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 succeeded 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 uniformish 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 surely 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 hand- cuffs. 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. Joan explained that she and her husband
enjoyed keeping several such "domestics". Each from a various background, 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
five 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 neigh- bor. 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
glance 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." 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 squealing, 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 recently 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 out- stretched. 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 mammaries. 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 retied 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 under- stood
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. 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 terribly 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 back- wards, but it
was more then plain. She blushed intensely 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 comfort- ably 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 horrifying 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. 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 Nata- lie, "...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 to- wards 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 wafted 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 six 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... :) You don't have to say it, I
will....What an Jerk...:P Did I fool ya? Did you think it was real?? Even for a
minute??? Nahhhh, I didn't think so. :) I really didn't set out intending it to
be a little bit hoaxy, it just came out that way. If that bothers you, Sorry. If
you enjoyed it, it was my pleasure... Anyway, I had fun writing it, and I have a
couple more written containing lots of "Tied" up women that I'll post, assuming
that some of you liked this one. They were all written long before I found ASB
and are not as pretentious as this. But maybe even more far fetched. (If that's
possible! :) Til Later,
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