Chapter One

There are several reasons why I'm writing this book. One reason is I have periods of time alone without anything to do, which is probably a standard point at which many people consider writing. The second is that I have a story to tell, a secret, one of those secrets which sits inside you like something ready to burst, to explode out, if only you could tell it to someone.

But I can't. I can't tell anyone. I don't dare. But I can tell you, anonymously. I've been doing anonymous things on the internet for some time now, after all, dark, delicious, nasty, wicked things, anonymously.

If I were to describe myself, my personality, that is, I would have to say I'm a contradiction in terms. But what it really boils down to is I have many adventurous, exciting, wicked ideas, but have never had the courage to carry any of them out, except in my own head. My life was always filled with fantasies, from the time I was quite young.

I was a drama queen, to a certain extent, which I don't think makes me particularly unusual. But my love of drama was caught early on by my brothers and their incessant games of cowboys and Indians. When one would 'shoot' the other, he would 'die' most dramatically, and I started to imitate those deaths myself, pretending I had been shot, and falling over and over again, sprawling lifeless across the floor or bed or chair in ways which I was sure would shock and alarm anyone who might come upon me.

I would be the center of such a great drama! Everyone would be so sad, so shocked, that such a sweet girl had been so cruelly attacked!

Sometimes they would tie me up during their games, which I found even more dramatic. I reveled in the thought of myself as a helpless victim, to tug at the heartstrings of any who came upon me. They would feel sorry for me and think me most horribly ill-treated!

When I got older I had a recurring fantasy of being kidnapped (which my parents always warned me about). I imagined myself tied tightly and gagged and stuffed in the trunk of an evil man's car, who would then be chased by the police and caught. I would then be rescued in most dramatic fashion, and everyone would be so thrilled!

Needless to say, as I reached my teenage years my interest in drama did not much diminish. Instead my fantasies took on dark, sexual tones, and through my exposure to the internet, well, my imagination broadened by leaps and bounds.

There were so many wicked, nasty, shocking, exciting, thrilling things I found on the internet! But I hadn't the courage to actually explore any of them with anyone. I had been raised to be a dignified young lady with pride in my deportment and behavior, and to demand respect from others, particularly young men.

But I was also horribly shy, and, through much of my teens, something of a social outcast. I was a skinny, flat chested, glasses wearing girl with acne and very bad haircuts (my mother used to cut my hair to save money). My clothes were not inclined to excite anyone's interest either, being mostly thrift store bargains and second hand from various cousins.

All that meant I was taunted ceaselessly, by both boys and girls, for my shape, my glasses, my hair, my wardrobe, and my acne. I kept my head down and breezed past them, pretending not to notice, and acquiring both a hard shell and a reputation for arrogance by so doing.

People could call me any sort of name and I would simply ignore them, or give them a look of bored disdain. It wasn't that their insults didn't hurt or embarrass me, but my pride required I keep a stiff upper lip and pretend I was a wall upon which their nastiness would simply waste itself.

I read – a lot! I read romances, especially the 'bodice buster' ones, fantasies with elves and orcs and goblins, and anything I could find where a girl was kidnapped or held hostage or threatened in some way.

And then, of course, I read porn, the most outrageous kind, too, featuring girls being horribly treated and abused.

I hated school and played truant often. I never felt comfortable there, and was kind of hyperactive, loathing the long periods where I had to sit in a desk and listen to some boring teacher drone on about something or other I could not have cared less about. Whenever I could get away with it I would ignore the teacher and read one of my books, with my paperback open inside a text book.

I didn't have the courage to drop out of school. I was expelled, though, for truancy. That was actually kind of a relief, though frightening. What would I do now? My parents were furious, and I was enrolled in another school further away. I spent a lot of time on the bus with my knees propped against the back of the seat in front of me, reading books.

Somehow, I did manage to graduate, though with horrible marks which should have seen me flunked were it not for modern teaching's determination to pass just about anyone, regardless of ability. But then I was faced with more uncertainty. What to do now?

My parents, under the theory that since I was smart I needed more education, pressured me into going to community college. I only went because I didn't see any other options. I didn't have a job, and there wasn't anything I was good at that I wanted to do. I went to the local college but drifted through, barely passing because of more truancy. My head was in the clouds and I much preferred reading my fantasies than hearing boring teachers drone on about real world things.

You would think a shy loner like me would take something to do with computers but I hated math, and hated science. I liked to surf the internet, but all that stuff behind it was beyond me, and I wasn't interested in learning it. Elves and dwarfs were way more exciting.

I didn't have an exciting time at college. It was in town, so I could save money by staying at home. I would ride the bus to school, then ride the bus back, and settle in to read or watch TV. Not for me, the wild parties and orgies or whatever went on in dorms and sorority houses.

So what did I take? Well, the only job I had considered was night desk clerk at a motel not far from my house. I hadn't gotten it, but when I went to the community college I took a two year course in Hospitality, which was supposed to lead to jobs in hotels and banquet halls and the like.

The one thing college did for me, because I was forced to interact with people, especially during training sessions, was made me a little easier at dealing with people. I met a few girls who, while I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends, were at least acquaintances who chatted with me from time to time in school.

Meghan was the one who told me I had beautiful eyes, and that I really should get either contacts, or at least, glasses which were more fashionable (she meant less ugly). And it was Sara who ran her fingers through my hair and told me it was amazingly soft, and that I should get it cut like a certain actress.

The community college course included a co-op work term at a local hotel, for which we were paid, if not a lot. But I was able to actually get some money of my own at last, and did use it to buy contacts. The first time I stared at myself without those thick rimmed glasses, I was quite amazed. My eyes did indeed look startlingly bright and soft.

Getting my hair cut was less complicated, but eventually, it happened. I got my first professional haircut, with my long hair shortened to just past the shoulders, layered, and thick bangs spilling diagonally across my forehead.

The girls were effusive in their praise, and even I thought the difference was startling. It gave me more confidence in dealing with other people, but it didn't otherwise change my closed, untrusting personality. I had spent years being teased and insulted so had developed a thick skin about it.

As to my sex life, well, it was quite active, but consisted entirely of my exploring my body myself. There were no fellow explorers along assisting me. I learned what my body liked by trial and error, with some help from the internet.

And I still had a deep love of drama, only now it evidenced itself in imagining myself being tied up naked, being forced, being overpowered and victimized by tall, dark, handsome, rough strangers. I was too shy to bare my body, but the idea of strangers forcing me to do so was wildly thrilling.

I had developed late in my teens, blossoming, as the romance novels say, though mostly secretly. I had taken to wearing loose, shapeless clothes, mostly in darker shades, to give my tormenters less excuse to taunt me. That meant I developed without anyone really noticing it, and I was far too shy by that point to wear anything which would draw people's eyes to myself, let alone to certain parts of my anatomy.

The most exciting sexual fantasies I had always involved me being tied up naked, then leered at and molested by some purring, sneering man who would do shocking, outrageous things to my poor young virginal flesh.

I lived these fantasies out as I could, tying myself up in my room, or where the house was empty, in the basement or attic.

We lived in a rented old Victorian era house which had an attic storeroom which got horribly hot in the summer, and was freezing cold in winter. I never went up in winter. In summer, I might go, depending on my mood, what fantasy was appealing to me, and if anyone was home.

The exciting part about the attic would be that if it was a hot summer day it would be roasting in there, and I would quickly start to sweat. That made my soft skin slick, and also added to the drama of my fantasies. By then, my brothers had left home, so I was able to acquire, and hide a dildo and a vibrator.

I would wrap cloth around my forearms, insert the dildo into my ass, and the vibrator into my pussy, both as deep as possible, making me ache inside. Then I would stand in a small block, tie my ankles together, reach up with my arms, slide my wrists into a loop of rope, and get it to pull closed.

Then I would push the block back a bit with my toes, just enough that I would hang freely from my wrists – naked. It hurt, yes. It hurt my wrists, even through the cloth. And it made my arms ache. It even made my chest ache if I hung freely. I discovered I had to employ my muscles at least a little in order to breath, for the pull on my chest was otherwise too great.

I would hang there, moaning into a ball gag which consisted of a rubber ball stuffed into my mouth and tape across it, sweat trickling down my skin, my heart pounding, and feel the thrill of being a helpless prisoner of some evil man.

My buttocks would be squeezed tightly around the base of the dildo, and my thighs pressing in just as tight against the base of the vibrator, which would purr away within my very wet pussy. Once, I came six times in the space of ten minutes, just hanging there, and grinding my thighs together as best I could.

I could never hang there long, because it was exhausting, and even after ten or fifteen minutes I would be soaking wet, sweating like a pig, and on the verge of fainting from the heat. Once, I thought I wouldn't be able to get off. I had so much trouble drawing the little block back with my toes! But I finally got it under me, and in that way relieved the pressure on the loop of rope, and got my wrists out.

But who could I tell about such nasty, kinky thoughts and fantasies? Nobody. If anyone had found out I'd have been utterly mortified. All those people who mocked me and sneered at me would have had such a great reason to! Though in truth, by then I wasn't really being mocked or sneered at any more.

Oh, I think a lot of girls at school rolled their eyes at my unfashionable clothes, but they didn't really care one way or the other. We were pretty much all adults by then, and they had more important things to concern themselves with.

As I neared graduation I felt my stress level rising. I had no idea what I was going to do. I had learned how to cook and tend bar, how to manage restaurants and dining rooms, and take care of customers at hotels and restaurants, how to make rooms were cleaned properly, and how to make customers feel special.

But I didn't really like any of that stuff very much. I was still kind of a loner, and not overly fond of people. I much preferred books. I was still a virgin, though a pretty kinky virgin, and one who masturbated multiple times every day.

I only got one job interview. Well, my marks hadn't exactly been stellar, and I hadn't demonstrated a lot of enthusiasm during the co-op terms. And I had no connections either. The one job interview I got wasn't even for a hotel or bar or restaurant. And it came about because on my form I had indicated a preference for working the midnight shift.

I was probably the only one who did.

I took the bus downtown to what I thought was some kind of office building. When I got there, though, I wasn't sure. It had a doorman, and the lobby was plush and luxuriously appointed, but I was pretty sure it was more of an apartment building. The doorman, wearing a goofy uniform I had a hard time not smiling at, called up for me and then sent me on up.

To P.

This was a very large, modern, glass-walled building right downtown. The elevator had only one button: P. So I had no idea how many floors the building held. It was very tall, though. In fact, when I checked later I found it was a seventy story building.

The doors opened into a lobby of white marble with a crystal chandelier overhead and two enormous black wooden doors in front of me. I rang the bell hesitantly, and after a long wait a short, but elegant looking blonde of about thirty or so opened it and looked up at me with a distinctly unfriendly gaze.

“Your name?” she demanded.

“Ahm, I'm Amy Conway, ma'am,” I said. “I'm here for – .”

“Come in,” she ordered, standing back and jerking her head imperiously.

I scurried past her and into a wonderland such that I'd never even imagined. Despite years of keeping my face blank I had a very hard time keeping from showing my reaction as she jerked her head again and led me down a hall, past a fountain lined with onyx blocks, along black marble floors, her heels clicking on the cool stone as she moved.

The office was impressive, to say the least. Like everything else I'd seen so far the ceilings were quite high. There was a huge bank of windows looking out on the city, and a desk made of a long slab of some pale stone held up by metal legs.

The walls were lined in pictures and self-supporting shelves with knick knacks on them, often lit up by carefully placed track lights on the ceiling. It was beautiful, but stark and cold, much like this woman, I thought, as she sat down behind the desk, ice blue eyes staring at me.

Her hair was pale blonde, perfectly coiffed, every hair in place, parted precisely in the middle, flowing down to frame a thin, heart shaped face. Her lips were full and pouty, her face slender and oval, her eyes blue. She was pretty, but not beautiful, though I was sure any man who saw her would do a double-take. She had a... presence.

“Your marks are far from impressive, girl. Are you stupid?”

I hadn't expected confrontation. I was very bad at confrontation. I tended to shut down and feel very stressed.

“Answer me!” she demanded.

“I, no! I mean, I don't think so!”

“You don't think so?” She snorted disdainfully, and I felt a resentment well up inside me, though of course, I was well-practiced at showing nothing.

“Why are your marks so poor?”

“I... don't know, ma'am.”

“You will address me as Mrs. James. Is that understood?”

“Yes ma... Mrs. James.”

“Stand up, girl.”

I hesitantly stood, blushing, wondering if she was going to toss me out then and there.

“Stand up straight,” she ordered, her voice snapping like a whip.

I jerked my shoulders back anxiously. I wanted to say something back but... of course, I didn't.

“I spoke to your school. The people I spoke with suggested you were quite capable of doing all the tasks needed but had little interest in excelling. You missed many classes and assignments, and did not display much enthusiasm for many of the activities involved. Would that be accurate?”

“I … guess... maybe...” I said hesitantly.

“Mrs. James,” she snapped.

“Mrs. James,” I gulped.

“Why did you take Hospitality if you had little interest in it?”

“I didn't say I had little interest in it. Some of it I didn't like. Some of it, I liked. I don't like sitting around listening to people talk. I like... doing things.”

“You like doing things, eh? Well, I can certainly find things for you to do. I need a house-girl.”