I left the bookstore at around 3:30.
      The book-signing ended shortly after three.  A few stragglers came in and asked me
the usual stupid questions people always ask an author, but I handled them pretty
efficiently.  When two gorgeous babes are waiting for you, your subconscious finds
ingenious ways of clearing your schedule.
      Nothing like this had ever happened to me before.  Nothing like this had ever
happened to anyone I’d ever known, as well.  Something weird happened to me last spring,
when Bound Biker Babes in Las Vegas, my second book in the series, came out.  My publisher
sent me several emails a fan had sent him to be forwarded to me.  The fan called herself
Lisa Darling, lived in the Central Florida area, and wanted very much to meet me. 
Apparently she enjoyed the Bound Biker Babes so much that wanted to tell me personally. 
As she’d said in one of her emails, the main Dom in the book, also named Lisa, acted just
like her, and she wanted to personally show me just how much more passionate the real Lisa
was than the one I’d made up.
      I’d ignored her first group of emails.  But when my publisher sent me a fresh batch
and asked me to please handle the situation, I finally responded, agreeing to meet her for
a drink in the Oasis Lounge on Sand Lake Road at seven on a Saturday evening, at the
corner table next to the hall leading to the rest rooms.  She told me she’d be wearing a
red outfit and would be drinking a Tom Collins.
      At six-forty-five, I followed a crowd of visiting businessmen into the place.  As
they argued amongst themselves about where they wanted to sit, I stood behind them and
scanned the room.  Sitting at the table, dressed in a red polo shirt, jeans and red tennis
shoes, a bald, paunchy, middle-aged man wearing a long black beard and a slave bracelet
sipped his Tom Collins while anxiously studying the crowd.
      Needless to say, I made tracks.
      Of course, this new circumstance was totally different.  For one thing, I’d
personally talked to the girls and agreed to the arrangements.  For another, I’d be
following them to the party site.  And unless they were lying to me about the number of
folks at the party, I knew I was facing one helluva night.
      Due to the usual heavy Saturday afternoon traffic, I drove the three miles back to
my condo and pulled up the gravel drive a little after four.  The twins followed me in
their shiny red convertible Charger, the top down, Chrissy driving, their thick blond hair
flying everywhere.
      I wanted to make a quick stop at my place first to change clothes and maybe have a
bite to eat and a shower.  I also had to drop off some copies of my book and my briefcase.
  I promised them I’d only be twenty minutes or so.  They agreed.
      The girls followed me up my drive and got out.  While Chrissy admired the
palmettos, the lush shrubbery and the palm trees, Sissy went over to the orange blossoms
and sniffed.  No one else was about--which was normal in this neighbourhood.  I’d picked
this area specifically because of its privacy and quiet.
      As I was getting ready to open the front door, one of them walked up to me.  Her
gingery perfume brushed my cheeks.
      “You need to open your trunk,” she whispered close to my ear.
      I straightened, turned around and nearly bumped into her.  It was the red tank
top--not the maroon.  Sissy, obviously.  Chrissy had taken her sister’s place just off the
front stoop, sniffing the orange blossoms.  
      “Now why would you want me to open the trunk?”
      Sissy sighed.  “To stick my sister in it, silly.  Why else?”
      “Why do you want me to stick her in my trunk?”
      Sissy shrugged.  “I thought you wanted to have fun.”
      “I do.  I just don’t have any idea why you’d want me to--”
      “Chrissy loves drama.”
      “Drama?”
      Sissy glanced at her sister, then moved closer to me.  Her breath in my ear made my
cock stiffen.  I tried to ignore it and pay attention to what she was saying but realized
I was fighting a losing battle.  I’d learned long ago that when your cock is doing its
thing, there really isn’t much else you want to think about.  Women have been joking about
this phenomenon for centuries, but it happens to be the truth.  We’re wired that way, will
always be wired this way, and none of us wants to bother rewiring ourselves.
      So even though I knew better, I tried ignoring it anyway.  In retaliation, it
throbbed even worse.  
      “Chrissy likes to be kidnapped,” Sissy whispered.  “I’ll even help you.  What kinda
stuff have you got inside?”
      I didn’t like her guarded expression.  “You mean, like drugs?”
      “You’re kidding, right?”
      At this point, I had no idea what I was thinking.  “I hope so. . .”
      She sighed.  “Duct tape?  Scarves?  Clothesline?”
      “Oh.  I have all that.”
      “Cool.  If you don’t want to stick her in your trunk, I guess we can just go inside
and fix a drink while you change.  When you come back out, fix a drink for yourself and
we’ll play it by ear.”
      I smiled uneasily.
      “We don’t do drugs, silly.  Well . . . maybe grass, once in a while.  You actually
looked worried.”
      I smiled sheepishly.  “You just never know nowadays.”
      She sighed.  “When was the last time you played a really fun game with a girl?”
      “Like I said, it’s been a while.”
      “I can tell.”
      “I can’t help it if most women like to play hardball.”
      “We’re not most women.  And we don’t play hardball, we just play hard.  Get it?”
      “Got it.” 
      “Good.  Like I just said, she likes this kind of stuff.”
      “What do you like?”
      She smiled.  “Spread-eagled.” 
      I waited for more, but she said nothing.  “That’s it?”
      “Naked.”
      “I kind of figured that.”  This was getting better and better.
      “I also like my pussy spanked.”
      My cock stiffened even more.
      “Problem?”
      “With what?”
      “Spanking a girl’s pussy.”
      “None that I can think of at the moment.”
      As if she knew what was going on in my drawers, her eyes instantly lowered.  She
wasn’t smiling any more when she met my eyes.  “Then I have to be fucked.  Hard.”
      I couldn’t tell if she was kidding me or what.  
      But my instincts told me not to question her.
      
      While the twins were out in the dining room, examining my DVD collection on the
bookcase, I went into the bedroom.  I wanted to take a shower but decided that would take
too long.  I knew I should be exhibiting more self-control, but I quickly realized I’d
somehow gone back in time and found my adolescent hormones.  I didn’t want to wait or
postpone the evening’s activities.  I wanted the party to begin.  Worse, my hard-on had
been straining my drawers since Sissy had first whispered in my ear outside on the front
stoop.  
      I closed my bedroom door and immediately prepared to clear my head.  I was a grown
man, a published author.  I’d even been to college and had supposedly outgrown whatever
silly juvenile genes I’d been stuck with during my adolescent years.  I should be acting
just as mature now as I was when I’d woke up this morning and got ready for my appearance
in the bookstore.
      But all that had changed.  Two gorgeous young women were in my living room and were
about to take me to their bungalow to engage in activities that were probably illegal in
most states.  This changes a man’s feelings, thoughts, and intentions drastically.  I
found that I could not think of anything else.  I also found that I did not want to think
of anything else.  The only two things that actually mattered right then were that the
girls were waiting for me and that I didn’t want to disappoint them by making them wait
any longer than necessary. 
      I could always shower later on, after we’d done our thing and needed to clean up. 
Maybe we could do our thing more than once.  I might even surprise myself by lasting
longer than I usually did.  
      Once again, I hoped I wouldn’t embarrass myself.
      I changed into jeans, a light-blue form-fitting tee shirt, and tennies.  I normally
wear bikini briefs.  But the present circumstances were not normal, and I didn’t know if I
should even bother.  I don’t enjoy walking around with no under shorts.  My balls never
quite know which pant leg to settle into and my dick always has a problem resting
comfortably in the middle.  
      I pulled off all my clothes and let them fall to the carpet.  I opened my dresser
drawer, selected my favourite red pair of bikinis, and slipped them on.  
      I grabbed my jeans, then stopped.
      Someone knocked on my bedroom door.
      “Who is it?”
      The door eased open.  Muffled squealing and bumping drifted down the hall from the
living room.  Sissy stood in the doorway, holding a roll of silver duct tape in her right
hand.  It looked like the roll I kept in the laundry room.  
      “What’s happening out there?” I asked.
      Sissy didn’t reply.  She was staring at my near-nakedness.  
      “Sissy?”
      She smiled.  “You look good, baby.  Nice and toned.  You work out?”
      “Occasionally.  What’s happening out there?”
      “Weights?  Or do ya run?”
      “Both.  Depends on how I feel.  What’s going on out there?”
      “You’ve got a really hot chest.”
      “Thank you.”  She was making this really difficult.  “How’d you find the duct
tape?”
      A shrug.  “I was snooping around.”  Her eyes fixed on my hard-on.  ”You’re really
turned on.”
      “I tend to get that way when beautiful women are wandering around.”
      More squealing.  Something thumped onto the floor.
      “What the hell--“
      “How’d you know I like red?”
      “I didn’t.  Are you going to tell me what’s going on out there?”
      She sighed.  “I’m having helluva time getting my sister fixed up.  She’s being a
real bitch.  You’re gonna have to help.”
      “Help?”
      “I got the tape over her eyes and mouth, but I couldn’t quite get her wrists fixed
right, and now she’s running around, bumping into stuff.”
      “I thought you were gonna wait.”
      She shrugged.  “I . . . sorta got . . . excited.”
      I rushed past her and hurried down the hall.
      Chrissy, still in her clothes, was standing in the middle of the living room.  A
strip of duct tape covered her eyes.  Another strip sealed her mouth.  Her arms were
pulled behind her back.  She was muttering and grunting, her head tilting.  One of my
barstools lay on its side just a few feet from where she stood.
      When she heard me she turned her head in my direction and said, “Mmmph!” behind the
tape.
      I turned.  Sissy had followed me down the hall.  “Are you sure she likes this?” I
asked.
      “She’s just being stubborn.  Aren’tcha being stubborn, Chrissy?”
      “Mmmmmmph!”  She shook her head and squirmed, trying to free herself.
      “That sounds more serious than just being stubborn,” I said.
      “You don’t know her like I do.  You’re being a real bitch, Chrissy.”
      “MMMMMM!”  She shook her head again, then turned around and showed me her bound
wrists.
      “I don’t know,” I said.  This was scary.  A strange young woman was standing in the
centre of my living room, blindfolded, taped and gagged, and I didn’t even know if this
was her idea.  As a casual observer, I would’ve definitely thought no.  However, Sissy
assured me her sister had agreed to this.  But since I’d only known Sissy and her sister
for an hour or so, I had no idea what to think.
      “I thought you wanted to do this,” Sissy said.  
      “I do.”
      “Then what’s the problem?”
      I shrugged.  “Your sister . . . she doesn’t look . . . comfortable.”
      “She’s not supposed to be, silly.  She’s supposed to be tied up.  Helpless. 
Restrained.  Taken by force.  Otherwise, it’s no fun.  I told you, she likes this shit.”
      “MMMMMPH!”  Chrissy’s hair flew as she shook her head.
      “I think she wants me to untie her,” I said.
      “MMMM!”  Chrissy nodded eagerly.
      “See?”
      “This is just part of her game.” Sissy said.  “She always pulls this shit.”
      I reached out to pull the tape from her mouth.
      “Better not do that,” Sissy warned.
      “Why not?”
      “You’re gonna piss her off. . .”
      I gently peeled the tape from over her mouth.
      As soon as her mouth was free, she pulled away.  “Whaddya think you’re doing, you
asshole?  What kind of shit is this?  You some kinda wuss or something?”  She backed up,
then turned around.  “Untie me right now so I can scratch your eyes out!  I mean it, now! 
Get this fucking tape off me!  Right now!  Get me out the fuck of this right this instant
or--MMMMMMMPH! “
      Sissy had rushed over and replaced the tape, then pushed her sister down onto the
couch.  Squealing and groaning, Chrissy struggled, trying to twist away.  Sissy pushed her
back down and kept her that way by putting most of her weight on Chrissy’s back.  Chrissy
resisted, trying to push Sissy off.  
      Sissy turned to me.  “What did I tell you?  You don’t play it the way she wants,
she gets seriously pissed.”
      “Are you sure about this?”  
      “Can’t you tell you just pissed her off?”
      “I don’t know if she’s pissed because she’s tied up or because I let her talk.”
      “You wanna try that again?  Go right ahead.  But don’t say I didn’t warn you.  My
sister can be a real cunt.”
      “MMMMMPH!”  Chrissy squirmed violently, nearly knocking her sister off.
      I still didn’t know what was going on.  “She’s definitely pissed, all right.”
      “She needs to be tied up better.”
      “MMMMMMMPH!”
      Sissy picked up the duct tape from the floor.  Chrissy, sensing escape, rolled onto
the floor, then tried to get back up.
      “Quick!  Hold her down before she hurts herself!”
      I didn’t like this one bit.  But when Chrissy twisted dangerously close to one of
my end tables, I knew I’d better do something fast.  I grabbed her by the shoulders and
pushed her back onto the couch.  She squealed, twisting around again, but I managed to
hold her down while Sissy wrapped tape around her ankles, then her knees.  She then
wrapped several strands around Chrissy’s elbows, pinning her even more severely.  Once her
elbows were secured, Sissy wrapped more strands around the loose strands already pinning
her wrists.
      Sissy had obviously done this before.
      Chrissy took a deep breath and moaned loudly.  Her struggles ceased.
      “Flip her over,” Sissy said, peeling more tape from the roll.
      “Why?”
      “Just do it, okay?”
      I did as she ordered.
      As soon as Chrissy lay on her back, Sissy applied two more strips of tape over her
sister’s lips, then one longer strip under the chin and back up, until both ends covered
the horizontal ends sealing her mouth.  When she was finished, she said, “I usually have
to stick a rubber ball in there to keep her from undoing it with her tongue.  My sister’s
got a really strong tongue.  You’ll be able to see for yourself a little later.”
      “Sounds good,” I said, not knowing what else to day.
      “Got a rubber ball handy?”