It was raining, a light
cold mist stung at my eyes, mingling with my own emotions. As I got to
my car there was a flash from a flashbulb in the living room, then
another and another. I drove away.
A week went by, My thoughts were constantly clouded by the vision of
a mysterious blonde girl, one who could capture my imagination and hold
it forever. My calls had gone unreturned. I sat in my apartment alone.
Longing for just a glimpse of the girl who had won my heart in the
briefest of encounters. I remembered her scent, her voice, “Good-bye”
was all it said. I buried my face in my hands. There was a soft knock on
my door, I was angry. I didn’t need any salesmen right then. There was
another knock. I went to the door and pulled it open. Joan Sumpter stood
on the other side of my door. Behind her was a pair of wide blue eyes
peeking over her shoulder. I could feel my mouth drop open in disbelief.
Joan smiled, then stepped aside. The girl who stood behind her wore a
hooded cape. There was a big piece of white tape on her mouth. There was
no message. “We gave it some thought…” Joan began, indicating Natalie,
“… We decided that you might enjoy having a maid of your own for a
while.” She said as she placed a small suitcase at my feet. It rattled
with the sound of metal. I heard what Joan said, but I could not respond.
Joan guided Natalie gently towards me and turned and started down the hall.
“If you get tired of her, just let me know, and I’ll be happy to take her
back…” she said. I heard her whistling a show tune as she disappeared
around the corner. Her voice waifted down the hall. “Matchmaker Matchmaker,
Make me a match…” Tire of Natalie? That was impossible.
What began as passion grew into love, true love. Natalie and I were married
6 months later…

Now I’m aware that this story seems a bit far fetched. In fact, even *I*
have a hard time believing that anyone could be this lucky and in all
honesty, I never question anyone who would doubt it’s authenticity. All I
can say in closing is:

If this Tale I have just conveyed is *NOT* the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing, but the truth… Ahhh, well…, Then…, *Sigh*…
It ought to be…