A Long Weekend
  • Author - Ty M Goode
  • Rating -   
  • Site Rank - 136 of 2955
  • Story Codes - F-f, non-consensual, analplay, bondage, chastity, drugs, extreme, kidnapping, torture, violent
  • Post Date - 2/12/2009

Author's Note: I’ve drawn a great deal from pleasure posting “1st and Goal” and other stories here, and the positive responses they’ve garnered. I plan to continue posting most of my older works, but am starting off with something new. Updates for this one will not be as frequent, as it is a work in progress.

My plans also include publishing my complete stories (for a nominal fee) at a website used by several authors here. Information on this will be forthcoming. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy...

Edit (04/17/2011): Sorry for the much too long delay in continuing this story. I thank you for your patience and kind comments.

Chapter 1

The detective stared across the desk at her, considerately remaining quiet. Well, perhaps not so much in consideration, as waiting for her reaction. These kinds of cases usually fell into three categories.

1. Denial. They would insist that some mistake had been made.

2. Outrage. The client would swear bodily harm upon the guilty parties.

3. Relief. That suspicions had been confirmed. All three, usually led to contacting an attorney shortly thereafter.

Apparently though, there was a fourth reaction. The one the woman in his office was currently displaying. And that was, no reaction whatsoever. She glanced through all of the photographs without so much as a grimace or curse.

“Dignified” had been the word that popped into his mind when he’d first met Andrea Walston. Not “ritzy” or “high class”, those terms missed the mark. No, “Dignified” was definitely the term. She had smelled of money, yet wore none of the trappings. Her business attire had consisted of matching skirt and jacket, obviously tailor made. The skirt was cut just above the knee, allowing a hint of the strong, toned legs she strode upon.

The jacket needed no shoulder boarding, there was no slump nor slouch to her carriage. From the shoulders, it tapered down pleasingly to her trim waist, then back out over full hips. Her bust curved the jacket’s lapels in a strangely sensual way. Considering himself somewhat of an expert, he determined her cup size to be 36-B. He’d be wrong. Andrea wore a 36-C cup bra.

Under the jacket she wore a white silk blouse, that revealed just the appropriate amount of cleavage. The blouse seemed to reflect the glow that radiated from her skin. Her three inch heels brought her up to almost his, six foot height. He didn’t know beans about shoes, except to know that these would probably cost him a week’s salary. More like two week’s.

Her auburn hair appeared to be naturally curly. The small ringlets spun down to her shoulders, framing the stunningly attractive Celtic features of her face. A light sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks gave her a remarkably youthful appearance. Her nose was small and pert, her lips full, but not cosmetically so. Her white teeth appeared straight and flawless, but for a small gap between the upper incisors. The effect was not “cute” or “adorable”, rather it gave her a mysterious sensuality. It spoke of a woman who was comfortable with her flaws.

Aside from a wedding band that boasted a rock that was probably worth a small country, she wore just a Cartier wristwatch and a mother of pearl necklace. Again, dignified. She felt secure in her wealth and had no need to flaunt it. She was a woman sure of who she was.

After looking at the last photograph, she slipped them back into the manila folder. She took a breath and gazed back at the detective. No glistening of tears, no maniacal look of wigging out. It was as if she’d just glanced at the lunch menu at the club.

“Thank you, Mr. Drummond.” She said in an even tone. “A very thorough investigation. As I was sure it would be. And now, about your fee.”

Numbers were discussed, to which she didn’t bat an eye. She drafted a check from her personal account. Glancing at it, Drummond noted that it was substantially higher than the agreed upon price. He raised a questioning eye to the woman opposite his desk.

“I trust that these matters will be held in the strictest of confidence?” She stated to his questioning gaze.

“I’ll guard this information closer than your shrink.” He said, trying to inject a little levity.

For the first time, the corners of her mouth turned downward ever so slightly. It was clear that she was not amused.

Clearing his throat, Drummond hastily added, “You’ve got nothing to worry about ma’am. This information and these pictures will never leave this room.”

Apparently placated, Andrea rose, the meeting over. Drummond escorted her to the door and bid his farewells. Sitting back at his desk, he opened the folder and perused the pictures one more time.

“Poor bastard,” he thought, “he’s never going to know what hit him.”

“Still,” Drummond’s deliberations continued, as he leafed through the 8X10 glossies, “He’s one lucky bastard, too. That is one SMOKIN’ hot babe he’s banging. A little kinky as well.”

The pictures showed Maxwell Walston mounting a stunningly gorgeous, platinum blonde, in a room at the Biltmore. The blonde’s face was the picture of rapture. Her arms were raised over hear head, held there with silken cords lashed to the headboard. Her ankles were spread wide, more cords holding them to the corners of the bed. Walston’s back was arched, his face grimacing with his own orgasm.

“Yup,“ he thought, “one lucky bastard.“

His mind wandered back to the fine figure of Mrs. Walston.

“Come to think of it, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed either.” He decided, and placed the folder in his wall safe.

Andrea’s drive back home wasn’t a white knuckled simmer, nor blurred vision of rage. Her upbringing didn’t allow for such emotional folly. She calmly and rationally went over the options as she saw them. The first, obviously, was to sue for divorce. There would be no monetary gain in this, as it was her family fortune that fueled Maxwell’s pet projects.

Secondly, a divorce would merely free Maxwell to carry on a relationship with Melanie in public. Melanie Swift, the ‘smoking-hot blonde’ as Drummond had put it, was Maxwell’s personal secretary. Judging by the photographs, VERY personal.

Maxwell had hired her six months earlier. Almost from the beginning, Andrea had had her suspicions. So thinly veiled was their tryst, that Andrea had been forced to use the tawdry services of Mr. Drummond. The two had made it ridiculously easy for him to capture their adultery on film.

She could just let things go on as if she were clueless. But no, they’d each taken an oath to honor the other. That oath meant something to her, even if the same could not be said for Maxwell. Besides, she’d always known that Maxwell was a notorious playboy.

Possessing a keen memory, the images kept flashing through her mind. Each time, they seemed to freeze on the look of pure ecstasy on Melanie’s face. And perhaps that’s what bothered her most. Not the fact that her husband was unfaithful, rather that he had introduced this tart to their private games.

“OUR bondage games.” She thought, hands involuntarily tightening on the wheel.

Hesitant at first when the topic had been raised, it hadn’t taken long for Andrea to become a willing participant. Being raised to always have a tight rein on her emotions, the act of being bound had actually proven to be a source of freedom. Being restrained removed any source of guilt she might be subconsciously feeling. It allowed her to ‘let go’ in a sense that when she was helpless, nothing was her fault. Many times, she thought she would go mad at Maxwell’s sexual torments.

Her train of thought jumped its tracks at this. An idea began to take seed. She let the thought tumble through her mind, telling herself it was just folly, nothing would ever come of it. But as more pieces fell into place, the more certain she became, that the plan would work. And if it didn’t, well that had its benefits too.

Almost without thinking, she dialed her alchemist. Far from eccentric, she still had the odd quirk or two. She paid bi-weekly visits to her psychic (whom, by the way, had not warned her of this development), and took natural supplements provided by the herbologist she’d just dialed. A few discreet questions later, and she found that he did indeed have what she was looking for.

Diverting her route home, she stopped by the woman’s shop. The woman, not wishing to slay the golden goose, mildly cautioned Andrea as to the potion’s potency. Andrea assured her that she would only use it in the prescribed amounts and nothing further was said. Mrs. Walston had coolly worked out the minor details by the time she pulled into the estate’s driveway. Now all she had to do was wait for an opportunity.

Providence would come later that evening. She received a phone call from Maxwell, informing her that he was off to an emergency meeting in Vancouver. He expected to be there all weekend, perhaps not returning until Tuesday. Even in this age of technology, Andrea understood that not all business could be transacted via video conferencing. Sometimes it was necessary to get out there and “press the flesh”.

But then Maxwell had informed her that Melanie would be joining him, to help “Wrap up negotiations”. Andrea could hear the amusement in her husband’s voice, at what he thought was a clever turn of words. It was clear that he had no idea that Andrea was privy to his shenanigans.

“Press the flesh, indeed.” Andrea fumed, for she knew with whom.

However, her husband said that Melanie must first swing by the house. Ever absent minded, Maxwell had forgotten to take his briefcase. Melanie would pick it up and catch a later flight. They’d be staying at the Four Seasons. Separate rooms of course.

“Of course.” Thought Andrea. “You’ll pay for separate rooms, but only be needing one.”

Well, he had to go, they were announcing final boarding. Melanie should be by within the hour. He told her he loved her and she replied in kind, for it was true. After hanging up, she went immediately to the kitchen and began boiling the mixture of herbs and roots she’d purchased. Sure enough, the doorbell rang forty five minutes later.

Andrea greeted Melanie with a warm, friendly smile. The two women unconsciously appraised one another, as they did every time they‘d met. Melanie had to give Mrs. Walston her due. At 42, she still had a remarkable figure. Her lightly made-up face could have passed for ten, no, fifteen years younger.

Ever gracious, Andrea made Melanie slightly uncomfortable, due to the hanky panky that was going on behind her back. Still, Maxwell was a decent lover, and more importantly, loaded. An added bonus was that she truly enjoyed his kinky little bondage games. Being restrained gave her a thrill she’d not experienced before. When the time came to dump Maxwell, she’d make it a point to find someone who would be willing to continue down this new avenue of sexual exploration.

At the same time, Andrea was assessing Melanie’s charms. She had no doubt that the 5’6” blonde had chemical assistance maintaining her platinum hair, which hung straight down her back to the waistline. Not exactly dressed for the anticipated cold weather in Canada, the secretary cut a striking figure.

The burgundy tights clinging to her legs were tucked into mid-calf length boots with fur trim. The boot’s 3” heels, hoisted the petite girl upward, giving extra shape to her toned legs. Her tartan wool skirt was cut three inches above the knee. Not the ideal attire for the dreary Northwest, but perfect to capture every male eye within distance. Sitting atop her head, drawing the gaze to her perfect, ‘California Girl’ face, was a rose colored beret that complimented her tights.

Slipping out of her down jacket, Andrea saw that she wore a rose colored, cashmere turtleneck that matched her beret. Mrs. Walston thought that Melanie must have needed a shoe horn to squeeze into the sweater. An even better judge of a woman’s figure than the odiferous Mr. Drummond, Andrea figured that Melanie’s vital statistics were, 36D-24-34. She was spot on.

Andrea informed Melanie that Maxwell had appraised her of the development. She told the 26 year old how sorry she was that her weekend plans had been ruined. As expected, Melanie did not appear nearly as disappointed as one might think. Melanie confided that the worse part of the entire business, was having to wait in the airport lounge for four hours until her flight departed. In truth, the blonde was actually looking at this as an opportunity to target some other affluent business traveler, whom she could toy with at a later date.

Upon hearing this bit of news, Andrea insisted that Melanie stay here at the house. Then, Andrea herself, would drive her to the airport. Melanie wanted to refuse, but couldn’t figure out how, without possibly tipping her hand. Besides, when she thought of it, it was a delicious piece of irony that Mrs. Walston would drive her to the rendezvous where Melanie was planning to hump Mr. Walston’s brains out. The young Miss Swift accepted, hanging up her coat.

Andrea told Melanie that her timing couldn’t be more perfect. She’d just finished brewing a pot of tea.

“Great,” thought the blonde, “I’d like a cup of tea, about as much as a glass of horse pee.” Melanie was a champagne type of girl.

Regardless, she accepted the delicate china cup offered to her. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, unsure of what topic to chat about. ‘Horse piss’, Melanie decided, would have been a better alternative to this god awful brew she was drinking now. It was terribly bitter and made the back of her throat tickle. Somehow, she managed to drain the whole cup without gagging.

Beginning to think that staying here was a bad idea, Melanie suggested that she stick to her original plan. That way, her car would be waiting for her at the airport when she returned. Was it her imagination, or had she started to slur her words? Seeing no change in Andrea’s demeanor, Melanie chalked it up to imagination.

Seeing the logic in her reasoning and complimenting Melanie on her dedication to duty, Andrea rose to get the blonde’s coat. By the time Mrs. Walston returned, Melanie was beginning to feel slightly flushed all over. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with something. Oh well, she was sure that Maxwell would nurse her back to health, with a regimen of champagne and caviar.

But then she went to turn and thank Andrea for her hospitality. Her head didn’t move! In fact, nothing moved! An irrational fear started to rise in her, and she attempted to tell Mrs. Walston that she thought she might be having some kind of seizure. No words came out!

Intense anxiety swept through her as she realized that she’d become completely paralyzed. Well, not completely. She found that she could still blink and gaze her eyes about the room. Taking a tentative breath, she was greatly relieved to find that her lungs still functioned.

“Thank God!” She thought.

She had no doubt, that in a few moments time, Andrea would notice her condition and phone for an ambulance. Melanie just prayed that it wasn’t a permanent condition. Andrea’s legs swept into the blonde’s field of vision, but the secretary was unable to look up into her hostess‘s face.

“C’mon, you stupid cow.” Melanie urged. “I’m having a crisis here!”

“Here you are, my dear.” Andrea announced. “Why, is something wrong?”

Yes, YES! You stupid bitch! I can’t MOVE!” Melanie’s mind screamed.

Melanie felt Andrea give her a gentle push on the shoulder. Unable to stop herself, her body toppled sideways on to the sofa. Melanie noted that her limbs had remained lax, not stiff as a board, as she had first thought. She also noticed that there wasn’t any tingling sensation of numbness. She hadn’t lost feeling in her body, just control. This was evidenced by her ability to feel Andrea’s shove, as well as the sofa’s upholstery upon her cheek.

Melanie could do nothing but stare wide-eyed at Andrea’s stocking clad knees. Then Mrs. Walston knelt, her icy emerald eyes glaring into Melanie’s frantic, pacific blue ones. Not sure why, Melanie was certain that such a look of menace had never before creased Andrea’s beautiful face.

“Why, what’s the matter dear?” Mrs. Walston asked. “Didn’t you like your refreshment?” Andrea’s expression changed to one of disappointment.

“I was assured by my alchemist that it would provide the ultimate in relaxation. But then again, I suppose you’d much rather unwind in the arms of my husband, sipping Dom Perignon.”

Melanie could sense her eyes widening in shock. “She knows!” She thought, a sense of uneasiness sweeping over her.

“Oh yes, dear.” Andrea continued, “I know all about your little tryst at the Biltmore last Thursday. And I’m certain that there have been more.”

Normally, Melanie would have denied this out of habit, even though it was true. But at the moment, she had none of her usual guiles to work with. Besides, she usually used them on men, never having the need to sway a woman before. A horrible thought came to her. “Had she been poisoned!?” Andrea seemed to read her mind.

“Rest assured, sweet Melanie,” she cooed, “the effects are temporary and harmless. It does, however, give us an opportunity to get to know each other better.”

The manner in which Andrea said this, sent a shiver down the twenty six year olds spine. What on earth did she have planned? Melanie had no choice but to wait and find out. Without further elaboration, Andrea rose and strode from view.

Hearing her hostess’s heels clack away, Melanie screamed at herself to get up. Not a muscle moved. She peered at her purse, sitting two feet away on the coffee table. She knew her Blackberry rested inside. It should have been a simple matter of punching up Maxwell’s private number and alerting him to the goings on here. But the purse might as well have been sitting on a deserted island. At the moment, the blonde stood no hope of contacting anyone.

The minutes ticked by, marked by the grandfather clock in the atrium. Things had not changed for Melanie, other than the trickle of drool dribbling out the corner of her mouth, dampening the cushion beneath her face. The blonde felt a spark of hope when Andrea returned. Perhaps the wounded wife had come to her senses.

But as Mrs. Walton strode into view, she made no attempt to resuscitate the curvaceous secretary. Melanie noted that Andrea carried a black nylon gym bag with her. Curious. Mrs. Walston dropped the bag on the floor. The thick carpeting couldn’t completely muffle the mysterious ’thunk’ when it hit.

“Now then,” Andrea announced, “let’s get a better look at you.”

To Melanie’s utter astonishment, her hostess proceeded to remove her boots. But it didn’t stop there. The leggings were next, followed by the skirt. Her cashmere sweater was hoisted up over her head, as if she were a rag doll and tossed on to the growing pile. In no time, Melanie found herself down to her maroon, demi-cup bra and matching G-string.

“My,” Andrea commented, “I can certainly see what Maxwell finds appealing in you. Let’s have a look at the rest, shall we?”

“No, No, NO!” Melanie’s mind shouted, but she could not halt the dresser’s shears from turning her bra and panties into washrags.

“Yes indeed,” the redhead offered, “my Maxwell certainly does have good taste.”

“I see that you keep up with all the latest trends in bobbles.” She said, gesturing at the diamond pendant dangling from her navel. “I assume my husband bought you that.” It was true.

“Let’s see what else he bought you.”

To Melanie’s revulsion, Andrea grasped her bust, squeezing her large breasts, moving them here and there. When she let go, the secretary could still feel the ghostly sensations of her touch.

“Hmm, no surgery. I’m impressed, Melanie.” Andrea stated. “It’s quite uncommon to find a set of jugs this size on someone of your physique.”

Melanie was shocked. She’d met Andrea many times before and had never heard her speak this way. Mrs. Walston had always seemed so refined. Hearing these words roll off her tongue sounded absolutely foreign. The blonde was discovering a side of her lover’s wife she’d not known existed. Helpless, she listened as Andrea continued her examination.

“What a cute little strip of hair you have down there, dear. Tres chic.” Andrea said, running her nail down the narrow swath of pubic hair.

“Though it must be bothersome to be waxing constantly. I’d be happy to shave it all off for you, so you wouldn’t have that worry. In fact, it would be my pleasure.” Mrs. Walston drove the point home by grasping a few hairs and giving them a not so playful tug.

“Well, perhaps later.” Andrea said, seeming to snap out of her reverie. “Allow me to get to the crux of my intentions.”

“I’m here to give you an education.” She said, cryptically. “My husband has obviously already schooled you in Bondage 101. And I must admit, you certainly seem to be an apt student.”

“So,” she continued, “I’m going to skip the intermediate courses and jump right to the advanced curriculum. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble keeping up.”

“Then again,” Mrs. Walston added, her eyes narrowing, “you haven’t any choice, now do you?”

Chapter 2

Melanie stared helplessly, unable to move a muscle, as Andrea Walston dumped out the contents of the nylon gym bag. The sofa cushion blocked most of her vision, but what she could see was comprised mostly of items in black leather. She was at a loss to identify a single article in the heap. For some odd reason, the secretary’s trepidation eased when she recognized the first thing that Andrea picked up.

It was a spoil of "gardener’s" or "jute" twine. The same her father used to string up tomato plants when she was a child. It didn’t look very strong and for the first time, Melanie felt encouraged. If Andrea planned on tying her up with that, she should have no problem breaking free. It was, after all, primarily used for vegetables.

"Go ahead, you wacko broad," she thought, "tie me up. But when I get loose, I’m going to sue your pants off. That will make it easier for the inmates to butt fuck you, while your in jail."

That image alone, was enough to bolster the secretary’s spirits. She could offer no resistance, as Andrea turned her over on to her stomach. She was grateful when the redhead turned her head to the side. Unable to do it on her own, Melanie’s face would have smothered in the sofa cushion.

Whether or not by design, Andrea stood where the blonde could watch her actions. Mrs. Walston rolled off perhaps a twenty foot length of twine before cutting it. She then doubled it, forming a twin strand. And that was all the advance knowledge Melanie was afforded, as Andrea walked out of view.

Next, she felt her arms being positioned behind her back. It was weird, she thought, being able to feel everything, but not being able to move anything. She hoped that whatever it was that she’d drank would wear off soon, she was getting freaked out. Then she felt the scratchy twine brushing against the skin. But something felt wrong. The action was taking place up above her elbows. All the movie heroines she’d seen, had had their wrists tied together. What was Andrea doing?

She had no way of watching as Andrea fed the ends of the twine through the loop in the middle. Drawing out the slack, she made certain that the dual cord wasn’t twisted as it encircled Melanie’s biceps. Wrapping it around her hand for a firm grip, the redhead heaved on the cord.

The platinum blonde’s eyes flew open. It felt as though a narrow portion of her upper arms had been scalded. She felt a tremendous strain on her shoulders, as her elbows were drawn closer together. The fire and tension was relentless and only grew worse, as Andrea heaved, rested and heaved again on the cord. Incredibly, Melanie soon felt her elbows bumping into one another.

The secretary let loose a wild shriek, that came out as a breathless, "hhhhhhhh!"

Pleased that she was able to get the secretary’s elbows to touch without too much trouble, Andrea kept up the tension while she wrapped more strands about Melanie’s arms. After the eight pass (16 strands total), Mrs. Walston changed direction, feeding the twine between Melanie’s arms until they’d made one circuit around the original four wraps. Getting a good grip once more, she pulled with all her might. The bands around Melanie’s arms shrank, as the were cinched ever tighter. Pulling until she feared getting rope burn on her palm, Andrea repeated the cinching wrap three more times and knotted off the cord. And there was still plenty of twine remaining.

During this pause, Melanie noticed a subtle decrease in the fiery band around her arms. With each additional loop, more of the strain was distributed between the cords. The firm grip was still beyond unpleasant, but at least now, it didn’t feel like a hot wire slicing her arms off.

"Almost anyone can restrain a person, pet," Andrea lectured as she arranged the remaining twine, " as long as the material used, is properly cinched, knotted, locked and or buckled."

"The KEY," she continued, "is in the application. Are you just binding someone for a kinky play session? Or are you trussing that person as a form of punishment. Either way, if done correctly, escape should be impossible."

"As you may have guessed, this is not a kinky play session. When I’m finished, you’ll not only be unable to escape, you’ll find it too unpleasant to even try."

The remaining twine was worked under Melanie’s right arm, then up over her shoulder. Andrea paused to brush the straight, platinum plume of hair away from Melanie’s head. The twine then passed behind her neck and descended over her left shoulder, to pass under her left arm. The strands reunited with their cinching brethren at Melanie‘s elbows, after any and all slack had been ruthlessly yanked tight. Far from finished, the gorgeous redhead ran the scratchy filament straight up, pushing and poking the remaining cord under the band passing behind her prey’s neck. Then it was back down one last time, one more forceful jerk and knotted thrice at the cinch.

Perhaps 30" of cord remained. Andrea carefully wound the excess around the strands descending from her neck and shoulders. The tight, elongated spiral running up her spine had an almost decorative air to it. For Melanie, who was unable to see the compactly bunched coil, the artistic flair was lost on her. She couldn’t ignore however, the way the shrinking cords involuntarily bunched her shoulders.

Andrea sat back for a moment, delighting at the angle the secretary’s arms were bent. Then she leaned forward and purred into Melanie’s ear.

"Isn’t it delightful," she purred rhetorically, "how the strands hold you so firmly? And how wonderful it is, to know that you can struggle all you want, and not get free until someone chooses to free you?"

"NO!" Screamed Melanie’s voice inside her head. "It goddamn HURTS!"

As Andrea leaned over the promiscuous blonde, leering into her face, she thought she saw a flash of movement. Did that eyebrow just arch? She believed it did. Best to get back to business and leave the taunting for later.

Melanie was so preoccupied by the way her elbows were bound, that she hardly noticed when Andrea rotated her forearms a quarter turn and placed her hands back to back. This twisting of her arms seemed to increase the tension of the elbow cinch. Her attention was refocused, when four turns of the doubled twined captured her wrists and were cinched. Tight. Even if she hadn’t been drugged, Melanie couldn’t have imagined herself more helpless. Andrea however, was going to leave nothing for the imagination. Melanie was absolutely flummoxed when she felt more twine at the base of her thumbs and pinkies tighten down, cinching each pair of digits together.

Sure that she could take the smaller woman in a fair fight, Andrea set about making things as unfair as possible. Before going any further, she lashed Melanie’s ankles together, pulling the strands wrapped around them snug. The blonde’s ankle joints now ground against one another, just like her elbows. Now, in the unlikely event that the Melanie regained her motor functions before Mrs. Walston finished, she’d be unable to mount much of a counterattack.

Andrea stood, assessing her prey. "I must admit," she confessed, "you’ve been very compliant thus far. However, you lounging about on the sofa is making things a little too difficult for me."

"Difficult for YOU!" Melanie thought incredulously.

"So," the secretary’s crazed hostess continued, "let’s get you positioned a little more accessible."

Melanie felt herself hoisted from the sofa, amazed at Mrs. Walston’s strength. The redhead got the blonde to her feet, then slung her lax body over her shoulder without so much as a grunt of effort. Melanie’s view was limited to her attacker’s skirt clad derriere, thus had no idea where they were going. As it turned out, the trip didn’t last very long.

Andrea lowered her burden upright, kicking out Melanie’s feet so that the girls settled on her knees. The secretary felt her pinioned arms slid over the low back of a chair, until its edge dug into her armpits. Melanie found herself practically hanging by her armpits from the chair back. The sturdy construction of the furniture was the only thing keeping the 26 year old from toppling forward.

"There, that’s better." Observed Andrea.

"The hell it is!" Pined the blonde.

Mrs. Walston spun off another incredibly long length of twine and doubled it. She then passed it around Melanie’s chest, just below her bust. Once in place, she drew it tight, placing her free hand on the secretary’s sternum for leverage. The scratchy filament squeezed Melanie’s ribcage uncompromisingly. Three more passes followed, then the same number of wraps wound around above her breasts. After knotting everything tight, the cords were worked between her breasts, beneath the parallel bands.

"This’ll give those jugs of yours a little support." Andrea told her clueless captive.

Tugging on the strands caused the two separate chest wraps to draw closer together. Closer and infinitely more tight. The remaining length was drawn up behind her neck and down again, knotted at the cinch. "To prevent sagging", Andrea told her guest.

"There," the redhead observed, "a nice hemp bra to lift and separate those puppies of yours. Why, they’re already starting to blush. They must be getting quite sensitive."

Proving her point, Andrea drug her nails lightly across Melanie’s now abnormally bulging breasts. The sensation sent an involuntary shudder down the blonde’s spine. It was not a shudder of pleasure, rather a breath hitching realization at how incredibly sensitive her breasts had become. Not a good sign.

"Now, back down on the floor," Andrea growled, "where a snake like you belongs."

And she proceeded to do just that, purposely laying her paralyzed prisoner on her jutting bust. Although the oriental carpet was of the finest quality, its surface was still littered with millions of tiny, barb-like strands that poked and pricked Melanie’s skin. To the scheming blonde, it seemed that the greatest concentration lie directly beneath her breasts.

"Now for the fun part." Andrea announced cagily.

Taking a cloth measuring tape from the bag, Mrs. Walston set about measuring Melanie in countless different ways. Her arms and hands, legs and feet, waist and bust, nothing was overlooked. The secretary had absolutely no idea why her lover’s wife took such extreme care measuring her head and neck. Dutifully jotting down all the dimensions, Andrea eventually finished her task. The binding then continued.

A second spool of sisal appeared and yet another length was drawn out and doubled. Andrea laid it on the floor next to the still immobile secretary. Then she picked Melanie up by the shoulders and lay her across the twine. Melanie couldn’t be sure, with the scratchy surface of the carpet, but she thought that her breasts had been placed directly over the cord. It wouldn’t please her to know that she’d guessed right.

Bringing the ends back behind her prisoner‘s bound arms, Andrea repeated the pattern of threading the ends through the twine’s loop. Her quarry lying flat on the floor granted Andrea all the leverage she needed. She hauled in the cord, the band instantly tightening around the blonde’s arms and torso. Tugging on the cord before pulling again, caused the abrasive filament to shift across Melanie’s now very sensitive breasts.

"uughnn!" Whispered out her groan at the resulting rope burn.

"Well," noted Andrea, "Sounds like you’re returning to the land of the living. Best not dawdle then."

Once Mrs. Walston had removed any trace of slack, she painstakingly worked the twine between Melanie’s arms and back. Once the cord had completely encircled the band around her chest, another mighty heave followed. The poor blonde thought that she was being cut in two, as everything about her arms and chest shrank. Unlike the other bonds, this single binding of doubled hemp cut into her deeply. Struggling to get free, would be a painful enterprise.

Next, the longest strand yet of twine was spooled out. Andrea worked this under Melanie’s waist and around her back, over her imprisoned forearms. Six more circuits followed, before it too was cinched between her spine and arms. Melanie’s already useless limbs had now become fused to her trunk.

Andrea rolled her captive on to her back. Melanie looked down her nose to see that the crazed woman still held a fistful of the wiry hemp. Kneeling down, Mrs. Walston began poking it under the wrapping around Melanie’s waist. The stab of the woman’s nails, as well as the friction of the sisal dragging across her skin, was driving Melanie bananas.

"What more can this woman possibly do?" The blonde asked herself.

Having drawn out all of the slack, Andrea leaned closer and peered right into Melanie’s eyes. Then, to the secretary’s shock, she felt Andrea’s fingers toying with the lips of her sex.

"Here’s a little thrill I bet Maxwell never shared with you." Mrs. Walston purred.

With that, Melanie saw Andrea’s hand, still clenching the twine, shoot straight for the ceiling. The rope burn at her navel sang out. But then that cry was drowned out, as the scratchy cord sank into the crack of her ass and, incredibly, dove between the folds of her vulva.

"Nnaaahhh!" Melanie cried, the strength of her voice obviously increasing, though still just a raspy cough.

Andrea continued pulling, actually lifting the blonde’s rump off the carpet. When she could coax no more slack, she rolled Melanie over, retraced the path of the twine and worked the sisal under the rope belt at her spine. Several furious tugs later, Andrea knotted the cord to prevent slippage, then passed the bristled hemp through Melanie’s crotch once more. After passing under the fibrous belt at her navel once again, the cord made another passage between the blonde’s legs. Melanie found herself once again on her stomach. This time, however, rather than the cord digging under the rope belt, Andrea passed it through the twine cinching her wrists.

Whilst on her knees, Andrea actually leaned back, using most her entire weight to haul on the sisal. Melanie could feel her wrenched arms yanked downward, her immobile hands gliding further down her bare rump. The final pass was made between the secretary’s legs and knotted off at her navel. The diabolical crotch rope, cut, sawed and blazed a path through pampered tissue. Melanie could not stop the tears welling in her eyes. She tried once more to plead with her attacker and was shocked when words actually came out.

"N-nuh-no! A-Ah-n-drea, pleaz sthop!" Her pained voice trickled.

"Well, well." Mocked Mrs. Walston. "Sounds like the cat finally let go of your tongue. I’ve got just the thing to fix that!"

The redhead dove into the gym bag, coming out with a wide, black leather strap. Something pink was attached to it. To Melanie, it looked like either a child’s spinning top, or a giant acorn. Andrea knelt next to Melanie and began brushing the girl’s blonde hair away from her face.

"Maxwell bought this for me a few years ago." Mrs. Walston explained. "The poor sod hadn’t bothered to take any measurements first. Try as he might, he just couldn’t get the damn thing to fit."

Andrea looked straight into the frightened secretary’s eyes and announced.

"You’ve a remarkably similar sized mouth to mine." She noted. "However, given your propensity to take all sorts of things into it, I think I can make it work." Mrs. Walston paused, then added, "Put it this way, I’m going to MAKE it work."

"But first," she added while standing up, "I think a little embellishment is in order."

"Why is this lunatic always talking in riddles?" Fumed Melanie. She hadn’t a clue what lay in store for her.

She was finally able to turn her head weakly to the side. The action cheered her somewhat, that she wasn’t to be permanently paralyzed. However, bound as she was, her most important limbs were useless to her at the moment. At the speed in which she was recovering, Melanie figured it to be only a few minutes more before she would be able to let loose a scream that might be heard by the neighbors.

As she frantically urged that moment to arrive, she glanced up in time to see Mrs. Walston to something utterly dumbfounding. Holding the scissors in one hand, Andrea hiked up her skirt. Out of feminine habit, Melanie noted that the redhead’s hosiery was held up by garters. Then came the unthinkable. Andrea slipped the shears beneath the hip of her rather racy looking panties. Snip! She rendered the lingerie useless. Snip! The other side panel was sliced off! Andrea snatched away the pale blue silk rag. Before dropping her skirt, Melanie noted that the forty two year old woman had her crimson pubic hair trimmed in an inverted teardrop. Or perhaps it was an exclamation point, the blonde pondered.

In rapt fascination, Melanie watched as Andrea carefully folded her ruined panties. She seemed to take particular attention at leaving the gusset portion facing out. She then wrapped the silk over the pink protrusion attached to the broad leather strap. Once its mass was covered, she wrapped the waist portion around the tapered end of the bulge, near the leather panel. Mrs. Walston then smiled down at Melanie with an expression that sent chills down the twenty six year olds spine. What on earth was she planning to do!

Still on her stomach, having been able to move only her head thus far, Melanie could do nothing as her captor stepped behind her. All of a sudden, she felt Andrea’s weight crush down upon her, as the redhead sat on her back.

"noooo! Nn-ACK!" The secretary’s plea was cut short, as Mrs. Walston grabbed a handful of her long, blonde tresses and yanked back.

Melanie’s mouth gaped open in pain and shock. A split second later, a dark mass passed in front of her squinting eyes. Something hard rammed against her parted teeth a nanosecond later. Her brain still trying to figure out what was happening, Melanie instinctively opened her mouth wider to avoid the relentless pressure. Whatever it was, it took advantage of this opening, burgeoning between her teeth. The epiphany struck, as the blonde frantically enlisted her tongue, in an effort to repel the gigantic intruder and it tasted the silken fabric.

"Christ!" She realized. "That pink and black leather thing is a gag! And Andrea wrapped her panties around it!"

That thought, in addition to the proportions of the firm, silk covered prod nearly caused Melanie to retch. Her concentration momentarily broken, coincided with Andrea administering a particularly brutal shove. Melanie heard a series of muted cracks and pops, as her jaw widened beyond all limit. Instinctively, she threw her hands up to ward off the mammoth obstruction. Of course, her hands never left their new location atop her ass, however, the mere tensing of her arms muscles served to painfully jerk the crotch rope.

The platinum blonde braced herself as best she could, for the blinding pain that seemed imminent, when her jaw would dislocate. A fraction of a second before that happened, Melanie’s teeth miraculously began to slide down the tapered trunk of the mouth bung. Although the excruciating pain eased, the secretary noted that there was still a notable ache present. She did not know that the ache would intensify over time.

The stopper felt impossibly huge. It pressed incessantly against the roof of her mouth. There seemed to be no room for her tongue, which she had to mash flat underneath it. Almost immediately, Melanie could taste the uniquely feminine zest of Andrea’s panties.

"nnnghff." Was the only sound she could manage, before Mrs. Walston brought the straps of the broad leather panel around her head.

Andrea fed the strap through the buckle and yanked once, twice, three times, each time, imagining the blonde tart’s lips around her husband’s manhood. When she could coax no more out of the strap, she buckled it tight. There remained an intentional excess of strap. This was passed to the front and buckled at the helpless girl’s throat. It looked like and was quite literally, a choker. Melanie didn’t have to swallow, to feel the incessant pressure on her larynx.

"There, you little tramp," Andrea said leaning back, "suck on that for a while."

To Melanie, the inside of the gag panel felt as though it was coated with glue. It mashed her face from the tip of her chin, to just under her flaring nostrils. It was obvious that the wide band of leather was intentionally oversized, in order to cover her face now lengthened by her distended jaw. Her lips were crushed flat against her teeth and had utterly nowhere to move. She tried to cry out, to stop this madness, but could only bleat weakly from her nose. There’d be no alarming the neighbors now.

Andrea rolled her captive on to her back, eliciting a pained and prolonged groan from the trussed blonde. Mrs. Walston was delighted at how effective the gag was, much better than she had hoped. The gardener could be working right outside the window and Melanie wouldn’t stand a prayer of being heard, no matter how loud she screamed. And making this gorgeous, platinum haired adulteress scream, was definitely on the agenda.

"Oh, my dear," Andrea tittered, "You have the most adorable little chipmunk cheeks. How’s that all day sucker of yours, tasty?"

"Humph. This will never do." Mrs. Walston said disapprovingly, looking at the dual line practically cleaving Melanie’s breasts in two.

Andrea straddled, then sat on the restrained secretary’s stomach and began manipulating the twine. Being that Mrs. Walston’s panties were currently residing in her mouth, the young Miss Swift could clearly feel the wet, sloppy kiss, the redhead’s sex was planting on her taut tummy. It was clear that Mrs. Walston was thoroughly aroused by recent events. As Andrea began pinching and digging her nails into Melanie’s tits, the intensity of the bound blonde’s howls strengthened. It made little difference. The mammoth gag blocked even the faintest sound from dribbling out. The best she could manage, was a shrill hum that seemed to emanate from her body.

Mrs. Walston was finally able to pluck Melanie’s nipples from beneath the twine. However, she did so in a fashion that scissored the tender buds between the two strands. They were now caught in a perpetual pinch, deep within the crevasse caused by the breast cord.

Andrea shifted herself down farther, wedging herself between the blonde’s legs. She carefully, though not very tenderly, plucked at the lips of Melanie’s outer labia, some of which had become trapped under the crotch rope. Mrs. Walston soon had the secretary’s blushing petals free from the cord running between them. Melanie swore that the crotch rope seemed to grow that much tighter.

Suddenly, a soft electronic tune filled the air. Both Andrea and Melanie froze at the unexpected musical intrusion. Two sets of eyes tracked over to Melanie’s purse, the source of the tune. Mrs. Walston rose up and went to the secretary’s purse. Opening it, she extracted Melanie’s Blackberry. Andrea cocked her head, trying to identify the jingle.

"Well," she harrumphed, "isn’t that appropriate." Andrea chortled, as she identified the melody as, Madonna’s "Material Girl".

"Did Maxwell buy you this little trinket too?"

"hhnngfff." Melanie tried to explain. Yes, Maxwell had indeed purchased the device for her, but he had programmed in the ring tone.

"Maxie", Andrea commented, as she checked the caller ID on the screen. "Is that your little pet name for my husband, you slut?"

Again Melanie whined, trying to tell Mrs. Walston that it had all been her husband’s idea.

"Maybe we should answer it." Andrea suggested. "And tell him what a wonderful time we’re having together."

The blonde’s heart leapt, at the moment not grasping Andrea’s sarcasm. If the redhead opened the connection, Melanie reasoned that she could at least make enough noise to alert Maxwell to his wife’s sudden case of insanity. But Mrs. Walston’s mocking laugh stuck a pin in Melanie’s balloon of hope.

"No," the lithe forty-two year old said, "let’s let him stew for a little while longer. Then we’ll see if absence truly does make the heart grow fonder."

Andrea slipped the PDA back into Melanie’s purse and knelt back over her victim.

"So pet" the redhead purred, "are you taking notes on the finer points on how to restrain someone?"

"Oh, silly me. You haven’t any use of your hands at the moment, have you? No matter, I’m sure it’s making an impression on that bleached blonde brain of yours."

"You see dear," Andrea continued, "one can research a great many things besides business, to become successful at a craft. Simply because I’ve never tied someone up before, doesn’t mean that I don’t posses the knowledge to do so in a right proper fashion. Wouldn’t you agree?"

"Once Maxwell tied me up for the first time, I knew I had to learn everything there was to know about the ’art’ of bondage. "Be prepared" as the old scout motto goes. And now, lo and behold, I have someone to diddle with. Good of you to "volunteer".

The secretary stared up at the redhead head straddling her, certain that Mrs. Walston had gone totally bonkers. She flexed against what she had first thought would be laughingly fragile twine. The inflexible hemp relentlessly squeezed her limbs and torso. Robbed of arms, hands and even fingers, the twenty-six year old could never have imagined feeling so completely helpless. It was all too clear that she was in no position to thwart any plans Andrea had in store for her. Panic welled inside her.

The blue eyed blonde then did something that she would regret immediately, as well as long term. Sensing a return of her motor functions, Melanie bucked, merely trying to get the jealous socialite away from her. As Andrea was bending over her hostage’s legs, Melanie suddenly thrust her bound limbs upward. The instant regret, came as the crotch rope shifted across her sex like a narrow branding iron. Stars immediately shot before her eyes. The scream it triggered, died in her throat, as her lungs momentarily forgot how to work.

The long term regret, would be a result of her knee catching Andrea square in the mouth. The redhead rocked back, uttered a curse and brought her fingers to her mouth. They came away with a trace of blood on her fingertips. Mrs. Walston’s green eyes blazed with anger.

"Ohhhh, that’s going to cost you, my little hellcat." She muttered.

Melanie immediately started humming heartfelt apologies, but the dye had been cast. Andrea sat across the blonde’s legs, her back to Melanie. The secretary could feel the cords around her ankles loosen, only to tighten once again around each limb. When Andrea moved away, Melanie saw that her legs were still tied together at the ankle. What had changed, was the braided length of twine between them. The secretary could now kick her legs individually (though she dared not try) to the limit of the eight inch cord connecting them.

Grabbing the hobble (Melanie did not yet know its definition), Andrea hauled the blonde’s legs over to the sofa. There, she used a short cord to anchor the hobble to the stout leg of the davenport. Then she stood and glared down at her captive.

"Why don’t you wait right there, while I go get some ice for my lip." She snarled. "However, if you wish, by all means continue trying some more of those clever escape tactics of yours."

"Who knows? You might be able to get free, turn the tables on me and get a little payback." The redhead scoffed.

With that, Andrea spun on her heels and walked away.

Chapter 3

For the second time in a relatively short span, Mrs. Walston exited the room, leaving Melanie Swift unsupervised. The first time, the young blonde beauty had been under the influence of the paralyzing properties of the herbal tea and unable to move a muscle. This time, those effects had diminished to a point where the shapely adulteress figured she’d regained ¾’s of her strength, yet she felt just as helpless.

Still, she had to try and get loose before the crazed redhead returned. Her legs seemed to hold the most promise, being lashed only at the ankles. Melanie gave them a tentative tug, mindful of the crotch rope’s vengeance if she strained too hard. Her spirits buoyed initially, when her feet began moving away from the couch. But then progress was halted by the tether tied to the twisted lengths of twine between her ankles. The blonde thought briefly that she might be able to bend down and free the tether. But such an act would require her to twist her body in ways not even attempted in yoga class.

Lying on her back (or more correctly, her arms beneath her back), Melanie realized that she’d have to roll her weight off her arms, lest the reduced blood flow transform them to deadened stumps. The platinum blonde’s first attempt to roll on her side fell ridiculously short. Having been bound only in a playful fashion by her lover, Maxwell Walston, and on only a few occasions, the twenty six year old had never experienced restraints this severe before.

With her arms lashed so securely to each other and then to her torso, she might just as well not have any limbs at all. And without them, any mobility she could muster seemed grossly inadequate. Still, she couldn’t just give up. After three failed attempts, her wails dying behind the gag each time, she finally managed to roll on to her side. While the improvement was negligible, at least her weight was off her arms.

Melanie immediately set about finding a weakness in the cord. It was, after all, merely gardening sisal. How tough could it be? She checked first to see how much dexterity she had in her hands. The answer came back, “Not much”. With her pinkies and thumbs cinched to one another, the remaining six fingers could do little but flutter. Besides, strain as she might, her questing fingertips could not find a single knot.

Little did she know, that even with her hands and wrists free, she’d still be just as trapped. Andrea had taken great care to place all of the key knots well out of Melanie’s reach. Located at her sternum, navel and between her shoulder blades, the secretary could have been double jointed and still not stood a prayer of reaching any of these critical unions. The knot of her cinched wrists was high between her arms and nestled inside the crack of her derriere.

Struggling in earnest, Melanie felt nothing slip nor loosen. And with her efforts, she quickly broke out in a sweat. Any hope that this might saturate the cord vanished, as its hold continued to remain firm. In fact, her perspiration seemed to somehow awaken the scratchy twine, its filaments now wanting to poke into every pore it touched. It was just another gallingly insidious element to her bondage.

Rapidly exhausting herself, the twenty-six year old sex kitten opted to lie quietly on her side. This served two purposes. One was to conserve her strength for a better (any) opportunity to escape. The other being, it was merely too painful to struggle against seemingly indestructible cords. Melanie’s resolve to turn the tables remained unbroken. However, at the moment, her strong will was stymied by even stronger restraints.

The helpless Miss Swift gave up on trying to blow some errant strands of her shimmering blonde hair out of her face. It was just another frustrating development heaped upon all the others. She tried to flex her jaw in order to relieve some of the cramping caused by the huge bulb inside her mouth. No luck there, either.

By now, Mrs. Walston’s panties, wrapped around the prod, had become thoroughly soaked with Melanie’s saliva. There was no escaping the feminine tang of Andrea’s sex. Melanie knew the taste well, from a brief fling with her college roommate. The secretary deduced that Mrs. Walston must have gotten extremely aroused whilst binding her. That thought alone, was quite unsettling.

Just then, Andrea re-entered the living room. Melanie let out a strangled hum that intoned “enough was enough“, she’d learned her lesson. However, Andrea walked straight through the room, into the kitchen, without even bothering to glance at her prisoner. Not accustomed to being ignored, this frustrated the blonde even further. She could do nothing but lay there, listening, as furniture was rearranged by the redhead. Finally, Mrs. Walston returned. Melanie wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not.

“I have some errands to run.” Andrea announced to the bound blonde adulteress. “ I’ve contacted a supplier of some unique articles that I’m sure will be of very special interest to you. She’s already begun work as we speak. Plus, she has some things currently in stock, that will prove ideal for my needs.”

“But before I go, let’s get you somewhere where you can stay out of mischief.”

“Stay out of…” Melanie thought, “I can barely move, let alone cause trouble.”

Her incredulity was interrupted as Andrea produced a small, but very sharp looking knife. The young Miss Swift whined in terror, until the redhead bent and severed the cord anchoring Melanie to the davenport.

“Alright cunt, on your feet.” Andrea growled.

Melanie couldn’t decide which statement startled her more. The command to somehow rise to her feet, or the vulgar manner in which it had been voiced. The ever proper Mrs. Walston was displaying a side of her the secretary never knew existed. Either way, the blonde knew with certainty that she’d be unable to comply. Or so she thought.

The scowl that creased Andrea’s face deepened, when she saw the blonde making no attempt to comply with her demand. It then changed abruptly to a grin, one which contained no mirth. From the waistband of her skirt, she withdrew a slender wand perhaps two feet long. Grasping one end, the other ended with what appeared to be a leather swatch the size of a matchbook.

“You’re not exactly new to this,” Andrea patronized, “but I’ll explain things to you. Once.”

“When I tell you to do something, you’ll do it without pause. Now, GET…ON…YOUR…FEET!”

And with each word, Mrs. Walston lashed out with the crop. The blows rained down on Melanie’s bare skin, starting little, bee sting-like fires. The blonde shrieked and tried to roll away, but there was nowhere to go. To the secretary, the seemingly random strikes managed to find extremely sensitive areas. Her breasts, thighs and ass received most of the attention, along with a few well placed whacks to her calves and soles of her feet.

“hhnnnnghhhh!!!” Melanie wailed, trying to convey surrender, compliance and a plea to stop the thrashing, all at once.

Desperately, she tried to bring her knees under her in the first stage of rising to her feet. This generated another screech, as the crotch rope shifted raspily through her sex. Trying everything she could think of, Melanie simply couldn’t leverage herself on to her knees. She lay, curled on a ball, as the lashes repeatedly struck the same spot on her right butt cheek. Tears welling in her eyes, she gazed beseechingly up at Mrs. Walston. Though Andrea’s features didn’t soften, the cropping stopped.

“That was just about the most pathetic effort I’ve ever seen.” She snarled. “What’s the matter honey? Has the pampered life of screwing my husband left you soft?”

“Here, let me help you.”

Mrs. Walston bent over and grabbed a handful of Melanie’s straight, shimmering hair. With a strength masked by her designer clothes, Andrea heaved the trussed adulteress to her feet. Melanie howled yet again, as her scalp sang in protest. Before she knew it, the blonde was mincing about with tiny steps, trying not to topple back to the floor. Andrea slung a loop of cord over her prisoner’s head and tightened it around her neck. Grabbing hold of the leash, she gave it a tug.

“Follow me.” She commanded, not looking back to see if her orders were being carried out.

Melanie knew for certain that the vengeful redhead would allow her to topple painfully back to the floor if she didn’t comply. She frantically started shuffling after her, as fast as the eight inch hobble would allow. Minute as this motion was, it still provided enough movement for the crotch rope to saw back and forth between her legs. Every step intensified the irritation. Whilst on her feet and with Andrea’s back turned, the secretary tried franticly to twist free of her bonds. But there just didn’t seem to be any slack anywhere. She finally gave up, concentrating on her mincing steps, as the matron of the house led her out of the living room and into the adjacent kitchen.

The secretary’s eyes were immediately drawn to the stout length of cord that had been slung over an exposed beam. At a loss for its purpose, the secretary nonetheless figured that the purpose would be dire. Her intuition rang true. Andrea guided Melanie under the beam and ordered her to stand still. The platinum maned adulteress could do little else.

Grasping one end of the dangling cord, Andrea worked it behind the union of her captive’s shoulder harness, where it was tied off. Standing in front of the secretary and grasping the free end of the line, Mrs. Walston paused to smirk, allowing her prisoner’s apprehension to escalate.

Melanie stared back, wide eyed, wondering what was in store. Andrea obliged by pulling the slack out of the cord. Almost instantly, the twenty-six year old could feel her joined elbows rising toward the ceiling. But that wasn’t the worse of it. That same tension transferred directly to her wrists and subsequently the crotch rope, dragging it deeper into her folds and ass crack. Just that moderate tug, was enough to cause tears to well in Melanie’s eyes. Frantic to ease the strain, the buxom blonde rose up on her toes, playing right into her captor’s hands. Andrea hauled in the extra line, then tied the cord off to the far corner of the granite countertop. Melanie was effectively stuck in the position.

“A little ‘Posture Training’ for you while I’m out shopping.” Andrea explained to her captive. Touching her slightly swollen lip, she added.

“Posture training with a little twist, thanks to that little stunt you pulled.”

Mrs. Walston stepped behind the helpless Miss Swift. With an extra hank of twine in hand, the redhead cut the blonde’s hobble. Immediately, she grabbed Melanie’s right ankle and wrestled it up behind her. The secretary squeaked, as she sunk a fraction lower, supported only by the five toes on her left foot. Melanie’s focus on trying to remain elevated, allowed Andrea to fold the blonde’s leg. Slipping the doubled sisal over her knee, Mrs. Walston worked the cord up around the secretary’s thigh and ankle. After a quick knot to keep it from slipping, Andrea wound the twine several times around the folded limb, once again ending with several cinching wraps.

When the redhead yanked on the cinch, Melanie’s calf became firmly locked against her thigh, her heel pressing into her derriere. Miss Swift’s right leg had now effectively become a stump. Melanie tried frantically to straighten her leg, causing her body to sway and the crotch rope to tighten. Experiencing the immediate cause and effect, the secretary commanded herself to remain still. But for how long?

“I see you’re learning.” Andrea chided. “However, I would be a poor hostess if I didn’t provide you with some entertainment in my absence.”

Well, Melanie had experienced quite enough of Mrs. Walston’s “entertainment” so far and wasn’t anxious to encounter any more. But then of course, she had little choice.

The trussed blonde let out a relieved burst of air through her nose, as Andrea unfastened the suspending cord form the counter top, allowing her foot to rest on the floor. Melanie immediately noticed how precarious her balance was, restrained in such a fashion. She was almost glad that Mrs. Walston kept a moderate amount of tension on the rope dropping from the rafter. Without its support, Melanie faced a very real danger of pitching forward on to the hard tile.

Maintaining her grip, Andrea strode over and retracted the blinds covering the kitchen’s patio doors. Looking out, Melanie could see another house, perhaps a hundred yards away. The backyard was festooned with balloons and other party items. Was this what the insane woman had in mind for entertainment?

“Little Timmy across the way, is having his tenth birthday party.” Andrea enlightened. “A delightful boy, though sometimes a real hell raiser.”

“I haven’t yet dropped off his gift. As it were, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you tried it out first.”

“God!” Thought Melanie. “Why must this woman always talk in riddles?”

Ever mindful of gripping the suspension cord, Andrea strode over behind the counter. When she returned, she carried a colorfully painted object. The bound blonde had no trouble identifying it.

“A skateboard !?!” She thought. “What on earth could that be used for?”

In lieu of and explanation, Mrs. Walston walked behind her husband’s lover. Then without warning, Andrea grasped Melanie around the waist and picked the blonde up off the floor. It seemed to take very little effort, Melanie discerned. She doubted that she would be able to overpower the redhead, even in a fair fight.

When Andrea lowered her prisoner once more, Melanie sensed a change. The floor didn’t seem as stable as it had before. An involuntary shudder of her leg, caused the floor to move. Curious. But then the reality struck her.

“Oh my God!” The secretary grasped, “I’m standing on the skateboard!”

A snicker behind her confirmed her discovery. Then Melanie felt the suspending cord tighten once more.

“Come now, you little harlot.” Andrea ordered. “Back up on your toes.”

Miss Swift tried to resist, but the cord sawing between her legs compelled her to obey. As the blonde pressed up on her toes once more, the skateboard shimmied back and forth slightly. The true terror of her plight now came to light. Her arching toes were now nearly four inches above the kitchen floor. If Melanie was unable to maintain her perch upon the birthday present, she’d wind up suspended in air, held aloft mainly by the fiendish cord running through her crotch. The blonde made every effort to remain frozen like a statue. Andrea strode once more into the petrified gaze of her prisoner.

“Well,” she announced pleased with herself, “that’s a start. Let’s just tidy you up a bit.”

Melanie had no idea what she meant. But then she felt the woman grab two handfuls of her long, straight mane. Andrea brought the two clumps of Melanie’s platinum tresses back around either side of the suspension cord. There, she fashioned her hair into a large overhand knot, effectively immobilizing the secretary’s head. Andrea’s final flourish, was to lasso the big toe of Melanie’s doubled up leg. With no small amount of difficulty, she managed to work the cord beneath the back of the gag strap. Pulling on the twine, she did not stop until adulteress’s foot was pointed toward the ceiling.

Melanie retched, as the gag she didn’t think could get any more severe, did just that. She tried to strain her imprisoned foot higher, but there was simply nowhere for it to go. In the meantime, she lost concentration on her stance, very nearly shooting the skateboard across the floor.

Andrea strode over to one of the cabinet drawers and rummaged inside. Grasping what she had sought, the redhead returned to her helpless blonde prisoner. Utter horror showed in her victim’s eyes, when she revealed what she held. It was an electric carving knife!

“mmmmmmnnngghhhh!” Melanie let out a prolonged screech. She believed that the jilted Mrs. Walston had gone through all this trouble, just to cut her up into little pieces. Andrea laughed, correctly guessing what the curvaceous blonde was thinking.

“Oh no, my dear.” The redhead enlightened. “You’ve got to stop thinking in such narrow terms. Although it would be entertaining for me, to slowly hack off all those charms my husband finds so alluring, remember, I said I was arranging for ‘your’ entertainment.”

Frightened out of her wits and baffled beyond measure, Melanie watched as Andrea removed the blades from the electric carver, setting them on a nearby high legged stool. Mrs. Walston then used more twine to lash the motorized handle to the juncture of Melanie’s crotch and waist ropes. She plugged in the device, but made no move to key the switch.

Standing close before her prey, Andrea caressed one of Melanie’s cord distorted breasts.

“I must leave you now, dear.” She cooed. “But I trust you’ll wait right here for my return. I shan’t be more than three or four hours.”

Melanie whined, knowing for a fact that she couldn’t last three or four minutes in this hideous predicament. The look she got from Mrs. Walston told her she hadn’t any choice. Andrea flicked on the electric motor of the carver and instantly, Melanie’s lower abdomen began to shudder from the vibrations, as did the crotch cord.

“Some naughty little fun for a naughty little girl.” Sneered Andrea. “Tah-tah dear.”

Melanie wailed for the redhead to come back and release her from this horrible state. But nothing deterred Mrs. Walston from striding out of the room. Melanie Swift was left alone in the kitchen, more stringently bound than she could ever have imagined, with nothing but the industrial whir of the carver and her muffled sobs to keep her company.

Chapter 4

Andrea Walston welled with a sense of great personal satisfaction. Upon discovering her husband’s infidelity, she’d managed to capture and now torment, the sumptuous blonde hussy responsible. With Melanie Swift insidiously restrained in the Walston’s kitchen, the jilted redhead was preparing to rendezvous with a craftsman of particular talent. He would provide goods that would make this weekend memorable for all involved.

On her way to the garage, Andrea passed through the utility room. She noticed a cloth bag sitting on a shelf and instant inspiration struck. An evil grin crossed her face, a plan taking shape. She’d wait ten minutes though, allowing for her hostage to think she’d departed.

Said Melanie Swift was out of her mind in desperation. Having been bound with thin, scratchy, yet incredibly tough jute twine, she could barely move a muscle. And when she tried, the sisal cut into her painfully. No more so than the cord that dove between her legs, splitting her sex and derriere.

The motor of the electric carving knife, vibrated that same cord with the intensity of a mini earthquake. Not yet distracting her focus from balancing on the skateboard, she nonetheless couldn’t ignore its affect on her clitoris and twat. Yes, she called it a “Twat”. She wasn’t a naughty girl, she just thought that way. Semantics aside, Melanie could feel her sex starting to tingle from the relentless agitation.

Having tested her restraints countless times before and coming up nil each time, the secretary glanced around furtively for some other means of escape. The cord holding her upright was tied off to the far end of the counter, well out of her reach. She still had the limited use of six fingers (her thumbs and pinkies still cinched to one another), but at the moment all they could clutch was air. Suddenly, her escape plans were put on hold, when she heard the front door open.

“Allo?” Called a voice, with a decidedly French accent. “Meezus Walsh-tone? I am ‘ere to shange ze sheetz.”

“Oh dear lord thank you!!!” Melanie beamed.

She let out a mighty wail, hoping the feeble hum coming from the gag would be heard.

“Allo? Iz zumone zare?” The voice called out, closer this time.

“Yes, yes, YES!” Screamed the blonde. “In here! HURRY!”

“Mon Dieu!” Exclaimed a voice at the kitchen doorway. “Az a leetle spider got-ehn caught in madam’s web?”

It didn’t dawn on Melanie what a curious thing this was to say. She was simply overwhelmed with relief that salvation had arrived. The bound secretary had no hope of looking over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of her rescuer, she’d have to wait to be untied, to thank her guardian angel. Tears of joy spilled down the blonde’s cheeks. Melanie had to blink them away, for fear of clogging her nose. What irony it would be to choke now, so close to freedom.

And that’s when Andrea stepped in front of the helpless blonde. Mrs. Walston would forever treasure, the dumbfounded look above the gag strap, on the Melanie’s face. For her part, the captive struggled to comprehend what should not be.

“Naught ay bad acczent, dohn’t you zink?” Andrea exclaimed.

Crestfallen, Melanie sagged in her bonds, only to rise up on her toes again as the crotch rope sank into her. Her salvation had transformed into humiliation. Tears rose once more and Melanie half-heartedly fought them back.

“Do you want to hear something really ironic?” Mrs. Walston asked. “We really do have a French maid. She comes by on Wednesday’s and Saturday’s.”

“Which reminds me,” Andrea added absently, “I’ll have to think of a good place to keep you while she’s here. We wouldn’t want our special time together to be interrupted, now would we?”

Mrs. Walston noticed that Melanie’s look of perplexity had transformed into one of impotent hatred.

“Good.” The redhead thought. “The little tramp’s got some moxy in her. That will make breaking her that much more fun.”

“I got to thinking.” Andrea said out loud. “Maxwell has been so generous in buying you all sorts of trinkets. And here I am, not having gotten anything for you myself. Well, I’m back to rectify that.”

Mrs. Walston held up the cloth bag and gave it a shake. Melanie could not decipher the innocuous rattle from within. Reaching in, Andrea withdrew a wooden clothespin. The curvy bound blond was still a little slow on the uptake. Setting the bag down, Mrs. Walston set about enlightening her captive.

With her free hand, Andrea parted the cleft through Melanie’s right breast caused by the chest tie. The redhead could just make out the secretary’s little pink nipple, poking out between the cords. She inserted the clothespin and when the jaws straddled the tender nub, released it.

There was a moment’s pause, then Melanie screwed her eyes shut and let loose a gut wrenching wail. Andrea watched, as the blonde’s body shuddered, part in pain, part in trying to dislodge the offending pincer. But the wooden clip refused to relinquish its grip. As Melanie struggled in vain to come to terms with this newest assault, Andrea used the time to attach another clip to the adulteress’s left nipple. More choked off howls ensued. But the vengeful forty-two year old wasn’t finished yet. She had a whole bag of clothespins at her disposal.

She concentrated her attention on Melanie’s 36-D bust, swollen by the sisal chest harness. Pinching a small portion of the drum tight skin, she snapped on another clip. And another and another and another. In all, she used fifteen clothespins on each of the blonde’s jutting breasts.

“Why, they look like a pair of wooden porcupines.” Andrea exclaimed to the blonde, who was half out of her mind in torment.

“Still quite a few left.” Mrs. Walston said, giving the bag a shake. “Waste not, want not. Wouldn’t you say, Pet?”

Melanie would have liked nothing better than to tell the sadistic redhead where she could shove the wooden pincers, but could do nothing but stand there in enforced silence. All of her muffled pleas thus far, had fallen on deaf ears.

The blonde’s supporting leg came next, a trail of wooden pins running down the back, like ants returning to the nest. Andrea even placed one on each of her toes, straining to ease the crotch rope’s bite. Melanie’s other foot didn’t escape attention either. Four clips quickly adorned each toe, her largest digit having to settle for straining up toward the gag strap, thanks to the twine that connected them. Andrea went so far as to pinch the sole of the blonde’s upturned foot, in half a dozen places.

The globes of Melanie’s ass came next. After a long, painstaking application, the secretary’s derriere bristled with pins much like her bust. At long last, Mrs. Walston was down to the final nine pincers. And she knew just where they were to go. Kneeling down, she levered Melanie’s folded leg out of the way. The outer petals of the secretary’s labia lay totally exposed, straddling the crotch rope.

Melanie mewed pitifully above her, knowing exactly what was to come, unable to do anything to stop it. For Mrs. Walston, the anticipation was delicious. When she snapped on the first clip, the blonde’s shrill cry rose up several octaves before choking off entirely. Three more went down her fleshy left flower, then four more mirrored them on the right. And that left the last clothespin. Intimate with a woman’s anatomy as any female would be, Andrea knew right where to place it. She snapped the jaws closed around the crotch rope, snaring Melanie’s clitoris pinioned behind.

And explosion rocked the fettered blonde, brilliant flashes of light bursting in her skull. Unable to stop herself, the secretary’s body shuddered, causing the skateboard to roll back and forth alarmingly. It was a crescendo of pain that showed no sign of easing. The gorgeous adulteress begged for madness, unconsciousness, anything that would steal her away from this anguish. Yet through it all, she remained utterly alert and lucid. And absolutely powerless to change anything.

“Well now, Dear.” Andrea said, standing. “I hope you appreciate the thoughtfulness of my gifts. After all, any whore who sleeps around with my husband, deserves the very best.”

“Here,” she added, “let me put on some music. I’m sure you’ll tire quite quickly of listening to yourself blubber on so.”

Andrea switched on the kitchen’s stereo system. The soft sounds of Mozart, performed by the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, wafted through the air. Andrea let out a contented sigh.

“I love this selection of Wolfgang’s work.” She confided to her captive. “It never fails to wash away the stresses of the day, don’t you think?”

Even though Melanie could hear the strings, over the freight train that was roaring through her head, she was in no condition to reply. Where she able to make any sound, classical music wouldn’t definitely not be a top priority. And through the haze of all she was currently enduring, she still had to focus on remaining still upon her wheeled platform. Losing her purchase on that would spell true disaster.

“All right now, cunt,” Mrs. Walston growled, “all joshing aside, I really must be leaving you. You must be getting hungry, but for now, you can just chew on my panties and that gag. Auf Wiedersehen!”

Andrea left the kitchen, accompanied by the soothing musical arrangement and the mournful drone of one, shit-out-of-luck, Melanie Swift.

Chapter 5 (added: 06/02/2009)

Melanie Swift had "harrumphed" beseechingly to her abductor, Andrea Walston, not to leave her in such a predicament. But as before, the redhead had paid her no mind. The secretary wasn't even afforded the chance to look her captor in the face as she pleaded, instead having to gaze out the kitchen's sliding glass door. Certain this time, that the vengeful, cheated upon spouse had left, the intricately trussed blonde fought her rising panic by going over her options. The process lasted all of thirty seconds.

Melanie looked out through the kitchen door, at the expanse that was the Walston's back yard. Roughly seventy-five yards off in the distance, she saw gaily colored streamers and balloons. She recalled something Andrea had said about a birthday party. Then, she remembered that she was standing on what was to be the guest of honor's birthday present.

"If they're holding the party outside," thought the secretary, "maybe I can catch someone's attention."

It was a slender thread of hope, but the blonde grasped it tightly.

Little Timmy Martin was out playing with his dog, Lassie. His mother had shooed him outside, when she could no longer stand his pestering about when the guests would arrive. Birthdays were still a very big deal for a seven year old.

It was a beautiful day (thus the reason for moving the party outside), the Caribbean blue sky interrupted only by a few puffy clouds. Timmy glanced over at the Walston estate. Mrs. Walston always bought him the coolest presents. As fate would have it, a zeppelin sized cloud passed in front of the sun, just as the boy's attention focused in the kitchen door. The shadow it cast, neutralized the polarized glass of the door.

Timmy's mouth dropped open, not sure what he was seeing. He stared at the figure, his brain trying to process the information. The cloud passed, and the reflective shroud once more obscured its secret. But the boy had seen enough. He dashed excitedly into the house.

Several guests had arrived, their mothers all gathering in the kitchen, chatting away. Timmy dashed past all of his partygoers, running up to his mother.

Mom, MOM!" He announced. "There's a lady over at the Walston's house and she's doing yogi...NAKED!"

"It's called Yoga, dear." His mother replied, trying not to show the embarrassment she felt. "And I don't think she's nake... uh, not wearing any clothes."

"It's true!" Timmy insisted.

The other mothers clucked at this. Boys and their imaginations.

Desperate to change the subject, Timmy's mother announced that he could open a present. With this news, all other things lost their importance.

"He saw me!" Melanie thought.

She'd seen the boy and his dog playing about, ignorant of her situation. But then he'd glanced over this way and appeared riveted by what he saw. Then, a few heartbeats later, he'd dashed like a madman back into his house. No doubt he was relaying the information to an adult. Any second now, angry housewives would come pouring over the hill, armed with rolling pins and meat cleavers, their goal to free a sister in distress.

But no one came.

The blonde's heart sank once more. Her leg was really quivering now, barely able to support her weight. She swept her eyes about once more, desperation wavering on panic. Then she saw them.

"How could I have missed it?" She scolded herself.

There, sitting on the kitchen stool, were the discarded blades from the electric carver. The stool sat about four feet away. Melanie gauged it to be just within range. Range that is, of her free leg, which was currently the only thing keeping her weight off the vile crotch rope.

But before even contemplating what she had in mind, the secretary first tested the dexterity of her un-cinched fingers. The six that remained free tingled, but she figured they still had enough feeling to grip the blades. If she could achieve that, then it was plausible that she could rub the cinching twine trapping her thumbs against the serrated edge until it parted. Then able to grip the steel more firmly, she could turn them upward and saw on the hemp trapping her wrists.

It was a theory built on "if's", and developed out of distress. Compounding matters, it was becoming more and more difficult to focus. The incessant churning of the carving knife's motor on the crotch rope, was germinating sensations in her loins that she was beginning to find most distracting.

So, she had two simple choices. Both of them holding the promise of a very unpleasant ending. She could remain perched as she was on the skateboard, until her leg gave out. Or, she could try to drag the stool over close enough to reach the carver's blades. Whichever she chose, it would mean that her weight would ride on the crotch rope. Melanie winced at the mere thought of it.

Not yet knowing that her mind was already made up, the secretary decided to run a little test. As gently as possible, she lowered her left foot from its arched position. As she did, the bite of the cord through her privates intensified. It felt like she was straddling a hot meat cleaver. Melanie groaned into her gag, yet continued to relax her leg.

A 747 roared through her head and fireworks burst in front of her eyes. It took a few moments to realize, that her foot now hovered off the mobile pedestal. The blonde quickly dropped it back down and struggled to catch her breath which she'd been holding.

Having proven to herself that her plan was painful, yet possible, Melanie gauged the distance to the stool once more. Any indecision that remained, was decided by her quivering leg. The secretary knew she had only minutes before the limb gave out entirely.

Taking a deep breath, she willed her eyes to remain open, so as not to lose sight of their target. With a bottled up scream that was half for courage, half in agony, Melanie thrust her leg out toward the stool.

Author's Note: Apologies for the redundancies in this chapter. The previous chapter, had been my attempt to continue the story I thought I'd lost, from memory. Now that I've recovered my files, hopefully we can continue without any more glitches.

Chapter 6 (added: 08/09/2009)

Taking a deep breath and not daring to close her eyes, Melanie lifted her leg and extended it toward the stool. The toes on her shapely limb brushed against one its rungs, then swung back, very nearly knocking away the skateboard. The rope holding her in the air seemed to twang with tension, whilst the rope diving through her crotch threatened to cut her in two. In desperation, she tried again, her clothespin clad toes landing on the rung of the stool. Melanie let go a great burst of air through her nose, in exhilaration and exertion.

Curling her toes around the rung, she clenched her abdomen and began to slowly drag the stool toward her. She blessed the chair's manufacturer, for building a seat that didn't weigh 80 pounds, and cursed them for not having equipped it with castors. When the legs of the stool reached a grouted edge of a tile, Melanie was faced her second hurdle (the first being able to reach the seat to begin with).

Keeping her leg extended, she slipped her foot under the rung. She then had to lift the stool legs up and over the small imperfection in the floor. Moving the stool the scant ½" necessary to clear the line of grout, exhausted the blonde. She dropped her overtaxed leg a bit too quickly back to her wheeled perch. The four clothespins pinching her toes caught on the edge of the rung, two of them snapping off smartly. At the last moment, Melanie remembered to raise her foot, so as not to send the skateboard careening across the floor.

Perched back up on her toes once more, the beautiful secretary sucked great lungs full of air through her nose. Although no longer bearing all of her weight, her privates still burned with the memory of her high wire act. Compounding matters, the electric carving knife's motor thrummed against her sex without missing a beat. Perhaps her pussy was seeking some sort of sanctuary from the punishment it was enduring, but deep down, Melanie could feel the first sparks of arousal building.

To tired to go on, but knowing she must, the adulteress stretched her limb out once more, her shrieks mixing with that of Mozart. As the stool drew closer, the going got easier. Melanie found that she could rest on the rung, holding herself higher than her wheeled pedestal allowed. She toyed with the idea of just kneeling on the stool's cushion until Andrea returned. But that temporary reprieve would get her no closer to the freedom she sought. Plus, who knew what the repercussions would be? No, just another foot or so and the blades would be close enough to grasp (she hoped).

Perhaps it was because salvation was so near. Or perhaps that tiny spark at her sexual core was rapidly expanding, making it more difficult to concentrate. Whatever the reason, Melanie jerked the stool its final six inches a little too forcefully. A leg of the chair struck the nose of the skateboard, which in turn caromed away, stopping four feet behind her. She was now, by all means, committed.

Melanie swung her leg frantically, trying to find any kind of footing. Somehow, she willed herself to calm down. She was too close to panic now. Without aid of seeing what she was doing, she gently kicked the stool closer to her questing fingers.

"Hurry! HURRY!" She urged herself.

Her heart leapt as her fingers brushed the stool's cushion. She stretched them out, hoping to come in contact with the cool, steel blades. The twitching of her hands tugged against the crotch cord they were affixed to, combining with the jerking action of her struggles. The perverse cocktail of panic, fright and physical stimulation, was rapidly propelling the blonde toward the one thing she didn't want.

Her concentration started to wander. She couldn't seem to focus on grasping the blades, a task made that much more difficult being unable to see and without use of her thumbs. The panic somehow seemed to fuel her unwanted passion. Her rational thoughts began battling with ones more primal. Her pussy and clit HURT! But in that pain broiled a tempest straining for release.

Melanie was totally unprepared for the orgasm that swept over her. It caught her completely off guard. One moment, her fingernails were scraping against the steel blades that promised freedom, the next, a volcanic explosion erupted from her core. Her head thrashed back and forth, disregarding the painful tug of her hair tied around the suspension rope. As the sisal grinding her loins intensified, so did the climax, each feeding off the other, spiraling ever skyward. Her body convulsed, swinging and twisting to and fro. She did not feel the stool, as her doubled-up leg crashed into it.

Completely out of her mind now, the secretary began thrusting her pelvis against the crotch rope like a rutting animal. She felt as though she was in another universe, one with a white hot epicenter. The roaring in her ears drowned out everything. She wailed into the gag, heedless of the expenditure of oxygen. It felt as though her heart might burst, or her brain explode. At that moment, she cared not if either happened. When the orgasm reached its pinnacle, her whole body went rigid. A bright light seared her retinas and exploded in her skull. And then she passed out.

Melanie Swift came to her senses after about two minutes. Her body aches wouldn't allow her the luxury of remaining unconscious any longer. There was no disorientation nor piecing together recent events, the secretary awoke completely cognizant of her situation. A situation that remained unchanged.

Though this was not completely true. Rather than being static at the end of the suspension rope, Melanie watched as the interior of the kitchen passed back and forth in front of her as she spun on the end of the suspension rope. Her mindless thrashing during the orgasm had sent her bound and helpless body gyrating at the end of the cord. Powerless to stop the twisting, pendulum-like motion, Melanie watched as the room's fixtures twirled by. Kitchen table, back door, refrigerator, stove. Stove, refrigerator, back door, kitchen table. Slowly, her inertia faded until her view steadied on the back door. With ironic timing, Melanie glanced out, just as young Timmy had caught sight of her.

"He sees me!" The curvaceous blonde thought. "Please, little boy, go get help!"

Melanie tried to move, tried to convey some signal that she was in distress, but her body was just too fatigued. Still, when the boy dashed inside, the secretary believed that her ordeal might be at an end. She stayed vigilant, expecting to see a score of soccer moms racing across the rolling back yard, all intent on freeing a fellow female in jeopardy. Instead, Melanie saw a gaggle of youngsters gather around a birthday cake. The mothers stayed on the periphery, chatting with each other about their hopes for a normal love life, now that football season was almost over.

Melanie Swift watched it all unfold a mere hundred yards away. How, she asked, can the world continue on as if normal, whilst she was trussed up like a Peking duck? And where was Maxwell? Shouldn't he be getting worried by now? Well, if not worried, at least more horny, thus calling to find out how soon she'd arrive. But then the secretary remembered that she wasn't to arrive for their rendezvous for another five hours.

"I could be dead by then." She thought in all earnestness.

Melanie concluded that the only person to rescue her was herself. A depressing thought, since her first attempt had ended so disastrously. But she had to try. Not able to turn her head much, the secretary clamped her teeth down on the plug filling her mouth and swung her free leg. The blaze between her legs rekindled at this, but her body began to swing. The first thing she noticed were the electric carver's blades, fifteen feet away from her.

"Might as well be on the moon." She decided dejectedly.

The stool, which lay on its side, was closer, but remained six inches beyond the reach of her straining toes. The skateboard was nowhere to be seen. It had rolled to a halt well behind her, completely out of her sight. With her hair tied around the suspension cord, there was no way for Melanie to look down enough to see that her pointed toes were only three inches off the floor. But as with the stool and skateboard, the close proximity of terra firma simply mocked her with the promise of respite. With a soft sob, she quit struggling, there was no point.

It was then that the platinum blonde heard the garage door opening.

Just as Melanie's twisting motion had stilled, a small, puffy white cloud no larger than a billboard ambled by. In the midst of its journey, it cast the briefest of shadows across the kitchen door. Timmy's mother happened to be looking that way and sure enough, there WAS a naked woman standing in the Walston's kitchen. She appeared to be balancing on one leg, in a classic yoga position. Had these events taken place a fraction sooner, Melanie's back would have been turned and Timmy's mother would have seen the contorted arrangement of the blonde's bound arms. This certainly would have spawned an investigation. As it was, the mother shook her head in disgust.

"I really must have a word with Mrs. Walston." She thought. "Having the hired help parade around in the nude, especially when there are children about, is certainly in poor taste."

Her indignation was decidedly fueled by the resignation that this woman, as with Mrs. Walston, appeared to have a remarkable body. Remarkable yet, at the same time, a bit odd. The woman had appeared to be wearing some kind of veil over her lower face. If that wasn't quirky enough, Timmy's mother could have sworn that the blonde's breasts were, well, 'furry' was the only way she could describe it. It was as though the fitness nut's boobies were sprouting whiskers. Clothespins, would have been the last thing the housewife would have ever considered.

Andrea couldn't have been more pleased with the way things had worked out. The entire trip had taken only ninety minutes. Having alerted the manufacturer at the 'specialty' shop before hand, of Miss Swift's dimensions, the woman had scoured her inventory for items that would fit. It never occurred to the proprietor that all of the paraphernalia seemed a bit on the small side to fit Mrs. Walston. The redhead was pleased when told her order had top priority and would be ready the next day. The shop owner had promised to see to the tailoring personally and Andrea was well aware of the woman's talent at making top quality merchandise.

Carrying the large cardboard box into the house, she was greeted by the soothing sounds of Mozart flowing from the kitchen. However, as she reached the doorway, things were not as serene as they'd sounded. Andrea dropped the box, as she saw that the young blonde secretary had tumbled from her rolling dais and was hanging motionless in mid-air. That, however, was not the cause of her alarm.

She could clearly see through the French doors, that the birthday party was in full swing across the way. She'd been unaware that the time for it had changed. And here she'd left her husband's lover, bound in full view of two dozen people! Andrea had forgotten the polarized properties of the glass doorway. Her heart leapt in her throat as she was sure her misdeeds had been discovered. But the revelers seemed to be paying no attention to her house. Now, it finally dawned on her that it was impossible to view inside her home (or so she thought).

With that scare having past, Andrea took in the scene in the kitchen. It didn't take much to deduce what had taken place. She noted the stool on the floor, the carving blades a few feet away. The skateboard rested near the doorway, patiently waiting for a rider. It was clear that Melanie had tried to cut herself free, only to wind up in the fix she was in.

It had never been Mrs. Walston's intention for the blonde secretary to hang from the rope over the rafter, she'd simply wanted that possibility to exist. The redhead kicked herself for being so careless in leaving the knife's blades so close, thus prompting Melanie's escape attempt. She'd be much more careful in the future. Andrea's initial anxiety, manifested itself into anger. Grasping a paring knife from the butcher's block, she strode over to the distraught secretary.

"You stupid little cunt!" She said, seething. "What were you trying to do?"

In response, Melanie could only hum a soft groan, as Mrs. Walston grasped her waist and cut the suspension cord. The blonde had no strength to stand, allowing herself to be lowered to the floor. Despite her diabolical bonds, the cool surface of the tile felt almost blissful. That ersatz bliss vanished, as Andrea began plucking the clothespins off in a not-so-gentle fashion. Little explosions erupted all over her body as the wooden jaws released their tiny portions of trapped flesh. By far, the most excruciating were those coming off her breasts, labia and clitoris.

All the while, Mrs. Walston kept up her tirade, chastising her prisoner. It seemed that the more she scolded, the more irate Andrea became. All of her angst at having bound the voluptuous blonde in such an exposed location, was now converting into anger toward the helpless secretary. Once the pins were removed, Andrea cut the bonds holding Melanie's leg bent double. Ignoring the rest of her bonds for the moment, most regrettably for her prisoner, the crotch rope, the redhead grasped the secretary's elbow cinch and drug her charge into the more private confines of the living room.

Once more on the expensive Persian carpet, Melanie writhed lethargically, the cutting twine too painful to fight, too painful to remain still. Andrea stood above her captive, her anger gradually subsiding. She'd never felt such raw emotion in all her adult life. She had to admit, it had been most exhilarating. Now, gazing down at this beautiful creature completely under her control, the redhead felt empowered as never before. Her husband had always been the dominant in their bondage games, Andrea gladly being the recipient of the restraints. But now, she had the power and its was almost intoxicating. The redhead knew with certainty, that now she'd attained this role, she would never relinquish it.

"mmmnnghh!" Melanie implored weakly behind her gag, begging for release.

"Ohh," responded Andrea, "has "Wittle Melwanie" learned her lesson not to be naughty?''

The blonde nodded her head weakly. "Yes, YES!" she buzzed, "just please let me go."

"Hmm," Mrs. Walston said, placing a finger on her chin in contemplation, " tell you what, pet. I'll release you, but only for a slight 'costume' change. We can't have you catching your death, parading around in your birthday suit like that."

"Cooperate and I'll take it easy on you. Give me any trouble and I'll string you up again. Only this time it'll be by your neck."

Melanie's eyes grew wide at even the thought of such a consequence. Being bound in such a fashion would be a death sentence. Once more, she nodded her head, this time with a great deal more conviction.

"I'm glad we've reached an understanding." Andrea mocked.

She rolled the secretary over on to her stomach, the blonde's breasts once more mashed beneath her. Andrea was pleased that in spite of the discomfort, her captive didn't raise too much fuss. Using a pair of scissors, the redhead cut the sisal binding Melanie's lower arms to her torso. This included the crotch rope, which spawned as much a muffled groan of pain, as of relief.

Setting the shears down, Andrea buckled a 3" wide, white leather belt around Melanie's waist. The belt was festooned with silver D-rings, securely anchored to it. Leaving the elbow cinch intact, Mrs. Walston cut loose the secretary's wrist and finger cinches. After briefly rubbing the circulation back, a stout, white leather cuff was buckled around each wrist. The cuffs were secured with padlocks and in turn, snapped to her waist belt. Melanie's hands now rested at her hips.

Changing tact, Andrea revealed her first surprise. Using her body to block Melanie's view, the redhead worked the first ballet shoe on to her captive's foot. With lacing that went from midway up her foot to the top of the ankle boot, the fitting went quite smoothly, However, as the laces were drawn tight, the blonde could feel her foot become locked in a severe pointed pose. After double knotting the laces, Andrea concealed the knot beneath the integrated, locking leather cuff. The boot would not be coming off without a key, or a hacksaw. In spite of knowing her other foot was to receive the same fate, a cautioning glare from Andrea was all it took for Melanie to docilely allow the second boot to be fitted. Even whilst lying on the ground, the blonde doubted she'd be able to walk in such severe footwear.

Finally, the remaining sisal was severed off her body. The voluptuous Miss Swift couldn't suppress the gagged wail as blood rushed back into her long compressed flesh. Andrea allowed her a few moments to recuperate before proceeding. She used the time to dig out a short length of chain and a rather intimidating looking garment. In the meantime, Melanie glanced back at her booted feet. The footwear was white patent leather, the booty coming up to just above her ankle, where heart shaped padlocks secured them resolutely in place. The severe heels were the same length as her pointed toes, insuring that if she did have to walk, it would be on her toenails.

The secretary then glanced up as Andrea approached. The blonde watched, as the redhead ran the short chain through a steel loop on the belt near her navel, then attach it to her wrist cuffs. She then unlatched Melanie's hands from the belt, leaving her hands connected by only the stout chain. The adulteress knew that this new freedom was an illusion. Any attempt to flee or battle Mrs. Walston, would be confounded by her stilt-like footwear. Using sound judgment (for there was no alternative), the blonde lay there, awaiting what came next.

"I guess by now you'd like to get that gag off." Andrea observed.

The question was answered by an energetic series of grunts and "mmphs".

After unbuckling the head gear, Mrs. Walston began the task of working the plug out. Melanie tried to assist as best she could, but found that her jaws had become locked around the massive, door knob shaped silencer. Rocking it back and forth, the redhead was finally able to pry it from behind the blonde's teeth. To Melanie's alarm, her jaws remained frozen apart.

"Nahh! Echhh!" The secretary tried to plead her case.

She was silenced by a bottled water tipping into her mouth. Most of the fluid spilled right out again, but she did manage to get some down her parched throat. As the blonde worked her cramped jaws, Andrea peeled her sodden panties off the gag's orb. Rolling them up in to a ball, she shoved them once more past Melanie's full, yet lax lips. Compared to the gargantuan plug that had stuffed her mouth before, this tiny scrap of material seemed almost insignificant.

The redhead unwrapped the packaging off a roll of 3" wide tape and peeled off an 8" strip. Melanie noted that Mrs. Walston seemed to take an extraordinary amount of care doing this. The blonde complied with the order to purse her lips, not wanting to make the woman any more irate. The tape sealed down over her lips, stretching from cheek to cheek.

"It's Dura-Foam tape, my dear." Andrea explained. "The manufacturers guarantee it to stick to any surface. Apparently, it's impervious to moisture, so I'd get used to the flavor of my underwear if I were you."

Melanie's expression turned to shock and she doubled her efforts to speak. Yet the adhesive refused to budge.

"Not to worry, though," Mrs. Walston assured her, "it can be removed with acetone or nail polish remover."

That information was of little comfort. It appeared that Andrea's recently worn panties were back in their new home for the immediate future. Her mouth's fate literally sealed, Melanie could only hope that the tape's removal wouldn't be too painful. That's if Mrs. Walston intended to remove it all.

"And now would be a good time to visit the little girl's room." Andrea announced, once again sounding all sugar and cream.

It was bad enough to be bound in such remorseless fashion, thought the secretary, but these swings in behavior truly had her not knowing what to think. Was it an act, or had Andrea truly gone insane? Melanie couldn't have known that Mrs. Walston's change in character had been carefully crafted. In not allowing the platinum blonde to get a feel for her moods, Andrea was able to keep her captive psychologically off balance. However, Miss Swift was distracted from mulling this over, for the mention of the "little girl's room" had reminded her of the desperate need to pee.

In preparation for the trip, Andrea fastened a 2" wide, white leather strap around Melanie's elbows. She drew it tight enough to draw the blonde's hands back at her sides once more. Their movement was stymied by the short chain running across her stomach. The arrangement felt snug, but was nothing like the horrific bondage she'd been initially subjected to. Curiously, or so the shackled Miss Swift thought, Andrea did nothing to restrain the blonde's booted feet. In a moment, she found out why.

Mrs. Walston grabbed her charge by the biceps and hoisted her easily to her feet. Melanie let out a shriek as she experienced the ballet boots for the first time. It was perhaps the most unnatural feeling she'd ever felt. Her legs seemed to lock of their own accord, as she struggled to balance on a ridiculously small area. But for the stiff ankle cuffs of the boots, the secretary was certain that the joints would buckle. Her toes began to protest and her leg muscles shuddered. Melanie prayed that she wouldn't have to travel very far.

Grasping her tightly by the arm, Andrea led the promiscuous platinum playgirl to the loo. Melanie tottered along in a manner that was half drunken stagger, half circus stilt walker. The standard thirty paces to the washroom, took Melanie triple that amount, in tiny, mincing steps. She leaned heavily on Mrs. Walston for support, thankful that the redhead was willing to help keep her upright, disheartened that she showed no inclination toward letting her go.

Chapter 7 (added: 10/06/2009)

Once inside the large, well appointed powder room, Andrea led her charge directly to the bidet. Spinning Melanie around, Mrs. Walston plopped her down on the seat. Extracting a length of chain from her pocket, she bent the secretary's feet back on either side of the porcelain fixture. She passed the chain behind the throne and fastened it to the ankle cuffs with padlocks. The situation was immediately clear to Melanie. She was to remain seated. The only other option would be to slide off the loo, landing on the floor. Any attempt to wriggle away would be thwarted by her legs anchored to the heavy fixture.

"Now," Andrea warned, "do you think you can answer the call of nature, without thoroughly screwing that up too?"

Melanie's cheeks burned crimson over the tape plastered on her face. Yes, she was a flaunt and flirt, but not when it came to matters of intimate personal hygiene. She tried to mew a message that she couldn't possibly do anything whilst the redhead was hovering over her. Despite the utterly unintelligible hums the secretary made, Andrea seemed to understand their meaning.

"Fine." Mrs. Walston acknowledged. "I'll give you a bit of privacy. In return, I expect a bit more cooperation on your part when I get back."

With that, Andrea spun on her heels and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Melanie found herself alone once more, though this time, in a decidedly more comfortable state. Immediately, she set about looking for a weakness in her restraints. She certainly had more freedom of her hands than before, but quickly found that they were no less ineffective. She could move them about her hips somewhat, but with her elbows pinned together behind her, range was limited. She couldn't even reach down to massage her recently abused sex, though on reflection, that might not have been such a good idea.

Melanie examined the padlocks sealing her cuffs shut. Dead end there. She appraised the wide belt around her waist and noted that the buckle was nowhere to be seen.

"It must be around back." She thought. "No way I'll be able to reach back there."

Removing her gag held some promise. She bent at the waist and strained her fingers upward. The fluttering digits came no where near her face. The best she could manage, was to brush the underside of her breasts with her thumbs. Seemingly unable to get herself out of this fix on her own, the blonde looked about the washroom for any tools that might assist her escape. Unfortunately, Mrs. Walston, or more likely, the aforementioned French housekeeper, kept an immaculate home. There was nary a pair of scissors nor nail clippers to be seen. Hand towels and liquid soap just simply wouldn't do the trick.

Dejectedly, the well endowed blonde slumped on the bidet. She allowed her muscles to relax, heeding the signals from her bloated bladder. As she relieved the pressure, she cast her eyes to the floor. Then she saw something that cut off the flow mid-stream. A hairpin! The innocuous little strip of metal was resting up tight against the vanity, nearly invisible.

Hardly confident in her skills as an escape artist, Melanie nonetheless reasoned that there might be a genuine chance of picking the locks on her cuffs. But was it worth the risk? Andrea could be returning any moment. The more immediate problem was how to reach the treasure. Sliding off the fixture would be a difficult task on its own, but returning to her perch would be a real ball-buster. But beyond desperate, she had to try.

Melanie wriggled herself to the edge of the seat. Not wishing to waste a lot of time on an elaborate plan (thus allowing time, to talk herself out of it), she simply lurched off the edge. The impact with the tile floor was more jarring on her knees than she'd thought. But now thoroughly committed, she shimmied toward the prize.

As she neared, at least two obstacles came into play. The first obviously being her hands pinioned at her hips. The bobby pin, which lay tantalizingly close, still lay well out of her diminished reach. The second being, that as she drew near, the chain hobbling her ankles to the commode snapped tight. Understanding that her forward progress had come to an end, Melanie hastily devised a contingency plan.

Leaning forward, the secretary placed her head against the side of the vanity. Relying mainly on neck muscles, she slowly slid down the side of the cabinet. She found that she was unable to keep her target in sight and reach for it at the same time. Rotating sideways, she continued her descent. Finally, her fingertips touched the cool marble floor. Immediately, the set about probing for the pin. Once she felt the base of the vanity, it was a relatively simple (given her circumstances) matter of tracking along the edge until she found the steel shaft.

"There it is!" She cried quietly in triumph.

She desperately clutched at it and for a terrifying moment, brushed it aside. Fortunately, it didn't travel far and she was able to re-acquire it. As calmly as possible, all the while conscious of her neck muscles quivering from the strain, she grasped the bobby pin between her fingernails. With frantic concentration, she transferred the pin to the palm of her hand and squeezed her fist protectively around it. She had been tempted to work on the padlocks right then and there, but her precarious posture ruled that out. First, she had to get herself upright.

Tensing against the cabinet, she tried to inch herself upward. Sweat poured from her with the effort. Suddenly, she felt her slickened forehead lose traction with the polished side of the vanity. For a few desperate seconds, she fought what she knew was a losing battle with gravity. Realizing that the final outcome was inescapable, Melanie tensed and tried to make the best out of a bad situation.

She 'launched' herself away from the vanity, twisting at the same time so that her side would make first contact with the floor. Even though the drop was only 14", with no means to break her fall, the impact drove the air from her lungs with a noisy "UNNGHF!" Fortunately, she'd managed not to strike her head on the floor. Fearful that the muffled ruckus might have alerted Andrea, Melanie abandoned any attempt at picking the lock and tucked the bobby pin behind the waist belt. It proved to be the prudent thing to do, for seconds later, Mrs. Walston barged into the loo.

"What in the HELL do you think you're doing?" Andrea raged. "Can't you even perform basic bodily functions without mucking it up?"

"We know my husband didn't hire you for your secretarial skills, but are you so dense as to actually fall off a toilet?"

"Or did that dim bulb of yours you call a brain, actually think that you could escape whilst chained to the bidet?"

Melanie, for obvious reasons, couldn't answer Andrea's rhetorical questions. All she could do is lay on the tile, peering up at her kidnapper. Andrea knelt and hoisted the blonde off the floor, plopping her on the commode once more. Then the redhead seated herself on a dressing chair and stared expectantly at the secretary. Melanie tried to match her stare, but her gaze quickly fell to the floor. Mrs. Walston held all the cards right now and Miss Swift realized that cooperation was her best option.

With more concentration that was usually required for the task, the blonde sexpot finally evacuated her waste. Melanie nearly jumped off the commode (again), as the cleansing water of the bidet splashed over her irritated privates. For the first time in a very long while, she actually felt something pleasant on the tender union between her legs. Unfortunately, the pampering did not last nearly long enough. Andrea seemed not the least bit uncomfortable as she patted the secretary dry. The same could not be said for Melanie, whose skin blushed deep pink with embarrassment, as she was being cleaned up.

"Now that we're sure you won't have any accidents," Andrea announced, "it's time you show your appreciation for all the knowledge I've shared with you."

"And what the HELL does that mean?" Melanie pondered. Of all the emotions she was feeling right now, "appreciative" could not be counted amongst them.

"But first," the redhead said, "I got you a little something to symbolize your new status."

The "something" turned out to be a two inch wide, white leather collar. Andrea mumbled something about "color coordinating" being important, as she buckled it around the secretary's throat. Though not overly snug, it was something that Melanie would be constantly aware of. A padlock through the buckle in back, assured it wouldn't come off until a time of Andrea's choosing.

By no means, was the symbolism lost on the adulterous Miss Swift. The wide band of leather was intended to make her feel more like an object, than a human being. Melanie tried to shake off such derogatory thoughts, yet the collar's not-so-subtle implication rattled her. Gritting her teeth (upon Andrea's silk panties), the restrained blonde resolved not to succumb to Mrs. Walston's head games.

"I am a strong, independent woman." She told herself. "And I will not be this person's, nor any other's, victim."

Then Melanie remembered the hairpin. The blonde was almost thankful for the tape sealing her mouth, for it obscured the sly smile that creased her lips. All she had to do was wait for the right time and then she'd have Mrs. Walston singing a completely different tune. She had to consciously remind herself not to pat the pin's hiding place, lest she give away her trump card.

After freeing Melanie's ankles from behind the bidet, Andrea yanked her prisoner to her feet. The momentary feeling of clandestine triumph vanished, as Melanie found herself perched once more on her painfully pointed toes. As ridiculous as the action seemed to the blonde, the 'Mistress of the House' nonetheless knelt and secured the chain to the ankle cuffs, hobbling the blonde once more.

"What does she think I'm going to do?" pondered the secretary, "run the five hundred meter hurdles in these shoes?"

Melanie was unaware of the subconscious effect the restraints were having on her. Andrea, on the other hand, knew all to well, that restraints could do much more than just fetter limbs. They could also imprison a captive psychologically. The mere appearance of bonds too secure to break, often dissuaded the person bound, from even making an effort to try and escape. It was an overwhelming trauma, to not only feel helpless, but to know it as well.

Mrs. Walston clipped a chrome-linked leash to Melanie's collar, signaling that they were about to take another 'stroll'. The secured secretary clenched her hands in concentration as she took her first tentative steps. She lurched and staggered toward the powder room exit, but unlike before, Andrea showed no sign of assisting the young woman along. Melanie was on her own. The, "tack-tack-tack" of the blonde's stilettos faded as they left the tiled floor behind, re-entering the carpeted living room. Andrea sheparded her prisoner toward the grand staircase. With each mincing step, Melanie's trepidation grew.

"She can't seriously think that I'm going to prance up those stairs, does she?" Melanie "hhmmngh'd" her concerns to the redhead.

"Relax, pet." Andrea scoffed. "I realize this is only your first day, so I'm going to take it easy on you. Besides, what makes you think we're going 'up', anyway?"

That threw Melanie a curve. She was sharp enough to know that if they weren't going upstairs, that only left 'down'. Immediately, her mind conjured up visions of a dank cellar, complete with cobwebs and rats skittering about. Reflexively, she leaned back against the pull of the leash.

It was demoralizing for the blonde, to experience how easily Andrea countered her resistance. Mrs. Walston simply exerted more and more tension on the leash. Inevitably, the secretary was faced with two options, step forward or pitch flat on her face. Melanie resumed her mincing cantor, all the while, her eyes were hurling daggers at her antagonist.

Their brief tour ended at an innocuous looking door. Earlier, during 'Tea', Melanie had paid little attention to it, assuming it was merely a utility closet. Mrs. Walston opened the portal and ushered the nude blonde inside, following close behind. An overhead light revealed an absence of cleaning supplies. As a matter of fact, the tiny room was completely empty, save for a small panel attached to one wall. Andrea reached into the small satchel she carried.

"I hope you like surprises, pet." She said, fastening the padded, leather blindfold around Melanie's head. "I know I do."

"So, where are we off to? The catacombs deep beneath the house? Or perhaps the attic? No one would think to look for you in either of them."

Melanie heard the door *snick* closed. It dawned on her that the phone booth sized room was in fact an elevator. Her body tensed, as she tried to discern what direction they were taking. Unfortunately, the lift was not designed for express travel. The blonde couldn't distinguish any movement whatsoever. If she didn't know better, she'd swear that they weren't moving. All the while, Mrs. Walston kept up her unsettling banter.

"I imagine even this time of year, the attic must be dreadfully hot and stuffy. Of course, that would change when the temperature drops near freezing tonight. Oh, and the sub-basement? We've had a frightful time dealing with seepage. No matter what we do, it's always so damp and mildewed."

Melanie shuddered involuntarily, at the mere thought of being imprisoned in either of those places. But what was she to do?

The only evidence that their journey had stopped, was when the secretary heard the lift's door click open. With a curious mix of apprehension and inquisitiveness, the blonde called upon her available senses for clues as to her location. She sniffed the air tentatively, as she awaited input from her bare skin. Oddly, the stimulus provided by the surrounding atmosphere was not as she had imagined. There was no dry, dusty, furnace-like heat associated with an attic. Nor was there a damp, cloying oppressiveness that would signal they'd entered the subbasement. In fact, the environment felt rather ordinary.

Ah-ah, pet," Andrea laughed at Melanie's puzzled squeak, "I shan't spoil the surprise. Suffice it to say, that it's time for your lesson in serving your mistress."

Chapter 8 (added: 04/17/2011)

Melanie Swift had more things to worry about, than what Andrea Walston's 'Pop Quiz' might entail. Her redheaded captor had resumed pulling on the leash, forcing the bound blonde to totter along blindly behind her. The secretary was still struggling to glean some clue as to their whereabouts. The secretary's toes and calves were screaming by now, the rigid "en pointe" pose caused by the ballet boots. It was nothing like what she'd performed in third grade dance recital. Melanie was so focused on balancing upon the aberrantly pointed footwear, that she overlooked one obvious clue, which was the odd surface upon which she tread. Odd, in that it was ordinary.

Just when the blonde could go no further and was about to crumple, perhaps painfully to the floor, she received an unanticipated shove in the back. Totally unprepared, Melanie screeched as she pitched forward. Although the fall proved to be short, her brain still had plenty of time to conjure up all kinds of horrid landing scenarios. She pictured herself falling into a fetid pool of water filled with crocodiles. Or perhaps a bed of sharpened spikes, ready to perforate her. Her scream was as blood curdling as it was muffled. So unexpected was the soft, down filled comforter, that Melanie continued to scream, anticipating the agony that never came.

"Oh, pet," Andrea laughed, "that was priceless."

"However, this shouldn't feel too unfamiliar. I have no doubt that you have fornicated with my husband in this very bed. MY bed!"

Although it was conjecture on Andrea's part, her statement was in fact true. Maxwell and Melanie HAD done 'the nasty' in the redhead's bed. A fact both the cheating husband and mistress had enjoyed quite a laugh over. Currently, Melanie didn't find matters nearly as amusing.

Andrea's bedroom was already equipped with a small stock of bondage paraphernalia, on hand for those spontaneous 'play sessions', or premeditated role playing scenarios. Mrs. Walston retrieved a few things needed for Melanie's 'Pop Quiz'. The 'pupil' could do nothing but lie there blindly, writhing slightly on the comforter. Taking flight , at the moment, really wasn't an option.

The first item was an adjustable spreader bar. This Andrea buckled above the blonde's knees, using the integrated straps on the ends of the bar. Loosening the thumb screw, the redhead telescoped the rod until her victim's knees were splayed three feet apart. Re-adjusting the screw held them in that position.

With a supply of leather straps on hand, Andrea sat on Melanie's right leg and unlocked the hobble. Before the blonde knew what was going on, she felt her left leg being bent. As her stilettoed heel approached her derriere, she felt a strap slip around the doubled up appendage. The belt drew tight, keeping her leg folded.

Andrea applied three more straps around Melanie's leg, alternately tightening them, until calf and thigh were fused together. Mrs. Walston even went so far, as to apply the third strap at the highest point possible on the blonde's thigh. When it passed about her leg, Andrea made sure to capture the base of the stiletto. When tightened, the heel created a deep imprint in the lovely Miss Swift's ass cheek. Although Melanie knew what was coming, being able to kick only the lower portion of her right leg, did little to dissuade the folding and securing of that limb as well.

Constantly aware of her nudity, the secretary was nonetheless cognizant of how utterly exposed her privates were in this new position. "Vulnerable" was an understatement. She was certain too, that the occasional brushes of Andrea's hand across her sex were anything but accidental.

Blindfolded, Melanie could not see Andrea fasten a length of cord to the center of the spreader bar. Nor could she observe the redhead tossing the cord over the frame for the bed's canopy. Enlightenment came when Mrs. Walston hauled on the line. The blonde's folded legs began to rise up off the mattress. They didn't go far, merely a few inches, but it was enough to shift the captive's weight on to her stomach, and especially, her chest. The change in posture also caused a slightly unpleasant arch to her spine. The blonde tried futilely to lower her legs back on to the bed. Her limbs refused to cooperate, instead fish tailing back and forth slightly in the air.

"And I thought I couldn't get any more exposed." Fretted the vulnerable secretary. Her trepidation didn't ease any when Andrea spoke moments later. Removing the blonde's blindfold, Andrea waited for Melanie's eyes to adjust before speaking once more.

"That waist belt you're wearing is one of the 'off the rack' items I picked up on my shopping trip. Nothing too remarkable by itself, but as we girls know, the secret's in the accessories."

Melanie had given up trying to decipher the redhead's riddles and innuendos, mindful that it usually spelled bad news for her. This would once again prove correct, though the blonde didn't know it yet. She felt Andrea reach under her tummy, but was unable to see the slot of a two inch wide, white leather strap, slip over the 'D' ring anchored on the waist belt. Mrs. Walston dangled a formidable looking, flat black padlock in front of the restrained blonde's eyes. Melanie noted that instead of the usual key insert, the base sported four numbered dials. Leaning in close, Andrea provided some details that Melanie wasn't all that anxious to learn.

"The lock is heat-forged carbon steel, pet." Mrs. Walston elucidated. "Virtually tamper proof and impervious to saw blades and bolt cutters. I'm told, that the only thing capable of cutting the hasp, is a high voltage arc welder. Don't think I'd want something like that near MY belly button."

Melanie whole heartedly agreed.

"You'll notice it's a combination lock." Andrea continued. "Four numbers, hmm, let's see. That's 10,000 possibilities. I'll give you a hint. It's NOT my birth year or the last four digits of my social security number. There, that leaves you with only 9,998 choices left. That is, of course, were you able to reach the lock to begin with."

The busty bound blonde might have struggled harder if she had known what lie ahead. Not that it would have altered the outcome. Once more, Andrea lifted the helpless secretary's waist and snapped the lock through the D-ring, securing the new strap to the waist belt. As Melanie sank back on to the bed, she could feel the cold hard lump pressing against her stomach.

"And now, a little entertainment for you, whilst you're entertaining me." Mrs. Walston announced.

That was all the portend Melanie got, before she felt the bullet tipped prod nuzzling between her nether lips. She secretary let loose a muffled squeal that did nothing to halt the insertion of the slender dildo. Shock over her aberrant rape, left her totally unprepared for the second prod honing in on her virginal back passage. Although her response was immediate, which was to instinctively clench her sphincter, the probe had already breached the entrance.

No amount of resistance could halt the shaft's progress. Utterly repulsed, Melanie nevertheless realized the futility of trying to arrest the insertion. It was just another in a long list of occurrences, over which she had no control. She could do nothing but try and relax as much as possible, allowing the violation to proceed as painlessly as possible. A neophyte regarding anal play, the secretary thought the plug enormous. In fact, the 1" shaft was regarded as, a "Trainer".

Once both prods were seated, the blonde felt the wide strap tighten through her crotch, as Andrea hitched it through the waist belt's buckle at her spine. This was done with her characteristic vigor. The telltale *snick* of a padlock followed.

"I'll let you get acquainted with your new friends." Mrs. Walston lilted. "Don't start anything 'til I get back."

"Very fucking funny, you BITCH!" Miss Swift fumed.

Melanie experimentally tried to expel her violators. Of course, they didn't budge. She was thankful that, although impossible to ignore, the probes weren't terribly large. In fact, the one stuffed in her pussy was considerably smaller than the "Buzzinator", she had tucked away in her nightstand drawer at home. Hey, sometimes it was just too much trouble to get all dressed up and go out, looking to get that sexual 'itch' scratched.

No, under normal conditions, Melanie saw nothing wrong with a little artificial stimulation. What infuriated her, was the fact that she had no voice nor control over her current state. Mrs. Walston had VIOLATED her! And that was to say nothing of the probe wedged up her back entrance. It was revolting. The blonde found that she couldn't stop clenching her muscles around the firm shaft. It also alarmed her how often the, " This is not so unpleasant" thoughts, infringed on her indignation.

Melanie was almost glad when Andrea sat down on the bed. It allowed her to focus on her nemesis and not on the conflicting sensations she was feeling down yonder. Mrs. Walston had a small spray bottle with her. Before using it, she had a few words of caution for her captive.

"I'm going to remove that gag now," she said icily, "and I don't want to hear so much as a burp from you. Provoke me and I'll staple you lips closed."

As ridiculous as that sounded, Melanie couldn't be entirely sure that she wasn't kidding. In spite of a litany of threats and pleas she wished to communicate, silence at the moment, seemed to be her best option. Andrea sprayed some of the solution on the tape. The secretary was surprised and relieved when only a mild, citrus scent filled her nose. Having been forewarned, she'd expected to be assailed by the overpowering odor of nail polish remover.

Mrs. Walston worked her fingernail under one corner of the tape. In spite of the obvious weakening of the adhesive, the gag still seemed reluctant to relinquish its grip on Melanie's skin. To the blonde's chagrin, the redhead didn't bother with another application of the solvent, rather, she chose to rip the tape off in one quick jerk. The small, sodden clump of silk in her mouth, did little to dampen the secretary's stung yelp.

Before Melanie recovered enough to do so herself, Andrea reached in and extracted the packing. Melanie noted that Mrs. Walston made no move to discard the ruined underwear, she simply let it plop wetly on the bedcovers. The blonde hoped this was just an oversight. She really didn't relish the idea of having to chew on them again. A water bottle was brought to her lips and the blonde gratefully quenched her thirst. Melanie almost uttered a reflexive "Thank You", until she remembered the warning. Besides, at the moment, she didn't have a whole hell of a lot to be thankful for.

When she'd drank her fill, the curvaceous adulteress tried once more to fix her captor with a withering scowl. In spite all that she'd endured, she would not let the redhead think that her will had been broken. Cracked maybe, but not broken. Andrea noted the blonde's attempt at courageousness, and broke out once more in her Cheshire grin.

Still grinning, she showed Melanie a jumble of ½" white leather straps. Besides being unable to tell heads nor tales the purpose of the tangled leather spaghetti, the secretary noted a couple of oddities. For one, there seemed to be WAY too many buckles for the number of straps she saw. And second, she hadn't a clue what the 2-1/2", leather clad ring was for.

"It's part of a matched set." Andrea cryptically explained. "I've been assured that, 'One size fits all'. You get to model one half, the other half is for me. Open."

"Open...?" Then the realization hit. "Oh no, you crazy bitch." The secretary thought. "You're not sticking anything else in my mouth!" Melanie clamped her jaw and sealed her lips tight, to emphasize her point.

Andrea's face didn't cloud with anger as the blonde assumed it would. Instead, the redhead's expression was one of smugness, as if she'd anticipated this very reaction from her prisoner. This worried Melanie even more. The blonde, once again having forgotten that she was in no position to set terms, hastily decided that compliance was her best option.

"No, wait, Andrea...er Mrs. Walston," the helpless Miss Swift capitulated, as Andrea rose from the bed, "here, I'll do what you ask."

"Oh no, pet," growled the redhead, "the time for that has passed."

Positioning herself off to one side, just out of Melanie's sight, Andrea brought her palm down sharply on the blonde's right ass cheek. Although the ballet boot of her doubled-up leg shielded a portion of the secretary's derriere, there was still ample area for the blow to land.

SMACK! The sound made Melanie jump as much as the blow itself. It stung, but wasn't exactly excruciating. In fact, she'd had a lover or two over time, who'd spanked her as a form of foreplay. She had to admit, that the mild form of corporal punishment was kind of a turn on. Andrea landed the second blow, directly on top of the first. And then a third, a fourth, a fifth, not pausing until an even dozen had been administered to the same spot. Now, the initial playful sting, had transformed into a very UN-pleasant burn.

"Okay, OKAY!" Melanie griped, "dammit, Andrea, you win!"

"I know that already, pet." Mrs. Walston replied, moving to the other side of the bed. "This lesson is, to make sure you don't forget who's in control here."

"One more thing," Andrea continued, "in the future, whenever I give you permission to speak, you will address me as 'Mistress'. Is that clear?"

Andrea drove home the point with another dozen smacks on Melanie's left cheek, then paused to admire her handiwork. The redhead had taken care to focus her blows on the same spot. The blonde's ass now sported a pair of clearly outlined, crimson handprints.

Melanie lay there sobbing. Though the spanking had ended, the burn and humiliation had not. Her bottom throbbed and stung, the discomfort somehow continuing to escalate. Wriggling didn't ease the fire, nor did lying still. With the impending threat of more to follow if she didn't acquiesce, the secretary latched on to the only option available to her.

"Alright...mistress," Melanie spoke as if volunteering for anesthetic-free root canal, "I'll open my mouth."

"Hmm," pondered the redhead, "that didn't sound very earnest. But I suppose it's a start."

"However, you'll have to open wider than that. Wider. WIDER!" Andrea snapped, giving Melanie's rump one more smack for emphasis.

The blonde's brow furrowed in disbelief, thinking that she'd adequately complied with Andrea's command. There was only so far her jaw was able to extend. Her captor was about to disprove that principle.

Using her right hand, Andrea lifted the blonde's head up by her hair. Her left hand then wedged something behind Melanie's bottom front teeth. Pressing down on the helpless secretary's jaw, the redhead forced something behind Miss Swift's upper incisors.

"Gaahh!" Melanie squealed, her tongue probing the curious void between her pearly whites.

It felt as though her mouth was held open by a ring of iron. Actually, this first impression was quite accurate. The only difference being, that it was a ring of steel. Leather wrapped steel, to be precise. As Andrea set about fastening the multitude of straps around the blonde's head, Melanie recalled the ring shaped object amongst the jumble of straps her assailant had shown her. She now had no doubt of what was holding her mouth agape.

In just a few minutes, the leather web of straps was crushing the secretary's skull in numerous places. Tight bands squeezed around her forehead to the back, from her mouth to the nape of her neck, under her jaw and even up over the crown of her head. When Andrea finally released her grip, no manner of shaking was going to slough off the leather head cage. A tear trickled down the adulteress's cheek, as her mouth was once again pried open beyond any degree of comfort.

"Eehth, Enh-ree-uh. Ih hurrth!" The blonde pleaded.

Andrea rose and positioned herself once more at the blonde's side. As she spoke, she brought down her open palm for emphasis, striking the crimson handprint already blazing on Melanie's ass cheek.

"I...Told...You...To...Speak...Only...When...Given...Permission!" The redhead emphasized each word with a smack on the secretary's left cheek.

She slipped off the bed and moved to the other side. She remained standing, so as not to telegraph her next move. When her hand struck the right globe of the blonde's bum, it came as a complete surprise.

"And..." she continued her reprimand, "You...Are...Only...Permitted...To


By now, Melanie was racked with sobs. She thought that the first spanking had been horrid. But now, as the blows rained down on the same spot, any playful nuances were lost. She groaned and howled, unable to form any intelligible words.

"Besides," Andrea stated as she finished, "your immediate future doesn't involve any witty conversation."

Mrs. Walston grabbed a long, white, ½" wide strap from the bed. She fastened one end to the buckle on the crown of Melanie's head harness. The other end, she slipped through a buckle anchored just above the butt plug on the crotch strap of the chastity belt. Satisfied that both ends were secure, she slipped the pin from its notch, in a buckle located in the middle of the strap. With a slow, firm pressure, she began hauling in the slack.

Melanie first felt the tension at the top of her head. Then, there was a slight, 'hitching up' pressure on the crotch strap splitting her legs. The force intensified, pulling the blonde's reluctant cheek off its resting place on the bedspread. Her chin brushed the soft comforter briefly, before it too, was elevated involuntarily off the bed. Although the multitude of straps ensnaring her head displaced most of the strain, it did so at the cost of them all growing tighter.

In almost no time at all, Melanie was unwillingly gazing straight ahead at the bed's ornate headboard. She could turn her head a fraction to the left and right, but that only made things more snug. And, she'd have to be in a coma not to notice, how every twitch of her head, was somehow telegraphed down to the crotch strap, causing it to shift and grow tighter. Now, with her head craned back as it was, the uncomfortable arch in her back had taken on an alarming curve. The only parts of her body still 'resting' on the bed, were her breasts and ribcage.

Mrs. Walston picked up a wide panel of white leather with straps dangling from it like spider legs. Too wide to be considered a belt, yet too narrow to be called a cincher, Andrea buckled it around her waist, deliciously tight. Immediately, her tummy began to warm under the alabaster hide. She could feel herself warming up nicely also, a little further south.

When the redhead climbed back on to the bed, Melanie looked up at her with watery eyes. Currently to miserable to care, the secretary didn't devote much deliberation as to what her captor wore. Resignedly, Miss Swift figured she'd find out soon enough. Her intuition served her well.

Andrea walked on her knees, closer to her captive. Soon, the scarlet exclamation point of her pubic hair, filled Melanie's vision. Mrs. Walston then drew her legs out to either side of Melanie's shoulders. Taking the long strap dangling from her right hip, the redhead threaded the tongue through a buckle in the blonde's head harness near her left ear. The strap on the opposite hip was fed through the corresponding buckle near Melanie's right ear.

"She can't possibly want me to..." Melanie thought, seeing a pattern start to develop.

Oh, but Andrea DID want her to, and the blonde was to soon find out she had no other choice. Reaching behind her, Mrs. Walston grasped the strap dangling at her spine. Raising her derriere off the bed, she passed the strap under her bum. The end was threaded through the buckle under Melanie's chin. In one smooth motion, Andrea thrust herself forward while pulling the strap tight. The flushed, glimmering petals of her sex, planted themselves squarely across Melanie's mouth.

"AAHhmmmpfff!" The secretary's screech of indignation was smothered, as she involuntarily French kissed Mrs. Walston's pussy.

Andrea shuddered, as her captive's protesting harrumphs vibrated between her legs. The die cast, it was a simple matter of tightening the remaining straps, securely locking Melanie in place for her upcoming task. Now, no matter how the adulteress writhed, Andrea would be able to ride her like a bucking bronc.

"All right then pet." Andrea said, picking up the slender crop beside her. "I want no less than three orgasms. Keep in mind, there is a time limit. Exceed this and I'll make things very unpleasant for you."

"Unpleasant!?!" Melanie thought, flabbergasted. "And you think this is pleasant?"

Any further deliberation was postponed, as Mrs. Walston snapped the crop against Melanie's reddened butt cheek. Startled, the secretary's tongue shot out, straight into the moist folds of her captor's privates.

Chapter 9 (added: 05/10/2011)

Melanie Swift found out quickly, that motivation for her required task, came in many forms. In addition to the sting of the crop on her bottom, Andrea would occasionally reach down and tickle the trussed blonde's ribs. The peels of involuntary laughter would paralyze the secretary's tongue temporarily. But that same laughter generated vibrations that added a new wrinkle to her captor's oral stimulation.

But by far, the greatest motivator was, Melanie's basic need for air. Every so often Andrea would writhe and shift her hips. This caused her sex to press down on the adulteress's nose, cutting off oxygen. The voluptuous blonde would then double her efforts, trying to get the redhead to rock back, thus freeing her airway.

Andrea Walston looked down at the bound and writhing beauty locked between her legs and smiled. THIS, was the ultimate power. Having complete control over another human being sent shudders up her spine. And in spite of her obvious reluctance, her prisoner was proving quite proficient with her tongue. The redhead watched, as Melanie's torso and folded, elevated legs writhed from her efforts. It reminded the jilted wife of a salmon, exhaustedly thrashing at the end of its spawning run.

For her part, Melanie was becoming more desperate under already desperate circumstances. Though she could see practically nothing, her hearing worked just fine. She heard Andrea's groans and squeals, as the redhead achieved two of the required three climaxes. However, fatigue and cramping were now taking its toll.

The blonde's tongue felt swollen and moved much more sluggishly. The muscles in her neck were knotting, as well as those along her curved spine. Her face was slick with her saliva and Andrea's orgasmic discharge. Andrea seemed to simultaneously, become more sensitized yet more impervious to the blonde's ministrations. Oblivious to the fact of the secretary's duress, or more likely just ignoring it, the redhead continued to smack Melanie's bottom with the crop and jerking her hips every which way, the blonde's head forced to mimic every move.

Then, Andrea let out a feral howl and began to shudder. Her love juice gushed out of her sex, washing over Melanie's face once more. More than a fair portion spilled into the blonde's mouth, most of which she was forced to swallow in order to breath. Andrea collapsed back on the bed, her hips still writhing in the afterglow of the final orgasm.

Melanie could do nothing but lie there impatiently and await her release from this degrading pose. A few moments passed, then the blonde snorted angrily into the redhead's snatch. She was rewarded with the sound of Andrea's soft snore.

"The bitch fell asleep!" The secretary fumed.

She tried thrashing her head to wake her captor up. When that failed, she reluctantly thrust out her fatigued tongue, hoping the stimulation would awaken the slumbering Mrs. Walston. To her chagrin, her best efforts resulted in only causing the redhead's hips to thrust lazily in her slumber. When Andrea awoke an hour later, Melanie's body was a mass of knotted muscles.

"Oh pet," Mrs. Walston said dreamily, "we must do that again soon."

"Oh by all means," thought Melanie furiously, "but next time without this fucking ring in my mouth. Then I'll bite off more than just a sarcastic remark!"

After unstrapping herself from the beleaguered blonde, Andrea climbed off the bed and stretched, then slipped a short, silk robe over her nude body. She was apparently in no hurry to release the secretary from her strenuous position. Melanie tried to make clear her discomfort, with several garbled yet loud "acks" and "eeh's".

"Now what did I tell you about speaking out of turn?" The redhead admonished.

"No matter," she continued, "it's been a busy day for both of us. Wait there whilst I prepare your sleeping arrangements."

"Yeah, right." Melanie fumed. "I'll just hang out here 'til you get back."

"Bitch!" She added silently. It didn't make her feel any better.

The blonde heard soft sounds behind her, but couldn't turn enough to see what the redhead was up to. Shortly after the sounds stopped, Andrea sat on the bed once more. She brushed away some strands of blonde hair that had stuck to her prisoner's sweaty, sticky face. Melanie, feeling that she'd been more than patient, could hold her tongue no longer.

"Ehh Eeh OWH!" She demanded for release.

Andrea's displeasure showed clearly on her face.

"Well!" She exclaimed. "It's clear that somebody doesn't follow instructions very well. And I, for one, am not going to have your chattering away disrupt my sleep!"

Mrs. Walston snatched something off the bed and before Melanie could get a good look at it, thrust it into the blonde's gaping mouth without bothering to remove the ring gag. Instantly, the salty aftertaste of Andrea's arousal was replaced by the sharp tang of rubber. As Andrea buckled the strap behind Melanie's head, the captive could feel the wide panel of padded leather pressing across the bottom portion of her face. The now familiar sound of a padlock snapping shut behind her head, informed her that the gag was not going to be removed any time soon.

Andrea held up the grenade-sized rubber bulb for the blonde to see. Melanie also noted the rubber tube running from it, disappearing beneath her nose. And then Andrea began to squeeze. Simultaneously, the flaccid rubber mass in her mouth began to grow. Ignorant of the term "pump gag", Melanie nonetheless quickly ascertained its function.

The rubber swelled quickly, filling the blonde's involuntarily gaping mouth. It continued to expand, even when it could find no more voids to fill. It then grew firm, as though it were a solid chunk of rubber. The pressure became so intense, that it actually lifted Melanie's teeth off the ring locked behind them. Miss Swift let out a squeal that immediately piled up behind the blockage.

"hhnngnnff!" She tried to let her captor know that she couldn't possibly bear the enormous, sound smothering obstruction.

Apparently satisfied with the results, Andrea stopped pumping and detached the hose from the front of the gag. Melanie's eyes bulged and watered from the relentless pressure. She stared beseechingly up at the redhead, but saw no compassion. Once more, Andrea hopped off the bed, her robe popping open in the process. She seemed not the least bit worried about her exposure.

Melanie's frantic hums of distress took on a sound of pained relief, as the cord holding aloft the spreader bar between her knees was unfastened. Her full weight once more resting on the bed, the secretary tried to twist and writhe the knots out of her aching spine. Mrs. Walston allowed little time for recovery, for she hauled the folded adulteress over to the edge of the bed.

Andrea then jangled a set of small keys before the bound blonde's eyes. Actually, Melanie noted, it was two sets of keys. She had no reservation as to what they unlocked.

"I thought we'd share the prizes of our new found relationship." Mrs. Walston said, slipping one set of keys on to the slender gold necklace she wore.

"These are to the wrist and ankle cuffs." She explained. "You get to keep the matching set."

"I'll hold on to the keys for your head harness and chastity belt." Andrea added. "But I'll let you hold the key to my treasure chest. There're all kinds of toys in it we'll be trying out tomorrow. But for now, it's time to get some rest."

With that, Andrea connected the spare set of keys to the ring on a 1", white leather choker. The narrow band was then buckled around Melanie's slender throat. The secretary could not feel the cool, machined objects which represented her freedom touching her skin, but she knew they were there. There, but utterly out of reach. The blonde knew they had been placed there to taunt her and it was working. Freedom from her ordeal was within her grasp, yet she could not grasp them.

Not bothering to remove any of Melanie's restraints, Andrea simply hoisted the restrained adulteress off the bed with a grunt. As the blonde was turned, she noted that the doors to an armoire had been swung open, its contents strewn to the floor.

"She can't be serious!" Melanie thought.

She was. Andrea carried her helpless feminine bundle over to the wardrobe and placed her kneeling inside. Then she leaned the blonde forward until Melanie's chin and breasts were pressed against the back of the cabinet. Bound as she was, there was little chance that the secretary would pitch over during the night. The coming hours promised to be most uncomfortable.

"If I hear any fuss from you," Andrea cautioned, "I'm going to make what's happened so far seem like a tea party!"

"Oh," she added, "I hope you don't sleep with a night light."

Andrea tittered mockingly and shut the doors of the armoire, cloaking Melanie in darkness. The secretary listened through the wooden walls of the cabinet, to the soft sounds of her abductor preparing for bed. Soon, all was quiet (except for her body's protests of its awkward state).

What should have been a moment of gloom filled depression for the captive, there was instead a narrow window of hope. Melanie fought against the strap pinning her elbows behind her and strained her fingers toward the waist belt. There was a moments panic when at first she first couldn't find it. But then, her thumb and forefinger closed around the hair pin.

With as much care as she could manage under such desperate conditions, the blonde extracted the slender metal shaft from its hiding place. Carefully, she rotated it and began poking it at the padlock that dangled from her wrist cuff.

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