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Justine

By: kurtknout



Justine: FIRST BONDAGE

*

ONE

Justine paused at the door of the shingled Berkeley house--built in the twenties, probably; mature pine trees, slightly unkempt landscaping like all the others on this residential block--ordinary, charmingly seedy. So why was she standing here, sweating slightly, so reluctant to ring the doorbell? Twenty nine, an associate professor in the psychology department at UC Berkeley, perceived as gorgeous ("it's true! It's true!' 

she told herself before her mirror on a daily basis), smart, and usually unflappable; why was her throat so dry, her pulse so fast now? And why had she dressed so provocatively?

"That goddamned class ," she thought : "They talked me into this. And I really can't back out, So--here goes!" She rang the bell at the unmarked door, which was opened by a middle aged woman: full figured, with a pleasant round face, blonde braids and kindly blue eyes--but wearing a tight, blatantly sexy leather cat suit--like an overweight Emma Peel, Justine wildly thought, as she stammered:

"I --uh---- I have an appointment with Mr. Schrechlich--I'm Professor Jousse."

The woman looked at her with a slightly sardonic smile. "Professor Jousse. OK. And he is--Herr Doktor Schrechlich. Have a seat, it won't be long." She gestured to a chair in the small foyer, and returned to her desk.

Justine sat and nervously crossed and recrossed her long legs. 'This skirt is too short,' she thought. 'How did I get myself into this?' 

****************

She reviewed last Tuesday's class. She had been assigned to run a seminar for grad students on "Sexual Aberrations: Morality's last stand?" by her slightly repellent department head, Sidney Peltz. She was pretty sure that the assignment was in retaliation for her amused--amused, yes that would have been the worst insult--rejection of his sexual advances. Sure enough, the class, with only six students, was challenging her from the first session.

"Lets get this straight, teach!" Zach, a would be rap artist, had claimed at the first class:"Morality is no longer a valid concept! Anything goes! And I'm delighted to discuss it with a gorgeous luscious honey like yourself--as long as I get my credits!, Capiche?" The other students apparantly subcribed to the same academic psychology; they voiced approval. Justine took her best shot. 

"Zach--or whoever you are--I'll learn your names, I promise. Now, we intend to do a serious survey of our currently chaotic sexual scene. I said serious. This is not a course in sniggering and tittering. And if I am a target for your puerile fantasies, please keep it to yourself. Any questions?" Zach seemed abashed, his challenge crushed. 'That went pretty well', Justine congratulated herself.

"UH-Ms. Jousse. Will there be any lab work? I mean, any actual--uh real life experiential stuff?" Amy, an earnest Oriental girl with an innocent face, glasses and a lustrous curtain of long black hair (but wearing low cut jeans, a navel ring and a tight t shirt over her perky breasts) had asked.

"Amy--are you Amy? Field studies may be possible; we'll see how the class evolves. For now, I have a reading list for you...."

That was three weeks ago. To Justine's surprise, the class had gone pretty well; Zach somewhat subdued, Amy and Martin and the others involved; Jamahl the lone black student a bit distant; she had not yet figured him out. They had examined traditional sexual issues, and were now discussing the fringe issues; perversions, on this occasion, bondage and discipline.

Vicki, serious, with her no nonsense hairdo and granny glasses, but full figured under the thrift shop sweaters and droopy skirts she chose to wear, said: "We've seen some of these assigned videos, but-I don't get it! What's all this rope and handcuff stuff about? I don't understand why---"

Amy jumped in. "That's because you have to try this stuff! Really do it--" she blushed. "Uh, I think so, anyway."

Zach was right there. "Yes! Of course! We have to experience this 

bondage stuff--come back, share our trips, maybe write a report: Campus Perverts in Bondage! That would be rad!"

The class laughed, Justine smiled as well.

"No, I mean it!" Zach was intense now. "Let's all go out this weekend, do our own bondage thing--Amy, I'd love to tie you up, you sexy thing" Amy, smiling, gave him the finger.--"OK, Ok, each of us do a report--how about it?"

Martin, thoughtful, quiet, chimed in: "That's really a good idea! Real world stuff is good, like a scientific experiment. We're mainly sitting here and talking about stuff. Let's really check something out!"

There was a murmur of approval. the class turned to Justine. She said: "Well, if you all want to--this will be voluntary, of course, I see no reason why we can't..."

"You said 'we', Ms Jousse! Are you going to do a little bondage trip too?" said Amy, The class chimed in: "All right! Do it, Ms J!"

Trapped! Justine smiled nervously. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. I wouldn't know how to begin to contact any of these--people, I...."

Zach interrupted. "If that's your only problem. I've got one contact right here in Berkeley. Come on, Ms Jousse! The professor in bondage! Ms. Jousse, all tied up! Hot stuff!" His wide smile was infectious; the class chimed in, even Vicki. "Do it! It will be awesome!"

Justine reflected for a second; they seemed sincere, energized. This didn't feel like some sort of a student engineered set up. Besides, watching those tapes, the ones she'd screened before the class, those helpless bound and chained victims, she had felt a funny little stirring she couldn't quite identify; she found herself holding her breath as the ropes were knotted tighter and tighter. Those delicious helpless women!

So she said. "OK. Here's the assignment. Each of you--each of us--

experience a bondage session before next week. Use your discretion; it 

doesn't have to be heavy. Individual research is best, but do it with a classmate, if you want to--or a partner. No rules, no restrictions. We'll share our results on Monday, And--and, this may be a big mistake, but I'll do it too----and tell you all about it. That's a promise"

*************

And now she found herself sitting nervously across from Ms. Leather Lady, more uneasy by the minute. She crossed her legs; her little black dress was way too short, she realized. 'I'm probably sending the wrong message'. Behind the closed double doors to the--living room? she heard an irregular series of dull blows, with a --she couldn't dismiss the adjective--meaty sound. And some muffled moans? sobs? --something of the sort. Distracted, she picked up a magazine on the coffee table before her: Bondage Delights. She opened the magazine at random; a lurid photo of a chubby brunette, splayed across some sort of wooden frame, nude, exposed, with tight ropes restraining her everywhere, leapt out at her..

Justine gulped, quickly closed the magazine, but moments later peeked again. On this page a redheaded victim was bent over some sort of sawhorse, in the foreground a silhouetted man brandished a whip; her naked bottom was already bright red and welted.

Justine gulped again, swallowed, and got to her feet. She was already rehearsing what she would tell the leather lady: "I'm sorry, I'm going to have to cancel this appointment, Something's come up.....'"

The double doors opened. A stylish blonde in her mid thirties burst out. She wore an expensive linen suit and silk blouse, but was somehow---disheveled looking, Justine thought. Her mouth was slack, half smiling; she seemed to stare right past Justine as she rushed out the door to the street. Justine turned to cancel her appointment.

Standing in the doorway was a man: medium height, slim, trimmed beard, with an emphatic face: craggy brow, cheekbones, nose, and chin--

but not unhandsome. His hair, close cropped, was graying, his eyes were brown, his gaze intense. He wore a soft black shirt--velvet, maybe, and 

chino pants and loafers. No big deal, Justine told herself, and yet--

there was something compelling in his stance, his gaze, his barely amused smile. The leather clad blonde whispered in his ear, handed him a file card. He read it and raised his gaze to Justine, his grin a little wider now.

"Ms.--no, Professor--Jousse. An academic! An honor! Come in! Come on!" He bowed slightly, subtle irony investing his inviting gesture. She stood. A bit coquettishy, perhaps. This dress was so short!

*

'Shit! can't back out now!' 'Why not? You heard those moans.' 'No, it wouldn't be--I don't know--polite. Not what I promised the class.' Her inner voices battled as she found herself led into a modest office: three comfortable chairs, a coffee table, lamps, a nice Persian rug; on the far wall another set of imposing oak double doors; he eased her into a chair, almost without volition on her part.

"Professor, is it? I'm Hugo Schrechlich. Your first session, yes? What sort of--exploration do you have in mind?" He leaned forward, attentive; he did not shake her hand. 

Justine, nervous, tried to make her voice matter of fact, business-like. (she failed.) "Uh, Mr.--Dr,--whatever; I"m here to explore your views on--the bondage thing, its appeal, its..."

He interrupted. "You're asking for an interview? Is that right? I'm sorry, I don't do interviews. My work is--purely experiential."

"But--I'm doing a class on aberrant sexuality; I thought that my students could benefit from your views....."

He interrupted again: "Without insulting you, your approach is useless--what I do is not academic bullshit. I don't talk about a color chart when you can look over your shoulder and see a glorious sunset--or a dental x-ray when you can experience a root canal, if you will. So, I have wasted your time, you have wasted mine. There will be no charge. Good day, and good luck on your project."

He rose from his chair; Justine also got to her feet. " Mr--Doctor --

Hugo--I'm --really searching here--for my students. Perhaps I didn't"t say 

it very well, but I do want some insight into what you do--maybe to, as you say, experience it."--'watch out for this guy!' her little inner voice told her, but she brushed it aside, with a tiny tingle of anticipation.

He stopped and stared into her eyes for a few seconds; they were almost the same height (she wore 3 inch heels), she noticed. She felt his penetrating eyes reading her, almost invading her. He spoke:

"Very well. By experiential, I mean 'hands on. The initial session is 

about an hour, I charge a hundred bucks. You will learn more, I promise you, than a whole month scrounging in the library or on internet. But when we step through those doors, I am in charge! Do you agree?"

"I--i think so, But --can I stop at any time? I mean, I don't intend to, but...."

"There all sorts of safeguards; this is a voluntary expression, an exploration, after all. Please come in."

The larger room behind the second set of doors was not nearly as cozy; forbidding, actually. Windowless, one or two folding chairs, a floor length mirror on one wall, a wooden floor, what looked like gym equipment along one of the walls and racks of ropes and leather gadgets that Justine didn't recognize.

"So we begin." Hugo's voice was noticeably crisper, his demeanor more commanding. "You may want to take off that lovely little dress; It could get wrinkled." He pretended not to notice Justine's consternation as he proceeded :

"I won't do your interview, but, maybe, I'll talk a bit as you undress, give you a bit of theory.. Yes, that's good! Put your clothes on that chair. Fine! Now: Bondage and discipline, maybe sadism and masochism, boring cliches, but fundamental! Who's on top. who's on the bottom? Bondage is helplessness, helplessness is no more responsibility; no more responsibility is--freedom! A paradox! But that's enough talk; too much, actually. Incidentally, you are gorgeous, professor.""

Justine hesitated, but, summoning up her courage. shehad taken off her little black dress, and now sat--proudly, defiantly, she hoped--a scant three feet from Hugo. Now half naked, she regretted the wardrobe she had selected for this confrontation: a flimsy lace bra cradling her full breasts, a garter belt attached to dark silk stockings--what could she have been thinking of?--diaphanous panties, and those high heeled pumps. She has dressed, she suddenly flashed, just like the victims in those B and D movies she'd screened the night before!

*

"You're----very provocative! But of course you know that." He didn't 

leer; he didn't smile. "But what you are wearing--what you have chosen to wear--tells me that you are--in your subconscious--a courtesan, a 

slave, a whore, a sexual submissive---and totally unaware of it. Yes?"

Justine was indignant, or tried to be; his words had flustered her. she sputtered a bit as she answered:

"I--I'm none of the above; I'm independent, a professional woman, 

no one's slave, thank you, and--and I happen to like nice underwear!" 

She stood proudly, threw out her chest, and noted to her surprise , that her nipples were starting to erect, straining against the gauzy fabric of her brassiere. He slowly scanned her body, with a slight sardonic nod.

" Of course. Now we begin. Turn around, please." Hugo had a coil of soft cotton rope --clothesline-- in his hand. "Arms behind your back, please--that's right." He crossed her wrists, encircled them, made a tight knot, then roped her arms above the elbows; in seconds she was securely bound. He stood in front of her then, very close, his gaze intense. "Now stand for a minute. struggle against the ropes, if you wish. Tell yourself this: I am tied, I am a captive; everything has changed! Let it sink in!"

Justine heard him; her elbows were pulled back, her wrists tightly tied at the small of her back, her breasts thrust forward; there was no give in the simple bondage. 'I'm tied! captive! Just as he said!' And a whole rush of panicked emotions flooded her brain: 'Omigod what am I doing here? Half naked with this pervert! Helpless! He could rape me--he could--I must have been crazy!' Helpless!' 

He was right: two yards of clothesline could change your attitude absolutely! She shifted nervously, testing the ropes . No slack at all. She 

started to sweat.

He untied her. and stood, smiling slightly, until she shook her head, flustered, rubbed her wrists, and stood before him, perhaps a little less arrogant, a little less in control. She was shaken.That moment of bondage, brief as it was, had been--spooky! And something else...

"So, That was about a minute. Do you see that the experience is not the printed page--or the video tape?" He scanned Justine's face; her chin up, still defiant, but her eyes would not quite meet his, and her mouth trembled slightly as she nodded a silent 'yes'..

He continued: "You are free to go now. I think you have already learned something. I also think you will not go--because I have learned a 

little something about you as well, my gorgeous Professor. You are a very proud woman. Will you slink out of my lair in your high priced prostitute's 

lingerie, or will you stay to learn what I am about to teach you?"

Justine's head spun. She cringed, for a moment, rubbing her wrists, no longer sure of herself. Two. maybe more, messages competed: 'Get out of here! Now!" and: 'I really want to do this!'---- and anger, pride: 'Prostitute's underwear! how dare he! He's sexually attracted to me and can't admit it! Well, this old man's not going to intimidate me!'

Pride won. Her pride had got her in trouble before. But she threw back her head and said bravely: " I'm paying for the hour. I--look forward to the--experience," He responded with another slight, ironic nod.

"Take off you bra, please; there will be some ropes in that area." His voice was flat, matter of fact, as though he had not won some sort of psychological victory. Justine complied, casually, she hoped, draping the flimsy bra on the chair alongside her dress. She felt very, very naked, suddenly. She crouched, not sure what would happen next. very of his eyes fastened on her lush big nippled breasts.

*

"From now on, I am your master, and you will so address me, understood? And you will obey my every command--or risk severe punishment. If such punishment is----intolerable, you will have an escape word; you, after all, are a volunteer. A good word is 'zebra' or 'Eskimo'; 'please!' 'Please stop!' and 'No more!' and similar dramatic pleas are 

often part of the game, your act; they don't count. Are you clear on that?"

"Yes." Justine replied. He was already behind her, tieing her wrists with thinner, more supple rope. He moved quickly, lashing her upper arms and elbows until they were nearly touching, running rope below and above her breasts, over her shoulders, behind her neck, securely cinched 

to the elbow and wrist bonds. In just a few minutes, Justine's upper body was immobilized, painfully so. Almost playfully, he knotted three strands of rope through her jaws; a kind of gag, but more a symbol of humiliation, she thought. .

*

He stood back,gloating just a bit at his victim, He repeated:"I didn't hear your answer. Are you perfectly clear on the rules?"

Justine was gritting her teeth. These ropes were so tight! She wasn't experiencing any of the psychological bullshit that the books 

described--just helplessness, and pain! She answered, mumbling against the ropes in her mouth. "Y-- yes, I think so--hey! this is really uncomfortable!"

"One more time," Hugo's voice was stern. but very soft; he leaned against her, almost whispering in her ear :"Yes , Master, is the correct form of address. Say it!"

Justine's stubbornness and pride kicked in; probably way too late; this man had demeaned her, mocked her--"professor"----and was now trying to break her spirit with this Master business! Tied up, whatever. she wasn't going to do it! She jutted her jaw and bit her lower lip or tried to; the hemp ropes between her teeth did not allow it; and glared at Hugo.

Hugo gently stroked her jaw. "My dear, insolence is not an appropriate response! Now, quickly! Yes, Master!"

Her knees shaking, as Hugo stood close, idly fondling one erect nipple, she clamped her jaw shut, refusing to speak the demeaning phrase, and mumbled: "You're not my master---- and never will be!"

"What delightful----and foolish-- insolence! One last chance, professor! 'Yes, Master!" Justine stared at him, proudly--and foolishly--mute.

"You are a special case." Hugo mused, tweaking one, then both nipples to full erection. She flinched, but refused to moan; her nipples had never been so hard before. 

"Submissive and foolish, too! Misplaced defiance! I love it--very common in the secret masochist, the seeker of punishment and humiliation. And, yes, pain! Very well; you are silent, you will stay silent!"

From a rack in the back of the room he selected a rubber ball gag, showed it to Justine with a mocking smile, removing the rope gag before he inserted it--or tried to. She twisted her neck, gritted her teeth, resisted the gag, nearly the size of a tennis ball; Hugo closed her nostrils 

with a thumb and forefinger; when she finally gasped for breath, he forced the big ball into her open mouth behind her teeth, and strapped it tightly behind her neck. Gasping, salivating, almost choking in the first few seconds, Justine, jaws distended by the severe gag, was now truly mute.

*

Hugo stood back, his smile wider now; satanic, gloating. Hands on hips, he surveyed his captive, tottering on her high heels, struggling futilely against her bonds, trying to speak, to scream, anything; the only 

sound that escaped the mouth filling gag was a tiny pitiful bleat. Justine was just beginning to realize that her escape route, her magic word was no longer an option. She was now totally in the hands of this--sadist? sexual predator? ---- she had no idea.. She had been uneasy in the waiting room, defiant, confrontational a few minutes ago, and now--she was frankly scared--and strangely thrilled..


Justine & Sabrina



...hart ist der wilde Westen.....

Es empfiehlt sich, die Justine, Wild-ist-der-Westen-Reihe von Ghost ebenfalls zu lesen.

Auf den Geschehnissen in den Justine-Geschichten baut dieser parallel geführte Handlungsbogen auf. Die Geschichten werden sich vereinigen, werden noch ergänzt werden durch die Abenteuer der Kiowa-Häuptlingstochter Moonshine (danke für die Hilfe und die vielen Anregungen an Vanessamaus1988).

Für die Freunde von hartem Sex, schönen, mutigen Frauen und spannender Handlung.

*

Teil 1

Sie ließ den Brief sinken und zwinkerte in die untergehende Sonne. Sie lauschte den Zikaden und dem Hufschlag einiger Pferde auf der Koppel hinter den Stallungen.

In der Küche hörte sie Nigel hantieren, ihren schwarzen Hausboy, der so herrliche Gerichte zaubern konnte, Rezepte von seiner Mutter, aus dem schönen Louisiana.

Die Wirklichkeit war aber hier, in Texas, auf der grossen Ranch, mit der Pferdezucht, die sie von ihrem Vater geerbt hatte und die Tex Long, der grosse, knorrige, alte Texaner für sie leitete.

Sabrina war nicht für die Rancharbeit geschaffen. Nicht für die Sesshaftigkeit oder gar für Familie. Obwohl sie Kinder über alles liebte. Nur nicht den ganzen Tag lang.......

Sie seufzte, und blickte hinüber zu den Stallungen, wo ein paar Cowboys gerade ihre Pferde versorgten. Es war so friedlich hier............

„Sie sind sehr schön heute, Missu. Hier, ein kalter Drink, in einer halben Stunde ist essen."

Nigel stand neben ihr, der treue, liebe Nigel, so schwarz wie Ebenholz und blickte auf sie hinunter. Sie musste lächeln. Normalerweise trug sie keine Kleider, aber heute, hier zuhause, hatte sie Lust darauf gehabt. Es war ein weisses, leichtes Kleid, vorne durchgeknöpft und wie fast immer trug sie nicht viel darunter, nichts, um genau zu sein, aber das brauchte ja niemand zu wissen. Sie blickte auf ihre nackten Beine und ihre Füsse, die lässig auf dem Geländer der Terrasse lagen auf der sie saß.

Braungebrannt, perfekte Haut, schlanke, lange Beine, wunderschön geformte, zierliche Füsse und Zehen. Sie war sehr zufrieden mit ihrem Aussehen, schulterlanges, fast schwarzes Haar, das schöne Gesicht ihrer mexikanischen Mutter, aber feingliedriger, braune, manchmal allerdings kalt blickende Augen, ein schlanker Körper, nicht zu grosse, aber sehr feste Brüste. Sabrina war fast 180 cm gross und ziemlich kräftig, trotz ihrer fraulichen Erscheinung. Sie war eine meisterhafte Reiterin, konnte mit Revolvern und Winchester ebenso tödlich präzise umgehen wie mit dem Messer.

Der Mann, der diese Frau im Zweikampf unterschätzte, war schon tot. Und es waren schon einige tot........

„Danke, Nigel."

Sabrina wandte sich wieder dem Brief zu. Erst das Telegram von der Pinkerton-Agentur in New Orleans und jetzt dieser Brief. Sie blickte nochmals auf das Datum, das Justine an den oberen Rand geschrieben hatte. Er war fast einen Monat alt. Das Telegram dagegen kam vor 4 Tagen.

Manny Green, der rothaarige Ire mit dem Backenbart, hatte ihr geschrieben:

>Probleme in Stoke-Town -- Stop - John Miller berichtet Streit zwischen Ranger Harvard und Justine -- Stop -- Redcliff soll da sein -- Stop -- sie wird möglicherweise Hilfe brauchen -- Stop -- wir können nicht helfen, Justine nicht mehr für uns unterwegs -- Stop -- vielleicht in grosser Gefahr -- Stop -- Manny Green

Probleme in Stoke-Town? Ja, konnte man sagen. Justine berichtete ihr in ihrem Brief dass sie diesen Ranger Harvard (nie gehört, den Namen, dachte Sabrina und irrte sich hier zum ersten Mal) zur Strecke bringen wollte, weil er den Kiowas, ihren Freunden, das Land streitig machte und auch sonst allerlei auf dem Kerbholz zu haben schien. Aber das war es nicht, was sie beunruhigte, sie kannte Justine seit 10 Jahren, als sie beide noch Teenager waren und sie wusste, wie Justine reiten und schiessen konnte. Was ihr Sorge machte, war der Bericht, der folgte. Justine war offenbar von Redcliff, einem Ex-Texas-Ranger, der ganz offensichtlich zur anderen Seite des Gesetztes gewechselt war, an diesen Harvard verraten worden. Sie hatten Justine gefangengenommen (unvorstellbar, dachte Sabrina, das haben in all den Jahren ihres Wissens nach nur die Apachen fertiggebracht, einmal) und nicht nur das: Justine berichtete, sie sei von Harvards Horde, Redcliff und Harvard selbst brutal vergewaltigt worden (Sabrina erschauerte bei dem Gedanken unter ihrem Kleid) und danach nach einem missglückten Fluchtversuch nackt ausgepeitscht worden, ausgespreizt zwischen zwei Bäume gebunden, vor allen Männern. Sabrina bekam eine Gänsehaut bei der Vorstellung was ihre langjährige Weggefährtin und Freunden erleiden hatte müssen. Und stellte gleichzeitig fest, dass der Gedanke an die Geschehnisse in Stoke-Town auch zu einer gewissen Wärme in ihren Intimzonen führte was sie zwar sofort wütend aus ihrem Denken verbannte, aber an sich selbst doch schon zur Genüge kannte.

Sie waren zusammen aufgewachsen, Justine`s Vater war im Kolonialkrieg mit den Mexikanern als der Vorgesetzte von Sabrina`s Vater gefallen und ihre Familie hatte die Vollwaise sofort bei sich aufgenommen.

Die Mädchen wuchsen wild und inmitten von Männern, Pferden und Freiheit auf. Beide lernten ausgezeichnet schießen, reiten und kämpfen, beide waren hochintelligent und mutig. Und beide hatten einen gefährlichen Hang zur Gefahr.

Bei Sabrina bewirkte sowohl Gefahr als auch Schmerz oder anderes körperliches Unwohl-Befinden wie Kälte immer wieder eine Art sexuelle Stimulation. Je mehr Gefahr, desto mehr Stimulation. Sie spielten schon frühzeitig miteinander, mit ihren Körpern, aber in jener Zeit blieb der Kontakt zum anderen Geschlecht lange schwierig. Und was die Jungs von den anderen Ranchen oder der nahen Stadt bieten konnten, war einfach zu wenig.

Außerdem hätten sowohl Sabrina`s Vater, der knorrige, alte Colonel als auch Tex Long jeden sofort erschossen der auch nur daran dachte.........

Sie waren einfach anders als alle anderen Mädchen in Nord-Texas, ganz anders.

Und nun berichtete Justine, dass sie noch bei den Kiowas wäre, aber wohl nicht bleiben könne, sie würde noch einen Versuch wagen, Harvard zu erledigen und dann zu ihr, Sabrina, nach Texas kommen, in die Wärme des Südens und hier den Winter verbringen.

Sabrina lächelte bei der Vorstellung, ihre schöne, wilde, blonde Freundin hier bei sich zu haben, auf der Ranch, und gemeinsam mit den neuen Wildpferden zu arbeiten, die sie letzte Woche gefangen hatten.

Sie dachte an Justine, erinnerte sich, wie sie beide gemeinsam mit den Texas-Rangern Redcliff und McGregor im Süden Arizonas, im mexikanischen Grenzgebiet den verschwundenen Waffentransport gesucht hatten. Sie hatten ihn in einer spektakulären Aktion den mexikanischen Grenzbanditen abgejagt, waren in einer halsbrecherischen Aktion mitten in der Nacht mitsamt dem Wagen davongejagt und hatten das Lager der Mexe in die Luft gejagt. In der Nacht und in dem heillosen Durcheinander hatten sie allerdings irgendwie Justine verloren, sie waren auf der wilden Flucht getrennt worden und sie hatten keine Möglichkeit, sie zu suchen, denn sie mussten den Wagen mit der Munition und den Waffen zu einem Armee-Stützpunkt in Sicherheit bringen.

Sabrina war damals in grosser Sorge gewesen und schließlich zu den Kiowas geritten.

Was sie dort fand war eine völlig erschöpfte, verletzte und vergewaltigte Justine, die einem brutalen Stamm von Apachen in die Hände gefallen war.

Die beiden beschlossen, Rache zu nehmen, aber bis heute war es ihnen nicht wirklich möglich gewesen, diese brutale Indianer-Horde zu stellen.

Sabrina seufzte, als sie daran dachte, wie ihr Justine Monate später das Leben gerettet hatte. Sie hatte sie allerdings vor einem ähnlichen Erlebnis wie sie es hatte erdulden müssen, auch nicht bewahren können.

Sie waren beide mit einem Trupp der Kavallerie unterwegs gewesen, es war früher März, auf den Bergen lag Schnee und es war bitterkalt in den Steinwüsten von Utah. Sie jagten gemeinsam eine Gruppe von Mescaleros, halb Indianer, halb Mexikaner, die schlimmsten aller Banditen. Diese Gruppe, bestehend aus etwa 50 Mann, hatte mehrere Ranchen und kleine Städte überfallen und ausgeraubt, sie hatten gemordet, geplündert und vergewaltigt und sie hatten mit ihrem letzten Coup 200 Goldbarren erbeutet, die der Regierung gehörten. Genau deswegen waren die beiden Pinkerton-Schönheiten mit dabei.

Einen von den Banditen hatte Justine bei einer Schießerei in El Paso schon erledigt, gleich drei weitere Sabrina einen Tag später als sie die flüchtende Gruppe stellen konnten. Und 5 weitere konnten sie der Armee u. den Ranger übergeben.

Hinter dem Rest waren sie her.

Justine und Sabrina trennten sich von der Kavallerie um einem Hinweis nachzugehen, von dem der Captain nichts hielt. Seine Männer waren müde und die Pferde brauchten eine Pause sie hatten die Mescaleros nun schon seit Wochen von Arizona bis hier herauf in den Süden Utah`s gejagt.

Die beiden Frauen waren weit hinauf in die Berge geritten und auf eine Spur gestossen. Die Fährte teilte sich jedoch bald und keine Wagenspur war zu sehen. Sie trennten sich, jede verfolgte eine Fährte und es wurde vereinbart, dass sie sich in 24 Stunden genau hier am Scheidpunkt wieder treffen sollten.

Sabrina kam nicht weit, sie machte einen ihrer ganz seltenen Fehler und sie ritt in die Falle.

Gerade als sie ihr Pferd tränkte und feststellte dass die Fährte schon Tage alt sein musste und daher die falsche Spur der sie folgte, kamen sie von allen Seiten. Es waren mindestens 15 oder 20 Mann, keine Chance für Sabrina, die noch dazu ihren langen, braunen Mantel trug und nicht schnell genug zum Colt kam. Die Winchester hing am Pferd, mit den Messern keine Chance.

Der Anführer kam grinsend auf sie zu, alle hatten ihre Waffen im Anschlag.

Er gab seinen Männern Befehle auf mexikanisch, in einem Dialekt, den sie nicht verstand.

Es waren, schmutzige, wilde Gesellen, die nun ihr Pferd wegführten und sich um sie herum versammelten.

„Du, Frau, Pinkerton, ja?"

Fragte der Anführer immer noch grinsend.

Sie schwieg. Er wollte näher kommen und Sabrina spannte die Muskeln für einen Angriff mit dem Messer. Wenn sie ihn als Geisel hätte, dann.....

Aber er gab einen weiteren Befehl und vier seiner Männer stellten sich mit den Gewehren im Anschlag, auf ihren Kopf zielend hinter sie. Zwei davon rissen ihr den Mantel herunter,

öffneten die Gurte für Patronen und Colts.

Sie trug weiche, lederne Schaftstiefel, dunkelbraune, dicke, lederne Reithosen, eine weisse Bluse mit Rüschen vorne (!) und ein schwarzes Jäckchen, vorne zusammengehalten von Lederbändern. Ihre schwarzen Haare waren zu einem Pferdeschwanz gebunden, der unter dem Hut hervorlugte.

Wieder ein Befehl des Anführers und zwei der Kerle begannen sie abzutasten, nach Waffen zu suchen. Sie hielt still, selbst als die grinsenden Männer sich an ihren Brüsten zu schaffen machten und ihr in den Schritt griffen, einer knetete ihren rechten Busen durch und rief etwas zu seinen Kollegen, was Heiterkeit und Gegröle auslöste. Er hatte offenbar gespürt, dass sie unter der Bluse nichts mehr trug.

Der Anführer kam näher, gerade als einer der Männer das eine Messer in ihrem Ärmel an der Lederscheide fand. Der Warnschrei kam sofort, aber zu spät. Sie bewegte sich blitzartig, pantherhaft. In einer flüssigen, mit den Augen kaum zu folgenden Bewegung hatte sie das Messer aus der Scheide in ihrem Nacken gezogen, war mit einem Satz beim Anführer und hielt ihm das scharfe Bärenmesser unter die Kehle. Keiner der Männer konnte reagieren.

„Waffen runter, sonst ist er tot." Die Männer senkten die Waffen, Sabrina sah in die Runde.

„Los, sag ihnen sie sollen mein Pferd herbringen und meine Waffen draufhängen." Flüsterte sie ins Ohr des Mescalen. Sie drückte ihn fest an sich, war grösser als er und der Mann war überrascht, welche Kraft in ihren Armen steckte.

„No comprende..." sagte er und hielt die Handflächen hoch zum Zeichen, dass er sie nicht verstand.

Gleich darauf schrie er leise auf, denn das Messer hatte an seiner Kehle die Haut geritzt und Blut floss in seinen Kragen, er stand auf Zehenspitzen.

„Ok, ok. Ich sage."

Und er ließ einen Redeschwall an seine Männer los. Die brachten ihr Pferd und hängten ihre Waffen auf den Sattelknauf.

Sabrina zog ein zweites, schmales, sehr scharfes Indianermesser aus ihrem Stiefel, mit zwei schnellen Schnitten durchtrennte sie den Gürtel und den Bund der Hose des Mescalen. Der ließ einen gurgelnden Laut aus, als ihr Messer unter seine Hoden fuhr und seinen Schwanz und seinen Hodensack leicht anhob.

„Uuuuaaah, no, no..." Er wurde steif, zumindest am Körper und riss die Augen auf.

„Eine winzige falsche Bewegung von dir oder deinen Compadres und du kannst deine Cochones selbst wieder zusammensuchen, hast du mich verstanden?"

Der Mescalero nickte heftig, seine Kumpanen starrten unglaubig auf das Bild dass sich ihnen bot. Ihr Anführer, einer der gemeinsten und brutalsten von ihnen stand da mit heruntergerutschten Hosen, da hing sein Gemächt und diese amerikanische Puta hielt ihm ein Messer an den Schwanz. Und der Senor schwitzte.

Sabrina rümpfte die Nase. Der Kerl stank nach ranziger Butter.

Mit einem leichten Druck schob sie ihn vorwärts, der Mescalero stieg vorsichtig aus der ihn behindernden Hose und ging langsam auf ihr Pferd zu.

Es hätte klappen können. Sie wollte ihn jetzt zwingen, den anderen zu befehlen, ihre Waffen alle auf einen Haufen neben ihrem Pferd zu legen und dann 20 Schritte zurückzugehen. Sie wollte mit einem Sprung aufs Pferd und ab durch die Mitte, sie war sicher, den Mescaleros auf dem Pferd entkommen zu können.

Es war Pech, Sabrina`s Pech, dass sie diesen einen Mescalero übersehen hatte, er hatte zuerst hinter einem Baum gestanden, weil er leicht humpelte, seit der Schiesserei in El Paso bei der diese blonde Wildkatze seinen Partner umgelegt hatte und ihm einen äußerst schmerzhaften Streifschuss an der Arschbacke verpasst hatte. Sehr unangenehm beim Reiten und außerdem war er seither ständige Zielscheibe des Spots seiner Compadres.

Und als sie den Anführer überwältigte, zog er sich wieder hinter den Baum zurück, in ihrem Rücken.

Nun sah er seine Chance. Die Mescaleros sind gut mit den Lederschleudern und er traf sie mit einem Stein genau am Hinterkopf. 

Etwas explodierte hinter ihren Augen, ein Schmerz schoss durch ihren Kopf und sie sah Sterne. Sabrina verlor kurz das Gleichgewicht und stöhnte auf.

Es war genug für die Mescaleros. Als sie wieder klar sehen konnte, lag sie auf dem Bauch, die Hände hinter ihrem Rücken stramm gefesselt. Sie schüttelte den Kopf um ihn klar zu bekommen als sie spürte wie an ihr herumgerissen wurde.

Die Männer waren gerade dabei, ihr die Stiefel von den Füssen zu zerren, dann kam die Lederhose dran. Sabrina versuchte sich zu wehren aber es war sinnlos.

Sie schnitten ihr noch die Jacke vom Leib dann drehten sie sie um.

Sabrina starrte in 20 dunkle Augenpaare, sie lag am Boden, ihre Bluse war nun schmutzig, ihre knielange Unterzieh-Hose ebenfalls. Die Mescaleros starrten sie an.

Zwei kamen und rissen sie hoch. 

Sie sah dem Anführer in die Augen, der triumphierend ihre Lederhose hochhielt. Dann zog er sie sich grinsend an. Er befühlte seinen Schwanz und seine Hoden, offenbar hatte sie ihn dort mit dem Messer verletzt. Dann griff er an seinen Hals, wo mittlerweile ein blütenweisser Verband, aus einem Stück ihres Blusenärmels wie sie feststellte, prangte.

Der Mescalero starrte sie hasserfüllt an.

„Wir reiten in Lager. Du laufen."

Dann sagte er etwas zu seinen Compadres, die sofort aufjohlten und den Kreis enger machten, aber ein Kommando des Anführers hielt sie auf.

„Aber nicht so laufen."

Er kam auf sie zu, der Griff der beiden Männer an ihren Oberarmen wurde fester, sie hörte das Klicken eines Revolvers und spürte den kalten Lauf an ihrem Hinterkopf.

„Kein Trick, du tot." Der Anführer hob warnend einen Zeigefinger, wie in der Schule.

Dann packte er ihre Bluse mit beiden Händen und fetzte sie auseinander, nahm ihr Messer und schnitt sie ihr mit wenigen Schnitten vom Leib.

Gejohle der anderen, er trat einen Schritt zurück und alle starrten auf den nun nackten Oberkörper von Sabrina, ihre festen Brüste, die durch die kühle Luft knallhart stehenden Brustwarzen. Keiner von ihnen hatte je eine so schöne Frau gesehen.

Nach einigen Atemzügen kam der Anführer wieder näher.

Sabrina dachte bei sich: >Nein, bitte nicht ganz nackt, bitte...

Aber sie hatte noch nicht ausgedacht war die Hose mit vier schnellen Schnitten ein Bündel weisser Fetzen im Gebüsch.

Und sie stand splitternackt vor den Mescaleros. Sie spürte die gierigen Blicke der Männer auf ihrer Haut beinahe körperlich.

Sabrina`s Möse war vollkommen rasiert, in der damaligen Zeit eine Art Wunder, und sie und Justine liebten das aber nun fühlte sie sich gegenüber diesen Männern noch nackter. Und langsam drang auch das Bewusstsein durch dass es bald Abend werden würde und schon ziemlich kühl war. Die Mescaleros starrten, redeten aufgeregt durcheinander und zeigten auf ihren nackten Körper. Sie erwartete beinahe, dass die Männer gleich hier über sie herfallen würden, aber der Anführer hatte seine Bandoleros im Griff wie es schien.

Sie hatte erwartet auf ihr Pferd gebunden zu werden, aber es kam noch schlimmer.

Die Mescaleros banden ihre Ellbogen hinter ihrem Rücken eng zusammen, wodurch ihre Brüste hervorgedrückt wurden und noch besser zur Geltung kamen. Natürlich wurde sie ständig von den werkenden Männern begrapst und gekniffen und befühlt, ihr Hintern, ihre Brüste und Brustwarzen und einige schwielige, dreckige Finger verirrten sich auch in ihre Scham. Sie ließ sich nichts anmerken von ihrer Panik, sie stand stolz und aufrecht nackt zwischen all den Männern.

Von dem Seil, dass ihre Ellbogen hielt führten sie ein anderes nach unten zogen es zwischen ihren Beinen durch und wieder hinauf, zwischen ihren Brüsten hindurch, dann ein Ringknoten, von dort zwei Seile über ihre Schultern wieder zur Querverbindung zwischen den Ellbogen. Es waren raue Seile und sie waren nass und sie wurden sehr fest angezogen. Sabrina stöhnte leicht auf, als das raue Seil in ihren Anus schnitt und tief zwischen ihre Schamlippen eindrang, sie teilte, und auf ihre Klit drückte.

Wenn die Seile trocknen würden, würden sie sich noch mehr zusammenziehen, noch mehr Schmerzen verursachen.

Ober ihren Brüsten an dem Knoten unter dem Hals befestigen die Männer ein weiteres, etwa 3 Meter langes Seil und dieses führte zum Pferd des Anführers.

Der stieg gerade grinsend auf und zog am Seil sodass Sabrina ein paar Schritte nach vor gehen musste. Sie seufzte schmerzvoll und überrascht auf.

Das Seil zwischen ihren Beinen rieb grausam in ihrer Scheide und an ihrem Anus.

„Nicht weit. Drei Stunden vielleicht." Der Anführer grinste sie böse an, dann trieb er sein Pferd an und trabte los. Sabrina musste hinter her laufen, wollte sie nicht auf dem Bauch liegend über den Boden gezogen werden.

Sie versuchte, auf ihren nackten Füssen Steinen und Ästen und Dornen auszuweichen, aber aufgrund des Tempos und der Tatsache, dass der Anführer immer wieder überraschend am Seil riss, was Sabrina stolpern ließ, hatte sie bald viele kleine Wunden an ihren Füssen und lief immer unsicherer.

Es ging weiter in die Berge, in einen kalten, wolkenverhangenen Abend hinein, über Waldboden zuerst, wobei der Mescalero kein Dornengebüsch ausließ um knapp daran vorbei zu reiten und dahinter abzubiegen damit Sabrina halb durch das Gebüsch brechen musste. Bald fing steiniger, sandiger Boden an und immer weiter näherten sie sich der Schneegrenze.

Die Schmerzen die das Seil zwischen ihren Beinen verursachte brachten sie zum Schwitzen, die Schmerzen in ihren nackten Füssen nahmen mit jeder Meile zu, sie hatte sich wohl schon einige Dornen eingetreten und an Steinen verletzt. Ihre Oberarme und Schenkel wiesen Kratzer von den Büschen auf, auch am Bauch und den wippenden Brüssten waren welche zu sehen, einige bluteten ganz leicht, wie die Mescaleros zufrieden feststellten und kommentierten.




Justine



"So anyway, I tied her up, turned her over on our bed, and spanked her a little bit ; she was squirming and moaning, but----I've got to admit, I felt kind of foolish, even bored. So anyway, she said. 'Ok, now it's my turn. You're my slave!" Well. OK. fair is fair, I thought. she was playing a prison warden, or something, a real bitch-- a side of her I've never seen, OK?, anyway, she made me strip and bend over and fooled with my--bottom; it's pretty big as you've probably noticed." She blushed hesitated then continued:

*

"OK. She stripped me completely--and strapped my wrists behind me, then my upper arms, and my chest and then---- well I might as well tell you---- she roped up my breasts----which are kind of large----so tight that they started to swell up. And then she put clamps on my nipples which we really swollen like strawberries by now."

All the men in the class eyed Vicki's full figure, unfortunately hidden in her drooping sweatshirt, with new interest. She continued:"Then she pushed me onto our bed, face down and tied my ankles to the bedposts; I was spread wide open, my fat butt a target, and she whipped me." Vicki paused. Every person in the class was riveted, waiting for her to continue.

"She whipped me a lot. With a wide leather belt, with her hands, with a folded wire coat hanger. This is the weird part. I was in pain, in agony! My butt, my whole bottom was warm, smarting. My roommate was going crazy! I pleaded for her to stop! And already I was feeling strange. and then she began to massage me with some sort of oil, and finally untied my legs and turned me over. and made love to me; later she left me with a collar and chain around my neck; my hands were still cuffed and my breasts and nipples were throbbing and sore, she had left the clamps on. but----and-- and this is the part about the bondage report----I loved it! Being the bottom, the one who gets all the spankings, that's where I belonged. A surprise.

*

Amy asked: "Vicki,. wow! You are sharing so much. But I have to

ask: are you going to stay with this sadistic bitch?"

Vicki smiled, shyly. "Actually, we've resolved this. We're going to explore this B and D and S and M together, I'm not angry with her. I think I found out something about being a victim. So maybe I can lose some weight and be more sexy; who knows? But I have to tell you that being submissive really turns me on! But don't any of you try to take advantage of me!" She flashed a glance at Zach.

Justine was moved by Vicki's frank report, and connected it with her own discovery over the weekend. Bondage was just a symbol of victimhood! Vicki's, and perhaps her own! But she couldn't deal with this just yet. She said: "Vicki, your statement is so personal, so powerful, 

so----gutsy! I'm indebted to you. You too, Martin. This project has clearly pushed lots of buttons. I only hope that my own report will be as fearless. Who's next?"

Jamal got to his feet. He was bright but prickly, contentious. Justine had sensed that he would view each sexuality issue in black---make that African American----and white terms. She was not surprised by his presentation.

Jamal faced his classmates. "Boys and girls! All this bondage and discipline is just white folks foolin' around, real bondage was--and is--my people!"

"What I researched over the weekend, was chains, and manacles, and other punishment stuff used against the slave brothers! I can tell you about all the shit that went down!"

Zach interrupted: "Jamal, pardon me, man, but this is the same old tirade we've heard before; the assignment this week was a personal exploration of bondage, so I don't need to see pictures of old handcuffs. Who did you tie up over the weekend?"

Jamal glared at Zach; for a moment the possibility of violence was in the air. Then he relaxed a bit. "You got me, man, I didn't do the 

homework. But a brother don't need to fool around in school to know what bondage is."

Zach, subdued:" I hear that, man; sorry; I was out of line," He paused. "Miss Jousse, can I do my presentation next?"

Relieved, Justine nodded assent. Zach, with his usual over the top style, lugged his good sized TV monitor onto Justine's desk and connected the DVD player, He shot her a triumphant glance.

"OK, guys. I've seen some of these bondage films, so I thought I'd make one , too. My buddy, Duane, is the cameraman, and I am the evil star. I got the actress from----never mind where, a friend of a friend, as 

they say, but a hell of an actress. What was I trying to do? Substitute bondage for the usual brutal rape and sex stuff; though I'm not opposed to that. OK, here we go."

The DVD starts; Justine lowers the classroom light; she's strangely anxious to see what her most brash and unpredictable student has produced.

No titles. The video begins with Zach, playing Zach, but very grungy: dirty jeans, boots, a Kurt Cobain t shirt. He's walking down a nondescript street, shabby, urban. A pretty blonde catches up to him; he turns, surprised. Let it be said right now that this blonde is gorgeous, full figured, but long legged, exuberant breasts, glorious tan, sunbleached short blond locks, wearing a chic DKNY outfit----Martin looked at Jamal. If Zach, good old Zach, was somehow going to get this hot babe into ropes and chains, Wow!. Jamal nodded back.

Blonde(Ashley): Zach! Oh, Zach! I'd like to talk to you, if that's ok?

Zach (Henceforth they're A and Z): Ashley! Hell yes, it's OK! I didn't think you even knew my name!

A: Sure, I know----about you. Listen, I'd like to ask you to do me a big favor.

Z: You;re shitting me. What favor could I do for a rich bitch--I'm sorry--a rich coed----like you?

A: (pouts) Don't be mean. We cant talk about it here, lets get some coffee."

New scene : Starbucks. They are at a back table. Ashley has been talking for a while.

A: ------and so. like I said, I want you to kidnap me, not really, of course, but just so my stepfather will pay me a big ransom!

Z: What is this? A joke?

A: No, its for real. See, he's a selfish, lecheous rich bastard. Ever since my mother left him I've hated every minute. He's so strict, and he keeps coming on to me.

Z: I can see why. No, no----go on.!

A: I've got a chance to get out; to go away with someone----I can't tell you who.

Z: If I kidnap you, maybe its me.

A: (impatient) No, not you. Im sorry. But--you're just right for the kidnapper!. 

Z: Right for a kidnapper? How's that?

A: OH, you know what I mean, you live in this trailer, alone.

Z: I live with my uncle. He's---- he's just gone right now. 

A: I know! In prison! This will be so rad! What we'll do, you grab me in front of my house, so my stepfather sees it; he always lurks in the hall when I come home from school. and then you drive away....

Z; In my unmarked car. Right.

A: No, silly , we'll use my car. You jump out of the bushes, or something, grab me----I'm screaming---- throw me in the car, and speed away!

Z:You are one crazy lady! And then what?

A: We hide out in your trailer, you take a picture of me, probably tied up, looking scared. We write a ransom note : 'Ashley is in big danger', all that ransom note stuff. And you ask for fifty thousand dollars. And heres the best part: you send him the picture of me, in big trouble! Rape, probably, maybe worse, if he doesn't act fast! 

Z: Ashley, you're nuts! Use your car? My place? Drop off the picture?? 

With cops swarrning there? No way!

She seemed not to hear him and continued to outline her scenario:

A: But I have a laptop and a digital camera thingie! We can send him a picture of me, all tied up, in seconds! And that other stuff! No problem! We'll use my car like I said! Im just getting out and you grab me from behind, I scream, we're out of there!. We send the picture to his email; he has to put an ad on his website agreeing to our terms, and then we email the site for the ransom pick up! I've figured this all out! Really! OH, Zach, I know we can do it (she reaches for his hand) Zach! Oh, I could kiss you!

Z: I said, before---- how much for me?

A: Oh, half, I guess.

Z; then make it a hundred grand; half of that, and I'm in.

A; (she does kiss him, across the table) One more thing: I think the photos should be a little rough, me in tight bondage, clothes torn, stuff like that, so he'll really wan't to get me back! Can you do that?

Z: OH, yes! Fade.

The new scene is in Zach's trailer. Ashley is lying on a couch, naked, her hands and elbows bound; she still wears her cute little gym socks, Her smile is uncertain.

A: Zach! Did you have to... I shouldn't have let you...Oh! I' so embarassed!

*

Z: You're bare assed, honey, that's for sure. Let me get one more shot (Clicks digital camera) That should do it. I left your car in a mall parking lot about a mile away, No fingerprints, I think we're fine, Hey, this is kind of a blast! And you look real hot, tied up like that.. Real hot. I bet old Cedric will have the cash in no time. You were you going to say?

A:: Did you have to strip me like that, and show my--you know--pussy and everything? I know he'll be getting back to us real soon,as soon as he sees that awful picture. I know it! 

Z: Why?

A: Becuse he's my step father. Actually, because he wants to fuck me.

Z: Many men do, I'm guessing, including your partner in crime, here. Lie there all tied up a litle longer, babe. I'm going out to get some pizza and beer. (He leaves; she struggles, deliciously, to no avail)

New scene. It is night; Ashley, untied, and Zach; empty beer bottles and a pizza carton on the table, both staring at the laptop. She's slipped her little dress, somewhat the worse for wear, back on.

Z: Shit! Nothing's going to happen tonight. Maybe your daddy ain't so concerned about your awful plight after all? I'm going to bed.

'

A: I really thought he'd email me by now. Hey? Where will I sleep? And I haven't got a nightie!

'

Z: I'll lend you one of my uncle's shirts. Sleep with me or in my uncle's bed, I dont care; I'm tired.

Brief scene change. Zach is sitting on his bed in his shorts, pulling off his socks. Ashey emerges from the bathroom, wearing an old fashioned grimy man's undershirt; it barely covers her hips or her furry blonde pubic area, and shows her breasts to advantage; they swell on each side of the narrow undershirt straps and her nipples poke against the thin cloth.

A: That's a really crummy shower! Hardly any hot water!

Z: I call it home, lady. (looks up) You got a real rack on you, great tits, you know? Yeah, I bet you know.

A: Maybe we had best stick to business, They're breasts, not tits!

Z: Yeah, business. I want to be sure you don't use you cute little computer in the middle of the night, pick up the money and split. So, as a precaution, (smiles) I'm going to tie you up again.

A; OK, if you dont trust me! If you have to! I kinda dig bondage, if you have to know.

Z: You kind of dig bondage----that's tieing up, isn't it----do you? Let's see what I can do for you.

Zach picks up a length of clothesline and ties her wrists behnd her back. He walks her to uncle's bed, lies her on her belly, and ties her ankles, then her thighs, and finishes tugging the rope over her wrist bonds and back to her ankles; she is hogtied, the skimpy undershirt rucked up around her waist, rounded ass and crotch exposed.

A: Oh! Youre pretty god at this, you bastard! Maybe we should send this picture to Cedrick! Umm! that's so tight!

Z; Pictures can wait, long as you stay put. Good night now, I'm sure you'll sleep tight. He turns out the lights..

New scene: morning, Zach is just getting up, yawning, he's wearing the same grimy boxer shorts. He stretches then walks across the trailer 

to Ashley; She has not been able to loosen her bonds during the night; she's still doubled up,wrists and ankles nearly meeting, and justifiably furious. 

A: Turn me loose, you bastard! Tieing me up wasn't necessary! Not all night! 

Z: (cheerful) maybe not, but you look just right for another picture now; hair all frizzled, kind of mad, and sexy as hell. Time for dear old dad to get another picture.

A: Oh, OK,, I guess. I'll roll over. How's that?

*

Z: Sensational!

Next scene: Ashley, untied, back in her dress. They' re sitting around the little table again; this time MacDonalds bags and wrappers accent the new plle of empty beer bottles. Ashley belches.

A: Its late afternoon! why hasn't he called? I'm so tired of this greasy fast food!

Z:: I think we got a losing proposition here, baby. That mean ole stepdaddy of yours clearly doesn't mind seeing you suffer. Let's send him 

one more photo, and then pack it in.

A: I'm sure its just a computer glitch. Oh, OK, one more shot.

'

Z;l Get your clothes off, this one is going to smart!

He strips her naked, then ties her wrists and arms over her head, roped behind the back of her neck Then he runs ties of black rope above and below her jutting breasts, knotting them, He ties on a tight waist cinch, then pulls the dangling end between her legs, tight, very tight, until the rope disappers deep between her thighs, in her vulva. He pulls the rope up behind he back and ties it to the wrist bonds behind her neck. She is arched backwards , by the severe bondage. he adds a grimy cloth gag. Zach takes the picture; he's figured out how to send it, and waits.

*

He's gagged her so she can only moan as she struggles with the tight rope rubbing in her tender pussy; She staggers around the room; Zach watches, grinning. He makes no move to turn her loose.

Z: Ashley. its been a blast up until now. I love seeing an uppity rich bitch in bondage, under my control, my will. But if daddy doesn't call pretty soon, I'm going to have to fuck you first, then put you on the street somewhere they won't find you for a while, because, if they get me as a part of this crazy scheme, it's my ass. Twenty years in the joint, maybe. I'll check the computer one more time.

A: (She squirms, tries to tell him something behind her gag nods her head toward the screen; there was a message; maybe Cedric was finally going to pay the ransom and rescue her!)

Z: (looking at the screen, then straightening up with a big grin) "Let me read this: 'Greetings, whoever you are. Keep on sending the wonderful pictures, I can't get enough. As to ransom, tell the spoiled slut that I won't pay a dime for her release. If you, on the other hand, want to keep her in increasingly stringent bondage and other predicaments----I don't know, whipping and spanking, of course, forced sex, piercing, branding----the possibilities are endless!--I'll give you two thousand dollars for each day's picture. How about it?"

Z: (looks slowly at the bound girl, her eyes wide with terror and disbelief.)

A: NO! NO! she shakes her head.

Z: ( walking to her, caressing her bound breasts, tweaking the tight cunt rope, his smile now broad, a little sinister). Ashley, I just got an offer I can't refuse! 

THE END. 

When the DVD ended, there was a mixed reaction. "Way to go, Zach"---- that was Jamal. " Very good" said Eliot. Martin applauded. "Three stars; really raunchy!" But the girls were silent, until Vicki said: 

"That is so----so sexist! Just awful! Women as victims! And she was such a bitch! But she didn't deserve that!"" 

"Isn't that what most bondage is all about, sex, victims?" Zach 

replied, not a bit abashed.

Martin added: "That was so rotten, so totally not politically correct, so much about taking down a proud woman, that every woman's group in the country will condemn it. Take it commercial, man, if you can; you'll make a fortune with the men!"

Zach favored him with an ironic nod, He had the same daydream of success; think about Deep Throat!

"Hey, you guys!" Justine raised her voice a bit. "That's what we're going to discuss tomorrow; if this genre is mainly about sex, or just another face of male disrespect for women. Let's not go there now. But, Zach, I must say, you stuck--just barely--to the assignment, but you sure got in a lot of macho attitude, didn't you? and some first class pornography. OK. let's move on. Amy, I think you're next."

Amy was somewhat subdued today; instead of her tight low cut jeans and cut off t shirt, she wore a fairly modest cotton dress; the miniskirt showed off her lovely legs to advantage, but there was something muted, almost decorous sbout her as she rose to speak; Justine noticed the change at once.

" I had a-- very strange bondage experience." she began, her voice softer than usual. "First, I must tell you, I live between two worlds. My parents are very Japanese, very old fashioned. I know they love me; so I don't mind. But I stop at my girl friend's house to change into the clothes you see me wear--trashy modern, Britney Spears stuff. No belly button ring yet----probably never. My parents don't know anything about this. Anyway, I shared the class assignment with them on Friday night;. I don't share everything with them, but this felt important. They were attentive, mainly approving. There is a long Japanese history of bondage, very complicated, partly female submission ritual, partly an art form, like bonsai trees or rock gardens. I didn't know this until my parents told me."

"They said: 'If you study this thing, you would be wise to follow your own tradition, not some American popular fad.' That sounded right to me, 

and then they told me that my uncle----he lives in Hayward, he's a chef, an 

older guy, 50, 60, something like that, my father's older brother. Anyway, 

it turns out that he's a bondage master, keeping the faith, if you will, like a Native American shaman, or healer." 

"So my father is on the phone , telling Hikoro-that's my uncle's name--that his college girl niece has a chance to open western eyes to this ancient tradition, I'm, like, 'Dad--its not a big deal!' but he persists, turns to me and says. 'Your uncle will instruct you tomorrow. This is a great honor.' So I say: 'sure', because I am kind of thinking I'm going to get a story that the rest of you won't. OK?"

With her soft voice she had their attention; especially Justine's. 'Traditional Japanese rope master,' she thought, 'not a disquieting figure like Hugo.' Amy continued:

"I see Hikoro maybe two times a year, at family events, so I don't really know him; he's quiet, not very tall, hard to describe. So, when I take BART down to Hayward, I don't know what to expect, OK? His apartment is very modest. but once inside the door, I'm back a hundred years, in another country--Japan. Translucent bamboo and paper room 

dividers, just a few wall hangings, one lone bonsai tree, tatami mats on all the floors. And there he is, my uncle, the chef in a franchised Sizzler's, dressed in a kimono and zoris. I should mention I'm wearing straight Japanese schoolgirl stuff; blouse, skirt, sneakers. OK?"

"So I stand there, and finally say: 'Hi, Uncle Hikoro'. and I bow. He says: '"Ah, Amy , it's good to see you. Your father tells me that your studies have led you to my ancient tradition. It is good!" Well, I'm not going to contradict him."

"He says:' the ancient practice of bukaku--the West calls it bondage with ropes--is a worthy subject to study----and most important----to experience. Are you ready for that?' I just nodded, I guess, pretty much clueless. He led me into a second room, bare except for a low table covered with coils and coils of different colored 

rope----definitely weird. There was an overhead pulley, some kind of suspension device. and all kids of other stuff, leather straps, like that."

"'So, we begin' he said. 'Take off your clothes, please." 

"So I did; my blouse, my skirt, and then my bra. And finally my panties; it was kinda like I was hypnotized, you know? I never thought to disobey him. This is part of my family, my aged and respected uncle. He smiled. 'You are very lovely; A fine student for bukaku!"




Justine



"He took one coil of rope---- I have to tell you that the ropes are so soft, silk, maybe, I don't know, but totally unyielding---- and almost gently, he tied my wrists together behind my back, very tight. And them came more ropes, pulling my elbows back and together, above and below my breasts, each turn tighter and tighter . He knotted the ties together with an elegant, almost beautiful knot. I was----scared----. but kind of excited, helpless, you know? From my waist up, I couldn't move. Then he tied my thighs together, then more ropes around my knees, and ankles, total bondage, tight, symmetrical."

*

"I couldn't move, like I said; totally helpless. He smiled a tiny scary smile and said: 'I see you as a brave woman, a seeker for new experiences. So, now I will show you the dark side of our bondage art." He didn't ask, he just told me, Then he selected another handful of rope, coarser, abrasive----hemp, this time,"

Hemp! Omigod! Justine almost lost it then; she was so conflating Amy's story with her own; her hand absently strayed to her belly, where the welts from that horrible scratchy rope still lingered.

Amy continued: "I stood there helpless , teetering for balance on my tied legs; he circled my waist with with the harsh rope, cinched it tight----I almost couldn't breathe----he knotted it, and left the long end dangling between my legs. I still trusted my venerable uncle but was beginning to have some doubts. No matter, I realized, I was totally his victim now; he could do as he liked with me."

" He stepped behind me. then; knelt and gently separated 

my----my----you know, buns! And reached between my thighs, grabbed the dangling rope and tugged it----back, up----against my----OK, into my pussy, tight against my asshole, and knotted this rope into my arm and wrist 

ties. I had been quiet up until now, except for a few gasps of surprise and pain when he had bound my breasts; OK? But now I spoke:' "

"Revered Uncle, you are hurting me, please stop! Please!'"

*

"He stood away from me, arms folded, like he was looking at 

something in a museum, He smiled again.:'It is good. your piteous voice 

and tears complete my artistic creation. He was right; I was sobbing now and whimpering in pain;The coarse hemp rope was hurting my pussy with each tiny move I made. Beloved Uncle Hikoro was a sadist, a woman hater! Just a Japanese version of a dirty old man! And he wasn't finished with me yet."

"He untied the harsh hemp and carried me to the futon, forced me to kneel. 'Here is is the other dark side of bukaku he said, discarding his kimono. That--that was all he was wearing. He untied my ankles, my thighs, spread my legs, put his hands on my ass again, rubbing, kneading, spreading me..........I just can't tell you the rest!:" Amy broke down, sobbing.

*

Justine was there in a second, cradling, soothing Amy. Her own 

experience----betrayal, indignity, but not quite rape, which she was sure Amy had suffered----made her more sympathetic, perhaps, than her normal slightly distancing professorial mien would have allowed. All the other students clustered around, with physical strokes or words showing their caring. "Amy! that was so heavy!" said Vicki. 

"I--I know..I know,!..." Amy sobbed. " I didn't really mean to tell. you all that stuff; it just sort of----came out.'" She began to weep again, against Justine's chest.

Justine was almost in tears herself. She felt that she had almost merged with Amy and their awful ordeals. Right then she vowed to share her story with he class as bravely as Amy had done. But not today; the class had already run late, way late.

"Class----this has been----what can I say? Powerful, very special. We'll continue tomorrow. And yes, you'll hear my adventure in bondage. Let me tell you again: everything you've heard today stays in the classroom. Frank exploration of these sometimes difficult issues demands our utmost discretion. But I know you all know that. See you tomorrow."

Trying to decompress from that intense class, Justine stopped for a cappuccino. then almost without volition she entered the upscale sex 

store run by two charming lesbians; Justine had met one of them at a faculty event. She stood, a bit dazed at the displays of vibrators, lubricants, ben-wa balls and lots and lots of restraints. She selected a set of leather handcuffs, no, two, and some leather straps, and----a red rubber ball gag, almost exactly like the one Hugo had used to insure her silence. And ducked her head, blushing slightly, as she paid cash to the leering clerk.

THREE

DO IT YOURSELF

Back in her apartment, Justine reheated the remains of the cassoulet and ate, scarcely tasting her food. ' I'm drinking too much, she thought absently, and poured herself another glass of Zinfandel. Later, she showered, toweled, and stood nude in front of her full length mirror for a long time., surveyong her still damp lush body, first coquettishly, then in a series of steamier, intense poses.

* 

Always enamored of herself, Justine was getting hot. She tried to look into her mirrored eyes, but could not meet her own gaze. This----this bondage thing, this obsession , was not going away. "Oh hell!" she told her reflection: "You know you're going to do it! Get on with it!"

She got her new purchases, the two sets of cuffs and the gag. and realized that she wasn't really equipped for serious bondage. the dungeons and all she had seen in the porno movies. But she found an old length of chain with a collar, from the prior renter's dog, she guessed. And a broad leather belt. there were no ropes in the house----yet. She returned to the bathroom mirror; by now she sensed that seeing her body bound, controlled, was a big part of the turn on for her. She recognized her streaks of nacissism and exhibitionism; she gloried in her own loveliness. But still--self bondage? That was a bit weird. And then 

she reluctantly recalled her near orgasm with Hugo--Dr. Schreclich. Well. whatever. I'm a little bit drunk, she admitted to herself... and giggled. She posed, pirouetted, seducing herself in the full length mirror, getting hotter, until her need to do self bondage was nearly irresistable., Sitting on the toilet, (lid down ), she held the gag in both hands for awhile. Yes? No? Tie myself up, really tie myself up---- or not? First of all, another glass of wine.

Then, shuddering, she opened her jaws as wide as she could, and forced the ball behind her teeth. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she buckled the leather strap at the base of her skull----tightly. Looking in the mirror, she saw her classic features distorted, her jaw stretched, her mouth gaping wide in a silent scream, her eyes wild. "I'm either a roast suckling pig with an apple in her mouth or a Munsch painting', she told herself, a tiny bit of her usual wit still present.. 

She leaned over and buckled the first set of cuffs around her ankles; The thick leather clasps clicked shut; the keyole, she noticed,was tiny. And the short connecting chain was four inches long, at best. She wriggled her ankles, thrilling at the first hint of constraint. She left the keys to both sets of cuff on the toilet lid.

Now, improvising, she looped the long dog chain over her shoulders, crossed it behind her back and loosely knotted it around her waist; the tightly buckled leather belt--she gasped as she cinched it--secured the waist chain, then she bent and linked the snap fastening of the dog chain to the ankle cuffs. She could still straighten up; barely. This was getting exciting!

Now for the wrist cuffs. She locked one in place and placed the key on the toilet lid. She put both hands behind her back and thought: 'what if?' She recalled one sexy arched bondage pose in one of the movies, the voluptuous redhead's wrists and ankles were shackled together behind her back. "Maybe I could...'

*

Impulsively, she slid off the toilet seat ond onto the cold tile floor.On her side, she flexed her legs and looped the unfastened wrist cuff through the ankle chain. Arched. arms straining. she was barely able to secure and click shut the left hand cuff. And finally,her fingers fumbling, the right cuff. The tiny click had an awful air of--finality? Bridges burnt, she thought. Now she was truly hog tied--or hog cuffed. And, bent as she was, the double links of the dog chain tugged between her legs, bisecting and abrading her vaginal lips.

She squirmed. 'Ouch! And OOH! If I can just...' The interlocking cuff

chains gave her almost no room to maneuver or ease the already painful back bend. She flopped on the cold floor, scarcely able to move as she strained at the implacable cuffs. Unfortunately, the wine was beginning to wear off. This was not nearly the sexual fantasy she had hoped for! 

Minutes passed. Long minutes. Justine continued to struggle, to find a 

comfortable position (there was none) and slowly began to realize that escape was going to be perhaps impossible. 'The cleaning woman had a key; she'd be here in three days--no. no don't think like that! Got to get the key!' Suddenly the toilet lid, only three feet off the floor, seemed like Mt. Everest. If not for the harsh gag, she would have sobbed. But silent, drooling, her tears flowed.

Thirty minutes of strenuous inching across the floor, finally moving against the wall. (The linked cuffs demanded that she balance on her knees in order to reach the toilet) through the pain, she lunged with her chin; once, twice, finally! The handcuff keys were on the tile floor.

Almost gratefully, Justine slumped in her chains once more as her fingers groped for the precious key. Never mind her cramping shoulder and thigh muscles or the throbbing pain from the intrusive chain in her cunt; freedom was at hand. Perhaps.

Thirty minutes later, bathed in sweat, Justine was abour ready to give up. She had finally found the key, fingers groping, wriggling on the floor, but coould not reach either keyhole in her cuffs. Despairing, she flexed her chained ankles one more time. 'Of course! It's the same key!`She realized. It wasn't easy. but soon she had unlocked one ankle cuff, which released her wrists (and eased the punishing chain). She stretched greatefully, still gagged with wrists cuffed behind her back.

'That Goddamn slippery little key!' It took another forty minutes for Justine to free herself. As she wrenched off the gag and headed for the shower, shie tried not to look at the time on her digital clock., but couldn't help herself. It was 3:40 AM. She had been in self inflicted bondage for over five hours! And tomorrow, bright and early, she as going to have to face that class. And make good on her promise; to tell all.

FOUR

MANACLES AND SHACKLES

Morning came way too soon; Justine's alarm jangled her awake, she had had, maybe, three hours of sleep. Given her two past troubled nights, she knew that she was not at her best to face her class, now riding the giddy wave of bondage fever, as it were. But she had promised. And given the frank and compelling disclosures of yesterday's class, she knew that she, too, would have to expose herself. Part of her shrank at the prospect, but, as she ate her half grapefruit and drank her coffee, her resolve firmed. She dressed in a sensible linen suit, then confronted herself in the mirror once more. "No, that's phony! That's not what I wore!"I'll do it!" She took a deep breath and told herself, "the whole nine yards!" 

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she undressed, taking off the tailored suit and tasteful blouse she had intended to wear. She took another deep breath and hastily selected the outfit she had worn to that awful meeting with Hugo Schrecklich; the garter belt, the dark hose, the three inch high heels. She sprawled blatantly before her mirror before she donned the wispy panties and bra. She posed seductively before her mirror once more, gathering her courage, and trying not to, once again, be seduced by her own loveliness. 'God, you're beautiful!' She told herself once more, touching herself lightly, banishing the prior nights strangely exciting nightmare of self bondage.

*

Finally, she slipped into the same short, salaciously tiny black silk dress . She confronted her mirror one more time, hand on hips, muttered '''bondage slut," trying to pump up her courage, picked up her briefcase, and as an afterthought stuffed the cuffs and ball gag inside, and went to meet her class. 

As she entered the classroom--never mind the leers and catcalls in the hallway--she began to rethink her decison to 'let it all hang out' --literally. She blushed coyly for a moment, only too aware that she was causing a sensation as she faced her small class.

*

Right away, her dress, her----"Maybe it 's a costume," Vicki whispered to Amy-- whole demeanor riveted, dazed the class. Jamal, Martin, and especially Zach, were stunned, mesmerized.. and instantly horny.

"Ms. Jousse, You look----awesome today!" that was Zach. "Way true!"----that was Jamal. Justine stood before the class, leaning back against the front of her desk, her usual classroom stance. Today, however her tiny black dress was short and flimsy enough to ride up her 

thighs as she spoke: dark hose, a hint of garter, an occasional flash of white thigh; the men were transfixed. This was Sharon Stone time!

She blushed and said:

"It' s my turn to share with you my bondage experience. I promised. As late as last night, I thought I'd cop out, invoke teacher's dignity, something like that. But you guys showed me so much honesty and risk taking yesterday that 'I've got to do the same. Just like yesterday, anything I say stays in this room."

She smoothed down her skirt and stood now. "So it's all your fault; you dared me to get involved in this trip,----I didn't mean just you, Zach. If there's any fault, it's mine. I'm supposed to be responsible, a big girl. So. I'll tell you what happened, and then we can discuss it. along with all your reports from yesterday, OK? For my bondage session this outfit is what I wore, dressed like a ----dressed up like what?" She posed, throwing out one hip. "What am I doing? " She thought. 'Am I going to relive that whole embarrasment?' Evidently she was. 

She repeated: "So how do you think I'm dressed?" She struck another salacious pose. "Well?"

*"

"Like a ho!" Jamal said, beaming.

"I'm afraid you're right, Jamal. A 'ho'. I wanted to impress this guy, who I'd never met; maybe I wanted to tease him; the bondage tapes I reviewed before these sessions were full of sex and implied sex, after all. So I get there, and I'm getting cold feet, but before I get the chance to walk out, there's this guy, taking me into his office. Just an ordinary looking guy, OK? No Brad Pitt or Johnny Depp."

"So, I'm pretending to be cool; I offer to interview him from my vantage point as a professor. Im supercilious, amused, looking for a little safe titillation for my class, OK? Well, he would have none of that. He 

was onto my act in the first thirty seconds. 'I don't do interviews'. he tells me, 'just real bondage. If your not up for that, you're wasting my time.' So 

he's calling my bluff, see? Daring me to leave. And since I'm----or used to 

be---- a bit arrogant, sure of myself, I accept his challenge. 

."Of course I'll do a session with you,' I say.' It might be----amusing.' He just smiled and led me into his----workshop, or, if you will, torture chamber, take your choice. Kind of like your uncle's place, Amy. So he describes bondage, the rules; it's all voluntary, you've an 

escape word to say when you want to stop. Then he says: I'm going to tie you up now, and you'll feel----different. And he was right!"

Justine paused to take several deep breaths before she continued . The class was rapt, hanging on every word. She was beginning to pace now, nervously, in front of her desk, flouncing with her high heels and short skirt, but not consciously.

"When he tied my wrists behind my back--tight--I felt a wave of helplessness and excitement flood over me. At the same time. I was----I don't know; stunned, blown away, what ever----and a little bit turned on, All my smart ass professor pose had dissolved, just like that. So I stood there, squirming a bit-- How had he tied me up so tight, so fast?

"He untied me right away. And smiled his little smile and said. 'See, professor, experience trumps academic bullshit every time, You're free to go of course, your ----curiousity ----unanswered, Or you can stay. He waited for my answer, calmly, very sure of himself. I just nodded, like a fool. 

"Good! Excellent, in fact! First, please take off that lovely dress. I wouldn't want to wrinkle it." His exact words.

"And I did; he was daring me again---- I took off my dress----this dress----no, I'm not going to do it today, Zach--and kind of posed and wiggled, showing off my body. 'Adequate', he said----what a put down, 

right?. 'Now, your bra!" I did it; I'm---- OK. I'm going to share it all!--I'm kind of proud of my breasts, and I'm afraid I stuck out my chest and wiggled a little bit more. He was behind me then; he moved so quickly!" 

"With one rope, ropes-- perhaps the same strong silk cords your 

uncle used, Amy.--very quickly, I was tied tight, arms, elbows nearly together behind my back, ropes criss crossing, over and under my breasts. I'm not going to do all the details, it was a little bit painful, very scary, and----somehow, I wanted to continue."

The class was hushed, as she continued.

"Now here, I think, is the critical point. Where I was an arrogant fool. He commanded that I call him' Master'. I refused; it was a domination issue; here I was, nearly naked, helpless, trying to play games with this 

guy, asking for it, right? I refused, foolish, proud, several times. Finally he said 'enough of your insolence', or something like that, and forced a ball 

gag between my teeth. Do you know what a ball gag is? Anyone?" Three hands went up. "I'll tell you; it's a big smelly rubber ball on a strap, it fills your mouth almost completely, your jaws are forced wide apart, and its strapped to the back of your neck,very tightly. You can sputter a little bit, and whimper and drool, but you really can't make a sound. 

"And then I realized, dazed choking, fighting the gag, that I had lost any sort of control of the situation; even if I had an 'escape' word, now I couldn't say it. He could do anything to me. So, my arrogance, my stubbornness, had gotten me into deep, deep trouble".

The class was hanging on every word.

Justine paused again She had unconsciously crossed her hands behnd her back, eyes half shut as she told her story. She blinked back to real time. For nearly thirty seconds she waited, sighed deeply, and faced them, she had never had so attentive an audience. She was surprised to find that this confession, this performance, really, was getting easier. I"m like a stripper down to her G-string, she thought, And here it goes!"

"I promised myself to share this next part, and I will. He took my 

panties off then, rolled them down my thighs, caressed them and then---- smelled them, and grinned; I blushed; I was turned on by then and had gotten a bit wet..There! I said it! So sex rears its ugly head. I blushed, and trembled. He had me! He knew it; I knew it.

" He led me over to a kind of leather horse, like they use in the 

Olympics, you know, for vaulting, bent me over, tied me down with a broad leather strap and then spread my legs, ankles wide apart, strapping me to rings in the floor. Then he mocked me, teased me, squeezed my breasts, and finally massaged, and explored my bottom, my --you know, my sex."

Justine took another deep breath; was all this sensual detail prudent, necessary? she wondered. Then answered herself: too late to stop now, she had already dropped her G string, so to speak.She had 




Justine



totally exposed herself. 

She continued:" He began to spank me, slowly at first, then harder and harder. My butt throbbed and smarted. This went on for what seemed a long time; I would have been screaming, but the gag limited 

me to a few pitiful bleats. Finally he whipped me, really whipped me--four strokes with a thin bamboo cane. I can't describe the pain! I still have the marks, the welts----and I'm not going to show them to you----but they are still there. "

She paused one last time, breathing deeply almost as if she was reliving her punishment. "Im almost finished. He freed my ankles and let me stand upright. My rump was burning, throbbing with pain. But somehow he knew that I had other unfinished business with myself. He tied a rope cinch around my middle. Coarse scratchy hemp, Amy. Maybe your uncle and this guy watch the same on line torture channels, I don't know. He pulled the rope; beween my thighs, of course, tied it in back to my wrist ropes, pulling it taut, I felt like I was being sawed in half; you know where!" Amy gave a little gasp. "And made me lie down on the floor--cold bare boards---- tied my thighs and ankles, then, and hog tied my flexed ankles and wrists together There I was, a miserable package of pain and total submission."

You could have heard a pin drop. Every class member had a vivid 

mental picture of their proud Justine,--Ms. Jeusse-- naked, delectable, utterly helpless, hog tied, squirming on that cold floor.

*

"Finally he directs me towards a full length mirror on one wall. He suggest that I crawl, or wiggle over to it. 'Take a good long look at yourself, professor!, your cruelly bound voluptuous body, your rosy welted, whipped ass!' He says. 'Not quite your normal campus demeanor, I suspect. You have about fifteen minutes; you might inch towards that mirror and reflect----no pun intended----on what this has meant to you. Let's leave the gag in place. Perhaps we'll meet again. 

"And I spent the next twenty minutes crawling to the mirror and looking at myself. And--and this is the hardest part to say: I was really turned on! The freedom of that helplesssness, just as you said, Vicki, and----and a little vicious voice in my head cackled:'you deserve this, you slut! This degradation, this pain." 

*

"And I answered myself :'Maybe you're right' What was that all about? what? And my head has been messed up ever since, like I don't know why I wore this dress, this sexy underwear today. or if I want to see that guy again , Or----I'm so confused!' i didn't mean for this to happen. but my bondage trip has-is -been very heavy. Watch out for this stuff, class. it's very powerful. I-- I kind of need to do it again Her voice broke for a second., her eyes were bright with tears, She swallowed, tried a shaky little smile and finished.

"So that's my story, my bondage adventure or nightmare, probaby both. I bit off way more than I could chew. And I'm still chewing. My professional conclusion: this bondage stuff is really poweful, really dangerous! Maybe this experiment was a mistake--for all of us. But maybe, just maybe, we all learned something. That's what education is for!" Another brave smile.

The students were absolutely still for a full minute. Then Vicki started to clap; they all joined; applause, cheers, whistles. Justine teared 

up again, then tried to regain her classroom composure.

"Thank you. Thank you more than I can say. Any questions, class? Oh, before I forget, this is what a ball gag looks like; I'll pass it around" . She rummaged in her briefcase, brought out the gag and handed it to the class. Vicki shrank back, Martin examined, almost fondled it before he passed it to Zach.

Finally, Amy spoke, carefully, in her soft voice. "It seems to me, " she said. "that Ms. Jousse is the bravest, the most open teacher that anyone of us will ever have." There were unanimous murmers of assent.

"I also think" she continued," that this whole bondage thing is just the top layer of our struggle to find ourselves, you know, powerful or powerless; like, controller or victim. Vicki and Martin and Ms. Jousse, and me, too, I guess-our sharing our conflicting moods and feelings----that was so great, I can't begin to thank you enough".

Jamal spoke up. He had been quiet during this love fest. "Teacher, that was beyond awesome. I truly salute you! One thing, though, I got cut short yesterday by you, Zach----but that don't mean I don't have feelings about these issues. The stuff my uncle has, that I mentioned yesterday? I brought it along today. If our teacher can pass around a ball gag, I guess I get to show some of these old time slave irons." He glared around the room, expecially at Zach, as if expecting some sort of rejection.

Justine, her long confession over, basking in the good vibes from the class and a sense of relief, very mellow and perhaps off her guard, said: "Of course, Jamal! Show us what you've got."

From his back pack he brought out a set of ancient, heavy, rusty iron manacles. He held them up before the class. "See, these handcuffs used on slaves only; too tough and brutal for the white man. Anybody want to try them on?' Justine, perversely fascinated, swallowed, strightened her back and stepped forward, reaching for the cuffs.

"These are a real artifact, Jamal; probably worth a lot." she said. 

"Your uncle, does he know the history of these--actually, they are manacles---- handcuffs?" She weighed the heavy cuffs in her hands.

"I don't know. And he don't know----been in the family a long time----they gotta be, oh, about a hundred and fifty years old."

Justine was fascinated with the crude rusty heirlooms, Watch out! her inner voice warned; the voice she never listened to in time. He wrists still smarted from her long cuffed ordeal just last night..Still..."This cuff is--tiny, isn't it?" she said, gazing up at Jamal, now standing quite close to her.

"Probably for a woman, or even a child. I bet it would fit you."

"Well. Jamal----let's see!" She slipped the hinged cuff around her left wrist; then, bemused, strangely excited again, joined the twln circlets; the tongue of the one half, a toothed ratchet, moved a notch at a time into the other, creaking like the ancient device it was, into the other half circle. It ground and rasped into place with a final 'Clank'.

Justine inspected the rusty old manacle, now firmly aroud her wrist. Heavy; crude, somehow---- menacing, but strangely exciting. Jamal interrupted her reverie as he swiftly seized her wrist, cuff dangling, twisted her arm behind her back, and with his other hand, grobbed her free wrist. In seconds he had closed the other cuff. 'Clank!' again, an ominous, final sound . She was caught off guard; wrists linked tightly, crossed in the small of her back.

* 

"Hey! Jamal! What are you?...' She staggered, twisted.

In one fluid motion, Jamal had made her a captive. "Oh shit! I've done it again!" she told herself. These were not modern handcuffs; the manacles were connected with a hinge; when both cuffs were closed, as they were now, there was almost no play, no motion between the two cuffs; they worked as a unit, a very unforgiving and punishing one, as Justine was learning . 

Justine's arms were pinioned behind her, elbows back. Her breasts thrust forward, straining against her short black dress.. This had all happened so fast that the other students were just starting to react. 

"Heavy move, my man!" This was Zach, of course. The two girls were uneasy. Justine, their teacher and role model, was sudddenly in bondage again, brought low by Jamal. It was just a harmless demonstration, but still...Martin was fascinated; he got up and stood close behind her, fingering the cuffs while Justine struggled; her fingers writhing ineffectualy, her wrists almost unable to move.The old rusty cuffs grated against her wrists as she struggled. These cuffs were so heavy, so tight--much more punishnig fetters than she had worn last night, But now Martin was there, fondling her cuffs and her bent back elbows and upper arms' The cuffs were so tight! She cringed. He'd made his point , but just turn me loose!' she thought, But the class was grinning, they thought it was Jamahl's stunt. Best to be a good sport.

"Hey, Jamal, my weird girl friend would dig these. Got any more?." said Martin, now standing behind Justine, really against her, nudging her silk clad butt as he pretended to study the cuffs.

Jamal flashed his smile. "No more handcuffs, but I got more slave stuff here." He rummaged in his back pack, knelt in front of Justine., grinned up at her, her short hemline and half exposed thighs. "Lets do the whole nine yards, OK? Let's pretend you're a slave on the way to market, Ms. Jousse. OK? use your imagination! These are ankle shackles, keep the brothers and sisters from running away. 0K?" She was too stunnned to protest; what was happening here? "You go, bro! Zach crowed;"Slave tiime!"

Jamahl beamed his big smile up at Justine. She didn't respond at first; as he shackled her; the heavy iron handcuffs were already too restricting and painful--and scary.. Her inner demons were whispering to her:' Bound again! You idiot!" Well, hand cuffed. But---- so soon! Jamal's just doing his thing, it will be over in a moment, I'll try to be a good sport.' she thought. He clamped shut the heavy ankle chains. Ouch!~ She managed a wan smile.

"Sure, Jamal. I'll try to get into the spirit of your little demonstration. I'm a slave, right? Heading for market, prime property!" 

She swayed her hips, traipsing in front of the class,wriggling 

sensuously. swaying in the ankle shackles; all three male students

stirred, grinning." This was no time to be a tease., she realized--too late.

"That ain't all, slave lady! ----and you're a fine lookin' slave lady! Martin, Zach, would you bid on her? " Jamal dangled the shackles before her eyes, mockingly. The two ankle cuffs, equally rusty, equally heavy, were linked with about six inches of heavy chain. She could move, but only with tiny mincing steps, she found. This was getting out of hand. She teetered in her high heels and chains. She gulped:

"Jamal; you've made your point, I think. Our treatment of slaves was a form of bondage. Severe bondage, which I'm experiencing right now. Now, take off these cuffs; these ankle things, too; they're really uncomfortable!" Zach and Martin were still grinning, enjoying the show.

A bad feeling tickled Justine's mind; she was losing control of the class; they were all enjoying the slave lady bit way too much, even Vicki and Amy were grinning as Jamahl steered his slave around the room, gently slapping her silk clad ass. Justine stumbled with tiny steps, teetering precariously on her high heels; the hobbles forced her into an enticing, hip swaying stumbling prance; the manacles----elbows way 

back----forced her her chest out, emphasizing, her jiggling breasts.Justine was pitiable in her heavy irons, but at the same time sexy, provocative in her delicious sudden helpless state.

Jamal smiled at her; was his grin now sinister, triumphant, a bit crazy? She hoped not. He reached into his back pack for the last time. "Classmates, students, this is the full matched set!" A little jewelry for our beautiful slave lady!" He held in his hands a metal collar about two inches wide, from which a six foot length of light chain dangled . Like the other manacles, this circlet of iron closed with a simple ratchet lock. Justine resisted this time as he clamped the iron collar around her neck, 

grinning broadly at the class, playing the fool. The collar was wide and tight enough to force her chin up.

"Jamal; l ----! that's enough! I repeat: You've made your point. Unlock me, please."

"Right you are, teach! But just let me demonstrate how my folks got treated, for lots longer than a few minutes. You'll be my slave lady for a few more seconds, won't you?"---- that big smile---- " Wham! Magic time! Black is white and white is black! And we be goin' to market, luscious white slave, where they goin' to strip you naked so them fat black bucks can finger your ripe white bootie!." 

He held the neck chain and gently tugged. "Get along, honkie, Hustle your gorgeous white ass! " As he pulled Justine she tried to follow, shuffling in the tight ankle shackles, stumbling, almost falling, feeling the insistent tug at her neck. This was no joke anymore; the class grew tense.

"C'mon, Jamal! Enough's enough'! Enough of this racist shit! Unchain her!' Quit fooling around!" they all cried out. Jamal, caught up in his own rhetoric for a second, paused, relaxed. He smiled widely to the class, then at Justine, who stood flustered in her chains.

"Sorry, folks, got a little carrried away. I'll unlock those cuffs right now; I apologize if I played the fool a little too much, and chained you up in that old rusty iron and all, Ms. Jousse, but you be a bodacious slave! 

Lone key fits all them locks!." He rummaged in his back pack, casually at 

first, then with a little more urgency. He searched the zipped side pockets, then stood and went through his own pockets; pants and jacket. 

When he finally stood up, Jamal's grin was gone, "Damn! Damn! I---- ain't got the key! Sorry, Ms. Jousse. I must have lost it!" His consternation seemed genuine, but Justine was getting that bad 'oh oh!' feeling again. She swayed, tottered a bit in the heavy iron shackles. She thought: this can't be happening! Not after last night! and then: the key! It's always the goddamn key! 

Jamal said guiltily: "I'm going to retrace my steps, every where I been today. If I need to, maybe my uncle has another key, but he lives way down in Fremont, he don't even have a phone."

"Good going, Jamal, you really fucked up this time!" said Zach."We'll figure some way to get her loose while you're gone!" Jamal mumbled an 

apology to Justine once more, eyes down, and slunk out. The students 

were crowded around Justine now, quickly learning that there was no short cut to release her from the collar, the anklets and the punishing handcuffs. 

*

"These old mothers are solid, man!" Zach muttered as he knelt 

down tugging at the ankle shackles, sneaking a few peeks upward at her dark gartered hose, her lush thighs. Martin suggested some sort of lock pick; they tried ball point pens,which snapped off in the ancient keyholes. They tried a bent wire coat hanger, no luck. Zach went down to a nearby hardware store, explained the problem to the Iranian clerk and returned in a few minutes with several skeleton keys, an Allen wrench and a thin rattail file; the rusty antique locks refused to budge. 

Twenty five minutes later, Vicki announced:" I'm calling the police, they know about handcuffs." She used her cell phone. After her conversation she faced Justine sheepishly. "They said, it didn't sound like an emergency, just some college kids fooling around. They'll come check it out, but it might take--I'm sorry----five or six hours."

Justine lost it. "Five or six hours?" She screeched. "I'm going to be 

locked in this fucking rusty iron for five or six fucking hours?" The students retreated a bit; this was not the warm, vulnerable mentor of a few minutes ago! Well, maybe still vulnerable. Very vulnerable, it was turning out. And very angry and a little bit afraid. She was starting to trip out again, into her weird scary but thrilling bondage mode. But the anger 

was new, directed at her own foolishness, but mainly at Jamal. She 

wondered if there really was a key, if he had been setting her up all along. Suddenly, she was afraid, desperate. She struggled once more in her handcuffs and shackles, futily, she knew.

The students were trying to help, but struck out; the hardware hadn't helped, the keyhole was corroded and narrowed by years of rust, 

and the cops were on the way. And they had other classes; life goes on. One by one they skulked out of the classroom, murmering sheepish' 

'Gotta leave----good luck'--type goodbyes. On the third floor of the Wheeler building at the end of the hall there was little chance of any visitors.

Martin had tried the hardest with the lock picking attempts, and was the most apologetic as he left. She smiled weakly at him and thanked him for his efforts. She was angry at Jamal and the tardy cops; 

but her mounting rage didn't improve her plight: the wide, rough edged collar now abrading her neck, the ankle shackles and especially the iron cuffs that chafed and restricted her so. As she continued her useless 

struggles, her wrists were as implacably imprisoned behind her back as 

they had been two, now three hours ago since Jamal had locked them in place.

Amy had stayed with her the longest. They had shared their bondage journeys, strangely alike in so many details----the hemp rope between their legs!-- But, especially, the weird sense of surrender, even as the pain and humiliation was continuing.

"Was this a woman thing?" Justine asked Amy." Vicki wanted to be the victim. Am I? are you? Are we really saying that this proud feminist manifesto is really a lot of bullshit? Do we want to be enslaved? As I am now." Justine stirred ruefully, angrily in her iron restraints. Neither she nor Amy had pat answers to her questions.

Amy's cell phone rang. Her eyes widened as she listened."Hai. Hai", she said, and turned to Justine. "My father.They've taken him to the hospital, maybe a heart attack. I've got to go. I"m sure the police will be here soon; you'll be fine." She hugged Justine briefly, but intensely; Justine said softly, "Your uncle. Do you have his number? Maybe, probably not, but, just maybe---- I might want to---- talk to him. To help me understand all this; what happened to us both.."

Amy's eyes narrowed; she nodded, gravely: "I think he is a bad man, not for you. Bad idea, Ms. Jousse; forget it. I have to go now. good luck" Then she was gone.

FIVE

NIGHTMARE

Justine was alone; another two hours had passed; she couldn't see her wrist watch, but the sun was starting to set over the bay. She had to pee again. The first time, she had shuffled over to the wastebasket, squatted on the rim, and urinated, unable to pull down her panties, of course. The infinite, tiny humilations of shackled helplessness. 

Her practical, sometimes scolding voice was fully in charge now:' 'How could you let him handcuff you like that! He' s not coming back, you know it. He lost the key, that's all. or maybe he never had it in the first place! That winning smile, that confusion when he couldn't find the key, play acting?" Justine didn't want to hear these suspicions, but as time passed, and her manacles become even more uncomfotable, (she thought her wrists were bleeding now, from the rough edged cuffs.) her mood grew darker and darker. There was no way to escape her lousy predicament, but she tried to fantasize: maybe a gorgeous captive in a prince's dungeon, still in these fucking chains, of course. She closed her eyes and tried to fantasize; it didn't work too well. The cruel chains in her worst imagination were no more painful than her real punishing shackles.

*

Time passed so slowly! Then she heard footsteps down the hall in 

the almost empty building, Finally! the police!. The door opened. A black 

man entered. A very large black man, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and baggy droopy pants over his expensive sneakers. He looks like a very sullen, very evil Shaquille ONeal, she thought. Undercover, he's got to be an undercover cop, but why not a uniformed officer?

He surveyed her predicament and smiled lazily. "Whoo-hoo! What has we got here? A white bitch in slave irons? Jamal mentioned you and 

your little problem, and where you was after I whopped him a few times, 

let's say. I'm not his uncle, but a friend of a friend of his uncle."

As he approached her, Justine screamed, as loud she could; there was nothing else to do. But after her first piercing scream, he was on top of her, his big hand over her mouth. "No more fucking noise, bitch." He took a dirty handkerchief out of his pocket and laughed out loud, showing two missing teeth and one gold one.' ID details after he rapes me?' --just another distracted thought. He crooked his thick forefubger and lazily tore open her black short dress, Her breasts flopped free as she strained,uselessly against the restraining cuffs.. She thrashed her head around and fought as he tried to gag her. The easiest way was the best; he pinched her nostrils together, and when she finally had to breathe, pushed the cloth into her gasping mouth behind her teeth and secured it, grinning. Then he spotted the ball gag.