Prologue

 

Panic is no longer an option.

Mrs. Kraft fires up the van's engine, and I hear all of the door locks clunk down in unison. When I realize that I don't have the choice of wrestling the back door open anymore I suddenly realize that I want to be so out of there! True, it wouldn't have been easy with my hands cuffed behind me, but I think I might have managed it. Now there is no point in even trying.

I can't feature that kind of Hollywood stunt anyway. I try to imagine what would happen if I made a break the first time the van stopped for a traffic light. There would be other cars back there, a stockbroker with a heart condition maybe, or some soccer mom with her SUV full of Mia Hamm wannabes. Spilling myself onto a busy highway, totally starkers, trussed and stuffed like a Christmas goose, would be such a major mortification! I don't even want to think about going there.

The dude who dreamed up those automatic door locks was probably thinking that the kidlets in the back would be safer in a wreck. I'm sure he was like totally naïve. He never wondered about who else might get locked inside. It never occurred to his nerdy little geek brain that the whole system was a pervert's wet dream. To me, those locks sound like a trap springing shut.

So now I'm down to two choices. I can flop around on my mattress and make a fuss, or I can relax and enjoy the ride. Making a scene won't get me anywhere. Even blindfolded, I can tell that no one is going to see through the van's tinted windows in all this rain. With Heather's panties taped inside my mouth, I'm not about to argue my way out of this, and my chained ankles would keep me from trying to run even if I had someplace to go.

So I settle myself in for the trip. I'm shivering. The night is warm, but my chains are icy, and I'm still damp from marching across the loading dock naked in the rain, I guess I'm shaking because I'm freaked too-way freaked.

I can't get comfortable with my hands behind me. The shackles chafe, and there is a rubber shaft up my ass the size of a kitchen drainpipe. My bladder will be a water balloon before we get where we're going, but I don't think we will be making a pit stop at the "Gas and Go".

I know what you're thinking. Poor kid! How did she get into such a bogus situation? Well, just chill a minute. Before you organize the pity posse, I should probably tell you that I asked for this. I mean, like literally.

Chapter One

 

I'm Chrissy.

I know that you've heard all those jokes about blondes. Now that it's not politically correct to make jokes about all those hyphenated minorities anymore, everybody makes jokes about blondes instead. They say we're not too smart, and superficial, and sort of-you know-easy?

Well, in my case it's like, totally true.

I suppose you think that being blonde, young, rich and pretty is absolutely awesome. Daddy always gave me everything money could buy, naturally, but he was divorced when I was real young, and he was always like totally consumed with making his pile bigger. I haven't seen Mom for years. Last I knew she was in the South of France with some dude named Raoul. I was pretty much raised by housekeepers. They kept quitting though, because I was such an awesomely creepy child!

Oh sure, I had plenty of friends, the right kind. They went well with the right clothes, the right clubs, and the right car. With so much right in my world, it must sound like whining to say nobody cared. That's how it was though. Looks and money just get in the way, and all of that neat stuff just ends up owning you.

Some of the things that some people (I'm not mentioning any names here) said about me were really major lies. I never took on the whole football team-just the defense. Anyway, I only did it to win a bet with my roommate, Heather. There's no way I would do it again. I had guys coming in both ends for like hours. I was slack jawed and bow legged for a week afterward.

You might say that Heather was my only real friend at the time. She always seemed to know what I needed most, but she was sort of psycho, too. I mean, she could go postal over some little thing and hold a grudge simply forever!

She was always coming up with weird ideas that got me in trouble. I always went along, like I was learning disabled or something. I know what you're thinking-Blondes!

Anyway, I have to tell you about her "revenge" and how it really changed my life, like forever.

I'm always kidding her about the guys she goes out with. She dates real social lepers-the kind of dweebs that only your mother would like. Everyone thinks that it's because she's really big hearted or socially aware or something. The truth is that she really digs male virgins. One day I called her an "equal opportunity fuck" and that's what got her pissed off at me.

What she did was, she got me very drunk one night and bet me that I couldn't get an "A" from Doctor Cornell's Fifteenth Century History course. She had just finished the course herself, and I knew for a fact that she got an "A". Truth-we were both pulling a four point G.P.A. We got our grades the old fashioned way. We fucked for them.

It was a lot of fun. We made some older men happy, and avoided wasting a lot of time studying. Usually it was a simple thing, a few blow jobs in the office, a few evenings spent bent over a desk, or faking orgasms in some cheesy motel-and presto! My report cards brought tears of pride to Daddy's eyes.

There was this Anthropology teacher everyone called "Horse". It was a nickname he picked up doing field work with Native Americans. He wouldn't screw me until after we did some bogue ritual where I wore clothespins on my tits while he beat a drum and chanted. He said it had something to do with Sue's sun vows. Sue must have been some wiggy chick. It was worth the hassle though; because when he finally dropped his pants I found out why they called him "Horse".

Back to the bet. I had never seen Dr. Cornell, but I had heard that the course was really tough. I knew that, if Heather aced it, she didn't order the grade from "Pizza Boy". I remembered that she once spent a weekend with Dr. Cornell and came back all spacey and mysterious. I asked her what zoned her out and she just smiled the way she does after she's had about a zillion orgasms.

So I was curious about Dr. Cornell and let Heather talk me into this major bet. If I didn't get an "A", I would give her my trust fund, make her a set of keys for my Beemer, and let some geek named Cyril fuck me. Daddy would have cut me out of his will if he even heard about the bet. If I lost, he would probably hire a hit man or something.

I figured there was some catch. Dr. Cornell had to be really rank or something. Whatever it was, I figured I could work with it. Anyway, if I won the bet, Heather was going to fix me up with a real stud muffin who was in pre-med.

She really took the bet seriously, getting it notarized and all. The whole time she was wearing this "Gotcha!" grin. It kind of scared me.

It was about that time that she started getting way kinky. I had to sorta wonder if she picked up all the whips and chains stuff from Dr. Cornell, or if she just weirded out on her own. One night we were splitting something from her Daddy's vineyard up in our room and she asked me if I had ever been tied up.

We had been lying side by side on the bed, but I edged away from her a little and said. "Why am I thinking that's a leading question?"

She just giggled and handed me the wine bottle. "Wuss!"

Ever since I was a kid, you could get me to do absolutely anything on a dare. Heather knew it, the evil bitch. "I know how this works," I mocked. "You tie me up and leave me here till I pee my pants while you go out for pizza."

"I'll stay right here with you," she raised her hand like to say "I swear" and put on that wide-eyed innocent look that always made me laugh. I didn't laugh this time, because I suddenly realized that the idea was turning me on. I cleared my throat. "Aren't we supposed to use old neck ties, or something?"

She sprang off the bed as though my comment had been the starting pistol she was waiting for. She took a hank of cotton clothesline out of her dresser drawer and held it up with a grin. It was still shrink-wrapped. I felt goose bumps on my arms. She had planned this whole scene. It wasn't just some wild impulse thing. I took a big gulp of wine. "What's this? Girl scouts are always prepared?"

"That's right," she giggled. "I plan to get my merit badge in knot tying."

I sighed, like the whole thing was a major drag and I was just going along because I was her best chum and all that. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Stand up." There was a new note in her voice, still playful, but more intent, a trifle husky, commanding.

It was the commanding tone I responded too, snapping to attention like the Captain of the Guard or something, arching my back until my tits stuck out and folding my chin into my collarbone.

"Wipe that smirk off of your face." The warning in her voice sounded sincere. I composed my face and relaxed enough to make my pose less comic.

She just looked at me for a long time, like she was trying to make up her mind about my attitude, or waiting for me to smart off again so that she could put me in line. The longer we stood there, the more turned on I was getting. That was a little freaky, I blamed the wine. It couldn't be because I was some kind of closet case or something.

"Take off your clothes."

I didn't react right away. For a minute, I wasn't sure that I had heard her correctly. All I had to do was tell her to fuck off and flop my ass back on the bed and she could either put the rope away and join me or stand there looking like a dweeb. Instead, I unbuttoned my blouse and peeled it off. I didn't look at her. My face was hot.

We were room mates. We had showered together and borrowed each other's muff covers. It wasn't like she hadn't seen it a zillion times. This was different though, not like doing a strip tease for some guy, more like being searched for drugs by the border patrol or something. If Heather whipped out a pair of rubber gloves, I was ready to tell her to go hump a hydrant.

She just kept watching, and I kept stripping, and the room got maximum quiet. When I was down to my sopping panties I threw her my best pleading puppy look. "All of it?"

"Starkers," she said. I could see that she was already getting into a total dominant head space, all bitchy and stern.

I peeled them down and kicked them over into the corner with the rest of my clothes. Then I stood there with my fists at my sides while she ripped the shrink wrap off the clothesline.

"This is so rude!" I said. My voice had gone all whispery and like solemn.

"Shut up!" She was whispering, too.

I closed my eyes when I felt her hot breath on the back of my neck, and I didn't struggle when she tied my hands behind me. She used plenty of wraps around each wrist, and tied the knot where I could never reach it. "You've been practicing this, haven't you?" I teased.

She smacked my ass hard. I jumped and squealed. "Hey!"

That didn't faze her. She kept a hold on the rope that dangled from my wrists and reeled me back in.

"Watch your mouth!" she warned, "or I'll have to gag you."

She walked around me and got right in my face. I tried to stare her down, but the scary light in her eyes made me remember that she still had a bug up her butt. The switchblade didn't do a thing for my peace of mind either.

It came out of her hip pocket and snicked open in front of my nose. I had seen it before. It was a love offering from some gearhead she used to go out with. She played with it all the time, opening and closing it over and over again while she studied, the way some people click pens. Still, under the circumstances, it seemed pretty shivery and menacing.

"Get real, Heather," I groaned. "You aren't going there." Truth-I wasn't so sure. She looked so radical I wouldn't have been surprised by anything she did. There's a love- hate thing between roommates, like surrogate siblings or something. She could kill me or kiss me. The weird part was, the uncertainty was giving me pussy quakes. Go figure.

She just grinned and tossed the knife on the bed. Then she stroked the side of my face with her fingertips. "You trust me, don't you?"

I nodded, but I wasn't all enthused about it. There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice-like she was really saying: "You aren't really that much of a fucking feeb, are you?"

Still, when she ran her thumb over my lips, I ignored my first impulse, which involved lots of teeth and blood, and screaming. I opened my mouth to suck on it instead.

It was a set-up. I should have known her evil ways by then. She hooked my lower jaw open and stuffed in a pair of panty hose that I never saw coming. Before I could spit it out, she had the panty part past my tongue and the legs wrapped around my neck in a knot.

"That should take care of that smart lip," she said.

It didn't entirely, of course. Even with a mouth full of panties, I could still make a lot of noise, but my words came out all distorted. Heather just grinned and shrugged like she didn't get what I was trying to tell her, although "UCK OOO" should have been pretty easy to understand.

"I know what you want to ask me," she said. "Yes, those panty hose did come out of my laundry basket."

She got tired of my noise after awhile and ignored me while she picked up the switchblade and used it to cut off another length of rope. This one went around my waist.

"Spread your legs."

When I jammed my knees together, she smacked my thighs with her fingertips. "I said spread 'em!"

Glaring at her the whole time to let her know how much I was not enjoying this, I opened my legs and let her snake the end of the rope up and through. She tied a big knot in it and positioned it right over my clit before she pulled tight and tied it off to my waist.

Up from the waist, over the shoulders, and back down, she looped that rope like she had been doing human macramé for years. She did some kind of cross your heart bra thing with my tits, wrapping them up separately in tourniquets of rope so that they stuck out like grapefruits.

The elbows were next, cinched together until they almost touched. I was forced to puff out my chest like some jailbait twit showing off her first training bra.

She tied my ankles together and stood back to admire her work. I looked down to confirm my suspicion that the knot over my clit was sopping. This was a whole new thing going on with me. Satisfied with her creation, she put one finger against my chest and tipped me over onto the bed.

I thought that maybe she was all done with me now. She would leave me here and go study or call up one of her nerdy acolytes to entertain him with a full report. Phone sex was real big with those losers, and she would have him searching around for his dick in no time. "Guess what she's wearing," she would whisper hoarsely. Then she would use that evil chuckle that always got them hard. "Not even close. All she has on is a hundred feet of rope. Yes-way!"

That didn't happen. Instead she finished making me uncomfortable and helpless to the max with the old classic hog-tie, bending back my legs until my fingertips touched my heels and my spine was a bow.

It was a very long night. Leaving me alone turned out to be the last thing on her mind. Now that I couldn't defend myself, she tried out every radical thing she could think of. First it was a feather. She knew how ticklish I was. Just the sight of the damn thing had me screaming most dire threats into the pantyhose. She ignored all that, and trailed the feather over my ribs and belly until I was literally crying.

You probably think that a dorm room is hardly the dungeon of the inquisition, and there isn't much she could do to hurt me when she had no plans to do like actual harm. All I can say is, try squirming around on the bed while somebody blindfolds you and runs ice cubes over your nipples.

The switchblade got into the act, too. By the time I felt the point scratching circles around my butt cheeks, I was convinced that Heather had finally gone homicidal and they would find me in a dumpster tomorrow with her initials carved in my ass.

So when she took out the gag, I was only too happy to tell her anything she wanted to hear.

"Who's the most awesome goddess?" she prompted.

"Heather!" I sobbed.

"Who's a grody cum sucking slut?"

"I am!"

"Say it!"

"I'm a grody cum sucking slut!"

Sure, after she cut me loose, I should have reported her or something, or at least moved to another dorm room. I was an absolute wreck by then, and she had to stroke my head and talk to me for a long time before I stopped shaking. There was something about the whole trip that got to me though. Maybe it's what those old Greek dudes called catharsis. I was way relaxed the next morning, like I had been fucking all night or something. Instead of going ballistic with Heather, I started to hang even closer to her, like I was her puppy. Go figure.

All I know is, when she whipped out a roll of duct tape a week later, I started stripping without being told. She used two rolls of tape. When she was done, she held up a mirror and laughed at her silver mummy. Wearing it was bad enough, that stuff gets really itchy after awhile, but the awful part came when she ripped it off. After that, I kept my beaver shaved in self defense.