Manhattan Bound 2

by John Roper

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© Copyright 2005 - John Roper - Used by permission

Storycodes: M/f; bond; cons; X

(story continues from )

Part Two - Lilliana's Pleasure

We’d been keeping a very discreet eye on her since Bob engaged Lilliana as his personal chauffeur. A paper trail, leading back to her birth certificate, dated December 20, 1969, suggested a restless, inquisitive nature was primarily responsible for the checkered past she’d so carefully sown together since leaving home and school in the summer of ’89. But what intrigued us most about Lilliana was her driving curiosity and perpetual need to know more about successful people, and how they got that way.

Bob nicknamed her ‘Fingers,’ because, he said, “She has the most beautiful hands I have ever seen.”

I could appreciate that, but he had an insatiable obsession for Lilliana’s hands, and an uncommon desire to give the latest crush in his life her heart’s desire, and then some. It was to satisfy these belated ends that the rest of us pitched in, whenever an opportunity presented itself, to offer what help we could to bring the details of Bob’s fixation into direct line with what Lil was all about, or wanted to be.

We were suddenly on the verge of learning the answer to that mystery when Tyra blew into town. That’s when the time line redlined, and all because she instructed Lil to ‘Do the park until I tell you to stop.’

They had been doing just that for almost 45-minutes when Lil’s cellular signaled.


“Hi, Lil. Guess who.”

“I haven’t a clue.”
“Did someone give you his card tonight- long about 45-minutes ago, in the middle of Central Park?”
Lil never messed with strangers. “Who is this?”

“I take it you’re still ‘doing the park,’ just like ‘Madame’ told you. Why didn’t you take her home like I said?”

“Only she has the power to turn this car around. Now who is this?”

She smiled in recognition of my knowing details.

“You’d better give her a buzz, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

I hung up after saying, “In case her hands fall asleep.”

That line, and what was printed on the business card I’d given her, brought a curious vision into Lilliana’s psychic line of fire. She closed the phone and waited for the next red light.

Meanwhile, on the back seat, a very tied up Tyra was going bananas in bondage, and love-hating every minute of it. The full tank of gas wrinkle I’d informed her of had left a lasting impression on her calculating expectations. ‘I could be here like this all night.’

She’d been screaming her head off at every red light for the past ten minutes. The preceding 35 were spent enjoying the fix in which I’d left her. But things were beginning to wear thin in the appreciation department. It was time to get back to reality and do her best to get out of the inescapable loop she’d so stupidly gotten herself into. Strangely enough, Tyra’s screaming did much to re-ignite her passion, acting as a kind of kinky catalyst, the likes of which she had never experienced before. Not knowing whom it was would discover her in the back seat, all tied up and looking the way she did, made for another button of erotic consequence yet to be pushed. 

Every time the car stopped, she waited patiently and hoped Lilliana would catch on and investigate the goings-on in the back seat. When she didn’t, Tyra’s spine would tingle, sending a powerful rush of unexpected sensation to her lower parts as she tried to work the crotch ropes and got lost in yet another opportunity to reach the end of her satisfaction.

Lilliana flexed her sexy, black-leather gloved fingers on the steering wheel and bit down pensively on her lower lip as she thought, ‘I don’t know if I want to know what’s going on back there...(Yeah, right.) A call wouldn’t hurt.’... “Is everything alright back there?”

Tyra was hoarse from screaming into the gag, but managed to let another frantic cry escape her otherwise independent nature. “MUHUHUHMMM!!”

The realization that a perfect stranger would soon discover her plight turned our heroine into an almost-over-the-top, lava dome of unprecedented, pre-climactic suspension.

It only took a split second for Fingers to realize she’d been driving a bound and gagged client around Central Park for almost an hour. The next red light loomed ahead. 

“Wow,” she whispered to herself. “So this is what some of the rich and famous do to entertain themselves.”

Without thinking, Lil pulled over at the light, punched on the emergency flasher lights, and set the shift to park. In the split second it took to open her door, a flashback invaded her out-of-control thinking; a memory she’d dreamt a few nights earlier. In it, she was bound with rope and hornier than she thought possible without actually cumming. The recall lingered as she walked around to the curbside car door, which she unhesitatingly opened.

Tyra’s sensually explicit writhing, compounded by the sheer magic of the moment, quickly led to a series of eyes-wide-shut spasms. “Muh! Muhuh! Muhuh!! MMMUHUHUHUHUH!!!” 

Several seconds passed as the reality of Tyra’s pleasurable predicament impacted the virgin realm in Fingers’ short-term memory and something uncontrollable propelled her into the back seat, slammed and locked the doors in the stretch, and locked her fingers in her lap. ‘And I have his phone number.’ She instinctively sat back, slowly removed her gloves, and waited for the end of her client’s final moments of truth...

Lil undid the gag first, figuring Tyra was still in control and anxious to communicate her next order. My business card fell to the floor with the unwinding of Ace bandage.

‘Something tells me I have a lot to learn about these people,’ thought Lilliana as she pulled the stuffing out of Tyra’s gaping exhaustion and made up her mind it was high time she experienced a first class bind.

Bob and I were at my place, waiting on cellular calls. Mine rang first. He plucked a roll of bills from his pocket and pealed off a fifty.

“John here.”

“This is Lilliana.”

“Lil- good to hear from you.”

Bob pealed off another fifty at the sound of her name. If it had been Tyra, we’d have been square.

“Am I calling at a bad time?”

I was impressed with her composure. “Not at all.”

“Tyra told me to do whatever you say.”

I knew my latest damsel would respond with some kind of cute comeback. What I didn’t expect was that she’d go naughty on us. 

“What else did she tell you?”

By the tone of Lil’s voice, it was obvious she was having a difficult time maintaining a strict, professional edge. “Nothing.”

“I see. Excuse me a second.” I cupped the phone and passed on the poop to Bob... “Where are you?”

“Wherever you’d like us to be.”

Bob dropped the two fifties on my desk.

I smiled, picked up my hundred bucks, and said, “How about we all go to Church?”

It was exactly midnight when the stretch pulled up in front of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. While jumping into the front seat, I issued the next instruction. “Home, Lil.” It was a few blocks away. 

She took off like a bat outta hell, but her composure remained unflappable.

I tried to keep things light. “Did ‘Madame’ get home safely?”

“...I hope so.”

“Don’t you know for sure?”

Lilliana’s features reflected a deep quandary. “That all depends on what happens next.” She turned to gauge the expression on my face. “Remember?”

My best guess was that Tyra was still in back. “How about we give Madame a call?”

Lil reached for the intercom, but waited to see who would be composing the next communiqué. I nodded. She threw the switch and said, “We’ll be at the penthouse in less than a minute, Madame.” She then waited a few beats, in case Tyra or I decided to jump into the conversation. 

We didn’t.

And Lil thought, ‘Why does everything have to happen in bunches?’

When she shut down the car in Bob’s basement garage spot, I said, “You’re with me,” got out and walked to the elevator, where I waited at its door. “Mr. Rogers is waiting for you.” 

She said nothing. We stepped on, the door closed, and I pressed one of Lil’s buttons. “Wanna play?”

She didn’t bat an eyelash. “Love to.”

“Turn around and cross your wrists together behind your back.” 

She did, and I bound them together with a five-foot length of three-eights-inch nylon. I was especially strict with her, which appeared to change her composure to a more sensually centered persona. 

“Have fun,” I said before pressing another button. The door opened. We were still in the basement’s garage. I pressed another button, removed Fingers’ cap, stepped off the elevator, and turned to face Bob’s crush. We said nothing as the door closed and the lift took Lilliana to her next level.

It occurred to her that she might make a stop or two along the way. What she didn’t know was that James was on the first floor, watching for possible elevator traffic. Since he hadn’t cell phoned to say ‘wait,’ all we had to worry about were the upper floors, which, at that time of night, were usually pretty quiet where going-up traffic was concerned, unless someone going down was inconsiderate enough to press the up button. 

Lilliana was suddenly flushed with trepidation as the lift rose and she backed into a corner, hoping nothing confrontational would require she pull her now frazzled, lower nerve endings together and pretend her wrists were not tied together behind her back. ‘Wow.’

I couldn’t wait to see where Tyra was with her fix. The walk to the stretch was magical. Opening its rear door inspired all sorts of outrageous scenarios to materialize on the kinky TV screen of my imagination.

“Well now, what have we here?”

She was snuggled in the corner, under the mink, wearing a very provocative smile. “I’ve always wanted to make love in the back seat of this crate,” she suggested. 

The ropes and slacks lay on the floor in a tangled heap. “Well, are we, or aren’t we?”

I stepped in and closed the door. She locked us in and removed the mink. Except for the heels, Tyra was naked.

“May I ask you something?”

I settled in with “Fire away.”

“Do you want to make love to me?”

“No.” I popped off my shoes. “But I’d love to make love with you.”

Lilliana tried and failed to free her wrists. The effort was a major turn-on. A scolding thought also came to mind. “OK, girl,” (She often addressed herself that way.) “you wanted to know how the rich and famous get that way. Now you’re in with them. Happy?” A whispered, very exuberant “Yes!” on tiptoes, accompanied Lil’s penthouse arrival. The door opened, she made two fists, and stepped off and into her future. A sexy silence of inactivity prompted a thought.

‘What have we here?’

A four-inch-wide, bright-red ribbon had been rolled out on the floor of the receiving area.

‘It isn’t a red carpet,’ she quipped, ‘but it will do for now.’

A split second of hesitation came and went. Step by step, Lilliana did what was expected of her until the ribbon reached the terrace door. A flashback replayed the moment she opened the door to Tyra’s situation in the back of the stretch. An unexpected rush of hypersensitive need raced to her crevice.

‘Am I ready for this?’

The ribbon continued under the terrace door, which, without thinking, she opened, in continuing pursuit of the red zone. The still night air had chilled to a stimulating but bearable thirty-one degrees. Lil walked to the wall and took a deep breath as she panned the city and thought, ‘What lights beyond yon windows break?’

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” spoke a familiar voice from behind.

Something told Lil not to turn around. Instead, she instinctively let her long, perfect fingers dance a bit behind her, and said, “I could get lost in those lights.”

It started to snow.

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” Bob was having difficulty adjusting to their newfound familiarity. “Do you know why you’re here?”

“...Because I want to be. Why are you here?”

Bob smiled at the tenaciousness of Lilliana’s wit. “The buzz around town has been suggesting your choice of uniform might be a bit over the top.”

Lil smiled. “Then it achieved its desired effect?”

Very high-heeled boots, to the tops of her calves, skin-tight pants and military style jacket, cut to the waist, gave Bob’s infatuation the look of a cartoon damsel he’d long admired and wished to find in his own, real life circle.

“Have you ever seen or read John Willie?”

Before Lil could say no, Bob was binding her elbows together behind her back with ten-feet of three-eighths nylon, causing the wrist ropes to tighten considerably. A fainting expression broke out on his damsel’s flawless features, adding yet another attractive wrinkle to her swelling, lost control. 

“Should I have?”

Bob thought it high time he planted a few seeds of suggestion in the fertile, but virginal soil of Lilliana’s intellectual experience. “It’s required reading at the academy.”

Lil was so horny she couldn’t think. “...The Academy?”

Bob finished up the cinch and said, “Until you’ve changed into a more appropriate and traditional uniform, you can expect to be treated like the teasing slut the come-and-fuck-me outfit you’re wearing suggests you are.” He punctuated the line with several tight knots. “You will find all of Willie’s works in the library. Do read them when you can.”

Lilliana was delirious with kinky excitement. “...And if I don’t change into something more in keeping with your traditional requirements?”

The disciplining pressure of insisting rope said it all. The falling snow got heavier.

Bob grabbed her by the upper right arm and said, “Until the day you quit, I, personally, will be on your case,” pulled her off the terrace, “If you so much as blink the wrong way,” and strictly steered her toward the inner hallway, “what is about to happen, and will continue to happen until you do change, will be a daily part of your training routine.” They reached the first door on the right. “Perhaps you should think on all this in a more convincing atmosphere.” Bob pulled a key out of a pocket, unlocked and opened the door.

Lil’s composure was teetering on the outer cutting edges of her overwhelmed envelope. A glance through the opened door revealed a dark space, with no discernable furniture. ‘Oh-boy.’

Bob’s expression remained placidly indistinct. “Yes or no? We’d love to have you.”

The word ‘love’ bounced around the inside of Lil’s thoroughly shaken sensibilities for a few seconds. Another inner voice kept saying ‘Yes!’ at spontaneous intervals. A generic “Thank you” accompanied her move into the dark.

“You’re welcome.”

The door was slammed and locked behind her.

‘Looks like I’m in.’

For the first few minutes, all Fingers could do was appreciate the pleasant fragrance Bob chose for the unprecedented moment, and deal with the ropes behind her back. She had no idea her benefactor had slipped into the room with her, removed his shoes, and put on a pair of night vision eye scopes. The sound of his voice made her jump.

“What are you doing New Years Eve?”

Before Lil could come up with another witty comeback, Bob tied the end of a hundred footer to the elbow cinch and pulled his favorite employee backwards until her rump felt the soft-leather surface of a stool in the middle of the room. After sitting, her lower thighs were bound together and cinched. The sensation was nothing short of electrifying. Then came the ankles, which were crossed and done with a ten, and lifted to notch the lower heel into the middle bar under the seat, where things were tied off and knotted, causing the thigh cinch to tighten a bit more.

While Fingers tested and savored the feel of her fix, Bob gathered the hundred- footer into rings in his right hand and savored the long-awaited moment. Since the darkness ‘guaranteed’ the privacy of Lil’s facial and body language, she did not suppress or hide the feelings, emotions, and sensual responses the bind provoked.

“What are you going to do to me?” A wish crossed her mind. ‘Please use the word ‘love’ again.’

“With, not to.”

The pressing of a button on Bob’s remote activated a silent, electric motor under the stool, causing it to rotate, counterclockwise, at about one revolution every seven or eight seconds. The tension on the hundred-footer tightened a bit as Bob guided it under Lil’s 38D endowment, and back over the elbow bind, three times. For the next minute and forty-two seconds, her arms were welded very tightly to her torso with three-eighths thick nylon rope. The tension was, to say the least, intensely stimulating. 

“Do you do this to all your improperly dressed employees?”

Bob smiled and knotted things off, out of reach of the fingers he’d so longed to capture. “No, just the ones with PO Boxes on my bondage video, brochure mailing list.” 

Lilliana flexed her fingers and felt a jolt of kinky voltage race down her spine and into the short-circuiting wetness below.

‘U-oh,” she heard herself think. ‘I guess I’ve been busted. Wonder which brochure is his?’

She could think of nothing else after that except the profound exhilaration of the moment, and the manifest consequence of agreeing to play the game she’d dreamed of playing almost all of her twenty-nine year life.

A dim light pierced the game from behind for a second or two as Bob left the room and locked the door. The stool continued to rotate, but at a much slower rate, and Fingers thought, ‘I wonder what they don’t know about me?’

Her question was immediately answered in the form of several projections, aimed at the surrounding walls from hidden lenses situated a few feet below the ten-foot ceiling. The first slide to come into Lil’s field of vision was of Betty Page in tight, lingerie bondage... Then came John Willie’s classic Gwen, tied to a tree, with U-89 standing by, her clothes torn and disheveled in a most attractive and provocatively innocent fashion.

Fingers made two fists and tore into her bondage, enjoying the vicarious implications of all three fixes to the max. ‘Did I make the right fashion statement, or what?’

The next image was airbrushed by Robert Bishop, and focused on a naked damsel whose mouth was about to be occupied by a ball gag that was clearly too big for her bite. Lil could only imagine what that might feel like. The thought of it inspired her writhing and sensual feedback to go ballistic with unexpected, uncontrollable enthusiasm.

‘My kingdom for a rope between my legs.’

The room went dark again. The dim light invaded it when the door opened and closed again, and Finger’s fingers flailed and stretched in anticipation of Bob’s next imposition.

‘How the hell can he see in here?’

The feel of something being placed around her neck and buckled in back gave her a new thrill to anticipate.

‘A collar? Shit, I hope they’re not into their dom/sub crap.’

Bob grabbed a fistful of Lil’s short cropped, dirty-blond hair, pulled her head back, and stuffed a ball gag into its female counterpart. While he lowered her head and carefully tightened the buckle, the master of the house proposed, “Should I interview for a replacement driver, or are you going to turn over a new leaf?”

Lilliana made no indication or sound, either way, as to what decision she’d come to, figuring the less she said or did, the better her chances were of getting out of her current mess unscathed.

‘I’ll be damned if I’m gonna quit this job.’

“I see,” said Bob, strictly, before reaching into his right pocket for a five-footer.

‘See what?’ wondered Fingers. ‘He would have to be a bat to see anything in here.’

Meanwhile, the ball gag made its insisting presence known while Bob configured a crotch rope around her twenty-four inch waistline. It passed between her legs and was knotted to one of the wrists cinches, making all of them tighten should Lil decide to increase the pressure on her throbbing-wet pussy by tugging on the wish-come-true.

‘I’ve died and go to bondage heaven.’

Another line ran from where the crotch rope came out of the crack in her ass, down under the seat, and was tied off and cinched with three circles at the top of the calves. All the slack, and then some, had been taken out, forcing fingers to sit at strict attention for the rest of the show.

Bob made his exit without remark, leaving his trainee to the video I’d shot of Tyra in the back of the stretch earlier in the evening. 

When Lil heard the turn of the lock bolt on the rooms door, she struggled furiously to discover just how tightly she was tied, soon realizing the stool was bolted to the base of the turntable, which made a fall-over impossible.

Bob gave her the next 4 minutes to writhe and enjoy the fix before punching on three camcorders and illuminating the precious event with two spotlights.

By then, Lil’s inhibitions had ceased to exist amidst the stunning realization and sensations her bondage fantasy-come-true was forcing her to enjoy. She had never been so violent with her body before. Every calorie of energy was spent on the escape attempt, but nothing she could do would make a dent in the classic configuration to which she’d so easily relented. Her eyes remained riveted to the video as she lowered her chin and tried, with no success whatsoever, to push the ball gag out with her tongue. Every finger searched for a knot. Every inch of bound flesh fought to find a modicum of slack in which to place her hopes of finding a flaw in the wonderfully exciting dilemma of her first important adventure in the fun and danger of sensual bondage role-play.

‘I never new fear could be so delicious.’

The sounds of Tyra dilemma in the video added a whole new dimension to the experience, placing Lilliana into a state of awareness she knew would soon become the center of her currently, oh-hum existence.

It took but a minute or three of video viewing and nonstop, systematic struggling to bring Fingers to a climax, which lasted longer than she thought possible at the time.

So it was that during the first hours of December 29th, 2002, Lilliana Lawson realized her most treasured and secret wish: to be tied up by a man who not only knew exactly what he was doing, but who was perceptive enough to know exactly what she wanted him to do.

‘If he thinks this outfit is too over the top, wait’ll he gets a load of the one I wear tomorrow.’

The End

John Roper


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