Author Unknown

Illustrations by Robert Bishop

Scanned and Transcribed by guardian46w

CHAPTER FOUR

Arrived at the dungeon, which was separated from the functional part of this spacious cellar by a gray metal wall and heavy door to which only he had the key, he shoved her ignominiously to one side while he took the key out of his slacks pocket and unlocked the door.  Myrna, with a cry of fury, kicked out at him, but he had anticipated it and moved to one side so that her sharp-toed pump only grazed his shin.

"You like to kick, you red haired spitfire, do you?" he chuckled.  "I'll see that you get every opportunity."

With this, taking her by the scruff of the neck, he forced her inside, and again, to her utter consternation, for no one in her wildest dreams had ever dared to lay such brazen hands on her or treat her so audaciously and disrespectfully, applied his right knee upwards to bump her sensitive virgin bottom and force her to stumble forward with a shrill cry of speechless mortification, her cheeks scarlet and tears of thwarted rage glistening in her beautiful large green eyes.

She caught her breath in horror at what she saw in this curious high-ceiling chamber, enclosed completely by gray metal walls to make its dungeon-like aspect even more realistic.

There was a square vertical post with a horizontal peg on each side; a towering punishment horse, which was a kind of upright wooden triangle coming to a sharp-ridged peak; against one side, a ladder.  There was a Y-shaped frame set at a 45-degree angle against a solid round vertical post; elsewhere, pulleys with dangling ropes and chains; benches with buckling straps and stools with the same; from one wall, a panoply descended punishment devices like leather helmets with only air holes, cuirasses, boots, single-glove restraint devices and many other unfamiliar articles that made her shiver with an unknown apprehension.

"Now, you arrogant, spoiled heiress, I think the first thing is to silence you and let you have a foretaste, a sort of preview, of what you've had coming all these years."

Before she could even try to speak, he had stooped to a nearby desk, opened a drawer, taken out a curious pear-shaped black rubber gag with buckling straps, and, despite her frantic struggles, had inserted it between her lips, making her cheeks bulge, buckling the straps at the back of her neck and contorting her face into a mask of almost brazenly sensual beauty—as if she had suddenly become a captive brought from another world, exotic and alluring, tempting and challenging.

"Much better than a simple handkerchief, don't you think, Myrna?  No, you glare at me with those big angry green eyes?  Hm, I think a pose of meditation would be excellent for about half an hour.  First, however, let's see how pliable a figure you've got—and to do that, we'll need to rid you of that costly dress."

"MMMMMM 0 FFAHAHAHAHHHHFFF " Myrna wailed frantically, jerking at her bonds.  To no avail; expertly, ruthlessly, he stripped her down to garter belt and nylons, pumps, panties and bra.

"I don't like a garter belt; it leaves red marks on fine soft creamy skin.  Let's try something that will make you even more of a sex object—which, Myrna dear, I'm sure you've always prided yourself on being—a teaser object, but this time, you'll be taught how to fulfill a promise, not renege on it!

"Mmmf ouu ahh mff!" If looks could have killed him, Jack Brandon would have fallen lifeless at Myrna's feet.

But now, to her utter horror and stupefaction, he calmly ripped off the bra, and, as she frenziedly tried to wrench her bound wrists loose so as to hide her thus profaned naked virgin breasts, those luscious pear globes quaked and jiggled, their dusky, crinkly nipple tips pointing out as if for a lover's caress.

Going to a chest, he opened it, drew out a punishment helmet of black leather, with a metal ring at the top—useful for attaching a pulley rope in traction of a victim and shoulder-length black gloves.

Then, untying her wrists, he swiftly overpowered her new attempts to free herself, and forced those pale-creamy skinned sculptured arms into the tight, molding cuirass of leather, pulling up the gloves without wrinkle, so they seemed part of her very body and, by their black glossy luster, intensified the warmth of that creamy half nudity of hers.  Her marvelous firm titties rose and fell violently, but he seemed not even to notice this exposure—and subtly, thus, by ignoring haughty Myrna Gentry, her intended despotic master forced her to reconsider him and to fear him—even though at the moment all she could feel for him was fury and indignation at the shameful brutality to which he had subjected her—and it was only the beginning of her education in tyrannical bondage subjugation!

For now, cording her gloved wrists together in front of her, he forced her (sic) kneel down over a square wooden block, like a headman's block, in such a way that her beautiful pear breasts mashed against the surface of the wood.  Then swiftly he corded her ankles together, and looped a rope round her bare bare,(sic) each end of which he tied to a metal ring set at each lower side of the block.

Then she was made to kneel, a genuflection which infuriated her selfish ego to the utmost, and at the same time, with naked breasts and gloved arms uncomfortably pressed against the edge and surface of the block, the rope biting into her bare back to teach her humility and captivity, she was given her first lesson in learning that her will and way were not to be acknowledged by this masked domineering, male and it left her in an aura of apprehensive suspense the ideal state for a rebellious, insolent slave-candidate!

Now, he posed his sneaker-shod foot on her bare back, spurning her, mashing her panting titties against the block of shame and subjugation.

"MFMFMFMOUFF AHHHHHHHHHHH!  OUUFFFAHAHAHIVIIVIGGGG!" Myra wailed against her gag, tears glistening in her dilated eyes to feel his heel force deeply, pitilessly, against her naked flesh, a symbol of his intended mastery of all her virgin charms!

Continues in Chapter Five