Excerpt I tried to sustain a casual conversation while Ellen and Kimmie drained their cups. One, then the other, placed her cup on the tray in
request for a refill. It was then that I noticed Ellen’s speech begin to slur slightly. Kimberly was as quiet as ever, but her face had
started to flush. I poured more tea pretending not to notice. I looked up as Ellen’s voice trailed off in mid-sentence. She had the most
befuddled look on her face.
She appeared to be staring at her hand, which was poised in the air, halfway to her cup. She blinked slowly, her eyes flicking up at
me, then back at her hand and back to me once more. Concern flashed in her eyes. Likewise, Kimberly’s movements had stilled to that of a
statue. I decided to test the potency of the drug‘s affect.
I got up and strode around to the sofa where they were sitting. I grabbed a handful of Ellen’s hair and jerked her head back. She
offered no resistance, so I planted a long, probing kiss on her mouth. Had she been able, I was certain she would have bitten my tongue off.
As it was, the only protest she summoned was a faint whine from her throat. When I released my grip, her face remained gazing upward at the
ceiling, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Kimberly found herself unable to turn and follow my affront on her mother. She too, was unable to stave off my tongue from hungrily
probing her mouth. Each woman’s eyes reflected their horrid comprehension. Neither could move a muscle, yet each was completely aware of
every sensation and what had just transpired. It was time for an explanation.
“Well, ladies,” I said standing so they could focus their upturned faces at me. “It seems that things have taken an unexpected turn.
Pleasant for me, not so much for you.”
I decided to elaborate further. “The tea you drank is from the curare family. It disables nearly all voluntary muscle commands, yet
doesn’t inhibit cardiac or respiratory function in any way. I’m sure your first question, were you able to ask, would be how long does the
affect last? Well, the instructions profess, anywhere up to one hour, so we’d better get started.”
Not waiting for, nor expecting a response, I strolled over to a hutch and returned with a small mahogany chest. Lifting the lid, I
extracted a jumble of chrome chains and cuffs. Each woman whispered a small, shrill squeak, but nothing else. Ellen was the first to be
attended to.
I bent her semi-rigid body forward and manoeuvred her arms behind her. I snapped a pair of hinged handcuffs around her wrists,
tightening them a few notches past comfortable. A set of slightly larger cuffs, connected by three chrome links, was ratcheted around her
ankles. Next, Kimmie got an identical treatment. Then I pushed both women back on the sofa, their paralysed heads still bent back and
staring at the ceiling.
Another three linked set of manacles appeared. This I attached to Ellen’s left bicep and Kimberly’s right. A final cuff was used in
the same fashion, connecting Kimmie’s right ankle to her mother’s left. Even if they were ambulatory, my ’guests’ would find it difficult to
move about.
“All right now, bitches.” I growled. “I’m off to get a few things to make your stay a little more unpleasant. Behave yourselves until
I get back!”
I strolled casually out of the living room, toward the main hall. I could almost feel two sets of eyes burning commands to, ‘Return
and stop this nonsense’ into the back of my head. I smiled at the fact that the only sound seeping from the room, was the ticking of the
grandfather clock. It needlessly reminded me that time was melting away.
As soon as I turned the corner and was out of their sight, my calm demeanour vanished and I practically sprinted toward my
destination. Once inside the dungeon, it took little time to gather the items I needed. Although the size of my collection was impressive, I
kept it all stored in an orderly fashion. I knew where everything was, right down to the smallest padlock.
In what seemed like no time at all, I had placed all my selections in a small duffel bag and was on my way back to my ‘guests’, after
first securing the double entry to the dungeon. I wanted their first exposure to its existence to leave a distinct impression. I knew that
they were feeling quite off balance right now and wanted that disorientation to intensify.
When I returned, I couldn’t help exhaling a sigh of relief, when I saw that neither woman had moved one iota. I smiled a humourless
grin as their eyes tracked me across the room. I continued out of sight and withdrew a metal pole, six feet long and two inches in diameter,
from a tall cupboard. I had used this pole many times in past bondage games and it would suit my purposes perfectly tonight.
I moved a standing lamp to one side, revealing a socket in the floor. Directly above that receptacle was its mate, disguised as a
light fixture in the ceiling. Releasing the catches on the pole, I telescoped it out until the ends settled into the sockets. Triggering the
internal springs, the pole became rigid as any support beam would be. The arrangement was practical, in that the pole was temporary, so no
questions would be raised by an inquisitive guest.
Slipping the buckles of two long, leather straps into my pocket, I rounded the sofa and released the cuffs connecting the two women.
Kneeling, I grabbed Ellen by the arms and pulled her compliant body over my shoulder. As I hefted her up off the ground, I estimated her
weight to be around 130 pounds. Not bad for a woman roughly 5’8” tall.
I carried her around to the pole and placed her feet directly in front of it. Her muscles were still too paralysed to stand, but I
had a remedy for that. As I knelt, her breasts pressing warmly into my back, I tightened the first strap around her legs and the pole, just
above her knees. This locked her legs straight, allowing her skeleton to bear her weight.
Standing her upright, I passed the second strap across her chest and under both armpits, then buckled it loosely around the pole.
Holding her up with one hand, I moved around behind her. Jutting from the pole were several strategically placed cleats. I planned to use
the one directly behind her head. I grabbed the chest strap and gauged the distance to the cleat, then tightened the buckle two notches.
Grasping the strap with both hands, I hefted it up toward the anchoring point. The strap tightened across Ellen’s chest and dug into
her armpits. It was going to be a close contest. With a mighty push, I was able to get the belt up over the protruding tip of the cleat.
When I backed away, Ellen’s stunned body slumped slightly, but remained standing.
I removed one hand from the cuffs, only to re-shackle them quickly behind the pole. I wanted to pound home the lesson early, that her
freedom would be fleeting and entirely at my whim. I left her to fetch the first item from the duffel.
It was a spool of coarse, ¼” sisal twine used for gardening (among other things). I unwound a couple feet and snipped it off with the
first aid shears from my pocket. Without delay, I wound it around her thumbs four times and cinched it tightly. From experience, I’d learned
that this number of wraps would cause discomfort, but no permanent nerve damage. With her thumbs fused together, it was now safe to remove
the cuffs any time I chose.
Shears in hand, I proceeded to slice up each sleeve of her sweater to the collar, then down the front. With the flourish of an
amateur magician, I snatched away the ruined garment, exposing her near naked torso. Ellen tried to fix me with a threatening gaze, but
failed miserably . Unfazed, I cut first one, then the other shoulder strap of the blood red, satin brassiere trapping her breasts.
Apparently, Ellen had dressed in the hopes of bedding some stud at the lodge this evening. Oh well, it seems as though those plans had been
altered somewhat.
Staring directly into her eyes, I slid the cold blade of the scissors slowly under the panel between her breasts. With the speed of
an approaching sunrise, I tightened the metal jaws. Ellen’s expression changed to one of imploring, as she felt the gradual strain on her
globes shift. Without warning, the material parted and her breasts settled to their unhindered state.
Remarkably, the shimmering fabric clung to her nipples, as if reluctant to give up its secret. I brushed the cloth off of the flesh
as casually as if I were swatting gnats. Her breasts sagged slightly, but were still quite firm for someone her age. Her brown nipples rose
from the matching flesh of her areolas, no doubt a response caused by fear. I spared them only a brief, lustful look before getting back to
business.
From the duffle, I removed another strap and a custom made, calves skin, arm binder. The soft hide had been dyed powder blue. (I
possessed one for each colour of the spectrum, but Ellen’s choice of colours in skiing attire decided which I was going to use). The arm
binder was common in many ways and unique in a few others.
The first variation began at the tip. Encased within the butter-smooth leather, was a fibreglass cone. After straightening her
unresponsive fingers so that her hands rested palm to palm, I turned the binder inside out. I worked the cone over her hands until they
settled within. I’m sure she could feel how little room there was inside. She might be able to wiggle her fingers some, but other than
clasping her hands, clenching them into fists was out of the question.
I smoothed the binder up, revealing the first strap in matching colour, adjacent to the top of the cone. Two sharp jerks later, I
buckled it in place. Just this small amount of tension had drawn her elbows marginally closer. Closer, but not nearly enough to suit my
needs.
I wrapped the additional strap I carried around her arms, above the elbows. I tightened the belt, determined not to stop until her
elbows touched. With a mixture of pleasant surprise and disappointment, I watched the gap between her joints close, until they converged
with apparent ease. Perhaps she was naturally limber, or the swimming helped, or a combination of both. I had rather wished that the strain
be little more intense, although it was certainly there.
I proceeded to tighten the matching rawhide laces woven through the grommets which began just above the wrist strap. The laces
possessed superior strength and were virtually non-slip. In no time I had them snugged so that both halves of the binder merged virtually
seamless. When I knotted the lacing just beneath her elbows, her forearms were squeezed together within the vice like grip.
I loosened the elbow strap and slid it higher up her arms. Now the reason I had chosen to use the pole came into play. It served as
an anchoring point between her shoulder blades. Rigid as IT was, something else had to give. That something else was my prize’s shoulder
joints. I tugged, rested then tugged again on the strap. Inexorably, Ellen’s shoulders arched backward. A few moments to allow the joints
time to adjust to the strain, then I was able to tighten the strap one more notch. The effect was quite gratifying (For me, at least).
A good three inches of her biceps above her elbows were pressed firmly together. The flesh between her shoulder blades had wrinkled
and folded almost completely around the pole. Achieving the results I wanted, I worked the remainder of the binder up to her armpits and
continued to tighten the laces. The last four inches of the sheath’s halves didn’t quite touch on the first attempt. They did after the
third.
The next phase consisted of feeding the binder’s integrated straps under her arms (no doubt pinching some skin in the process). From
there, they crossed in the middle of her chest at her sternum and continued up over the opposite shoulder, back down to the sheath and
buckled snuggly. The dénouement came when I buckled the matching collared straps that dangled from the loops stitched in the binder. One was
already in place at her wrists. The second passed over her elbows, exacerbating the grinding against one another. The last strap encircled
the top of the binder encasing her upper arms. In the process, it also covered the square knot where the laces terminated as well as the
buckles of the shoulder straps.
I stood before her once again and reached into the pocket of my slacks. Then I held out my hand for her to see what I’d produced.
Ellen slowly blinked away the tears of strain that had formed in her eyes and witnessed the three, brass padlocks that rested in my palm.
She looked back at me dumbfounded and I gave her a lecherous wink. Slipping back behind her, I snapped one through each of the hasps on the
three straps. The room was so quiet, that the *snick* of the locks sounded like cell doors slamming shut.
Now it was time to attend to matters from her waist down. Ellen couldn’t even watch my progress, as I unbuckled the belt of her pants
and zipped down her fly. It was no surprise to see the same shimmering red material that matched her ruined bra, peeking out from behind the
zipper’s teeth. It took a couple tugs to work the waist of the tight pants down over Ellen’s shapely hips. Inevitably though, the slacks
wound up bunched around the strap at her knees.
“My, Ellen.” I commented out loud, at seeing the daring thong that covered her privates. “You are quite the tart, aren’t you?”
“Let’s take a look at what treasures you’re barely hiding, shall we?”
The scissors made short work of the narrow straps running over her hips. The worthless material soon dangled between her clenched
thighs. I deliberately removed them by pulling in an upward motion, causing the fabric to drag through her vulva. I rose and held the small
swatch of fabric in front of her face.
“You’ll have no further use for these.” I informed her, stuffing them into my shirt pocket. “I however, think they’ll come in quite
handy.”
“Now then,” I continued. “What’s down here that makes you think you’re God’s gift to men?”
I knelt again and noted that she kept her pubic hair neatly trimmed and narrow, like an exclamation point. The skin around the area
was pale, proclaiming that she had some modesty while lying in the tanning booth, but not much. I had noted earlier, the blanched triangles
surrounding her nipples. The small size of each triangle was testament to how brief the top had been.
I reached out and traced my finger down her pubic Mohawk, and slipped it into the gap where her legs met her torso. Wiggling it
about, I slipped it between her soft petals and into her snatch. I worked it around like a canine’s snout in a gopher hole. My finger came
out damp, but it was clear that she was enjoying none of this. Standing again, I showed her my digit, proving that it hadn’t been chopped
off. Suddenly, I thrust it forward and wiped it on her lip below her nose. Not stopping there, I smeared her musky scent inside each
nostril. There would be no escaping the aroma.
“Well,” I announced. “Let’s complete your ensemble and then I can tend to dear Kimmie.”
I moved a high-backed chair alongside her and gathered a coil of stout cord from the bag. Standing on the chair, I attached the rope
to an anchor hidden in the ceiling fixture. The doubled end was fed through the chest strap in back and I pulled all of the slack out. I
removed the belt around her knees, then I triggered the spring release on the pole.
The pole retracted almost to its original size, but Ellen remained standing, held aloft by the cord. I worked the pole free from
between her arms (it was a tight squeeze). It was a ridiculously easy process to remove her expensive boots and yank off the ski pants. No
doubt, she had never felt quite this naked before.
Now, the sisal twine came back into play. I unwound roughly thirty feet off the spool. Holding the ends, I doubled the thin hemp and
grasped the loop at the opposite end. I passed the hoop around her waist and fed the ends through it at her navel. Pulling out the slack, I
arranged the cord where I wished it. Placing my hand against her stomach, I pulled for all it was worth. The twine immediately sank deeply
into her flesh above the hip bones. Maintaining tension, I performed another pass around her abdomen, and then another. Each time, I worked
the ends through the loop in front and traversed back in the opposite direction, evenly displacing the cord’s bite. I finished my final pass
and knotted it in front, leaving about six feet remaining. It was very gratifying to see how the hemp sank so deeply into the soft flesh, as
to almost disappear. I don’t think Ellen was quite as impressed with my technique.
After a brief study of the remaining six feet of twine, I began fashioning it into a series of overhand knots. Shortly, I had
produced a chain of closely spaced bumps in the cord. I passed the knotted hemp between her legs and brought it up the back. It wasn’t easy
working the ends under the rope belt that pressed against her spine, but I managed. I slowly removed the slack and wound the cord around my
fist. With my free hand, I reached down between her legs and positioned the knotted strand where I wanted it.
“Now,” I said. “Let’s see if we can do something about protecting this treasure of yours.”
I still didn’t think that Ellen had any inkling about what was going to happen. Her moment of enlightenment came without warning. I
jerked my hand upward and the line followed. The knotted strand shortened, sinking deeper and deeper into her sex. The prickly bumps in the
cord dragged across her hooded clitoris like teeth on a comb. Each knot pulled the little nub a little farther inward. Ellen hissed out a
shallow breath, that any other time would have been an ear splitting scream. My fist’s progress slowed to a stop, but I wasn’t finished. My
other hand joined the effort and together hitched the twine a few more inches up her spine. Careful to keep the tension static, I reversed
the direction of the hemp, so that it passed once more between her legs.
After feeding the ends once more through the hoop in front, I employed the same two fisted grip on the strands. This time, I pulled
so hard that her feet momentarily left the floor. Any thought that the scratchy line couldn’t possibly burrow any deeper was dispelled.
Enough cord was left for one final circuit. And so through her legs once again it passed. But this time I threaded the ends through the ring
on the tip of the arm binder. Without a shred of compassion, I retraced the path previously traversed. Another two handed pull, this one
even worse than the last, and I knotted the remaining twine to the rope belt below her navel.
As incredibly tight as the twine belt had been applied, it paled compared to the severity of the crotch rope. The waist cinch dipped
slightly toward her loins, the scratchy sisal digging into her hip bones. The knots in the cord dimpled the flesh of her pelvis, before
disappearing high into her sex. A close inspection in back, saw the knots emerge high above the crevasse of her ass cheeks.
The single, double strand of cord affixed to the ring of the arm sheath, was enough to immobilize her fibreglass and leather encased
hands against the firm globes of her ass. I looked to see tears tickling silently down Ellen’s cheeks, as she fought to come to terms with
something with which there was no negotiation.
“That just about takes care of this little Devil’s food cake.” I said out loud, mostly to myself. “ A little more icing, then I can
proceed to dessert number two.”
The ’icing’ consisted entirely of the remaining spool of sisal. Encircling her pinioned arms and torso as one, I wrapped a doubled
strand around her four times, just below her ribcage. The twine sank into her flesh, but not too severely. The next phase changed that. It
was a simple matter to feed the twine around that which bound her arms and torso, making three turns about it through the hollow of her
back. When ready, I pulled on the cord, cinching everything tight as I could.
I repeated the same process higher up on her chest, with a few variations. First, six wraps hugged her chest at the base of her
breasts. Six more passes sank into the base of her tits on top. I worked the doubled line under all twenty four strands, fashioned a loop
and guided sisal up over her shoulders, to a spot between her tits. When I pulled out the slack, the twelve cords on either side of her jugs
migrated toward each other. This resulted in a scratchy, vice-like squeeze against the base of her boobs. They began to redden almost
immediately.
The finishing flourish was the final pass of the doubled up hemp around her arms and torso. This I aligned right across her nipples.
When I pulled it taut, the spongy flesh of her tits ballooned out on either side of the bisecting cord. I prodded and coaxed until I had
forced both tender nipples to poke out between the prickly sisal.
I’m sure that I scraped quite a bit of the sensitive skin under her arms with my fingernails, as I worked the cinching cord into
place. But as far as I was concerned, I’d come too far not to make a thorough job of it. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I pulled with the
other and delighted in the sight of all the strands tightening in unison. When the cord cut into my hand and I could pull no more, I knotted
off the arrangement. Every single inch of twine practically hummed with tension.
I could see that Ellen’s breathing had become labored, but as long as she was still breathing, that’s all that I cared. I let her
hang there for a minute and made preparations to move her aside and make room for Kimmie.
From a closet, I removed a rolled up rattan mat and an adjustable spreader bar. I spread out the mat near the grand piano in the
corner of the room. Setting down the spreader bar, I walked over and released Ellen from her suspension. I let her drape over my shoulder as
she fell. A pained squeak escaped her lips, as the crotch rope shifted when she bent at the waist. Hoisting her up, we travelled the short
distance to the piano quickly.
I purposely laid her face down on the fibrous mat. Thousands of tiny rattan barbs instantly began probing her skin wherever it made
contact. I settled her legs on either side of the piano’s stout limb and brought the spreader bar into play. Each end had a leather cuff
mounted to it, which I buckled snugly around each ankle. Loosening the locking thumb screw, I elongated the metal pole until it was almost
four feet. Ellen’s feet had no choice but to splay wider and wider. With her thighs spread painfully apart, I was afforded a clear view of
her snatch, albeit nearly obscured by tan collared hemp.
With her legs spread so wide, I knew that Ellen’s chances of rolling over were nil. So were the odds of her being able to drag a baby
grand any distance. I walked over and scooped up a discarded strand of twine, about two feet long. Kneeling next to Ellen’s lashed form, I
knotted one end of the sisal around a small handful of her hair. I threaded the other end through the hasp of the padlock on her elbow
strap. When I pulled on the end, Ellen’s hair lifted her head up off the floor until she was gazing straight ahead. Knotting the cord, I
leaned over close to the face that was staring at the area she’d recently vacated.
“There you go, my little slut.” I whispered in her ear. “You get an unobstructed view of me doing the same thing to your daughter.
Share and share alike, that’s my motto.”
I gave the left cheek of her ass a squeeze that contained no tenderness. Then I repositioned the pole and went to collect Kimberly.
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