by Coyle Turner

Ilustrated by Tarsis

Originally Published in Bondage Life #42, November 1992

Scanned and Transcribed by guardian46w

Story Codes: M/f, bond, reluct, tease, relent, X

Linda Alexander strolled into the den half an hour late, which was not surprising.  She was late for everything, which was why he had wanted to see her in the first place.  She had missed her payments on the loan for the fourth month in a row, and John wanted a face to face explanation.  He knew how such a meeting would turn out.  She would talk him into another extension.  Eventually, he figured she would talk him out of the note entirely.  It wasn't that much money, but still... damn it, it was supposed to be a short term loan, not a gift.

Linda walked toward him, wearing an outfit that suited her perfectly.  A short black skirt, more suited to a coed than a 30-year-old director of sales.  Sheer black stockings and stiletto heels accented her long running-sculpted legs, and a powder-blue blouse unbuttoned at the neck, just so, completed the first half of her victory.  She looked lovely, vulnerable, kittenish... all those things that John had seen in her over the many years he had known her.

"You're late," he said, making a show of adjusting some papers on his desk, so he wouldn't have to look at her.

"I know, and I am sorry," she smiled.  "I had some trouble finding a cab."

"That's all right," he answered.  "I knew you'd be late."  He looked up at her.  "You're always late."  She laughed, and sat down in the large Victorian chair in front of his desk.  He always liked it when she sat in that chair.

"I know, it's just terrible, I can never get anywhere on time.  It's my worst vice."

No, it isn't, thought John.  Your worst vice is what you're doing now.  He cleared his throat, staring at her as she crossed her legs.  Her skirt rode up a little on her thigh.  He could see the tug of tension in her stocking that indicated that she was wearing a garter belt.

"Well," he said.  "What about the money?"  She lowered her eyes, looking a little abashed.

"I just don't know what to say," she responded, looking up through her lashes.  "I've had a bad stretch of expenses, what with refurbishing the apartment."

"Couldn't that wait until after you've paid me back?" he said, trying to get some asperity into his voice and failing.

"I thought I could manage both, but, well, business hasn't been so good.  I'm really awfully sorry, John," she said, leaning forward, earnestly.  John caught a glimpse of black lace and cleavage.  "I should probably be spanked."

"Yes, you probably should," said John.  "But no one has ever spanked you, have they?"  She dimpled and leaned back.

"Not in anger, no," she said slyly.

"Linda, this is becoming really irritating.  I told you when I loaned you the money that I don't like loaning money to friends, precisely because of this situation we find ourselves in.  It makes me very uncomfortable to have to call you in here to remind you of your responsibilities."  He blew a knot of tension out of his lungs, and leaned back.  Exasperated, he asked, "Now, what am I going to do with you?"

"I don't know," said Linda, meekly.  "What would you like to do?"

"About what?"

Linda paused.  "About this money.  I mean, I really want to make you happy about this situation, and I really intend to pay you back.  I just need some more time."

"I've given you time.  You owe me for four months, and the fifth payment is due in two weeks.  You're not going to be able to make the whole payment, the whole five months, in two weeks, are you?"

"No, I don't think so."  She paused, running her fingers through her shoulder length blonde hair, and then shaking it, as if absentmindedly.  John felt a rising in his groin.  She is really very good at this, he thought.

"Can you make the usual monthly payment in two weeks?" he asked, knowing he was beaten.

"Yes," she said.  "In fact I could give you a check now, if you like.  Oh, wait, I left my purse in the hallway."

"Get it," he said, trying to salvage some sense of control.  Linda seemed a little startled, but nodded, and got up.  John sat back and watched her walk away.  Great walking-away ensemble, he thought.  He started to put his desk in order.  They would go to lunch now, and she would make him laugh, and shake his head, and things would be back the way they always were.  She getting back to being a kid sister type and he the amused, slightly impatient authority figure.  Gidget Defaults, he thought, sourly.

She came back into the room with her purse and sat back down in the Victorian chair.  She pulled her checkbook out and leaned forward to use his desk.  He noticed now that she had buttoned her blouse another notch, so that he could no longer see her chest.

"This is really an interesting chair," she said, writing out the check.

"Yes, it is.  It's a very special antique."  The chair was rather short and bulky, and obviously an old design.  It looked a little like a cross between a lazy boy and a Louis XV dining room chair.  The back was thick, as if with cushioning and the sides of the seat curved away, as if it was once placed against a column.  It was upholstered in crushed red velour, and had a very short back that ended in a thick, ornate carving right at head level.  It was rather bulky and the arms were broad, unupholstered, polished oak, and not of a piece, with space between the seat and the top of the arm.  The arms were also ornately carved with pineapples and flower petals along the sides, and a sort of wainscotting border hanging down.  The legs were exposed, and matched the arms, but the underside of the chair was completely sealted with fabric.  In fact it looked very odd, wide and short and overly decorated with a very thick, curved back.

"What makes it so special?" she asked, sliding the check across the desk.  John considered his answer carefully.

"Well, it's from the Victorian era and has some special alterations which are rather reflective of that period of time."  Linda leaned back in the chair, looking at him speculatively.

"Like what?" she asked.

"Well, it's kind of weird.  Kinky."  Linda raised her eyebrows, smiling wickedly.  "Do you want me to show you?" he asked.

"I'm always interested in kinky furniture," she giggled seductively.

"Oh, knock it off," he said gruffly.  "We've known each other too long.  Get up."  Linda stood, and John walked over to the back of the chair.  Leaning over, he reached under the back, and set a small switch.  "All right now, sit down."  Linda did so tentatively, sitting on the edge of the chair.  "No.  Get comfortable, and lean back."  Linda looked at him warily, and then leaned slowly back.  After a moment, when nothing had happened, she settled into the chair and wiggled her shoulders a little.

"I don't see what--AAHHH!"  A flap whipped around from the curved back of the chair, across her torso, and with an audible click, locked itself on the other side, strapping her to the chair.  "That's one of the things that makes it special."  Linda began making some attempts to get the flap off, but it was broad, about four inches wide, made of very stiff leather and was locked securely.  It held her upper arms to her body, and while it was not crushing her it was a tight fit.

"The Victorians were rather fond of automata, and were also into the idea of restrained sex.  Of course, the restraint was sometimes just play acting, and fetishism, are you all right?" he asked.

"Ahh, yes, I'm fine.  Would you, umm, unlock this?"  He smiled.

"Not just yet.  See if you can get out."

"Of course I can get out," Linda said sweetly.  "I could just slide down under it, but that would be rather immodest, don't you think?" She tugged meaningfully at the hem of her skirt.  "I mean it's not really restraining me, it's just in the way."  John nodded, reached over to the side, unlatched the flap, and began bending it back into position on the back of the chair.

"You're right, of course."  He laughed.  "But the 'dastardly villain' should probably leap across to his 'damsel' before she had a chance to slide down.  But that's not the only interesting part of the chair."  He pushed the flap back into the rear of the chair, where it clicked shut.  Linda stood up quickly and stepped away.

"There's more to the chair, eh?" she asked.  "How does it work?"

"A very complex system of weights, pulleys, springs, tensions, locks... Like tape measures that snap back into place.  For example, that flap is curved along the back of the chair, which is exactly the right shape for locking around someone's upper body.  It's held in place by a spring and lock system, and when the armature is tripped, the spring simply swings it around the chair, so that it hits a similar lock on the other side.  You can see it here," he said, pointing to the side of the chair.  "But as you pointed out, by itself, the strap couldn't hold anyone.  There's more to it."  Linda crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at him coquettishly.

"Why, John Turnbull, I never realized you had such a dark side."  John smiled.

"It's just part of my collection of weird furniture and automata.  Like that hat tree that plays 'God Save the Queen' when you put a hat on it."

"What else does it do?" asked Linda.

"I'll show you."

"Oh no, you sit in it this time."  John shook his head, as an idea began to grow in his mind.

"You couldn't get me out.  You don't know where the switches are."  He looked her straight in the eyes.  "Don't you trust me?"

"I'm not sure I do, Mister Turnbull.  I'm not sure I want to turn myself over to your untender mercies.  Who knows what you really have in mind."  She looked down at the chair, and laughed.  "Still, it is fascinating, although it startled me a lot."

"This time you'll know what's coming.  Come on, just for a lark."  Without waiting for her answer he leaned over the chair and set two switches.

"All right," she said, wagging a finger at him.  "But no funny stuff."

"Wouldn't think of it," he said, leering at her.  She looked him over, and sniffed in mock unconcern.

"See that you don't," she said with a slight smile.  She turned her back to the chair, and settled gingerly into it.  She looked up at him challengingly, and then leaned back firmly.  The strap flipped around from the back of the chair as before, capturing Linda's upper body and arms.  But this time a spring shot across from the front of one arm to the other, catching there.  Then it slid down the arms of the chair, stretching as it encountered her legs just above the knee, and pulling down on them tightly.

"So you see," said John, "it would be more difficult to slide out now, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, I can see that, but it's not impossible.  The thing on my legs is awkward but not very tight.  See, I can lift my legs some."

"Right, but in this Victorian scenario, the 'villain,' that's me, is not just standing idly by.  There's still more to the chair."

"Do tell."

"Sure.  Let me show you."

"No," she said, shaking her head.  "I think this is enough."

"Ahh, but as the villain of the piece, I insist."  He grinned down at her.

"Well modesty be damned then, I'll just slide out, Mr. Turnbull."  She commenced to wiggle down through the flap.

"Yes, but you won't be quick enough, Miss Alexander," he said deliberately.  Reaching down, he grabbed her left forearm, and held it to the arm of the chair.  He pushed one of the flower petals on the side of the arm, and an inch-wide piece of metal snapped out from under the arm and swung itself across Linda's wrist.  It was notched like a handcuff, and clicked shut on the arm of the chair.  John pushed it closed onto her wrist.

"These cuffs, for example, work in the same way as the flap.  They're curved under the arm, and when they are released they just flip up.  They're not automatic though."  Linda stopped wriggling.

"I see," she said calmly.  "I suppose it is symmetrical," she commented, as John walked around to the other side of the chair.  "Yes, I thought so," she sighed, as John repeated the procedure on her right wrist.

John stepped back, admiring the slightly disheveled Linda Alexander.  A broad red strap encircled her torso and upper arms, pushing up her breasts slightly.  Two black metal cuffs held her wrists to the arms of the chairs and the spiral of a black spring was stretched across her legs above the knees, holding her to the chair.

"Well," Linda said, feigning unconcern, "I can see I underestimated the Victorians.  I am rather secured now, but I don't see how you could much force me to do anything untoward, as long as I'm held like this."  She looked up at John, who was grinning like a cheshire cat.  "But let me guess.  There's more to the chair."

"Ahh, my aloof beauty, but of course there's more to the chair."

"How does that spring across my legs work?"

"Since I'm going to take it off now, I'll explain it."  John reached down and unhooked the spring, leading it up the arm with his other hand, so that it wouldn't whip about.  "The spring is compressed into the left arm.  When the armature is released, a beveled hole opens up on the right arm and the tension in the spring shoots the spring across the chair.  It doesn't always catch, particularly if it is used a lot.  But I just replaced the spring, so the tension was fairly uniform.  Once it catches, weights hidden in the bottom and the back of the chair pull it down until the resistance, in this case, your lovely legs, overcomes the tension.  To reset it, I unlatch the spring, and pull on this thread, until it locks back into position.  Then I lead the thread back into the arm, like this, carefully, so that it doesn't snag, and that resets the weights."

"Ingenious," muttered Linda, darkly.  "Is anything else going to snap closed on me?"  John shook his head.  "But there's more, isn't there?"  John nodded.  "Get on with it then, Mr. Turnbull, and mind your manners."  Linda held her head high, her face aloof.

"All right."  He bent down and fiddled with the leg of the chair.  A black leather strap fell out of a narrow slot on the outside of the leg.  "Excuse me," said John, as he grasped Linda's ankle, and buckled the strap closed around it.  He repeated the process on her other ankle, so that both ankles were strapped to the legs of the chair, pulling Linda's legs apart, as the chair was rather wide.

"I see," she said, feigning nonchalance.  John could tell she was getting a little nervous, though, as she was pulling at the various contrivances that were holding her.  "The damsel is becoming more and more accessible, but it still strikes me that this is rather awkward, a difficult position for both villain and damsel, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, that's true, for some things, though not for all," he said, smiling.  "I also think you are beginning to enjoy yourself more than is completely necessary for this, ah, demonstration."

"You said you replaced the spring, so my guess is that this chair has seen more than one performance, correct?"

"That, my dear, is none of your business."  Linda nodded.

"And that portrait that hangs in your bedroom, of Bess, from 'The Highwayman,' bound to a four-poster, that's not just an investment in fine art, as you told me, is it?"  John grinned.

"Worthless, as art.  Priceless as an aphrodisiac."  Linda looked up at the ceiling.

"I see."  "And you're right."

"There's more to the chair," they said together.

"That would figure, in light of what I'm just now learning about one of my oldest friends."  She looked over at him, some of the polish gone out of her presentation.  "Do your worst, Mr. Turnbull.  If it gets out of hand, I'll scream."

"Funny you should mention screaming.  I don't know who would hear you, as there's no one in the house but us.  But let's say, for the sake of the demonstration, that we don't want you to scream."  He stepped to the back of the chair and pushed down on top of the ornate carving that served as the headrest.  It slid up out of the back of the chair, but was still attached by a wide board.  From under the wings of the carving, on either side of the board, several straps dangled, along with a blindfold and a ball gag.  Linda tried to twist around to see what had happened, but her bondage held her securely.  John detached the ball gag, and started to insert it into Linda's mouth, but she swung her head away.  "Now just a minute, Mr. Turnbull, what are you doing?"  Leaning her head away, she looked down at the gag.  "Oh no you don't.  That kind of thing can get a little uncomfortable."  John stepped back, slightly surprised.

"You have some experience with them, then?" For one of the few times since John had known her, Linda looked visibly unnerved.  She flushed and looked away.

"As you said, that's none of your business."  She turned back and looked John squarely in the face.  "Now, I mean it, John, that's enough."  But there was little conviction in her voice, and she must have realized it, because in spite of herself, a small smile crept onto her lips.

"Come, come, Miss Alexander," said John, proffering the ball.  "All in the interest of enlightenment."  Linda glared half-heartedly at him, then closed her mouth and swung her face away from the gag.  John reached around and, holding her head, tried to force the ball between her teeth.  Linda kept her mouth firmly closed.  John stepped back, and thought for a moment.  He didn't want to do anything that would really upset her.  But, on the other hand...

He started tickling her under the ribs.  Linda thrashed prettily in the chair, and started giggling.  Then laughing.  Then screaming.  "All right all right all right," she gasped finally.  "Just let me catch my breath."  After a few moments, she lifted her chin and opened her mouth.  John slipped the ball gently between her teeth, and carefully adjusted the straps around her head.  Then he pulled the ball tightly into the back of her mouth.  Linda grunted as John buckled the gag in place.

"So you see, speech is now not an option.  In fact, the damsel is now completely out of options.  Which I'm sure you already knew, in light of, how did you put it, what I'm just now learning about one of my oldest friends."  John grinned.  "I had no idea you were familiar with these kinds of games."  Linda blushed furiously, and avoided looking at him.  "The thing I really like about this gag, aside from how lovely it looks, particularly on you, my dear, is that it attaches to this board in the back of the chair."  He buckled a second set of straps on the ball gag to the board so that Linda's head was now held immobile.  John released the flap that held Linda's upper body to the chair, and swung it back into place against the curved back.  Looking at it now, one would just assume that it was a decorative swath of fabric.  John looked into Linda's eyes, and saw that she was resistant, but the longer he held her gaze, the more a different emotion altogether became evident.  At last Linda looked away.

"Well, well, Miss Alexander," John said softly.  "You've looked more stunning, but never as delectable."  Linda blushed and closed her eyes, mumbling something into her gag.  "I really think you should see how lovely you look."  He went across the room to a standing full length mirror that was set in a burnished mahogany case.  Carefully he carried it over to where Linda was testing her bonds, although she still had her eyes closed.  Setting the mirror down on her left, he pushed his desk back away from the chair, then moved the mirror so that Linda could see herself in it.  John stepped behind the mirror.  The back was covered in a burlap fabric.  The fabric was attached to a roller, hidden in the top of the mirror, like a window shade.  John raised the shade, revealing the fact that it was a two-way mirror.  "See what I mean?" said John, peeking around the side of the mirror.

Linda opened her eyes and saw in the mirror a lovely blonde, wrists cuffed to the arms of the chair, a red ball strapped in her mouth, head held back stiffly, her legs spread and strapped at the ankles.  As she looked at herself, John could see that she appreciated the appeal of what she saw.  Making light of it, she shrugged, as if to say, "Not bad."  John watched her for a moment as she pulled sinuously against her bondage.  "I think it needs some more atmosphere," said John, stepping out from behind the mirror.  He reached forward and undid the top button of her blouse, as it had been when she first arrived.  Linda protested through her gag.  "You're right.  That was okay for your entrance, but for this scene..."  He undid the next three buttons, so that only the lowest button remained fastened.  "And the skirt, I think, should more adequately reflect your desperate attempts to preserve your honor, don't you think?" he asked, looking down at her.

She shrugged, and gestured with her bound hands, as if to indicate "Why not?" John reached down and carefully hiked her skirt up to her hips, revealing the straps of a black garter belt and her white panties, which appeared to be a bit damp.  Linda noticed where his gaze was focused, and although her ankles were strapped apart, managed to close her thighs somewhat, looking up imperiously at John.  "Yes, that's right, continue to struggle against the inevitable.  That's the way proper damsels behaved back then."  Linda made a negative sound through the gag, and shook her head slightly.  "I mean, of course, I'm just speaking in the spirit of the times, as it were."  Linda nodded her head slightly, but kept her thighs closed.  John laughed.

"You realize of course, me beauty..."

Linda managed to make a clear sound around her gag.  "Nnn-uhnn.  'airz 'orre 'oo a ssair."

"Yes, that's right, there's more to the chair."  Linda giggled.  John reached into the inside of the vertical part of the arm of the chair, and a thin strap slid out of a narrow slot.  Grabbing Linda's stockinged knee, he began pulling her legs apart.  Linda struggled dramatically, really putting her heart into it.  All that running certainly paid off, thought John, as Linda experienced some success in keeping her legs together.  In his attempts to get a better purchase, John slid his hand way up on her thigh, so that his thumb brushed against her panties.  Linda squealed in protest, and John momentarily felt the moisture.  Eventually, he worked her left knee over to the arm of the chair.  The strap went around her leg, above the knee, and buckled shut, pulling her leg tightly against the wooden arm.  Almost without thinking, John slid his hand up her leg, caressing her bare thigh.  Linda squeaked a warning as John abruptly realized what he was doing.

"Sorry," he said, embarrassed.  "Just for verisimilitude, you understand."  Linda nodded slightly, and made a forgiving sound.  The right leg presented similar difficulties, and therefore required similar solutions, but eventually both legs were strapped wide apart at the ankles and above the knees.  John and Linda were both flushed, and both of them would have insisted that it was simply exertion.  Linda wouldn't look at John at all, and John's face was hot.  What had started out as a little joke in his mind, a little playful revenge, now seemed as if it might turn their long-time friendship into something else, and John wasn't sure what that would mean.  He resolved not to let it become something else, and to instead just enjoy the ambiance, his revenge, and the ambiance.  He had been involved with bondage his whole life, and the sight before him was very stimulating.  I can't, he thought.  I can't become romantically involved with a woman who is perpetually late.

Linda was arching her back, testing her bondage.  Her long blonde hair was held in place by the black straps of the ballgag, but some had fallen free.  Her blouse had opened even more during the struggle to secure her thighs, and had slid off one of her shoulders, revealing her black lace bra completely.  Her skirt had worked farther up around her hips, exposing the flesh between her garter belt and bikini panties.  To John she was achingly endearing, as her disheveled state evidenced her damsel-in-distress struggle.

"There.  Now you truly look the part."  Linda peered into the mirror, her face flushed.  She stopped struggling.  She looked at John plainly, completely vulnerable, no artifice or guile, obviously wondering where they were headed.  John blushed and looked away.  "I have some paperwork to clear up," he said hoarsely.  "Why don't you just sit tight and admire yourself for a bit, and then we'll go to lunch."  Linda continued to stare at him.  John pulled a chair up to the side of his desk so that he was hidden from Linda behind the mirror.  He made a great deal of noise, pushing papers around on his desk, and then settled back to watch through the two-way mirror.

At first, she moaned questioningly into her gag, but when there was no response, she stopped and began admiring herself in the mirror.  She arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward, and twisted her legs in an attempt to loosen the straps.  Then she tried to get her wrists out from under the cuffs on the arms, but her elbows ran into the back of the chair.  After a minute or two, she stopped struggling entirely, and a very meek expression came over her face.  She closed her eyes, and John saw that her pelvis was moving slowly back and forth.  He rose quietly, and looked over the top of the mirror to watch her for a few moments.  Suddenly, her eyes opened and she saw that John was watching her.  She blushed a deep red, and lowered her eyes.  Then she looked at John again, and with a look of complete surrender on her face, began the rhythymic movement of her pelvis again.  John was now completely unnerved.  He stepped around the mirror.

"For the full effect, of course, you should be blindfolded," he said hoarsely.  Linda murmured soft, pleading protests into her gag, as John unhooked the ball gag from the back of the chair.  He took the blindfold off of its hook and tenderly blindfolded her.  With her head now free, Linda had much greater freedom of movement.  She writhed slowly and tossed her head, up and down, back and forth until John felt he couldn't stand it.  Even when I'm the one in control, she can manipulate my feelings.

At last John could take no more.  Reaching behind her head, he unbuckled the blindfold, and then the gag.  Linda gasped as the ball slid out, and took a deep breath.

"Well, this old chair is certainly full of surprises," she said gently, looking up at him.

"Yeah," said John with a slight tremor.  "Listen, let's go get some lunch."  He bent down and started to unbuckle her ankle strap.

"You mean there's no more to the chair?" asked Linda.

"No," said John, shortly.  "There's no more to the chair."

"I'm certain there is more to the chair, John," said Linda, softly.

"Look, the villain has the damsel in the chair, but there's no way he can get at her.  She's too far back in the seat."  John sighed, and stared at the floor for what seemed a long time.  He was not going to get involved.  He was not...

"John?"  He looked up at her, and saw she was smiling that damned confident smile.  "There is more to this chair."  John rebuckled the ankle strap, and stood up.

"Oh, yes, there's more to the chair."

"Oh, goody," giggled Linda.  "What's next?"

"Well, you pointed out a major problem.  At this point a Victorian villain might be able to persuade the Victorian damsel to cooperate with his demands, and they would simply move to the couch."

"Uninteresting," said Linda.

"You sure?"  Linda lifted her head high.

"Never, you fiend!!"

"Very well, my dear."  He bent over and unlatched one of the wrist cuffs.

"Are you going to let me go?" asked Linda.

"Oh, no, just going to change your position."

He lifted her wrist up to the headrest, and taking one of the straps dangling there, slipped her wrist into it.  The wrist restraints were inch-wide leather cuffs, attached to the underside of the headboard by a short length of thin but sturdy silvery chain.  The back of Linda's hand grazed the velour covering of the headboard as John tightened the cuff and buckled it closed.  When he started to repeat the procedure on her right hand, Linda began to struggle furiously, so that it took several moments to get her wrist secured to the headrest.  Her wrists were now suspended near her head.  Next John undid the straps on her thighs.  As he did so, Linda snapped her legs closed, catching his hand in a fleshy, nylon trap.

"Now I've got you," she purred.

"Tut, tut," said John, withdrawing his hand.  "Such cooperation is unseemly in a Victorian damsel."  He moved to the back of the chair, and, releasing two latches on the side, lowered the back until it was parallel with the floor, where it locked into place.  Linda could see that the arms had not been connected to the back of the chair at all, but had been simply snug against it.  Lowering the back of the chair made the headboard extend itself even farther from the chair's back, which had the effect of pulling Linda's hands higher, over her head.  It also caused her fallen blouse to tighten around her stomach, so that the remaining fastened button popped off.  Linda was now nearly undressed.  Her skirt was bunched up around her waist, her blouse open.  Her black garter belt was simply functional, with no lace or frills.  It stood out starkly against the pale, smooth skin of her belly.  Her bra, however, was made up almost entirely of see-through lace, with a wire running under the cup for support.  Linda looked up dreamily at John, and stretched as far as her bondage would allow.

"This demonstration is becoming markedly realistic, don't you think?" she asked.  All John could do was nod, as he took in the sight of her bound to the chair.  "What's next?" she asked softly.  John did not answer.  He moved to the foot of the chair, and reached under it.  The whole front part of the chair came up, like a lazy boy, so that Linda was now lying down completely.  Her ankles were still strapped to the foot of the chair, with her legs spread apart, and her wrists had been pulled up over her head.  John then refastened the straps above her knees and stepped back.  Linda lifted her head and peered down her body.

"I can't see very well," she said, "but I must be quite a sight."

"That you are," responded John.  "Here, I'll show you."  He moved the mirror closer to the chair and held it tilted so that she could see herself.

"Mmmm, nice."  Linda wiggled playfully.  "Well, there's nothing I can do to stop you from finishing the dastardly deed, although I suppose I'll be obligated to start screaming in a moment."  She looked up at John.  "You'll probably have to cut my panties off, but my bra unhooks in the front.  If you want to rip my blouse off, just for versimilitude, I suppose I could wear one of your shirts afterward."

"No," said John, biting his lip.  "That's enough, I think."

"Oh, come on now, John," whispered Linda.  "You'll never have another chance like this.  I mean, you've successfully tricked a woman into letting you tie her up, and then undressing her.  Isn't that what the chair is for?"

"I can't," said John.  "I've known you for too long.  We're friends.  It changes everything."

"So what?" she demanded.  "We might become lovers."

"Or we might become just acquaintances.  I do like you a lot, you know.  You may be my best friend."

Linda sighed.  "I never thought that I'd be tied up, and having to demand my Master to make love to me.  I mean really demanding, not as part of the game.  But John, dear John, you must.  You really have to."  She rattled the chains of her wrist cuffs, and swirled her head from side to side.  "I'll pay back all the money I owe you.  Please."

"No, don't say that.  Forget the money.  I'm not a gigolo."

"Then hurry.  I'm starting to lose the mood.  Come on."  She stopped struggling.  "I might be in love with you.  We could become lovers, successful lovers.  I like these games and I trust you.  And I'll bet you have a lot more you can show me."  She arched her back and started struggling again.  "Now cut my panties off and take me, damn it!  Eeek!  Help!  Help!" John felt like he might burst with conflicting emotions.  He laughed wildly.

"No screaming, my dear!" He leaned over and kissed her, and she kissed him back, in spite of maintaining her struggle.  With one hand, he picked up the ball gag, and as they broke their kiss, he pushed it into her mouth and buckled it tight.  "All right," he whispered.  "We'll give this a try.  And God help you if you are ever late again.  This will be a pleasant memory by comparison."

Linda, feigning fear, shook her head wildly, signifying that she wouldn't dare.  Well, that's done it, he thought, as he fumbled through his desk drawer, looking for his scissors.  She'll never be on time, ever.  He cut, and ripped, and unhooked, and they had a wonderful time.  And although he never got his money back, he didn't care, because friends can sometimes become lovers.  Successful lovers.

And she was always late.