Part Three
‘MY MIND AND HEART ARE FILLED WITH THOUGHTS OF HOW IT WAS WITH US,’ hand-printed Donna one day in an unexpected letter, ‘OF HOW IT FELT TO BE ALMOST NAKED IN YOUR EYES, SAVE THE ROPES YOU HAD SO MASTERFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY WOUND AND KNOTTED AROUND AND ABOUT MY BONDAGE VIRGINITY.’
We hadn’t seen each other in several months. But strong, vivid memories remained, to keep us from forgetting we were once intimately and happily involved.
“I need to see you again,” she confessed on the phone. “I need to experience that incredible feeling again; to surrender myself to the overwhelming power of each unyielding turn of rope. Why do I need that, Sean?” She obviously needed to talk about it as well.
“I don’t know.”
Her apartment was different from what I’d remembered. She explained.
“I wanted to make a change. It seems like everything in and around me is changing all the time, ever since that unforgettable night at your place.”
We cooked, ate dinner, and waited for the first icebreaker, snuggling on the sofa, watching TV, and doing our best to be cool. Donna’s long, beautiful fingers lay motionless on my chest. Her head rested lightly on my shoulder.
“I feel like a kid locked in a candy store,” she observed, playfully scratching at the third button on my white-cotton shirt with her index finger, sending a hot flush of subtle excitement up and down my teased expectations. “I did my nails the way you like them. Is the red too harsh.”
“No. The length is perfect, too,” I said, with a kiss on her forehead. “Would you like to take a walk, do a movie?”
“No... I’d much rather get tied up.” With that, she raised herself from the sofa and stood before me, her shoulder length, chestnut hair flowing gracefully into a picture-perfect vision of soft, feminine readiness. “I’ll call to you when I’ve changed into something more, well, you know,,” she said, with a nervous smile, before leaving and closing the bedroom door behind her.
The sight of Donna, standing barefoot before me, in tight-fitting blues and red tank top lingered. The latent image of what she looked like, when last we spent time together, soon replaced it, giving me cause to be a bit impatient with the pace of things as they were. Though it would be, and was well worth the time it took to get this far.
Female bodybuilders are a uniquely attractive bunch of high-spirited gals. Restraining one had always been a favorite fantasy. The simple beauty and innocent sensuality of Donna’s body emanated gracefully through the poise and muscle tension of her gate and demeanor. Her carefully designed and pumped up physique only served to enhance that disciplined persona.
She was also a woman of rare quality and wit. There was nothing masculine about her. Yes, she was more tightly wound than most, but when the time came to make love to her man, she was first and always, through and through, a woman, whom I cherished dearly.
Twenty Minutes Later
When she called to me, an almost boyish passion erupted within. It was, at last, time to give my not-too-long-lost lover her second bondage experience. Or, so it seemed. I left “Flashdance” running on the tube, and headed to what, at first, seemed like an empty room.
“Donna?”
A few lengths of half-inch, nylon line lay on the bed. Something told me to check behind the opened door. There she was. A look of amazement greeted the sight of her nearly naked form, standing in five-inch, white, patent leather heels, and skimpy, red-nylon panties, her upper body bound tightly and securely with several stacks off half-inch thick rope.
She smiled at the sight of my incredulity, turned slowly to reveal the wrist bind behind her back, and purposely did all sorts of expressive things with her fingers. Five stacked circles of rope simply but effectively secured her crossed wrists. Four more stacks drew her elbows closely and tightly together.
“It’s the rope you gave me. Remember?” It was obvious Donna had been doing all sorts of research. “I can’t get out, Sean. I already tried. The slipknot lasso over my wrists won’t let me. What are you going to do about it?”
She looked at me from over her shoulder, smiling mischievously, making fists, and flaring her sexy fingers helplessly, knowing the hopeless gestures would arouse my aesthetically oriented libido’s teased inclinations in a way few women on the planet could appreciate.
Every fiber of my severely taxed self-control started to unravel, and she knew it. ‘Did I open a can of worms, or what?’
While my priorities settled into short circuit mode, Donna did her best to take advantage of our vulnerability. Each step she took toward me was a calculated performance of choreographed, seductive writhing. Each flashed look made it perfectly clear she, too, had waited longer than her needs could handle to savor the undiscovered delicacies yet to be tasted when two such as we find themselves in the kinky throws of bondage foreplay.
But I was more preoccupied with how best to prolong our belated feast; more attuned to the unlearned lessons I’d waited so long to teach. So when her first kiss impacted my overriding need to extend that disciplined priority, it only served to trigger yet another move on the game board of our uncommon passion.
She watched as I retrieved the several lengths of rope from the bed, which I used to thoroughly bind Donna’s muscular legs together at the ankles, calves, knees and thighs. The last length crotch-roped her wrists to the waistline circles in front, a detail she’d never experienced before, but wondered about for weeks on end. The magazines and videos I’d lent her had seen to that.
I took her shoulders in hand and planted a massive wet one on her gaping awe, then abruptly left the room, just as she had, six months earlier, when the intensity of our lovemaking spilled onto the kinkier avenues of bondage foreplay.
Second time binds can be just as astonishing as the first, usually because initiates spend so much energy and thought experiencing the newness of its physical aspects. As a happy consequence, they tend to lose the initial sensations of the ego-demolishing affront to a kind of twilight zone of psycho sensual bewilderment, unaware, for the most part, of the hypnotic, but subtle pleasures actually taking place. Leaving Donna to those hitherto, unappreciated sensations was what the next several minutes alone in crotch-roped-tweaked bondage were all about.
* * * * *
Marnie was an avid BD freak. She also happened to work out at the gym Donna frequented. From what I could piece together, based on reputable sources and personal feedback, they’d been competing for years, not only in bodybuilding, but with men as well.
When Marnie picked up my call, she was watching a video of herself in bondage. “Hello?”
“Hi, Marn.” My approach was decidedly light. “Wanna get into one?”
She sounded hotter than a firecracker. “Yeah! Great! When?”
When Marnie left her apartment, she was dressed in upper-calf-length, black-leather boots, lased in front. They increased her five-foot-seven-inch height by a good six inches. The rest of her 38-23-36 form was barely contained by a skimpy, black-nylon leotard, cut high and wide at the hips and buttocks. A tan trench coat hid well the ready-for-action outfit, but the heels betrayed a kinkier agenda to every practiced eye she ran into en route.
I told her to meet me in the lobby of Donna’s building. An electric smile greeted my haphazard stare. “Hi!” she shot. “What’s happening?”
I took the black-leather gear bag from her shoulder and walked to the elevator. “I’m babysitting for a friend. It’s great that you could make it.”
On the way up, Marnie fiddled, posed, and beamed with self-satisfaction. “My-God, Sean, how long has it been?”
“I’ve been very busy. As always, you look stunning. Love the new blond cut.”
When we reached the apartment, I left my hot-n-bothered sex kitten on the sofa, after explaining, “Better look in on the baby.” Jennifer Beal was going through her triumphant, final motions on the tube. Marnie grabbed the remote and tried to rewind the ‘live’ cablecast. “I love this part,” she explained as she watched me turn to bring my right index finger to my lips to quiet her tone, then disappear into the bedroom hallway.
“Oh- OK.”
Donna was on the bed, where she lay in an on-purpose pose designed to demolish what was left of my self-control. Though she could have, she said nothing. It was her hungry expression and fitful body language that were now doing all the talking. We had been making out for the fourteen minutes it took our guest to arrive. I closed the door, walked to her side, and sat on the edge of the bed. “No matter what happens, say nothing, and lie perfectly still.”
She nodded with enthusiastic approval, thinking something very romantic and erotic was about to happen. Instead, I stood slowly, and quietly left the room, closing the door behind me.
When the door opened again, in stepped Marnie, with yours truly right behind her. “Straight ahead,” I whispered. She was blindfolded, but not gagged. Donna looked up at her gymnastic antagonist and went wide-eyed with perplexed awe.
“Stop,” I said, curtly, before kneeling to bind Marnie’s ankles together with a five-footer. “Shoes together.”
Her cooperation was enthusiastic. Elbows and wrists were already bound behind her, palms facing. Donna’s surprise was paralyzing, not only over the unexpected turn of events, but because the unprecedented scene was taking her to edge of yet another climax.
“So, tell me, who did you say you were feuding with at the gym?” I kept a playful edge in my tone. “What’s her name? Dina? Dana?”
Marnie fell for the ploy, hook, line and sinker, capitalizing on the golden opportunity like a shark jawing at a dead carcass. “Donna. She’s a real bitch, that one; a real snot nose. The fact of the matter is she’s a cock-teasing lesbian. I’d stay away from her if I were you.”
I gave her all the rope she needed. “Does she have a girlfriend?”
“Dozens,” spat Marnie. “You should see what goes on in the shower room.”
Donna silently fumed with sexy contempt, climaxing at will and loving every minute of what she felt sure would soon be her wildest fantasy come true. It took all of her willpower to keep the sounds of her passion from escaping her disciplined, vocal chords. Meanwhile, I stood behind my latest charge, throwing assuring looks at her archenemy, and doing my best to regain my composure.
Marnie’s memory finally caught up with her. “Isn’t there another bedroom in this apartment?”
“No,” I said as I attended to the upper calf bind. “Why do you ask?”
“Didn’t you say you were babysitting?”
“I did.”
“Then where’s the baby?”
“On the bed in front of us, so keep your voice down.” I knotted things off and moved on to the next enlightenment.
Marnie thought for a few seconds, but before she could ask another question, I ball-gagged her and started undoing the Ace bandage blindfold.
“So Donna’s a bitch... a gay bitch. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them.”
She did, while I used the Ace to tightly wrap the lower part of her face, after which I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for Marnie to disobey her instruction. It didn’t take long for her eyes to pop open.
“I take it you two need no introduction.”
Marnie’s expression went beyond words. A gorging rush of erotic energy flooded her groin as she watched me undo Donna’s legs.
“Want to hear an interesting bit of trivia?” I asked dryly. “You both have the exact same measurements. One thing though- Marn’s an expert with the rope. How would you like to tie up someone other than yourself, Donna?”
When her legs were free, I stepped back to wait for her initial thoughts.
“First things first,” she said, with a sardonic smile. “Take off my crotch rope and panties, and get undressed. We’ve got some unfinished business to com - plete.” She flashed Marnie a satisfied smile. “We’ll get to the liar later. Now,” she down-shifted, with a sexy grin, as she got back into our moment of truth, “make my day.”
Marnie shivered with spine-tingling trepidation, doing her best to maintain both her composure and balance in bondage. ‘Shit.’
I sat to take my shoes off and add another straw to the camel’s back. “Shall we crotch rope her?”
Marnie could no longer contain herself. She hopped backwards until a cushy chair blocked her progress and broke her fall.
“No,” spat Donna. “She’s already got one in her mouth.”
I peeled off the last of my clothes and got into bed. “How about a blindfold?”
“No. I want her to know exactly what she’s missing- what I’ve been missing.”
Forty Minutes Later
When I woke from a brief nap, Donna was in the satisfying throws of binding the bigmouth on the floor. She used every inch of rope in Marnie’s bag for the hog-tie, covering 85% of her body with quarter, three-eighths, and half-inch thick nylon. Donna was now dressed in blue, Bikini undies, and her highest heels, strapped on. They were obviously worn for my benefit. I smiled and did my best to fight the urges building below decks. “There’s a video in her bag. How about we watch it inside while she’s sweating it out in here?”
“Don’t ask me. It’s her video.”
Marnie fought to suppress the urge to growl, but I caught a hint of protest in the way she fisted her fingers.
“Guess not. Are you quite sure she can’t get out of that?” My tongue was, of course, firmly embedded in my proverbial cheek.
“I’m sure.” She finished up and sat next to me. “Well, how’d I do?”
“The eyes tell it all, my sweet. Yours, too.”
She turned to look deeply into Marnie’s pathetic expression. “Miss gossipmonger looks a bit hungry, wouldn’t you say?”
“Still no crotch rope?”
“Nahah!”
There’s something special about a beginner’s rope work. It may not be very good looking; it may even look sloppy and unattractive, in a strangely attractive sort of way. But one ingredient made up for Donna’s lack of experience. She was inspired, borrowing freely from memories of the few binds she’d thus far enjoyed, and the various fixes studied in the bondage material and websites I’d given and suggested to her.
She’d been so into the bind, my silent, 4-minute-long egress from the room and back wasn’t even noticed. I’d plucked the video from Marnie’s bag and screened a few cuts on the TV in the living room. It had no label. So I found another unlabeled tape, made the switch, and carefully snuck back and sat down on the bed. I was sure neither one of them saw me do it.
Twenty Minutes Later
“How long can I leave her like that?” asked Donna while we snuggled on the sofa and sipped some wine.
“You’ll know when the angel tells you.”
“The what?”
“The angel. There’s a great old story we enthusiasts love to tell about the ‘Santa Clause’ of bondage. It sustains the belief that, no matter how tied up one gets, he or she will always either escape, or be set free before it’s too late.”
Donna’s curiosity was precious. “Too late?”
“...Hey, this is no kid’s game we’re messin’ with here. A lot could happen, both physically and emotionally, should a session go beyond the tolerable bounds of reason and mercy.”
“...How much longer would you leave her like that?”
“She’s been known to handle worse for more than an hour.”
“How much more?”
I smiled. “I’ll never tell.”
Donna thought for a few seconds. “Sean, please tie me up. I want to watch the rest of the video in bondage.”
“The rest of the video? That’s an hour and forty-five minutes.”
“So?”
I did her to the chair in the middle of the living room, wrists crossed behind and tethered to her crossed and bound ankles under the seat. A crotch rope ran from the tether, up under her butt, between her legs, and tied off at the waist ropes, which also held her securely to the back of the chair. Several tight circles of thicker rope lashed her upper body to it as well, with elbows bound close together to accent the stunning overflow of her firm, upturned breasts.
“How’s that?”
Donna’s expression vacillated between fuzzy bliss and excited surprise as she watched Marnie’s bondage video, a copy of which I was making on a hidden VCR in the bowels of my entertainment complex. “What did you say?” She was obviously enjoying herself. Meanwhile, Marnie did her best to forget she’d possibly committed the cardinal sin of allowing a classified tape to fall into the wrong hands. Beside herself, four other women from the gym were exquisitely bound in various positions on the video. Donna watched in amazement as the five-to-eight-minute episodes revealed the identities of hitherto, unknown kinks, all of whom she knew well from the gym. “Wow.”
I figured it was time to make an important call, out of damsel earshot. “John? It’s Sean. Listen carefully.” Dawn was with him and listening on the speakerphone. “Target three is within proton torpedo range.”
When I finally freed Marnie, she went straight for her bag to check on the tape, got quickly and silently dressed, collected her gear, and left without saying a word. The sight of Donna, tied to the chair in the living room, watching a bondage video form my collection, both quelled her fears and raised an eyebrow of suspicion on her rugged, bondage-softened features. While waiting for the elevator, she punched up a number on her cellular.
Within half an hour, Shelly, Rosalie, Judy and Kathy, the other four models Donna and I watched on the video found in Marnie’s bag, were alerted to the possible intelligence leak.
“I have reason to believe, thanks to my stunning stupidity, all of our covers are blown,” confessed Marnie to her bondage video mates over coffee and gossip at a local diner. “That’s why I called this emergency meeting.”
Shelly, Dawn’s audition scene partner, a gorgeous oriental goddess, with long, black hair, and a master’s degree in bondage and discipline, spoke first. “Who?”
Marnie took a deep breath and dropped the first bomb. “Sean Dover.”
An uncharacteristic twitch spoiled Shelly’s normally placid, facial countenance. “You’re sure?”
“Not completely.”
Rosalie, a ditzy blond with an airhead disposition and a body beyond belief, jumped into the impromptu conference with her usual mindset. “He’s cute. I wouldn’t mind tying one on with him myself.”
Marnie took an impromptu lungful of oxygen, sighed wearily, and dropped bomb number two. “He’s not the one we should be worried about.”
Judy, the eldest of the five, and a bodybuilding champion of local distinction, put her two cents in. “You mean others are involved?”
“No- just one other.” Marnie pursed her lips. “Donna Mar.”
A sickening hush clouded the already concerned atmosphere at table...
Kathy, the brainless brawn of the kinky quintet, and the least attractive, threw back her long, bleached blond hair, and said it all. “Shit.”
Marnie proceeded to whisper the gruesome details of her encounter at Donna’s, after which she spoke a glimmer of hope. “Maybe they didn’t watch the video.”
Shelly offered an uncomfortable word of wisdom. “If you were they, would you have honored Marnie’s wishes?”
Once again, Kathy echoed the thought they all shared. “Shit.”
“Leave this to me,” said Shelly. “Remember, now we know something about them, too”
Donna and I were on the sofa again, watching the last five minutes of the unholy five’s two-hour production. Shelly’s sexy voice, superimposed over short clips taken from the next, gave me reason to believe we were about to seriously breach the security of her and her cohorts’, up-to-now, well kept secrets.
“If you think this video is hot,” she whispered provocatively, “wait till you see our next sexy offering. These clips were taken from it. To order, send $200, cash or money order, to the address on the bottom of your screen, and we’ll rush our next episode, ‘Bound Into Submission II,’ by first class mail, on the day your order is received. It features three new damsels, not seen in these clips, in outrageously provocative bondage, two of the models in this video, and others...”
When Marnie arrived home that night, her head swimming in a sea of reproach and excitement, a telling message from Shelly waited on her answering machine. “Hi Marn. Do me a favor. Cue up the tape in your bag and see if it’s the real thing, then give me a call. And, by all means, don’t tell the rest of the girls if it isn’t.”
I had a P.O. Box, under an assumed name, which I often used for personal business. The next day, I put two, crisp, one hundred dollar bills in an envelope, and sent for the video advertised at the end of Marnie’s tape, using my alias, and including a brief note asking to fill me in on what else Shelly’s brood had to offer in the way of bondage-kinky entertainment. Donna and I had dinner at the diner that night. As luck would have it, just after coffee and cheesecake, the quintet arrived and occupied their regular booth in the back. They didn’t see us, but we saw them. I again cautioned Donna as we were leaving, “I’ll do all the talking,” before we swung by for a visit.
“Hi, Marnie.”
They all looked up in astonishment at the smiles on our faces, figuring the visit had been planned, as opposed to the ‘happy’ coincidence only Donna and I knew it was.
Marnie spoke first. “Sean.”
“May we join you for a bit,” I offered.
A very pregnant pause ensued. “Sure,” said Shelly. “We’d be honored.”
The gathering radiated the aura of a wake in progress. Donna, however, was beside herself with percolating excitement, and soon overtaken by the urge to say something. “We were just talking about all of you.”
Shelly got right to the point. “We hear you have a copy of our video.”
It appeared my comeback was not unexpected. “Sure do,” I said dryly. “And a damned good video it is, if you go for that sort of thing. If your prices weren’t so high, I’d consider ordering the sequel.”
“How nice,” said Kathy. “Tell me, Sean, what’s your line of work?” (As if she didn’t already know.)
“I’m a trainer. I train people, among other things.” They watched me reach into my pocket for some business cards, which I handed out to each. “Well, it was fun chatting with you.” My hand on her thigh raised Donna to her feet. “We have a pressing engagement. See you all soon, I hope.”
Our walk out of the diner was casual, but my harsh grip on Donna’s left elbow reflected a well-hidden temper.
When we got back to my place, I told Donna to strip down to her underwear and heels, whereupon I bound her, stringently, with wrists behind, palm-to-palm, and elbows touching. Using two hundred feet of my best rope, I did her with three cinched circles each at the instep, ankles, calves, knees, lower and upper thighs, buttocks, waist, lower and upper chest, and laid her diagonally on the mattress of my four-poster-brass bed. She gazed up at me as I reached for the night table drawer, her face aglow with an expression of contented, bondage bliss, and said, “I never want you to stop doing me like this.”
“Never say never,” I warned while stuffing her mouth with two, small face cloths, held in with several turns of Elastoplast. “Unless it’s absolutely necessary.” The phone rang, just as I finished up. “The voice on the other end was not unexpected. “Yes?”
“It’s Shelly Wu. Got a minute?”
“Take five.”
My four poster is a monster, with high and low, framework bars at its head and foot, respectively, and lots of rings, holes, and other places, to, and around which one can tie things. The posts are four inches in diameter, with finished holes at each tip. Donna was on her stomach, with an old, surfer’s air mattress sandwiched between her and the bed. A tether of half-inch line ran from its upper right to lower left post, knotted taught and parallel to the mattress, and threaded trough all the cinches in the fix, except the one at Donna’s wrists, which was tied to a half-inch crotch rope, under which the post tether was also threaded. It ran under all the torso circles, too. There was no slack to be found anywhere, making any kind of movement impossible. Donna’s head was at the lower left bedpost, affording her visual access to the TV set in the corner. I cued up one of my favorite bondage videos, and then left my damsel, without comment or a kiss, to her thoughts and visual input.
Five minutes later, Shelly Wu showed up in skin-tight, low-cut, black-leather mini. “What are you and John up to?”
“Nothing you and your girlfriends wouldn’t be up to if the roles were reversed.”
She stood, squinting, with hands on hips, in the middle of my spacious living room. “Roles? So all this is some kind of advanced acting lesson?”
“Hardly.”
“Then why do I get the feeling you either want something from me, or I’m supposed to want something from you?”
We’d never been truly alone together before. “Why are you dressed to kill?” She lowered her chin and eyelids a bit and gave me a calculating stare. “You could have worn the jeans and top you were in at the diner.”
Her gate was slow and seductive as she walked to my side and laid both hands on my shoulders. “Perhaps we can come to some kind of an understanding.” A tiny smile and raised brows accompanied the come-on.
“...An understanding? About what?”
Betrayed frustration tainted her seductive expression, but her tone remained
cool and sexy. “That’s just it: I don’t know.”
“What, exactly, do you know?” I did my best to keep my hands to myself, but she just kept on coming.
My question had been totally ignored, or, so it seemed. Her first kiss was like a big toe, testing the temperature in my swimming pool... “How many people are you training at the moment, Sean?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Actually,” she explained, using another teasing wet one to sweeten her proposal, “I could use some help myself. Would you consider teaming up and pooling our resources? The gym is a gold mine of raw material; mostly upper middle class brats, and freaks on the prowl. We could make a small fortune, what with the video possibilities, and maybe have a few laughs.” She backed off a bit to gauge my eyes. “Do you like to laugh, Sean?”
The protrusion in my pants gave me more than sufficient reason to consider her offer. “But I have a partner to factor in, and other entanglements, too numerous to mention.”
She turned and walked to the window, unzipping her dress on the way. “Haven’t we all.”
I was gone in a flash, down the hallway, and into the bedroom to collect some gear. Before leaving the room, and my damsel to her ecstatic distress, I knelt at her head, brought my eyes to hers, and dropped the first bomb of her training. “The next time I tell you to let me do all the talking, keep your mouth shut.” I punctuated the correction by pulling the plug on the air mattress under Donna’s slowly realizing astonishment, and slamming the door behind me.
A flashback of our scene in the diner brought a tingle to Donna’s spine, and yet another reason to let go to another spasm. Within seconds, the air mattress emptied, leaving her suspended just a few inches above the bed. “MUHMUHMUHMUH!!!”
Shelly stood waiting in her skimpy-black underwear. I dropped the bag on the sofa and took her into my arms. It was now my turn to let her know what she would be missing. My passionate affections came as no surprise to her conquest-oriented experience.
“Well?” she asked.
All I could think of was the five-foot length of three-eighths nylon in my back pocket, and when to use it where it would do the most good. “I’ve got a lot to think about, beautiful. Maybe we should take a few more meetings before jumping into...”
She cut me off with a massive French kiss, and an assault on my erection with her right hand. The left had the back of my neck. She was obviously putting the pedal to the metal of her agenda. So I reached for the five-footer, spun her around, and used it to bind her elbows together behind her back...
Meanwhile, over at Rosalie’s, the wake from the diner had spilled into a setting more suitable for candid conversation. “Shouldn’t we be doing something?” Ro was pacing the kitchen, sipping a Bloody Mary, and wondering why Shelly had turned off her cellular. “She never turns that thing off.”
Kathy did her best to maintain a cooler head. “Keep your shirt on. I’m sure she has a handle on things. Has she never not had the upper hand where men of Sean’s persuasion are concerned?”
Rosalie kept on pacing and speculating anyway. “Did you notice how they looked at each other at the diner? I’m telling you, there’s more going on here than they want us to think.”
Kathy’s patience finally came to the end of its rope. She stood, collected her things, and calmly headed for the front door. “I’m outta’ here. Call me as soon as you know something I don’t.”
What neither one of them suspected was that Shelly would be currently dealing with some very demanding and untenable bondage. I’d left her leaning up against the wall opposite the TV in the living room. She wasn’t tied to anything, but the fix made it stringently impossible to do anything else but lean. Her bound heels were two feet from the foot of the wall. Any attempt at pushing off tightened the line running from the instep cinch, which, in turn, applied more pressure to the line between her legs through an intricate threading that ran from her feet, up to the back of the circles surrounding and pressing down upon her billowing mounds. It also made it absolutely necessary she keep her head back, nose high, for the end of that line was tied to the end of Shelly’s braided hair. Figuratively speaking, her back was against the wall, but the only point of wall contact was the back of her head, and it would stay like that until our second love knot ran its course, or she decided to run the risks involved with falling to the floor.
‘If I do, he’ll most likely do something just as strenuous down there, if not more.’
Her knees were welded together with fifteen, very tight circles, running from the lower thighs to the upper calves. Any attempt at lessening the pressure on the cunt rope configuration by bending them was an exercise in extreme, self-inflicted discomfort. Even if she could push off to a standing posture, the trouble it would cause would only force her to drop her head back against the wall.
Two camcorders captured the spectacular event for a future mix, while, in the bedroom, though still diagonally tethered to the four-poster, the weight of Donna’s body was now on mine, and I was removing the gag. A developing Polaroid picture lay on the mattress, to the left of my head. It took up all of my new trainee’s visual attention.
The first thing she said when the gag came out was, “I love you.”
“Then kiss me until I’m convinced.”
While she did, the Polaroid revealed Shelly’s predicament to Donna’s
unsuspecting curiosity. I hadn’t gagged her, so recognizing my living room
damsel was easy. What was hard was accepting the fact that two kinky women were
now vying for my much-needed attention. Her kisses intensified...
The phone rang. “...Yes?”
“Sean?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Rosalie.”
To make a long story mercifully short, Rosalie soon found herself in my outer hallway, topless, in skyscrapers and panties, thinking all kinds of wonderfully sexy things were about to happen to her, while getting bound and gagged to the max.
“Shall we step into my parlor?”
The sight of Shelly in demanding bondage inspired a few crotch rope tugs and a spasm of torn regret to race through Rosalie’s severely irritated incredulity.
My tone was impassionedly stern. “On the couch.”
Shelly watched me thoroughly hog-tie her popular video star. The memory of what Donna looked like in the Polaroid she watched develop, before I inundated her with kisses for ten minutes and ball-gagged her, lingered concurrently, along with a ‘son-of-a-bitch’ or two.
All Rosalie could come up with was ‘Shit.’
After finishing her up, I popped a cassette into the VCR and picked up the phone. “...Code blue star” was all John heard me say before I hung up, aimed the two camcorders at Rosalie’s crotch-roped hog-tie, and headed for the bedroom.
A talking head appeared onscreen. It was John. “Well, now, what have we here?” he chided. “I take it at least one of Judy’s gossiping liars is watching this tape in a well deserved fix; if there are more, all the better. As I’m sure you have figured out by now, Sean and I arranged all this for a reason.” The scene cut to a wider shot, with Dawn sitting next to her man.
“Hi, guys. Remember me?” She wore only panties, and a fun smile. “I have so much to thank you for. But instead of telling you all about it, John and I have decided to show you instead.”
What followed was some of the hottest bondage lovemaking Shelly and Rosalie had ever witnessed.
And John, Dawn and I thought, ‘Three down, two to go.’
01.02.04
If you've enjoyed this story, please write to the author and let them know - they may write more!
story continues in Fast Lane Bondage 4
o0o