Chapter One

 

I don't know where my fascination for being tied up and helpless came from. When I was a girl I got tied up as the Indian, when my brothers played cowboys and Indians. And I always had a sort of dramatic flair. When I started reading romance novels as a young woman they were the historical kind, where the woman was always in danger of some rude, crude, powerfully built men doing something outrageous to them, the proverbial fate worse than death.

And so as I entered adolescence my fascination took on sexual connotations and melded with my flare for the dramatic. I saw, in my fantasies, myself as the lovely, helpless, innocent victim of lewd, lust-crazed guys who would do to me all the stuff I wanted done to me but didn't have the courage to do.

My family is very conservative, and I grew up in a conservative city where variation from that theme is frowned upon by just about everyone, at least publicly. So I kept my hidden fantasies to myself. I certainly didn't let a hint of them emerge when I was dating.

After all, the boys I dated were all boys I and my friends knew. And I was fairly certain that whatever happened on our date would be broadcast to, at the very least, their friends. So not only did I keep my nasty fantasies to myself but I had to act to restrain my dates wandering hands and my own growing interest in sex.

I mean, sex was everywhere on TV and on the internet. The girls I saw in music videos acted and dressed in the sluttiest ways imaginable! The magazines were filled with pictures and stories of nasty goings on among celebrities, and sexual advice on how to please a man by doing all kinds of outrageous things!

But I remained a virgin right through high school, more afraid, to be honest, of exposure before my peers than exposure before a handsome boy. But in a small school where everyone knew everyone I just couldn't take the chance of being talked about like that.

I was considered kind of a prude (and nerdy), I know. Not that most of the other girls were all that experimental either, but I was more wary of a guy who would tell everyone about me, and, to be honest, of losing control. I had brothers. I had heard some of the stories told about other girls and would have been horrified to have them told about me!

Another aspect of why I remained a virgin was that I was... well... odd, weird, freaky, at least, as far as I had been able to tell. I had discovered masturbation early on in my adolescence, you see, just like every other boy and girl. It wasn't something you talked about, of course, not if you were a girl, but as far as I could tell from what I could glean from others and on the internet and on television, I was... well, my orgasms were extremely intense.

They were intense enough that I couldn't masturbate if anyone was in the house unless I had the stereo up loud and jammed my face into my pillow. When I orgasmed it was like my entire body was on fire, and then that fire exploded like a volcano going off!

When that happened, I lost control. Depending on how 'good' my climax was, I would thrash and twist and cry out, and sometimes scream like an animal until the orgasm had finished. Unless, of course, it was especially intense, tightening my chest to the point I could hardly breathe. Then all the air would gurgle out of me until I became light-headed and come close to fainting!

What would happen if I did that with a boy!? He'd tell EVERYONE! It would be too good a story not to tell! That was especially so since I had a reputation as very modest, very shy, very prudish, you know.

I mean, I didn't wear tight clothes or anything revealing. I was very academic, getting straight As and studying a lot. I didn't like to even talk about sexual things. I tended to dress older than I probably should have, embarrassed by certain kinds of attention, like, guys talking about my breasts or my butt. Which, you know, guys do.

I liked to swim. My family had a pool, and I was in good shape. But you wouldn't see me in a midriff baring tank top or anything like that. I never wore tight tops or sleeveless blouses or tight pants, really. And of course, there was the glasses.

When I was fourteen I tried contacts, trying to avoid the image glasses gave a girl. By my senior year I was embracing that image, and wore glasses with thick black rims, which, with cardigans, tended to give me the look of a librarian or something. But that was okay. I thought that just made me seem intelligent and mature.

I went to university with high expectations. I took accounting, because I had always loved numbers and formulas. I managed to lose my virginity fairly early on at college, but it was far, far from my fantasies. Even my more normal fantasies, the typical ones where I made love before a crackling fire on a bearskin rug, or in a sunburst field on a warm day, say.

I had drank too much for courage. He had drank too much. It happened in the back seat of a car and was painful, embarrassing, messy, and far too filled with anxiety to be very exciting. I had no worry about making noise since I had not come close to having an orgasm during the brief period of actual partially clothed sexual intercourse.

It was a huge disappointment!

It was worse than a disappointment. He wanted more every day, and was annoying and whiny and sulky. I had sex with him several more times, but it didn't really become what I'd call pleasant, much less exciting. It was hurried, more painful than pleasurable, and embarrassing.

Since I had roommates and lived in a dorm, masturbation was pretty much out of the question during the school year, and attempts at sex with two other guys didn't fare much better than the first one had. I began to forget about sex and focus on my accounting work, where at least I took some degree of pleasure.

I entered university at seventeen and got my bachelor's degree at twenty. In order to become a CPA, however, you have to do a year working for a CPA. I had done six months already during previous summer work terms, one at a government agency, the other for a milk company. So at twenty I began working as an accountant for Jefferson Scott.

Jefferson (Jeff) was a highly accomplished auditor who often was hired as a specialist by the police, FBI, and big corporations to do detailed work when some kind of fraud was suspected. I thought that would be both fascinating and extremely educational!

You will think of accountants as dull people in suits with thick glasses. That is an entirely appropriate stereotype. It suits me, after all, though my glasses are not that thick. It most certainly did not suit Jefferson Scott.

He wore faded blue jeans and very crisp white dress shirts, and that was it. Oh, and hush puppies. It's not like he'd go around barefoot, after all! He was an extremely intense man! When he focused on something he'd ignore almost everything else, including both the time and the need to eat.

He was a tall, slim man, attractive, for a man in his fifties, with medium length dark hair graying at the temples, a longish face with dark eyes and full lips, and hands which never kept still. Maybe, I thought, that was because he wore an IPod, with loud rock music blaring into his ears from his ear-buds almost all day long.

I was actually hired by his son Michael, who was also an accountant, and who told me I was there as his keeper as much as his assistant. Michael was the same height as his father, but much more athletic, with broad shoulders and a deeper chest. He was about five or six years older than me, married, and his father's partner in the small firm.

They worked out of an office which used to be a bungalow, on a busy boulevard. The front yard had been converted into a parking lot, and the back yard was mostly full of weeds and gave way onto scrub brush, train tracks, and then more trees. There was a vet on our left, and a garage on our right. Past the vet was a used car dealer, then a cemetery.

Michael took the master bedroom as his office, while his father worked out of the living room. The files were in the dining room, and I was given the second bedroom (the third being an actual bedroom for his father to fall asleep in when he forgot to go home).

Right from the start, I thought Jefferson was kind of crazy. He was so intense about his work! At the same time, the division of work was clear in that while he did the stuff that didn't require him to meet clients, his son did all the client work. Jeff wasn't very good at tact, had little patience, and was, generally speaking, kind of anti-social. He was the quintessential accountant, save for the passion.

That meant Michael was often out of the office visiting clients, which left Jefferson and I alone. It didn't take me long to realize he really knew his business, and because he was too intense I was getting a crash course in how fraud worked. He would thrust some papers in front of me, demanding I look, showing me where he had found something, so it was impossible not to learn.

He was a great teacher almost entirely by accident. He didn't seem to have any idea how he should act around me, or any discretion in what he said. I had always dressed professionally when attending classes, but things were so informal at the bungalow - and often warm since Jeff hated air conditioning, that I would come to work in T-shirts and shorts.

These were t-shirts, I hasten to add, not tank tops, and not particularly tight except that, well, I am a bit busty, so I had to buy shirts which either floated on me, or ones which were more or less properly fitted except they were a tad tight across the chest. Just a tad!

Jeff whistled at me the first time I walked into the bungalow in one.

"Nice boobs, honey," he said cheerfully as he walked away into the kitchen.

I know that sort of behavior would appall anyone in a modern office, and it startled me too, but I had been working with him for a few weeks by then. I blushed and opened my mouth to protest, but he was already gone into the kitchen, so I went to my office, shaking my head. I knew he didn't mean anything by it. It was just Jeff being Jeff.

It was probably two weeks later that Jeff got excited about some corporate fraud case because he found some very clever way to steal money. I was interested but he just smiled and grinned and shook his head. "You'll see. Wait till I have it all laid out!"

I was curious. Like I said, numbers fascinated me, and so when I was on my way back to my office from the kitchen an hour or two later and saw his desk empty I wandered over a bit and looked at the printouts covering his desk.

As he emerged from the bathroom behind me I was leaning over his desk, and the first I knew he was there was when his hand came smacking down on my bottom sharply enough to sting and make me cry out and quickly straighten to see his finger wagging under my nose.

"No peeking," he said, pushing me away.

I went back to my office, rubbing my bottom, frowning indignantly over my shoulder, but feeling a sudden little fluttering in my lower belly. He had slapped my bottom! That was so outrageous! Or at least, it would have been in a real office. Here it was just, well, Jeff. I mean, I knew he didn't mean anything by it. And I had been peeking...

It started me thinking of those dark fantasies, though, the ones still entirely unfulfilled. And my mind, even as I got back to work, processed a string of thoughts, ideas and fantasies, one of which was wondering what it would be like if Jeff spanked me! The thought made my chest go a little tight because I thought, well, it was probably possible, maybe, to get him to do that!

The thought that came to mind after that was what if it was a bare bottom spanking! That made my cheeks pinken a little and sent a flush of heat into my belly. I could also feel my nipples tightening within the cups of my bra!

But it wasn't serious thinking. You know, it was just daydreaming. I mean, Jeff was a good looking man, but more than twice my age! Of course, I wasn't thinking of him as a boyfriend, but more of a, well, a disciplinarian, perhaps.

And that idea began to grow inside my mind. And in that manner, I began to think about Jeff as a sexual partner in a way I never had before. Again, not as a boyfriend, but as something entirely different, though I'm hard-pressed to say what. A stern figure of some sort.

As the thought grew over the following days, I found myself thinking about sex more and more, and developing more and more intricate fantasies, some involving him, some not.

I gave him the temptation of seeing me bent over a desk several more times in the coming days, but none brought the slap to my bottom I had been sort of hoping for. Though he did comment that I had a nice butt once, and told me to move my 'pretty butt' another time.

But then forgot to bring in some papers he'd taken home to work on and so, cursing, he slammed his way out the front door, got into his Cadillac, and headed for home to pick them up. I knew the drive would be about ten minutes there and ten minutes back, and I was suddenly all alone in the place where no amount of noise would draw anyone's notice.

Given the sexual thoughts which had been percolating in my mind for a couple of weeks, by then, it was an opportunity I could not resist! I felt a sudden wild thrill of excitement that filled me with a breathless anticipation, and my mind swirled quickly as I looked around at the empty rooms.

What should I do and where should I do it!?

I hurried into the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, then went on to the bathroom. And there, in the cupboard, I found just what I was looking for! It was a small round shampoo bottle, about seven inches long, and just about the right girth.

I snatched that up and went back to the front room, then made sure the door was locked, anticipation rising rapidly within me. I stood there, gripped with indecision, then went over to Jeff's desk.

I should add that Jeff got paid a lot of money for what he did, and the place might be an old bungalow but the furniture was first rate. Jeff's desk was a modern U shaped work station in dark, gleaming wood. The big credenza with shelves was against the wall in the corner on two sides, while the desk sprouted from one side, a big, wide oval long enough to sleep on!

I moved to the inside of the work station, which was plenty big, and then bent over his desk, heart beating more and more rapidly. I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, as I usually did. Then I had a thought, straightened and hurried to close the windows. Just in case.

I rushed back, then breathlessly, fingers already starting to shake, undid my belt and slid it out of the loops of my shorts, unclasped my shorts and pushed them and my panties down. I then bent over Jeff's desk, raising my bottom high.

I slid the bottle between my legs, then, reaching around behind me a bit awkwardly, managed to slowly sink it through the tight lips of my sex! I moaned as the excitement mounted, more caught up in the excitement of my own heat than in any actual physical sensations.

I worked the plastic bottle deeper and deeper, until it was almost flush with my warming, swelling lips, then closed my legs tightly, raised my bottom sharply, and gripped the belt. It was thin leather, and I doubled it up, held it in my right hand, and then swung it back to snap across my buttocks!

I gasped at the sting, but heat assailed me. I worked my left arm down under my belly, so my fingers could stroke my clitoris, and then imagined Jeff had caught me looking at his papers and was spanking me, strapping me! I didn't swing the belt really hard, of course, but hard enough to sting as my fingers stroked more and more urgently across my clitoris.

Oh my God! The heat was scalding! I was gulping in air as my hips jerked convulsively, and my pussy was squeezing down around the bottle as my fingers stroked my clitoris. My face became distorted with the passion which grew so rapidly inside me and I let out a string of short, gurgling cries of pleasure as I ground my swollen breasts into the wood and fingered myself nearer and nearer to orgasm!