--guardian46w
Tension. Vaguely uncomfortable at first. Stirring. Trying to move. More tension. Discomfort increasing. Muted self-awareness - "What's going on…?" Semiconscious. The first impression was that of being on the floor; the softness and subtle graininess of the carpet next, then the fact that movement was practically impossible. What? Makes no sense.
BANG! Wide awake. Realization. Eyes wide. Mouth opened to scream, but was already open, stuffed and filled with packing. Her mouth, dried and scratchy, the taste of wet cloth, jaws aching a little. She tried to move her tongue to push the intruding bundle out. Her tongue wouldn't move, the bundle wouldn't move. A leather strap over the top of the packing, pulled back deep between her teeth, buckled and locked behind the nape of her neck, held the gag firmly in place. The strap catching a few strands of hair and pinning them, made upward movement of her head painful. Only a few strands - not too bad. Two-inch-wide lengths of cloth backed tape were crisscrossed over her mouth, the strap and the padding. No speech. No screams. She bit down on the slight resilience of the pad.
Tape everywhere. Helpless. Helpless. Her hands were secured behind her, but she couldn't see. Wrists crossed and bound with turns of grey tape, the last turns between the wrists, cinching, forcing the hands apart slightly, the cinch thick and heavy where the tape was forced to narrow. Her forearms were pulled nearly together, the tape above the elbows making her lower arms one continuous limb. Six turns, neatly cinched. Symmetrical. Her shoulders were pulled sharply back, forcing her breasts to jut conspicuously, vulnerably, from her chest.
Long, long strips of tape, around the upper arms and chest, pulled and pinned them tightly to her back. She was utterly rigid, from shoulders to wrists.
Her feet were welded together with grey. Her ankles were bound and cinched. Insteps the same. Big toes secured, cinched, and pulled back towards her ankles with a length of thin nylon cord. More tape around her upper legs, pinned her knees together; one continuous wrap, from six inches above to six inches below her knees made bending her legs nearly impossible.
She knew she had to escape, but how? Movement of any kind was extremely difficult. "Try anyway!" Stiff both from having lain so long and from the restraints, she drew her legs up till the tape on her knees prevented further flex. "No good this way." Frustrated on this attempt, she rolled onto her back and tried to sit up. With no leverage possible from her arms, she found herself unable to do even that much on the first try. "I'll have to try it faster: try to throw my body forward fast enough to get up." With a convulsive lunge, she thrust her body up off the floor, and managed to sit upright, quickly bending her legs as much as the tape embrace would allow to relieve the resultant pain in the backs of her knees. "Now what? If I could only bend my damnable legs, I could stand up." Looking around, she glanced only fleetingly at the phone, sitting on an end table mere foot away; what good would it do to try use it? The gag filled and sealed her mouth so thoroughly that the most she could do would be to hum into the receiver. And how the hell would she dial? Sensation in her fingers was rapidly waning, by this time, and she doubted if she could even manipulate the dial by the time she managed to struggle close enough.
She began to notice an unpleasant buzzing in her lower legs, and straightened them quickly. The bend in her knees had caused the tape to bunch up and dig into the backs of her legs, partially shutting off the circulation to her calves and feet. "Damn, that cord around my toes hurts! At least I can still FEEL them. That's a good sign!"
Straining against the tape around her, she discovered that even the bending she had thus far inflicted on the tape had not caused it to loosen an iota. In fact, it even felt a little bit tighter! Her entire body felt as if it were in the grip of a huge vice, from her stretched jaws to her clamped toes. "This tape has GOT to go, but HOW? There's nothing up here to do it with, so that means I've got to get downstairs. Great!" Arching her back to relieve the strain, she peered about the room and examined her options. "I've GOT to get stood up, somehow. Damnation!" There was nothing that could help her. "If I could only bend my legs, I could just stand right up, but… ugh… they just aren’t gonna do it." Straining against the tape sheath on her knees, she only managed to bend her legs about 30 degrees. Not enough. Not nearly enough. "There's GOT to be a way. Let's see… if I can't raise my body, maybe I can LOWER my legs… that's IT, the STAIRS. I can work my way up to them, and then push my feet a few steps down and then I SHOULD be able to stand up. But my God, if I should fall forward…!" Putting that little unpleasantry aside for the moment, she turned her back to the bedroom door by inching her body around with her heels, and then began to awkwardly shove herself backwards with her strapped legs digging into the carpet. Push hard, lift and bend her legs as much as possible, plant her heels as solidly as possible in the carpet, push again.
After some twenty-odd pushes, she had covered barely six feet. "God, this is going to take forever," she remarked to nobody in particular, panting into the gag. Already, sweat was beginning to form. This was going to be a long, drawn out affair. Grunting and shoving, she continued her laborious way across the room, stopping at ever more frequent intervals to rest enough for the next surge of effort.
On one such rest period, she heard a light thump behind her, followed in a few seconds by the appearance of a very curious Siamese cat face gazing up into hers. "Oh God, that's all I need, company. I wonder if he understands Kinkese - I'd tell 'im to chew through the tape." The cat seemed rather more interested in the smell of the tape, however, and, after satisfying himself that the bizarre package hunching itself across the floor was indeed one of the suckers who gave him food and shelter, he walked around her recumbent form several times, sniffing the bindings and, in general, examining his find. Bored with this, he then jumped up onto her lap and, placing his fore-paws around her neck, rubbed his head under her chin. "NO, you dumbbell, I'll lose my balance… " The cat's unexpected weight overbalanced her, and together, they fell backwards. On impact, the cat was knocked from his perch, and uttering a few plaintive squawks at his uncooperative bed, he hopped back up on her chest and, lying with his face only inches from hers, purring throatily, prepared for a nap!
"Oh I don't BELIEVE this…!" Rolling suddenly, she catapulted the furry one onto the rug, then struggling hard, she regained a sitting position. The cat, surprised and perturbed, gave her a dirty look and resumed his nesting on the bed. Man, these humans are WEIRD, he thought to himself.
Twisting her head around as far as possible, she discovered to her great relief that the head of the stairs was only yards away, and, heartened by this discovery, she quickly jerked herself across the rug. The effects of the overexertion caught up with her as she leaned against the bathroom door. Exhausted and drenched in sweat, she fought a wave of nausea, and a sea of black dots that momentarily threatened to swamp all sight. The gag, initially dry and scratchy was, by this time, a huge sopping wad which had softened to the point where she could actually close her mouth a fraction. The leather securing strap was totally unaffected, however, and no amount of pushing with her tongue, or twisting her head would move it a fraction. The only thing it did was make her mouth and cheeks sore. In a similar vein of exploration, she flexed her upper body as much as possible, hoping against hope that her exertions in getting this far MIGHT just possibly have loosened SOMETHING. No good. The cloth-backed tape might just as well have been steel. Her wrists were buzzing furiously, now.
Leaning sharply back against the door and heaving violently, she thrust her legs over the first step, so that her calves and feet hung suspended in air. Then, throwing her body weight forward and shuffling her legs and buttocks within the strictures of her bondage, she inched the rest of her legs out and down until her heels rested on the third step. This done, she paused to let another wave of nausea pass, swallowing frantically on the packing in her mouth, a bundle which, by this time, seemed to have assumed the proportions of a basketball. The attack passed and, lowering her chin, she breathed hard for several minutes, mind a blank, motionless, resting.
Finally, she opened her eyes and looked down the stairs; at the carpeting installed only a week before, at the light from the landing window bathing a small irregular rectangle a few steps below her taped ankles. "This is ridiculous," she thought to herself. "Here I am surrounded by the safety and security of my own home, and here I sit, bound and gagged. I feel like an alien in my own place!" Tears of frustration were close.
With a quick lean forward, and a spasmodic straightening of her legs, she stood. "Too fast, too fast!" The walls and ceiling tilted, and the sickening thrill of vertigo swirled in her belly. The thought of bouncing down those stairs, rock-hard under their all too thin covering of carpet; of the thumping and banging and the screaming into the gag, knowing that she couldn't even use her hands to protect herself, flashed across her mind. She lurched desperately, frantically backwards, came down hard on her back, slid down onto her heels, and bumped down two more steps till she came to a halt, banging her head on the side of the stairwell. The Adrenalin of fear made her lightheaded, and she lay stiff for several seconds, staring up at the ceiling. "Take it easy, idiot. Just worm your way down the stairs on your backside, and stand up AFTER you get all the way down. Just because you're bound and gagged doesn't mean you have to be bound and STUPID!"
Five minutes later, leaning against the stairwell, and coming down the stairs a step at a time, she set her feet on the cool smoothness of the tiling in the foyer. And saw herself staring back from the hall mirror. Sweat continually ran down her forehead into her eyes, and, running over the slick surface of the gagging tape, dripped off her chin onto her blouse. Her hair was completely disheveled, and the makeup from one eye ran to meet one of the streams of perspiration. Her lower face was covered with grey tape, the twin brown straps of the gag disappearing around the sides of her cheeks, the flesh bulging gently on either side of the leather. As she stared, she turned to see all her bonds, curious, despite herself to see the intimate details of her helplessness.
The tape "straps" around her chest, above and below her breasts, dug sharply into her arms at her sides, pulling the fabric of the blouse tight over her chest. One of the buttons had popped, and through the gap, she could just barely discern the pink swelling of one breast, and a narrow slice of bra. Turning her back more towards the mirror she could examine the thoroughness with which she had been secured. The almost impersonal tidiness of the bondage on her wrists and elbows, together with the near perfect symmetry of the wrappings made it appear more machine-made than otherwise. "My God, I've been tied up by a robot! Hi there, cutie. Interesting outfit you're wearing today," she wiggled her fingers to herself in mock greeting. The difficulty with which those little fingers wiggled at ALL jerked her back too her predicament.
Now for the big experiment-to hop or not to hop.Repeating her action at the top of the stairs, albeit with a bit more caution, she leaned and slid forward at the same time, caught her balance, and slowly stood up. Just hop a couple little teensy hops to get the hang of it, she thought. Looking down at her feet, trying to move them against the tape into a better position, hopping and twisting to maintain her balance, she finally looked up and around, chin raised, searching for SOMETHING with which to free herself.
Almost her first thought was the kitchen. "That's where all the sharp, pointy things live." She bounded across the floor, through the hallway, and about halfway through the dining room before stopping to rest. As she leaned against the dining table, she thought, "Do NOT fall, my friend, 'cause if you do, you have to crawl ALL the way back to the stairs to get stood up, again. No good. No good at all." A glance at the clock showed her that time was still ample. "I WILL win, this time," she thought, with a pant. Shoving off from the table, she aimed herself at the swinging doors separating the kitchen from the dining room, then thought better of a fast approach, and halted. "Those doors are heavy, and the kitchen floor is slippery as hell, I'd go knockin' through there and fall right on my ass. I'd better take it slow." With that in mind, she minced up to the doors, and, turning herself sideways to them, gently butted her way through, gradually inching the doors apart, until, with a longer hop, she cleared them and found herself in the kitchen. Almost, she had hopped directly onto a small yellow and red throw rug, which, considering the glass-like properties of the floor, would have made for a short and violent ride.
"Luck rides today, SO FAR! Let's see now, knives, knives, knives, where are the knives.? In that drawer RIGHT over there." Hopping quickly across the kitchen and turning her back to the drawer in question, she backed directly into the handle. "Too high," she thought, the handle hitting her crossed arms nearly a foot above the tape on her wrists. "Will have to bend." Leaning forward as far as possible, she lifted her hands higher, then higher again, just managing to hook the fingers of her right hand through the handle. Bent over painfully, precariously, she shuffled forward on the balls of her feet, edging the drawer out from the counter till a useful space was available to her. Turning then, and backing around till she leaned against the side of the drawer, then leaning and lifting her bound wrists, she dropped her hands into the drawer. NOTHING!! Completely, totally, absolutely NOTHING!! "That son-of-abitch, he changed the drawers!" A flash of panic, pure and clean, almost stunned her. This had never happened before! There were eight other drawers in the room. "God, there's NO way I can get through all of them before.shit! Something else, something else, QUICK!!"
Fingers still fluttering around in the vacant drawer, she suddenly encountered the folded stiffness of a piece of paper. "What the hell," she thought, "it might be something, better check." Gripping the paper with the fingers of both hands, she lurched to the kitchen table, shoving one of the chairs out of the way, turned her back to the table, and sliding her bound wrists back across the surface, opened the message (?) and smoothed it as best she could. Then, turning again so that she faced the table, she bent to examine her find. The typing was upside down (naturally), but by craning her neck, she could make out the message thereon. It said, "You will find what you need in the cabinet under the sink."
Curious and hopeful, she teetered around the table, supporting herself as much as possible on its treacherously slick surface, until she was opposite the sink. "Now how the HELL do I get DOWN there without killing myself?" She moaned. Glancing around, she noticed that the wall adjacent to the sink, on the left, was smooth and uninterrupted all the way to the floor. Releasing her clutch on the kitchen table, she bounded to the wall and turning, leaned her back deliberately against its surface. Then, as slowly as possible, she slid to the floor, braking her rate of descent as much as possible with her hands pressed to the wall and her heels slipping across the floor. Still, it was with a startling and distinctly uncomfortable 'thump' that she hit bottom. Uncaring about minor discomfort when freedom was so near, she immediately rolled over and over till the prize was close, and then again went through the torturous rigors of sitting up (it was almost automatic by now). She sat up facing the cupboard doors and facing the problem of how to open them. A glance at the clock showed her that time was a rapidly diminishing commodity. She paused for a few additional swallows to dry the elephantine wad in her mouth and glared at the doors under the sink. "There's GOT to be a way! But HOW? I don't think I could manage it with my hands, couldn't lift'em high enough. Maybe my toes." Scooting
feet first towards the counter, she examined her options. "Damn that cord around my toes, it makes it hard to move." Tensing her belly as much as possible, she bodily lifted her legs and, clenching her jaws on the gag, pushed the four smaller toes of her right foot under the relieved finger-edge of the door, and, swiveling to the right, prodded the door out and open. Preparing for the other door, she dropped her heels.and watched as the spring in the door slammed it closed again! "The door's spring-loaded, you boob! Do it again!" Repeating the ritual, she AGAIN pried open the door, and this time, pushed it clear around till it touched the counter. Cautiously lowering her feet, she stared at the thing to detect even the smallest movement. Nothing. Confident now, she attacked the next door and soon had it, too, out of the way.
Peering under the counter, she discovered a gallon-sized glass container. There was nothing else. All the other homely little boxes of dish washing soap and bug killers and disinfectants had been removed. The only inhabitant of that cubicle was the jug. She couldn’t even see inside; whatever the container contained was dark and cloudy, indeed! She began to feel an ominous suspicion settling in the pit of her stomach.
“What is the bastard UP too?" Lifting her legs, she pushed them into the cabinet opening and, turning as much as possible, hooked her feet around the jar and pulled it nearer the opening. As it approached, it turned, revealing to her the presence of a label on the side hitherto concealed from her. Tilting her head to the side, she could just barely make out the letters.M-O-L-A-S-S-E-S ... MOLASSES!!! Suspicion almost a palpable thing by this time, she examined the label once again, closely, and discovered, hand-printed with a red dye-marker under the manufacturer's name the words "Knife included at no extra cost. Enjoy. Ha ha." For a second, the meaning of the message eluded her."What does he mean, 'knife included'?" …and then it dawned on her, the knife was in the molasses! Down at the bottom of the jar, buried under one U.S. Government inspected, measured, labeled and certified gallon of the most miserably sticky crap created by the mind of man, sat her one and only means of escape! Leaning till her nose almost rested against the glass, she could just barely detect the vague outlines of the tool firmly on the bottom of the bottle. A jarring shriek ripped from her throat, only to stop short at the dam in her mouth, finally emerging as a strangled gargle from beneath the tape. "This isn't FAIR!" she wailed. A conflict of self-pity and screaming fury at her diabolic tormentor frothed within her. Thrashing at her bonds, she lashed out at the kitchen chairs, flattening one, and then bashed her toes resoundingly against the leg of the table. Pain, blinding pain exploded at the end of her leg; her bruised toes seemed to be vainly attempting to withdraw themselves, turtlelike, into her feet, yelling in small, but VERY peremptory voices, "Why US, you fool!" The entire end of her foot was one continuously screaming nerve-end. For long, long moments, she held her legs off the floor, eyes screwed shut, teeth buried in the gag, willing the pain to subside. Pain, being essentially a warning device, and existing, essentially, only so long as the stimulus, eventually and reluctantly released its all too pernicious hold on the lower extremities of her left leg and, carefully, fearing the worst, she peered down her strapped legs, and discovered, to her considerable amazement, that her digits were still all there! A dull throbbing, now that the sharp pain of the blow had disappeared, left no doubt in her mind that the bruises would be large and livid. "Get HOLD of yourself, idiot. You won't get loose by maiming yourself on the kitchen furniture." Neck tired from the exertion of holding up her legs, she dropped her head back, only to have the leather strap around her neck and between her teeth drag the packing in her mouth sharply towards the back of her throat. Quickly righting her head, she pushed the wad back to the front of her mouth. It seemed to be getting somewhat smaller. It was still WAY too large to ever push out. Her jaws ached all over from having to keep her mouth open so wide, so long. "It's a good thing I WAS gagged, what with that brilliant Karate kick of mine, Christ, I'd have had the whole damned neighborhood over here!"
Heaving a large and thoroughly resigned sigh, she twisted her head back over her shoulder as far as her bridle would allow, and contemplated her glassine adversary. Almost, it looked contemptuously smug, Almost, it dared her to attack its slick symmetry, seeming to say, "Come on, blondie, give me a good whack; I've got a nice surprise inside for you!" Visions of Alice's ephemerally ubiquitous Cheshire Cat somehow incarnated in glass, the wall-to-wall smile inviting "Hit here, kid, and end this gig," swam in her mind's eye. The absurdity of her vision and of her position, and what the neighbors would think of their outwardly staid and upright neighbor in the hulking Tudor with the expensive European sedans squatting all contemptuous of the American "Standards"; of that neighbor sprawled on her own kitchen floor with her mouth packed full of cloth, her wrists, ankles, knees and elbows stoutly bound with gaffer's tape, contemplating the destruction of a thoroughly malignant and all too smart-assed jug of molasses; all this in the interests of winning a weekly contest with her husband, began to strike her as hilariously funny. The specter of Bernice's dumbfounded stare if she were to walk through the side door, measuring glass in hand, asking for the inevitable cup of sugar at first pried loose a giggle, and then a torrent of laughter. " …Hee heeheeheehee, I wonder if those uptight bastards have even the remotest inkling of what goes on, heheeeheeheehahahaha.I can just see their faces, the smug boobshawhawhawhaw.especially the Crenshaws.hahahahaha." Snuffling and snorting through the padding, she finally wore herself out of the almost hysterical attack. Pausing for several seconds, fighting exhaustion, she once again applied herself, groaning, to the task of freedom. The jar didn't look like a Cheshire, anymore.
"How the hell am I gonna do this? If I break the thing, then I have bits of broken glass all over the place. The opening's too damned small to get both wrists through, so THAT means I have to pour all that goop out on the floor. And me." A quick shudder of revulsion rippled through her at the thought of that sticky crap fouling her clothes and hair. "Yeecchh! Oh well, at least it's not STP. I HOPE! If that creep changed labels!" Jerking her head toward the glass, she peered earnestly at the contents. There was absolutely no way to tell, by looking. She would just have to hope for the best. "Well, folks, here goes nothing, and I DO mean nothing!"
Again, hooking the bottle with her feet, she dragged it nearer the edge of the opening, stopping just as the jar began sliding over the sill. That cap would have to go, first. Turning her back to the jar, she edged backwards till she could just feel it brushing her arms, then cautiously, cautiously, she felt around with her fingers till she encountered that segment of the jar's bottom protruding past the edge of the counter’s sill. "Shouldn't take too much pulling to get it passed its balance.ummmmmph!"
Pressing upward against the bottom of the jar with her fingertips, she strained to pull the jug towards her. "God, I forgot how HEAVY a gallon is; I don't think the damned thing is going to move.THERE, I felt it budge a little. A little bit more.come ON, you bastard!" Inching forward with a series of small jerks, the bottle reluctantly following behind, she suddenly felt its smooth weight fall onto her anus and then roll off to the side. Clutching frantically with her hampered fingers and twisting savagely in an attempt to prevent the bottle from smashing on the floor, she only succeeded in slamming it smartly against the open counter door. Paralyzed, she watched it teeter back and forth on edge for several oscillations, and then obediently fall against her leg and thump onto the floor, nicely cushioned by the material of her skirt. "I don't believe it," she thought. "I couldn't have done it better if I'd TRIED." Dropping quickly to her side so that her back faced the counter, she inched her way backwards until the jar was firmly pinned between her and the vertical surface. Then, working her hands around the circumference of the cap, she tried to twist it off. "Come on hands, don't fail me NOW!!" Almost to her surprise, the cap was remarkably easy to turn, no real resistance at all. But then again, molasses is nothing if not slippery. Suddenly, the scratchy revolving of the threads was gone, and on the tips of her fingers, she felt a sudden heavy flood of stickiness. "Comes the flood, God DAMN, this is going to be DISGUSTING!!" Pulling the cap quickly from the mouth of the receptacle and rolling to her right, she avoided most of the surge, and turning, watched the turgid, sluggish mass ooze out onto the tiles. The object of her concern, the knife, remained indolently at the bottom of the jar, however, moving only fractionally as the liquid drained. "What the hell is the joke, here!" she thought. "Come ON, you recalcitrant son of a bitch!!" Reaching over with her legs, she gave the bottle a hardy bang, and watched the knife as it slid down the side of the glass and, catching the feeble remnants of the retreating flood, began moving towards the opening. The bottle was mostly empty by now, the former occupants now spread in a menacing mass before the opening like some absurd moat.
Another quick glance at the clock confirmed her worst fears, time was almost gone. No time for qualms, now! Rolling back towards the bottle and reaching behind her as far as possible with her pinioned wrists, she quickly bumped into the bottle and, fumbling through the wretched slickness, inserted her right hand into the jar. Molasses still dripping from the top of the glass coated her hand. "Oh, let me be able to reach far enough." she prayed. Stretching and straining her hand into the interior till the rim butted against the cinch between her wrists, she gingerly lowered her fingers to the bottom. Nothing. NO!! Reaching back farther only slid the bottle bodily along the floor. Still no knife. Dropping her head to the tile, unconscious of the molasses slicking her hair, eyes wide, mind nearly a blank, she relaxed and stared at the ceiling. "It isn't fair," she reflected, with almost no emotion at all. Feeling as drained as the bottle, she consigned herself to defeat. It wouldn't be the first time. As she started to withdraw her hand from the jar, her fingers dragged across an unfamiliar object. It couldn't be, but it WAS- the KNIFE!! She had stretched her hand too far!! Of all the stupid mistakes! Summoning strength she had long thought departed, she prodded the sodden slick lump out and onto the floor where she could more easily manipulate it. "God, there's no time, no time…!"
Ignition OFF! With a flick of the key, the rasping V-12 thumped to a halt. The wine of the radials and the whistle of the wind were the only sounds, now. The squat, brutally powerful little car glided down the slight decline, oak leaves sliding across the pavement and slapping against the windshield like large brown hands. He leaned back hard into the leather of the seat, both hands on the wheel, relaxed. A good day. A hard day. He wondered how his wife was doing. He had left her with a pretty vexing problem, this time. He wanted no noise, no warning that he was coming. The gate was coming up and he touched the brakes and turned the wheel, carefully leaving himself with just enough velocity, tires scrunching across the gravel of the drive, to edge up under the trees.
Damn that lock! In a house this goddamned expensive, they ought to have a lock that doesn't sound like a tin can filled with loose nuts and bolts! Pulling the door hard against the stoop, he twisted the key slowly and carefully, trying not to make the slightest sound.
The kitchen, first. Peering through the crack between the swinging doors, he saw a mass of molasses and wadded up strips of tape, but no wife. Pushing open the doors a fraction, he stuck his head into the room. No wife. On the kitchen table was one very sticky paring knife.
"Hello, John."
He spun, shock and surprise graphic on his face, to see his wife idling on the stairs behind him. The marks from the tape were still livid on her arms and legs, and the toes of her left foot were a pronounced black and blue. Skin still wet from a shower, hair draped around her shoulders in thick, shiny strands, she dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a face cloth.
"I don't think we'll be able to attend that little party down the road, dear. I seem to have cut the comer of my mouth on that leather strap you ran through the ball. You ought to try using an edger on straps from now on. Much more comfortable. And SHAME on you for using an unflavored ball! The only thing it did was GAG me. Remember that nice peppermint one you used last time?" Pouting, she wagged a finger at him in mock censure.
"But how the hell did you get loose? What could you have anchored the knife to?" Incredulity and suspicion marked his face.
"Tut, tut, tut, darling, we all have our little secrets.bFor a few minutes, there, I thought I was really in trouble, but aside from getting disgustingly tacky, ha ha, a little joke, there, there never was REALLY that much of a hassle. You seem to be losing your touch. Whatever happened to the bondage master I THOUGHT I married?"
Instantly, she knew that had been a mistake. Mouth muscles tense, a deep scarlet flush spreading across his face, he stepped quickly, ominously to the base of the stairs. A bad topic for jokes. Quickly nestling against him, her arms wrapped around his, she peered up at him through lowered lashes, inquiring demurely, "Did you bring any special little thing for me like you promised?"
"Like what?" he countered. He was still angry. "Don't you know that slaves don't expect gifts, just punishment?"
Oh, that's very true, master," all wide-eyed and innocent, "and since this little slave has so rebelliously managed to extricate herself from that oh so clever bondage applied to her unworthy body, she should receive some extra SPECIAL punishment, don't you think, hmmmmmm, Johnsie Wonsie?"
"Johnsie Wonsie!! How dare you? Listen to this shit!" a sardonic grin spread across his visage. "A smartass, eh? We'll have to see about that!" Grabbing her by the arms, he yanked her off the steps. "Hmmmmm, you smell nice. I'll have to use that molasses on you more often, I think. Yes, very definitely. But for right now, I know a slave that needs to be put in her place. Come with me, wench. Time to learn a few new tricks."
"Oh, DEAR, Herbert. That nice man next door seems to be having trouble with that little red car of his again. His motor died at the top of the hill, and he had to coast ALL the way to his driveway. That's the third time this month. Oh dear, oh dear, whatever can the matter be?"
"For chrissake, Emma, get AWAY from that window. Jesus Christ, I told the bastard if he wanted an expensive car to get an American car instead of that foreign crap. Farrary, Ferarri, Canary, whatever the hell it is. He's got nobody but himself to blame. Nobody. GODDAMMIT woman, get AWAY from that window my supper's getting cold!"
"Yes, dear."
