by Charles L.  Smith

Illustrations by Kagan

Originall published in Bount To Please Vol 3, No 8

Scanned by EKrayon and Transcribed and edited by guardian46w

It was pouring outside.  Bad night to run out of cigarettes.  The walk to the corner market was uneventful.  Soaking wet, he left the tiny market.  As he opened the glass door to the street, the skies unleashed a new downpour.  He paused a moment; would it subside?  Finally he walked and then jogged up the rain cratered street.

He chose an alley, a shortcut through a rundown industrial block best avoided after dark.  Tonight the storm would keep the muggers inside.  Halfway through the lifeless alley he noticed a figure standing in the steady rain.  He approached the crouching figure.

It was a girl.  A clinging black raincoat revealed the body of a woman but a knit ski mask hid her features.  Now what he saw shocked him.  A bar fixed her ankles several feet apart!  The bar was chained to a bolt on the steel plate on which she posed.  Her arms disappeared behind her back within the tight raincoat.  He came nearer and asked was she all right?  Her head turned to him and he could see her eyes behind the mask.  She said nothing but only moaned and looked desperate trying to hide from his sight.  Perched on five inch heels, chained to the bolt, her arms helpless within the raincoat, she could do no more than squirm on the steel plate.  He watched her.

Finally he lifted the ski mask.  She was gagged.  Her eyes were terror in the rain, in the night, in the hands of a stranger.

A bolt cutter lay at her feet.  He told her he would not harm her; he would take her to shelter.  She must not scream or try to run.

He unbuckled the gag and she sobbed as he removed it.  He held his hand to her mouth, fearing her scream.  She only cried softly.  He cut the bar from the cuffs on her ankles, then slowly led her down the street, still wrapped in her raincoat, her long blonde hair soaked across her shoulders.

He pulled the curtains before switching on the lights.  He wrapped a towel over her head, then slowly unzipped the skin tight raincoat.  Underneath she was naked.  Except for yards of rope, crushing waist and breasts, pulled deep into her shaved pussy.

The knots were complex and cumbersome.  He gave up and cut the ropes instead with a pair of wire cutters.  With each snap of cut rope she shivered.  At times the changing pressure on the remaining ropes pinched her flesh, causing jolts of pain.

He took her to a bath and gently helped her bathe.  There were deep red tracks across her skin from the ropes, and now he could see welts he had not noticed before.  She had been tied and whipped and left in the rain in a bad part of town.  With friends like those...

He put her in bed under a pile of blankets, then went to make his bed on the couch.  He told her everything would be all right but already she was deep asleep.

She was still asleep when he woke at ten for work.  When he returned in the late afternoon she was gone.  How, where, even who she was, he had no clue.

---

A month passed.  Nights he spent thinking about the girl in his apartment, tied so savagely.  He remembered her swollen nipples, arching over the tight ropes that cut above them.  He remembered the strong intoxicating smell of her sex in the room, of the ropes through her tortured cunt.  He remembered her full red lips and flushed delicate face.  The spring rains vanished in the face of a heat wave that seemed to liquefy the streets of the city.  The air was oppressive, even at night.

It was a Thursday night.  He climbed the steps to his apartment and fit the key into the lock.  But the door was unlocked.  He opened it and saw what looked like a key on the floor.  It was a small skeleton key.  He had never seen it before.  He peered about the front room and noticed the bedroom door was closed.  He opened it and peered cautiously inside.

On his bed she lay handcuffed and naked.  This time, he realized, she had bound herself!  Each ankle was tied spread to a bedpost.  She must have tied her own ankles, gagged herself, then threaded the pair of handcuffs through the brass bars of the headboard.  The key she had left by the door where he would find it.

Her long blonde hair fanned out beneath her on the sheets.  Her eyes first smiled and then invited.  He was unsure what to do.  He went to her and began to remove the gag, but she shook her head, no.  He unstrapped it anyway, and pulled a thick rubber phallus from her throat.

"No," she said.  "Put it back.  You must do everything you didn't do the first time."

The air in the room was stifling.  The look in her eyes was true.  He replaced the gag slowly, not believing her ability to take it in.  She watched him stand and carefully scrutinize her naked body.  Her breasts rolled back on her chest, nipples electric.  He took off his loose shirt and she was surprised at his musculature.  Then she noticed the bulge ballooning down his thigh, stretching his tight jeans.

He stripped off his pants, climbed over her and caressed her.  She shivered at his gliding touch.  His finger slipped effortlessly into her hot, flowing pussy.  He took her then, in one long thrust.  On his third stroke he came.  Shuddering with him, already she was nearly at orgasm herself.

He stayed within her, on top of her, and rested.  Slowly, still bound, she began to rock him with her hips.  The gentle motion enticed his still extended cock.  He let her guide, pausing when she paused, helping her nudge the inner spot she was slowly coaxing to the chain reaction that would engulf her pussy.

She began to come with a cry behind the gag.  Her body stiffened and he held her.  She relaxed, rocked, rocked again on her orgasm and cried deeper.  Again he restrained her.  The waves came faster, the cries deeper, then higher, then deeper again.  Finally, she collapsed back to the bed.  He relaxed his grip and kissed her gently.

When he unbound her she would say nothing of herself, and again he let her go knowing nothing about her.  Intrigued, amazed and exhausted, he watched the apartment door swing closed.

---

He watched the redhead climb the stairway ahead of him to his apartment.  He had been seeing this girl on and off for several months.  Time after time she had refused to let him do more than kiss her.  At the landing he unlocked the door and let her inside.

His prim companion entered the room, switched on the light and let out a bloodcurdling, horrified scream.

"You animal!" she shrieked, fire and brimstone in her eyes.

It was the blonde girl again, this time bound legs spread, wrists to ankles.  Her shaved pussy glistened towards them.  A full leather hood covered her head completely.  His date slapped him.  He was startled and laughed.  With an angry howl she stomped to the front door and was gone, slam!  He stood in shock, gazing at his good fortune.

The blonde perched on high heels open before him.  Pinned to a garter was a white envelope trimmed in red.  Inside he found a note which read: "Whip Me!"

He stood back and simply looked at the bound erotic furniture before him.  The muscles in her taut legs were well defined in long vertical lines.  The hood was red patent.  The bondage mittens and high heels she wore also were brilliant, glossy red.  A three foot metal bar spread her ankles.  All of her equipment was custom made and expensive, he could see.

And the note in his hand.  He had seen this in magazines; he had spent many long moments staring at those photographs wondering how it would be to dominate a woman, to totally control her pleasure or her pain.  And now she was here, begging that he ignite her flesh: Whip Me!

He took off her hood and the rubber gag he found below it.

"No, don't," she said.

"You must tell me who you are."

"Please, just use me!"

"Tell me!"

"I will, but first use me, whip me!"

Slowly, as before, he replaced the gag in her mouth and then buckled and laced tight the red patent hood.  He lifted the thin cane with delicately carved handle she had left under the bar which spread her legs.

He went to fix a drink and then sat in his easy chair facing the desperately vulnerable girl.  He tried the thin cane in the air and it made a wicked slice through the air.  He had never done anything like this before.  Could he do it?

He stood and tested the cane lightly on his own thigh.  It landed with a sharp pop and a burning sting.  The girl flinched at the sound of the cane, and he thought he heard her moan behind the mask.

He stroked the backs of her thighs with the cane.  With the tip he carefully traced the ridges and contours of her swollen, naked pussy.  When he slipped the thin point of the cane inside, she quivered.  Out he drew it, glistening wet.

---

The first strike exploded in the air, crack!  The girl jumped in her bonds but went nowhere.  A long thin red line appeared across her perfectly firm ass.

"How many strokes, little pussy?" he heard himself call to the boggled mind beneath the hood.

She struggled to communicate but could not.

"Tap the floor with your heel," he suggested.  "It's a trick they train horses to perform."

Immediately she began to rock on one heel.  It was strenuous work and when she faltered after six taps and he stopped counting aloud.  Six.  Still she tapped, seven, eight, nine...

"No, no, little pussy.  Six stripes, no more.

He took another drink and again brushed her body with the thin cane.  This time he reached through her legs to tease the nipples of her hanging full breasts.  He tapped each nipple with the point of the cane until they had swollen twice their original size.

The strike came without warning, striping the tops of her thighs just below the exposed cunt.  Again the fearsome crack of the cane.  Her ass bobbed pitifully in the air.  A sweat soaked her skin.  Her gorged cunt flowered before him, begging attention.  A clear thin drop of her liquid drooled from the lips of her pussy.  Again the cane whipped her thighs with that awesome sound.

He could hear her breath whistling loudly under the hood and he laid the next stroke again across her tortured thighs.  Two strokes remaining.

He contemplated her full round hanging breasts.  From in front of the girl there was clear access.  With another terrible pop he sliced the cane down across her tits, just above each nipple.  She jerked wildly in her bondage and her nipples flared in agony.

Now her whistling breath was in gasps.  One stroke remaining.  Slowly he walked around the girl, his steps clearly heard on the hardwood floor.  The girl squirmed piteously, desperate to know where the final stroke might land.  He walked now to a closet from which he took a massive dildo he had bought with the mysterious blonde in mind.  He turned it on and held it near her hooded head, where she could hear the throbbing hum.  He went to her ass and slowly spread the lips of her cunt with his thumbs outside her outer lips.  The aching, glistening hole opened readily, then pulled closed against the shock of room air.  He waited for the spasm to end, then opened her once more.  She was on the edge of orgasm.

In one stroke he pushed the vibrating shaft in up to the hilt where the flared base held it.  She began to groan loudly and rock on the orgasm that was igniting her expanded pussy.

The cane sliced the final stroke across her bulging cunt just below the base of the dildo.  She screamed beneath the hood and the violence of her orgasm unbalanced her.  He steadied her in one arm, stroking the shuddering lips of her pussy with the other while she groaned and shook on the hardwood floor.

When she woke in the morning he was waiting for her.

"I could keep you here," he told her.  "But I won't.  I don't even need to know your name or anything about you.  All I need to know is, will you come back?"

"I will," she said.  And he knew it was true.