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Message-ID: <39383asstr$1037859004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Adrian Hunter & Chelsea Shepard" <adrian_hunter@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Association: Day 6 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard (bd, Mf, noncon)
Date: Thu, 21 Nov 2002 01:10:04 -0500
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Association (a serial bdsm novel)
By Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard


Note: past episodes can be accessed at 
http://www.adrianhunter.com/association_about.htm


Day 6--Geoffrey

I woke up early that morning, anxious to begin the day.  Things were going 
to go much smoother now.  For both of us.

Control was a powerful aphrodisiac.  Sabrina had given.  I had taken.  And 
now the authority in our relationship was mine, and mine alone.

Walking down the stairs to the studio, I could tell she was asleep.  Good.  
She was going to need her strength, although she would certainly have ample 
time to rest.  Well, remain stationary, anyway.

"The Economy of Movement," I chuckled out loud.  The directors of the 
International Fashion Council were going to be very pleased with the results 
of this shoot.  Not only was I taking care of their little problem, they'd 
even get one hell of a photo montage for their members.

Of course, the odds were good they would elect to use a different model to 
showcase this year's fashions, just in case the police came sniffing around. 
  But a scrapbook chronicling the last vacation of Sabrina Taylor would make 
a fine addition to any private pornography collection.

Perhaps some of them were even placing bids, although the rules of the Hong 
Kong house specifically forbade the kenneling of livestock in its country of 
origin.  Not my problem once the check clears.

"Good morning, Sabrina," I said as I untied the leash holding her head to 
the bottom bars and began lowering her cage to the floor.

I was hoping she'd respond with something inappropriate so I could gag her 
again, but she stayed quiet.  As I unlocked the door, I decided to gag her 
anyway.  I had no intention of providing her with the slightest opportunity 
for mischief.

She worked her way backward out of the cage, then stood up shakily, her feet 
still encased in the leather boots with the skyscraper heels.  I removed her 
blindfold, then pulled up a chair and gestured for her to sit in it.  As she 
sat down, she obviously forgot about the plug in her ass, or maybe it was 
just the lingering damage from the whip.  Regardless, the resulting moan 
gave me the opportunity to stretch a thick rubber strap around her head and 
push the molded black ball deep into her mouth.

Good thing, too, as Sabrina screamed like a demon taking a bath in holy 
water when I removed the nipple clamps.

I unlaced and removed her boots, then took off the rest of her clothes and 
the collar around her neck.  Finally, I motioned for her to stand so I could 
unbuckle the chastity belt around her groin and slip out its occupants, 
leaving her naked besides the gag and the handcuffs.

"Follow me...no, wait."

I went over to one of the boxes and pulled out a metal collar with two iron 
bars jutting from its sides, capped with matching manacles.  I also pulled 
out a matching spreader bar for her ankles.  For later.

I padlocked the big ring around her neck, then unlocked her handcuffs and 
did the same to her wrists so her arms stuck out as if she was being 
crucified.  I caught myself regretting that she didn't resist.  No fool she. 
  But bad girls are so much more fun.

Clicking the leash to a loop embedded in the front of the collar, I picked 
up the other spreader bar, turned, and led her up the stairs to the main 
house, then up the stairs again to her bathroom.

"Step into the shower," I told her brusquely.  When she was standing in the 
tub, I twisted the knobs and let the cold water cascade over her body as the 
hot water slowly came online.  Using a sponge and then a brush, I scrubbed 
every inch of her flesh until she glowed bright red.  After I washed and 
rinsed her hair, I spread and locked her ankles so I could shave her.  When 
I was satisfied with her glass-like smoothness, I prepared the enema bottle 
and hung it on the shower curtain rod.

"Wait here while I fix your breakfast," I said as I inserted the nozzle.

Fifteen minutes later, I was surprised to find that she hadn't spilled a 
single drop.  This one is strong, I decided as I removed the nozzle, then 
the ankle cuffs.  Best not to take any chances.

I led her out of the shower, gestured to the toilet, and turned away.  When 
I figured she was through, I motioned her back into the shower for a quick 
rinse, then toweled her off.

Breakfast consisted of a glass of orange juice, a few strips of bacon and a 
large bowl of oatmeal, which I spooned into Sabrina's mouth until she turned 
her head away.  She seemed to realize without prompting that it was wise to 
eat as much as she could whenever food was offered.  Had she said a single 
word when I removed the gag, she would have waited another 12 hours.  Now 
she might even get lunch.

The gag replaced, I led her back down the stairs to the studio, recuffed her 
ankles in the spreader bar, and clipped the chain hanging down the 
scaffolding to her collar.

Time to unload the boxes.

--SABRINA--

Thank goodness Geoffrey gagged me.  I didn't think I could have survived the 
shower, shaving and enema session without earning 1,000 lashes.  Breakfast 
was easier, though.  I was weak and starving, and I figured the best 
strategy was to gain strength.

And his confidence.  I gazed down at him while he was cuffing my ankles to 
the bar holding my legs wide.  He looked so bloody cheerful, surely 
presuming he'd won the game.  Think again, I told myself while he unlocked 
my cuffs, only to lock them again once my arms were held up by the chain 
above my head.

"As soon as I'm out of here," I mumbled incoherently, "you'll regret ever 
hearing the name Sabrina Taylor.  I'll ruin your fucking brilliant career."

But I was worried.  If he kept me bound and/or caged, I would never escape.

"First, the obligatory leather ornament," he said as he started lacing up a 
black corset reaching just under my nipples.

Gosh.  He missed the size this time.  Way too small.

Geoffrey stepped back and pondered for a moment.  Then he readjusted the 
chain holding my wrists up, forcing me to stand on tiptoe.

When he was satisfied with my discomfort, he placed a stool under me, and 
produced what looked like a huge double dildo.  It wasn't hard to guess 
where the ends would go.

When he had thrust both prods halfway through my anus and vagina, bringing a 
mute scream to my gagged mouth, he strapped their common base to the stool.

"Let's get busy.  Business before pleasure, y' know."

I failed to acknowledge his dubious humor as I began to comprehend this new 
game.

I managed to stand in the same position until he had finished shooting two 
rolls of film.  Then I started to collapse.  Little by little.  The twin 
monster forced my openings wider, driving further inside me, threatening to 
rip me apart.  I resisted, redressed, repelled.  He loaded another roll.

Cramps in my legs.  One more inch inside.  I couldn't hold back a long moan 
as I tried, one more time, to push back the intruders.  My arms pulled on 
the chain while my calves hurt so much, I knew I would never hold the 
position for more than ten seconds.

When the dildos hit my deepest core, I thought I had been struck by thunder 
just as lightning blinded me.  His voice echoed in the distance.

"Now, this was a good one."

--GEOFFREY--

I left Sabrina writhing on the stool for almost an hour while I put away my 
camera gear and prepared a light lunch of grilled fish and vegetables.

"Need to keep your energy levels up," I said jauntily as I fed it to her a 
forkful at a time.

She glared at me with a fury that suggested if I gave her an inch, she'd be 
running naked down the road screaming bloody murder.  I thought she'd be 
thankful I removed the corset and the double dildo before serving her.

"So much for gratitude," I muttered to myself.  She definitely required 
remedial training, a refresher course in the proper etiquette to use when 
one is at the complete mercy of another.

It took me a moment to find it at the bottom of the box with the other props 
from the historical photo shoot someone had commissioned last year, but I 
knew it was there: an old-fashioned manacle with a length of chain running 
to an iron ball that must have weighed at least 20 pounds.  I wrapped the 
bands around Sabrina's ankle, ran a padlock through the hasp and snapped it 
shut.  Before she could complain, I stuffed the rubber gag back into her 
mouth.

I had to carry it for her when we went to the bathroom, but it was a small 
price to pay to keep her thoughts focused on topics besides escape.

Yes, she definitely needed a primer in politesse, a lesson that would 
resonate longer and louder than another crack of the whip.  I ordered her to 
lie face down on the floor while I tied her wrists, and then her elbows, 
behind her back, followed by her thighs, knees and ankles.  A single, and 
very short, piece of rope soon brought her feet into contact with her 
fingers.  I snapped a few photos for my personal hogtie collection, then I 
left her to squirm while I went upstairs and found my wallet and car keys.

Among other errands, I was going to visit the hardware store in town that 
catered to professional contractors like plumbers and electricians.  I only 
needed one item, but I needed a lot of it.

--SABRINA--

When I heard Geoffrey start the car and drive away, I wasted no time.  Time 
to take action, if action could be taken.  What would a James Bond girl do 
here?  Probably wait for her hero to return at the last minute.  
Unfortunately for me, the only person who'd enter this dark room was the 
villain.  Life was not a movie.

The hogtie position was strenuous, but it had one remarkable benefit; I 
could touch the ropes and work on them.

It took a long time and three broken nails, but eventually, my ankles and 
wrists separated, and my legs fell flatly on the floor.  One down.  Five to 
go.  Plus the iron ball.

I checked for sounds outside.  I reckoned he had been gone no more than half 
an hour; he could return in ten minutes, or two hours.  I fretted over his 
reaction if he found me with even just one rope loose, but the risk was 
worth taking.  Anyway, could things really get worse than they already were?

Once I could sit, I could also move.  Dragging the ball behind me, I 
proceeded slowly to the door.  There, I leaned on the wall to work my way 
up, then turned around to push on the light switch with my forehead.  Good.  
Now I needed a cutting tool for the other ropes.

I surveyed the room and noticed the tall mirror on the left side of the 
stage.  This would do.  I crawled back there and almost joyfully pushed my 
reflection down.  The frame resisted the shock, but pieces of glass spread 
all around, and my fingers soon held a long shard up in triumph.

I cut myself several times, once pretty badly, before all the ropes were 
loose, but I hardly noticed the pain.  A loud "yes" broke the silence when I 
finally took the gag out of my mouth.  Oh, this felt so good.  And yet I 
couldn't take the luxury of congratulating myself yet.  There was still the 
iron manacle to deal with.

Knowing I lacked the strength to break the chain or the lock, even if I 
found a tool to help me, I decided not to waste my precious time trying.  
Instead, if I could find my car keys, I would drive to the nearest police 
station where it would become Exhibit A as evidence of my kidnapping.  Not 
wanting to arrive naked, I selected a short leather dress and a matching 
jacket from the rack of the party costumes, and headed for the door.  I 
hadn't heard him turn any key, and indeed, the door opened easily.  Onto a 
steep staircase.

I bent down and lifted the ball to knee level, then climbed the stairs 
slowly, one step at a time.  I was panting heavily when I reached the ground 
floor, but freedom was getting closer.  In the hallway, I tried to open the 
large wooden closet where I figured he had left my jacket and purse, but it 
was locked with no key in sight.  Cautious man.

I continued my search in the other rooms.  However this time, I wasn't so 
lucky.  The kitchen clock said 4:25, much later than I thought.  I allowed 
myself a short break to have a glass of water and two chocolate cookies.  
"Need to keep my energy levels up," I mimicked him in the lowest voice I 
could manage.

Speak of the devil...just as I felt ready to start Plan B, which was using 
the phone, I heard a car driving slowly into the front yard.  Oh no, please, 
not now.  Suddenly feeling nauseous, I imposed myself a long breath to calm 
down.  There was always Plan C.

With the ball bouncing in my wake, I sat on the sofa in the living room, 
ready for a conversation.  The knife in my right hand would make sure he'd 
listen.

When Geoffrey appeared in the doorway, anger was so brightly painted on his 
face that I almost regretted my attempted escape.  I held the knife so 
tightly, my knuckles turned white.

"No, don't say a word," I said as firmly as I could.  "You listen to me.  
It's over.  I want you to unlock the manacle first.  Then give me my 
belongings and my car keys.  I can find the police station on my own."

My heart was thumping so loudly, I could hear it through my chest.  If he 
ignored my demands and made a move towards me, I wasn't even sure I would 
know what to do with the knife.

--GEOFFREY--

We stared at each other in silence for what seemed like hours while I parsed 
my options, but it only took me a few seconds to make my decision.

"You're bleeding."

Sabrina gulped and looked down at her hand holding the knife.  That was all 
the opening I needed.  I whipped off my belt, stepped forward and brought it 
down hard against her fingers, sending the blade flying across the room as 
if it had been shot out of a catapult.

She yelped, then lunged at me, but I stopped her attack by grabbing her 
wrist and twisting it hard, forcing her face down on the couch.  I pushed 
the end of the belt around her body just above her elbows and buckled it 
tight behind her back.

While she thrashed helplessly, her arms flapping like penguin wings, I 
retrieved one of the bags I had dropped when I entered the room and pulled 
out one of the many rolls of electrical tape I had just purchased.  
Industrial strength.  Two inches wide.

I ignored her screams and pointless threats as I knelt on the couch behind 
her and started wrapping her waist, pinning her wrists to her sides.

"How thoughtful of you to provide me with a knife," I said as I sliced off 
the strip.

I turned around, grabbed one of her ankles, and crossed it over the other 
before taping them together.

"You'll never get away with this," Sabrina sputtered tearfully.  
"I...I...I'll scream."

"Not for long," I replied as I picked up a pen next to the telephone and 
started wrapping layers of tape around it.  When the resulting wad was an 
inch thick, I held it in front of her face.

"Open," I barked.  When she refused, I sighed and pinched her nose.  A 
minute later, I was plastering tape over her lips and cheeks to make sure 
the makeshift gag stayed put.  For a few moments, anyway.

I unbuckled my belt pinning her elbows to her sides, and used up the rest of 
the roll to replace it.

Rising to my feet, I doubled over my belt and began slapping it rhythmically 
against my open palm.

"My dear Sabrina...we seem to be...in the midst of a drama...that isn't 
going to have...a happy ending...for one of us...given the lack...of 
suitable alternatives...I'm afraid I must insist on...my way."

I leaned over, grabbed her on the shoulder, and flipped her onto her 
stomach, then pulled the leather skirt up over her hips.

"Don't expect anyone to ride up over the ridge on a rescue mission, 
especially your friends at the association," I continued as I caressed her 
quivering ass.  "Remember, they're the ones who sent you here.  They know 
everything."

I pinched the softest part of her cheek where it curved into the top of her 
thigh, debating what else she needed to know.  It was always dangerous to 
tell them the whole truth all at once.  Some went catatonic at the thought 
of being sold.  Others reacted hysterically, and sobbed uselessly for days.

The longer I could keep Sabrina guessing, the better for both of us.  I'd 
rather she hated me for reasons that made no sense than trying to kill me to 
save her very life.

Alas, we were well beyond the business of producing an annual report, 
although I would have to find another model to finish the project for real 
once Sabrina was shipped off.  The price of perfection is always high, 
especially when it comes to airtight alibis.  So I needed a new approach.  
Something to justify a thorough whipping, among other indignities.  
Something to keep Sabrina off balance, in more ways than one.

Maybe even something to keep her, say, tipsy.

"And lest we forget, there's still the Merlot.  Very expensive Merlot.  But 
we'll get to that later.  Let's see, how many were we up to?  Oh yes..."

The belt whistled loudly as it descended and snapped against her ass.

"We'll count backwards...99."

--SABRINA--

"Ninety-three."

It wasn't so much the belt that hurt, although the collateral damage on my 
bottom increased with every stroke.  It was more the realization that I had 
been set up.  Not only by him, but the IFC, too.  I had no reason not to 
believe Geoffrey when he mentioned their mutual arrangement.  A new rage 
took over, redirected at my colleagues and superiors, which helped me get 
through the first 20 belt strokes.

"Seventy-seven."

My rage began to melt under the burning bites from the leather.  I tried to 
avoid the blows, but a hand on my back pinned me firmly to the coach while 
the iron ball kept my feet down.  Definitely no possibility of escape.  
Trying to focus on something besides the pain, I counted how many days I'd 
already spent in this house.  The contract specified a two-week session.  I 
should be out in a week, 10 days maximum.  How many whip strokes can you get 
in 10 days?

"Sixty-three."

Beads of sweat were running down my face until they were absorbed by the 
tape layers across my cheeks.  Soon my eyes became watery. too.  I held back 
the tears, unwilling to give in.

"Forty-six."

A sense of total despair replaced my dreams of revenge.  What if he hadn't 
told me everything?  What if he planned to keep me here forever?  Would I 
ever see the normal world again?

"Thirty-two."

A drenched layer of tape peeled off, and I spit out the gag.  My screams 
began to echo each whack of the belt.

"Twenty."

I sank into a dark pit of pain and hopelessness.  I didn't want to fight 
anymore.  I tried, and failed.  Now I wanted to let go.  And in such a 
terrible moment, it brought the relief I had long awaited.

I didn't hear the final countdown.  I must have fainted just before he 
reached the top ten.

--GEOFFREY--

Sabrina probably won't appreciate the horizontal piece of wood that joined 
the top halves of the giant wooden cross, I thought to myself as I continued 
to wrap and padlock her limbs into the leather cuffs bolted into the arms of 
the structure.  But soon, she would become a connoisseur of such 
apparatuses.

Ankles, thighs, waist, wrists, elbows, plus some additional straps for her 
head, thanks to the new design--not too tight while she's still 
unconscious--one holding a ball gag in her mouth, and the last around her 
forehead.

I stepped back to admire my handiwork.  The new ballet boots were probably a 
bit stiff, but they'd break in soon enough, given she wasn't going to wear 
anything else on her feet for quite some time.  Nothing like nine-inch heels 
to keep a woman dainty in her stride and poise.  Not that she was going to 
walk anywhere with iron balls chained to both ankles now.  Nor would she 
have much luck picking them up with her hands encased in leather mittens.

I was definitely in good spirits now that the awkward transition stage was 
behind us, and more than a week remained before I had to start worrying 
about packaging and transport.  I wasn't about to share the facts about her 
fate; experience dictated that it was preferable to ease them into their new 
reality rather than hurl them into the abyss.

So there was little left to do but start the conditioning process, not to 
mention fuck her six ways to Sunday and watch the virtual bidding paddles 
wave.  Just one more small detail to attend to...

Something banged at the top of the stairs.  A woman's voice followed.

"Geoff-reee?  Where arrrrrrre you?"

"Down here, Brenda," I laughed as I clicked off the light near the cross, 
throwing it into deep shadows.  My neighbor certainly knows about my work, 
but I didn't want her asking too many questions.

She bounced down the stairs and mock-fainted into my arms.

"Oh, Geoffrey, does this mean you're finally ready to settle down with me?"

"Not tonight, Miss Moneypenny," I replied in my best Sean Connery burr.  "I 
have an important job for you.  But let's make ourselves comfortable 
upstairs."

Fifteen minutes later, we returned to the studio with Brenda in a wig 
dressed in the clothes Sabrina had been wearing when she delivered herself 
to my doorstep.

"Wait here.  I know I've got something suitable in the back."

I left Brenda standing by the stairs while I rummaged through a storage 
closet until I found a large hat and sunglasses to obscure her face.

"So let me get this straight, Mr. Sorenson," Brenda said after adjusting the 
accessories on her head.  "You want me to take this car to the train 
station, park it in the long-term lot, buy a ticket for somewhere far away 
on an express that's leaving very soon, get on the train, go to the loo, 
change back into my own clothes, get off the train, chuck these rags and the 
wig into the trash, and take a taxi home?"

"That's the gist of it, dear," I replied.  "Oh, you'll need some cash for 
the ticket."

I pulled a wad of notes from my pack pocket and started peeling off 
hundreds.

"Will this suffice?"

"More than enough, sir.  Besides, it's my pleasure to get on your good 
side."

"Always a wise idea.  Well, off you go then.  Call me when you get home.  
And try not to talk to anyone other than the ticket agent, okay?"

"Yes, sir!" she yelped before giggling.  "Or should I say, 'yes, 
puh-leeeeeeze'?"

"Don't tempt me, Brenda."

"But Geoffrey, love, I live to tempt you."

I thought I heard something stirring in the shadows.  Time to move along the 
proceedings.

"Goodbye, Brenda, and thanks a million.  I definitely owe you one."

"To be collected in full, you can be sure."

She kissed my cheek and headed up the stairs.  I waited until I heard 
Sabrina's car pull out of the driveway before walking quickly across the 
room to the cross.

"Welcome back," I said as I turned on the light.

Sabrina's eyes squinted to avert the glare.

"Wait, allow me to rephrase that...welcome home."

--SABRINA--

The waves came crashing down on the white sand at a regular pace, as if 
regulated by an invisible machine.  The foam stopped a few inches from my 
feet, but I couldn't feel its refreshing coolness.  I was paralyzed, unable 
to move.  Not even my head.  All I could do was stare at the water in front 
of me.  In the distance, I noticed a long shining object carried by the 
swells.  It disappeared for a few seconds before it turned up again, closer 
and bigger.  It was a huge old-fashioned silver key: the size of a man, 
coming right at me, bobbing up and down, but the backwash kept pulling it 
back.  I knew I had to have that key at all costs.  And I felt desperate 
because it was so close, yet out of reach.  I screamed to get help; my mouth 
was wide open, but no sound came out.

All of a sudden, I heard a female voice on my left.  "Yes, sir," it barked.  
When I heard the male voice reply, I snapped back to consciousness.  The 
voice was Geoffrey's.  And there was a woman in the room.

Instinctively, I tried to turn my head to the left.  When I couldn't, I 
tried to move my hands, or my feet, or anything, but no limb would respond.  
I was immobilized in a position that made me cruelly aware of my nakedness.  
My temperature rose sharply, but I managed not to panic.

By the time I was fully awake, the room was quiet again.  Then the light 
returned.  So did Geoffrey.

Home?  Did he just say "welcome home" to me?  He must have seen the 
puzzlement in my eyes since he bothered to provide clarification.  
Circumstances had changed at the association.  Something about a change in 
management.  Until the situation was resolved, I was to stay here as his 
"guest."

My body climate escalated from temperate to equatorial.  Stay here?  What 
about my life, my family, my friends?  They would look for me.  Well, not in 
the near future, as my jailer explained.  Precautions had been taken.  My 
presence in the real world had been deemed temporarily superfluous by my 
former superiors.

Despite the many reasonable reasons why his harebrained scheme was 
impossible, I believed him.  The belt punishment must have broken an 
important piece in my cerebral network because I couldn't function normally 
anymore.  When he turned away, the only thought that occurred to me was, "so 
now what happens?"

Geoffrey returned with a red plastic bucket.

"Too early for bedtime, but too late for an elaborate session.  Let's see, 
how can I keep you alert while I get something to eat?"

By the time he had emptied half the bucket of clothespins, pain had become a 
subtle melody on my body, played both pianissimo and fortissimo.  When he 
estimated my arms, breasts, hips and inner thighs had their fair share of 
pins, I felt the shadow of a touch near my clit.  That was enough to remind 
me of how stimulated I had been during the last 24 hours.  The slightest 
breeze would probably trigger the explosion.  But he was very careful to 
avoid pushing the big red button, and concentrated on the sensitive 
periphery instead.

"There," he said as he laid down the empty bucket.  "Enjoy.  I'll take them 
off after dinner.  Oh, and I'm sorry you're not invited to join me.  I 
believe you already had a light snack while I was gone.  That should last 
you until tomorrow."

He switched the light off and was gone, leaving me with such unbearable 
tension between my legs that I would have given anything for one more 
clothespin.  Properly applied.

--GEOFFREY--

As I ate my supper, I wondered if Sabrina had believed my rap about the 
association abandoning her.  In fact, my conversation with the director just 
moments ago had been quite pleasant.

I had explained to him that Sabrina had received a phone call, and although 
I didn't wish to eavesdrop, I couldn't help overhearing something about a 
friend and an auto accident.  No, I hadn't quite caught the person's name, 
or even the city where this friend lived.  But Sabrina had been quite upset, 
and had asked for an early dismissal from the project so she could comfort 
her.  Or maybe it was a him.  Not my style to pry.

Given the quality and quantity of the photos already taken, I had agreed, 
albeit reluctantly, to let her go to her friend's aid.  No, she left the 
house about an hour ago.  Yes, she drove her own car.  No, not an 
inconvenience at all.  These things happen.  Otherwise, I looked forward to 
meeting with them at the end of the month to review the contact sheets.

As I rose to put his plate in the sink, I permitted himself a broad smile.  
No time like the distant future to cope with complications like finding 
another model for the council's annual report because (insert embarrassed 
sigh) something had gone wrong with my camera while shooting Sabrina.

I only hoped that the machine recording our telephone conversation on their 
end didn't suffer from a similar malfunction.

Leaving the mess for later, I returned to the studio and snapped several 
shots of Sabrina clothespinned on the cross.  Judging from recent email, 
certain webmasters were getting anxious to review my latest masterpieces.  
Too bad.  I still hadn't found a suitable case of Merlot, so I couldn't give 
them a final price.

I knew that the rush of blood when I removed the clothespins was probably 
going to feel worse than their bite, so I thought she might appreciate a 
little distraction.

"The Pocket Rocket--sending more women into orbit daily than NASA does in a 
decade," I remembered reading on the side of the box.  I rotated its base, 
and the tiny vibrator practically jumped out of my hand.  Nice.  Buying half 
a dozen didn't seem like such an extravagant purchase.

I pressed it against her soft flesh in the space below her navel and above 
her sex.  Pleased by her reaction, I tore off a long piece of black 
electrical tape and plastered it securely in place.

The first clothespins echoed dully when they hit the bottom of the plastic 
bucket.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled the last ones off her nipples, then stripped 
off the vibrator.

I wondered if Sabrina had finally managed to come; she had certainly 
wriggled and groaned convincingly while I plucked the clamps from her 
various body parts.  I considered helping her along with a thorough fucking 
once she came off the cross, but Brenda said she would be stopping by to 
tell me about the train station.  And my patience was limitless now that I 
held all the cards.

I unstrapped Sabrina's legs first, then went to work on her arms and body.  
When she finally slumped free, I helped her down to the floor.

"Don't move," I admonished unnecessarily.  Between the iron balls still 
chained to her ankles, the ballet boots, the mittens and the gag, she wasn't 
going anywhere soon.  And I was going to make sure she stayed that way.

I gathered what I needed, then knelt beside her prone body.

"Obviously, I can't trust you anymore," I said.  "So I'm going to have to 
take extra precautions tonight to stop you from pulling something like the 
mirror stunt again."

I pulled a piece of electrical tape from the roll and pressed it against her 
toes, then began wrapping it around the ballet boots and the metal cuffs 
still around her ankles, with a separate piece joining the heels beneath 
them.

When the first roll ran out in the middle of her thighs, I rolled her onto 
her stomach and pushed a fat plug into her ass before starting with a new 
roll.  I left her hands in the mittens, but unlocked the clips so they 
weren't balled into fists anymore.  This allowed me to press them flat 
against her hips with her arms at her sides.

Up and up the tape continued, covering and compressing every inch of her 
body except her nipples, which stuck out like pink stars in a universe of 
inky blackness.

I stopped when I got to her neck, but only long enough to insert 
airport-grade hearing protectors into her ears and add a few pieces of tape 
across her already-gagged mouth.  After pulling a rubber hood over her head 
to protect her eyes and hair (from the prying eye of the camera lens as much 
as the adhesive), I continued wrapping until she was completely encased, 
save the bottom of her nose.

The Japanese clover clamps had a nasty way of tightening whenever something 
tugged on them.  Once I had them fixed to her exposed nipples, I tied their 
handles to thin ropes dangling down from the metal bars of the "lighting 
structure," as she once called it.  If she tried to roll around, well, once 
should be enough to teach her to lie still until I returned tomorrow 
morning.  The economy of movement, as it were.

--SABRINA--

Earlier that day, I had surrendered my will to fight, but it felt like a New 
Year's resolution.  I could have learned to cope with a few restraints and 
the silly sexual games Geoffrey enjoyed while I was defenseless, but this 
was way too much.  No sight, no sound.  And definitely no struggling; I 
tried to roll over when I was sure he was out of the room, but the flash of 
white pain through my breasts convinced me to stay still.

So I did.  And it was awful.  I felt like I was buried alive.  I knew it 
would be worse if I yielded to panic, so I concentrated on breathing.  In 
and out.  In and out.  Quiet, girl, keep it quiet.  You're exhausted; this 
is the right time to relax.

The theory was alluring, but sleep doesn't come easy in relentless 
confinement.  My body was restless and itchy.  I tensed my muscles, first 
all at once, then each separately, starting with my toes and ending with my 
jaw.  Nothing helped.  Nothing moved.  I became so hot, I felt like I was 
jammed in an oven like a foil-covered chicken.  The stupid image reminded me 
I was hungry, too.  Not to mention thirsty.  I was so fed up with these gags 
that kept filling my mouth.

And there was the other tension, which the lack of distraction forced me to 
address.  The powerful orgasm that had shaken me while he was pulling off 
the clothespins was long forgotten.  I needed another one, many other ones.  
And this unquenchable thirst for sexual relief was dumbfounding.  It had 
made the pain and discomfort more bearable, but it multiplied my mental 
confusion by ten.  I was reluctant to derive any pleasure, albeit 
involuntary, from my own imprisonment.  And I hated to admit that, although 
I would have given anything to see Geoffrey burn in hell, I also wanted him 
to come back.  And touch me.  Finally, I detested the realization that I was 
becoming obsessed with one question: why the hell didn't he fuck me?

I fell into a light agitated sleep and dreamed X-rated visions all night.


(To be continued in Association - Day 7)


***
Copyright (C) 2002 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard. All rights reserved. 
Please do not repost nor repurpose without permission.

***
"Something Just Clicked," a new collection of our bdsm short stories and 
novellas, is now available from Renaissance Ebooks

http://www.renebooks.com

***
AdrianHunter.com
Superlative bondage fiction by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard

http://www.adrianhunter.com

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