by Jeff Sinclair

Ilustrations by Tarsis

Originally published in HOM Bondage Magazine, issue unknown

Scanned and Transcribed by guardian46sw

Stories Codes: Femdom,  bdsm, reluct, tied, rope, gag, blind, forced, oral, sex, X

George Handelman looked up from his drawing board and glanced at his assistant.  Crystal Defoe bent over her own board six feet away, brown eyes intent as she worked delicately, her lovely profile etched against the hinged fluorescent light above her board.  Her slender body curved gracefully, her firm breast swelling her blouse intriguingly.  Black hair rippled down her spine, and her tanned skin was golden against the whiteness of her blouse.

George sighed and reached for a drafting template.  He had this thing about Crystal, but no idea in the world of where to begin.  His desire for her was tangled up with other things, lots of other things, and he was half afraid to disturb them.  Besides, she was six years younger than he was, and so gorgeous he knew other men must be lining up to monopolize her time.  Where could a middling tall, absolutely average fellow like hm fit into the life of a girl like her?  He was afraid he knew the answer, so afraid that he didn't want to find out he was right.  So, he'd filed his desire for her away with his other fantasies.  Fantasies, he shared with no one.

He moved his pen precisely and lifted the template away, blowing gently on the ink to dry it.  His eyes strayed back to Crystal's gracefully bent spine, and he sighed again.  The office party was Friday night… and he knew he wouldn't have the nerve to say anything then, either.

George stood in a corner nursing his fourth, or was it his fifth, drink and watching men gather around Crystal like moths around a flame.  Her cool brown eyes laughed as she parried their implied invitations with ease.

Holding her admirers at bay with effortless style.  George wished he was one of them, but he just couldn't bring himself to make such a fool of himself.  He buried his nose in his drink and sipped again, and a hand touched his elbow.  He looked up into a pair of green eyes under chestnut bangs.

"Hi, there," a petite woman said.  "George Handelman isn't it?

"Why, yes," George said, surprised that she had addressed him.  His eyes rested briefly on her full, provocative breasts and narrow waist, then snapped guiltily away.

"I thought so," the woman said, full lips smiling warmly.  "My name's Marilyn… Marilyn Defoe."  George's eyes widened and she laughed.  "Yes, I'm Crystal's cousin.  She's mentioned you to me."

"She has?" George heard the eagerness in his voice and dragged back on his enthusiasm.  He saw the sparkle in the green eyes and flushed again, knowing she'd read his interest in her cousin in his voice.

"Yes," she said carelessly.  She tucked an arm through George's elbow and drew him toward the bar with a chuckle, and George, to his own amazement, found himself walking with her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I've been watching you, George, I may call you George, may I?" He nodded wordlessly in his confusion.  "Good.  I've been watching you, George," she resumed comfortably, "and I noticed you watching Crystal."

"I, that is... " George blushed painfully and started to draw away, but Marilyn patted his arm comfortingly.

"Now, don't get upset, George," she soothed.  "Here, your glass is empty.  Let's get you another one."  She parked him by the bar as if she owned him, and George was too bemused by her actions to question them.  She signaled to the barkeep and a fresh glass, a double, he noted vaguely, was suddenly in front of him.  He sipped the strong drink mechanically, noting distantly that Marilyn wasn't drinking.

"It's frustrating, isn't it, George?" she said with a companionable air of an old friend.

"What is?" he asked reflexively.

"Watching them gather around Crystal that way," she shook her head thoughtfully.  "It happens everywhere she goes."

"I know," he said moodily, sipping again and abandoning himself, not without a momentary mental alarm, to the glow of inebriation.  Something in the back of his brain said he was about to make a fool of himself, but his alcohol-fogged mind didn't much care.

"I know you know," Marilyn said sympathetically.  "It's sort of a shame it's not the good old days, isn't it?"

"Good old days?" George asked, drunkenly puzzled.

"Sure."  Marilyn grinned sunnily and leaned on the bar.  "In the good old days, maybe you could've hopped down to the slave market and bought her."

"What?" George straightened slightly, blinking at her in astonishment.  She couldn't have said what he thought he'd heard!  But even if she had, why should a casual remark startle him so?  And why should a vague sense of alarm stir within him?

"Why not?" she asked, grinning again.  "Don't tell me you never thought about it, George!  Wouldn't you like to own her?"

"Well, I... " he wanted to deny it, but he couldn't.  Besides, there was something, fascinating about the thought.  Even through the alcohol, he knew this was the strangest casual conversation he'd ever had.  And he sensed somehow that Marilyn had some very specific purpose in mind.

"You see?" Marilyn chuckled warmly.  "That's the way the human mind works sometimes, George, but listen to me running on about Crystal!  Let's talk about you, George.  Tell me about yourself."

George blinked owlishly at his peculiar companion, wondering vaguely just what she was after.  He knew he wasn't the 'fine figure of a man' that attracted women the way Crystal attracted men, but something deep inside him said Marilyn was after something.  He shrugged mental shoulders and ignored the thought, sliding down into a hazily remembered blur of exchanged confidences.  The strange thing was that he didn't even care.

---

Saturday morning was terrible.  George had never experienced such a hangover, and he wondered fretfully just how much he'd had to drink.  He groaned as the telephone drilled his brain again like an icy dagger.  Damn!  He squinted bloodshot eyes against the bright morning light and reached for the phone like a drowning man.  He managed to get to it before it rang again.

"Hello?" he mumbled through a mouth that something had died in.

"Good morning," a familiar/unfamiliar voice purred.  "It's Marilyn."

"Marilyn?" he asked vaguely.

"Marilyn Defoe," the voice said, an edge of mock disappointment in it.  "Don't tell me you've forgotten our interesting conversation last night."

George sat up in bed and held his splitting head, his mind trying to slip into gear.  He remembered meeting her and talking with her, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember much beyond the first few exchanges.

"Conversation?" he asked stupidly.

"George!" she made his name a droll sigh of exasperation and clucked her tongue over the phone.  "How cold you forget something like that?"

"I haven't forgotten," he lied, too embarrassed to admit that he had.  "Uhhh... why are you calling me, Marilyn?"

"Because I think you ought to drop by my place this afternoon," she said easily.  "We should pick up or conversation where it dropped off."

"What do you mean?" he asked uneasily, a tiny alarm ringing within.

"Now, George, you know what I mean," she said softly.  "You told me about your dreams, dear.  All about them."

George's stomach did a slow roll that had nothing at all to do with his hangover.  He closed his eyes and felt his pulse speed.

"I don't know what you mean," he said weakly.

"Certainly you do, dear," Marilyn chuckled.  "And I think you should follow your dream, George, I really do.  I want to help you follow it."

"I think this conversation's gone far enough," George said, reaching for a firm tone.

"Oh, no!  It's just beginning!" Marilyn laughed.

"I think not," he said.  "Goodby, Marilyn."

"I wouldn't hang up, George.  If you do, I'll have to call Crystal."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"I'm sure she'd find your, ah... fantasies fascinating.  Especially our fascination with, shall we say silk and satin, George?"

"You wouldn't," he said feebly.

"Try me," she said cheerfully.  "Or else, come by this evening, about six, shall we say?  Who knows, I might even put in a good word for you with Crystal.  Or, of course, I can tell her right now, with a slightly different message," her voice trailed off suggestively and George swallowed.  He felt his shoulders sag.

"All right," he said quietly.  "Give me the address."

---

George parked outside the small farmhouse with a sinking heart.  It was a pleasant fall day, the air blustery and cool, colored oak leaves drifted on the wind, the sky pale blue and clear, but he didn't notice any of that.  He was too focused on what had brought him here.

He climbed out of his car and walked to the front door.  He rang the bell and Marilyn opened the door, smiling at him brightly.  Her shoulder length hair fell over a green satin dressing gown that matched her eyes twinkling up at him.

"How nice of you to come," she purred.  "Step inside, please."  The door closed quietly behind him and she took his arm again.  "Just step this way, darling.  You're going to have such a good time!"

"Now wait a minute," he said, digging in his heels.  "I'm here because you insisted on it, but I'm not going to step further until we get some things straight.  Like just what the hell you think you're doing?"

"That should be obvious," she said sweetly.  "I'm going to help you face some things you've always been afraid to think about."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said flatly.

"Of course you do," she said firmly.  "Oh, you may not remember telling me about them, you really were awfully drunk, George, but you know exactly what I'm talking about.  Or you wouldn't be here."

"I..." he said, and then broke off, blushing.

"There, you see?  You do know.  Now be a good boy and come with Marilyn."

George closed his eyes and let her lead him down the hall.  Damn!  What had he told her?  She'd already hinted that he'd let slip his darkest secret, what else had he said?

"Why don't you take your clothes off, George," she purred.  "After all, you won't be needing them, will you?"

"Just a minute," he said shakily, pulling away from her.  "I don't remember everything I said to you.  I'll admit that.  But, what makes you think I'll go along with... with... " He waved at the ropes and straps.

"I can always call Crystal," Marilyn said reasonable, and reached for the bedside phone.  "Shall I?" she poised a finger over the buttons.

"No!" George shouted the word and then drew a deep breath, trying for calm.  "Don't call her," he said finally, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Fine," Marilyn said, and replaced the phone.  She watched him remove his shirt and then unbelted her housecoat.  It slid down her shoulders, and George paused, staring at her in shock.

She was worth staring at.  Her 5' 4" body was ripely curved, and breathtakingly revealed in a black leather corset, tightly laced and shining in the light.  Her naked breasts pouted proudly above it, coral nipples tall and hard.  Below it, she wore only tiny white satin panties, a white garter belt, and black nylons.  She glanced at his frozen face and smiled brightly.

"Don't mind me, dear," she purred.  "Just go on with what you're doing."

George swallowed and toed off his shoes, then reached for his belt.  He unbuckled it with a queer little stab of confused emotion.  He didn't try to understand it.  He didn't want to understand it, because he was afraid of it.  But even as he avoided considering it closely, he recognized the mingled anticipation and embarrassment which composed it.

He folded his trousers over a chair, then bent to remove his socks.

"Leave those, dear," Marilyn said brightly, and he looked up and swallowed agin as she smoothed the black, elbow length gloves over her wrists.  "Just peel off the shorts like a good boy," she said perkily.

George flushed crimson, but he knew he was too far gone in his submission to her demands to stop now.  He closed his eyes as he peeled the shorts off, his erection bobbing in front of him.  He was horribly embarrassed by his highly visible reaction to his predicament, and her throaty little gurgle of a chuckle only made it worse.

"How nice, George.  You know, you're quite well endowed aren't you?" He blushed darker at her casual comment, and then jerked in indescribable shock as her silk-covered fingers curled around him.  She tugged gently, and his hips surged in reaction, eyes popping open to stare down at the black-gloved hand clasping him.  "Come with Marilyn," she laughed, and he moaned in humiliation as he followed her across the floor, obedient to her tugging grip.

She led him to the edge of a large throw rug and, without releasing her hold, bent and flicked it aside.  Even as his humiliating circumstances, George felt a throb of admiration for the lush, satin-covered ass that perked up at him as she bent.  Then he saw the small metal ring bolts which had hidden under the rug, and his mouth went dry.

"Please, Marilyn," he began quiveringly.  "I... "

"You," she said pleasantly, "want exactly what I'm going to give you, whether you're willing to admit it or not.  Now just sit down on the floor and give me your wrists like an obedient little fellow."

George writhed inwardly but tried to keep his face impassive as he did exactly as she commanded.  The hard floor was smooth and cold under his naked ass, and he shivered as she released her hold on his erect penis to reach for the rope.  It was ridiculous!  He wasn't a big man, but he was far larger that she was, yet it was Marilyn who was in complete control of the situation.  He watched her loop the rope carefully around his wrists, cinching the band of white cord gently but inescapably taut, and his brain hammered the inside of his skull.  Why was he letting her do this?  The questions pounded in his mind, but he refused to answer it.

Marilyn hummed gently under her breath as she tugged his wrists over his head and looped the cord through a ring bolt.  She tied it tightly, anchoring him to the floor, and he shifted uneasily on the bare wood.  She chuckled and stroked his sweating cheek gently.

"There, now!" she said brightly.  "We've made a good start, haven't we, George?" He stared at her and refused to answer, and she chuckled again.  "Well, if you want to be strong and silent, I'll be glad to help," she laughed, and slowly removed her panties.  George's eyes locked to the impudent, chestnut furred mound between her thighs, his throat dry as her coral petals winked moistly at him.  She was magnificent!  And she scared the shit out of him with her calm assurance!  He was so busy staring he didn't notice her reach over to a dresser and pull out another fistful of panties and a nylon.

His mind wasn't working too well, and he was just a fraction too slow to grasp what was happening as her fingers suddenly brushed his chin and pulled it down.  He started to say something, to ask what she was doing, order her to stop, or beg her to continue...  he didn't know which.  And it didn't matter, either, because before he could get a word out, she had calmly stuffed her discarded panties into his mouth!

He jerked as if electrocuted, eyes flaring wide as he tasted the tang of her aroused body on the slick satin.  He was frozen in consternation, and she took advantage of it by wadding two more pairs of panties into his mouth!  Then, as coherent thought tried to return to him, she looped the nylon adroitly around his head and tied it, lashing the gag in place.

"There!  Now you can be as strong and silent as you like," she mocked, her voice laughing but not really unfriendly.  He stared at her over the gag, puzzled by the almost conspiratorial playfulness in her voice.  He trembled all over as he realized it was as if they had known one another for years, as if Marilyn had always been there, hiding in the corridors of his mind, part of the fantasies he had kept locked away in his private life for so long.  And as he realized that, he felt his ability to resist her eroding still further, crumbling about him in ruin.

She seemed to read the confusion in his eyes, and she bent forward, pink tongue delicately brushing his eyelids as they closed reflexively.  He shook.  Nothing in his entire life had ever felt so erotic, so testicle-twisting sensual!  He moaned through the moistening mouthful of her panties, and her laughter was warmly, gently mocking in his ears.

She bent over his ankles and tugged, and he felt himself slide limply onto his back, lying on the floor with his arms stretched overhead.  He closed his eyes, head rolling to the side, caught in the mesh of his own confused desires as securely as in her ropes.  He no longer tried to understand.  He only lay there limply, waiting.

He felt cord circle his ankles, then something soft brushed the soles of his sock-clad feet.  He kept his eyes tightly closed, unwilling to look, but he did not resist as she looped the ankle ropes through more ring bolts spaced a yard apart.  She tied the cords, and he was stretched between the rings.  She didn't pull him tight, she was content merely to confine him, as though that was all the expression of control either of them needed.

"Now, George, open your eyes," she said chiding, and he obeyed, looking down to where she knelt by his feet.  His eyes opened wide, and he shook his head vigorously as he saw the nylon panties.  She had laced the rope through their leg holes before she tied it to the rings, it was the nylon which had brushed his feet, and he was frantically certain what she had in mind.

He was right.  Even as he twisted and jerked at the ropes, she tugged the high-waisted, old-fashioned panties up his sock-clad calves, over his knees, and up his hairy thighs.  He tried to close his eyes, but he couldn't, somehow he had to watch as she snugged them deftly up under his squirming ass and smoothed them about his waist.  He looked ridiculous with his erection straining up against their crotch!  Especially with his socks still adorning his feet and calves!  Despite the panties' size, they were a snug fit, and just as silky soft and sensual as he had always secretly imagined they must be.  He rolled his head, but even as he rolled it he could not look away from the smooth mountain of his erection under the feminine nylon.  Mortification at his ludicrous appearance stabbed his male ego, but under the burning tide of humiliation was an equally burning wave of excitement.  He had never dared reveal his innermost fantasies, not until Marilyn had gotten him drunk and he had spilled his guts!

He wrenched his eyes away at last and looked into her green eyes, seeing the laughing devils in their depths, and realized that she had gotten him drunk on purpose!  But why?!!  Why him?  Were his hidden desires that clear to anyone who had the experience to see them?  The thought was devastating, and exciting.

"Now, then, darling," Marilyn whispered, "I've got another little piece of lingerie for you!" He writhed in eager mortification as she produced a panty girdle from her drawer.  He tried to imagine what it was for, then gasped in humiliated delight as she lifted his head and tugged the girdle down over it.  Th crown of his head pressed the crotch, the front panel of the girdle covering his face and squeezing it with stretchy-firm insistence.  He moaned in his throat, throbbing with an arousal such as he had never felt before, and somehow the humiliation of yielding to such a tiny package of female will power made his lust burn even hotter.

He could see nothing but a vague blur of light through the girdle, but he heard a sound, a tiny, clinking sound.  Like a bottle opening, he realized suddenly.  Then he gasped as something thick and wet splashed over his hairy chest.  He was still trying to identify it when her silk-gloved fingers began spreading oil over him, and he groaned as the fire within him raged out of control.  He quivered and jerked, whimpering eagerly through the gag as her teasing, taunting fingers worked down over his ribs and belly.  Oil coated his hairy thighs, her fingers tickling their inner slopes expertly, and he moaned, then grunted in anguished humiliation and delight, gasping as his pleasure erupted stickily inside the panties.  Something in his mind gibbered with mortified bliss at the final humiliation of cuming in his panties!

"Goodness, how careless of me!" Marilyn gurgled laughing.  "Ooh what I went and wasted!  Oh well, darling, you'll just have to manage for me somehow else, won't you?  And if you're a really good boy, and do very nicely, Marilyn will give you another little surprise.  Won't that be nice?"

He was still wondering what she was talking about when he felt her warmth and smelled the wild, female mush of her own arousal.  Her knees pressed the floor on either side of his neck, her smooth, naked ass kissing his girdle-covered face.  Breath whistled in his nose under the Lycra as he realized exactly what she wanted, and when her soft, syrupy crotch pressed his mouth through the girdle, he knew he would give it to her.

He did.  It was difficult and clumsy and embarrassing with her panties in his mouth and her girdle covering his face, but he did his level best, shuddering in delighted humiliation and an all enveloping warmth.  Only slowly did he realize that the warmth was gratitude.  He had told her all his innermost secrets, and she had used them to blackmail him into enduring more embarrassment than he had ever dreamed possible, but he was glad.  He admitted it, and felt his last resentment fade as he lavished pleasure upon her, rubbing his gagged, girdled mouth over her fevered flesh.  And as he did, she leaned down, lying forward over his chest, her chestnut hair a silken lash on his sweating belly, he heard her moaning in delight, and then her oily silk-gloved hand dipped into the sticky nest of his panties, lifting his limp penis to her mouth, and her lips were warm and soft and wet as they closed about him.

He whinnied like a spur-struck horse, redoubling his efforts as her skillful ministrations hardened him once more.  Damn!  She had a devil in her mouth!  And he twisted and moaned and rubbed her liquid folds like a madman as she drew his lust once more to the flashpoint.

He felt her stiffen, and then she whimpered, twisting, and the sound of her own passion erupted through her mouth and into his cock.  He wailed in response, humping his hips, desperate for his own promised relief, but her mouth slipped away, leaving him unappeased, and he groaned through the gag in protest as her firm thighs clasped his Lycra-covered face against her and she came and came like the end of the world.

Yet, even in his fuming frustration he felt an all pervasive contentment.  He wanted those panties exactly where they were, all of them, and he wanted the girdle on his head, wanted her ropes on his wrists and ankles.  He wanted to be her captive, wanted it as much as he had wanted Crystal.

Her pleasure convulsions finally slowed and her sweating, satin thighs released his head to thump gently back.  He moaned, hips twitching as the demand for pleasure still simmered within him, and she chuckled slowly, throatily.  Her oily gloves stroked his erection tenderly, and he almost came again, but she snatched her fingers away and he went limp, moaning louder.

"There, there, George," she said lovingly.  "I know what you want, but I don't want to waste this one.  So just wait a moment and we'll do it properly."

He made himself lie still in her ropes as she climbed gracefully off of him.  He heard sounds, like a closet door opening, he thought vaguely, his blood humming and simmering in anticipation.  If she didn't want to 'waste' his erection, she could mean only one thing, and he was wildly eager for it.  He had only one regret, perfect though Marilyn was, beautiful though she was, exciting though she was, she still wasn't Crystal.  And it was for Crystal's tall, slender loveliness he had hungered for so long…

He heard feet and the creak of her leather corset, a faint rattle of metal, the sounds of her breathing, somehow louder than before to his lust-sharpened ears.  He moaned through the gag, begging her to hurry, and she laughed warmly.  Then warm, soft, female weight was settling atop him, a satin female was pressing his pelvis, warm, wet female flesh enveloping his rampant erection.  He groaned and arched his hips, and a muffled croon of pleasure answered him.  He gasped as her muscles closed on him in an intimated clasp, massaging his imprisoned length, and he smiled in bliss under gag and girdle.

Then a hand snatched away the girdle, and he stared up into warm brown eyes under a cascade of black hair, and his eyes widened in horror.  It wasn't Marilyn on his pinioned body!  It was Crystal!

His eyes flared in shock, swiveling to Marilyn with a sense of utter betrayal as she knelt beside his head.  Her threats to call Crystal had all been a trick!  She and Crystal had been in on it together from the start!

But then his mind registered the chain leash in Marilyn's left hand and followed it to the leather collar about Crystal's slender throat.  He gasped as he took in the wide tape sealing Crystal's lips, the white bands of cord binding her wrists behind her and her arms to her naked, sweating torso!  Crystal was as much a captive as he was!

"That's right, George," Marilyn whispered warmly stroking his sweating cheek.  "Crystal had her suspicions about you, that's why I came to the party with her to meet you.  She's belonged to me for years, and she can always spot someone else with the same needs.

When I was sure she was right, I made my move.  I guess... " she broke off and giggled, "You could say that, since you're a draftsman, we decided to 'draft' you for service with the right army.  We want to invite you to join us.  Would you like that, George?"

George Handelman stared up into bright, possessive green eyes, then looked into warm, meltingly sensual brown ones, and his heart did a slow roll of astonished elation.  Damn!  The woman he'd lusted after for months and a beautiful, masterful, or was it distressful, woman he hadn't even known existed.  And they both knew everything there was to know about him!  They knew every humiliating, hidden secret of his psyche, and they wanted him to join them!

His hips surged under Crystal, lifting her toward the ceiling as he drove gently and happily into her, and he rubbed his cheek against Marilyn's palm, gratefully and lovingly.

Did she think he was crazy?!  Of course, he wanted to join them!

THE END