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association day 6 by adrian hunter and chelsea shepard

Association (a serial bdsm novel)
By Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard
Note: past episodes can be accessed at

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Follow me...no, wait."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to unload the boxes.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now, this was a good one."


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

"You're bleeding."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe even something to keep her, say, tipsy.

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

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

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



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


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


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


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


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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

"Geoff-reee? Where arrrrrrre you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Will this suffice?"

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

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

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

"Don't tempt me, Brenda."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sabrina's eyes squinted to avert the glare.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geoffrey returned with a red plastic bucket.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

I fell into a light agitated sleep and dreamed X-rated visions all
(Continued in Association - Day 6)
Copyright 2002 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard. All rights
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