It hadn't been the most interesting lecture she had ever sat through and, as it was her final one of the day, Natalie was counting the minutes. She didn't have anything planned for the evening, but just sitting in her room and working on her major Art project had to be more stimulating than this. She watched the perpetrator of this crime against education, Professor Peter Crawley, as he droned on in his monotonous voice and shuffled about at the front of the room, and wondered what she and the rest of the class had done to deserve this.
He was not only boring, but also ancient - in his fifties at least - rather overweight, and definitely not good-looking. So, as far as Natalie was concerned, he had no redeeming features. His nickname was, inevitably, 'Creepy' Crawley, which was vaguely interesting, but he didn't even live up to that. He was just a dull, tenured professor who had been here since the dawn of time and would probably be here until the last trump sounded, making absolutely no impact on his students or his field. As far as Natalie knew, he had never produced a single piece of worthwhile, creative art or even written a book or article anybody might actually read. Her mind wandered to thoughts of the upcoming summer break, desperate for some distraction.
She was between boyfriends - that is to say, she hadn't gone looking for any kind of relationship since she had broken up with her long-term lover six months previously - and she had no interest in either lazing on the beach or spending time at home with her parents, both options filling her with dread.
Instead, she intended to explore the country, taking her painting materials and camera and hitting the road in the BMW her parents had bought for her sixteenth birthday. She wanted to find the real America, to meet real people outside the bubble that she'd lived in her whole life, consisting of moneyed privilege and relentless education. She wanted to experience new places, new situations, and to create great new art. She would take her inspiration from both nature and the quirky, interesting people she was sure she would discover in her epic sojourn. It would be 'On The Road' for the 21st century.
It was about as far away from this drab and stuffy lecture theatre, and this drab and stuffy lecturer, as she could get. She had been so distracted by her daydream that the end of the lecture took her by surprise, and she was surrounded by the sound of scraping chairs as students made a break from the tedium they had just endured. Natalie pulled her books together and quickly joined the exodus.
"Natalie, "she heard from behind her, "could I see you for a few moments, please." To her horror, she realised that it was the Voice of Doom himself - Creepy was calling her back! Knowing that she would probably die of boredom if she had to actually speak to him, she pretended that she hadn't heard and continued walking towards the door.
"Natalie! A moment of your time, please!" As she saw her fellow students disappear into the outside world, she knew she couldn't ignore him this time. She stopped and slowly turned to face him.
"Professor Crawley?" she said, managing to plaster a fake smile and a look of surprise on her face, "I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't hear you. What can I do for you?" He walked towards her and stood just a little too close for comfort, invading her personal space. She was overwhelmed by the smell of expensive but antiquated Cologne.
"Come to my office, please, Natalie," he said in a stiff, formal tone, "I have something important to tell you." He said it in such a way that Natalie couldn't tell if it was going to be good news or bad but, cornered by the old fossil, she realised she didn't have a choice. She renewed her fake smile, making it slightly wider.
"Of course, Professor, I'd love to," she replied, trying but failing to keep the sound of her heart sinking out of her voice. He turned and walked out of the room, and she had to rush to keep up with him. They walked in quickstep down the hall in silence, which suited the young student, who was desperately trying to disappear into the background so nobody would see her with the old fart.
His office was exactly as she had expected - lined with dusty old books, and not a single work of art on display, rather damning for someone who had worked in the Art department for thirty years. He took his seat behind the huge desk with its inlaid leather surface and piles of papers. Natalie looked around but there was no other chair in the room and, feeling like she was up for punishment in the principal's office, stood silently in front of him. He looked at her, silently and unsmiling, like she was something he'd scraped off his shoe, then looked down and started reading the papers on the desk.
"Excuse me, Professor?" Natalie said, now becoming rather irritated, "what did you want?"
"Ah, yes," he responded, looking up at her as if she had just appeared there. Something approximating a smile appeared on his face, although it didn't reach as far as his eyes. "I wanted to talk to you about the end of term. I always have a small gathering on the final day, to which I invite the leading art collectors, investors and gallery owners. I also invite the top students from the various year groups I teach, to give them an opportunity to meet the movers and shakers in the art world - it's a great chance to make very valuable contacts, and several students have made sales and advantageous career moves on the back of it. This year, I'd like you to attend." What were, ostensibly, happy tidings didn't seem to cheer him at all, as he continued to stare sternly at the young woman before him.
"Oh, my! Wow… I don't know what to say!" Natalie exclaimed, completely flustered. This was huge! She had been hoping for an opportunity like this, and had even discussed it with some of the 'cooler' members of staff. The idea that it would be Creepy Crawley who would give her that chance was incredible!
"I'd love to, of course, Sir!" she replied enthusiastically, "I can't tell you how honoured I am that you would think of me! Should I bring samples of my work, Sir? Oh, this is so amazing!" She couldn't contain her excitement, and she found herself jumping around the office.
"You don't need to bring your work," Professor Crawley said coldly, seeming rather contemptuous of her enthusiastic reaction, "they will already have seen it. This is an opportunity for you to impress and for them to find out about you, to get under the covers, so to speak."
"It sounds brilliant!" Natalie enthused, not letting the dour old academic spoil her mood, "when and where do I turn up?"
"All the details are on here," he replied, handing her an engraved invitation card containing his address and a date and time. "Make sure you bring the invitation, or you won't be admitted. It is most important that you don't tell anyone about this, Natalie, not your friends, not your parents. These are important and private people, and the last thing they want is their whereabouts spread about. No-one must know - if you arrive by cab, don't give them my address. If I learn, or suspect, that you have been indiscrete, your invite will be withdrawn and you'll be excluded. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Sir! Don't worry, Sir, you can absolutely rely on my absolute discretion!" she gushed and, clutching the invitation to her heart, she left, feeling like she was walking on a cloud. At last! This was her breakthrough! When she was rich and famous in her own right, her parents would have to acknowledge that her Art degree wasn't a complete waste of time, as they never tired of telling her. She fairly skipped back to her room.
Over the next week or so, she found herself fighting temptation and frustration. The temptation was to tell her friends, and to see the envy on their faces when they realised that she had been chosen over them. She managed to resist the urge, not only because of the instructions Crawley had given her and the dire warnings of the consequences, but also she was sure that her friends would try and muscle in on the evening, and she certainly didn't want any of them taking the spotlight off her.
The frustration was having to wait so long for the end of term! She wanted it all to happen immediately, so that she could begin her new life as a successful artist, as she was sure would happen. To distract herself, she poured her efforts into completing her project, putting in far more hours than she had ever intended. She wondered if Professor Crawley would object if she brought it along to his house, but then she decided against it - she would impress them with her wit and charm and, if they were interested, she could always invite them for a private viewing - she might even show them her work!
At last, the big night arrived and she got herself ready. After a lot of soul-searching, she had decided on the classic LBD - Little Black Dress - as you couldn't go wrong with that, and it suited her curvy figure. Of course, she had bought a whole new outfit, because that's what you did for important occasions like this. She put on her sexy new underwear, including black seamed stockings and suspender belt, before sitting down to fix her make-up.
She looked at her black-rimmed glasses with a feeling of regret. Her parents had taken her to get contacts fitted when she was twelve, but they had irritated her eyes and she'd thrown a spectacular tantrum to ensure they never tried again. Now, she found glasses unglamorous and unsexy, but she had so far refused to give her parents the satisfaction of seeing her back down. Be positive, she thought, they made her look intelligent, and there was nothing more sexy than watching an intelligent woman take off her glasses with a sultry look, just prior to getting into bed with you.
She brushed out her glossy, perfectly coiffed, auburn bob and put on her dress, carefully adjusting the neckline and smoothing it down so that her stocking tops were hidden beneath the short, figure-hugging hemline. She stepped into her black stilettos, picked up her clutch bag and wrap, and was ready to go.
Her friends would all be out at a club by now, celebrating end of term, so there were no awkward questions, and she reached her car without anyone seeing her. She drove to the wealthy side of town and pulled up outside the large, old house indicated on the invitation. It was just the kind of place her parents' friends or, indeed, her friends' parents would live in, but she was astonished that someone on a professor's income could afford to live in this neighbourhood. Maybe she'd underestimated Creepy Crawley, she thought. Men with money were inherently more interesting than those without, weren't they?
She went up to the front door and, having smoothed her dress down, she rang the bell, feeling extremely nervous but excited at the prospect of what was to come. The door swung open almost immediately, and she found Crawley staring at her intently, his eyes flashing up and down as if checking her out. He then looked past her, noticing her car.
"You can't park that here," he barked angrily, "it will attract attention. Drive it into my garage for now, and be quick about it before somebody sees you!"
"Oh, sorry, Sir, I didn't realise…" Natalie responded nervously, before teetering down the path on her stilettos, wondering what the big issue was. Jeez, she thought, it's like a CIA clandestine operation! She drove up the drive and into the open garage, before getting out of the car and quickly making her way out of the dark space, to find Crawley waiting impatiently for her. She'd only just made it out when he pressed the remote and the door swung down and banged shut. The academic looked at his watch.
"You're late," he said grumpily, and marched back into the house, with Natalie scurrying along behind him.
"Fashionably late, I hope, Sir," she said, trying to lighten the mood. Crawley shut the door and, to her surprise, locked it before turning to face her.
"I thought I'd made it clear to you," he snapped, "this is an important evening. I don't like to be kept waiting. Give me your bag and wrap." Feeling even more nervous than she had been when she arrived, she did as ordered, rubbing her bare arms in reaction to the chilly atmosphere in the house. How appropriate, she thought.
"Come with me," her host said, leading the way down the hall, "I have an entertainment room in the basement - that's where we're gathering." Entertainment room, Natalie thought in disbelief, I don't suppose he gets much opportunity to use that!
He opened a door and led her down a flight of stairs. The air didn't get any warmer as they descended and she wished she had kept her wrap. But then she heard the sound of voices, a general murmur of conversation, and realised it was coming from a room in front of them, with the door slightly ajar.
"Go on in, Natalie," Crawley said, standing to one side and giving her that humourless smile she'd seen before, "your future awaits." She psyched herself up, ready to make an entrance.
The room was dark, almost pitch black, except for a spotlight in the ceiling in the middle of the room, shining down on a dais with a tall metal pole on either side of it. She looked around in confusion, hearing the voices but not seeing anyone there. How could that be, she wondered, and looked back at the professor for an explanation. He had just stepped into the room and, to her stunned surprise, closed the door, turning the key which he then put in his pocket.
"Professor? I don't understand," she said in a baffled tone, "where is everybody?"
"Everybody who was invited is here," he replied. He moved into the shadows to one side and, suddenly, the noise of conversation stopped - the conversation didn't die away as people stopped talking, it just stopped. Natalie was even more confused.
"What's going on?" she asked, starting to feel a little frightened.
"A slight deception," the professor said, "as I said upstairs, this is a very important evening, but it only involves the two of us." She saw his face as he moved towards her and into the light, and it was not reassuring. What had been a humourless smile had changed into a maniacal grin.
"You really are stupid, aren't you?" he said contemptuously, "you really thought you were meeting key players in the Art business? Typical of spoiled brats like you, you think the whole world revolves around you!"
"You mean that was all a lie?!" Natalie exclaimed, "why?! Why would you get my hopes up like that?! What's your game?!" She stood with her fists on her hips, her anger boiling over.
"I'm sorry to be the one to have to disillusion you, Natalie," Crawley sneered, "but you're not God's gift to the art world. You're not the creative genius you seem to think you are. You're just another stupid, talentless rich bitch who deserves to be taken down and have your nose rubbed in the filth that is real life!"
"Ha!" Natalie shouted angrily, "I suppose you'd be the one to do that, would you? You stupid old wanker, you couldn't get it up if you tried! If we're talking about talentless, you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?! Now, open that goddamn door, I'm leaving!"
Both hands against his chest, she pushed him hard towards the door. She expected him to stumble backwards, but he didn't move an inch, he just stood there looking down at her with a stony face.
"Give me that fucking key, you moron!" she screamed, pawing at his trouser pocket.
Things happened very quickly from there. In a flash, the professor caught her wrists in a surprisingly firm grip and, spinning her around, twisted her arms up behind her back.
"Ow! Take your hands off me, you old pervert!" Natalie squealed, gasping at the pain as he pulled her wrists higher, "my parents'll hear about this, and you'll be out of your cushy job so fast it'll make your head spin!" She struggled to escape him, but to no avail.
"I don't think so," Crawley said as he pushed her towards the dais, forcing her up onto it, "I'm going to do the world a favour by taking you out of circulation and teaching you some life lessons. I hope for your sake that you learn quicker than you ever did in class!"
A struggle for control of Natalie's limbs ensued, carried out in silence but for the grunts of effort they each expelled, but it was an unequal one. The professor was much fitter and stronger than he looked and, despite her desperate attempts to kick, bite or scratch him, the young student found her attempts to break free fruitless. She was manoeuvred and manipulated like a rag doll, forced to stand where he put her.
To her horror, she realised that there were manacles attached to the posts on either side of the dais, and he was guiding her wrists into their open jaws. Her right wrist was first and, as it was forced into place, it pressed down on a small latch and the two halves of the metal cuff sprang shut and clicked as the lock engaged, holding her arm out to the side of her body and stretched above her head. Her left wrist followed almost immediately, and Natalie was trapped.
Her ankles were quickly restrained in the same way, and she was now spreadeagled between the posts, her feet barely touching the surface of the dais. She pulled frantically at her bonds, trying to get free, but it was no use.
"Let me out of this, you bastard!" she screamed at Crawley, as he casually walked around and stood in front of her, a smug look on his face.
"I think it would be a good idea if you shut up now, Natalie," he said, coldly and calmly.
"I will not!" she shouted back at him," I'll scream this fucking house down if you don't release me right now! Try explaining that to your neighbours! Help! Help!!" She screamed at the top of voice, but Crawley just smiled at her.
"This room is soundproof," he said, the words drowned out by her screams, but he didn't care, "but I've told you to be quiet, and you really should do as I say." He doubted if she'd heard him as she continued to cry out and wail, although she did pause as he walked away into the darkness.
"Come back and undo these shackles, Crawley!" she called out into the darkness, her anger starting to turn into doubt and fear. She was struggling to come to terms with what was happening to her, mainly because of her contempt for this middle-aged, dull time-server, seemingly incapable of saying boo to a goose, never mind assaulting and imprisoning a student. Gradually, her predicament finally impinging on her consciousness, she started to realise that she was in serious trouble, and a change of tactics was clearly required.
"Please, Sir," she whined, "I'm sorry if I insulted you. Please let me down, Sir. Please?" She felt a wave of relief when he appeared in front of her again, but then she noticed he was carrying something, which looked like a piece of leather with straps attached. Whatever it was, she didn't like the look of it.
"W-what's that?" she stammered fearfully.
"I won't tolerate your disobedience, Natalie," he said sternly, "this is a gag, and it will do what you seem incapable of doing - shut that big mouth of yours!" He stepped forward, lifting the gag and bringing it towards her face.
"Please, Sir, no!" Natalie squealed, "I'll be quiet, I promise! I-" She managed no more before the gag pressed against her face.
The leather panel was stiff and curved so that it fitted closely against her face. As he pushed it into place over her mouth, she was alarmed to feel something forcing its way between her lips, prising her jaws open and trapping her tongue beneath it. It was hard and she tasted rubber as it slid in, reaching to the back of her throat and making her choke. She tried to use her tongue to push it back, but it was hopeless, all she could do was concentrate on trying not to throw up.
The gag covered her face from her chin to her nose, as well as spreading out over her cheeks. As Crawley fastened the strap behind her head, buckling it as tight as he could, it formed an airtight seal against her skin, preventing any sound escaping from her mouth, and any air from entering.
"You have to learn obedience, Natalie," he smiled as he looked at her, half her face now covered by tan leather, the other half clearly expressing her terror, "I know that is going to be difficult for a dumb, spoilt brat like you, but I'll help you along in that process, don't you worry." He patted her leather-covered cheek condescendingly and took off her glasses, leaving her with a slightly blurred view of her surroundings. He stepped away from her, disappearing into the darkness, but returning a moment later carrying a large pair of scissors and a refuse sack.
"Let's relieve you of these trappings of wealth, shall we?" he said, holding up the scissors before her frightened eyes, "I'm sure you still feel you don't deserve this, that somehow you're better than this, that you're better than me. Perhaps I can drive that idea from your head."
She watched helplessly as he reached down to the hem of her dress and placed the cutting edges of the scissors around it. Desperately she shook her head and screamed into the gag, the sound coming out from her nose as little more than a whimper. He looked up at her.
"Still disobedient?" he said disbelievingly, "you'd better stop now, or the punishment you have already earned will be far worse." Her eyes widened in alarm at this threat, and she fell silent.
The scissors sliced through the expensive material of her dress with ease, and they quickly rose from hem to neckline until the two halves hung open, revealing her underwear and bare stomach underneath. He cut through the shoulder straps and pulled away the ruined garment, thrusting it into the ref use sack.
"I appreciate your choice of underwear, Natalie," he smiled as he groped her breast through the lacy bra. When she tried to pull away, twisting in her bondage, he simply squeezed harder until, with pain written all over her face, she desisted. "Classic and sexy. But I'm afraid it has to go - you no longer deserve such luxuries." He snipped the straps of the bra and then the material between the two cups, tossing it into the plastic bag with the dress.
Her large breasts sagged slightly but not very much, a testament to her youth and hours spent in the gym, toning her trim body. He grabbed one in each hand, squeezing and kneading them, rubbing her firm nipples, while staring into her face, dispassionately. It was a statement of ownership - he controlled her body now, not her - rather than desire or lust.
He unfastened and unclipped her suspender belt, before rolling down her stockings to her ankles, where they were stopped by the manacles holding her. One leg at a time, he pressed the front of the cuff, which sprang open and allowed him to remove the shoe and stocking, before locking her ankle once more. Natalie fought to pull her leg away while it was free, but his grip was painfully tight.
"Still resisting, I see," he said as he straightened up, "commendable, but also punishable. Submit to my control, Natalie, or it will prove to be very painful for you, as well as pointless." The young woman screwed up her eyes and felt the tears running down her face as the horror of her situation finally began to overwhelm her.
Removing her panties took only moments, and then she was naked. She so desperately wanted to cover herself but it was impossible. She was splayed out in front of him, and he was feasting his eyes, taking in every detail.
"As I expected, you're bare down there," he said with obvious distaste, staring at her crotch, "like a common whore or some porn star. Disgusting!" She was amazed at how old-fashioned his attitude was, but then remembered how old-fashioned and, indeed, old he was. He disappeared from sight again, and she began to panic about what he would come back with this time.
"Time for your punishment, Natalie," he said, a tone of eagerness in his voice. He was carrying something that Natalie had only ever seen in old black-and-white films about pirates, although she knew what it was, and that it was very much in use these days as a tool by people into BDSM. It was what used to be called a cat-o-nine-tails, now a flogger and, despite the threat she had already received, she screamed into the gag, shook her head violently, and struggled desperately against the manacles holding her.
"Every time you do that, you just make it worse for yourself," Crawley laughed, "when are you going to learn? You're going to be punished, so just accept it. Either that, or I'm going to beat the resistance out of you!" Natalie stopped struggling, but her body was now wracked by huge sobs as she broke down.
Her head snapped back as she felt the tails of the flogger bite into the flesh of her shoulders and, despite what he had said, she was screaming once more. Again and again he thrashed the flogger against her, enjoying her desperate screams and pathetic attempts to squirm out of the way of his attack. When the skin of her shoulders began to redden, he moved on to whipping her buttocks and thighs, relishing the way a slight tremor rippled through the well-padded cheeks under each blow. After striping her skin liberally, he stopped for a rest.
"Are you getting the message yet, Natalie?" he asked, breathing hard as he stood in front of her. To his surprise and gratification, he saw her lift her head three times, letting it drop back onto her chest each time, attempting in her exhaustion to express her submission. He felt a pang of guilt at that point, thinking that perhaps she had suffered enough and he should show her some mercy.
But then he remembered all those times when she, and all those girls like her, had treated him like dirt, looking down their stuck-up noses at him, sniggering behind their hands as they called him names like 'Creepy' and whispered about his supposed preference for boys. His mind shot back thirty years to the girl he had met in college, the one he had dated for a year, the one who had laughed in his face when she told him that she was sleeping with his best friend. All his pent-up frustration, anger and hatred now focused on the girl in front of him, and he raised the flogger again.
His assault became frenzied, whipping the flogger viciously and repeatedly across her breasts, making them swing and shudder under the force of each lashing. Natalie screamed into the gag and threw herself desperately from side to side, trying somehow to ameliorate the agony she was suffering. She had thought that the pain she had suffered from the beating on her back was terrible, but this was unbearable. This can't get any worse, she thought, but she was wrong. So wrong.
Crawley stopped, once more breathing heavily from the physical effort, but his anger had not abated. He could see how much the girl in front of him was suffering but, rather than satisfying his urge for retribution, it seemed to drive him to wilder, even more abusive thoughts. His attention turned to her shaved crotch, in his opinion a demonstration of her loose morals, and he smiled.
Natalie found herself in a whole new circle of hell when she felt the fronds of the flogger smack against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, spread so invitingly before him. His blows weren't quite as violent as they had been, but then they didn't need to be, as he worked his way up her legs, forehand then backhand, giving her not a moment's relief or pause for recovery.
She felt as though she was losing her mind when the cruel strips of leather finally landed on her most sensitive flesh, her exposed and unprotected labia. To her horror, she realised that he had started to hit her with up-strokes targeted between her legs, ensuring that each delivered its full quota of mind-searing agony.
It proved to be the final straw. The tortured figure stretched out before him stopped twisting and squirming, screaming and crying, and went completely limp, her head slumping forward, her legs buckling, leaving her wrists holding her entire bodyweight. Seeing this dramatic change, Crawley paused and realised that he had gone as far as he could, possibly too far. He straightened up and lowered the flogger, looking at his victim with a grim smile. He had taught her a lesson, that was for sure.
He went over to his rack of weapons and put the flogger back. When he returned to the dais, Natalie had recovered sufficiently to raise her weary head and open her eyes, staring at him with a desperate, haunted look.
"I'm going to leave you to think about the lessons you need to learn, Natalie," he said in his supercilious lecturing tone, as if he had just delivered an unfavourable critique on an essay she had handed in, "remember: obedience and submission are what you need to demonstrate if you want to avoid this kind of treatment. I'll be back in the morning." To her astonishment, he left her chained up and gagged as he headed for the door carrying the refuse sack containing her ruined clothes.
Summoning her last reserves of energy, she tried to attract his attention, somehow make him turn, beg him to come back and release her. But all she could do was watch in disbelief as he walked out, switching off the light to leave her in pitch blackness, and closed the door. She heard the sound of the key turning in the lock and bolts being shot into place, and disintegrated into wailing sobs of despair.
As he closed the door behind him, Crawley was gratified to hear how her muffled screams were cut off completely, testament to the effectiveness of the soundproofing he had installed in preparation for her arrival. Having locked and bolted it, he now replaced the wooden panel which completely concealed the space where the door was located, making it blend in perfectly with the rest of the lined corridor. Satisfied that no-one would ever uncover his secret dungeon without tearing the place apart, he went off to carry out the jobs he still had to do to complete this satisfying and successful night's work.